Everybody Is Still In One Piece

Mav and I took our time getting down to the beach last Friday night. Perhaps that set the tone - our tone - for the weekend. "Let me do my own thing. You people are driving me crazy." It has been a great summer but I am looking forward to getting back to my life in DC. Settling into the fall. Maybe putting on a scarf. A sweater. But what will happen to the Bronze Goddess Glow? Do I have to give that up? I'm already researching my options. Will report later.

So time? We took it. And the house missed us. They left us various messages inquiring as to our whereabouts - you see, we usually "bring the tequila" to the party. So they are lost. In our absence, they settled on staging Mav's Foxy Cleapatra wig and one of my boas on the table in homage to us.

Break for a picture. Boa and Mav, Gooseless. Sad but true.

So we had two encounters Friday night.

Boy With Backward Baseball Cap. Mav likes boys with backward baseball caps. I don't. But he stopped to talk and I ended up "liking" (for all of 2 minutes) his friend - via phone - who lives in Somewhere, PA. He's a skater and makes "cool t-shirts." (Cool t-shirts are so last year.) Then BWBBC did a tragic thing. He took his hat off and then put-the-hat-back-on-goshness ensued. "I see why you keep the hat on." He had a bad case of an overgrown InnKeeper bowl cut that was trying to be "cutting edge." But it wasn't working. Really. We backed away slowly.

Guy Who Looks Like Mark Ruffalo And May Have Cut Mav Up Into Pieces. He had that cocky bow-down-to-me vibe. Mav is so impressed with assiness - she can give it right back. Me? I leave. And you know what? That is the last I heard from Mav the rest of the night....

"I'm going to bed. But let me just make sure Mav is ok."

My cell phone: Ring Mav! Ring Mav!
The bedside table right next to me: Ring! Incoming call from Boa!

Two things wrong with this scenario. First, Mav not with one of her many tools of communication? I have never seen it before! Second, she could very well be cut up into tiny pieces and she left no breadcrumb trail. As in, "See you later, I am going with this guy so-and-so. Meet him." So I remembered I never caught the name of the last guy I saw her with. All that I can offer the police when I file the Missing Persons report is, "Well, officer he looked like Mark Ruffalo."

Officer: "Who is Mark Ruffalo?"

"You know, he was in that movie, you know the one, actually a bunch of them, what were they....?"

Officer: "Who did he star with in any of these movies?"

"Er......I promise if you saw him you would know who he is."

So I left her a scolding voicemail about the perils of not taking your phone and/or not telling your friend where you are going when you leave with strange boys.

"And do I have to remind you of the time the cell phone saved my life. When I was in the white cab and he started driving on the back roads and was going away from my house and I took out my phone......"

And then I gave her bed away.

7 AM on Saturday morning, Mav comes barrelling up the steps to the loft.

"Boa get your ass up and let's go to breakfast."

I sheepishly come to, recount the night before, yawn, then say, "Good I am glad you are in one piece. It better have been a good night. Now don't ever do that again. You buying?"

So we go eat breakfast with all the regulars. Not the Drunk Hungover People, AKA US!, who are still tucked soundly in bed. Mav already met a few of the old-timers. She says "hi" to her friend Henry. I don't ask questions. But Mav made a lot of friends in the 6 hours since I last saw her.

After breakfast we sat on the beach. We laid down on the sand. I closed my eyes.

"This mattress is so comfortable. It's nice how you can conform it to your body. This is peaceful. Waves crashing. Light breeze.....Good night Mav."

"Good night Boa."

And it would have been so restful until the dogs started sniffing us. People started walking over us. The beach tractor sand smoother thing roared by us and that damn bell kept ringing. Over and over.

"Do I come into your bedroom and ring bells?"

Right. The alarm clock to get our asses moving again for the Same Day disguised as Another Day. People, it's Groundhog Day this summer.

She Is Unraveling

My emotions are all over the place right now. I love. I hate. I am still crazy. I am still having fun. But I am neurotic. Goose wants to give me a pill. But I think there must be an herb for this. I'll check the health food store tonight. Mav likes to call our solutions to life and body ailments The Pharmacist vs. The Herbalogist.

So I have broken this post down into parts for you to easily follow along with all my personalities.

The Love Part

So the summer is winding down. And by winding down, I mean, the people are unwinding - as in coming undone. A case of Too Much Time With Too Different Personalities. And some people are not getting along. But Destiny's Child holds strong. The best thing to come out of this summer - besides getting out of DC and coursing a new direction away from the Circle of Yukkell - was gelling with my new BFFs - Mav and Goose. Mav I have known for years, but this summer I really got to know her, as in, this girl is a Good Friend. Goose I met through Mav this summer. And that girl? I love very much too. She has a heart of gold. So in my quest to not spend one weekend in DC this summer and run away - I ended up walking away with two really great girlfriends. That, in my book, is Worth It.

The Neurotic Part (or just the Drunk Part)

Life's too short to dance with ugly men. --Oscar Wilde

Oh, if only I would heed this advice, Oscar.

