Thursday, July 28, 2005

How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days: Have Your Friend Drunk Dial Him

That'll probably do it.

Last night, Mav and I discovered that sleeping in your clothes is not just for the beach house anymore. Neither is drunk dialing.

Too much wine. Mav showed up so that I could hem some of her pants, me being the resident seamstress. And to stitch up some pants where she ripped open a buttonhole - with scissors (!). So there is a slit that she can't button. I'll whipstitch it but it still won't be that pretty. That Mav.

So she shows up with a bottle. Of course. Payment. We polished that off in 20 minutes. Then we were hungry so we walked down the street in search of salads - not meatloaf. We even had to tell the hostess and the waiter to not let us - under any circumstances - order the meatloaf. It worked. We ate our BORING salads. Because it was no Salad Factory salad. So more bottles were consumed. And let me just tell you that wine is not Miller Lite.

Then the calling began.....

It started off innocent enough. Let's call Goose! Because...of course. Then we had to call a few other friends. We called the West Coast. We called the East Coast. We called beachhouse people. We called Richie Rich. We called Disco (?). We called BGA (yikes!). We called the friend of my ex-boyfriend so I could tell him about the socks I got for him at the White Sox game last weekend. They were free and he is the only White Sox fan I know. So I felt the need to let him know this.

And we called Mason. Um. Yeah. Mason - the guy I met at the beach two weeks ago from the "Safeway" house - who last I spoke to said that HE would call ME NEXT WEEK to set up a date. So, probably won't be hearing from him again? But let me explain. For my own understanding. Mason has a friend from the house who really took a shine to Mav. Last time I talked to Mason (the night before) he asked if Mav would be interested in him. I wasn't sure because I can't keep track of all her men. So over our salads and bottles of wine I tell Mav about the interested friend. Problem is neither of us can remember which guy he is talking about. Is it the Grill Master? So the call was from my phone but it was Mav leaving the message inquiring about the friend. I think she sounded coherent and the message was left at a decent hour - 9:30. It was the early part of our drunk dialing. So it wasn't really "me" "drunk dialing" him. But will he not see it this way? Worries. Have I screwed that one up before it even began?

Mav has her own dilemna of the what-kind-of-damage-was-done kind. She called BGA - her beach house crush. Problem is we have no recollection of this call which was most definitely made at some ungodly hour. What was said? Oh no.

Who knows when we went to bed. But Mav had a conference call at 8:30 and needed to wake up by 7:00 - she was in no shape to drive home and Mother Goose was getting drunk at her own house so she could not come pick up her daughter.

"Boa never sleeps." True. I set the alarm for....4 AM?

Mav kindly transcribed our conversation at 4 AM:

Boa: "Mav...its 7, do you have to get up?"
Mav: After surveying the still dark skies..."Its 4, so no."
Boa: "It is?"
Mav: "Yes, go back to sleep. Wake me at 7."
Boa: "Where's my phone...I need to see who we drunk dialed last night. (laughter) Oh my God....we called Mason! Yikes! And Disco! Why?!...who is 516..."
Mav: "That's my mom...I called my mom...(more laughter)...uhhh. Let me check my phone. Holy shit, I called BGA! (Laughing even harder) Well since I am up, I might as well check my e-mail, because I always get really important e-mails at 4 in the morning."
Boa: "Hee Hee. What did you say to Mason? Is he ever going to call again?"
Mav: "Probably not. (Busy Checking V.I. e-mails) Is Joel the GrillMaster?"
Boa: "I don't care if he calls or not. Do I? I wish we had the King's number (her circa labor day hook-up)"...More laughing
Mav & Boa: "Let's Call Goose!!!"
Mav: "I'll just e-mail her" More laughing.

So we woke - for the second time - at 7 AM in our clothes from the night before just like we do at the beach. It's all the same now when your week is becoming your weekend.

SERIOUSLY. DID I JUST SCARE MASON AWAY? That would suck because I kind of liked him.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Perry's Addiction (To Pants)

[The password is "pants."]

So I was in Chicago this past weekend to visit one of my oldest and dearest friends, M. We go way back. She's hilarious and one of the most creative people I know. We share a love of music. 80's college radio, new wave, skate rock, hardcore, and punk - whatever the hell kind of label you slap on it. Seeing her always makes me feel cool again. Or makes me realize just how uncool I really am.

The highlight of our weekend was going to Lollapalooza on Saturday. We attended the very first one back in '91 - or was it '92 - we can't really remember the year. We both can't even agree on who actually went with us. But we did wear pants. That we are sure about.

Friday night we ended up going to a White Sox game. The Cubs were out of town and the Red Sox were in town. So baseball. In attendance were me, M, her husband, P, his brother, B, and Jr, B's 9-year old son. P, B, & Jr? It's a family affair.

Now remember Lollapalooza is in town. So, most likely, Perry Ferrell is wandering Chicago. We never forgot that. On our way to the park Friday night.....
M: How do I look?

