Category: blog

While visiting with Dr. BJ and That’s Not Chinese, That’s Not Chinese kept referencing her piehole, “Sometimes I can’t help the things that come out of my piehole.” “Ew, every time you say that I think of something else,” Dr. BJ told her. “You too?” I asked and then suggested, “Why don’t you just open and close your legs to match what you’re saying?” That’s Not Chinese all too willingly agreed to do so.

 

According to Merriam-Webster, the first known use of ‘piehole,’ aka mouth, occurred in 1993. Thinking back, that date is probably pretty accurate as I believe that is the year Mini Me got Pete the Repeat Parrot for Christmas. Instead of utilizing Pete to practice Latin or ‘interrogate suspects with double effectiveness,’ thanks to my family, Pete turned out to be more like Polly the Insulting Parrot. To Pete’s defense, he wasn’t repeating things like ‘Dickhead alert,’ or ‘Who’s a pretty Polly? Not you lardass.’  Instead, Pete repeatedly repeated, “Shut your piehole.”

 

Almost twenty years later and my piehole is still open. As I was thinking about all of this, I realized I hadn’t eaten dinner. Earlier, I had made a conscious decision to eat better. I headed to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator to assess my options, and made an executive decision to fill my piehole with a single-serve slice of key lime pie. After the fork touched base with my pallet, I did just as Pete repeated, I shut my piehole.

Fine girl is really into insertion and manipulation, more specifically, acupuncture. While celebrating her upcoming retirement and Calling The Dog’s birthday, she told us she had an acupuncture appointment afterward. She went on to tell us how handsome her acupuncturist is, “I love going to him for that reason.” She isn’t the only person I know who goes to certain providers because of their looks. That’s Not Chinese and Dr. BJ went to a particularly chiropractor for years because he was, “really good and really good looking.” I go to my doctor because she is covered by my insurance.

 

A while back, Fine Girl had a great session with her handsome acupuncturist. The next morning, she got up to go to work, tossled her hair a bit, and found a pin (needle) in her head. “I was a pinhead – I still had a pin in my head because, somehow, he had missed one. So, I pulled it out,” she told us. “I was kind of wishing you had left it in your head and gone to work,” I told her. “Yes, that would have been good,” Calling The Dog agreed and added, “Then, when people noticed it you could have said, ‘Duh, I know. Quit messin’ with my qi.'” “Did you ever tell him he left one in?” I asked. “No, I can’t tell him that – he’s too good looking,” Fine Girl replied. At this point, she was just being a pinhead, literally.

FatGirl has been planning to stop by all week. On one occasion, he canceled because he was tired. On the second occasion, he didn’t cancel, but I chose to postpone the start time because I was spending time with MiniMe. “Oh, please. Tell her it is time to cut the umbilical cord,” he told me. I relayed his comment to MiniMe who quipped, “I’m not the one living with my mom.” MiniMe: 1, FatGirl: O.

 

Umbilical cord dependent, FatGirl eventually showed up (several days later) with Tree. We began discussing politics – not always a wise topic – when the issue of online videos was mentioned. “I’ve always wanted to run for Senate, but I worry about the possibility of videos surfacing,” FatGirl advised us. This isn’t an issue for Tree, who has had a reality TV show for the last several years. One might think a reality TV show would get in the way of a political career, however, it would be difficult to track down all of the “episodes” as most of them are captured on CCTV.

 

Passed The Sniff Test wasn’t too worried about what others might think if they saw videos or other depictions of him (including face-to-face interactions), “I’m funny. Life is funny. If you’re not funny, fuck you.” Always one to focus on the marketing end of the business, I quickly wrote this down because I have a feeling it just may be his campaign slogan. FatGirl giggled and said, “I’m funny too. Wanna see?” He then pretended to unzip his pants, at which time, Tree looked around for the CCTV camera. Definitely not PC, even on CCTV.

 

 

ROFL has been boasting about his roasting for some time. Thus, this morning when I arrived at work to find no coffee in the pot, he had an opportunity to prove to me that his coffee is the best.

 

We left my breakroom, leaving behind the empty 12-cup pot and coffee maker,  and went to his breakroom where we found his two-cup coffee maker. ROFL is extremely particular about his coffee and took the time to explain to me the pod-making coffee process – detailing many steps and important details. Details such as distilled water, pressing one-cup twice and pressing the pod in between the two cups to ensure a perfect drip.

 

After going through the routine, ROFL placed my mug on the base of the coffee maker and pressed the button to release the frothy coffee into my cup. “Take a look at that,” he proudly told me as the coffee filled my mug. “Looks great,” I replied. He then pushed the button again for the second cup of my one-cup pod. “Perfection,” he said and then bumped the pod holder which fell in the mug, as did the pod. “Oops, enjoy,” he told me and handed me the mug – pod and all.

