Month: March 2011

I am often impressed with the skills of my friends. Some of the skills they have come from years of training and practice. Others just come naturally or clumsily. Regardless of how they come about, they wow me every time.

 

Last night, as the corndogs were replaced with grapes in the form of a beverage, I had the privilege of watching Dr. BJ, That’s Not Chinese and Alice perform “I Like Big Butts,” by Sir-Mix-A-Lot. Luckily, for them, Subwoofer pulled her phone out of the glass and filmed their performance. It’s bound to be a youtube hit.

 

Also a hit is what happened to That’s Not Chinese when Cream of Tartar and Le Chauffeur came to retrieve Patty Melt and Oreggano to take them to dinner. By the time they arrived, we were all donning wigs of different lengths, styles and colors.

 

That’s Not Chinese had removed her wig to play with Dublin, the dogchild of Oreggano and Cream of Tartar. Being that Dublin is just a pup, he is very playful. So, That’s Not Chinese sat on the pub height dining chair and played with him.

 

Within seconds, Dublin got a hold of That’s Not Chinese’s hair and pulled her and her chair down to the ground – putting a whole new twist on Downward Dog. That’s Not Chinese did not hit the ground running, she hit the ground falling, and hit it hard. After making sure she was alright, I informed her I recalled seeing an Irish proverb about what just happened. “I’m sure you did,” she replied. She came up with her own proverb a little later, “Never let a dog pull you to the ground.” See, skills.

 

As I was sharing these stories with S-Unit she replied, “People say and do a lot of funny things. Kind of like circus animals.” “Good point,” I told her. “You know,” she said, “It is pouring rain in LA right now. If it’s true that it can rain cats and dogs, I have a feeling there are going to be a lot of dead cats and dogs on the sidewalk.” She is such a funny little monkey.

Several days throughout the year are very special to me, sacred even. National Drink Wine Day (which Oreggano and I sacredly celebrated – unannounced), Talk Like a Pirate Day and National Corndog Day. Not surprisingly, many of my friends also hold these days near and dear to their hearts – Alice, in particular.

 

Even though she is a pescatarian, she respects and celebrates the corndog. Last year, we took our flashing ‘dawg’ pins and grabbed a corner table at the local eatery where I enjoyed a corndog and she enjoyed tots.

 

This year was no different, except for the amazing addition of Pabst Blue Ribbon trucker hats – courtesy of Alice, and a few more people at the corner table. That’s Not Chinese, Oreggano and Subwoofer also decided to join in the celebration.

 

“Can’t beat spending a day with your girls eating corndogs,” That’s Not Chinese proclaimed. “It’s nice to be with girls,” said Subwoofer, “I’m usually with boys.” “Yes, it is nice to be with girls,” I agreed and added, “Especially girls with class.” It was at this time that Oreggano pulled into the parking lot and we could see the 99¢ specials from the car. Special moment for sure.

 

Subwoofer is not a lover of cornbread, thus, she has never had a corndog. She has also never had fry sauce, so today was a special day for her. Once we all received our dogs, tots, fry sauce and apple juice, we made a corndog toast – the mood was very special. Within seconds, Subwoofer was done. “I ate the whole thing,” she told us with pride. I offered her a courtesy brown topper for her efforts, but she wasn’t interested.

 

Once we got back to the house, we were sitting around the table, letting the trans fat digest and listening to Subwoofer’s iPhone – conveniently placed in a glass to boost the sound. As she was looking for this very classy speaker contraption, Subwoofer noticed some Peeps on a stick. “Mmmm, Peeps,” she said. “You can have them,” I told her. “Really?” she asked. “Absolutely, you earned them. You ate your whole corndog.”

 

As Subwoofer was enjoying the Peeps on a stick, That’s Not Chinese asked her a question, “Are you one of those types?” Without giving Subwoofer time to answer, That’s Not Chinese continued, “You just went down on a chick, so, there you go. Turns out she likes chicks. Good.”

