Month: April 2011

Although my French is pretty limited to simple phrases such as ‘beau cul’ or ‘santé,‘ I am aware of the French turned English term, ‘RSVP.’ Translation: répondez s’il vous plaît. It seems many Americans have no idea what either mean. Just in case you are in that group of many, RSVP or répondez s’il vous plaît simply mean please respond.

Yes. No. Maybe. Attending. Not Attending. Seems simple really. Unfortunately, for Tree, this type of simplicity isn’t regularly practiced by others. “It can’t be that difficult for someone to let me know if they’re coming or not, ” Tree told me with great frustration. “How am I to make a dinner reservation if I don’t have a headcount?”

I really had no suggestion other than to send a RSVPlea to those he had invited and, hopefully, they would respond this time. Lucky for both of us, this plea worked and he was able to make reservations for four: him, me, That’s Not Chinese and Better Have.

 

 

Tree has been itching to go dancing for some time, thus, planned a formal evening out with several of his girls.

The night started at one of his favorite restaurants with me, him, That’s Not Chinese and Better Have.  As soon as we sat down, Tree spotted someone of interest to him. Someone who happened to have the same name. This is a concept Tree really favors. “I would really love to date someone with the same name,” he told us while staring at the boy and smiling from ear to ear. “Then people can say, ‘Let’s have the Trees over.’ And that will just be so cute.”

Better Have decided to tease Tree about the boy and was pretending to engage with him across the restaurant. Tree had no time for this and quipped, “You have Angelina Jolie lips – so big that they’re always dry and cracked.” “Do you mean they’ve kissed Brad Pitt?” asked Better Have. “No,” Tree responded, “just dry and cracked.”

As we were getting ready to go dancing, That’s Not Chinese announced she would not be able to join us due to the fact that she had to work in the morning. “I work in the morning,” I told her. “You work tomorrow and you’re going out?” asked Better Have. “See,” Tree told That’s Not Chinese. “Listen, I sleep and I sloth,” That’s Not Chinese responded. “You sleep, you sloth, you pork, you pine,” Tree quipped.

While That’s Not Chinese was home sleeping and slothing (she was trying to pass this off as an animal trait, I know better, it’s a deadly sin), we were tearing up the dance floor. Sleepless, One And Done and I had decided to pretend to be naive to our surroundings and hit on the gay men in the bar. One And Done had no problem going up to them, smiling, and then encroaching on their personal space with her dance moves. She had done this with one patron and he attempted to get away. “Get him,” I instructed Sleepless. She attempted to do so and really did end up getting him when she lost her balance, fell to the floor in front of him, and he was cornered. “Nice work,” I told her. “Thanks,” she replied. “I stretched first.”

Tree had been toggling between the patio and the dance floor, but we had stayed on the floor the entire time. Our dancing was non-step – we were true dancing (****ing) machines. While throwing down the hobot, I was asked a question, “Why aren’t you married?” This is a question I am very used to being asked. What I’m not used to is the remainder. “No really. Why aren’t you married or dating someone? Do you have chlamydia or something. “Yes, ” I replied, “I do, but I took the antibiotic and have a tube of tropical cream, so I’m good. Just one of the prices we pay for being a ****ing machine, right?”

Although I’m not much of a planner, there are occasions when I will make an exception. Today was one of them. Last week, when Oreggano, That’s Not Chinese and I were hanging out, we made facial appointments for today. Oreggano and I woke up early (before 10), washed our faces and started making our way. We hadn’t heard from That’s Not Chinese, so Oreggano sent her a text. She was at work and replied, “Not coming. Working. I shouldn’t make drunk plans.” No, she shouldn’t and, clearly, neither should we. Turns out our facial appointments are next week, not today, so we took our naked faces shopping.

After having great success (translation: finding a really amazing party dress), we parted ways for the day and I met up with Sleepless, Progressive and Iced Tea for lunch. Lucky for me, I had just dined at this fine establishment the night before with Oreggano, so I knew exactly what I wanted. Actually, I didn’t. Turns out it is bay shrimp, not baby shrimp. My naked face got all blushy when I found this out….or maybe that was the wine.

Iced Tea had decided against having wine with lunch – citing something about having a job and being a “really big deal.” As he waited for his iced tea, he watched Sleepless, Progressive and I laughing, running along the beach, sailing, smelling roses, petting horse statues, and doing the limbo under a flaming stick with a bottle of Riunite in each hand. Yes, when we drink wine we look just like a Riunite on Ice commercial. “I think I will have a glass – just one,” he told us. When the server returned, Sleepless requested a glass for him. “Thanks Mom,” he told her.