Me: Like a rock star.
M: I got to look good for Perry.

So we get our beers and our seats and lo and behold....Perry Ferrell! Is it? Is it? It is. Yes, sir, Perry at home plate, with pants and all. In tight bell-bottom fashion. Rockin'. I thought M knew this was going to happen, hence her earlier comment. But apparently it was a surprise to all in attendence. That qualifies as a treat.
Jr, The 9-Year-Old, Son of a Uber-Cool Real Skate Rocker: Is he gay?!
Grown-Ups: Heh. Heh.
Jr: I'm serious! Look at those pants! He has to be gay!

And so this declaration became the butt of a lot of jokes over the weekend. You know, in our attempt to teach the kid that the pants do not make the man or the girlie-man. It's purely fashion (in the name of).

And so I am never one to let those inside jokes die. I'll find any opportunity to try it out. Even in the company of.....cameras!

So Saturday was our one and only pass to Lolla. M and I had the schedule highlighted with a yellow highlighter. I'm serious. We highlighted every band we wanted to see and we carried that in our hands all day. It was our roadmap to Mecca. Kaiser Chiefs, Blonde Redhead, Billy Idol, Pixies, and Weezer. We take our music seriously.

Anyway...on our way to one of our task items - a band, a bathroom, a beer, a food item - we got asked to take part in an interview asking us about our "experience at Lolla."
Surveyers: Hey cool girls!
Us: Yes, we are cool.
Surveyers: Can we film you because you are so rock star pretty and my those pants.
Us: Yes. You may film us.

And so after a hair, makeup, and sound check, we were seated in directors' chairs, legs crossed, lip-glossed, and microphone commanding. We were ready to answer some real hardcore questions. Of which we had the serious answers to.
Surveyers: How does this festival compare to others you have attended?
Us: Blah blah smart talk.
Surveyers: How does it compare to that first one you gals attended?
Us: Blah blah smart talk.
Surveyers: What draws you to the festival?
Us: Pixies!!
Surveyers: What would you change about the festival?
Us: Beer selection!!! Bud sucks.
Us: Hi Perry!

See what is happening here? The intellectual stance we held earlier is going downhill. So the questioning continued and then it went - irresistably, if I must say - here.
Surveyers: Now pretend you are Perry Ferrell.....
Me: Oh! [light bulb and where is the 9-year-old when you need him?] Sure. Let me just put on my pants here.....*smile for the camera* [all the while recovering with blah blah smart talk].

So.....the pants!

That's that. It was a fun weekend. It was great to see M, P, and B. And to meet Jr as I last saw him at M and P's wedding when he was toddler-age. We got to see Mr. T at the baseball game. ("Look at those pants! He is not gay!") We also got to see some serious Billy Idol fist-pumping. (Oohh...those pants. Still looking good.) We did some shopping and I got to go to the Art Institute and see a portion of the Toulouse-Lautrec show. I can't wait to wear my "Chicago" souveniers...a Jane Avril tank top and some Paul Frank pajama/underwear with Scurvy, the Skull and Crossbones mascot. I got a new skate rock DVD (gifted from B) and the Lolla show was great. I got blisters to prove it. The weather was not quite 100 degrees yet so we were lucky that way.

Now I am back in DC, settling back into routine. But somebody, please, for the love of Perry, please turn on the AC (100 degress?).....or I may have to take off these pants.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Mommy's Little Monster

A comic strip idea. Or a head trip.

Me: I'm home, Slow Pie!
Cat:'s about time.
Me: And hello to you, Miss Puss 'n' Boots. You used to greet me at the door, you know.

Cat: I've been all alone all weekend all summer long. No TV. Nobody to talk to. Cut me a break.
Me: Yeah. And I do feel a little bad about that.
Cat: Now fill up my bowl and keep the pill out this time.
Me: I don't think so. You're sick and old and need your medicine, remember?
Cat: It was worth a try. But don't think I won't spit it out if I find it this time.
Answering Machine: You have a message!
Cat: Don't answer that! It's nobody.
Answering Machine: Hi Sophie! It's your doctor and we haven't seen you in like three months. Tell your momma to bring her checkbook and get you here immediately!
Me: Should I tell them you died?
Cat: Heh. Heh.
Me: But then how would we get your thyroid medicine?
Cat: We don't.
Me: But you need that. Remember how banshee-like you become when you are not on it.
Cat: Whatevs.
Me: It's getting very expensive, this doctor. I am spending $200 every 3 months on you. And then he holds out on refilling your prescription if I don't bring you in right away. It's criminal.
Cat: You saying I'm not worth it?
Me: No. I would not mind spending the money if he actually could find out what is *wrong* with you.
Cat: Oh. You want there to be something wrong with me?
Me: No. But there is clearly something wrong with you.
Cat: Pshaw. I'm just old.
Me: Yeah. You are. I am pretty sure if I had a grandparent, you'd be hitting the shuffleboard and Early Bird special together. You know, if we still lived in Florida.
Cat: Sounds funner than slinking around this place. It's hell. I can't get my exercise. I look out the window and all I see are buildings and sky. I try to see that view of Georgetown you swear you see, but I just don't get it. There are no birds. No squirrels. No dogs barking. Just cars and the occassional drunken kid running down that hill that, oh by the way, I can't see, I can only hear.
Me: It's a beautiful neighborhood. Sorry. I'm not taking you to suburbia.
Cat: Hate it. You took me away from that big old house where I had my very own bedroom, my very own chair pulled up to my very own window, overlooking my very own tree, with Mr. Squirrel to occupy my time. Not to mention I had stairs to exercise on. Space to be on my own, you know.

