Category: blog

I’m not always the sharpest tool in the shed. The other day, while discussing very important issues with my boss, he told me he won ‘Garage of the Year.’ “Really? How does one do that?” I asked. “I’m not sure, but I won. I mean, we designed it to match the house. The gables match perfectly,” he replied. “OK, but I still don’t understand what makes your garage stand out from the rest,” I told him. As I relayed this exchange to MyFace she looked at me with the look she often gives me and asked, “Are you trying to get fired? Just tell him ‘congratulations,’ and get outta there.”

 

A few weeks later, I was in his office for a meeting with some head honchos from another department. We were discussing the Theory of Constraints, introduced by the late Eliyahu M. Goldratt. My boss had read his book, The Goal, twice, and then loaned it to a coworker to read. The coworker had it in front of him during the meeting. “Did you read the book?” one of the top head honchos asked me. “Oh, yes, twice,” I quickly replied. “Really?” he asked. “No, not really, but he did,” I said pointing to my boss and adding, “I haven’t read it all. I did, however, place a hold on the book at the library.” This was also not true.

 

A few hours later, the office had a little potluck luncheon and there was a ton of leftover food. “I can’t believe how much food there is,” my boss observed, “Like loaves and fishes it grows and grows.” “Is that Dr. Suess?” I asked. He looked at me with an ‘are you serious’ expression, laughed and replied, “That’s the bible.” “Oh, yes, the bible. Another book I’ve not read once or twice,” I replied.

 

As I shared this story with MyFace, she shook her head and said, “Seriously, you are lucky to have a job.” “I didn’t know that was the bible,” I said in defense. “How am I supposed to know? It rhymed, just like green eggs and ham with Sam.” Seriously, though. How am I supposed to know? Green eggs and fishes, I’m outta here bitches.

While dining with MyFace, Opreggano, Sleepless and Ice Cream Man, MyFace shared stories with us about her recent trip to Italy. “It was truly lovely, but I do not want to go on another trip, anytime soon, where I have to work and learn to do things.” “What kind of work did you have to do?” Sleepless asked. “I had to figure out how to put gas in the car for one thing,” she replied. “It’s much easier to just sit at a beach, reading a book, and having people bring you drinks,” Opreggano consoled.

 

MyFace continued to tell us about her trip and mentioned she needs to change her book choices. “What do you read?” I asked. “Books about terrorism, serial murders and that,” she replied. “Yes, you should really change your selection,” Sleepless agreed. MyFace was reading a book about terrorism on the plane when the passenger next to her – a man with dreadlocks and facial hair – got up to go to the bathroom. “We hadn’t even taken off, so I was sure he was planting a bomb in the bathroom. He returned and about 30 minutes later he went to another bathroom on the plane. I thought to myself, ‘Yep, this is it, we’re dying on the plane.’ I hadn’t even had a drink yet. He returned again and, a little while later, jumped out of his seat, ran down the aisle and hit the ground.”

 

“What happened next?” we all asked. “Well, as it turns out, he was a doctor and had noticed a woman who had stood up and was about to pass out, so he jumped up and helped her. It was then I realized I needed to change books. I set my book down and watched Mr. Popper’s Penguins. From now on, Harlequin romances.” “What happened to the lady?” I asked. “I don’t know. I was worried they were going to make us stop in JFK because of all that. Luckily, they didn’t.”

 

“You just went from ‘this guy is a terrorist,’ to ‘we’re all going to die,’ to ‘ I hadn’t had a drink,’ to ‘he helped a lady,’ to ‘this flight better not get delayed by a stop at JFK,'” Ice Cream Man observed. “That’s right. Welcome to girls night out,” MyFace replied.

 

“Oh, I’m loving it. This Halloween girls night out has been both a trick and a treat,” he stated.

 

 

Halloween is a lot like Christmas in that some people celebrate it, some don’t, some start ‘celebrating’ long before the holiday, and some only celebrate on the actual day. I pretty much celebrate dressing up all of the time – if that means I celebrate Halloween all of the time, well, so be it.

 

The other day, S-Unit asked me, “Is Halloween the day you take off? You know, since you dress up everyday?” Perhaps. Luckily, I have plenty of costumes to get me through the other 364 days of the year. As a result, a lot of people end up wanting to come over, assess and borrow. Like I told Opreggano, “This time of year, my box gets a lot of activity.” “I’ve no doubt,” she replied. It’s true. In the past three days, at least six people have been in my box and several others have requested to do so.

