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?

Wrong.

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 now...so 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 program...is 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.

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 thisisoriginalme.blogspot.com!]

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??????

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 mystifying....to 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.

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.

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 for.......no 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.

"When I'm At The Beach, Where Do I Put My Chew?"

Missing from Potunkville, USA:

Slightly full-figured man in shiny red man panties, commonly referred to as Speedos, with a ring of dip, probably Skoal, tucked in the left butt cheek. Last seen carousing a popular Delaware beach, carefully treading his way through innocent sunbathers. If you have seen this man, please call 1-800-SO-PCKTS* to have him removed from the premises. His back pocket is missing him and we would like to reunite them as soon as possible.

*Sew Pockets, dba SOPCKTS, is engaged in the unique business of clothing manufacturing and fashion therapy. Our staff will work with the subject to ensure he gets a pocket that fits his vacationing lifestyle. We might fashion his current Wrangler square on his Speedos, or we may delicately guide him towards a longer syle of swim trunk, like, say, a board short that coincidently already has the pockets attached. Either way, we will work to educate him on the utility of a pocket. We at SOPCKTS understand that no man should have to go very long without a can of dip in his back pocket, even when at the beach.

Not The Hip-Shaking King...The Plastic Variety

The stalker is back. I ran into him outside my building so there was no avoiding it. And in the three minute conversation we had, he managed to bring up a body part that, really, should not come up in casual conversation. Especially not in the context he was using it. [Example: Did you party your {fill-in-the-blank-with-male-body-part} off?] I mean, really. How does a girl respond? So he creeps me out.

But you know what creeps me out even more than some lustful, ogling pervert?

The King with the big, plastic, smiley bobble-head. The King of Burger King commercial fame with the advertising slogan, "Wake up with The King!" or, "Up late with The King!" Have you seen these commercials? It's this big human puppet. In bed with you when you wake up. Or he's outside your window a-knockin' when you open your currents. That painted on smile. I am sure he just wants you to forego the McGriddle, the McMuffin, and the Breakfast Burrito, for BK's own, I'm sure, equally delectable breakfast. Maybe he doesn't intend to kill you. Or does he?

Is it an indelible image of kind and sympathetic marketing? Oh, I think not.

If you have never seen these commercials then you -you lucky bastard - will forever have peaceful slumber. With birds and sweet song. Meadows. You may skip. And eat straight from a sugar jar. And never get a cavity.

But if you have seen these commercials, then you will be haunted in your dreams if you turn your tv off right at the point when the plastic-headed King comes on your screen and that is the last image you are left with before turning in for the night. Or is that just me? A conspiracy afoot? Because, if last night was any indication, the King does not like to be silenced. He will come back for more.

As all creepy creeping creepsters do.

I don't want to go to BK if there is a chance I will run into this creepo. I'll run for the Border before I run to any castle. King and my Prince be damned!

But if he taunts me in my sleep again, I may have to. Damn marketing genius. How do you do it?

So, you see, I have this aversion to puppets, dolls with the blinking eyes, and clowns. Never liked them. My mom has a few of these antique dolls, some with the blinking eyes, and they all have a spot on her bed, which is just....creepy. The oompah loompahs? Creepy. Those halloween costumes with the plastic masks? Creepy. Ronald McDonald, for that matter....creepy. And a plastic life-sized King will still scare the shit out of me!

But when anything fearsome or creepy enters my dreams - then that just crosses the line into Horror-Film-Where-I-Am-The-Victim territory. And you are the audience, screaming at the tv to GET OUT OF THERE! YOU IDIOT, HE IS RIGHT BEHIND YOU! Or is he in the parlor with the Professor and the candlestick?

Uh-oh....where is the King now?

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Scared yet?

Let me give you an example of how my dreams are capable of haunting me silly. And I am not alone, my sister can attest, as she is victim too.

We were young - grade school age - and we were in a Publix (the best grocery store with the best bakery in the world, y'all!). We were horsing around as young kids forced to go grocery shopping on a Saturday afternoon will do. And we carried it too far because we dumped over a standing ashtray that - back in those days - they had standing on every aisle so you could, you know, smoke and shop at the same time. Shortly after the "Clang! Clatter! Clatter! Shwwwwiiiiiinnnnkkkl!" came a booming voice - out of nowhere - very Wizard of Oz - summoning a "Clean up on Aisle 6!" So my sister and I started giggling at this because, slap your knee, look at what we did and our parents didn't even see it! Not only are we bad-ass, we are scot-free. But! Then came the Evilist Man Of The Evilist Empire In All The Land shooting us the most evil dirty looks as he was forced to sweep up the ash and butts. In all its sooty-gag-me splendor. Then he muttered something in his "native tongue" at us - A Spell! And so for years that voice and that look HAUNTED us. In our dreams. And we always shared them with each other to let each other know that we were in this nightmare together. Which haunted us in the real world too. See, this guy happened to be of a certain ethnicity and so we just stereotyped the whole country - or the whole continent, which we didn't realize at the time - as one man. The evil Chinese Man.

We feared the Chinese Man.

Dad: We are going to Chinese Restaurant tonight.
Me and Sister: No! No! We are sick! We are sick!
Dad: ???
Me and Sister: Chinese Man will be there. Chinese Man wants us dead.

We got over that eventually and have since come to love the Chinese Man. In fact, we love all Man. We always vote a Liberal ticket. Our hearts bleed. We are cool like that. And I have dated a Japanese guy - by our little girl scared-shitless standards he would have been Chinese Man.

So, you see? Our own mind creates and conjures icons of fear. Or is that just freakishly me? The mind she is wild - and mine just happens to run, run, run. I would make a plea to BK to kill the plastic-headed King but we know that the monsters never die. They always come back.

And so I go to Burger King.

Because She Needs To Be Put In Check (And Wears A Size 9)

Guess what? I'm imposing a Boy Talk Moratorium. You might be asking, will she have anything else to talk about? I can always talk about shoes, clothes, makeup, the bathroom, phobias, pet peeves, or the crazy little things I do. Check the archives! You might still be bored.

But y'all will agree on this: Too many boy crazy posts lately! Grow up!

"OK."

What has become of me? You'd think I retrograded back to the age of 14 when I was realizing boys but not allowed to go on dates yet. Because 20 years later? My world is very similar. I am realizing boys for the first time in like six years after being marooned in Non-Commital, Manic-Depressive, Drunk-In-A-Bad-Way, Let-Me-Dump-You-For-Ex-Girlfriend-Who-Looks-45-And-Has-Four-Kids-And-Needs-Me-To-Be-A-Provider-And-She's Toothless-And-Shaped-Like-A-Bunny-Rabbit Guyville. So now I am back in the real world and, lo and behold, the guys are everywhere. Look around you! They are ringing me up in the coffee shop. They are taking my bags at the hotel. They are on the metro. They are in my building. They are at the beach. They are in my drink. It's madness! And it has to stop.