It’s been some time since I’ve seen PD. As with most of my friends, no matter how much time has passed since I last saw them, it is like no time has passed at all. Even though we don’t regularly see each other, we regularly share newspaper headlines. The most recent headline was specific to an investigation involving a Mr. Cheese; also involved in the investigation was his wife, Mrs. Cheese. “Since the cheese doesn’t stand alone, I think we should all get together for cheeseburgers,” I advised PD. He agreed and we invited The Responsible One and Drink Whisperer to join us.

 

Immediately upon seeing Drink Whisperer, he informed me he wouldn’t be doing any drink whispering this evening. We ordered our burgers, all of them with cheese, and started talking about technology. “My son has to help me set up my VCR,” PD told us. “Wait, what? Did you just say VCR?” The Responsible One asked. “Yes, VCR,” he replied and added, “I’ve turned into my father!” BeCuz, who had joined us as well, looked my way and said, “VCR, that’s right up your alley.”

 

We then started talking about who we knew who had VCRs and how often they used them. I mentioned That’s Not Chinese’s one porn flick on VHS and then shared a holiday themed porn, “A Lay In The Manger,” idea.  YummYummy, Can’t Be Bothered and I came up with this one year. “You might want to cover your eyebrows, so they’re don’t burn off,” The Responsible One advised me. “I’m not afraid of fire, I plan to be cremated,” I told her and then continued to discuss elements of the film, “So, as usual, there will be no room at the ‘inn,’ but the Three Wise Men will still come.” “You are so going to hell,” Drink Whisperer advised me then he took a bite of burger and loudly whispered, “Oh, wow, this bacon is so good. You should totally blog about this bacon. The bacon and porn.” “OK,” I replied.

 

After a couple of hours of whispering with the group, BeCuz and I headed to The Kooks concert. We had been looking forward to this for some time and were fully prepared to move in our own way, as usual. Unfortunately, the first band wasn’t that great. “Aptly named,” BeCuz told me while yawning. “Yes, although I might have added an ‘-er’ at the end, Yawner,” I replied. Luckily, they were only on stage a short while which gave us enough time for a standing nap. Then, we were more then ready to get our groove on, to shine on really, just like the star above the manger.

As I selected my outfit for the day, I pulled several items out of the bowels of my closet. I ended up with a pinstriped pant suit that has never been to France. By that, I mean, the France in my pants really put the stripes to work. Luckily, like the referees on the football field, my stripes were vertical.

 

Not vertical, however, was me as I made a pit stop on the way to the office. Even though Tree and I ended up with some decent finds the other day, I have felt compelled to dumpster dive twice since that first day. The last time I went, I was on the phone with S-Unit and realized there was no way I could reach my full diving potential if I remained on the line with her, “I’m about to dive in the dumpster, so I’ve gotta go.”

 

Today, I had a couple of advantages. The bin was pretty full – most likely the result of holiday and weekend imbibing, my phone was in the car, and I was wearing heels. The heels allowed me to reach deeper into the bin without having to actually dive in – reminded me a lot of my closet. When I did dive in, however, it was as if the heels provided an extra bit of balance – something I may have to try at home. After several great finds, I dusted off my suit and realized the importance of dressing professionally. If it weren’t for the pinstripes and the heels, I may not have found so many great deals.

When I received a text message from Striker showing me a picture of his new tattoo, I knew he wasn’t the only one with fresh ink. Although I couldn’t totally make out the image, it appeared to be an animal of some kind. “I think he got a tattoo of a cougar. Awkward,” I told Sleepless. As I continued to contemplate his graphic selection, I wondered what MiniMe might select to have imprinted on her skin. Should I be concerned if she got a tattoo of a cougar with the word, ‘Mom’ underneath it? Probably.

 

Turns out, MiniMe did not get this tattoo. I’m not sure how I feel about this. In many ways, it reminds me of the time she told me, “I drank in Ireland and loved the whiskey.” After this confession, she asked, “Are you disappointed I drank or that I love whiskey?” By the look on my face, she immediately knew I was disappointed in her liquor selection.

 

As I was driving MiniMe and Striker from the airport, I had to stop abruptly. Like a good mother, I extended my arm across her chest to protect her, then said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sure your pretty sensitive right now due to the fresh ink.” “I don’t have a tattoo there,” she replied. Striker piped in, “Don’t hit her on the back.” “Please tell me you didn’t get a tramp stamp,” I said. “I didn’t get a tramp stamp,” she confirmed, then moved her hair to reveal a tattoo between her shoulder blades that read, “Be Observant.” “You got a hump bump!” I told her. “A what?” she asked. “A tattoo on your back that isn’t low enough to be a tramp stamp. Please, be observant of the details.”

DDDG, Disco Dancing Dog Groomer, did not just get this name because she once helped me clip the nails of my foster dog, No Action Jaxon. It is also because she is a skilled at the sport of showing dogs. If I were to compare her and Skiwi to a couple in Best in Show, I would have to select Gerry and Cookie Fleck. Like Cookie, DDDG had several boyfriends before meeting her Gerry/Skiwi. “All the boys loved my princess and I’ve not seen one picture of her as a teenager,” Skiwi told me. With or without pictures from her past, DDDG is always ready for show.

