Month: December 2011

I recently had the privilege of watching a documentary on Tupperware (thank you Dewey!). I also recently had the privilege of acquiring a lovely Tupperware pitcher from a secondhand store. So, without gloating too much, I guess I could say my life is really, really good.

 

Only one thing would make my life better and that would be if owned the discontinued popcorn bowl kernel strainer lid. Not sure if that is the exact title, but that is what I would call it if I owned it. Pretty sure Debbie Boris of Rossford, Ohio would agree with me – but instead of relying on Tupperware, she just invented her own popcorn contraption: Kernels-B-Gone. I have a feeling she is pretty happy and that Brownie would be impressed.

 

Brownie Wise was pretty happy and not just because she had a really great name. She worked for and made Tupperware famous as a result of her keen sense of direct marketing via at-home parties – women being the target audience. She and Earl Tupper began working together in 1950 and she turned Tupperware into an international success.

 

Brownie believed in people, “Build people and they will build the business for you,” was one of her famous quotes and what some refer to as a Tupperism. I consider it Wisedom. Brownie saw the advantage of incentives and held an annual jubilee for sales associates in Florida. This, ultimately, was the demise of Brownie Wise because Earl Tupper did not agree with spending money on jubilees and other celebrations. As a result, Brownie was fired. She was given one year’s salary – no stock in the company and no recognition of her efforts or existence by Tupperware. In fact, any artifacts (pictures, documents, books) that tied her to Tupperware were removed and/or destroyed per Tupper’s orders.

 

As much as I love Tupperware, I’m afraid Earl Tupper, who I prefer to refer to as the “Burping Seal” (a phrase he coined – very apropos)  is not on my list of favorites. He is, however, on a list with Franklin M. Hart Jr. (9 to 5). I have a feeling Judy, Violet and Doralee would have loved Brownie.

There is nothing funny about Sub for Santa charities. Or is there? This is a question The Responsible One and I asked while reading a few donation requests posted by a small town newspaper. Some of the headlines, written to grab the reader’s attention and heart/purse strings, had us grabbing our sides as we were giggling. We began to read one that sounded exactly like the script of a cheesy holiday movie trailer. We couldn’t help but think of locations, set designs, camera angles and really amazing fade to black moments.

 

As we were doubled over in my office a coworker stopped in to see what was so funny. “Do you ever read the Sub for Santa articles?” I asked him. “Yes, last week’s was really sad. Breaks my heart,” he replied. We told him about the one we were currently reading and shared our movie trailer idea. He laughed a little bit and then left my office. “We’ll definitely need to get a laugh track,” I advised The Responsible One. “I don’t see why others don’t see the humor,” she replied.

 

“They haven’t worked in the business long enough. Which reminds me, I’m thinking about doing a show called ‘Why I’m Such an Asshole,'” I told her. “I like it. How long have you been thinking about this?” she asked. “Just started thinking about it right now,” I replied and added, “With our friends, I figure we could air a show every day for at least two years.” It was about this time that we contacted ROFL with a question about a project. The Responsible One was razzing him about deadlines and he did his infamous, “One more thing,” and then hung up on us. “Yet one more guest,” I told her, then called ROFL again and invited him to be on the show.

BeCuz is pretty particular about her teas. When I invited her to my house for a spot I was surprised by her surprise when she learned I didn’t have an infuser. “You need a real tea kettle,” she told me. I love my tea kettle. It is a beautiful butternut squash whistler with a stainless steel handle that will burn you if you touch it. As I defended my kettle, she shook her head with disgust, all the while wetting her pallet with the cup of tea I had provided her. “No need to be so cri-tea-cal,” I replied.

 

A few hours later, Art Groupie stopped by and, because she likes her coffee just so, she brought her own. Although the brand she brought is my absolute favorite, I opted for another cup of tea – somebody’s got to defend my pot. For reasons unbeknownst to her, Art Groupie has a tendency to meet artists, get invited to their studio to see their works, and then realize it isn’t their pallet or paintbrush that they’re really interested in showing her. “What do you do?” I asked her. “Last time I ran out,” she told me. “I’m trying to make better choices about guys I ‘date.’ I keep seeing this really cute guy on my way to the coffee shop and the other day I saw him at the library. The me in me wants to talk to him, but my kids told me I need to stop meeting men this way,” she advised me.