Unfortunately, I was on my own Friday night. My girls were not coming down to the beach until Saturday morning. I contemplated staying behind too. I even got an email from a friend of mine - friend of the Yukkell - inviting me out to a local happy hour on Friday night because his brother was in town and apparently has some kind of crush on me. Which I don't believe but apparently he specially requested to see me. Specially! I thought about staying in town for the night and driving down on Saturday. I hadn't seen those guys in so long. But then this would go against my Summer Agenda. And I was afraid of what devices I would be left to. Lately, if a guy - and pretty much any guy - pays me attention, I buckle. I got to stop falling for the attention. Not soak it up but make them work hard to earn my attention back. This is not game-playing. This is not some Rules I have been handed down from On High. This is reality as I should live it. Trust me. I had some recent setbacks that are fucking with my self-esteem. I need to get back to Owning It. So I skipped - no, I ran - out of DC and and right into the arms of Pay Me Attention! Close your eyes.

At the bar as we were dancing I kept meeting the eye of Guy With Ring Means Married. But I could not stop staring at him. But, no, married. But staring. And he is staring. Maybe not really married. Is that the right hand? Yes. Married. Go away. But there was nobody else. He smiled. Staring. I asked for reinforcment. Confirmed. Married. Stop staring. So in an attempt to get him off my back - or was it me - I grabbed the next guy who walked by. So the flirtatious glances stopped with Guy With Ring Means Married. The guy I grabbed looked like Grover. He didn't really want to dance but just wanted to just stand there - his face excruciatingly close to mine - and tell me how cute I was. Over and over. I didn't mind. It was attention and I forgot about the married man. Finally, I snapped back to and told Grover he could go now. He wanted to know where I was going. Own it. I told him to look for me tomorrow. Bye, now. I'm definitely drunk now. Then there was some other guy in the picture of which I can not remember the details but he ended up "dumping me" to hit on my big-boobed friend instead. I didn't understand this. So, what's a boob? I saw the Guy With Ring Means Married leaving the bar. I decided to follow him - staggering behind him. Attention! Big-boobed friend stopped me. So I got on the Alcohol-Induced Crybaby Highway. And I called Mav. I need help. But it's 1:00 AM so I got her voicemail and proceeded to leave a very drunk message. Very drunk. It was rambling. Nonsensical. But the next day? Kind of funny. I can't even transcribe it because you can't understand much of what I am saying. Truly. I was drunk. But this is kind of what my outgoing text message log looked like the next morning:

1. BGA is in your bed.
2. Neo!
3. Hee!
4. Am DRUNK!
5. Uh-oh and beer goggles.
6. Girls, hurry here!
7. I said hurry!

I'll say it, "Sometimes I am not proud of myself."

The girls finally showed up Saturday morning to save me from myself. Goose had two girlfriends in town. That girl has cool friends and it is no wonder that cool girls flock to her. So I was happy they were all around. Dance with ugly men? I'm dancing with the pretty girls.

The Irritated Part

What happened to the writing on the bathroom stall, "For a good time call....?" Nobody calls. A phone is just a tool to sell, sell, sell. So I am only buying if you are calling.

This conversation Mav had with a Male Suitor on Saturday night pretty much sums up what the Boys of This Summer are all about. An honest re-enactment of what give-me-your-number-I'll-call-you-this-week actually means.

Typical Boy Of Summer: I am a doctor!
Mav: That's great, I am a lawyer.
TBOS: I am emergency room doctor!
Mav: Well, that is nice too.
TBOS: Want to go to this party a friend of mine is throwing down the street?
Mav: No, think I'll pass. Just going to go home now.
TBOS: Really? You'd rather go home than go out with someone who is fun and entertaining.
Mav: Don't look too into it. I am just ready to go home. Sorry.
TBOS: Really?
Mav: Well, I'll tell you what. You can take my phone number and call me when you get back to DC and we can go out some other time.
TBOS: No, I'm not going to take your number because I'll never call.
Mav: No problem. Nice talking to you.
TBOS: Wait! Ok then, what is your stupid number?

Oh yeah, he did. The Emergency Room Doctor turned into a mindless arrogant good-time Charlie with playground language. No, you're stupid. Are too. Stoopid Head. This leave me at Annoyed. Just let me at this conversation and there is no telling what Boa would have unleashed. Mav took it in stride because she doesn't care. Whereas my sensitivity chip is like the size of Planet Earth and filled with two-thirds waterworks. Am sensitive.

The Scared Part

Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay just a while longer? Just for talk? --Norman Bates in Psycho

So we stayed over Sunday evening. And totally got our groove on on the dance floor. The girls dancing. The girls grooving. The girls singing. The girls cheering. The girls drooling over the lead singer. The girls laughing. The girls picture snapping. The girls - wh-? dancing with Norman Bates? Let me see that picture again. There he is. Again. And again. And again. And again? Creepy. When Goose sends me the pictures I will post. And you will see that Norman Bates was swaying in the background of our pictures. Stalking. With the creepy smile. Arms crossed. Swaying. Looking like Norman Bates. Fucking Norman Bates was stalking us.