Me: That, sweet pea, was Timbuktu. Not going back.
Cat: So maybe you should let me die in peace in some kind of retirement home with lots of climbing towers and bags laying around for me to jump in and plants for me to eat. And some privacy. Since you deprive me of all these things.
Me: Oh. Stop being so melodramatic. I don't see you ever dying. Truly you are the Energizer bunny.
Cat: Maybe you shouldn't be on the go so much. Maybe you should be spending more time at home with me. We are not as close as we used to be.
Me: Well, I noticed you don't really sit on my lap anymore. You lay on the floor or under my bed.
Cat: Oh yeah. Go look in the bedroom.
Me: Sophie!
Cat: What can I say? I threw up again. Now give me some more food.
Me: You just ate.
Cat: No. I want some of that rotisserie chicken I smell.
Me: You say that every time and every time I give you your own little plate of little bite-size pieces and you never eat it.
Cat: You give me the dark meat!
Me: What's wrong with that?
Cat: *You* don't eat the dark meat.
Me: I'm picky. It's in my handbook. But you - you eat giblets and liver and insects. Yech.
Cat: Uh, yeah, exactly why I want what you have.
Me: You will eat the dark meat or none at all. People food is supposed to be bad for you.
Cat: OK, that's ugly. I am going for your shoes now.
Me: Yeah. I saw that tooth mark in my gold sandals. Nice work. Is that how your teeth are falling out? And where are these teeth going? Do you swallow them?

Cat: I hardly noticed. Look. I can still be menacing. Hiss!
Me: Heh. Heh. Not with only two teeth on one side of your mouth. You look comical.
Cat: For that, I'll bite your leg.

Me: Ow! Why *have* you started that biting thing?
Cat: Uh, duh, see above, re. bored.
Me: Well Sophia and Val are going to be here next weekend. No biting them!
Cat: Are they the kids?
Me: Yes. And they are even smaller than Stella. You were good with Stella this time. Can we repeat that performance with the little ones?
Cat: Hey. They come after me. I am only defending myself from those two foot monsters.
Me: Yeah. Well. Watch out for Val. He's fearless and likes to ride dogs.
Cat: Tell him to keep his distance from me. Nobody is saddling me.
Me: He's just a baby. He doesn't know any better. I don't know where you got that hatred of kids.
Cat: Warn him about me or I will send out my own warning.
Me: Menacing?
Cat: Right on.
Me: Gee, you're a surly one.
Cat: Like mother, like daughter.
Me: I don't subscribe to that "you're-my-child" pet craze. You are my cat.
Cat: Oh, but you have conversations with one.
Me: Uh...
Cat: That's why I like you.
Me: That's why I like you too.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Own It

Just another t-shirt with words? Or don't judge me by what my t-shirt says? Or is it my world and you just live in it?

Mav is teaching me to "own it." Harnessing better self-confidence, which I found depleted as of late. But I can wear my sunglasses at night now. So without further adieu....Confident Me.

A very common pose this summer. Note the beer bottle, the laughter, an accessory, and a cute eyeball of somebody I am crushing on. That's my life right now. But that is not my chest in the top photo. Goose? You don't mind, do you? Credit goes where credit is due. They are real and they are fabulous. Own it.

Monday, July 18, 2005

A Baked Potato Is Just A Hamburger Bun With Mayonnaise

You have an awesome four bedroom loft house at the beach, overlooking the bay. You have this house all summer long. There is a little dog out back named Fu who yaps around the back yard with a Crazy Momma who likes to yell at you, which you like because that will Never Get Old. You have made some new friends who you know you will continue to be friends with once the summer is over. There is a strobelight, about a million Playlists of music to listen to, house underwear, and jokes and sayings that Never Get Old. And you are looking pretty bronze these days. There is also a Funhouse mirror that makes you look skinny and adds about an inch to your height. And it's happy hour all weekend long.

You think you have it All, right?


You don't have it All until Safeway actually opens shop next door. And they did just that. The beachhouse is now complete. And we can all die happy.

