Category: blog

In preparation of the next daylight savings time, I have decided to not move my clocks back. It’s all about being prepared.

 

A few weeks ago, my power went out. It was out for several hours, during which time I lit my candle (yes, singular) and several tealights. I quickly learned that, although they provide great mood lighting, tealights are not very helpful during a power outage. My single lit candle, the wind blowing outside and Debbie Boone’s song, ‘You Light Up My Life,’ playing in my head, motivated me to pen a letter to a friend. If I had a dip pen and ink bottle (and a few more candles) I would have written to everyone. I later told Har about my letter writing experience and she replied, “He better hope your power goes out again soon or he won’t be getting another letter for some time, if ever.”

 

I decided to change these odds by purchasing more candles; hopefully, the dip pen and ink bottle are soon to follow. I also decided to read up on emergency preparedness. I went to the government site ‘Ready’ and the first heading I saw was, ‘Protect your family with a disaster plan.’ I immediately wanted to leave a comment, “Dear Government, my family is the disaster.” I read on and realized being prepared is a lot of work. According to this website, being prepared involves being informed, making a plan, and building a kit – that’s a lot for someone who is still trying to put together a parade kit. I have the best of intentions to be ready, and have a parade kit, but time just keeps ticking away and right now my focus is on candles.

 

Turns out, candles are tellers of time and have been since at least 520 AD (the HD is silent). Candle clocks were thin candles with markings that indicated how much time had passed based on how much of the candle had burned. Although candle clocks didn’t tick tock, putting a nail in the candle caused it to clatter on the platter once wax hit it – much like a timer. Like me, candles and daylight savings time are not compatible. You know what they say, once you burn wax you never go back. I’m sold. Candles provide light (mood and emergency), motivate me to write letters, allow one to ‘share their intentions’ for another, and are the number one cause for residential fires in America. Light it up!

Ah, it is finally here, S-Unit’s big day, 11-11-11. She has been waiting for this day for some time. In addition, she has been waiting some time for the man of her dreams. She and the man of her dreams (who she is still waiting to meet) were to be wed on this very special day. Being that this would have been a life changing event (not like the slumber party that Contestant #56 attended, but important still), S-Unit has been wishing at 1:11. 2:22, 3:33, 4:44, 5:55, and 11:11, and relying on the Magic 8 Ball for answers and direction. Has any of this helped her? Cannot predict now (shake, shake, shake), ask again later.

 

The Leaver is another person who believes 11-11-11 to be a special day. Although she doesn’t want to marry on this day, she has strong feelings about it, “I’m telling you, something’s not right. Things are very strange today. It’s because it is 11-11-11.” “Maybe,” I replied and asked, “What did you think about John?” John is an elderly gentlemen who The Leaver met at my favorite fast food corndog restaurant. She was intrigued by his passion for his religion so she got his number in case we ever wanted to interview him. After going to the library and liquor store – only to find that they were closed in honor of Veterans Day, we decided to interview John. John is extremely unique in his ways and was very excited that we wanted to interview him – he didn’t even wait for us to go to the door, rather, he met us at the car with his scriptures in hand. In answer to my question about John, The Leaver said, “11-11-11. Brings out the crazy.” “Pretty sure he is like that every hour of every day, regardless of how many ones there are in it,” I replied and added, “Plus, you met him long before today.”

 

I really don’t get the hype about 11-11-11. Which is no surprise, because I don’t get the hype about daylight savings time either. I still haven’t changed any of my clocks back. That said, technically, I experienced 11-11-11 an hour before everyone else and I have a feeling I’ve been on time to work much more than usual. Odd. I decided to Google ’11 11 11′ and the first site I visited had this introduction, ‘Welcome random search engine visitor.’ So 11-11-11 of them. It went on to discuss how my landing on that page could have been fate, chance, random power, predestination or something else. I’ll have to let Google they need to change their name to ‘Something Else.’