 

The conversation naturally segwayed to headlamps. “The only thing I use my headlamp for is to paint my toenails,” Alice informed us. “What a great idea,” said That’s Not Chinese. “I’m learning so much this weekend.” Oreggano piped in, “I use mine to look for footprints left by fugitives.”

 

Alice and That’s Not Chinese started discussing something very important – could have been health care reform or whether or not to use a base coat. When, all of a sudden, Alice spoke to That’s Not Chinese with great conviction, “Hey, I know fuck about shit!” This was intense. Finger pointing and all. Dr. BJ giggled and said, “You know fuck about shit, oh my.”

 

We’ve all been around when one of these moments happen. No matter which conversations are taking place, what music is playing or appliances are running, everything shuts down abruptly, and all time, space and energy is hanging on that moment. “See,” I told Subwoofer, “Girls with class.”

 

It was about this time when Passed The Sniff Test arrived with corn dogs. “Thought I’d reload your corndog supply,” he said and then threw down a bag of dogs on the table. Oreggano and I wasted no time to have another. “Are you seriously having another?” asked Alice with disgust. “Don’t judge,” Oreggano said while taking another bite. Even Subwoofer couldn’t resist and grabbed another when Alice wasn’t looking. This time, however, she didn’t eat the whole thing – she peeled off the cornbread and just ate the dog. Regardless, Oreggano and I were proud of her efforts.

 

If we keep up this diet, we’ll go from being ‘girls with class’ to ‘girls with ass.’

Tree is always talking about having a reality TV show, “This is the ninth season of my show,” he told me last week. “Don’t watch seasons seven and eight, they were horrible.” Today, while walking to lunch with It’s The Eyes, Oreggano and Tree, it was obvious that we were on the set of his show.

 

He had been asked to work a shift for someone and already had plans for the evening. “Should I just say I’m out of town?” he asked us. “Sure,” said Oreggano. “I mean, you are in a different county.” This part was true, however, the county in which we were walking was only 15 minutes away from the county in which Tree worked. “That’s not a lie, right?” Tree asked. “It’s not a lie,” It’s The Eyes informed him and added, “Those are the kind of lies I always tell.”

 

Once we were at our table, I immediately poured a glass of water. “Who has time for water when there are all these booze to drink?” Tree asked. “Isn’t there water in the wine?” asked It’s The Eyes. “They do water the grapes. So, in a sense, yes,” I said and took a sip of my wine.

 

We ordered our meal, per Tree’s suggestions. As we (most of we, anyway) were enjoying the salad, Oreggano shared her opinion of it, “Not a fan.” Tree replied, “Well, we all like it, so screw you.” “Wow,” Oreggano responded. “Yes, wow,” I said. “Why are you so upset with her for not liking the salad?” “Just in the mood to fight,” said Tree.

 

“Speaking of fighting,” I attempted to change the subject, “we stopped and ate Mexican fast-food last night and had to resign to the fact that some Mexicans must dream of coming to America to serve food to rude, white, drunk people in the middle of the night.” “Yes,” It’s The Eyes agreed and added, “They talk about the American dream. That’s the Mexican dream.” “We’ll have to ask FatGirl,” Oreggano quipped.

 

Tree brought the topic of conversation back to him. “My birthday is in December, but I’m thinking of having it in June as well.” “Why June?” Oreggano asked. “Because everyone is busy in December and I’d like to give them a second chance to celebrate it,” Tree replied. “Very thoughtful,” said Oreggano.

 

“Speaking of celebrations,” I interjected, “Did you hear about the new grocery store in town?” We began discussing the stores and I mentioned the Fresh & Easy chain. “Fresh & Easy? Isn’t that a feminine hygiene product?” Tree asked. “That’s what I thought it was,” It’s The Eyes said while nodding her head at Tree. “Horrible name for a grocery store,” Tree continued. “Makes me think of a woman in a white dress, running down the beach, smelling like spring flowers and vinegar.”