We started talking about dating and relationships when Progressive shared his opinion about why Sleepless and I aren’t in a relationship, “Married women are tough.” “We’re not married,” I reminded him. “By married women, do you mean your wife?” quipped Sleepless and then had another sip of her wine.

Iced Tea grabbed the bottle and begin to refill his glass. “I thought you were only having one glass,” Sleepless asked, somewhat rhetorically. “I have a headache,” he answered. “From us?” she asked.  “No, mom,” he said then looked at me and added, “just from you.”

This type of comment might be offensive to some and, even though there is ‘me’ in some, this type of comment is not offensive to me. “I’m the best headache he’ll ever have,” I told Progressive and Sleepless after he left. “And,” I added, “I’ll still be with him in the morning. Naked face and all.”

While at work today, I decided to check out early retirement buyout options for 15 year employees. Human resources took my high apple pie in the sky hopes and turned it into mincemeat. So, like Rosie the Riveter, rain or shine, I’ll keep on making (verbal) munitions.

After several riveting hours sitting at work, watching the snow fall and waiting for last call (not like the bar, like Alexander Graham Bell), I was relieved to receive a request from Oreggano to grab dinner. This invitation, like mother nature, completely skewed my plans to don my newly acquired coveralls, complimented by my vintage (aka, old) wellies, and mow the lawn.

A fan of spontaneity, I picked up Oreggano and we headed to a posh little fish market. As we were driving I was telling her how much I loved their house salad with baby shrimp and thousand island dressing. We arrived and, like the other night when the two of us went out to dinner, they seated us in a quiet section at a table for two. “This is cozy – just like the table the other night,” said Oreggano. “It’s as if they know we’re on a date,” I quipped.

As the server was taking our order, I asked about adding the baby shrimp to my salad. “Oh, yes, you can do that. So the house salad with baby shrimp and caeser dressing?” she confirmed. “Oh, caeser, really? Do I have to get that?” I asked. “Get the thousand island – you were talking about it all the way over here,” Oreggano told me and then advised the server, “She’ll have the thousand island.” “Maybe we should have brought Indigo and the Infront. You totally just sounded like my wife,” I told her. “Oh shit,” she said, “I did.”

We had been at the restaurant about an hour when a group of women came in. Just when we thought the whole party was there, another couple of women would join the group. It was like clowns in a clown car – one would never expect to see so many women in one venue. “Somehow, even though this table is cozy, I think we should be sitting with the book club group,” I told Oreggano. “Do you think they’re lesbians?” Oreggano asked. “I think it’s a good thing we didn’t bring the Infront because we would have a hard time finding it among all of the other Subarus in the parking lot.”

While leaving the restaurant I realized it looked like the factories in World War II – far more women then men. This is something I have noticed the last few times we’ve been out and about. Like Rosie the Riveter, Wendy the Welder, Josephine the Plumber, and Sally the Server, women are once again doing their part to help America – we’re supporting the economy, and everything’s coming up Rosie.

 

This May, That’s Not Chinese is celebrating a milestone – her Cuarentañera. It’s a lot like the Quinceañera, but different, primarily because she isn’t turning 15. Anyway, I think she set Ballad of Lucy Jordan on repeat on her iPod because in addition to making plans to ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair, she recently she got a porcospino power tattoo, had me color her hair burgundy, and is considering getting her nose pierced.

“What is going on with her?” Tree asked me. “She is too old for this type of behavior.” “I don’t know, maybe a mid-life crisis,” I responded and added, “I wonder what crazy things I’ll do before or when I turn 40.” When I shared this exchange with That’s Not Chinese, she laughed and agreed, “I know dude, I think I’m mid-lifeing.” “Mid-weeking at a minimum,” I told her.

After talking her out of a nose piercing – for now, anyway – I received a call from The Leaver. “I don’t know what to do. I accidentally hit a button and now all of these people have notifications from me and I had to deactivate my account because people will think I’m stalking them or that they’re stalking me. I feel so horrible. What are people going to think of me? I don’t think this can be fixed.” “Calm down, calm down, ” I patiently interrupted. “I’ll help you fix your facebook account.”

A few minutes later I was at her house helping her remove the notifications. “This is really bad,” she repeatedly told me. “People are going to think I look at their pages and I don’t.” “Why do you have facebook if not to look at other people’s pages?” I asked. “Exactly,” interjected QuQueen from the other room, “She is totally obsessed with people obsessing over her.” “Enough from the peanut gallery,” The Leaver announced while running her hands through her hair for the umptenth time and asked, “Do you understand how bad this could be for me?”

I did understand and, fortunately, I was able to remedy the situation. Mid-week crisis response is two for two!