 

When I decided, at the last minute, to actually celebrate Halloween, it was no surprise that a few people needed a costume – ‘loose translation,’ more people in my box. As soon as ROFL arrived, he was wearing the same thing he wore last year – his casual Friday attire with a camera around his neck. “Are you a photographer again?” I asked. “Yes and no. May I borrow a costume?” he replied. “She’s got plenty in her box to choose from,” Sleepless advised and added, “But you might want to hit it quick before someone else beats you to it.”

 

I had asked everyone to bring a drink and appetizer to share, so Sleepless and Ice Cream Man showed up with multiple boxes of chicken McNuggets and a McRib. “People love these,” Ice Cream Man advised me as he pulled my scissors off the wall to cut up the McRib so everyone could try it. “We brought an array of sauces,” Sleepless proudly announced and added, “That’s what he said.” They were right, they were a McHit.

 

Bitchin’ Camaro soon arrived with Passed The Sniff  Test. It was very obvious that she was Diana Prince (Wonder Woman), “I channeled my inner you and made this (her costume) today.” “Proper impressed,” I advised her and then asked Passed The Sniff Test, “Who are you?” He didn’t say a word, just lifted his sweater, tie and dress shirt to reveal a ‘S’ emblem underneath. “Very, very clever Clark,” I told him. Like Clark, he humbly nodded and grabbed a beer while we all drank the kryptonite.

 

A few cups of kryptonite (aka, Bitches Brew) later, Passed The Sniff Test pulled a Clark Kent and disappeared for the rest of the evening – sans phone booth. Around that time, Dr. BJ arrived in full football attire – football and all. “Did you just steal that football from some little kid in your neighborhood?” Opreggano asked him. Instead of answering, he reached into his bag, pulled out his patent leather black heels, and said, “I’ve got to get my heels on.”

 

Dr. BJ and his tight end quickly became the hit of the party with everyone making comments and wanting to throw him a pass. “Your butt looks really good in those pants,” Sleepless told him. “It’s the heels,” he replied. Always a curious gent, Ice Cream Man asked if he could try them out – it seemed fitting since Ice Cream Man was wearing a bowtie, one ripped up rubber glove, a t-shirt inviting people to see his van, clown nose, knee pads, and had a lollipop and a condom packed with glow sticks in his pockets.  Puss in Boots may be a box office hit, but pictures of Dr. BJ and Ice Cream Man in Heels are sure to be a hit at the office.

 

Once everyone went home, I decided to hit the sheets. As most know, sleeping in my bed is not a common occurrence for me. Not because I’m getting busy instead of sleeping, rather, I just don’t always make it there – the CO chair puts me to sleep on a regular basis. This night, however, I actually made it to my bed, pulled back the sheets, and found a total party foul. Some angry clown had left behind his condom – stuffed with glow sticks and ‘wrapped’ with a red clown nose. Another reminder that this shit wasn’t getting hit. Somehow, despite that fact, my box remains a regular office (and party) hit.

 

I love dressing up. So, as I was bringing in groceries and assessing my need to perform yard work, I decided to throw on some overalls from my costume box and mow the lawn. I headed to the basement and didn’t turn on the light because I know my way in the dark. As I approached the back bedroom, I heard a bell jingling. I turned on the light to find Fuckin’ Cat running out of the bedroom, up the stairs and out the back door (which I like to leave ajar occasionally).

 

The nerve of this cat, seriously. This is the second time I have been burgled by him. He has an uncanny ability to access my premises without warning or detection. Strangely, his jingling bell always gives him up as he is on his way out the door. With the exception of the paw prints he regularly leaves while sliding down the windshield and hood of my car (no doubt running from another crime scene), he doesn’t leave any evidence of his presence inside the house. He does, however, like to leave fecal matter on my lawn. Like I said, his name is Fuckin’ Cat. I’m not sure what his owners call him, because I haven’t gotten close enough to see his collar, but I think this name is fitting.