 

It was at about this time that our butterscotch budina arrived. No, this is not a sexy server with olive skin, it is a dessert. “I like this,” said Oreggano, “And I’m not much of a dessert person.” “Or salad,” Tree quipped. “This is like whipped cream – even better,” It’s The Eyes told us. “It is whipped cream,” Oreggano informed her. “Oh, would anyone like some gum?” It’s The Eyes did a nice job taking the attention off of her comment and putting it on her gum selection. “That is quite a selection,” Tree observed. “I like to have a variety. A couple of mints, a couple of fruits,” It’s The Eyes told him. “I like having a couple of fruits around,” Tree said, looked around the room with a sheepish grin, and finished his budina.

Prior to connecting with Oreggano for hooley with Plastic Paddies at the local pub, I had to attend a business meeting. The meeting was going just fine until one of the attendees decided to flash a little Irish temper and shouted out, “This is bullshit!” She continued ranting (imagine Linda Blair in The Exorcist) for about 90 seconds, then announced, “I need a break!” For the grand finale, she stormed out of the room and slammed the door. As this transpired, I looked at the cold coffee in my cup I thought, “This is bullshit. I’m mitchin’ this place, heading to Oreggano’s house and getting some good old fashioned Irish coffee.”

 

Upon arriving I was welcomed by Tree and Irish coffee. Cream of Tartar was busy teasing what was left of his lovely locks so they would stay in place the duration of the festivities. Tree, having “a job, kids and responsibilities,” – something he only started saying since he got a new job and began helping his sister with her kids – only had a cup or two and then had to leave. It was around this time that It’s The Eyes arrived.

 

It’s The Eyes loves green and was fully equipped with extra clothing, make-up and accessories. Oreggano and I decided to use some of the eye make-up. “I hardly ever wear eye shadow,” I stated. “Me neither,” said Oreggano. “Not me,” said It’s The Eyes with great Irish pride, “I wear it all the time. I love hooker eyes!”

 

Once we were hook’d up, we started applying temporary shamrock tats and stickers on our faces and wrists. Cream of Tartar, who bore a striking resemblance to Charles Montgomery ‘Monty’ Burns form The Simpsons, joined us and I painted a four-leaf clover on his landing pad. With all of our accessories in place, we started our walk to the train.

 

While waiting for the train, It’s The Eyes was telling Cream of Tartar he was a man of much luck to be with three beautiful women. “Especially looking like that,” Oreggano said while eying his newly bald head. “I don’t want any pictures with you today.” Another patron waiting for the train looked at his head, then looked at me, and mouthed, “It does look pretty bad.”

 

As luck would have it, we were able to secure several tables for our group. In the process, I had the privilege of meeting a real live librarian. It was at this point that I knew the luck o’ the Irish was upon me. As It’s The Eyes and I were discussing our luck, she confidently informed me, “It’s the eyes.” She might be on to something.

 

Several Irish Car Bombs into the craic, Passed The Sniff Test, Dr. BJ, Not A Skirt Chaser, and Bitchin’ Camaro joined us. Cream of Tartar was exercising proper Irish etiquette by ordering rounds for everyone, getting completely bollixed, and not tipping the bar staff. In fact, in addition to not tipping the bar staff, he left the bar without closing or paying his tab; which left Oreggano in a bit of a pickle.

 

While we were discussing this pickle in the loo, the door to the loo opened, Dr. BJ stopped dead in his tracks, and never looked so surprised, “Oh no, this is the women’s!” Right in the middle of our pickle, in walked another.

 

The answer to Oreggano’s pickle was simple: soften Cream of Tartar’s cough by leaving the tab unpaid. Once she came to this conclusion, she looked It’s The Eyes and I in our hook’d up eyes and said, “Let’s go ladies. Quick!” Thus, we took care of his unfinished business in the same manner as he, by leaving it.

 

While making our way home, It’s The Eyes had concerns about our safety. “We are totally going to get hijacked.” “I don’t think one can get hijacked when they’re walking,” I replied. “Right,” Oreggano added. “What are they going to do? Cut off our feet?” A few blocks later, after refueling with food, we weren’t hijacked, but we were propositioned at a stoplight by the passenger in a vehicle full of rat-arsed lads, “Hey, my pants are already down. Do you want to help finish the job?” “What is up with all of this unfinished business?” I asked them. “It’s the eyes,” It’s The Eyes advised.

