Month: February 2011

While at a hair appointment today I noticed a lot of people getting hair strands/extensions. Some were purple, some were pink, some were feathers. My stylist, Smokonut, informed me, “Everybody comes in telling us they want to look like Kim Kardashian. And I’m like, OK, become Iranian, lose 75 pounds, and then we’ll talk.”

I wasn’t interested in looking like Kim Kardashian, but I was toying with changing my hair a bit. I decided to take some length off and was considering bangs. “I think you should go with sexy and swoopy, ” Smokonut suggested. When I left the salon I realized that I, like the strands/extension peeps, had a brush with fame when it came to my mane, I had been Biebered.

OregganO stopped by and I was sharing this experience with her. I told her about how they styled my hair with the sexy, swoopy just hanging over my right eye. “Seriously,” I told her, “I couldn’t even see out of that eye.” “That’s how they teach us to do it in hair school,” she told me. “Keep one eye covered.”

Both of OregganO’s eyes were uncovered and wide open earlier in the evening when she and her neighbors were outside chatting and a man jumped over the neighbor’s fence, ran toward OregganO’s house, down her driveway, through her backyard, jumped on her swamp cooler (which was on the ground – he wasn’t Superman), and over her fence.

Instead of calling the police, OregganO stuck to her original plan and came to my house for dinner. A few hours into dinner, we decided to file a police report. As a result, we had to go to her house, in case they needed to get a footprint. “This is exciting,” OregganO said while grabbing her keys and running to the door. “This is blogworthy!”

Once at her house we were talking about police response time and, based on past experiences, we felt we had enough time to go outside and take a look at the footprints. “Do you have a flashlight?” I asked. “I’ve got something better,” OregganO said as she came out of the back room with a head lamp on. She went straight to the front door, opened it, and quickly shut it. “Oh shit,” she exclaimed while taking the head lamp off as quickly as possible. “They’re here.”

They were ‘here,’ but luckily they were at the wrong house and didn’t get to see OregganO in all of her crime solving beauty. We got their attention and pointed them in the right direction – OregganO’s backyard. She was relaying the story to them when they asked if she spoke with him at all. “Well, yes, we had words,” OregganO mumbled. “I said something like, ‘What the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck out of my yard.’ He turned around, looked right at me and said, ‘Fuck off bitch.'” “Did he have an accent?” asked the officer. OregganO looked confused by the question, “So little was said, it would be hard to tell.” “Pretty sure he was French,” I added.

Once the police left, Cream of Tartar phoned with concerns for OregganO’s safety. He was providing her safety tips and suggested she take the ‘piece out.’ In addition, he wanted her to show me how to use it.  After some time, I decided to head home – leaving OregganO alone. It had been a long day for her and I had a feeling she was ready for a little ‘piece’ and quiet.

LaLa, D-Dog and I decided to go to a Pete Yorn concert. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Pete Yorn, well, I must admit, I’m disappointed.

His voice is amazing. I would give anything if he would just leave a message on my phone so I could listen to it when I’m feeling down and blue and don’t have time to use the work loo.

As soon as he started singing, LaLa was titillated, “I totally have a lady wood.” “A what?” D-Dog asked. “A lady wood,” LaLa reiterated. “Don’t act like you don’t know what that is.” “Oh, I know,” D-Dog replied.

LaLa was giving Pete her full attention and, in doing so, noticed he was wearing a wedding ring. “He’s married,” she said with great disappointment. “That’s not right,” I said, “They should totally disclose that kind of information on the tickets.” “Yeah,” D-Dog added, “Let’s go.”

“I wonder who he married,” LaLa pondered outloud. “Not sure. He did date Winona Ryder once,” I informed them. “Winona Ryder?” asked D-Dog, “The shoplifter?” “Yep, looks like she can steal more than just clothes. She has stolen several hearts,” I responded. “Pete Yorn, Johnny Depp,” said LaLa. “Beck, Conor Oberst,” I continued. “She’s dated some hotties. I’m totally going to start shoplifting.”

After the concert, I decided to do what I often do, Google things. I learned there is a catholic high school called Ladywood in Michigan and they have a ‘Spirit Shop’ with t-shirts, hats and, most importantly, seat pads. If I could steal a seat pad, I would totally have a lady wood, in more ways than one.

