GrigioGirl

Last week The Leaver disclosed the fact that I Was A Stripper speaks French in her sleep. I Was A Stripper had no knowledge of such thing. This tends to be the case for most people and most activities that occur when they’re sleeping. This could be advantageous for I Was A Stripper because she has been thinking of working as a flight attendant. As someone with bilingual somniloquy (fancy way to say ‘sleeptalking’) skills, she will be a great asset to the French airlines.

The few times I have slept at Bruiser’s I’ve wondered what might really be going on with me while my body is supposed to be going through a restorative and adaptive process. “You snore a little. It’s cute. Just a little snore,” Bruiser has advised me. To my knowledge, the only time I snore is when I’m congested and, now, when with Bruiser. Sleep apnea, aka, snoring, is not necessarily cute, rather, it can be a very slow and loud death.

This most recent overnighter at Bruiser’s, I went to bed with an upset stomach. When I finally fell asleep, I apparently went to a place that most adults only go to 20% of the time that they are sleeping. I went to rapid-eye-movement (REM)/dream sleep. The portion of my dream that I remember was about flatulence and the fact that my farts were so quiet and stench free that nobody ever knew when I released them. When I woke from this dream I couldn’t help but wonder, “Have I been farting in my sleep?” I checked with On My Terms, my roommate, and she advised me I had not. Luckily, our muscles our inactive when we sleep, preventing us from acting out our dreams. Phew – for me and for her.

Relieved (yet, not relieved) by this news, I put my head under the covers and joined millions of Adult Americans who are doing the same thing – sleeping 1/3 of their lives away. As a wise man once said, “If people were meant to pop out of bed, we’d all sleep in toasters.”

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A while back Sleepless shared a story with me about a time at Ice Cream Man’s cabin. The cabin is equipped with many modern amenities, such as flat screen TVs, heated floors, cable and, my favorite, a Video Cassette Recorder – more commonly known as a VCR.

One evening at the cabin, Little Sleep decided to enjoy a video home system (VHS). Afterwards, she asked Ice Cream Man to ‘fast rewind,’ the tape. Even with a 2-way VHS cassette rewinder, one cannot really fast rewind a VHS. Turns out, the same/reverse is true for DVD.

While watching a movie with Bruiser and her family, there were a few scenes that weren’t appropriate for kids. Thus, Bruiser’s husband would fast forward through the DVD. The first time he did this, we all quickly watched what would have been better for their son to hear and not see.

Being that I had already seen the film and the ineffectiveness of the DVD fast forward, when another inappropriate scene was about to start I made a suggestion, “You may want to ‘stop and play’ on this one; instead of just quickly showing all of us what we didn’t want him to see. One more reason I love the VHS. If I don’t want someone to see something I just fast forward or fast rewind and all they get to see is black lines across the screens. Beautiful black lines. Oh well, just keep fast forwarding and, later, when he’s asleep, we can fast rewind.”

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I’ve been doing karaoke for so long and so often that I often wonder if, in fact, I may be Asian. I will definitely have to check with That’s Not Chinese. It isn’t that she is into genealogy, she really only cares about ‘blood’ when she is at a family reunion and sees a hot, new attendee, who may or may not be related. Being that she isn’t from Kentucky, she likes to steer clear of kissing her cousins or any other relatives for that matter. She is, however, a self-claimed expert on all things Chinese. In addition, she is a cat expert and activist, so having her present when Bruiser’s husband commented to On My Terms about my singing may have been helpful, “Somebody needs to shoot that cat.” Me-ouch.

As we discussed Bruiser’s husband’s comment over coffee, On My Terms tried to play it down and convince me he was referring to La La Lovely. “No, I meant her,” he said with confirmation while nodding my way. His friend started talking and we all stopped what we were doing to hear what he had to say. He had a great voice. I’m sure he had heard it before, but I had to say something, “You’ve got a great radio voice. Have you ever thought about doing radio or just calling in with questions?” Turns out he hadn’t, but he does like cats.