Lest you think I am a slut...because I am so not. And that is the truth. When all is said and done, I really can't take credit for any notches in the bedpost. I think that "holding out" makes them respect me and piques their interest. Well, apparently not. What is the secret? I have done the hard-to-get. I have done the be-yourself. I have done the easy-breezy. I have done the what-the-hell. All? Not working. Should I do Ho? Should I do Stalker?

No, mom, not to worry, I won't go that route.

This weekend - even at the beach - I am on VACATION. No talk of any Very Cute Boys. I will not "meet" anybody. I will not flirt with anybody. I certainly will not kiss anybody. And I most definitely will not be passing out my phone number.

The Internet has permission to kick my ass if I come back in love again, ranting about some VCB* and oh-my-gosh how awesome is this one. This girl is toughening up. Stone cold it is.

So Future Husband Or Guy Who Is Going To Love Me Forever And Ever: You need an icepick to crack me open. Sorry to make you work so hard but these things do not come easy. Trust me, I will be worth it.

So what cleaned my clock? A picture from the wedding. In this recent group of photos there were various pictures of me and my "wedding date" - or the latest VCB from last weekend - hugging and posing. And looking very sweet together if I must say so. But the very last picture taken on this digital "roll" of 98 pictures is me, sitting on a barstool in my "princess" dress and my hair all wedding-ized. My shoe had fallen off and "my wedding date" bent down on one knee and put my shoe on my foot ever so delicately. Then he kissed my foot. My friend snapped this moment and wrote this caption to go with the photo,

"Prince Charming slides the glass slipper on Cinderella's foot."

That, my VCBs, is all I am looking for. Nothing more. Nothing less.

*Very Cute Boy, duh

For Better Or For Worse

This weekend is the wedding. The Wedding Of The Marrieds In Which I Have No Date. I know, I know, woe is me. I even considered asking the Very Cute Boy from last weekend but for some rarely sane moment of reason opted out of that. (Digression: Did I mention that he is moving back to the West Coast very soon? Yes, well, he is, so I don't even want to start something up for that reason. I don't do long distance and we wouldn't have enough time to get to know each other before. And he lives in a sketchy neighborhood so he could walk out of his front door and die any day. And, yes, the question of the hour is, "Do you find excuses to be single?" Maybe. So I don't end up getting in over my head too soon and end up a heartwreck? So, I see, a psychoanalytical topic for another time...But, right now, I am enjoying singlehood and plan on playing it out for the summer. If VCB wants to come along for the ride, hop in. Dr. Freud, your hour is up. Get off my couch.)

The not having the date thing - really is tongue-in-cheek. I don't care that I don't have a date. Really. What does irk me a tad is the fact that I *did* have a date that canceled on me at the very last minute. And the fact that I told everyone I was bringing him. Big mouth strikes again. And now I have to tell everyone that, well, he stood me up. And then you get those words of sympathy "Oh, sorry. He doesn't deserve you. Better you found out now what he is like. You will have fun anyway. Borrow my husband." Thanks. Yes. Yes. Yes. And, uh, no.

Witness my neurosis for the weekend....

When slow-dancing comes on - hide! So I can always borrow a friend's husband or boyfriend to twirl me around the dance floor. But the thing is - I don't really like to slow dance. Missing that "chick gene." I have a problem with following. No, I don't always need to be in control. On the contrary. Maybe it's impatience. Maybe it's because I can't do it perfectly. But I always end up wanting to take the lead. I don't want to anticipate when he will call me or when he will ask me out, oh, sorry, ahem, I mean, where we will twirl next. So dancing with me often leads to the Stepping On The Toes or the Falling Down (hi floor!). So I end up on the sidelines (read as: The Bar) - watching. And I see the looks people give me. Poor, poor single girl, drinking herself silly, envying the Dancing Twosomes. So when the slow-dancing comes on, I will go for a smoke break (and I don't even smoke on a good day).

Do not take on any extra-special responsibilities that I didn't sign up for, wasn't consulted about, and didn't practice for. Namely, I hope I don't have to hold the book that the priest reads from during THE WHOLE CEREMONY. Wait. Let me start that one over. I hope that I do not have to stand in front of 200 or so people in a very quiet church, showing my rear side, on camera and video, holding a book like a book stand would usually do. But I guess I could say if called upon to be the Book Stand again, I am a pro. Really. Everyone told me so. Really. They said I looked pretty standing up there. I didn't know how to take this. How does one get to be the Book Stand, you may ask? Or, you may be asking, how do I avoid being the Book Stand? Well, my original responsibilities started off innocently enough. First, the Miller Brewery tour. OK, so it was a self-imposed responsiblity, nonetheless, it had to be done. Then I went from Beer Garden Denizen to Program Girl. Really. I changed in a phone booth. Or I clicked my heels and counted to five and poof. No. Really. For the amount of time we had in between the Very Important Beer Outing to the Very Important Passing Out of The Programs, I needed some magic superpowers. But I worked with what I had. Being human is the pits sometimes. Anyways, I thought I was doing a lovely job with the passing out of the programs and all. I got to chat with a few people. Direct people. Cut people off who were taking advantage of free programs. Who knew passing out programs required so much authority and responsibility. But then - and here is where you need to learn from my mistakes (because you should totally go to the Miller Brewery and I realize it has nothing to do with my point but I will tie it in at every seam I can). So, if the priest - no matter how lovely and charming and pious he may be - and no matter how much you may fear the wrath of God - even if you have to repent, or atone, a million times over - if he asks you to help him out, immediately become ill or mute or die (but not really this one). Because this is what might happen.

Sweet Little Old Priest: You look like a nice young lady. Would you do me a favor?
Unsuspecting Soul: Sure Father! What can I do for you? [Am a very good Ass Kisser in the eyes of God.]
SLOP: You must hold this book for me.
US: Sure! You want to do a practice run, don't you? I have a fear of speaking in front of large crowds and I practice, practice, practice!
SLOP: No, nice young lady. I need you to hold it for me during the whole ceremony. You will stand up in front of all 200 people. You must stand there with your backside to the crowd. Holding the book in front of you. You will come up when I motion for you. It's easy.
US: But - don't I get to practice first?
SLOP: No time. We are on now. Walk next to me and follow my cues.
US: But I have to confess, Father. I was at the Miller Brewery earlier. I am sure that is a sin.
SLOP: No, nice young lady. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can head to the reception and drink. Now follow me!
US: Yes, sir. *gulp*

So I was in the procession with the priest and the altar boys. I sat at his right hand side. I jumped when he said jump. I held the book with no problems. I had a starring role in the ceremony. I had more airtime that the bride and groom. I never got the hiccups. It was a ground-breaking performance for me. So I am good at the Book Holder thing (hold the librarian jokes). I just hope I am not typecast. Because I have so much more dimension.

Turn phone off to avoid drunk phone calls from friends. Well, I know that I won't get a call from "Ty" asking me what I am wearing. Which he has done on many occassions and, once, at a wedding. But he will be at the wedding. You may ask - why even bring your cellphone to a wedding, you yuppie, am-so-connected, am-so-popular, techno-dependent? For the very reason why I have a phone. Poor me is all alone, the phone is my safety call when help is needed. Ever since my dead cell phone saved me from some nefarious cab driver taking me on some random back streets of Arlington, I never leave home without it. I took it out, saw that it was dead, but acted like it worked - because I was quick-thinking which doesn't happen all the time. I told the phantom callee where I was, what cab I was in, etc. Needless to say, the cab driver immediately turned around and dropped me home and didn't ask for money. Weird.