Working nine to five after twelve is exhausting. Which is why I enjoy unwinding with my friends. Sleepless and I decided we should do a post VD karaoke event, focused on heartache and pain, so we planned AchyBreakyOke.

Prior to the big event Sleepless and I prepped at my house. This is one of the most crucial parts of the evening because it defines our ‘look’ for the remainder of the night. I was wearing a long-sleeved plaid shirt that I had purchased from the thrift store and we decided it would be best if it were sleeveless and if Sleepless wore the sleeves. Within minutes we were trendsetters. As I was standing in the kitchen in my sleeveless plaid shirt and underwear, getting ready to don my denim overalls, a solicitor approached the front door and got full view. “Oh shit,” I told Sleepless. “I’ve got to remember to not change in the kitchen. Do you mind getting that?”

As soon as we arrived at the bar we were welcomed by I Was A Stripper and New To This. We made our way across the empty dance floor (and bar) to ‘our table.’ A few minutes later we were graced with the presence of LeftEared who was donning a lovely ruffled plaid shirt, tucked into white, high-waist (aka, ‘mom pants) Carhartt painting pants, accessorized with a thin belt, gold chain and ‘achy breaky’ heart pendant.

Sleepless and I were on stage singing Jolene (for the record, we’ve been singing this long before the Grammy peeps) when MyFace, Tile and The Leaver joined in the festivities. As was the case with I Was A Stripper, they all needed ‘at least one drink’ before hitting the mic. Several one drinks later, LeftEared and I were on stage singing and throwing down some dance moves when I Was A Stripper approached the stage. By approached I mean she crawled up on all fours, sashaying in a way only she could, while still on all fours. A few seconds later we were all three on the floor of the stage and LeftEared experienced a first, “Did you see that?” she asked me. “Oh yes, I saw it – everyone saw it.” LeftEared, in shock, continued, “She totally tuned in Tokyo on my tit. That hasn’t happened since I was 21.”

I was discussing our performance with MyFace and telling her it was hard to be sexy when dancing next to I Was A Stripper. “I noticed,” she said and added, “Especially in those outfits. Sexy ain’t happenin’.”

By this time One And Done had shown up with a boy she met on Match. “Date number two tonight,” she told us. “And you brought him to this?” LeftEared asked. “Bold move, I like it.”

One And Done, like I Was A Stripper, also has previous dancing experience – she was a clogger for years. *NSYNC started playing and LeftEared advised us, she too was a dancer, “I followed this band for years – I know all of the moves.” As she was busting a few moves and we were all following along, her zipper was busting down. “They don’t make cotton like they used to,” she told us. “Seems like it just keeps getting tighter and tighter.” I Was A Stripper decided to help by completely unzipping LeftEared’s pants, laughed for a minute, and then zipped them back up. “Pretty sure she may have caught some of my short and curlies,” said LeftEared.

As Sleepless was debating her signature chair dance, I Was A Stripper stole the stage and the chair with a few moves she learned in the Army. We all watched in awe, some even placed dollar bills in her pants and top. As she was walking off the stage she came up to me, giggled, and said, “I have gas. I have been farting all night.”

And that is one of the many reasons we love I Was A Stripper, she brings sexy back, gas and all.

Ah, Valentine’s Day. That time of year when so many people long to be in a relationship and so many others long to be single or, as one friend so eloquently put it, “a little less involved.”

S-Unit is someone who is not currently in a relationship and isn’t actually longing for one. She is still, however, planning on getting married on 11-11-11. Several days ago, she and I were talking about upcoming holidays. “When is Valentine’s Day?” asked S-Unit. “February 14, same as it is every year,” I answered. “No, I mean when is it? How many days away? I always break up with people a few days before holidays like Valentine’s Day and Christmas.”

A recent study indicates S-Unit is not the only person with this idea. According to David McCandless and Lee Byron, holiday break-ups are the norm. Stress and family seem to be common denominators when it comes to cause and December and March are the months with the highest number of break-ups. Apparently, Christmas, St. Patrick’s Day, and my favorite holiday, National Corndog Day, can really take a toll on a relationship.