 

As I read on, I found that this whole day was serious business for many. This site had all kinds of astrological, historical, astronomical and gamblitical (gambling with an ‘itical’) information specific to this day.  In fact, they even conducted a metaphysics survey. Apparently, one of three things could happen on this day: something good, nothing or something bad. I reminisced about my day and realized all of those things happened at some point in the day. We had a delicious lunch, sat around doing nothing for about 30 minutes while waiting for a return call, and weren’t able to go to the library, liquor store or post office (three of my favorite activities). Good, nothing, bad. Do people rely too much on superstition and non-evidenced based information? I’m going to have to agree with the Magic 8 Ball on this one, signs point to yes.

 

 

 

 

 

While at dinner with Opreggano we were discussing what we call, ‘we’ve been meaning to tell you.’ “I have some concerns about telling people what I’ve been meaning to tell them,” I told her. Telling people how you feel is not always appreciated. We’ve all heard the phrase, ‘tell people how you feel before it’s too late.’ Once you do this, it is too late – too late to take it back. I have found that telling someone what I’ve been meaning to tell them often results in me not getting a raise, them avoiding me, not speaking with me ever again, or, even worse, they no longer read my blog. “I really don’t want to jeopardize my readership. I think I’m up to four and if I lose just one person that is one-quarter of my readers,” I advised Opreggano. “I read it all of the time and, when they’re good, I have Cream Of Tartar read them,” she replied. “When they’re good? So how often does he read them?” I asked. “He’s a lot like That’s Not Chinese, in that, he likes to read them when he is in them.” “Great,” I replied with little confidence.

 

This is my 585th entry. I did a search of those in which Cream Of Tartar is mentioned: 39. I’m screwed. “Look, don’t worry about it. I’ll have him read them more often. I like it when you pull out your bitch,” Opreggano told me and then raised her hand for a high bitch slap.

 

A few nights later, I was attending an award event for student veteran of the year at a nearby university. The award recipient was none other than Skirt Chaser. Passed The Sniff Test, Bitchin’ Camaro and I were completely irreverent. “I’m not sure we should sit together. There is a chance we’ll get in trouble,” I told them while assessing the seating situation and being reminded of the funeral I recently attended. “Even more reason to sit together,” Passed The Sniff Test replied. As we were reading about Skirt Chaser’s accomplishments, Passed The Sniff Test quipped, “They forgot to list Skirt Chaser as one of his titles.” We were perusing the food when we noticed a ‘Donated by’ sign. “I’m surprised Planned Parenthood didn’t donate the food,” I told them.  Then, when receiving his award, he was presented with a large (fake) check from a local bank. They advised him the check could be used for tuition, books and other miscellaneous supplies. “Condoms,” quipped Bitchin’ Camaro.

 

After the award ceremony, we all went to dinner and Passed The Sniff Test advised Skirt Chaser of our comments. “That’s right!” Skirt Chaser proudly replied and extended his arm for a fist bump. From here, the conversation turned to homelessness – how and why, I cannot recall. “The homeless people in D.C. are da bomb ’cause they’re gender biased,” Not A Skirt Chaser told us. “Gender biased? What do you mean?” Bitchin’ Camaro asked. “When a man walks by they’re all like, ‘Hey man, give me a dollar. Give me some money.’ When a women walks by they’re all, ‘Hey baby. Lookin’ good. Mmmm hmmm hmmm.I’d like to get me some of that. You want to come home with me?'” he told us, gestures and all. “Home? I think they mean to say, ‘You want to come homeless with me?'” I stated.

 

This brought up the topic of a campus groper. Apparently there is a man on campus who has been groping women. “Let’s go up there and do some vigilante justice,” Bitchin’ Camaro suggested. “I’m game,” I told her and added, “When we catch him we can say, ‘Cop Afeel of Vigilante Patrol. You’re under arrest.'” “I love it!” Bitchin’ Camaro. “You should really consider changing your last name to Afeel,” I advised her. “Yes, you should. Then when people recognize you (as a reporter did earlier this evening), instead of saying, ‘Lieutenant, right?,’ they can say, ‘Cop Afeel?'” Passed The Sniff Test exclaimed. Recognize.

