Category: blog

Standard Time invited Ice Cream Man, Sleepless and Little Sleep to dinner. Due to the fact that this was discussed over the lunch that almost didn’t take off (damn you Words with Friends!), I was also invited.

 

Tomatillo had returned my bag of Christmas sweaters, so I thought it might be best if we dressed up for the dinner. “I don’t know if it is a dress-up kind of event, but I can’t not dress-up,” I told Dr. BJ. “You definitely need to dress-up,” he advised me. As I was pulling my red and white striped over-the-knee socks up and over my knees and leggings, I asked (rhetorically, of course), “Are these too much?” To top off the outfit, I donned my mistletoe headband – an early Christmas gift from Sleepless. “This dinner party may get real awkward, real fast,” I told Dr. BJ.

 

Standard Time lives in a galaxy way far away from our downtown abodes, which may explain why staying out in the city after nine is late for her. After passing through the weigh station, customs, border patrol, several time zones, and going over the river and through the woods, we made it to her house. We were welcomed by a crackling fire, elegant Christmas decorations, dinner on the stove, and wine in our glasses. “It’s a good thing we dressed up,” I whispered to Sleepless who had also donned one of the Christmas sweaters. Ice Cream Man opted against donning a sweater. My guess is he thought it would be bad for business. His loss, our gain (literally – those thick knit sweaters really add weight and inches to one’s frame). With such great props, Sleepless and I immediately started posing for pictures.

 

As we were sitting around the dining table, Ice Cream Man was entertaining the kids with stories and games, and Sleepless decided to cop a feel of my sweater. “Wow, that’s soft. Is that Chanel?” she asked. “Chanel,” I sang back to the tune of Laverne and Shirley’s theme song. She immediately joined in, “Schlemazel.” A major mumbling of the third and fourth words and then everyone else joined in, “We’re gonna do it!” This reminded me of the time Tomatillo told me, “You’ve got the life. Always going out and drinking drinks I can’t pronounce.” ‘Wine’ is easy to pronounce, ‘Hasenpfeffer Incorporated,’ not so easy.

 

Standard Time, who was now wearing the lovely sequined and saucy Christmas apron we gave her, was moved by our singing thus, moved right next to us at the table. A few minutes after doing so, her son crept up behind Ice Cream Man with a large inflatable bat. “Be careful. We’ve got drinks,” Standard Time advised him. She then turned to Sleepless and I, tightly gripping her wine glass, and said, “Priorities. I don’t care if he hits Ice Cream Man, but I don’t want our drinks spilled.”

 

Time passed quickly – as it does when you’re crossing time zones – so we decided to say goodbye, but not before singing a few Christmas songs around the grand piano. Turns out we sing carols about as well as we sing theme songs, “Dashing through the snow…..laughing all the way….mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble.” Knowing all the words is not important. What is important, however,  is that we were dressed for the occasion in what Little Edie would  hopefully consider ‘the best costume for the day.’

 

 

 

It seems retirement has been a common theme as of late. Although I am nowhere near retirement, I regularly practice retirement. I do this by waking up without an alarm (translation: sleeping in), traveling, bird watching, occasionally greeting shoppers at my part-time job (two birds, one stone), yelling ‘slow down’ to cars while sitting on the stoop, gossiping, enjoying morning coffee with friends, owning a BINGO set, working on puzzles, and reading obituaries.

 

Recently, while at a holiday party, I heard a story about a prostitute who had to momentarily step out of retirement. As the seven dwarfs once sang, “I ho, I ho, it’s off to work I go.” Luckily, a mortician was in the market for fellatio and contributed to her temporary time back in the working world. This, unfortunately, resulted in a staff infection – not to be confused with a ‘simple staph infection’ or any work related injuries – and her inability to work; giving new meaning to the term ‘laid off’.

 

While enjoying morning coffee with Opreggano, I began to share this story with her. “No way, I heard this story at Thanksgiving,” she interrupted. “Seriously? Ho-liday stories, like other related things, spread so quickly,” I replied and asked, “So how did the story end in the version you heard?” “She had maggots in her mouth,” Opreggano replied. Sure enough, same story.