Hope I don't get overcome with coughitis. I have been suffering from some kind of respiratory infection for weeks now. I have been to the doctor. I have taken the antibiotics but I can't shake the sore throat (which comes and goes) and the cough. So, I hope I don't have a coughing attack during the middle of the ceremony. You know coughing fits always happen at the most inopportune moment. Speak now or forever hold your peace. *cough, ack, cough, ack, cough, ack, ack, ack, cough, cough* I'm sorry. Was that a cough of dissidence? Then the whispers in the church. Poor, poor single girl, bitter because she is single. Can't these single people be happy for people that find true love?

Hate the "traditions" - no, wait, embrace them if you can. Typically I tend to embrace traditions, customs, etc. And I believe in superstitions. Something borrowed, something blue, etc. I also lift my feet at train tracks. I don't step on cracks. I say "rabbit foot" at the first of the month. And I knock on wood. But all the hokey wedding traditions? The father has to be the one to walk you down the aisle. Father's first dance. Throwing the bouquest to all the poor Unweds (i.e., ladies in waiting). The whispers. Poor, poor single girl, the only one to catch the bouquest. Doesn't that negate the "luck"? While the guys get to be racy with the garter - ooh la la, give me your leg, baby, and let me cop a feel. (Seriously, I haven't been to a wedding where they have done the latter two in a long time.) Then the ceremonial cake-cuttiing. And the feeding of each other. Keep it behind closed doors. But now, I would give anything to have some of those traditions. I'm here to say that not every little girl dreams of what "her" day will be like. I never had this image of a wedding day because I never thought of it as my day. I always expected that The Man I Marry will dream the dream with me to make it our own day together. But now I would give anything to have my father walk me down the aisle. To have that father's dance. I want him to "give me away." I think about it now. When it is too late. I usually get choked up during these moments at weddings. Not at being dateless, but fatherless. But I am hoping that maybe this time I will be able to smile a little dream for daddy.

I won't end on that note. I think the concept of a wedding is a beautiful thing. However you do it. Pomp and circumstance or down and out. Traditional or non-conformist. Anyway you do it, it is joyous and it is an occassion to drink. For the most part I will be doing just that.

Cut Me Off A Slice Of Heaven

It's just a typical weekend at the beach...or, to all the guys I loved before, fuck off.

In boring play-by-play fashion....

1. Patiently sit in traffic on New York Avenue, on 50, on the Bay Bridge, and over the Bay Bridge.
2. Suddenly realize it is going to take you 4 hours to get to the Fun in the Sun.
3. Uh-oh...you are driving down alone.
4. Decide to prank call your friends!
5. Oh yeah. Realize the whole caller ID thing kind of makes this impossible.
6. So have your 31/2 year old niece entertain you.
7. Hear about her "foe-fee" she got in "bow-way".
7. Listen to her tell you about the "grandpa who lives next door with the balloon in his belly."
8. Have your sister-in-law translate: "A trophy for ballet recital" and "The neighbor in his 60's with the big beer gut."
9. Look down to make sure you do not have a balloon in your belly.
10. Decide to add this phrase to your vocabulary.
11. You are very bored now.
12. But spot Route 1!
13. Make a beeline to the liquor store for 2 cases of beer and 2 cans of pineapple juice for mixed fruity beachy drinks on Saturday afternoon.
14. Sit out on the deck, beer in hand, waiting for the rest of the Friday evening crowd to roll into town.
15. Gather everyone and hit a bar.
16. Have your friends push you into the cutest boy in the bar.
17. Giggle like the 12-year old girl you feel like and run off.
18. But the cute boy follows you.
19. Regain your composure and exchange some small talk.
20. Find out that the cute boy is now Very Cute Boy and is also Very Interesting and Very Funny.
21. Oh, so, what the hell...
22. Invite him back to the house for a slice of pizza and more beer.
23. Stay up all night talking, laughing, and making out.
24. Wake up in his arms the next morning - fully clothed - but carrying on the giddy giggling from the night before.
25. Then spot the elephant in the room.
26. Retrace the events of the night.
27. Learn that you have a sleep-walking housemate.
28. Hear Sleep Walking Housemate comment on how sweet the two of you look engulfed in a pretzel-like embrace, cooing and giggling.
29. And he is sincere about this. Umm...
30. Sleep Walking Housemate bows out TO HIS OWN BEDROOM.
31. Thank Sleep Walking Housemate for leaving.
32. Uh-oh. Discover a problem with your hazy memory.
33. Fess up.
34. Ask Very Cute Boy his name.
35. (Only girls can get away with this.)
36. So conceal the asking in joke form.
37. Stay in bed until noon talking, laughing, and making out some more.
38. Keep your clothes on because, you know, you have morals.
39. Get a phone call from Mav who is on her way to the Fun in the Sun.
40. Answer the phone and tell her you have Very Cute Boy in your bed.
41. (And he is a good sport about this.)
42. So Mav tells you to keep him there until she arrives.
43. He is under your spell, he is not going anywhere.
44. Now get a phone call from Goose.
45. So answer, of course, because you are going to miss her this weekend.
46. Very Cute Boy gets on the phone.
46. (Did I mention how he is such the good sport?)
47. And you like him a little bit more for this.
48. So include him in your plot to kidnap the little dog out back named Fu.
49. He repays you by smothering you with kisses and tickles.
50. It's now noon.
51. So your housemates join you in your room to make sure you are alive.
52. (Gosh darnit if he is still a good sport!)
53. Mav arrives, jumps in bed, and tells Very Cute Boy that, yes, he is very cute boy.
54. You reclaim him.
55. Then send him off so you can spend the day on the beach with your housemates.
56. You know, talking about him.
57. Burn a little.
58. Pray you don't succumb to pre-mature aging AKA Leatherface and skin cancer AKA Death.
59. Oh yeah. Forget to take your sunglasses off.
60. Decide you might be a tad hungover.
61. So go to a bar to drink.
62. Get a drink with whipped cream because - when in Rome...
63. Run into pseudo-Brad-Pitt-in-disguise.
64. Mav can't resist this so says, "Hey Brad."
65. He can't resist Mav so returns with, "Hey baby."
66. Spot Fu across the bay running with the Big Dogs and swimming! Atta boy!
67. Miss Goose.
68. Get back to the house to watch the Belmont Stakes.
69. Because you knew that Afleet Alex was going to win.
70. Finally shower and kiss the soap.
71. Clean now!
72. And reddish.
73. Hungry.
74. Order Chinese Food.
75. Hungry. Want it now.
76. Determine that the Chinese Food people are dumb because they do not know the main road in town.
77. Curse the Chinese Food people.
78. Drink.
79. The Directionless Chinese Food People take two hours to deliver the food.
80. Too long.
81. For this you are ungrateful.
82. But finally get food.
83. Finally eat.
84. (The drinking never stopped of course.)
85. Dance with your housemates at the house before heading out to the bar.
86. Meet up with Very Cute Boy at the bar.
87. Watch your friends fall in love with him.
88. Take him home again.
89. Feel him hug you so tight it takes your breath away.
90. " Shit."