Being a single female, I can understand the pressure one might feel when they’ve only got one PBR coozie and five boxes of corndogs. It really is impossible to share a coozie. And who wants to be judged by the size of their corndog collection?

I’m not one who minds being alone – on Valentine’s Day or any other day. Don’t get me wrong, I love the company of (most) others. I also love my company. As I’ve told one or two (or maybe more) people before, “I’m a good time.”

For example, the other night, after a full day with That’s Not Chinese, I returned home and, apparently, continued to let the good times roll. When I woke the next morning, I began to find miscellaneous ‘misplaced’ items in various areas of the house. It was when I found the satellite receiver remote control in the bag of Trader Joe’s World’s Puffiest Sour Cream and Onion Corn Puffs that I realized, as a party of one, I really am a good time.

In fact, if I were to give myself one of the infamous NECCO conversation hearts today, it would read, “Be Mine.” If I can’t have me, I don’t want nobody baby.

Weekends seem to be the best time to enjoy brunch, replace the water filter on your fridge, and have ‘the help’ move your exes belongings out of your basement. Being the domestic goddess that I am, I prepared breakfast tacos for MiniMe and I this weekend. As we were eating, I was discussing The Baby-Sitter’s Club and mentioned one of my favorite descriptions from the series, “Abby only likes two things about Valentine’s Day, and romance isn’t one.” I find this line incredibly well written – very funny – and I couldn’t stop laughing. MiniMe, in a solelmn voice, said, “Sometimes I think the reason people think you are so funny is because you laugh at your own jokes.” “A-ha,” I replied, “So if I laugh, they’ll think what I said must have been funny?” “Yes,” MiniMe said while rolling her eyes and finishing brunch.

After brunch I headed to That’s Not Chinese’s house to provide support while her exes belongings were being moved out of her basement. The belongings had been there for some time, about a year. Over the last few months, one of her cats has taken to sleeping, spraying and peeing on some of these belongings. Thus, the basement was not a place I planned to frequent. Nor did That’s Not Chinese, MyFace, Dr. BJ or Meat Lover – the Gods of the household were, as they say in the hip hop scene, in da house.

Being that we are in the throws of Chinese New Year, it seems fitting that we were all there for That’s Not Chinese – especially Zao Jun. I’m not sure which one of us was Zao Jun, per say. I would suggest me, because I made breakfast this morning, but I am holding out for another God position. If you don’t know the story of Zao Jun, you should definitely research it. Without giving too much away, be careful of what you throw into the kitchen hearth – you may only be able to salvage one leg and it may belong to Zhang Lang.

That’s Not Chinese’s ex was not present and had solicited help (or as Dr. BJ and I referred to them, ‘the help’) from her friends. One of  ‘the help’ happened to be an ex of Dr. BJ. He wasn’t a nice guy, hence the reason he is an ex. Dr. BJ and I took our regular position, on the stoop, and chatted about life while watching ‘the help’ move the belongings into the moving van. We were definitely Qiye and Baye – the famous Chinese Gods who are  best friends and giants, literally, in street parades. As we were throwing a few parade waves to the help, That’s Not Chinese approached us laughing, “You’re gonna love this one, your ex (Dr. BJ’s that is) just said, ‘You know, this would be a lot easier if those two (Qiye and Baye) would help.'” Dr. BJ and I gave an exaggerated laugh, complete with a long throw back of the head and neck. “Ain’t nothing wrong with wanting,” Dr. BJ quipped.

It was about this time that Meat Lover and MyFace joined us on the porch. “It really stinks down there,” said MyFace. “I know,” said That’s Not Chinese with a Cheshire cat grin. “Don’t gloat, it’s not good,” said Meat Lover. “It’s fine,” said MyFace, “But it is a little passive aggressive. You need to move from passive aggressive to aggressive, I mean assertive. I have a black belt in karate.” Personally, I think pissive aggressive is more fitting.

As the Gods of That’s Not Chinese’s household each went their separate ways, she was left with a sense of gratitude, good fortune, empty champagne glasses, and Zhang Lang’s Leg.