Sadly, there was no Destiny's Child making an appearance this weekend. It was just a duo and we don't step out without all three of us. Goose had to be all responsible and make us all some money. Because, you know, we don't get paid for being Destiny's Child. So Mav and I packed up the flip flops and swim suits and cooler and headed East without the Third. We were sad without the Goosie but we had to make the most of us. Mother would want it that way.

Now this is very serious. The car ride down consisted of some more hallucinations from me. It's becoming so common these days. May have something to do with the whooping cough I am carrying around. This time I *thought* I saw a bird in the road and I was really concerned that Mav was going to hit it. She missed it! Good maneuvering Mav! But the bird never flew away. So...Disappearing Birds?

Since the Unwelcome Rain had to join our Parade (and mess up the Tan we sport these days....Caspers in the house, who's a ghost?). So we made a stop off at South Moon Under so Mav could buy some new swim suits (because the Red Glistening Number from KMart was not doing it for her anymore. Oh, it's folded up in a drawer in the house, it will resurface!) and I could buy yet some more summery-going-out-at-the-beach-tops. And for a belly fill-up of Heaven in a Pizza Dough AKA Nico Boli. Because yum. And here is where we - alright, I - had another hallucination of the baked potato kind.

When you finally make it to the house and it is almost time for Happy Hour you Kick it Back on the Front Stoop like we have become accustomed to by now. (By the way, neighbors have followed suit. Next week, we are stopping by KMart with Goose's $45 "gift card" and purchasing some thatched metal chairs. To set us apart from the neighbors.) Right about now, it feels like any other Friday at the beach as you are waiting for the others to roll into town. It's just a day at the beach!

Until. You spot the Mother of all Mothers. Lo and behold! Is that - is that - a mirage? Boa is scared for her sanity now.
Boa to Mav: Do you see what I see? Or are my eyes playing tricks again?
Mav to Boa: Yes, I think you are finally not hallucinating. But that was not a baked potato at lunch. That was a hamburger bun with mayonnaise on it.
And so it was.

Who knew that a hamburger bun spread with mayonaise - in disguise as a baked potato, mind you - ended up being an omen to the Weekend It Was To Become. A weekend of lots of hamburger eating. And so what we saw was a huge Safeway truck rolling into the neighborhood. [Not really. - Reality Police] It was all in slow motion and we watched in awe as the House Next Door turned into a Safeway for the weekend. With about 20 guys working it. Welcome to the neighborhood.

So the two houses made fast friends. We each had something the other wanted. The Dew Drop Inn had the warm bed, the turn down service, and a chocolate under the pillow. [Again. Not really. - Reality Police] The Safeway had all the food you could ever want. And lots of it. [Confirmed. - Reality Police] Aisles of food, snacks, meats, condiments (mustard, Mav!), and beer, more beer, some more, cases of wine, jugs of liquor, oh, and more beer...Safeway was prepared. And they were "open 24 hours." They were very courteous too! Service with a smile indeed.

Mav and I chatted them up first - on the Front Stoop - and then we became the Hot Girls Next Door. We were the first to witness the Shoppe. Excitement was shared with our other house guests.
Mav and Boa: Let's get Hollywood! He has to see this!
Mav [out of breath]: Hollywood, you've got to come next door and see this place!
Hollywood [head twirling round and round, tears in his eyes, clasping his hands together, very Charlie-in-the-Chocolate-Factory]: Wooowww! It is beyond my wildest imagination.

And it was. I am not joking about this. You name it, they had it. When we had to do some clothing construction on Saturday afternoon because Shamrock's skirt was just not short enough - you go to Safeway! The Inn doesn't have that sort of thing.
Boa: What aisle are your scissors in?
Safeway: Right here, pretty lady! Oh, and here, take a beer with you!
Boa: I love Safeway!

This Safeway is not like any other Safeway. It has a Grillmaster who keeps that grill going 24 hours a day. Nine AM we were awoken to - well, first the joyful yapping of Fu frolicking in the back yard - and then the smell of.......hamburgers with scrambled eggs on top. Then late night after a run of the bars, Grillmaster cranks up the grill again for a round of chicken, sausages of every kind, hot dogs, and cheeseburgers. You thought Grillmaster was joking when he entertains the notion of cheeseburgers at 3:30 AM. And so a game of Flippy Cup had to ensue. The Inn v. Safeway. Deathmatch.

And Safeway is generous. At the end of the night when you are ready to hit the sack at the Inn, you grab some beers, some Gatorade, and some donuts for the morning Hangover Lull. This pretty much sums it up:

Mav to Safeway: I'm just going next door to sleep a little. Be back when I wake.

So the weekend was Crazy as usual. That doesn't seem to change. There is always going to be Some Guy following Mav around, just lurking in the background, breathing her air, pretending they are With Her. Even her own boyfriend. And I will have some sort of embarrassment of Weird. Aside from seeing baked potatos and hearing bagpipes. This time it was of the Wardrobe Malfunction kind as I was able to give some of my housemates a Peep Show of a Breast Kind. Heh heh.