It snapped me back in shape. What herbal remedy? Nothing like a little Norman Bates to Psycho-scare you into Owning It again.

Out And About This Weekend: Conversations

Two girls driving out of the city at 1 pm on a Friday afternoon. One girl thirsty so she pulls up to a little street corner hot dog stand on L Street. Let's call it a drive-up/drive-thru hot dog stand because there is no time for the actual getting out of the car and walking around to the front of the stand.
Mav, to anyone who will listen: "Hey, can you get me a diet coke from there?"
Stranger, obliging: "Uh, yeah, sure."
Boa: "You know that isn't a drive-thru."
Mav: "Well, it is now."

Two girls speeding down 301 in a rocket ship of a car, being pursued by Big Truck. Big Truck is driven by a young man who keeps passing the girls, flashing pearly whites, making googly eyes. One girl can not be bothered as she is multi-tasking with the Blackberry and the texting, you know, conducting business. The other girl is giggling away, then dismayed at what could possibly be a gun rack on that Big Truck. The girls are, afterall, in the middle of a cornfield.
Guy in Big Truck, getting nervy with the attempts at conversations with the next car on a highway, mouthing through the car windows, which are - uh, not open: "Where are you from?"
The girls, taken off guard, mouth back: "What?"
Guy in Big Truck, mouthing more precisely: "Where. Are. You. From."

Mav: "Let's do the tequila and ice again."
Boa: "Good call."
Goose, back home: "Girls, I hope Billy Bob has to carry you home tonight."

Boa and Mav: "Hey Sundown. We just bought margarita fixings!"
Sundown: "OK. You talked me into the 3 bloody mary's, So Co shot, and 2 beers before noon last Sunday. So here we go again." (takes sip) "Yep, that's strong."
Boa and Mav: "Who are we kidding? Why even buy the margarita mix anymore?"
A bottle of tequila later, and only less than an hour later, Sundown pleads: "Girls you're killing me."

Mav: "Where you been, Brad?"
Brad Pitt In Disguise: "The name's Joe."
Mav: "Where you been, Brad? We've missed you. You are an icon and we look for you every weekend."
BPID: "I've been in LA, baby."
Mav: "What were you doing in LA?"
BPID: "Porn."
Mav: "Porn, huh?"
BPID: "Yeah, apparently I'm really good at sex."

Boa: "Mav, next time get the name of his movie(s). I want to host a Joe Porn Movie night."

Boa and Mav: "Rule number 76. No excuses. Play like a champion."
Boy: "Sweet. Girls who quote Wedding Crashers."
Boa and Mav: "Can I use your guys' phone?...I don't feel very good."
Boy: "Napolean Dynamite too?"

Boa, modeling her new Paul Frank underwear with the skull and crossbones on the rear: "Alright, if you want a picture of me for your phone's photo ID, now's the time. Take a picture of my ass in these."
Mav, lazing in bed, hungover, drunk, essentially - immobile, slurs in her best NY accent: "Get over here if you want me to take a picture of your ass!"

Richie Rich: "So how was last night?"
Mav: "Well, let me put it this way. It's 11 AM. Boa, who never sleeps, is still asleep."

Boa: "Do you remember what he looked like? He had Billy Idol hair, right? Hmm, a young Billy Idol. He sang me Depeche Mode. That's the last I remember. Can you atleast tell me what he was wearing?"
Mav: "White shirt. Khakis. Flip flops."
Boa: "Hmm. The Standard Uniform. Is that good?"

Boa: "Gross. There is a Ronald McDonald hair in my black beans."

Boa and Mav: "Wha--Is that a teddy bear driving that tractor?"
In the cornfield, even the farmers have a sense of humor.

Mav, pulling over to the front stoop that sells a basket of squash for 25 cents every Sunday afternoon: "Give me your best squash."
Little girl, as salesperson and phone gabber - you know, conducting business - hands over the smallest one.
Mav: "No, give me that big one. And throw some tomatoes in there too."
Little girl, still chatting on phone while rummaging through the basket for the best squash, one ear on Mav's directions, the other glued to the phone, exhibiting her best multi-tasking skills at the age of 8.
Boa: "How scary is that? A tiny Mav-in-the-making."

An hour later, Mav on the Bay Bridge sending a text message. Oh, and driving.
Boa: "Hey! Can't you wait until we are off the bridge to resume the multi-tasking? Atleast?"

Yes, A Story About A Dream

I can usually figure out what my dreams mean. Usually they are a metaphor for something weighing on one's mind. A common one I have is flying and then suddenly falling. That is apparent. Some of my entries illustrate that element in my psyche. Or dreams can simply be a painterly manipulation of events and conversations of your day. There is a great avant-garde film by Maya Deren, called "Meshes of the Afternoon," that explores this concept.