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The cabin in which we celebrated Bruiser’s husband’s birthday was more like a 4-story mansion and was very posh. Due to the rather remote location (our vehicle couldn’t make it up the hill, so we required a ‘pick-up’….maybe that is why they call them ‘pick-up trucks’), we were invited to spend the night. Assuming it would be a small log unit with wooden floors and, based on our experiential learning, we thought we would be ‘roughing it,’ so we each brought a sleeping bag and On My Terms brought a blow-up mattress.

Once we finally made it inside, Bruiser asked if we minded sleeping in the theater room, in the basement. We didn’t mind and took our belongings downstairs to find we had a ‘private’ bathroom and the best seats/floor in the house should we choose to watch the very fitting movie On My Terms brought, The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Very cozy and comfort, indeed.

We decided it might be best to set up the air mattress prior to imbibing and we were quite surprised to see how much the mattress was like my aunt, very easy. “You know, I’ve blown one of these up before…..with my mouth,” On My Terms proudly told me. “Impressive skill set. I can’t do that or wink. Luckily this one has a pump.” “A pump with an easy to use comfort button for inflation,” On My Terms replied while pressing the comfort button. “Just like Bruiser’s panties,” I told her.

With our beds made we joined the festivities and did what we did best – entertain. At one point in the evening, when I was belting out a karaoke tune, one of the male guests approached me, “Where are you sleeping tonight?” “Here,” I replied and continued singing, “Mucho mistrust love’s gone behind….it’s from the Phillipines, the words are different.” He wanted to get back to our discussion and asked, “With me and my wife?” “No, with On My Terms. Our bed is made and we’re going to lie in it.”

Mid-party, Bruiser advised us she had checked on our accommodations and the mattress, “wasn’t looking too good.” On My Terms and I assessed the situation and discovered we hadn’t closed one of the valves. With that discovered, we remedied the situation and returned to the main floor, where the same male guest requested that On My Terms become better friends with he and his wife. Like me, she respectfully declined.

As one can imagine, singing, dancing, drinking and turning down swingers can be exhausting, so On My Terms and I decided to go to bed/air mattress. Once again, we found it like the swinging guest, deflated. On My Terms pressed the comfort button, we got in our sleeping bags, turned on The 40-Year-Old Virgin (not to be confused with us ‘turning on the in-his-twenties swinger’), and fell asleep. Not soon after that On My Terms opted to move to a couch because the mattress air was again decreasing.

I pressed the comfort button and moved to the center of the mattress in hopes that this would help eliminate or reduce deflation. I’m not sure how much time passed, but I was soon awoken by On My Terms telling me, “Push the comfort button, push the comfort button! You’re going to suffocate if you don’t do it. Quick! It’s surrounding you!” Sure enough, the air in the mattress was quickly deflating beneath me and the sides of the mattress we’re rapidly closing in around me – like an air taco.

Even in a very posh cabin, on an air mattress with a comfort button, it is easy to miss the creature comforts of urban living.

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Bruiser’s husband turned 40 so she decided to host a party at their family cabin. As On My Terms, La La Lovely and I convoyed to the remote location, On My Terms got tired of following, so she passed La La Lovely and started following from the front. As we got closer to our destination we had no idea where we were and La La Lovely was nowhere in sight. “I guess following from the front doesn’t always work,” I told On My Terms.

We finally found the location and, since I didn’t have a birthday card, On My Terms generously offered up a picture of her nieces, covered in mud, “Just write on the back of this.” I did, and it was perfect.

Not so perfect, however, was a gift Bruiser’s husband once gave her: vibrating panties. “He thought they would be a really great idea. I could wear them anywhere, nobody would know. They had a little remote you would push and they would start vibrating and buzzing, loudly. Too loudly to wear anywhere and nobody would know.” “That’s a major buzzkill,” I told her.

I then realized, if we had convoyed with Bruiser, whether following from the front or behind, as long as she was leading us, pushing the remote, we would never lose her.