I’ve been getting a couple of babysitting gigs (saving up to buy a bike) lately and I always call upon MyFace and OregganO for assistance. Our primary patron is Q, although today Sleepless also took advantage of our adult version of The Baby-Sitter’s Club – Ann M. Martin would be very proud.

Little Sleep arrived before Baby Q and was touring the ‘clubhouse’ with MyFace. While doing so she informed MyFace that she has not slept well the past two nights due to paranormal activity. MyFace was very impressed with Little Sleep’s knowledge of  such activity and the proper words to describe it.  “Where are the noises coming from?” she asked. “I don’t know,” responded Little Sleep with a slight shoulder shrug and curious eye on the back room, “I guess the house.” Clearly, MyFace had more concerns about this than Little Sleep.

When MyFace finally got a chance to tell me about this exchange, she had forgotten Little Sleep’s verbiage choice. We did a little Nancy Droogling for ‘another word for paranormal’ and came up with nothing. I decided to go to the ultimate source for help, facebook. Incubus and Patrick Swayze were suggested. Sleepless might be glad she is sleepless.

Incubus is a male demon who lays on people while they’re sleeping and has sex with sleeping women – that would explain all of the condom wrappers I find each morning in my bedroom. And Patrick, well everybody knows about him and ghosts. What I don’t know is why my pottery wheel is missing. Could it be Agnes?

Later in the evening I spoke with Sleepless about Little Sleep, “She was electrocuted by paranormal activity and her door opened. Happens often. Just leave the kitchen light on and everything works out.” Just like The Baby-Sitter’s Club, the problem is resolved by the end of the series/blog and in no time at all. Not surprisingly, however, Incubus is kinky and likes the light on – he is a hard ghost to bust, literally.

Pimpin’ is the new black and there is a new lesbian in town. It is for these two very important reasons that That’s Not Chinese, Tree, D-Dog and others decided to go to The Pimps of Joytime. If you aren’t familiar with the band, Derek Rath of NPR sums them up best, “This is funky. It has it all: soul, funk, punk, afrobeat, rap.”

As soon as we walked into the venue our eyes saw the glory of the comeback of disco. Being that there was an opening band, we decided to find a seat and take it all in. Tree was the first to comment on the crowd, specifically, the man in the cargo pants, Birkenstocks and ‘ReNew Orleans’ t-shirt, “These venues are always full of a bunch of funky old liberals getting down.”

As I watched several funky old liberals getting down I noticed a young, rather dapper fellow in a pin-striped suit with an orange, big-collar dress shirt and a pin-striped fedora, “He looks nice,” I said while pointing him out to Tree and That’s Not Chinese. Just like Love Unlimited, I fancy a high steppin’, hip dressin’ fella. A few seconds later, ‘nice’ was no longer in my view. Instead, I saw someone wearing baggy pants and a basketball jersey ‘complimented’ with a sport jacket (he must have misunderstood the term ‘sport’) and  a tan fedora. “Wow,” I said. Tree needed no further information to know what I was wowing about and responded, “Straight guys are so weird.”

It was at this time that That’s Not Chinese interjected, “New lesbian in town.” She was attempting to slyly, major emphasis on slyly, point  out the ‘new lesbian’ who had joined her this evening; however, there was nothing sly about her strong head gesture. It was so strong, in fact, she may end up needing an adjustment. “Best be careful,” I advised, “You don’t want to hurt your pretty little head.”

This brought That’s Not Chinese’s focus back to fashion. “I want a fedora. Everyone has a fedora.” “You want to be like everyone else?” Tree said with disgust while adjusting the brim of his rakish driving cap. “Hey,” I responded with feigned pain because I had just become ‘everyone.’ “Look,” That’s Not Chinese said while gracefully pointing out the everyones, “All of the boys have on fedoras and beanies and afros. I want one.” Not one to follow the crowd or let my friends down, I offered her my fedora. She gladly accepted the offer and, after putting the fedora on her head just so, asked, “What about you? What will you wear now?” “No need to worry about me. I’ve got a real afro, but my pants are suppressing it.”