Had the privilege of dining with Oreggano and Cream of Tartar and, while dining, we decided to do some couples therapy – with me as their therapist. “This is going to be good,” Cream of Tartar excitedly stated, “Better take notes for the blog.”

 

Last weekend, Cream of Tartar was planning to go on a fishing trip and, as a courtesy, picked up a cup of coffee for Oreggano prior to departing. “Very nice gesture,” I commented. “Right, except it was from 7-11 and it was black. Exactly how I don’t like it,” stated Oreggano. “I got it from there because it was free.” “The coffee was free?” I paraphrased (professional therapy standard). “Yes,” Cream of Tartar confirmed, “Because I was in uniform. It’s the thought that counts.” “That is true,” I validated, like most good therapists do and then added, “But if you’re not really thinking, it isn’t a thought, thus, doesn’t count.”

 

As the story of the fishing trip continued, I maintained the professional stance – head nodding, occasional ‘uh huh’ interjected, and taking notes. They got to the part when Cream of Tartar came home one day and six hours later than planned. “It was daylight savings time, so we lost one hour. It should have really been two when I called,” Cream of Tartar defended his Tartardiness. Not a fan of punctuality, I did my best to remain neutral. “That is not going to cut it,” Oreggano replied. “The traffic was bad?” Cream of Tartar attempted, yet again, to defend his position. “Nope, not buying it,” Oreggano stood firm on her stance. “When he called to tell me how late he might be I responded, ‘I’m pissed.'” Cream of Tartar giggled and replied, “Oh, that’s not all she said, but we’ll leave that out of the report.”

 

Being trained in relationships, Cream of Tartar changed the subject and the channel on the TV, to one of Oreggano’s favorite cop shows. “This is Oreggano’s dream,” he told me. “She watches it all of the time.” Oreggano humbly replied, “Not really. I mean I once thought it would be cool to be a cop, but, you know.” The show continued and Cream of Tartar made an observation, “Usually, she is yelling at the TV, saying things like, ‘Shoot the mother fucker! Loader pull over!'” “Ah, that’s cute,” I replied. Cream of Tartar turned to OregganO and said, “You’re not saying the things you say when other people aren’t here,” and then made a ‘tsk, tsk, tsk’ sound.

 

A little while later, Cream of Tartar decided to shave the center section of the hair, leaving a lovely man-made male-patterned baldness appearance. Oreggano was not pleased, but Cream of Tartar and I could not be happier. Being in the market for must stache hair,  I requested the clippings. “Sure, you can have them. They’re kind of clean,” Cream of Tartar informed me as he was applying product to and teasing his remaining locks.

 

As the night was coming to an end, I was discussing hair product with Oreggano and Cream of Tartar, who had taken his bald ass to the other room to tie flies, said, “Main and Tame.” “Really? It was what you suggest? I asked. “Yep, amazing,” Cream of Tartar confirmed. it was on this note, that I grabbed my (actually, Cream of Tartar’s) bag of hair and headed home to prepare for Thanks Patrick’s Day – one of Oreggano’s favorite holidays.

 

It has come to my attention that not everyone is doing well in the love arena. I found this both disappointing and entertaining. Disappointing because I am a romantic at heart. Entertaining because when it doesn’t work out, there is often a good story or broom behind it.

Sleepless was telling me some interesting date requests that she has received as of late. Both were received electronically, neither were ‘verbally’ exchanged. The first request was sent via email,” We need to lunch. I can bring my secretary.” We were both confused by the latter part of the request but finally agreed the secretary’s participation would be solely related to dictation. The second request was from a different suitor and came via text, “I’m happy to do lunch, dinner, coffee…snacks…drink…maybe even drive-thru if I’m that bad.” We both appreciated the quick and easy drive-thru option.