 

 

A good portion of my friends enjoy ‘checking in’ at various locations online. Being that I check out more than I check in, I’m not a big user of this feature. While with S-Unit this weekend, however, she asked me to check us in at a famous eatery. I did so and a few hours later, when we were talking about the eatery, she said, “I was just thinking I should foursquare myself in the shower.” “If you do, don’t forget to include the caulk,” I advised her. “Oh, I won’t,” she said while still giggling about her comment.

 

Contestant #56, also a giggler, shares the same birth month as S-Unit, so I phoned her to wish her a happy one. “Are you doing anything fun?” I asked. She giggled and replied, “I’m at a slumber party.” “A slumber party? Good for you. That’s a great way to spend your birthday. Have you played pass the dildo yet?” More giggles, “No.” “Well, you should definitely buy something. Maybe they’ll give you a party favor since it’s your birthday. Something nice, like the floor model vibrator,” I said. “I don’t know if I want that,” she told me, sans giggle. “Right. The last thing you want is a STD from a vibrator. Just buy some of those sex toys cleaning products,” I advised. The giggles were back, “Ew. Maybe I’ll splurge for something new.” “You should – it will be a life changing event. Actually, it will be a sex life changing event.”

 

 

One benefit and disadvantage to traveling is hearing other people’s conversations. After spending more than two hours on the plane this last weekend, one of the passengers behind me decided to share a little gem with her male friend and everyone else within earshot, “I think it is your breath that I can smell.” “Sorry,” he replied and added, “I should have ordered a beer when I had the chance.” “I have some gum if you want it. I mean, I’m not saying you need it,” she replied. She then turned to her other male companion, and said, “Do you want some?” “Do I need some?” he asked. “Oh, no. I would tell you if you did,” she replied. I’m pretty sure she just did.

 

Once the plane finally landed and it was making it’s way to the terminal, the same passengers began bidding on rental cars. The girl, again, piped up, “Come on William Shapner! That’s his name, right? William?” William, right. Shapner, wrong. Maybe she could negotiate a rental rate and name change with Shapner after she asks him if he’d like some gum.

 

Once I returned from this adventure, I headed South for a funeral. Being that my flight arrived rather late, and I was driving, I wouldn’t be checking into the hotel until around five in the morning. When I booked the hotel, I opted against relying on William and phoned the hotel directly for a reservation. This proved to be fruitful as they gave me a rate that was half of what was advertised on their website. When I told them I would be a very late arrival, they replied, “No problem.”

 

When I arrived, I found it was no problem at all. The door to the lobby was locked and there was a sign taped to the door, for all to see. The sign had my name in bold and the following message: “Your room number 202 is located in the one-story building at the back of the parking lot. The key is in the door.” Sure enough, the key was hanging in the door. “It’s a good thing I don’t live around here,” I told MC Static Cling. “I would be entering people’s rooms like nobody’s business.” “Maybe someone has entered your room,” he replied. “Good point. Didn’t even think of that. That could be awkward because he or she will know my name, but I won’t know their name,” I replied. “Names will probably be the least awkward part of that encounter,” he quipped.

 

 

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to experience any turbulence on my flight to LA, as hoped. Instead, I experienced maintenance and mechanical problems which resulted in a major delay. In the pilot’s attempt to make up for these shortcomings, we had a relatively quick ride with a rough landing. Sound familiar?

 

Fortunately, Manila Gorilla is a patient man and was waiting for me at the airport. As we were making our way to S-Unit’s birthday party he apologized to me, “Sorry for driving like an Asian.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “Braking a lot, driving really slow,” he replied as he applied the brakes to change lanes. I cut him some slack because he waited for me at the airport and he is Asian.

 

Even with the Asian braking, we arrived at the club in time for me to throw on some sunglasses, wrap my scarf around my head and don my mustache. Our only concern was surprising S-Unit. The first person surprised, however, was me when the bouncer stopped me and said, “Wait a second, I need to see that you are older than 21. Show me your 22 eyes.” I pulled my glasses down just so, gave him the bouncer bat, and continued to the party room.