 

After having my privacy violated by this felonious feline, Opreggano and I decided to crash the tailgate party at the local university. We arrived to find prime parking near the bus stop and after several minutes debating whether or not it was a good idea to park there, we decided if we got a ticket it would go to a good cause – our city. As we walked around the tailgate party we weren’t having any luck finding people who would share their food, drinks or private toilets with us. We started calling out names, as if we knew people, “Vanessa,” “Xander,” etc. We felt using uncommon names, preferably those that start with letters from the lower region of the alphabet, might sound more legit. As legit as it sounded, it didn’t work.

 

Fortunately, we ran into a few people we knew who were generous with their beverages (obviously more beneficial for me than for Opreggano). We soon ran into It’s The Eyes who was two large Vegas style drinks in and really needed to use a toilet. “Me too. I saw some porta potties over there,” I told her. “Perfect, let’s go,” It’s The Eyes replied. “Gross. Do you know how many diseases are on those toilet seats?” her friend asked. “Can’t be more the few guys you’ve been with have had,” It’s The Eyes quipped. “Yep, she’s drunk. She’ll be crashing soon,” Opreggano advised me. Being that we were not successful in burgling a private party tailgate toilet, we ended up using the portas.

 

As we walked away It’s The Eyes was telling us about a bit of a burgle at a bachelor party, “I kissed the bachelor.” “You what?!?!” Opreggano asked. “I kissed the bachelor, but it’s not my bad, it’s his. I’m not the one in a relationship or getting married,” It’s The Eyes defended her action. “You made out with him,” her friend interjected. “Did not make out. Kissed, totally different. Kissing is French kissing and making out involves groping,” It’s The Eyes corrected her. “Groping would definitely constitute a form of violation,” I agreed. A few maintenance workers were driving by and overheard the conversation. “French kissing is making out. You made out with him,” they told It’s The Eyes. “No way. It did not involve groping,” It’s The Eyes stood firm with her defense. She may have burgled the bachelor, but he robbed her of a proper make out.

 

 

 

While speaking with S-Unit on the phone, night was falling. “Wait a second, I’ve got to make a wish, it’s a crescent moon. You’ve got to make one too, this crescent moon isn’t just in California,” she advised me. Her excitement about the crescent moon reminded me of my coworkers excitement the other day when we were drinking Tecate and watching Ancient Aliens on the History channel. Each time the announcer would segway into a new discovery, my coworker would say, “Hold on to your ass, this is about to get crazy.” For some, perhaps astronomical, reason, her excitement about the moon reminded me of my coworker’s excitement about the aliens.

 

“Did you make a wish?” she asked me. “Yes,” I replied. We then went on to discuss a dream her mother had. “I really liked the dream,” she told me. “In it, the Virgin Mary told my mother I would be married. Maybe I’ll meet my dream guy on 11-11-11.” “That would be good. Then you could marry him on 12-12-12,” I replied. S-Unit had originally set a goal of being married on 11-11-11. It was good to have a goal, unfortunately, she didn’t and still doesn’t have a ‘steady.’

 

“What are you doing tonight?” I asked her. “I’ve got a date with my DVR,” she replied. “Maybe you should change your status on facebook to ‘in a relationship with myself,'” I told her. “Good idea. You should try it too,”she told me.

 

So I did, again. I’d tried it once a while back and it didn’t work, but I had wished upon a crescent moon tonight, thus, circumstances were slightly different. While donning a cape and top hat I had just purchased, I clicked on ‘edit profile’ and attempted to be in a relationship with me. I selected ‘Save Changes,’ and received the message, ‘You cannot create a relationship with yourself.’ “Hmm,” I thought to myself. Just then, MiniMe and Striker appeared at the front door. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Oh, nothing,” I replied. Even though facebook didn’t allow it, clearly, I was sitting at home, by myself, donning a cape and top hat, being in a relationship with myself. Eric Carmen would not know what to do with all of this.

Last night, I went to Thriller. It was performed at an outdoor theater and the temperature, coupled with the breeze, made it more like Chiller. Watching the company dancing and singing made me want to do the same. So, on my road trip home the next day, I did just that.

 

Being that I was driving, I didn’t fully dance, I just chair danced. We all have plenty of friends who do this at clubs. They never get up on the dance floor, rather, just move their upper body while seated. It’s a very common and, according to them, hip thing to do. Thus, I was driving, dancing and singing, when I decided it would be nice to be able to video chat with people while driving. Kind of like Google+, where you’re not really talking to the people, but they can see you, so it feels like you’re not alone.