And I fell in love. Again. Damn. But, in my defense, I have not fallen in love since June 18, so, according to my watch, I am due. So the falling...

This was asked of us by his friends: "Are you two done falling in love yet?"

Quite possibly NO.

It was the smile that crushed me. And he lives in DC and is not moving away so that makes him different than all the others. He's damn cute and he doted. So phone numbers were exchanged (did you hear that? *exchanged* as in "Let me call you right we know we both have the right phone numbers" as I tend to transpose my number sometimes) with the promise of a phone call (as in, "I'll call you." "Please do." "Oh, I am." Smile.).....hmmm, I know how this usually goes?? But he has been admitted into The Circle Of Trust now. In or out? In or out? He said he wanted in. Mav said he was in. And so he has been named like everyone else who joins our Circle of Trust. You are Cool if you are named.

That is how Boa met Mason. Boa wants to wrap herself around Mason.

[While we are on the subject of names, let me just say it is a privilege to be named by Destiny's Child. We take our jobs very seriously. Everyone clamors to get one of our names. It's a gift. Lots of forethought goes into the Making Of A Name. So when Growl whines about his name, you shrug your shoulders because you can't just change a name once you've been named. It's part of you. And it's part of our vocabulary now. But you know how you can get your name changed? When you slight our Mother Goosie in some way. And that is how Growl lost his Sexy Not Angry Name and became Granny Pants. How you like that GP?]

Back to the it any surprise that the car ride home is just as wacky as the weekend at the house? All thanks to the secret shortcut ("It's a Goldmine!") because you get to pass by these sights:

A sign that says: "46 inch subs $999 All Day and after 3 pm Sat Sun"

A front stoop (!) with a basket of squash, a sign that says 25 cents and a mason jar.

Lots of yellow and back traffic signs of painted silhouettes of kids with ponytails and soccer cleats. Equivalent to silhouetted signs warning you about deer, duck crossing, bicyclists, or uneven pavement ahead.

A post office that nobody is ever at and so we have determined that you have to call ahead of time to let them know you've got some mailing to do. ("I'm here on official post office business.")

A "town square" that is just that - a cement square. Where nobody congregates, because there is nowhere to sit. There is nowhere to play. And the people? Are nowhere.

But you determine that people must live in this town because you remember the basket of squash on the front stoop. And apparently there is a soccer team. Perhaps they all went broke and blew up eating those 46 inch subs that cost a grand.

And then the new game that we have started in which Mav has to stop to use the restroom at a different place each week. Last week it was a firehouse. This week it was a hotel. Next week? A hardware store? Or maybe the hair salon in the house? Or Carl's Garage? How bout that post office? I'm sure we can call ahead. But we do know that the culmination of the game "circa Labor Day weekend" will be an actual person's house. Just doing what Mav does best.

So we had a 24 hour grocery store and chef. A possibly fabulous guy of the sweetest kind. Cougar's 30th Birthday Celebration. And Mav being Mav which is always a treat. But my favorite part of the weekend was really this:

Crazy Old Lady Out Back Mother of Fu walking down her long driveway towards the street. Six of us on our top deck standing up from our chairs just watching her. Not talking. Why? I don't know. This lady always intrigues us for some Insane reason it's Funny. Maybe she sensed the Eerie and the twelve eyes watching her because she turned around. At that exact moment, panic ensued and all six of us hit the ground instantly - on all fours. And then we laughed and that probably creeped her out even more as she most likely saw some movement on our deck of the Up Then Down kind, lightning speed. Then the laughter. The cackling laughter.

And that's pretty much how we roll.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Taking Out The Trash

I love trash compactors, disposes of what you don't need anymore, and you don't have to smell it. So I took my last whine off because I thought it was ugly sitting there. I don't like to be ugly. I just needed to rant. In the end, I am going to send the full $120 - I'd rather leave it at me thinking they are shitty than someone thinking I am shitty. At the end of the day, no big deal, I just didn't like how it played out. That didn't change.

BUT I had to preserve the only things I liked about the post.

The title because, IMHO, just true...
The Ben Franklin Leaving My Hand Says Cheap, Cheap, Cheap

But especially the comments because they were hilarious!

James had some original suggestions such as these:
"That is totally lame. to make an offer and then later ask for payment for something you would have had to eaten is totally lame. you're not being petty at all. Depending on how close of friends you are with them you should send payment (but only for the 3) in a unique way. say go to the bank. get $90.00 worth of nickels. dumpt them in a big mason jar, superglue the lid shut, then leave it on thier doorstop, ring the bell and run away. Or if your bank doesn't charge you for checks how about sending them a bunch of checks for amounts ranging from $0.37 to $1.84. I think you are totally in the clear to let them know you don't think their behavior is cool and to respond in a joking manner. Or you could just pay them back in coke caps. figure a liter of coke costs 1.25. that's 72 bottle caps. i'm sure we could start a collection drive for you...JW"

And so Morgan is going to start a coke cap collection for me to pay them back with! [PSA: Donate all Coke cap winnings to!]