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To help I Was A Stripper maintain one of her new resolutions, we decided to host a “dry” game night (hopeful). Typically, Boggle is our game of choice, but I Was A Stripper was also once on Touched By An Angel, so we opted for a game that involved acting – moods (nervous). If you haven’t played moods, you may never get the chance because it is no longer being manufactured (depressed). It is, however, the ultimate ‘all in the way you say it game’ (tense). Players draw a Phrase card and read it in the tone of the respective mood card so the other players can guess the mood/emotion (analytical).

It quickly became clear, after the first round in which I won, that The Leaver did not like to lose, so she really picked up her ‘game’ (crazed). “You had no idea I could act, did you?” she asked us (sneaky). Being that we were playing moods, we weren’t sure if that was part of her turn or an actual comment (perplexed).

As we continued to play, we all ended up winning a round (excited). “This night is perfect. Good food. The Carpenters. This game. Perfect,” The Leaver exclaimed (amused). “It is really good,” I Was A Stripper said (flirtatious). “There’s nothing sexier than a lawnmower. I’m going to start replying to text messages with phrases from this game,” I told them (amused).

Several hours after not really knowing what each other was saying or what mood we were each experiencing, we decided to answer the call to occupants of interplanetary craft, aka, bed from The Carpenters (zany).

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I Was A Stripper is in between opportunities right now and decided to spend a few days with me. We invited The Leaver over and spent a lot of time reminiscing. As we did so, they outed each other on a few things. “I don’t drink anymore,” I Was A Stripper told us. “That’s good, you get into trouble when you drink,” The Leaver added. “I know. I’m done. I’m not drinking or DUIing anymore,” she said. “How long has it been?” I asked her. “Oh, God, let’s see,” I Was A Stripper said while thinking about the last time, “At least five days.”

Everybody has bad habits, some worse than others, The Leaver wasn’t exempt. “Has she ever cupped a fart for you?” I Was A Stripper asked me. “Nope.” “I’m surprised, it’s’ classic. She cups her fart and then she smells it,” I Was A Stripper told me and then showed me as if we were playing charades. “Wow,” I replied. “I can’t believe she hasn’t done that for you,” I Was A Stripper said. “I don’t think we’re at that place in our relationship yet – I’ve only known her for 15 years or so,” I replied. The Leaver returned to the room and said, “I love the smell of my own farts. Did she tell you she speaks French in her sleep?” “Gross,” I told The Leaver and then asked I Was A Stripper, “Do you speak French?” “Nope,” she replied and giggled. “So you’re saying she’s a sleepFrencher?” I asked. “Sí,” The Leaver replied.

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Although most people relate phrases like this to the bible, I am not most people. Thus, I prefer to relate it to preservation. Previously, I had no involvement with such matters, however, after shopping at a local flower shop with Big As The Sky, I am a believer.

In the market for a plant or floral arrangement for a friend who recently had surgery, Big As The Sky and I found an arrangement that was both simple and beautiful. After ringing us up, the sales associate asked, “Do you want me to spray it?” “With what?” Big As The Sky inquired. “Crown of glory,” he answered while grabbing a generic squirt bottle with the words ‘Crown of glory’ written on it with a marker. “What is that?” I asked. “It’s a preservative,” he said. “Can you spray some on me?” I asked.

Although I didn’t end up being sprayed, the plant did. Once I was in a place where I could research crown of glory, I did so and learned that, horticulturally, it is more often referred to as Crown n’ Glory or Crown and Glory and is used to moisten the petals. Biblically, grey hair is a crown of glory and considered a sign of righteous living. Based on this theory, Big As The Sky has lived a very righteous life. Unless I lean towards preservation (which will most likely happen at the next Wednesday Night Hair Night), it will soon become obvious that I, too, live righteously.

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Like a prostitute who ran out of gas money, I had to step out of my short-lived ‘retirement’ and return to work today.

Yesterday, as I mentally prepared myself for this event, I felt like a kid returning to school after winter, spring or, even worse, summer break. I did not want to do it! I wanted to continue to go to bed when I wanted, wake up when my body was ready and do more of nothing than I’ve ever done before.  Being that this wasn’t an option, I did what anyone would do: I looked at the clock, realized I still had several hours before I had to return to ‘reality,’ and agreed to go to a concert with 55 WPM.