 

Much like someone on a deserted island who must make due with the existing and limited elements at hand, I opted to turn my point and shoot camera into a dash cam. I did this by switching the mode to video and hanging it from the rear-view mirror – safety straps are so helpful. What happened after that was magical. I created a series of how-to road trip videos that will most likely result in my ability to quit my day job. Viewers will be able to make their own dash cam; stay fit through kegeling; enjoy a little caraoke; and, most importantly, they will know better than to make the age-old mistake of phoning an ex while on a long drive. Pure genius.

Emergency preparedness is extremely important. Just the other day, a presenter was encouraging us to be ready for a disaster. “As you’re packing up your ‘ready kit,’ just imagine you’re going camping.” “So all I need is a sleeping bag, alcohol and condoms?” I asked The Responsible One and added, “I’m ready.” “Condoms? I’m not sure where you go camping,” The Responsible One replied. “That makes two of us,” I stated.

 

After the presentation, Prime Rob approached us, “I am so sorry about last night – it was a bit of my own natural disaster. I feel horrible.” “Why are you sorry? Nothing happened,” I told him. “I’m not sure. I just feel like I should be,” he told us. Nothing like a little morning after regret, although, we couldn’t remember any reason why he would be apologizing. “Maybe what I’m thinking about just went on in my head,” he advised me.

 

“Most likely,” I agreed and added, “I don’t have any regrets.” “That’s probably because I stopped you from eating popcorn off the hotel floor. I’m pretty sure you would have regretted that,” The Responsible One advised me. “To be fair, I was sitting on the floor,” I attempted to defend my near regrettable act. “Just because you’re sitting on the floor doesn’t mean you should eat off of the floor,” she stated. “Right, well, you are The Responsible One,” I said. “Are you?” Prime Rib asked her.

 

That thought may have been better left in his head – with the thoughts from the night prior.

 

You know the Tony Bennett song about San Francisco? Well, I’ve never left my heart in San Francisco, but I’m pretty sure I left my liver in Manhattan.

 

That said, when I returned from vacation I hadn’t planned to drink anytime soon. While at dinner with coworkers at a conference, I stuck with water – a little hydration every now and again is good. After dinner, Prime Rib suggested swimming at his hotel. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” I advised him. “Run on down to Kmart and pick one up. They’re on sale right now,” he advised me.

 

Being that it was later in the evening and I really didn’t prefer to swim, I opted against a softline purchase from Kmart. He managed to get a suite – equipped with a refrigerator, dishwasher, microwave, dishes, the works – and was taking full advantage of the amenities. “Sorry it smells like popcorn. I’ve been popping,” he said as he opened the fridge that was stocked with diet Pepsi.

 

With the whisky in a brown paper bag, glassware, ice bucket and liter of diet Pepsi in hand, we headed to the pool. He poured the drinks and I took a quick sip. “Do you not like it?” he asked. “What? No, no, I do. I just haven’t had whisky and Pepsi since the 80s,” I told him. “You just made a strange face,” he said. “Yeah, that’s my weakness,” I replied. Like ImPalin, I have a tendency to exercise minimum voice, maximum face.

 

One or two drinks in, I received a text from The Responsible One and invited her to join us. Within seconds she was poolside and Prime Rib had grabbed her a glass and a freshly popped bag of popcorn. I was definitely getting used to the full-service environments I had been experiencing the last few days. “Whisky and diet Pepsi?” he asked her. “Of course, whisky is my favorite,” she replied. As he poured it from the brown bag, The Responsible One’s curiosity was peaked, so she asked, “What kind of whisky is it?” “Black Velvet. You know the song,” Prime Rib replied. “Is it good?” she asked. “It’s Black Velvet,” he quipped. “You should be in marketing,” she advised. He replied, “My one regret is that I don’t have a law degree, but i don’t regret not practicing law.” “I bet there is a song for that too,” I said with my mouth and, most likely, with my face as well.

 

As we continued to chat, Prime Rib had an epiphany that was probably more of a drunkiphany, “You two are like Betty and Veronica from Archie, but Betty is nice.” We weren’t quite sure how to take this, so we just said, “Thank you Reggie.” This seemed truly fitting since Prime Rib specializes in journalistic activities.