My favorite dreams are the ones I have with my dad in it. In the beginning, they were haunting because I kept thinking, "you can't be here." They are so vivid and he is usually a silent bystander. Always smiling. But sometimes he will speak. Very briefly. And I always race to find the meaning in that. Like the time shortly after his death - weeks really - and I was sleeping over at my ex's. I needed space but couldn't stand to be alone so he was sleeping out on the couch while I was sleeping in the bed.

I wake to find my dad standing before me. We are in the living room. I look over and see the ex sleeping on the couch, oblivious to the fact that my dad was before me.

I thought, 'how could he be sleeping now?'

I look back at my dad. He is smiling and he carrying a music box that is playing the song, "American Pie." He opens the music box and in it is a hologram of a baseball field. I think it is Wrigley and I don't know how I know this. He points to a couple seats in the stands right over the third base line. He doesn't say anything. He just points and I nod. I understand?

"Can I hug you?"

"No. You can't. I have to go now but you will see me again."

He turns and walks through the wall to leave. And he is gone.

I have many more of these types of dreams that leave me feeling warm. They make me feel like he is still here, watching and looking out for us. Maybe that is the meaning. My soul looking for peace, acceptance, and comfort. But what does it all mean?? I am always curious and will look for abstract meaning in everything.

So last night I had a Dad Dream. Sometimes I think I can will him to appear - as hokie as that sounds. I went to sleep last night thinking about him and how I hadn't had a Dad Dream in a while. Does he know what I am doing? What is going on in my life? What is going on in the world? Does he know that FSU may not be the Seminoles anymore? Egads! I don't necessarily believe in life after death so I struggle with this. Perhaps that's the seed. I try to be one of those spiritual people who believe that our fallen loved ones are in a grassy meadow with butterflies and chocolate cake and other loved ones. Isn't that the only way a death can be bearable? But I struggle.

So last night I had a dream within my dream. Follow? It gets better. One word for you: TomKat.

Tom was wearing blue and yellow plaid boxer shorts and on the bottom he had monogrammed, Katie Holmes. Full name. Katie was in a wheelchair and Tom was pushing her while wearing these boxer shorts. He started running at a really fast speed, Katie's hair blowing in the wind, laughing but also a twinkle of fear in her eye. Then Tom stopped pushing when he approached a Caribou Coffee Shop. He let go and left Katie rolling off out of focus. Tom jumped up and swung from the eave of the Caribou Coffee store front. And swang like a monkey. [OK. We can see how one could possible dream this. Tom is The Crazy. Jumping on Oprah's couch = not far from swinging from the local Caribou Coffee. That's no mystery. Is poor Katie going to get hurt or was she just playing around in the wheel chair - maybe for a role? Metaphor! And I think Caribou coffee came up in a conversation yesterday. But remember, I am still dreaming.]

I wake from the dream and run to tell my dad the hilarity of this dream. Like it is normal for him to be there.

He laughed and laughed and then he said, "Put that in your blog."

Then I can see him laying on the dining room floor of the last house we lived in as a family. He is laying on his stomach and looking at a laptop. Chuckling.

Uh, so now I had to write about my dream. Otherwise, nobody would ever have known that I dreamed that I dreamed of Tom Cruise swinging from a Caribou Coffee shop store front.

It must mean something.

Passive Agressive Is The New Flirting

The right guy will call someday but he is not getting my number.

Gentlemen, I got your number now.

Six years with a Yukkell really strips your self esteem. But that is not his fault. The onus is on me. He's guilty of being a jackass. I am guilty of riding the jackass. Figuratively, of course. Looking back, he really wasn't good for anything in my life and I don't mean that in a Bitter Attack kind of way. I mean it in a See The Light kind of way. But the rut, she is gone. Thank god. The sex sucked. The mean rages sucked worse. And frankly, I certainly don't need him for laughter anymore. Can't remember what it was we shared. He followed me, I followed him. We both probably had issues. Moving on now.

So you start to feel all pretty, confident, and happy again. Your creative juices are flowing. You like your suntan. When you walk into a room you hold your head up. You meet people's eyes now. And friends compliment you on this Newfound You. Thanks Mav. You would know. And then boom. The jackass bucks you yet again. Albeit, a jackass of a different color. They look different, but then you see that really they are just the same jackass in a different costume. Who is that Masked Man, so "into me" one moment, so aloof the next? Oh. Another Yukkell in disguise. I don't want another Unhappy, Stressed, and just Sad person. I am so over Broody. Why do I want that again? I'll fall into the same role of Nurturer and Walking On Eggshells and dammit I am ready to be nurtured. So shoo fly shoo. I will no longer waste my time debating the phonecall vs. the not-phonecall and the Meaning behind lack thereof and "why didn't he call" is he testing me of course he likes me all my friends saw it and he's waiting for me to call and will he like me tomorrow and not just for today, etc. etc. etc. (Lest I get on a Vince Vaughan speed-talking monologue tangent. Go see Wedding Crashers.)