 

With Tree living so far (15 minutes) away right now, we have been staying in contact the old fashioned way. No, we haven’t been using a messenger pigeon or snail mail – although I like the idea of both. I need to get a pigeon and his mailing address. We have been talking on the phone.

Each night, as he walks home from work, he phones me. I quite like it because it is as if I am with him. Last night, while making his way, he stopped at a convenience store for a snack. “I’ve got Twizzlers. What other candy should I get?” he asked me. “Maybe a Skor, I’ve always quite liked those.” “No,” he responded, “not chocolate. Something to go with Twizzlers and a protein shake. Mike and Ike it is.”

As he continued with his walk home, he was telling me stories about his day, many of which started with “I’m all….” “I’m tired of saying ‘I’m all,’ I’ve got to come up with something new, but Bi-Ass stole my story voice,” he informed me. “How does one steal your story voice?” I asked. “They just do,” he replied.

At some point he stopped at Redbox® and was reading the movie descriptions to me. “That’s what I want my job to be,” he told me. “What?” I asked. “Moviefone,” he answered. “I seriously think I could do that job. I wonder how much that pays. I could do radio. I did radio commercials in high school.” “Really?” I asked. “I could see that. You have a radio face.” “Well that is just rude,” he told me. “I know what that means. A radio face is someone with a sexy voice and an ugly face.” “Really?” I said, “Huh.”

 

 

I’m always up for social gatherings, so when I was invited to a peel party I RSVPed immediately. Although MyFace and Q joined me for this good, clean fun, Q opted against the facial peel. A few days later, I noticed a zit making a cameo appearance on my face, sans RSVP, very rude.

I phoned Q to discuss this dilemma. “I really can’t have a zit right now,” I told her. “Did you breakout at all?” “Yes,” she replied, “but I didn’t get a peel.” “Well that really throws a wrench in my theory.” As much as I wanted to call in zit to work, I bucked up, applied some zit cream, and went in.

About halfway through the day I was asked to meet up with my boss and several others to discuss a tentative ‘situation.’ “This is starting to look like a big pimple,” said my boss as he discussed the situation. I, of course, immediately assumed his comment was inspired by the enflamed, elevated skin on my face. He continued, “Now it’s been lanced and stuff is coming out.” Totally talking about my face – really should have called in zit.

Several minutes and applications of concealer later, I participated in an on-camera interview. Prior to the interview starting, I had grabbed a pen from my purse so the reporter could take notes. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice that when I grabbed the pen some of the other items in my purse rose to the surface and, like my zit (pre-concealer), were clearly visible. Laying on top of my purse, in plain view, was a condom. I quickly threw it back in my purse, thanked him for the interview, and thought to myself, “So what! Even a girl with a zit deserves some good, clean fun every now and again.”

 

A couple of days ago Oreggano sent me a text telling me she had eradicated a mouse situation in her laundry room. Unfortunately, one mouse managed to avoid capture and was wreaking havoc on her morning. I am not a fan of mice. For me, they are uninvited guests who wore out their welcome the minute they crossed the threshold. As I was packing up my termination gear, I heard a sound outside.

There are certain sounds I recognize without ever actually seeing the device from whence they came. The clicking and spinning of a big wheel is one of them. As soon as I heard this sound I looked out the window to find my neighbor’s nephew was riding the big wheel I acquired last week.

So shocked by this visual, and being that it was first thing in the morning, I hopped in the car in my pajamas (a dress that I find very comfortable) and headed to Oreggano’s. While attempting to eradicate the mouse (to no avail), I told her about the big wheel. “That is not right,” Oreggano told me. “You stole it fair and square.” “You’re right,” I replied. “Next time I see that five-year-old I’ll remind him of that fact. After, of course, I tell him it is wrong to take something that doesn’t belong to him.”

Oreggano and Cream of Tartar just purchased a new car and I had not yet experienced the pleasure of riding in it, so we decided to leave the mouse behind, hop in the car, and make impromptu visits at the homes of some of our friends. The first stop was at Alice’s house. Like me, she was still in her pajamas. “What time is it? Noon?” she asked. “I’m not sure,” I replied. “This working five days a week is killing me,” she told us. “Tell me about it. I only work four and I’m exhausted,” I agreed.

After Alice’s house we decided to stop at That’s Not Chinese’s. As we were making our way  we stumbled upon some goodness – a man walking down the street, long 80s rocker hair blowing in the wind, shirt off, and moobs and muffin top shaking to the beat of the afternoon traffic. “These are the times I wish I had thank you notes on hand,” I told Oreggano. “We owe him a thank you for that visual.”