Shopping Scents

I like shopping by myself. I am not an impulsive shopper, usually. If I am heading out to a store, I usually have an intended purchase in mind. Sometimes other things will wind up in my cart, draped over my arms, or in my driveway (??), but generally I think through my purchases. I will mentally tally up my bank account minus the purchase. I will pair it up with things in my closet (or where it will go in my house). I will dream about other accessories I need to buy to complete the purchase. But this all takes place in my own head. If I need to rationalize something, I will call for help. I'll call my friends, my mom, my sister, my brother. With all due respect, I almost never seek the opinion of the salesperson. They're biased.

But sometimes you get the overzealous salesperson who thinks they know you better than you know yourself. They think they know how you decorate your home. Yes, these chili pepper Christmas lights will add that something-something your home is missing. They think they can dress you better. They think they are Coco Chanel and you are a KMart Special. Personally, if you want to wear the purple with the green with the orange with the pink - then color away! If we all wore that outfit off of the mannequin in the front window we'd be rather ordinary.

Unless I am shopping in territory I am unfamiliar. In that case, help will be needed by the salespeople. I'll find you. Let me ask the questions. When I am in Home Depot and looking at the power tools or getting keys made or in a nursery deciphering the green and flowering and what I will or will not eventually kill, I will ask for some help. I know when the Shopping becomes too big for me to handle. By the way, shopping for a car? Been there, done that, on my very own, thank you very much. And most certainly when I am in any clothing, general retail, department, fabric, or liquor store, I can almost always hold my own.

So over the weekend, I went to this lovely store to pick up three things that I use all the time: my very favorite hand soap, my very favorite Dishwashing Soap and a waterless hand sanitizer ("The Soap, The Soap, and The Other Soap"). All three different brands (and three different scents apparently, you'll see). Here, I encountered one of those overzealous salespeople.

Going into this conversation imagine the Clerk as Jack from Will and Grace. Flitting about with a sing-song voice. The exclamations are necessary. Imagine me deadpan, not cracking. It's Super Shopping Deameanor, A Force To Be Reckoned With. Learn, kiddies.

Clerk: You know you have three different scents going on here! *smile*
Me: Yes. I do.
Clerk: So these aren't all for you then! Oh, I love giving gifts! I'll just wrap them up for you! *smile* {Clerk rummaging under counter}
Me: No-not necessary. They are all for me.
Clerk: But you have three different scents! *frown*
Me: Yes? *blink*
Clerk: Hmmm...well what are you using them for? *quizzical look*
Me: *blink*
Me: Well, they all have three different purposes. I am not using them simultaneously, if that is what you are asking. It's kind of like buying a deodorant, a perfume, and a hair gel - they don't need to match, now do they? {Inner Me: Good one!}
Clerk: Oh honey - mine do! *smile*
Me: *blink*
Clerk: Let's go take a look at some of the other scents - maybe we can get you in the same scent family! *smile* {Turns and assumes a running start to the dish soaps.}
Me: No-really-this is what I want today. Thanks for your concern though.
Clerk: OK. *frown* {Yes, disappointed he is but he finally begins ringing up the purchases of The Soap, The Soap, and The Other Soap.}
Clerk: {But not satisfied to stop there with this stubborn customer.} Oh. *frown* You were at our Clearance Table. You know this Dishwashing Soap is their Holiday Scent? {Takes his glasses off now to give me a good looking down upon.}
Me: Well, I kind of gathered that since it is Pumpkin Spice.
Clerk: Oh! So you are going to save it for next Thanksgiving! *smile*
Me: No. I will use it today when I get home. I like the smell. And it is on sale.
Clerk: Yes, we put it on sale because it is ssoooo last season. *tsk, tsk* We have some other more spring-like scents. Shall we go look? {Starts the sprint to the Clearance Table.}
Me: I like pumpkin in the spring. In fact, I am going to go home and bake a pumpkin pie. {Inner Me: Good one!}
Clerk: *frown* {Proceeds with the ring up of The Soap, The Soap, and The Other Soap.}
Clerk: *aha!* OK. Now this Hand Soap you bought - you haven't used it before now have you? *pursed lips*
Me: Actually, it is all I use. I have been using it for five years now. {Inner Me: No lie!}
Clerk: Then you should buy the economy jug! *smile* Let's go look! {Starts the sprint back to the soap.}
Me: I don't want the economy jug. {Now smarting to his next move.} Sure, I understand in the long run, I would probably save money that way. But I have nowhere to store it and I am fickle and may decide I don't like the scent in 6 months and I prefer to buy the new pretty bottle everytime.
Clerk: They make this one in a different scent too. What is it called- *perplexed*
Me: Don't want that.
Clerk: Umm...what is it called...umm..... *perplexed*
Me: *blink* {Inner Me: Doonn'tt wwaaanntt iittt.... }
Clerk: I'll be back-
Me: That won't be nec-
Clerk: {Darts off faster than a speeding bullet, jumps display tables in a single bound.}
Clerk: {Running back.} Fruits and passion! Fruits and passion! *smile, smile, smile*
Me: Yeah, thanks. Still don't want it.
Clerk: *frown* {But proceeds with the ringing up.}
Clerk: OK. Now this hand sanitizer... {Takes off glasses again.}
Me: *sigh* What about the hand sanitizer?
Clerk: You know they make it in a bigger size?
Me: Yes, I want this size.
Clerk: You'll go through it pretty fast.
Me: I need it for my purse so I need that size.
Clerk: *frown* {Finishes ringing me up.}
Clerk: {Hands me the bag.} Enjoy your soaps! *smile*

In the end, I got out of there with my intended purchase: The Soap, The Soap, And The Other Soap. And when I got home I squirted them all over the sink together to break the scents in and boy did it smell like lemon, roses, pumpkin, cinnamon, verbena, lavender, sugar and spice and everything nice. *sniff, sniff* Smell that? An olio of scents. My nose was loving it.

So does my stubborn proclivity to my own shopping scents make me a good consumer or a bad consumer?

Cash Register: Ka-ching!
Apartment: I can't breathe. If I eat another thing I will explode.
Closets: Can you move out some of the derelicts in here?
Cat: Bags! Yeah, let me put my head in here and breathe. Let's play! Uh-oh. Yak. Yak.
Carpet: Dirty! Clean me!
Vacuum: Sick. Cough. Cough. Dying. Dying. Dy.....sssssssssssss...
Nose: Eww. What happened to the "olio of scents"?! Smells like someone is burning plastic.
The Soap, The Soap, and The Other Soap: Squirt us! Squirt us!
Carpet: Still dirty! Don't invite anyone over. I'm ashamed to have anyone see me like this.
Vacuum Store: Oh, you need my help, huh? We have special vacuums for people like you. That will be one million and sixty-two dollars. And it will die in a year. See you next year!
Wallet and Bank Account: Feed me.
Credit Card Company: Will you marry me?
Clerk who sold me The Soap, The Soap, and The Other Soap: Bitch! *smile*

In the end, the splurge on The Soap, The Soap, and The Other Soap ended up costing me a vacuum and not the unifying scented soaps, or the economy jug, or the "in season" scents the clerk was pusing. Nope. A vacuum. Or, that is how I rationalized it in my head. That clerk had some all-mighty powers that transcended my "shopping scents." Damn. He's good.