And Mav is going to pull my hair to make it all better! I think she got a free Coke win on her bottle cap last weekend - that's in the pot!

You peeps are funny and that is all I want to see sitting on this page.

....Until the next installment of Crazy or Bitch. What will she be??????

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Stick With The Program Because It Never Gets Old

It is summer at the Dew Drop Inn and we have settled into a "pattern." A flight pattern, if you will. The Top Gun theme is rampant and Top Gun speak just Never Gets Old. ("Iceman, you are holding on too tight." "I don't like you because you are dangerous." "...stopping in for a fly-by.") You get the picture. We have a Maverick and her best wingwoman, Goose. We have Sundown, Hollywood, Disco, Cougar, and Iceman. The DVD runs in the background. A Top Gun poster is displayed and there is a House Hat reminding us all that this house is Top Gun. The House Hat is not to be confused with the House Underwear...which is always "open 24 hours." And the house apparently is just that. Especially when yours truly AKA Boa is in the house because I have No Off Switch at the beach....except for this past weekend, when my little engine finally sputtered and took a nosedive before the others. Damn floaters in my drink. The cameraman got to document this and is selling the rights to Michael Moore to docu-drama this special event. Most likely NOT coming to a theater near you. It's just not controversial enough.

Most likely in our Top Gun flight path every single weekend...because it just Never Gets Old...

The Car Drive To And From The Beach. Any time you drive through one of those sleepy rusted towns on the way, somebody will always exclaim, "I'd shoot myself if I had to live here." "Me toos" echo like this is the first time any of us has ever uttered these words. It Never Gets Old. Boa will sometimes mention seeing somebody on the side of the road, maybe they are riding a bike, riding a donkey, or simply strolling....but nobody else ever sees this person. To Boa it is Mav and Goose it is just Crazyville. Especially when she hears the bagpipes.
["I stand by this!! There were bagpipes!! --Boa.]

Late Night Pizza. Sworn never to be eaten again. Until the next weekend and the next and the next when you just have to have that pizza. Mav has been known to pass out, smell pizza, get up, walk downstairs, grab two slices, place one on top of each other, inhale them, then resume to her passing out duties. The Three Gals have even taken a rickshaw two blocks to pick up the pizza. What with them being Destiny's Child and all they only get star treatment when in town.

An Unpajama Party. Pajamas are not necessary. Always wake up in last night's clothes so that you are ready to head out again. Not really. But you pretend. As you peel the sheets off, inhale the morning sun, the morning air, the morning coffee, jump out of bed - suddenly - and declare, "OK, I'm ready to go out!" That simply Never Gets Old.

Kicking It Back Ghetto-Style. The front stoop is the place to be peeps. Not the deck overlooking the water. Not the air-conditioned living room. Not the loft. The front cement stoop. Wheel out your cooler, set up your lawn chairs, grab your smokes. Ignore the Porsche Cayenne, Mercedes, and Disco's PT Cruiser that he drives to Baltimore to rent. Also, when you don't have cans, find paper bags to cozy the beer bottle. Or newspapers. You guessed it - it Never Gets Old.

Blowing Up Goose's Phone. Because when you are The Three Gals minus One you need to call that person. Periodically. Especially 2 o'clock in the AM. So you call Goose SEVEN TIMES in SEVEN MINUTES and leave her SEVEN MESSAGES. Then call Mav's many boyfriends who simultaneously call back at the same time. Then take Drunk Dialing to a whole new level and call everybody in the house who is either passed out already or just SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO YOU.

Peeing In Public Places. Boa pees in parking lots. Mav pees in firehouses. Or in the ocean. Goose actually poses with a big smile when she is sitting on the toilet and Mav barges in to snap a photo. Probably won't be old anytime soon.

Doogie references. Friends in DC will call you and tell you that they just saw Doogie. And they mean it! He is everywhere now. Apparantly just last Friday he was in Woodley Park early on and then at the Waterfront late night. It's a celebrity phenomenon. Have you seen him?! So the Doogie sightings just Never Get Old.

Fu stories. As in, "Which little dog is Fu again?" Goose: "Oh, he's the one in the pink shirt." Or, "Look Fu can swim." Or, "Look Fu gets along with big dogs." Or, "Look at Fu turn his head away from the Crazy Old Lady as if to say, 'I don't know this woman.'" Or, "Think Fu can drive over the Bay Bridge?" Fu is a normal part of conversation....Never Gets Old.

Incessant Teasing of Boa. And her circa Labor Day boyfriend. [Will not! - Boa] Stay tuned...

And finally, this conversation Never Gets Old:

Mav: Sweeett.
Boa: To the left, to the left.
Mav: You know who's going to love this?
Boa: It never gets old.