Until we hit the karaoke bar, I hadn’t really had any ‘date’ options. Harmonize was at the bar, by himself, with a tambourine and was frequently offering to ‘harmonize’ while we sang. As Sleepless and I were at the bar enjoying a lovely conversation with Giddy Up, Harmonize approached me, showed me his karaoke request, and said, “I was going to sing this song anyway, but now I’m going to dedicate it to you.” Long Cool Woman, with a tambourine,  was what I got – as an afterthought, but a thought nonetheless.

KJ soon joined us at the bar and began talking about midgets. “I can’t stand ’em right now,” he told us. Sleepless and I thought that was a bit harsh, so we questioned his feelings. “My girlfriend had a thing for ’em. Saw one doing stand-up at a comedy bar and slept with him.” “Wow,” we replied in unison, but I couldn’t stop there, “You should tell her you have very little patience for that kind of behavior.” “We broke up,” KJ informed us. “Good idea,” I said and added, “Sounds like she was short on love.”

It doesn’t matter how often I’ve experienced it, I cannot seem to get the hang of daylight savings time, especially in the Spring. Although Benjamin Franklin coined the term, “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise,” it was George Vernon Hudson who proposed Modern Daylight Savings Time (DST) because he liked the extra daylight time to collect insects. I should have known a Kiwi was behind this concept.

Skiwi loves waking up early. Just the other day DDDG was telling him she didn’t have enough time in the day. He provided her a response the next morning when she was sleeping in, “This is why you don’t have enough time in the day. You’re wasting precious hours, pumpkin.” She responded with a common phrase, not Benjamin Franklin’s phrase, but a common phrase, nonetheless.

I’m with DDDG on this one. It’s not that I need a lot of sleep as much as it is I really like taking my time. Instead of collecting insects, I prefer to collect minutes – many of them laying in bed (CO chair) or lollygagging around the house. Some may see it as losing minutes, to which I say, “Why so negative?” I see what I do as  a hobby of sorts. Once I collect enough minutes, I’ll have nothing but time on my hands. Unlike the Styx, I’m not worried about having too much time on my hands, I can use those extra moments to practice my Mr. Hoboto.

Planning events with my friends is a lot like planning a wedding – only about 70% of  those who you invite actually attend and a fully stocked bar is appreciated. I decided to host a brunch and invited twelve of my closest friends.  Unlike a wedding, only 40% attended. Fortunately, like a wedding, we had plenty of beverages.

Immediately upon arriving, Skiwi was assessing my entertaining amenities. “You need speakers in here,” he said while checking out all of the corners of my home. He spent the rest of the time, outside of the quarter of an hour or more that he was fixing my fanlight while DDDG held his legs so he wouldn’t fall off the chair, assessing my speaker needs and discussing his ‘zones’ with others.

After Skiwi and DDDG left, That’s Not Chinese, Tree and I were sharing stories with Oreggano. “I cashed in all of my coins for a bottle of wine,” Tree informed us. “The worst part was, the wine store was closed, so I had to drive all the way into the city (approximately ten miles) to buy it and when I got to the liquor store I realized I didn’t have my ID. So, I picked up FatGirl and secretly exchanged money for liquor in the parking lot. It was like a drug deal.” 

“Speaking  of deals,” Oreggano interjected and then turned her attention towards That’s Not Chinese, “What’s the deal with you and boys? I thought you liked girls.” That’s Not Chinese, in typical That’s Not Chinese fashion, said, “Look,” took a sip of champagne, put her left hand in the air in the ‘talk to the hand’ position, closed her eyes for a second, and then finished her statement. “I’m not a lesbian, but I deal with those types and sometimes end up in relationships with them.” “Girl, you’re feral like Errol,” I informed her. ‘Feral like Errol’ is a new little catch phrase Tree and I proposed last night when discussing brunch. He mentioned he was “In like Flynn,” and then asked what it meant. I mentioned Errol Flynn and, well, that is how our magic happens.
Later in the evening, That’s Not Chinese, Dr. BJ, Disdain and I went to a wedding reception where people were both in and ‘out’ like Flynn and we, as usual, were feral like Errol. Like many events with my friends, the bar was fully stocked. Unlike some events with my friends, attendance was high, at approximately 60%.
Dr. BJ was very excited about the reception because he and several of his friends were going to perform to Single Ladies by Beyonce. He had been practicing the routine for at least a week and had even opted against going out once so he could break in his new shoes, “I’m just going to go home, put my heels on, and iron.”
With only minutest to prep, That’s Not Chinese and I assisted Dr. BJ with his make-up, while Disdain documented the event. The dressing room was incredibly hot, so the main performer, Hell Savior, found us a different room. As we were all making our way into the new room, he humbly brought attention to his efforts, “You’re welcome for being saved from hell.” “Wow, Hell Savior, thank you,” I quipped. “You should get ‘hell’ tattooed on your ass and then you can tell people to go there and win again!” Hell Savior batted his glittery green eyelids at me, smiled and said, “I’d like that.”
Then he put one hand on his hip, the other in front of him, gyrated his hips and uh oh oh oh oh ohed his way to the dance floor, with Dr. BJ in tow. Very feral.