Great, Who Will Be My Wedding Date Now?

Occurrence: I got dumped by my wedding date.
My reaction: Wow! This dating thing is fun!

Occurrence: I got dumped because he would rather see his tailor.
My reaction: Yes, friends who warned me, the signs are pointing to Gayville.

Occurrence: So now I have no wedding date.
My reaction: *blink* *rubs eyes*

Occurrence: EVERYONE else has a date.
My reaction: OK, normally don't care. Very independent, never bring date just to bring date. But...everyone but me? Wah.

Wait. Let me repeat this for my own understanding. I just got dumped - via email - by a guy who - emphatically (as in no hesitation with the yes) - agreed to go with me, who knows the bride and groom, and who assured me - when I asked if he needed to check his schedule before he so "emphatically" agreed - that he was indeed free the whole weekend and was looking forward to it, especially the overnight aspect because we had not taken our "relationship" that far yet. And the Dump Email came after not hearing from him for 2 weeks in which I finally sent him a Hello Email and his reply was not "hello back" but Dump. What's with The Mean? Was he ever going to tell me?

My real reaction: Asshole! Yes, OK, not that into me. Got that. He's not flaky anymore, he's transparant. Fine. But he could have handled the let down quite differently. At the very least a "sorry, but..." would have probably been sufficient. Not the blunt, "Can't go, going to the tailor in NYC now. Won't be back in time. Period." So, I...delete his contact information from any recording of it, contemplate sending an "oh, thanks a lot email in response" but decide to just ignore and not respond and write him off. Sometimes silence is the loudest response. And now moving on, dateless.

So, a plea!

One dateless, very pretty (I have professionals working on me that day who plan on making me pretty), smart (or I can pretend to be), and sassy (I will probably fall at some point in the evening) girl in a yellow dress SEEKING a flake-free, date-free, gay-free, hilarious and unassumingly handsome man (who will pick me up when I do fall, by the way, or fall down with me) to be Wedding Date. And can you wear a pink shirt with your suit? I kind of have a thing for pink button-down shirts. We will drink, dance, and maybe sing. Surely, we will laugh a lot?

I've seen movies about this kind of thing. On Lifetime and in the theaters. It works for them.

Mom, you'd be proud of me pimping myself on the 'net.

Dear Diary: You Had To Be There

Memorial Day Weekend 2005...The kickstart to a summer of Fun.
1 Beach House + 11 House Mates + 11 Cases of Beer + 4 Days + 4 IPods + 4 Bars Within Walking Distance = A GoshDarn Good Time

It is hard to describe it and I tend to shy away from giving a play-by-play diary recap of my weekend doings because, frankly, I'm sure you care. There were just so many hilarious moments of the weekend that tend to be of the you-had-to-be-there variety. Really. Case in point: At one point over the weekend, I was making eye contact with a cute boy. Mav and Goose were both talking to boys. I thought of something and shared it with Mav, Mav told Goose, and then the three of us were literally doubled-over with laughter. The something I said could only be funny to the three of us because it had to do with an inside joke we had working all weekend long that NEVER got old. Never. The inside joke came about kind of piecemail - everything that happened or that we encountered kind of contributed to it - and it stuck.

So now the evidence of the Not Funny. The cute boy took this as his opportunity - us sprawled together cracking up - to move in.

Cute Boy: What is so funny?
Me: {chuckle, snort, chuckle}
Cute Boy: You just made these girls crack up? What is so funny?
Me: I said - {chuckle, gasp} - I said - Wait! - You really won't think this is funny. Trust me.
Cute Boy: Try me.
Me: OK. So, I told my "mom" that I feel like the stepchild of the family and blah-blah-blah (Note to readers: trust me on this, not funny to you so edited to spare you.)
Cute Boy: ????
Me: And- (And he is not laughing.)
Cute Boy: Yeah. That wasn't funny. {Turns away, then turns back.} Oh, and tell that guy standing behind your friend to turn his collar down.
{Once Cute Boy turns and walks away into the darkness. His switch went out but he just set off another lightbulb of hilarity in my head. Time to share with the girls!}
Me (turning to Mav and Goose to tell them what he said because if only he knew how funny that was because he just touched on another inside joke): He said...
Me, Mav, and Goose: {Doubled-over yet again in laughter while the Guy With The Collar Up is still standing behind Mav}

Once Cute Boy became a contributor. And this is really how the weekend went. Funny on the inside, but probably not funny on the outside. The Unfunny will be our Funny. You may just shrug your shoulders and walk away too. But the Guy With The Collar Up Who Keeps Standing Behind Mav is gone now, so let's go with this...

The Car Drive Down, Friday. With my old friend, Mav, and my new friend, Goose. Just three girls zipping east in a shiny, pretty car, packed to the floorboard and ceiling, trunk to front seat, in beach towels, coolers of beers, beach chairs, and stereo equipment, while listening to Mav's Playlist in which she streamed the best party tunes a girl could want. The weekend was off to a good start. I love these gals.

The Bay Bridge. Poor Goose can not drive over the Bay Bridge. She is embarrassed about this but I don't think she should be. I am not afraid of heights and I find the Bay Bridge terrifying. My dad would never drive over it, so I understand it. Mav drove then. Goose in the backseat with a pillow over her face: "Is it over yet?" Me and Mav in the calming voice, "Almost over, honey. Hang in there." Until...the car accident that we just missed involving a PT Cruiser and a golf cart. Yes, a golf cart. How fast do those things go? So we were temporarily held up at the top of the bridge. We eventually made it over and Goose survived. We were ready for the Double Arches now.

The KMart KeyMaker, The KMart Gift Card, And The KMart Bathing Suit. Two trips to the Big K over the weekend. One to get keys made by someone who may or may not have worked there and another to return said keys. Because they DIDN'T WORK. So the return amounted in a lovely $44.80 gift card to which Goose replied to the Customer Service rep in her sweetest, "motherly" voice, "Oh, honey, I'm not coming back here." The girl has never been in a KMart before. Do they even have any in DC? Also in KMart, Mav was able to score a "delightful", shimmery, flourescent, turn-the-lights-down, day-glo, glistening and blinding and - you get the picture - swimsuit because she packed for the BEACH and went to the BEACH with NO SWIMSUIT. In the store, we were like, "Oh, that's cute, that'll do." On the beach the next day, we were like, "Damn, what were you thinking buying that thing? Who told you that looked cute?" Friends. That red bathing suit then became a House fashion show staple, modeled by Goose over her lovely Soccor Mom sweathsirt.