Like Alice, That’s Not Chinese was surprised and pleased to have us visit. Oreggano was giving her a run down of our day so far. The mouse, the moob man, time with Alice. “We have been touching on shit together all day and haven’t even touched each other,” Oreggano told her. As she continued with the summary, we realized we had all the makings of a lesbian relationship, minus the lesbians. A Subaru outback (often referred to as a ‘lesbian limo’), a dog, and…OK, maybe not all the makings, but you get the idea. We decided to name Oreggano’s car Infront, change her dog’s name to Indigo, get a cat named Kitty Lang, and see if we could get season one of The L Word at the local market.

Once Oreggano and I returned home, we were joined by Dr. BJ for toilet repair (yes, it takes three of us to change a fill valve). As soon as we finished, we took our stoop positions and started hootin’ and hollerin’ at passers by – standard stoop practice. Within no time, we were joined by four of my neighbors; Listen Bitches being one of them.

All of the neighbors were fine drinking their wine out of a paper cup, all except for Listen Bitches, he wouldn’t have any part of that. “Listen bitches,” he told us, “I don’t drink my wine from a cup. Give me a glass.” “Fine,” I obliged, “but for the record, I’m pouring it from a box.” “Uh huh, wine from a paper cup, that is white trash,” Listen Bitches told Dr. BJ. “Uh huh, this isn’t white trash,” Dr. BJ corrected him, “this is black trash.”

In all of the time that Dr. BJ lived here, Listen Bitches never walked his dog by our house. “I can’t believe you never walked your dog down here,” Dr. BJ told him. “Uh huh,” replied Listen Bitches in his gay-angtsa tone, “I don’t walk my dog down this way because I heard there were black people down here.” “You are a treat,” I told Listen Bitches. “A real southern belle.” “Black people down here is right,” retorted Dr. BJ.

A few minutes later Dr. BJ started sashaying to the music that was playing. “That’s dancing?!?! I was expecting some rhythm,” quipped Listen Bitches. “Show us some of your moves,” Oreggano challenged him. “Listen bitches,” he replied and cackled.

Pretty soon, all of the guests had departed and Oreggano and I were hungry. “I know we’ve been trying to eat healthy,” she said, “but I’m craving some crap food.” I’m not entirely sure what she means by ‘eat healthy.’ The first thing that came to mind when she said it was National Corndog Day, so, I’m stumped. “What I really want,” she continued, “is biscuits and gravy.” So we made our way to the grocery store, “shopped like we just smoked weed,” and then decided to drop in on That’s Not Chinese, again.

We were in luck because she had just made dinner. We hunkered down at the table, enjoyed a couple of tacos and got to know her dinner guest. She didn’t offer us wine glasses, and we didn’t want to demand one like Listen Bitches, so we just shared the little wine that was left in the bottle, from the bottle. “We’re classy like that,” Oreggano told That’s Not Chinese as she took a sip.

Not wanting to intrude (any more than we already had), we left and returned to my house. A few minutes later and as promised, That’s Not Chinese was at the door, sans dinner guest. “This has been the best unplanned day ever,” That’s Not Chinese commented. “I must agree,” said Oreggano, “We’ve had incredible success with just stopping by without an invitation. Definitely must do it again soon.” “Infront, Indigo and all,” I added.

To take a break from a rather hectic day, I decided to phone Tree. He answered the phone within just a couple of rings, “I was just dancing around, did a twirl, and saw you were calling. My phone is on silent – no wonder I haven’t received any calls today.” “I’m so grateful you twirled,” I replied.

Temporarily residing in a different zip code, Tree is always looking for an opportunity to come back to mine, so we made plans to attend an event at a downtown salon. As sometimes happens, plans changed a bit when Tree was reminded he had dinner plans. Not one to let other people’s plans get in the way of mine, and having received an invitation from Tree to join, I met up with them for dinner.

When I walked through the door of the restaurant I realized I was dining with the triple threat: Trio, Reflection and Better Have. They had been there long enough to have a drink or two before I arrived and their game was on. It’s been some time since I’ve seen Reflection, but it was obvious he hasn’t missed a day seeing himself. He was looking fabulous, as was Better Have.

The waitress came to the table several times and each time Reflection and Better Have’s behavior and comments escalated. “Can you believe they talk to her like this?” Tree asked me. “I can’t believe she keeps coming back,” I replied. Once we got the check and our free bucket of cotton candy, we headed next door to the the salon event.

Reflection immediately took advantage of the free styling suggestions and makeovers. Better Have and I immediately took advantage of the free wine. While waiting for Reflection, Better Have informed Tree and I that he was the better have of their relationship. “Better have?” I asked. “Mmmm hmmm, ‘Better have dinner made by the time I get home.'”