When I picked her up, an hour before the show, she asked, while holding a beverage, “Do you want to head out right away or have a drink?” “Hmmm, really?” I asked. She gave a sly smile and graciously handed me the drink in her hand. As we continued to pass this beverage back and forth, she said, “I guess I could make two drinks.” At this point, it was really too late to dirty another glass, so we just kept refilling the one we had. As it got closer to the time of the show, we grabbed a flask, filled it with whiskey and headed out the door.

“Look at that full moon,” I told her as we exited her home. “Actually, it is an almost full moon. If you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy it even more with this,” she said and stuck her freshly rolled (in honey papers) cigarette in between her lips – something she hides from her daughter (back in the day she would have been hiding this from her mother). “Mmmm, I can taste the honey,” she told me and asked, “Do you smoke?” “Nope. Tried it in school, but never quite got the hang of it.” “Too bad, this is divine,” she replied. This comment reminded me of one of my favorite musicians from our high shool days – Divine. I’ve no doubt 55 WPM and I listened to him when we weren’t listening to OMD, Trans-x or Erasure, while driving around town, sluffing class.

Who we didn’t listen to in high school, was Maceo Parker, but we were ready to listen to him last night. We took our positions in front of the stage and, within minutes, Maceo came on stage and announced, “School’s in! Get ready to get funky!” We were more than ready and got completely funked up. As we were doing so, a couple of ladies started dancing next to us and thought 55 WPM looked familiar. “Does she type?” one of them asked me. “I’m sorry, what?” I asked. “Does she climb?” the women repeated. “Oh, I thought you said ‘type.’ I don’t know if she climbs, but she types 55 WPM. At least she did in high school,” I replied.

After the concert, we hit the drive-thru for some deliciously nasty fast food, parked in a nearby parking lot to eat it, and wished we had time to go toilet papering. Maybe we’ll do that during Spring Break.

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In celebration of MiniMe’s 21st birthday, and my quasi-retirement, we decided to go to a local piano bar. The last time I was there they asked if there were any requests and I shouted out, “A new barmaid.” Luckily, the old barmaid didn’t recognize me and graciously seated us right next to the pianos and stage.

Being a regular at this establishment, I brought plenty of cash and accessories for the evening. Sadly, as Sleepless pointed out, we forgot the tambourine. Nothing worse than not having a tambourine to make the scene. Fortunately, we had our good looks, lots of Washingtons (George, not Denzel), and Sleepless’ lunch money (four one dollar bills and four quarters in a Ziploc bag) to get us through the evening.

As we were singing to the classics – Wilson Phillips, Twisted Sister and John Denver – Dr. BJ arrived, looking dapper as ever. One of the piano players was drawn to him and after several minutes of him being there, approached him and said, “Denzel, nice to have you here.” If you google ‘Denzel Washington,’ the IMDb description is tops the list and ‘Actor. American. Gangster. Tall. Strikingly handsome…’ are the descriptors. With the exception of gangster, Dr. BJ is all of these things.

As we should and would, we totally took advantage of this celebrity opportunity. Denzel, aka Dr. BJ, did his Single Ladies dance moves which resulted in us having every request played – even if we didn’t use Sleepless’ lunch money to pay for it. When Dr. BJ left, the piano player announced his departure, “Denzel is leaving us.” We, of course, stayed and closed the place down. As we were heading out, Sleepless advised us, “I’m drunk, but I’ve got a reservation.”

Unlike MiniMe, who wasn’t sure if she was going to go home or sleep at my house after the festivities, Sleepless knew exactly what she was doing and reminded us throughout the evening, “I’ve got a reservation for the small suite in the back.” Yes, Sleepless did have a reservation to stay in my back bedroom and had made her text deposit several days previous. MiniMe, on the other hand, just had expectations. “Looks like you’ll have to sleep on the couch or in the basement,” I advised her. Being a creature of comfort and a lover of dark spaces, MiniMe chose the basement. But who can blame her, it was the former living quarters of the famous Denzel, aka, Dr. BJ.

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