Goose: Oh honey, that's a bottle.

Then the girls pull each other's hair. Because that? Never Gets Old.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

It's A Bird, It's A Plane, It's A Last Name

I grew up envying last names - the short and sweet ones. Pronouncable ones. And I have had no problem laughing at the absurd. The girl in my office whose first name is the same as her last name. The Peppercorns, the Frankensteins, the Dicks. The people named after inanimate objects, like Rusty Nail (really, I knew one). I even once broke up with a guy because I couldn't get past his last name. Imagine two words that don't belong together - just that - together. Lip and shits (broken apart and misspelled so he can't google himself and find my shallow waters). But I am allowed to joke about last names because I am of the population with a "different" last name. It's not funny or embarrassing. It's just so gosh darn long and unpronounceable. And don't think kids didn't have a field day with Playground Mean when I was younger.

I think that this is what probably transpired when all the Last Name Making scientists got together in their lab creating all the last names for all the people of the world. It just took one crazy Mad Scientist, a little creativity, and probably a bored panel of Last Name Making scientists to discover my name.

The scene: The clock is ticking, stomachs are growling, and they need one more name before they call it a day.
One Mad Scientist: I've got one!
[Fine-tuned ears, bulging eyes, and edge of your seat finger-clenching overtakes the tick tick tock of the clock, the waning hour, the time to stuff their overworked faces and feed their growling stomachs.]
Mad Scientist: Let's take every letter of the alphabet and throw them all together - in random order! Let's put letters that should defy all logic of pronunciation and - in the real world - would never be placed next to each other. Let's throw out the window what everybody learned about phonetics. Let's trick the people and tell them that - for example - "cat" is really pronounced "gensheflingord". Let's revolutionize the language of Last Names!
[Lots of pencil writing ensues and scrunched foreheads as they learn the thinking of one crraazzyy guy.]
Mad Scientist: And we will start with this little family here. They seem like nice, smart people. Innocent even. And look they are on a boat.
Poor Unsuspecting Little Family Brandished With Said Last Name: Huh? My last name is what? How does it go? Again, how? Um, here, just write that on the back of my hand.

So they tattooed the back of our hands with the Alphabet except it is the alphabet on crack and Red Bull. It's just crraazzyy. Thanks Mad Scientist.

My last name always trips people up. I mean, duh. You get the people at the grocery store, the doctor's office, the bouncer at the bar, some cat named Snowball, all with some variation on one of these questions.

How long did it take you learn that one?
Is that your married name?

You grew up with that?
Where does that come from?
Have you ever heard this ethnic joke?
How do you pronounce it?

And you get the people who think they can pronounce it too. Who insist on trying it. And you try to stop them from the trainwreck but they really want to try and impress you or something. Does anybody ever get it right? And they don't want just one shot at it either. So you humor them and let them attempt it. Again. And again. Why do the grocery clerks these days INSIST on saying, "Thank you, Ms./Mrs./Miss [Alphabet on crack and Red Bull]." The ONE TIME I would be happy with a "maam."

My sister sold me out. She married somebody with a cute, short, sweet last name that ends in a "y" and drinks a lot of beer. This name is so cute it belongs to a little red-headed school girl with pale skin and green eyes who carries her lunch to school with Guinness in her thermos. OK, not Guiness, maybe some Jamieson. OK, maybe just green Kool-Aid. That name belongs to that girl. A little Irish lass which we are not, but she is now. See? There I go with the Name Envy.

But then something happened. When you see that name - Your Name - chiseled into a cement slab of a headstone honoring your father, you feel very connected to it. When you take a rag to that headstone and polish the name, you feel a sense of pride. When you go to the cemetery to "visit" him, you are staring at that name - that glorious name. And you are picturing his smiling pie face. He's always laughing. It no longer feels like a burden weighing me down now. It feels like a little piece of my daddy that I will wear proudly. On my checks. On my driver's license. On my business cards.....On the back of my hand.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Dogs Go On Vacation While I Drink Silly

So Fu got the hell out of Dodge and Destiny's Child reunited for another smashing success. Can it really go to their heads? Not when they have each other. They aren't really breaking up as evidenced by this past weekend. The back up singers overthrew the Beyonce of the group. It's an equal opportunity stage now. And they all Pull Each Other's Hair to prove it. Good moments. They missed their little dog Fu yapping away out back in his pink shirt. But all Good Dogs need a vacation from time to time, especially if your mamma is a Crazy Old Lady.

That, my folks, is just another weekend at the Beachhouse for The Three Gals AKA Destiny's Child, starring me as Boa and my best beach-stomping pals, Mav and Goose.

So while there were no Fu sitings this weekend at the Beachhouse. No men in Speedos with dip in their butt cheeks. There were plenty other Beach Oddities as only Us Three Gals can find.

And so on the Main Stage...