 

Like so many other holiday stories, I have a feeling this is one that will be shared for generations to come…or not, if you know what I mean. The moral to the story is easy (like my aunt): re-gifting is not always a good idea.

 

Ho! Ho! Ho! Happy Ho-lidays!

Prior to attending Fine Girl’s retirement party I met up with Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and Standard Time for a little lunch. Ice Cream Man was completely consumed with his phone. “What do you have going on over there?” Standard Time asked. “Are you playing Words with Friends?” Sleepless asked. “This lunch will not take off if you keep playing that game,” I advised him. He looked up from his phone and said, “Mr. Baldwin is an American Treasure.”

 

Like Alec, Fine Girl is an American Treasure. Unlike the Save America’s Treasures program, which lost it’s funding in 2010 and will most likely not be re-established, her ‘funding’ will be re-established the day after her last day of work and she will be saved. As we were celebrating her retirement she raised her glass and made a toast, “Thanks to the taxpayers for paying me for the last 33 years and who will continue to pay me in retirement.” I can definitely raise my glass to this American Treasure.

 

As we reminisced about her work, one of the girls shared a story about a case involving a horse, “Beastiality was really hot in the ’80s.” “Yes, it was,” Fine Girl concurred. “Was it?” I asked. I didn’t know Fine Girl in the ’80s and I don’t remember beastiality being really popular. I do remember the movie Working Girl. A romantic comedy about a girl (Melanie Griffith) who gets a chance to be her boss for a little while. Other stars in the show who were featured and mentioned by name in the trailer: Sigourney Weaver, Harrison Ford and Geena Davis. The star who wasn’t mentioned or featured? None other than the American Treasure Alec Baldwin.

 

I recently had the privilege of watching a documentary on Tupperware (thank you Dewey!). I also recently had the privilege of acquiring a lovely Tupperware pitcher from a secondhand store. So, without gloating too much, I guess I could say my life is really, really good.

 

Only one thing would make my life better and that would be if owned the discontinued popcorn bowl kernel strainer lid. Not sure if that is the exact title, but that is what I would call it if I owned it. Pretty sure Debbie Boris of Rossford, Ohio would agree with me – but instead of relying on Tupperware, she just invented her own popcorn contraption: Kernels-B-Gone. I have a feeling she is pretty happy and that Brownie would be impressed.

 

Brownie Wise was pretty happy and not just because she had a really great name. She worked for and made Tupperware famous as a result of her keen sense of direct marketing via at-home parties – women being the target audience. She and Earl Tupper began working together in 1950 and she turned Tupperware into an international success.

 

Brownie believed in people, “Build people and they will build the business for you,” was one of her famous quotes and what some refer to as a Tupperism. I consider it Wisedom. Brownie saw the advantage of incentives and held an annual jubilee for sales associates in Florida. This, ultimately, was the demise of Brownie Wise because Earl Tupper did not agree with spending money on jubilees and other celebrations. As a result, Brownie was fired. She was given one year’s salary – no stock in the company and no recognition of her efforts or existence by Tupperware. In fact, any artifacts (pictures, documents, books) that tied her to Tupperware were removed and/or destroyed per Tupper’s orders.

 

As much as I love Tupperware, I’m afraid Earl Tupper, who I prefer to refer to as the “Burping Seal” (a phrase he coined – very apropos)  is not on my list of favorites. He is, however, on a list with Franklin M. Hart Jr. (9 to 5). I have a feeling Judy, Violet and Doralee would have loved Brownie.

There is nothing funny about Sub for Santa charities. Or is there? This is a question The Responsible One and I asked while reading a few donation requests posted by a small town newspaper. Some of the headlines, written to grab the reader’s attention and heart/purse strings, had us grabbing our sides as we were giggling. We began to read one that sounded exactly like the script of a cheesy holiday movie trailer. We couldn’t help but think of locations, set designs, camera angles and really amazing fade to black moments.

 

As we were doubled over in my office a coworker stopped in to see what was so funny. “Do you ever read the Sub for Santa articles?” I asked him. “Yes, last week’s was really sad. Breaks my heart,” he replied. We told him about the one we were currently reading and shared our movie trailer idea. He laughed a little bit and then left my office. “We’ll definitely need to get a laugh track,” I advised The Responsible One. “I don’t see why others don’t see the humor,” she replied.