Mr. I-Called-And-Promised-To-Call-Again-But-Will-Not-Call-Again,
You are dead to me.

So I reeled in the Flirt and the Baring of the Soul and the Hope That Leads To The Waiting Game this past weekend. It went a little like this.

Shamrock: "Go!"
Agressive Me: Beeline for the door, navigate the crowded bar, settle in behind a Tall Cute Boy at a bar that is three people deep. It's also Closing Time. It's late.
Target: Turns around, looks me in the eyes. Big smile. "Hi!"
Waning Agressive Me: OK. I didn't have to do anything but be there. Flash him my pearly whites, "Hi yourself!"
Target: "What's your name?"
Really Me: "Well...(chuckle)...they call me Boa."
Target: "Boa, huh? Well my name is Brett."
Really Me: Always with the hard of hearing, "What?"
Target: "Brett"
Really Me: "Well nice to meet you."
Target: "Well my friends are waiting for me outside."
Defensive Me: "Yes, my friends are out there too."
Target: "No, I mean, my friends are ready to leave. Outside. What are you doing?"
Passive Me: "Hanging out with my friends."
Target: "Well, what are you doing tomorrow?"
Passive Me: "Going to the beach. Then going home."
Target: "Well I will be here tomorrow at 9 AM."
Really Me: "Ah. Bloody Marys." Ears perk up.
Target: "Here, let me give you my card." Fishing in his wallet.
Passive Me: Abruptly, "I got to go. But I will be here next weekend. You can find me then." Leave dust. As I'm walking off I hear a very faint, "Well....uh...bye Boa?"

(One Week Ago Me would have snatched that card....probably called...or given him my number...or simply invited him back to my deck at the house to drink under the starlights....fall in love....debate the phone call issue...etc. etc. Break the cycle!)

This way, I'd like to think I left a little mystery. The carrot dangles. Rabbit will hunt. We all know that jackasses don't.

New improved tests will be performed this weekend.

Summertime And The Living Is....Just....Dizzy

Lots of catching up to do. Just a taste of what lies ahead....a new character, fast pickups, reckless driving, tequila, rubber chickens, and COPS!

Uh-oh Toto, I have a feeling we are not in Kansas anymore. So Mav and I got lost on the way down to the beach two weekends ago. We missed a left turn and it pulled the rug out from under the Norm that we are accustomed to. Should be same bat channel, same bat time. But the time - she was long - and the channel was like the Sci-Fi channel or something. Seriously, what twilight zone did we enter? And when did the road become one lane for both directions of traffic and isn't the sky rather dark and is that a UFO I spot and is a hunchback inbred going to jump out from those trees - with a chainsaw? I think it may have had something to do with not picking up our feet at that first railroad track. One superstition wrecked our Chi and became our Black Cloud. Or the fact that Mav was already experiencing Upside-Down Mav World - Bizarro Mav World - a la a Seinfeld episode. Or the simple fact that we were couped up in a car for 5 hours during prime happy hour time. No drink at 5? What do you mean drink at 9? We were thirsty, thus delirious? The car was out of gas. And so was Boa and Mav. Boa may have got cranky because she doesn't do car trips over 3 hours. She was maxed out. But had we not got lost we could not have encountered this:

...A cow busting loose from his confines. Seriously, have you ever even seen cows move? Walk? Trot? Aren't they usually just hanging out in the pasture. Abiding time as cows do. But then you remember that Far Side cartoon where, in the first cel, the cows are shooting the shit, dancing, whatever and then one yells out "Car!" and they resume their human expectation of being all lazy and immobile. Well, I'm pretty sure this cow didn't get the warning, probably because where we were, nobody is expected. A car probably hadn't been on that road since 1972. So this cow made his way to the side of the road and the barbed wire fence that was his Prison, and was eating his way through the fence. Bustin' loose! The other cows were just watching him, like, "That Fred, he is at it again." Fred is like, "I'm busting out this time, milkers! I can just smell the taste of freedom. I will run wild. I will not milk for free anymore. And I am going to eat the first human I find. Mav and Boa - delish." So Mav and Boa run for Route One....so the speeding....

...Getting pulled over by a cop and subsequently getting help to find our way out of the cornfield! Mav has like 50 outstanding tickets because she has the Heavy Foot. And she likes Fast Cars. And she is used to her Speed Mobile. However, she was driving my more sensible Soccor Mom car that wins all the safety tests. And should not be pushed to the Speeding Limits. But Mav put the pedal to the medal and pushed that little Swede over the speed limit. Very Nice Officer sees a Police Chase potential! In the cornfield, except the Little Car That Could pulls over in some pasture to be all woe-is-me that Boa is good at and Mav can NOT get another ticket for fear of revoking her license.