 

As we ordered drinks, I opted to stick with theme drinks and ordered a ‘Don’t Touch My Mustache.’ Apparently, this is a drink often enjoyed by Americans, stationed at air bases in Japan, who have difficulty saying ‘Do Itashimashite,’ which is Japanese for ‘You’re welcome.’ How it became a drink, I do not know, but I’ll have another doozo – that’s Japanese for ‘please,’ however, it sounds like a good drink, maybe that is how it happened.

 

The few people at the bar were friendly and didn’t question my accessories. The mustache wasn’t too out of the ordinary, as it was the party theme. The scarf, sunglasses and bling ring – forgot to mention that earlier, I was wearing a $ sign bling ring that I planned to give to S-Unit as a birthday present – also seemed to be kosher. A few sips into my Don’t Touch My Mustache and I realized I was not going to be drinking too much because it was virtually impossible to do so without touching my mustache. Not wanting to ruin my disguise, I grabbed a straw and sipped my drink until S-Unit arrived.

 

A few minutes later, I had mastered the surprise and ditched my disguise – S-Unit was totally elated and surprised. “I told you she was going to,” then Manila Gorilla made a face and finished the sentence, “in her pants.” “I’m so excited, I just can’t hide it,” S-Unit replied. “There’s a song for that,” I advised. “I know. I’m about to have a drink and I think I like it,” she replied. Ah, S-Unit, always one to make the song fit her meaning.

 

As S-Unit was introducing me to others in the room, she would tell them that I flew in to surprise her. “Oh that explains the burqa,” one guest replied. A few minutes later, another replied, “Hence the ‘situation,’ you had going on earlier.” I’m not entirely sure what that meant, but our reply was ‘yes.’

 

As the party continued, more and more guests were donning mustaches and the locations in which they were placing them were getting progressively more risque. Thus, once again, the phrase, ‘Don’t touch my mustache,” came in handy for many.

Since I wasn’t flying to S-Unit’s wedding on 11-11-11 (currently postponed until 12-12-12), I made a last minute decision to surprise her by flying out to her birthday party. As I packed my bag I realized I only had about 30 minutes before I needed to leave to the airport and hadn’t planned transportation. I sent a text to That’s Not Chinese (one of my regular ‘airport shuttles’) and, twenty minutes later when she hadn’t replied, I rang her. She informed me that she and Dr. BJ were just ‘hanging out.’ I’m no amateur, so I posed a simple and important question, “Are you too drunk to drive me to the airport in five minutes?” Luckily, I caught them at the early stage of the ‘hang out,’ and they were at my house within ten minutes.

 

“Where’s your bag?” That’s Not Chinese asked. “Right there,” I said and pointed to a small black tote – this small reality will be hard for most of my traveling companions to believe, I am the queen of the big, overpacked luggage. Dr. BJ, my regular driver last year when I was ‘dating JB,’ was shocked, “Where are you going and for how long?” “Los Angeles. One night,” I replied. “Oh, and here’s my payment, upfront,” I said and handed them a bottle of wine. Although I didn’t promise wine for payment, this gesture should guarantee me future last minute rides from the two of them.

 

As we approached the terminal Dr. BJ was shocked, yet again, “You’re flying with JB? You haven’t been with him for at least a year.” “I know, I know,” I replied and added, “You know how it goes in a relationship. You’re really hot and heavy, for like a month, and then you end it. One year later, circumstances bring you together again, you’re familiar with their quirks and, well, you know.” “Enjoy that ride,” Dr. BJ advised me. “Thanks. I’m hoping for a little turbulence – just to keep it exciting,” I replied as I exited the car, tote (carrying everything I would need to disguise and surprise) on my shoulder, and let the adventure begin.

 

 

While at a Wonderful Women and Wine Party, hosted my the amazing Bruiser, I was reunited with some major blasts from my pasts. One woman used to hang out with Mini Sparkle Donut and I at a college house, of sorts, where Mini Sparkle Donut and I would regularly hosts parties. We were underage entrepreneurs, so we didn’t drink, we were merely event planners and bartenders. “You make amazing jungle juice,” the woman reminded me. “Thank you. That’s what got me pregnant,” I told her. “Really?” she asked. “Well, yes, that and dancing,” I replied. FatGirl can say what he may, but jungle juice jiggling jugs once caught the eye of many a man on the dance floor/front room of the party house.