Occassionally, I decide to stay home and clean. Frequently, this doesn’t go as planned. Last night I was cleaning – moving things from one room to another, finding nostalgic items and getting distracted for hours – when I received a text from Passed The Sniff Test. He was studying for an upcoming exam and needed a break from his books. I had vacuumed one room, loaded and started the dishwasher, and was exhausted, so we deicided to stoop.

Passed The Sniff Test arrived just after nine and, just after midnight, we decided to invite That’s Night Chinese to our impromptu stoop time (which had moved indoors, it was cold outside). She came right over and we were having a lovely time sipping wine and reminicsing when I received a call from Tree.

“I’m at a college party with my FatGirl and I’ve got some shit for you to blog,” he excitedly informed me. I grabbed my pen and paper and told him I was ready. “OK. So, there is this Polynesian gay and he is walking out eating hot dogs.” “That’s it?” I asked. “Yes,” he proudly replied. “Why are you at a college party?” “Because FatGirl goes to college.” “Well leave there and come here, there are no Polynesians eating hot dogs, but I’ve got wine  and we’re having a little soiree.”

Several bars and phone calls later, we heard Tree and FatGirl outside. They were so loud, it was impossible to not hear them. “The gays are here,” I announced. Tree had an hankering for a cigarette and asked That’s Not Chinese for one. “I quit smoking in October,” she told him. “You don’t have any, not even one?” he asked and added, “I’m gonna have to smell my fingers if you don’t have a cigarette.”

A little while later, we decided to do our new favorite thing: the unison drunk dial. Rusty Rogue Rafael was once again the lucky recipient. To take it up a notch, we video chatted with him. Poor guy. Five people talking at him all at once and That’s Not Chinese, a lover of face time, giving and taking 100% of the lens.

Several hours later, we were all in bed. Some in our own bed, some not. Regardless of where we all laid our heads, one thing was certain, all of our heads were going to be hurting in the morning. As Mrs. Vernon-Williams would say, “Heavy hangs the head that last night wore (in our case, drank) the crown.”

I have pretty positive thoughts. In fact, if you could spend even an hour in my mind, I think you would be proper impressed (see, positive). As a child, I was taught that thinking was the same as doing. If your imagination is anything like mine, you know this can be very, very dangerous. By the time I was ten, I had lived quite the life…in my mind.

In addition to having a vivid imagination, I also have a strong determination to prove things – wrong or right. So, thought or not, I generally did it, whatever ‘it’ may be.

As I’ve gotten older, not much has changed. Although, I believe I may think about far more things than I actually do. For example, every morning, while cozy in my bed (or CO chair), I think about going to work. I also regularly think about cleaning, exercising, eating better, reading more, doing my taxes, and the like. Unfortunately, like so many other things we are taught to believe as children, this philosophy is not true. Thinking is not the same as doing.

Thinking about things does, however, help. I can walk proud knowing I have thought good thoughts and had good intentions – I just may not actually take this walk until later in the day, after I have had plenty of time to sleep in, stare at my fan light, and ponder things. Maybe I ponder more than I think. Definitely something to consider. Which I’ll do later, after I clean, aka, think ‘clean’ thoughts.