 

“They haven’t worked in the business long enough. Which reminds me, I’m thinking about doing a show called ‘Why I’m Such an Asshole,'” I told her. “I like it. How long have you been thinking about this?” she asked. “Just started thinking about it right now,” I replied and added, “With our friends, I figure we could air a show every day for at least two years.” It was about this time that we contacted ROFL with a question about a project. The Responsible One was razzing him about deadlines and he did his infamous, “One more thing,” and then hung up on us. “Yet one more guest,” I told her, then called ROFL again and invited him to be on the show.

BeCuz is pretty particular about her teas. When I invited her to my house for a spot I was surprised by her surprise when she learned I didn’t have an infuser. “You need a real tea kettle,” she told me. I love my tea kettle. It is a beautiful butternut squash whistler with a stainless steel handle that will burn you if you touch it. As I defended my kettle, she shook her head with disgust, all the while wetting her pallet with the cup of tea I had provided her. “No need to be so cri-tea-cal,” I replied.

 

A few hours later, Art Groupie stopped by and, because she likes her coffee just so, she brought her own. Although the brand she brought is my absolute favorite, I opted for another cup of tea – somebody’s got to defend my pot. For reasons unbeknownst to her, Art Groupie has a tendency to meet artists, get invited to their studio to see their works, and then realize it isn’t their pallet or paintbrush that they’re really interested in showing her. “What do you do?” I asked her. “Last time I ran out,” she told me. “I’m trying to make better choices about guys I ‘date.’ I keep seeing this really cute guy on my way to the coffee shop and the other day I saw him at the library. The me in me wants to talk to him, but my kids told me I need to stop meeting men this way,” she advised me.

 

“So how do you meet them?” I asked.  “My kids gave me match.com for my birthday a couple of years ago,” she said. “That’s a horrible present. I hope they gave you a gift receipt,” I told her. “No, no gift receipt. I didn’t really make any love connections. I wish I had, because I started taking an estrogen supplement and I am horny. I’m also really bitchy,” she said. “It might be time for you to wet your pallet at an art exhibit again. Maybe you’ll find an artist there who is in the market for a horny bitch,” I suggested. “Good idea. Maybe he’ll show me his paintbrush” she giggled.

Christmas is a slightly confusing time of year. Primarily, because of the days before it and after it.

 

I’ve got a little Christmas countdown calendar with 24 pockets, numbered 24 to one, and a little snowman to move from pocket to pocket in accordance with the days. Thus, I could count down or up – it’s slightly confusing. Not sure what to do and, on most days, not sure of the actual date or day of the week, I just put the snowman in whichever numbered pocket suits my fancy. Currently, the snowman is in pocket 18.

 

If you multiply the three wise men by two and subtract that number from the pocket in which the snowman is currently residing, you get 12. More specifically, the Twelve Days of Christmas. I’ve known several people who begin celebrating this 12 days before Christmas. According to the Wible (Wikipedia – the Internet Bible), these festivities don’t begin until Christmas Day (December 25 – even on leap years) and do not end until the Twelfth Night, January 5. This is where things get a little crazy. The Twelfth Day can come before or after the Twelfth Night. Following (and slightly part of ) Twelfth Day is the ever important Epiphany (January 6). In addition to being a day of gift giving, Epiphany is the last day to take down decorations without chancing a wee bit of bad luck (so say the Brits).

 

In between all of this is New Year and the ever popular New Year’s Eve. New Year’s Eve and Christmas Eve tend to get a little more attention than New Year Day and Christmas Day. Being that the eves are so important, it causes me to wonder why Twelfth Day (or is it Night) isn’t called Epiphany Eve. More importantly, why don’t we celebrate Birthday Eve? Just to give some of my regular celebrations a bit more meaning, I plan to start celebrating their eves. Birthday Eve, Karaoke Eve, State Fair Free Concert Eve, National Corndog Day Eve, Stoop Eve and Eve Eve – a night devoted to repeated plays of Gangsta Lovin’ followed by a day of repeated plays of Let Me Blow Ya Mind.