 

I recognized another woman from the time I was with the one guy I married that one time I got married – she did my make-up for my portraits and the day of the wedding. I asked about her husband at the time, “Oh, I’m not with him anymore. He was kind of like a starter husband.” “Right. Well, as you know, I’ve had one of those. Actually, I went from a condo to a trailer. Now I’ve got a house. Sugar self,” I replied.

 

Several of the women started talking about past relationships – some had actually happened, others were Prime Rib style – in their mind only. “Wow, didn’t mean to be a Donny Downer,” one of the women said. “Don’t you mean Debbie Downer?” I asked. “Do I? Huh, I don’t know. I’ve never been good with names,” she replied.

 

I’ve been spending a bit of time on the road lately; most of this time has been spent by myself. To make the most of this experience, I equip my car with my version of an iPod – a bag of CDs from the library, a microphone, chili lime plantain chips, and my camera.

 

Several hundred miles into my road trip, I started thinking about how much easier it would be to chat with others and share my travel experiences if I had a dash cam. Cops have them, why can’t I? So, I took my point & shoot camera, used the safety strap to hang it from my rearview mirror, and began filming. There are various film techniques commonly used in the field of cinematography. These techniques include, but are not limited to, fly on the wall (one of my favorites), reverse angle, and swish pan. As I set up my shot, I decided this was a new technique which I now refer to as sideways sway. This it because the only way I could hang my camera was sideways and because it was hanging it regularly swayed from side-to-side.

 

The footage I got was incredible. Definitely film fest worthy. I got home and immediately uploaded it to youtube. As I shared this new technique with MissInformation, she informed me, “You really need to set up a website dedicated to this incredible film work. How about dash.com?” “Nope, it’s taken. It’s a soap company,” I informed her. One would think she would know that with a name like MissInformation. “I’ve got it,” she excitedly told me, “hypencuzdashistaken. It’s perfect!”

At the last minute, I was invited to attend a Tesla concert. As most know, I have a hard time saying ‘no,’ so my only question about the event was this, “Are we dressing up?” Luckily, I was going with the right people and we would all be looking glambandourous. I remembered Tesla being part of the late eighties music scene, but couldn’t exactly recall their ‘look.’ So, like all good artists, I researched my role.

 

Unlike many of of the heavy metal glam bands in the eighties, Tesla wasn’t and isn’t into make-up and tight LYCRA® or leather pants. They were and are, however, into jeans, t-shirts and hair. Tesla girls, similar to the girls featured in the OMD video, had big hair, wore tight-fitting shirts, skirts and were really good flirts. With this research in mind, I opted for a mini skirt, tank top, leather jacket, over-the-knee boots, a fauxhawk and planned to bat my make-up enhanced eyes like nobody’s business.

 

I arrived to find an ambulance and fire engine in front of the concert venue. “Shit,” I told Mini Sprinkle Donut, “I have a feeling they may be here for one of the band members.” “They are pretty old,” she replied. Luckily, that was not the case, and I walked into the venue to find the band on stage, sitting – this is their standard practice and a good way to avoid being whisked away in an ambulance.

 

I found One And Done and Returned Wranglers in a crowd of fans dressed to a Tesla ‘tee’ in t-shirts and jeans. As they were singing with the band, one of the extremely excited fans turned to us and said, “I think I may have filled my diaper.” Gross. Checking one’s pants to make sure they are appropriate for an event is one thing, checking them because you may have filled them is quite another.

 

The concert continued, One And Done and I continued to pretend to know the words to the songs, and Returned Wranglers continued to tell us, “I love these guys!” As they were chair dancing, singing ‘Signs,’ and sounding really great, I concert-whispered to One And Done, “I’m surprised they’re covering another band’s song.” “I know, right?” Turns out the reason they sounded so great is they were, in fact, singing their own song. I guess next time I should spend less time ‘checking pants’ and a little more time researching the band’s songs. Or, I can just stay in Paradise, Caught in a Dream about Little Suzi, take a little Edison’s Medicine and Hang Tough while waiting for a Modern Day Cowboy, Thank You.