 

Me, not so much. This morning, we woke up around 9, had breakfast, and then decided to go for a hike around the property. When we returned, being that it was near noon, I grabbed a can of beer and headed to the tub. I didn’t plan to drink the beer, rather, rinse my hair with it. I did so, and then found Skiwi, DDDG and Sleepless on the deck. “Wow,” Sleepless said as she felt my hair, “It’s soft.” Maybe it was the altitude, the beer definitely played a part, but my hair was really big and really soft. As I was taking a seat next to Sleepless, DDDG was looking at me, laughing, and said, “You look like a wild poodle. Not ready for show.”

 

Many people, with lesser hair and thinner skin, might take offense to this comment. Not me. I know the poodles, even when wild, are in the specialty shows. Like a good toy poodle, I’m bred to be a good, somewhat wild, household companion. In addition, I haven’t been ‘spayed’ and I’m currently in the market for a Handler. With all these qualities in mind, and my hair soft and out-of-control atop my head, I strongly believe I can eventually earn the title, “Winner’s Bitch.” If I can get another can of beer, I think I’ll run it over to Opreggano’s house – this is one winner’s circle I know she’d want in on.

Skiwi, DDDG and I decided to meet Sleepless and Ice Cream Man at Ice Cream Man’s family ranch for a last minute weekend getaway. With Sleepless and Ice Cream Man already there, they sent us the address, the code for the gate, and told us to watch for deer and two lit pine trees. Not having been to this part of the state before, we relied on GPS for navigation. About a half mile before we got to the ranch,  the GPS told us we were there. We were clearly not there and hadn’t seen deer or lit pine trees. Not one to give up, I kept going until we saw one lit pine tree, a gate, and a keypad. “Let’s try it,” Skiwi said.  We entered the code, heard the robotic phrase, “Access Granted,” watched the gate open, and began our weekend getaway.

 

Once in the cabin, and in his slippers, Skiwi took a look around and said, “I should have grabbed a pair of undies from my crazy underwear drawer. Then I could have done a re-enactment of the Hamptons.” “You have a crazy undies drawer?” I asked. “That would be sweet,” Ice Cream Man replied with a gleam in his eye and a smirk on his face as he recalled the time he ran around the house in the Hamptons with nothing but an elephant trunk covering his junk.

 

“This calls for something special,” Ice Cream Man said as he pulled out a bottle of home-brewed Mexican tequila.”This stuff is amazing, made with agave.” “It is really good,” Sleepless agreed. Ice Cream Man looked at Sleepless, smiled, and said, “This tequila, well, it makes the sex….anyway, you guys will love it.” “Uh, no, not happening,” DDDG assured him. “She doesn’t like to have sex in other people’s houses,” Skiwi advised. “You’re at the ranch, it’s like your own home,” Ice Cream Man told them. “No,” DDDG firmly stated.

 

“By the way, did you see the TV in the master bedroom?” Ice Cream Man asked Skiwi. “I did,” Skiwi replied and added, “I pushed the button and up it came.” This made both Sleepless and I giggle, but it shouldn’t have as they were merely discussing the ‘hidden’ television. “I recently watched a show on TV and they recommended against having a television in the room – bedrooms are for sleeping and sex,” Skiwi told us. “Unless you’re not in your own bedroom,” I reminded him. “True. That TV upstairs though, well, that’s probably too much up and down in the bedroom,” Skiwi told us. “No wonder that room is off limits,” I told Sleepless as she continued to giggle. We may have been granted access to the ranch, but access to the up and down (TV, master bedroom, and tequila sex) was denied.

The other day I watched The Trip. If you have ever traveled for work with a friend/coworker, you should really watch this film. At one point in the film, Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon are visiting Bolton Abbey and discussing being buried or cremated.

 

This is a something I have debated once or twice. After reading Stiff and watching One Dark Night a million times as a child, my plan is cremation. My mother is not a fan of this choice, however, as I told her, “Based on your religious beliefs, I’m going to burn during the second coming. So, either way, I’m being cremated.”

 

After their buried v. cremated discussion, they discussed what might be said at each other’s funerals. As Steve was sharing what he might say at Rob’s funeral, Rob interjected, “We should have done this when he was alive, he would have loved this.” “What?” Steve asked and added, “Cremated you?”

 

As I headed to bed that night, I thought to myself, “Regardless of whether I am buried or cremated, I do not want my nightstand looking like this when I die.” I picked up the glow-stick filled condom (Halloween party favor courtesy of Sleepless and Ice Cream Man) and threw it in the trash; the Slinky and game bell were returned to the game area. I then took another quick look around, made sure B.O.B. wasn’t out in the open (unlike BioMom, I don’t leave him out for everyone, including my parents, to see), and called it a night .