The Crazy Old Lady Who Lives Out Back With The Big Beautiful House That Semi-Blocks Our View. She's crazy. Bipolar maybe. Or drunk. Or sad. Crazy Old Lady likes to come out back and yell up at our deck while it is still light out about how we need to get to the bars and she will call the cops on us because our voices are too loud and our laughs are too much. The next day she was all sunshine in her conversation with us, asking how our night was. It was like the movie Groundhog Day because we witnessed the same conversation and the same Crazy every night.

Backyard Entertainment. Some in the house got to witness Crazy Old Lady's Late Night Drunken Gentleman Caller banging on her door, "Leett mmee iinn!! I wwoonnn'ttt ddiissaappppooiinntt youuuu!" That plea was repeated all weekend long. It never got old.

A Dog Named Fu Manchu AKA Fu. Crazy Old Lady's dog. We have photo evidence of the Crazy Old Lady screaming up at our balcony in her mumu and poor little Fu looking the other way as if to say, "Who is this Crazy Old Lady? I don't know her. Send help." Goose promises to kidnap Fu by the end of summer and have Fu drive over the Bay Bridge for her because he the Little Dog AKA Fu.

A Game Called Dance Moves. That never got old either. It involved lot of butt-shaking and The Pants Dance and The Ear Muffs. And lots of forgetting of who's move was whose.

House Underwear. Emblazoned with the logo, "Open 24 Hours." The best 99 cents I ever spent. Worn over clothing by many people in the house. Mav even wore them out in public under the Red KMart Bathing Suit and over gray yoga pants. Fashion Maverick, that girl.

The Photo Ops. Many, many photos of the sleeping posing with various objects, including lit cigarettes, stacks and stacks of beer bottles, Soy Chips bags, hats, and the blow-up swordfish that turned into the Where's Waldo of the weekend because he showed up in many pictures. His home is now above the mantel because he was hooked and blown up for our very own house. It's a 20-pounder, I tell ya!

Trashy Beach Reading. Including an article from Cosmo about the "new" "positions" you just must try. Notably one involving a Krispy Creme donut. Donut on a stick, anyone? And one involving saran wrap and humming. I'm guessing they don't mean humming something like, "Cuts Like A Knife" or "The First Cut Is The Deepest." Others involved a lot of right to left, no left to left to right, leg to knee to shoulder, then flip and then stand at a 35 degree angle. And don't breathe. You would need cue cards to follow along.

Random Characters. Remember the "it's Brad Pitt in disguise" story that ran about a year ago where it was supposedly him with the long hair, hat, straggly beard in cognito? Well That Guy was at the beach. Except he really wasn't That Guy. There was also the guy in the British flag skivvies, strutting his stuff, not shy in the least. Also, the Big Burly Branded Black Guy who told Goose he would do her all night long any way she wanted. And, the Guy With The Cracked Head, who took a dive over the ledge into the water and cracked his head open on the rocks. Owww.

Words Of The Day. It's "delightful." "What a delight it is to still smell your scent on my clothes." "Outstanding." "He's a Fu." "Holla(back)." And finally, "I hate people."

Hooch, My Weekend Boyfriend. {Sigh} Good kisser. I think he was cute. Doctor. Phone number demander. He will never call.

Road Rage On The Car Ride Home. The crazy family of four that would not let us in at a merge, the father grimacing all stone-faced shaking his fist in the air, the two daughters in the backseat flicking us off, and the mother all Mrs. Cleaver there-there-family about it. So we took photos.

Bed At 8:00 On Monday Night.

See? Wish you were there.

Kiki Just Had To Take To The Bottle

Yes, I watch The OC. I was late to the game but I'm here now. For now. Because they are testing me. Yes, this fairweather fan is hissing at the moment because of this whole alcoholic storyline. First, why does every single show - dramas/soaps - in the history of mankind have to deal with this subject? And it is always tied up neatly in a bow. Can you really spin this anew? It's so stale. And in the case of The OC in particular? So, so forced. Me, "forcing" myself into my skinny jeans - hopping and stuffing my ass into them (and laying down flat to zip them), has nothing on The OC and Kirsten's Drunken Plunge Into Shameful Intoxification. Bad Kiki, bad.

You saw the foreshadowing from the beginning of the season. The lone camera shot zooming in on Kirsten's wine glass as if to say, "Pay attention, folks, slippery curves ahead!" And Kirsten may drive on them! While drunk! Oh the drama.

So Kiki drinks all by her lonesome sometimes. So she can polish off a bottle of wine by herself. So she got drunk at a vineyard. So she likes a little vodka in her OJ. So she likes to come home to a chilled swig of vodka. So she got drunk at her father's funeral. Hell, I've done all this. Except at my dad's funeral. I couldn't even stomach a beer that day. So is that what actually separates me from Drunkville? In any case, I am sure I binged just as soon as I got my sea legs back.

I guess we are to believe that all her imbibing happened off camera. We saw Sandy find her bottle stashed in her purse. Oh! I see, it's called allusion. Kirsten has been drinking around the clock! At work. In the bathroom. In bed. While driving. While shopping. While tanning. Before, during, and after every meal. Et cetera. Et cetera.

Snore.

I like my primetime TV all fluff and cupcakes. That's just me. I don't want to see the shootings and the drug dealing and the dying and the blackmailing and the porn-parading. I want the mindless banter, the teenage-bickering, the comic book shenanigans, the breaking up to get back together, the shopping trips, the wife-beaters, and mall-camping. And more scenes with Princess Sparkle and Captain Oats (spinoff, anyone?) Oh, and one more thing, more Peter Gallagher singing. Thank you.

Hey Pigpen, Dirty Is Just Dirty, Put It In The Can

I am at work. I am bored. So I took a trip to the bathroom. A trip as in I am bored, I have drank enough water and tea to fill the Potomac, but yet I don't have to pee, so you know what that means, five pounds of water retention which doesn't make me feel good or, probably, look good, so let's go to the bathroom and see if just being in such a shrine to peeing and poohing will make me go, or better yet, maybe I will run into someobody to talk to, and thus relieve my boredom and water weight! So, yes, a trip.

That trip turned out to be one disgusting trip. Makes me think I need to pick new destinations when I'm bored. Because this bathroom was visited by some pooh-filled person who chose to leave their mark for their fellow employees. Lo and behold in the third stall, which is the one I prefer, there were a few "drops" floating in the toilet and a wad of USED toilet paper ON THE FLOOR next to the toilet! Ohmygross. Next time why don't you send out an office-wide communication exploiting your bathroom skills because the boys in the next room over probably missed it!