 

“So how do you meet them?” I asked.  “My kids gave me match.com for my birthday a couple of years ago,” she said. “That’s a horrible present. I hope they gave you a gift receipt,” I told her. “No, no gift receipt. I didn’t really make any love connections. I wish I had, because I started taking an estrogen supplement and I am horny. I’m also really bitchy,” she said. “It might be time for you to wet your pallet at an art exhibit again. Maybe you’ll find an artist there who is in the market for a horny bitch,” I suggested. “Good idea. Maybe he’ll show me his paintbrush” she giggled.

Christmas is a slightly confusing time of year. Primarily, because of the days before it and after it.

 

I’ve got a little Christmas countdown calendar with 24 pockets, numbered 24 to one, and a little snowman to move from pocket to pocket in accordance with the days. Thus, I could count down or up – it’s slightly confusing. Not sure what to do and, on most days, not sure of the actual date or day of the week, I just put the snowman in whichever numbered pocket suits my fancy. Currently, the snowman is in pocket 18.

 

If you multiply the three wise men by two and subtract that number from the pocket in which the snowman is currently residing, you get 12. More specifically, the Twelve Days of Christmas. I’ve known several people who begin celebrating this 12 days before Christmas. According to the Wible (Wikipedia – the Internet Bible), these festivities don’t begin until Christmas Day (December 25 – even on leap years) and do not end until the Twelfth Night, January 5. This is where things get a little crazy. The Twelfth Day can come before or after the Twelfth Night. Following (and slightly part of ) Twelfth Day is the ever important Epiphany (January 6). In addition to being a day of gift giving, Epiphany is the last day to take down decorations without chancing a wee bit of bad luck (so say the Brits).

 

In between all of this is New Year and the ever popular New Year’s Eve. New Year’s Eve and Christmas Eve tend to get a little more attention than New Year Day and Christmas Day. Being that the eves are so important, it causes me to wonder why Twelfth Day (or is it Night) isn’t called Epiphany Eve. More importantly, why don’t we celebrate Birthday Eve? Just to give some of my regular celebrations a bit more meaning, I plan to start celebrating their eves. Birthday Eve, Karaoke Eve, State Fair Free Concert Eve, National Corndog Day Eve, Stoop Eve and Eve Eve – a night devoted to repeated plays of Gangsta Lovin’ followed by a day of repeated plays of Let Me Blow Ya Mind.

 

I have a neighbor who regularly performs his outdoor activities with little to no clothing on. I’m not sure if he does this knowing people can see him or if he thinks that, since he can’t see us, we can’t see him. A similar occurrence happened with a former neighbor, who we affectionately called (unbeknownst to him) Big Dick Dan. Each morning, he would step outside to grab the paper. Each morning he would do a perimeter check while covering his bit. When he thought the coast was clear, he used his hands to open the door and pick up the paper – leaving his not so wee bit uncovered.

 

These sights have all been seen from the comforts of my home and, on occasion, my stoop. Many times, I am alone when this happens which forces me to, like Gladys Kravitz on Bewitched, shout out “Abner!” to whoever will listen. Typically, it is to Opreggano via text. Assuming, of course, that she isn’t already sitting next to me.

 

I decided to take the day off work today and planned a meeting at my house with The Leaver. As we were sitting at the dining room table I saw some movement in my front yard and  peered out the window to see Sleepless attempting to sneak up to drop off banana bread. “Abner! It’s Sleepless!” I told The Leaver. “I wanted to surprise you with this. You’re not supposed to be here,” Sleepless told me. That’s true, but I also wasn’t supposed to see my neighbors naked.

 

 

After Alice left my house to go home and watch Derek Jeter chat with Barbara Walters, I returned S-Unit’s call.

 

We hadn’t talked for a while (two days, at least) and I’d only used 128 of my 900 minutes (with 6 days to go), so I figured we had plenty of time to catch up. We chatted for a while, she asked if I was caught up on American Horror Story, I told her about the last episode I had watched (via the internet – my cable package is very limited….I really only have it for my house guests) and asked about the rubber suit guy. “OK, well, that episode was a while ago so I can’t talk to you about the details. You need to watch,” she advised. A few minutes later, but nowhere near my minute max, she said, “Alright, well, I’m going to go so I can watch some TV.”