Very Nice Officer to Mav: "Did you know you were going 44 in a 35?"
Boa, fidgeting with the map she fished from her glove compartment in an attempt to show him that we, City Girls, were L-O-S-T: "Help, Very Nice Officer!"
VNO: "Ah, now, where you girls going?"
Mav: Quiet for a change. Scared shitless.
Boa: "We are not party girls - we are kicking it back in Rehobeth! In a house and not on the front stoop and no bars! We brought pajamas and will not sleep in our clothes. We won't kiss boys."
VNO: Smiled and winked and gave Mav a warning and directions and sent us on our way.
Heh. Rehobeth.

...The Delaware State Fair in some random cornfield town. Shouldn't a state fair be in one of the more "metropolitan" cities Delaware has to offer, like say, Wilmington or Dover - or Rehobeth, even? We saw all the signs pointing us in the direction - right at first cornfield, left at second cornfield, get a ride on the cow that is wandering the streets, buy some fruit from a front stoop - but we never saw said fair. Don't they have like ferris wheels at State Fairs? And would their be traffic to the State Fair? Wouldn't we have seen something - anything - indicating a State Fair was taking place? Where are the people?

Boa: "Where is this state fair? They sure have a lot of signs for it. Again we haven't seen a person in hours, besides that Very Nice Officer."
Mav: "It's probaby in someone's house."
Boa: "Where do they put the ferris wheel? Or are they just bobbing for apples in the bathtub?"
Mav: "And stair diving!"
Boa and Mav: "Now I want to go!"

Seriously, had we found the State Fair, we would have checked it out just to say....you know, for purposes of the blog. And we were hungry so an apple sounded rather good right then. Alas, no fair was ever found.

Our beach house neighborhood is becoming a strip mall. In recent weeks we had the Safeway move in next door. [Love Safeway! - Mav, Boa, Hollywood]. Well, two weeks ago, The Gap moved in! We have discovered you meet all your neighbors by sittiing on your front stoop. And not on the back deck where - if you are lucky - you get a peak of Fu the dog. So one guy chats us up and we learn that he has an assortment of Top Gun t-shirts. The House is quite happy about this as we are the Top Gun house. So he offers the lovely Cougar her very own t-shirt. And she can pick. He thinks he has just her size. So you can see where this inevitably goes.

Oh goody, the Gap has moved in now!

And then this past weekend as we were sitting on our front stoop - drinking the tequila - we encountered an airport as a guy was wrapping up a day of windsurfing and in his attempt to "carry" his gear back to his place, he placed the sail across his back in airplane fashion. He was running with these wings projecting out either side of him to keep his balance in the wind and I swear to god it looked like he was ready to take off.

And now there is an airport in the neighborhood.

Is the neighborhood on an upswing? What will bring the neighhborhoood down? Not the airport noise. Certainly not the 2 for 1 sale at the Gap.

Crazy Drunk Jealous Bitches who call 911?

Which leads me to starring in our very own episode of COPS! Seriously, we could have sworn the cameras were rolling because the Innocent became the Bizarre. Since the rain was going to be around all weekend, The Gap challenged our "Inn" to a game of Flip The Cup - and Mav is on the Pro-circuit apparently. Late Friday - 1 AM - we go a-knockin' on their door only they aren't home yet. So we sit on their front stoop to wait. Only some Surly Drunk Bitch comes home. We hadn't met this particular sales person yet. We learn she is the bitter peon who has to fold the khakis for minimum wage. So the snotty attitude.

Surly Drunk Bitch: Sneering. "Who are you guys?"
Mav, Boa, and Cougar: "We are Mav, Boa, and Cougar. We live two doors down. Hi neighbor!"
SDB: Sneering. "What are you doing here?"
MB&C: "We are waiting for your house to play Flip the Cup."
SDB: "Not with the guys in this house. Hiss. "
MB&C: "Um, actually, yes we are."
SDB: "Why don't you go to your own front stoop."
MB&C: "Yeah, we'll just wait here."

Because what we heard was "You are pretty. I got in a big fight with my boyfriend over some girl he may or may not have been flirting with and now I don't want him talking to another girl as long as we both shall live. I spew jealousy venom. Besides I am crazy and an angry drunk right now and you are too cute to make me look even worse that I do right now. Shoo girls shoo."

Mav likes a challenge. And Boa doesn't like to be told what to do. And if Goose was there, Goose would have stepped on her. And then stepped on her again.

Surly Drunk Bitch goes inside and not five minutes later a big SUV tinted-window cop car peals into the drive way - the SWAT team? - and apparently they called for back up because a couple cops on bikes come wheeling in skidding to a stop too. See, apparently the Surly Drunk Bitch felt threatened and called 911 and let on that the situation was hard-to-handle. I think the COPS were a little disappointed to see us harmless and innocent sorts just sitting on the front stoop. They were hoping for Action of the let-me-pull-out-my-billy-stick-and-put-a'scarin'-in-some-young-drunk-punks. The cameraman had to shut off the film because this was not going to make primetime and they may have been a little disappointed to miss yet another chance at the tv. They essentially laughed about it. Now the cops knew the bitch was Crazy too. So the cops just told us to go on over to our own front stoop and we were happy to oblige. Only. The beers we were trying to conceal because we weren't entirely knowledgeable on the open container laws. Cougar and Boa listen and exit with beers. Mav does not. She stays behind. Inner panic.