This kind of unsanitary display makes me wonder what kind of scumsucker does this? Is it that this person is so high and mighty that it is above them to clean up after themselves? My sister-in-law just told me the other day that if they won the $165 million Powerball she would make sure that I would never have to wipe my ass myself again. I thought she was metaphorically-speaking but maybe there is a whole labor pool out there of people who wipe asses and this person in my office couldn't bring them to work with them because, I don't know, office guidelines - or OSHA rules - prohibit you from bringing your own personal Ass Wiper. So, I ask, if you are incapable of doing it properly yourself, then write a letter to your Congressman asking them to let in the Ass Wipers! Or is it that this person is that that much of a slob and actually lives like this at home too, amidst dirty toilet paper, food crumbs, and sticky surfaces - oh, and that brief or book I just gave them?

Alright, admittedly, sometimes I have missed the "basket" too. Usually I'm drunk for this to happen, but I always (well I can't speak for all those drunk moments) pick up after myself. Is that so much to ask? And I always watch the toilet to make sure it flushes all the way. Sure sometimes we stop up the plumbing, and nobody wants to go tell the office manager, "Hey, I stopped up the toilet. Can you report it? Oh, by the way, here's my monthly management report." But today? This wasn't a stop-up. No, this was some dirty, dirty pigpen with no regard for cleanliness.

But this person didn't stop with the laziness in the toilet. It was like there was a trail of their scum all over the bathroom because there were about 4 wadded up paper towels on the floor of the bathroom - nowhere near the trashcan. Huh? So then I remembered the lovely Morgan who used to work in my office and her groddy bathroom encounter. This was of the explosive kind as in, let me aim my ass up to the ceiling and see how high it can fly and how wide it can spread. So you see? I have a walking Pooh-Ball carousing my office. Send help!

All this bathroom talk reminds me of a conversation I had with Manwich last Friday night about bathroom behavior. He wanted to know why guys lean against the wall of the urinal as they urinate. Is it that hard to hold yourself up? I surmised that they are probably drunk and then, yes, it is hard to hold yourself up sometimes. Or is that just me? For the most part, I try and keep my contact with bathroom fixtures and walls to a minimum. I am a pro at the Flush The Toilet With The Foot Move, While Drunk. Which turns into Balancing On One Foot, While Drunk. Which can turn into Leaning Against Stall Walls While Zipping Up Clothing, While Drunk. So, that guy, holding himself up? Yes, probably drunk.

In the end, my clean, pristine ass learned a few things today.
1. Every office probably has a pigpen.
2. Never take trips to the bathroom looking to overcome some momentary flash of boredom - you may get more than you bargained for.
3. The bear most certainly shits in the woods, in fact, all over the woods.
4. Some people will always think the toilet is over-rated.
5. Some people have very bad aim, and I have good aim, thus making me conclude that shitting is a sport!

Recipes, From My Kitsch To Yours

The Baked Manwich

1 Busy guy
1/2 Promise to go to a wedding
1 Date to see a band
1 Invitation to go to see a different band
1 Case of not showing up to see band
A sprinkle of emails
A Healthy dose of befuddlement
A Healthier dose of annoyance
Salt in the eye

Stir all the ingredients together. You need a very large bowl for this because you may find other ingredients necessary to get the right flakiness. Once the batter is the right consistency (i.e., too flaky to actually congeal), pour into trashcan. Light a match. Throw the trashcan over the balcony and watch the Manwich dissipate. Your torched culinary presentation will make Baked Alaska look like a twinkie sundae. Now pour yourself a stiff drink.

------------------------------------
The Dew Drop

A million grains of sand
40 Gajillion waves
1 House
12 Fun people
1 HUGE party
Lots and lots of alcohol

Blend all the ingredients together. Pulse for one minute. Add more alcohol as needed. Can be sipped or chugged. Just enjoy all summer long.

----------------------------------------------------------
The Fat Burger

1 Invitation to be on an Advisory Panel
4 Hours of acting the part of a Talking Head
15 Minutes of winging it
One thousand dollars

Mix all together. Bake. Try not to eat all in one sitting. Best if you store this in the freezer so it will last. Do not let anyone named Neiman Marcus eat it.

Mistaken Identity: Case #147 and #148

You know how you can be walking along and usually you mind your own business as in wouldn't notice if Willem Dafoe walked right on by and blew you a kiss because you are la-la-laing to music in your head or thinking about your next meal or how you want to spend money or where is happy hour people? But today you are actually noticing. The surroundings. You're making eye contact. With all the people. And then out of the corner of your eye, you think you see someone you know so you do a double take because you are, you know, paying attention and since you are looking at everybody you don't want to ignore somebody you actually know. And it is all fast when you do the double take and simultaneously smile and mouth a "hi" with no vocals attached because - frog in your throat. So fast that you didn't leave time for your poor, slow brain to catch up with your befuddled excitement before realizing that no, you don't know who this person is. In fact, they look nothing like the person you thought it was. Idiot! (Me.) And so the person looks at you kind of strangely like, do I know you or are you just weird.

I totally just did that. Weirdly.

And last weekend when I was in a bar with six other girlfriends. Some guy came up to me and used the line (actually!)...."Do I know you from somewhere?" First of all, I am not going to critique that line because I figure; a) you got the balls to walk up to a girl standing amongst 6 other hot girls - kudos to you - so say what you want as long as it isn't something that will be blocked from my dirty spam filter at work, you dirty boy; and b) I am too paranoid - as in, I started obsessing on the possibility that he has seen my profile online. Not as in posing, or leaked home videos, mind you. But rather innocent hi-I'm-single-looking-for-love-in-cyberspace-tap-tap-is-this-thing-on presence? But really, he swore he knew me from somewhere. So he proceeds to count down scenarios in which he could have met me.
Do you play kickball on the Mall? -No.
Do you go to blah-di-blah church? -Me? No.
Did you go to Georgetown Law? -Nope.
Do you know Joe Schmo? -Ahh...no.

I didn't recognize him. So instead of letting the poor guy ramble on about my presumed doppelganger and instead of letting my paranoia lie low, I blurt out, "Maybe you've seen me on [online dating service]?" Because I'm out there. For everyone to see. Me - paranoid. He grins and says, "Yeah, no, that wouldn't be it." Because? The shame! Psshaw.

So, later, when he asked for my phone number, I said, "I can be reached online. You can contact me there."

Case closed.

Giddy Up

You know what has me hyped this week? The thought of letting it all hang out in a bikini in one month? Ah...nnoooo. Let's not think about that right yet. Exposing your baby's skin soft feet to your summer shoes? Uh...holy blisters, Batman. True, my beach house summer begins in just over three weeks. I should be excited about that. Instead I am just stressed about getting my ass in gear. So my power walks are going to turn into runs now. So, no, the approaching summer at the beach isn't the source of my excitement just yet.

Oh no. It's something quite grand actually. The first weekend in May is almost upon us. The Run For The Roses. The galloping! The Derby! Yes, this time of the year "...the sun [does] shine bright in the old Kentucky home." The big hulking horsies. Little tiny wee jockeys. Mint juleps. Seersucker. Cash thrown all around. Giddy. Up.

Every year, I watch the race with one eye open. Lest one of the horsies collides and falls while they are hoofing it down the track. And for what? More oats in his breakfast than Mr. Ed down the stall? Every year, I think this is the time some horse is going to bite dust. And that would break my heart. I might give up the horse races altogether if I had to witness that. So one eye open. And one eye nudging my horse - or the horse in last place - to run a little faster. Run!