 

I have a neighbor who regularly performs his outdoor activities with little to no clothing on. I’m not sure if he does this knowing people can see him or if he thinks that, since he can’t see us, we can’t see him. A similar occurrence happened with a former neighbor, who we affectionately called (unbeknownst to him) Big Dick Dan. Each morning, he would step outside to grab the paper. Each morning he would do a perimeter check while covering his bit. When he thought the coast was clear, he used his hands to open the door and pick up the paper – leaving his not so wee bit uncovered.

 

These sights have all been seen from the comforts of my home and, on occasion, my stoop. Many times, I am alone when this happens which forces me to, like Gladys Kravitz on Bewitched, shout out “Abner!” to whoever will listen. Typically, it is to Opreggano via text. Assuming, of course, that she isn’t already sitting next to me.

 

I decided to take the day off work today and planned a meeting at my house with The Leaver. As we were sitting at the dining room table I saw some movement in my front yard and  peered out the window to see Sleepless attempting to sneak up to drop off banana bread. “Abner! It’s Sleepless!” I told The Leaver. “I wanted to surprise you with this. You’re not supposed to be here,” Sleepless told me. That’s true, but I also wasn’t supposed to see my neighbors naked.

 

 

After Alice left my house to go home and watch Derek Jeter chat with Barbara Walters, I returned S-Unit’s call.

 

We hadn’t talked for a while (two days, at least) and I’d only used 128 of my 900 minutes (with 6 days to go), so I figured we had plenty of time to catch up. We chatted for a while, she asked if I was caught up on American Horror Story, I told her about the last episode I had watched (via the internet – my cable package is very limited….I really only have it for my house guests) and asked about the rubber suit guy. “OK, well, that episode was a while ago so I can’t talk to you about the details. You need to watch,” she advised. A few minutes later, but nowhere near my minute max, she said, “Alright, well, I’m going to go so I can watch some TV.”

 

Twice in one night, and less than one hour’s time, I was told goodbye so someone could watch TV. It was like I was in a relationship again, but with two people. “What is so interesting about that little black box in the corner?” I asked myself and then turned it on to see. Reruns (sadly, not the Wilson Phillips reality show), news, infomercials – nothing worth watching.

 

So, I did what most people do, I googled my URL and found ‘Grigio Girls Slideshow REHAB‘ on youtube. 3 minutes and 35 seconds of four girls drinking (never did I see grigio) and partying with Amy Winehouse’s ‘Rehab‘ as the track for the slideshow. The next related clip was, ‘Asian girl opening a bottle of Pinot Grigio.’ Once again, no grigio – it was champagne. Ugh. No TV, no PG and no friends with me. Finally, I stumbled upon ‘Must Love Wine‘ with Filiberto Magnati. He did actually drink Pinot Grigio and ended his show with words of wisdom, “You must love wine because wine loves you.” So true. Wine may be packaged in a little black box, but it will never leave me for one.

 

 

Turns out, my ‘fishes and loaves’ comment has been a real gut buster for my boss. He brought it up during a meeting the other day and could not stop laughing. My response, “We’ll always have fishes and loaves. I really do love Dr. Seuss – with rhyming you just can’t lose.” “You may be on to something,” he replied.

 

I shared this story with Alice, who also couldn’t believe I wasn’t familiar with the bible. “Look, I know what it is,” I replied. “Right, but fishes and loaves is a parable of Jesus,” she told me. “Uh huh. I’ve known a Jesus or two in my time – primarily  in a biblical sense. But no Jesus I ever knew mentioned fishes or loaves. I really should have asked if they knew how to turn water into wine,” I said and added, “You know, if the bible rhymed, more people might read and remember it.” I then attempted to make a rhyme for ‘away in a manger.’ My incredible use of ‘stranger,’ and ‘danger’ were impressive to her. “”You’re pretty good. I better get going. Sorry for drinking all your wine,” she told me.

 

As ‘impressed’ as Alice was with my biblic limerick, she couldn’t wait to get home and watch a Barbara Walters special. Derek Jeter was being interviewed by Barbara as one of the ten most fascinating people. Alice likes Derek Jeter, primarily because she loves the Yankees. Loves, loves, loves them – like Noah loves his ark. She also really loves Jesus Montero and, if she could, would love to know him in a biblical sense. If only fishes were wishes.