Cops to Mav: "Um. you aren't leaving."
Mav: "Uh, Right."

In the end, open containers are allowed because we are on private property, so the drinking on the front stoop resumes - with the COPS [Not really - Those Reality Police who make my story so much more boring.] And the guys from The Gap show up and party with us the rest of the night. Boa seriously thought about flirting Big Time with the Boyfriend of Crazy Drunk Bitch to piss her off even more. But just him hanging out with us and her being all dramatic with the "I'm driving home now. At 2 AM" act was HILARIOUS enough. Him rolling his eyes. So score one for the harmless girls - who were not even remotely interested in any of the guys in Her House - and zero for the Bitch who wants to waste law enforcement's time. The bitch who never apologized when we are all for forgive-and-forget-over-a-night-of-drinking. She had a couple opportunities to extend her hand. Hell, I would have promoted her from Khaki Folder to Merchandise Manager. So, bitch.

Thumbing it is the new pasttime when the clouds come into town. After a day of shopping, Mav thought it would be fun to hitchhike home (she likes a challenge) and frankly, Boa and Mav were not having any of the Jolly Trolley. [Honey, don't take public transportation. That trolley is just a truck with a trailer hitched to it. - Goose.] So Mav pokes her thumb out in Skinny Legs fashion. At first, people waved at us. "Crazy girls." Like we weren't serious. Some lady pulled over with a wagon full of kids. Clearly, she had no room. In the end, we got picked up by some old man who, you could tell, spent years and years in the sun and had that worn leather couch look. (Kind of like how Mav, Goose, and Boa will look in the end of Summer '05.) So he has an old run-down jeep with a burn-out back. We drove all the way back to our neighborhood with our legs dangling from the back. In case, we had to jump out when he made a wrong turn and wanted to chop us into little pieces. In the end, friendly man.

Old Kind Man: "I was poor when I was little and thumbing it was the only way I could get around. So I appreciate you girls thumbing it. You just don't see that anymore."
Mav and Boa: Hiding our South Moon under purchases. "Poor, yes."

He didn't need to know that we were thumbing it because (a) we were avoiding the Jolly Trolley, (b) we were too lazy to walk the mile home, and (c) we did it for kicks.

The introduction of Charley. The naming it continues. When Goose brings down her very beautiful friend, sporting the ever-appropriate shirt with words declaring "Ditch Him" - you have to name her Charley in keeping with the Top Gun theme. Because she is Charley. Charley is really funny. Any music that is not not hip hop is essentially punk rock to her.
Charley: "This Miller Lite is making me listen to Punk Rock."
When I think it was Free Bird.
Boa loves, loves, loves Charley because she hears the bagpipes!

What doesn't belong together? Rubber chickens and Bare Asses don't. A couple guys in the house brought down their college friends and so 5 guys together reliving the chemistry of College Antics set out to relive those college antics, chemistry or not. Um. Rubber chickens were involved. A lot.

Bar: Seeing the straps around his shoulder. "You can't bring a back pack in here".
Chicken Man: "Oh that is not a backpack. It's a holster for my chickens. See."
Bar: "Uh. I guess there is no rule on holsters and rubber chickens."

Goose on phone: "How are Sundown's and Iceman's friends?"
Boa: "One guy carries rubber chickens in a holster."
Goose: "What?"
Boa: "One guy carries rubber chickens in a holster."
Goose: "What?"
Boa: "One guy carries rubber chickens in a holster."
Goose: "What?"
Boa: "Yes."

And so this "guest" brought his rubber chickens to the bars. They flew across the dance floor. They drank from the beer bottle. They nestled in his holster. And then late at night, in the safety of the house, when the holster comes off, I guess the chickens get rowdy from the drinking and the friends from college engaged in some late-night ass slapping. Bare ass mind you. With the chickens. Chicken to ass. Wish I could say this wasn't happening.

Boa, Goose, and Charley minding our own business downstairs when we hear a succession of Whack-laughter-Whack-laughter-banging-screaming-whacking, etc. Charley goes to investigate.
Charley: Oh my gosh, they are slapping each other's asses with the chicken.
Boa, Charley, and Goose peaking around the stairs: speechless in the Absurdity that it most certainly was.

Male bonding is not always such a good thing to witness.

Roll the cameras for Mav's hookup with Dirk-Could-Be-Biggler. So Mav found herself party to another Seinfeld episode earlier in the week when her boyfriend tries to break up with her.

Boyfriend: After not talking for a week. "Let's meet for drinks."
Mav: "Why don't you come over and I will cook dinner."
Boyfriend: "No. Let's meet for drinks."
Mav: "Why?"
Boyfriend: "Why so many questions?"
Mav: "My house?"
Boyfriend. "No."
And so on and so on.
Mav to Goose and Boa: "What does this mean?"
Goose and Boa: "He's trying to break up with you."
Mav: "Oh no, he doesn't."