I also have a love-hate relationship with horses in general. I think they are beautiful creatures. Solid. Powerful. Silky. Ponytails. And big huge eyeballs that seem to know you, if you know what I mean. Almost creepy, like that painting in the Haunted Mansion with the eyeballs that follow you. Horses seem to watch and observe. So I have this fear of them at the same time. Growing up, my friend, Christy, lived on a ranch and they had lots of horses. I loved going over there. But I was always a little afraid of riding them. I wasn't very good at nudging them along. I was always like, "you take your time, little horsie. We will go when you are good and ready. I'm not pushing you. I am your friend." So I was often left out in pasture just hanging out with the horse. Because if I nudged him, then I might have been bucked off the horse like Valerie did one time. I am pretty sure that hurt. So the fear of the horse.

I love watching the horses. I like the steeplechase races.

I like hearing the horses. The cloppity-clop of their hooves.

I love researching their names. And tracing their lineage to see how the names evolve.

And then there is the game. I love betting on the race. And I'm pretty good at it (or lucky at it, rather.) I have guessed the winner in the past three years. So listen to me people when I say -Afleet Alex. I like him for some of the reasons I liked Smarty Jones last year. He doesn't come from "royal" pedigree. He has the human interest element as in he is not trained by one of the big guys, like Frankel or Zito. And he has a good heartstrings story. When he was a baby he was kept alive by being bottle-fed because his momma couldn't produce enough milk for him. And, finally, he is not a quitter. He raced his little heart out with a lung infection - and came back to win the Arkansas Derby. I'm telling you. Alex is a winner, y'all.

But you know what I just did? I jinxed it. So let me tell you about some other fabulous horses who could win.

Bandini - He bites! Really, he has bitten another horse (although he didn't take any ear with him). And he is a black horse. So, a beauty.
High Fly - Aww...he is pretty too.
Sun King - Because of his name. Psychedelic, dude.
Bellamy Road - Because he is the favored? But, eww, Steinbrenner's horse.
Wilko - Because...Wilco! Rock on.
Noble Causeway - He keeps getting better each race. The dark horse?

See? I'm pretty knowledgeable when it comes to picking the horses. Atleast I didn't pick based on jockey outfits. So listen to me. Or don't. But really? Back to why I'm hyped. Really? It's about the cocktail. My one time of the year to savor all that is minty lucious whiskiness. Giddy up indeed.

Factoid of the Day:
Over 80,000 Early Times Mint Juleps are served over the two-day period of the Kentucky Oaks and Kentucky Derby, requiring 8,000 liters of Early Times Mint Julep Ready-to-Serve Cocktail, 2,200 pounds of freshly harvested mint, and 80 tons of shaved ice. *

*From KentuckyDerby.com re. the Early Times Mint Julep recipe.

I Like My Pastries Flaky, Not My Guys

Mixed signals or just a case of Flakiness?

1. You have tickets to see a concert. You have friends who will be at the show. So he buys a ticket. You have been out with each other a few times. You both love Westerberg. He has been talking about it for weeks now. Since he is flying in that night, you pick a meeting place at the venue. You go where he says he will be, only you never see him the whole night. You think:

A. He has died in a horrific plane crash. In fact, you contemplate calling someone who could look this up and confirm.
B. He is really in the bar but gave you a false meeting place. Secretly, he is over yonder laughing at you as you keep looking over your shoulder for Him to show up.
C. He is trying to get to me. The upstairs of the bar is filled to capacity and the bouncers won't let him up, he lost his phone and has no way to contact you. He pines for you to come downstairs to look for him. But you decide to stay put and enjoy the show from your great vantage point. He picked this spot afterall.
C. He is flaky and didn't give you a thought to call you to tell you he could not make the show - for whatever reason.
E. All of the above.

2. So you call him at 2 AM and leave him a voicemail and say:

A. "I know it's late but if you were at the show you would be awake."
B. "If you weren't at the show, then I want to make sure you didn't perish in a plane crash."
C. "I also hope that you didn't get on the wrong plane and instead are in Zimbabwe because that would suck. You missed a good show! Or maybe you didn't because maybe you were there. Were you?"
D. "Kisses!"
E. All of the above except C (although I can't be sure, it was late and I was high on rock and roll).

3. So he calls you the next morning and tells you that he was out till 1:30 in the morning the night before the concert with clients, was in meetings all day, laid down for a couple hours in his hotel room, overslept, got a later flight to DC, thought it was too late to get to the show, also very tired and wasn't up for a late night, so went home. He never mentions anything about calling you to let you know this. You certainly don't mention it because it is too soon to show him the Crazy, the Whine, the Bitching. You are cool as a cucumber about it but you think:

A. Asshole!
B. Inconsiderate asshole!
C. Flaky asshole!
D. But cute asshole?
E. All of the above.

4. So you get on the phone and call your girlfriend to, you know, analyze this a bit more. You wonder why just last week, he drove 3o minutes out of his way to go to your birthday party and meet some of your friends. Then this week give you the blow off. You conclude:

A. He likes me of course! He just has a funny way of showing it.
B. He doesn't like me. He is just being polite by attending birthdays, calling, emailing, etc.
C. It is a very busy point in his life and I just kind of blew in. Patience might be needed with him.
D. He's flaky.
E. All of the above.

Scoring: If you answered E to all of the above, then you are me. I'll send for reinforcements under the name Jack Daniels.

Some Guy's Got A Great Story To Tell At The Water Cooler Monday Morning

Imagine this. Paul Westerberg Friday night at 9:30 Club. It's a late show - it's rounding 1:00 AM and he has been playing a solid 2 hours now and slowly disintegrating into mayhem. A Paul Westerberg show is alway unpredictable and always entertaining to say the least. So Paul decides to lay down. In a fetal position behind the drum set. While the band is still playing.

What would you do if you were front and center? Go up on stage is what you would do! Grab the mic and sing your heart out until the bouncers throw you out in the rain. Was it worth it? Those 10 seconds of American-Idol-karaoke-minutes-of-fame-blah-di-blah. Hell, yeah! Because the band decides to call you back. Seems Paul decides he's going to stay behind the drumset. He is on his back now with a guitar strapped to him. So the band asks you to step in and play the part of rock star. For two songs! You do air guitar. You sing the wrong lyrics in delirium. You hand the mic over to some people in the front row to help you sing along. You plead for Paul to return because this is just surreal, man.

Some people in the audience don't like you. Some are probably jealous. Some think they could sing better than you. Some didn't pay $30 to hear No-Name-Joe-Schmo sing some of the more popular 'Mats songs.

It was a show teetering on the edge of insanity and sheer brilliance. And that is a fine line. It was rock and roll. Pure and unassuming.

The disintegration of the last half hour in a 2 hours and 40 minutes set exemplified the genius that is Paul Westerberg. The 8 minutes singing on a stage shared with Westerberg & Co. epitomized a Guy Named Andrew's best rock and roll fantasy.