 

Twice in one night, and less than one hour’s time, I was told goodbye so someone could watch TV. It was like I was in a relationship again, but with two people. “What is so interesting about that little black box in the corner?” I asked myself and then turned it on to see. Reruns (sadly, not the Wilson Phillips reality show), news, infomercials – nothing worth watching.

 

So, I did what most people do, I googled my URL and found ‘Grigio Girls Slideshow REHAB‘ on youtube. 3 minutes and 35 seconds of four girls drinking (never did I see grigio) and partying with Amy Winehouse’s ‘Rehab‘ as the track for the slideshow. The next related clip was, ‘Asian girl opening a bottle of Pinot Grigio.’ Once again, no grigio – it was champagne. Ugh. No TV, no PG and no friends with me. Finally, I stumbled upon ‘Must Love Wine‘ with Filiberto Magnati. He did actually drink Pinot Grigio and ended his show with words of wisdom, “You must love wine because wine loves you.” So true. Wine may be packaged in a little black box, but it will never leave me for one.

 

 

Turns out, my ‘fishes and loaves’ comment has been a real gut buster for my boss. He brought it up during a meeting the other day and could not stop laughing. My response, “We’ll always have fishes and loaves. I really do love Dr. Seuss – with rhyming you just can’t lose.” “You may be on to something,” he replied.

 

I shared this story with Alice, who also couldn’t believe I wasn’t familiar with the bible. “Look, I know what it is,” I replied. “Right, but fishes and loaves is a parable of Jesus,” she told me. “Uh huh. I’ve known a Jesus or two in my time – primarily  in a biblical sense. But no Jesus I ever knew mentioned fishes or loaves. I really should have asked if they knew how to turn water into wine,” I said and added, “You know, if the bible rhymed, more people might read and remember it.” I then attempted to make a rhyme for ‘away in a manger.’ My incredible use of ‘stranger,’ and ‘danger’ were impressive to her. “”You’re pretty good. I better get going. Sorry for drinking all your wine,” she told me.

 

As ‘impressed’ as Alice was with my biblic limerick, she couldn’t wait to get home and watch a Barbara Walters special. Derek Jeter was being interviewed by Barbara as one of the ten most fascinating people. Alice likes Derek Jeter, primarily because she loves the Yankees. Loves, loves, loves them – like Noah loves his ark. She also really loves Jesus Montero and, if she could, would love to know him in a biblical sense. If only fishes were wishes.

 

 

As I’ve mentioned before – and please understand, I’m not trying to brag – I’m really good at making handwritten signs. This is a special skill set that I have had for many years. Like many of my special skills, however, it lies dormant – sometimes for months at a time. A year or two ago I had the opportunity to use this special skill at a work event. As a result, I ended up with a new title, ‘Sign Girl.’ Due to the recession, and the fact that I was the only one with the handwritten sign skills, I had to make my own name tent detailing my title. Times are tough.

 

While enjoying the spontaneous company of That’s Not Chinese, The Leaver shared with us her special skill set, “I’m really good with puzzles. I can do a whole puzzle in one day.” “That’s great. You’ll be a big hit at the senior centers,” I replied. Part two of my special skill set, and something I’ve mentioned before, I’m an asshole.

 

That’s Not Chinese nearly spit out her wine as she laughed about this. The Leaver didn’t see the humor, so she stepped out to have a smoke. It was at this time that That’s Not Chinese revealed one of her special skills, flatulence so strong it could be measured by the Richter scale. Luckily, part three of my special skill set, inability to smell ass, kicked in. I can’t wink (skill set deficiency), so I nodded my head, tilted my glass toward That’s Not Chinese and did a closed mouth smile. I may not be able to smell things, but like Deputy Raineesha Williams of Reno 911!, I never want to be around flatulence with an open mouth. Special skill set four: wisdom obtained from Comedy Central.