A little while later we were all out on the dance floor. Disco  dancing comes somewhat naturally for me, primarily because my hands and arms are always moving the opposite direction of my legs and feet. We were trying out all of the moves – the basic disco two-step, the California hustle, the rotation with a side walk, shadow stepping, and the knife in the back (my all-time favorite that was featured on Airplane) – and really tearing up the dance floor. Unfortunately, there were a few times when we were completely offbeat. “I don’t know most of these songs,” Tree told me, “So it makes it hard for me to dance to them.” “Take your time,” I told him, “Don’t give up. Dancing to a song you don’t know is like sex with a new partner – a little uncoordinated every now and again, but still a good time.”

Q and her man have always been there for me. A few years ago I purchased a home that was in need of a few renovations and I enlisted the Q-Team for their help. They were always ready and able, even after Q got electrocuted. On one occasion, Q commented to me about my work, “Wow! I have never seen anyone use so much caulk.” I, of course, replied, “I’ve never heard someone use such language in my house.”

The other day, as I was showering, I was checking out our renovations. As soon as I got out of the shower I sent Q a text message, “Today, in the shower, I was looking at my caulk and thinking of you. Are we still on for lunch?”

After lunch, Q and I went shopping. For one simple reason – the shape of her eyes – a lot of people think Q is Asian. If it weren’t for her other very obvious traits – platinum blond hair, tall, very fair, very white skin – I would understand this misconception.

Q is baffled by the misconception. Being the practical one in the group, I advised her she is, in actuality, half Asian. One half Cauc + one half Asian = CaucAsian. Turns out, not surprisingly, Baby Q is also CaucAsian.

While Q was purchasing some items at the mall, I was tending to Baby Q. A sales associate, who happened to be Asian, approached me. “She is so cute,” she said while admiring Baby Q. “And, she has eyes like me.” “Yes,” I responded, “Her mom is half Asian.”

It’s not uncommon for Sleepless and I to try and help the economy by purchasing beautifully labeled bottles from our local wine store. – last night was no exception. “I was  looking for white zin – don’t tell MyFace – and I couldn’t find it,” Sleepless told me. “In fact, I couldn’t find any boxed wine. So, I just looked for some pinks and whites with pretty labels.” She did very well in her search – the labels were very pretty and the wine definitely hit the spot.

As we were talking about all of the things in life that hit the spot, the Gräfenberg Spot – more commonly known as the ‘g-spot,’ was mentioned. “It doesn’t really exist,” said Sleepless. Me and the Brits in King College London think she is right about this one. Sorry Ms. Whipple, it was a nice concept that you tried to build for us ladies.  In this case, however, Shoeless Joe was absolutely right, “If you build it, he will come.” He will come and she, sadly, will lie in wait, literally.

All of this talk about hits got us in the mood…..for our favorite karaoke bar – a G-Spot that does actually exist and both men and women can find it, regardless of their sexual preference or level of activity. Yes, the bar we frequent starts with a ‘g’ and it is full of hot karaoke hits. It is not, however, very often full of people.

As usual, we were pretty much the only people at the G-Spot  and we were singing  one hot hit after another. Although we don’t personally know the other six patrons, we recognize them and their genre. Which is why it was odd to see a newbie in the mix.  A newbie who really liked eye contact. This was not something that appealed to Sleepless. As the night progressed, so did newbie’s comfort level. He was singing , joining us on the dance floor, and even went so far as to touch Sleepless. Within seconds of that exchange she was whispering in my ear, “Any chance you have some hand sanitizer?” As newbie was singing one of his songs, Sleepless decided to do her chair dance – something she usually reserves for Norm. I decided to join her – something I do because I’m not reserved. “Remember,” she told me, “No eye contact. This is exactly why I don’t strip.” “Me too,” I replied and then Flashdanced the hell out of my chair, with my eyes closed.

As we were summing up the evening, which included some unchivalrous behavior by another patron, Sleepless had a dating epiphany, “We definitely need to date someone either in their 50s or born in the ’50s – someone old enough to understand the value of chivalry.” “Good idea,” I agreed and added, “By doing that, we will have a g-spot. The ‘g’ will just stand for Gramps. Gramps’ spot. I like it . That, Sleepless, is a hit!”