So they haven't talked since. Thus she decided she could Hook Up this weekend. She found her target. They danced all night on the dance floor, came back to the house, dripping wet with Sweat. He takes a shower, ties a towel around his waist and they retire to the bedroom. Only Charley, Goose and Boa are sharing the bedroom too. And we want to go to bed. Boa had to share the bed with Mav and Dirk making out. Who said, "it sounds like somebody stirring macaroni?" Because it did. We read magazines while the macaroni got stirred. Charley read Dirk his horoscope in between their marathon make-out session. Pictures were taking. Video was rolled. And Dirk was hamming it up. Then Boa saw something she wished she didn't see....So Mav took Dirk into the closet. Then sent him home in his sweaty clothes. But he left behind his business card that ended up rolled up in a Wet Mess in the bottom of Mav's toiletry bag. Seeing that card with the digits bleeding ink looked a little sad. Is he waiting for her to call? But then I remember that boys do that shit all the time.

We don't wait to get to the beach to meet boys, we pick them up on the car ride down now. The drive down this past weekend entailed Mav tag-teaming with a Beamer. Speeds were up to 100 miles per hour. Passing cars. Weaving. In the cornfields. Boa doesn't like this. The deer may run out. Lassie may run out. That cow from the week before may run out. So Boa closed her eyes. But Goose egged her on. "Honey, are you comfortable with your speed? Don't loose that Beamer!" So the Beamer Guy became Neo. He would signal when we could pass with him. He'd caution us when we couldn't. He gave us the peace sign. We built him up. In fact, I'd like to think he saved our lives a couple times. When we got into town we got to pull up next to him and see who Neo really was. Neo was cute. So naturally we run into him at the bar later that night. Mav walks straight to him.

Neo: "I like how you drive. Do I get a kiss?"
So Mav makes out with Neo. A hook-up in record-breaking fashion.

Drinking tequila with ice makes everyone drunk but it makes Goose Drunk. This past Friday, we went straight for the liquor. Goose says that Boa made everyone some tequila and ice disguised as margaritas. [Heh. Heh. - Boa.] And so everyone got drunk rather early. But the Best Drunk was our Mother Goose. After the tequila and many, many beers we head to the bar. Once there, poor Goosie had to leave the bar almost immediately. The tequila was catching up with her and telling her that the world was spinning and walking was not an option anymore.

Goose exits stage left.
Boa: Drunk. "Should we go after her?"
Mav: Drunk. "Yes."
Boa and Mav: drink drink drink.
Five minutes later. Drink drink drink.
15 minutes later drink drink drink.
Goose?

Um. Goose is now on the street. Flat down. Cops to the left and a 6'6" 280-lb knight in flannels and a red neck to her right.

Goose: "Help."
Knight: Rushing to Goose's aid. "Baby doll, baby doll, get up."
Goose: "I can't. Help."
Knight: "Baby doll, are you of age? There is a paddy wagon."
Goose: "Help."

The Hulking Knight scoops her up in his arms and proceeds to carry her home. Goose flailing limp in his arms. Goose dropping her purse on the way. Goose's skirt riding up to her shoulders. Goose throwing up in trash cans on the way to the house. All the while, the knight being a perfect gentleman. And so the Knight brings her to the front stoop. And I think he is scared because Goose still needs him. He must be intimidated as all Hell because he most certainly got a peep show from a beautiful drunk girl who NEEDS HIM.

Goose: "Don't go. Help me in the house."
Knight: "Oh. I'm not going in."
Goose: "Help me."

And so he did. Because he is still rocking the whole chivalrous, gentleman Knight act. And as he is sitting on our balcony, sipping his beer, Goose is coming to her senses as all that alcohol poisoning is exiting her body from every which way, and she is finally able to look up to her 6'6" Hulkster, look him in the eyes, possibly fall in love because - Damsel + Distress + Knight + Shining Armour = one hell of a Love Story. But he had No Teeth. No. Really. And so no Love Story.

But we love the Knight and Mav and Boa want to give him a big hug and buy him a case of Budweiser for taking care of our Goosie when we were too selfish to help our third home. Or too drunk. [Yeah. Where were you drunks? - Goose.]

Boa gets redemption with a Lead Foot after one too many Bloody Marys. Previously, Mav and Goose had banned Boa from driving. Ever. They say she is slow. [Whatevs - Boa.] So since Goose can't do the whole Bay Bridge drive and Mav was too drunk in the back seat and she has way too many speeding tickets as it is, it was up to Boa to save the day. Boa came through. Boa drove a hundred miles an hour [Yikes! - Boa.] And made the record time that Mav and Goose challenged her to. Boa is sure she can't repeat that performance. It had to have something to do with the 3 Bloody Mary's, So Co shot, and two Miller Lites we drank before noon that morning. Alcohol gave her much more Confidence or much less Fear.

And sandwiched in between these two hell-raising weekends was a fun week spent with my family. At the beach. But without the Cops and the rubber chickens.