I used to get groceries delivered to my home in an attempt to eat better.  After about a year of doing this, and throwing out a lot of expired food, I canceled the home delivery and began using the cooler as a stoop stool.

 

Being that food is no longer delivered, I have to occasionally go to the store for cheese, eggs, bread, milk, and produce. Even with all of these foods in my home, I rarely cook. Instead, I go out to eat. After working with The Leaver on our project, she mentioned she was hungry. I knew that of all of the grocery items I owned, most was expired, so I didn’t offer to make anything. I had remembered That’s Not Chinese made homemade chili, so I suggested we stop by her house. “Will she mind?” The Leaver asked. “No, she loves when I do this. Opreggano and I do it all the time,” I replied. This was not entirely true – Opreggano and I had only done it once.

 

Luckily, That’s Not Chinese did not care. Unfortunately, she was deep into the fourth quarter of a Chicago Bears game and they weren’t doing well. The Leaver was too hungry to wait for the game to end and the corn muffins to bake, so she ate the chili and then said, “I think I’m bad luck for your team. Maybe I should leave and go feed my dogs.” “If you must, you must,” That’s Not Chinese replied. “Are you coming back so that I’ll have a ride home?” I asked. “Of course, I don’t want to eat and run,” she told us. “No, you just want to eat and run back,” I said. “That’s true, when I get back I may have to try some of those corn muffins.”

Just to clear up any questions you may have about whether or not I was formerly in Vogue magazine, the answer is no. Vogue has many definitions. Briefly summarized, it is the prevailing fashion, style or craze. When describing one’s self or practices, it sounds far more refined to say, “I was formerly in vogue,” than to say, “I’m old fashioned.” This is thanks, in part, to Urban Dictionary, where an “Old Fashioned” refers to  a hand job (and a few other sexual activities) and totally takes away Old Fashioned’s beauty as a classic beverage and term of endearment.

 

Personally, although I am pretty ‘modern,’ especially when hanging around The Leaver in her “modern gay plaid” shirt, I am rather old-fashioned, aka, formerly in vogue, when it comes to many things. Take babysitting for example. Whenever I watch Baby Q, I always make sure we have at least one outing; read several books; listen to music; and spend a lot of time playing. This last babysitting gig, after burning her microwave macaroni and cheese (this doesn’t happen when I use the stove top), I attempted to impress her with my VCR. As any toddler would be, she was immediately impressed with the tape door. In an attempt to distract her attention, I handed her the case to “The Golden Age of Looney Tunes, Volume 1: 1930s Musicals,” and hit ‘play’ so she could enjoy it.

 

This VHS is a compilation of black and white – emphasis on the white, animated cartoons. I hadn’t watched the video for years and had forgotten about the racism – I’m definitely not that kind of old fashioned. We decided to turn our attention to outdoor activities – specifically, looking at the homes decorated with Christmas lights. After completely exhausting and slightly freezing Baby Q, we ended the night with a few books. The next morning (which, fortunately, began 11 hours later), we played again and, once she started being ornery, I put her down for a nap and she cried herself to sleep.

 

As she did so, I realized this old-fashioned method of falling asleep is pretty effective – I plan to try crying myself to sleep tonight. While she slept, I donned my vintage hostage apron and reviewed Betty Crocker’s Cooking Calendar: A Year-Round Guide to Meal Planning with Recipes and Menus, (printed in 1962). Not only does this book provide healthy and fresh (not microwaved) meal suggestions, it also details “famous dates of years gone by and homey mottoes.” Mottoes such as, “To have friends, be one,” (Elbert Hubbard) and “A fireside is a great opiate,” (Leigh Hunt). These old-fashioned mottoes seem far more friendly than the modern-day Homey mottoes such as, “Homey don’t play dat,” and “Silent night…..All was bright… Bright like that damn light that cop shone in my face. He knew I didn’t do it. HE KNEW I DIDN’T DO IT. I said BACK ME UP.”

 

Inspired by Betty, Leigh and Elbert, I turned on my crackling fire (DVD); put Bing Crosby – Merry Christmas in the CD player (no, I don’t have an iPod yet); thought about friends – old and new; and was reminded that, like an Old-Fashioned, life is bitter, sweet, and, every now and again, a little bit twisted.