Brad Pitt in Disguise......but Undisguised!! Yes, BP shed his bar-crawling, attention-sucking, filth-laden "necklace", straw hat, polyester, seersucker, and white bucks shirt, no shoes, no "necklace," no shame. But under the Disguise we found out.............................that it is really not Brad Pitt! Surprised? He was never walking around Greece in Disguise. This guy who we all "think" is BP but not really BP but is BP is only the Guy Next Door, your friend and mine.......................Joe, the Stripper. And so, this past weekend, BP in Disguise AKA Joe the Stripper came to know Destiny's Child when Mav - in a very Beyonce-like move - took Center Stage and spoke to "Brad." Her line? "Where's your *bleep* necklace?" [Note: Censored because I'm not at the beach, so no swearing, burping or farting is allowed. We had to institute that rule when Mav couldn't turn Off when she got back to town and started her work week by burping in court, in depositions, in the judge's face. We don't want her to get disbarred.] Brad's response? "At home." With the classic follow-up that goes something like this. A wink, a finger point, and a cluck of the tongue that just reeks of "I-am-so-fucking-irresistable-I-am-a-babe-magnet-the-chicks-love-me" (picture Matthew McCoughnahy circa Dazed and Confused) quietly promising her the Mother Of All Promises That You Have No Intention Of Ever Wanting Fulfilled, "Meet me at the Cork. I'll buy you a beer." And that is how he came to know The Three Of Us as he tried to watch the sunset with us at North Beach. Is he really standing behind me watching the same sun as I while babbling about sipping wine in Maui?

Goose in her debut Hook-up of the Season. All ready for the lead vocals but then......the mic gave out. As in - the BOY PASSED OUT on her. Sadly. Surely he is kicking himself for the hundredth Vodka that put him over the edge and caused equipment malfunction at the the umpteenth hour. But she still gets the hit record because her songwriting skills are extraordinary. This is the best line ever uttered, "Is it rape if I just go and lay on top of him?" Give that girl a Grammy.

Two words. Doogie. Howser. Yes, Doogie was in our house this weekend! He's the Guy who all his friends get snockered and then send him on "missions" to humiliate him to the ground. Because he is nerdy like that. And everybody knows he looks like Doogie. You know how I know that everybody know this? Because of this conversation:
Guys we just meet, joining us on the beach for sunbathing, thinking they are going to tell us something we don't know and thinking that they just named somebody something that we couldn't possible name any better because as you can see we do it a lot (the naming of Everybody): Hey, girls, we just saw Doogie Howser.
The Three Of Us: Yeah, we know him. He'll be at our barbecue tonight. The one that you guys are coming to.
Eyes pop, high fives ensue because they know they are going to meet the Movie Star that is Doogie. Seriously. Have you ever seen anybody run so fast down two flights of stairs when you say, "Doogie's in the house." It's like bees to honey. Try it. But make sure Doogie's there. And then you know what is even funnier? When those guys text message you on the way home saying this: "Doogie is two cars over. Peace out."

The Front Stoop. Destiny's Child is still in touch with their homegirl roots. Fame has not gone to their heads. While the rest of the world was out at jam session, undoubtedly waiting for BP - or Joe, the Stripper - to buy them a beer, us girls were trashing it up ghetto-syle in our lawn chairs on our front cement stoop, drinking Natty Lite cans, and smoking like a chimney. Our next door neighbors picked up on this too. Next week, look out for the Front Stoop Block Party. I'll bring it to a neighborhood near you.

Boa watching her Memorial Day crush Crash and Burn over and over and over. A wave of feelings took over. At first, Mad at succumbing to those cheesy charms of the let-me-buy-you-a-shot variety, then Amused at watching it and learning it and watching it fail over and over, then Disgusted at the Ickiness that he actually is, then Mad again that you cared even if for a day that he never called you, then Relieved that you know all this, and then Deliriously Laughable. Boa needed to drink more.

And then the Sideshows...
1. Goose is now an equal opportunity dater and may have found true love. Or just new counter tops for her kitchen.
2. Mav may have found Husband. Which poses a little dilemna her way. What to do with current Husband-in-Waiting? Would Beyonce play the field? Does she settle with Jay-Z or does she kick it up comic-book-style with Richie Rich?
3. Boa still pines for one of her earlier suitors because she is nostalgic like that.

Sharing the stage in the Destiny's Child posse this weekend:
Richie Rich - A thick head of hair that you just want to run your fingers through, so Mav did something like that.
Growl - Got to kiss two back-up singers (we share everything!) but will Love it up with the one and only Goose when she calls him! Oh, and he has a bad case of Name Envy.
Angry Dave - Who is just aaannngggrryyyy and only speaks on Tuesdays.
Drew - Just a little cutie-pie.
Huck - Of the no-speaking variety of human life. All the while Nice as can be.

And that pretty much sums it up. It's tough being a Dog Gone Pop Star.