 

“I’m guessing you think I’m Betty,” The Responsible One said and added, “Makes sense. I have people skills.” “I’ve got Nunchuck skills,” Prime Rib replied. “So Reggie of you,” I told him in my best Veronica. “Speaking of skills, I’ve got to pee,” I told them and headed to the nearest palm tree. You know the song and I was doing the dance. TLC, right? Ain’t too proud to waterfall. S-Unit would know. She knows all the songs.

HObama and ImPalin are no longing selling condoms. “The cops were getting thick and busting people like crazy. It’s too bad, because I was making a ton of money,” HObama told me. Funny that those whose job is to “protect and serve” are opposed to protection. This was a bit of a disappointment because we loved seeing them on Times Square and helping them sell. Luckily, they agreed to spend some time with us outside of condom selling.

 

They have a fabulous collection of videos on youtube and we were commenting on their great ability. “I really enjoy your pics,” Yumm Yummy told ImPalin. “I love your facial expressions in Occupy,” I advised him. “Yes, that was a new thing I’m doing. Minimum vocal, maximum face,” he told us. “Very clever,” I replied.

 

“What are you drinking?” Yumm Yummy asked him. “Scotch.” She gave the ‘minimum vocal, maximum face’ a go and, while saying nothing, said a great deal with her facial expression. “Makes you feel like a man,” ImPalin told us and added, “Smoky, muddy and bloody. I like to refer to it as testosterone in a bottle.”

 

If scotch is testosterone in a bottle, does that make wine estrogen in a glass? If you think about it, the descriptions on the label are very female oriented, “full-bodied, ageworthy and smooth.”

Last week, a married conference participant asked me where he and his buddy should hang out during the evenings. I asked what they enjoyed doing and he told me, “drinking beers, talking to girls.” I provided a sarcastic option, then told them I was kidding and gave other legitimate options. A few days later, he was talking with me at a group event and told me if I hadn’t been rude and automatically identified him as a ‘pig,’ he might have hung out with me during the rest of the conference. It’s hard to believe I missed out on that opportunity. Being that I was in charge of the event, I didn’t disrespect him (again) and continued to let him tell me – the single, unmarried, non-cheating girl – about my problems. Summed up, he said I shouldn’t be so mean to people in the early stages because that makes them think I’m an asshole. Being a good, submissive robot woman, I thanked him. “That was really helpful, thank you. I’ve joked that I should preface most of my interactions with ‘Let me preface this with I’m an asshole,’ but it is nice to know the preface isn’t necessary.”

 

While in the Living Room at ‘my hotel,’ I opted to stick to dancing and avoid any discussion with other individuals in the bar. This turned out to be fruitful for me in that it resulted in me making $3 and having a man give me his room key. The next morning, and by ‘morning,’ I mean afternoon, Yumm Yummy and I were shopping at a street vendor when a man approached me while looking at his phone and said, “I just wanted to see if this was you.” He turned his phone toward Yumm Yummy and I and showed us several photos of me dancing with his friend. Pretty soon, his friends were by his side. “It is you.” “Wow! That’s crazy that you would find us in a city this big,” Yumm Yummy stated. “I gave you my room key,” the friend said smiling. “You did. Room 111o. I’ve still got it,” I advised him and added, “See you soon.” Yumm Yummy and I then walked away in disbelief. “How is that possible in a city this size?” A few seconds later, she saw her boss – who also happened to be visiting New York for the weekend. “How is that possible?!?!” I asked.

 

That night, Four Mojitos In was two glasses of wine in and out for the night, so she stayed in while Yumm Yummy and I went out on the town again. We met up with HObama and ImPalin and, while enjoying drinks with them at a small bar, one of the patrons began speaking with me. I had no interest in speaking with him, however, was doing my best to be polite. He asked for my number and I gave him my actual number – no Jenny business – not something I would normally do. He then said, “You seem pretty cool, even though you’re an asshole.” “I’m sorry, what?” I asked. “You. You’re cool and everything, but you’re also kind of an asshole.” “Wow,” I said and shared this exchange with Yumm Yummy. “Tell him to go fuck himself,” she advised. “See, that was asshole of you. Telling your friend I said that,” he replied. “Right. So, here’s the thing,” I told him. “Because I am an asshole, I am going to end this conversation with you and continue hanging out with my friends, which is what I was doing before you so rudely interrupted, only to call me an asshole. Now who’s the asshole?”