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.

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

That'll probably do it.

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

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

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

Then the calling began.....

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

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

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

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

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

Mav kindly transcribed our conversation at 4 AM:

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

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

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

Perry's Addiction (To Pants)

[The password is "pants."]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So.....the pants!

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

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

Mommy's Little Monster

A comic strip idea. Or a head trip.

Me: I'm home, Slow Pie!
Cat: Gawd...it's about time.
Me: And hello to you, Miss Puss 'n' Boots. You used to greet me at the door, you know.
Cat: I've been all alone all weekend all summer long. No TV. Nobody to talk to. Cut me a break.
Me: Yeah. And I do feel a little bad about that.
Cat: Now fill up my bowl and keep the pill out this time.
Me: I don't think so. You're sick and old and need your medicine, remember?
Cat: It was worth a try. But don't think I won't spit it out if I find it this time.
Answering Machine: You have a message!
Cat: Don't answer that! It's nobody.
Answering Machine: Hi Sophie! It's your doctor and we haven't seen you in like three months. Tell your momma to bring her checkbook and get you here immediately!
Me: Should I tell them you died?
Cat: Heh. Heh.
Me: But then how would we get your thyroid medicine?
Cat: We don't.
Me: But you need that. Remember how banshee-like you become when you are not on it.
Cat: Whatevs.
Me: It's getting very expensive, this doctor. I am spending $200 every 3 months on you. And then he holds out on refilling your prescription if I don't bring you in right away. It's criminal.
Cat: You saying I'm not worth it?
Me: No. I would not mind spending the money if he actually could find out what is *wrong* with you.
Cat: Oh. You want there to be something wrong with me?
Me: No. But there is clearly something wrong with you.
Cat: Pshaw. I'm just old.
Me: Yeah. You are. I am pretty sure if I had a grandparent, you'd be hitting the shuffleboard and Early Bird special together. You know, if we still lived in Florida.
Cat: Sounds funner than slinking around this place. It's hell. I can't get my exercise. I look out the window and all I see are buildings and sky. I try to see that view of Georgetown you swear you see, but I just don't get it. There are no birds. No squirrels. No dogs barking. Just cars and the occassional drunken kid running down that hill that, oh by the way, I can't see, I can only hear.
Me: It's a beautiful neighborhood. Sorry. I'm not taking you to suburbia.
Cat: Hate it. You took me away from that big old house where I had my very own bedroom, my very own chair pulled up to my very own window, overlooking my very own tree, with Mr. Squirrel to occupy my time. Not to mention I had stairs to exercise on. Space to be on my own, you know.
Me: That, sweet pea, was Timbuktu. Not going back.
Cat: So maybe you should let me die in peace in some kind of retirement home with lots of climbing towers and bags laying around for me to jump in and plants for me to eat. And some privacy. Since you deprive me of all these things.
Me: Oh. Stop being so melodramatic. I don't see you ever dying. Truly you are the Energizer bunny.
Cat: Maybe you shouldn't be on the go so much. Maybe you should be spending more time at home with me. We are not as close as we used to be.
Me: Well, I noticed you don't really sit on my lap anymore. You lay on the floor or under my bed.
Cat: Oh yeah. Go look in the bedroom.
Me: Sophie!
Cat: What can I say? I threw up again. Now give me some more food.
Me: You just ate.
Cat: No. I want some of that rotisserie chicken I smell.
Me: You say that every time and every time I give you your own little plate of little bite-size pieces and you never eat it.
Cat: You give me the dark meat!
Me: What's wrong with that?
Cat: *You* don't eat the dark meat.
Me: I'm picky. It's in my handbook. But you - you eat giblets and liver and insects. Yech.
Cat: Uh, yeah, exactly why I want what you have.
Me: You will eat the dark meat or none at all. People food is supposed to be bad for you.
Cat: OK, that's ugly. I am going for your shoes now.
Me: Yeah. I saw that tooth mark in my gold sandals. Nice work. Is that how your teeth are falling out? And where are these teeth going? Do you swallow them?
Cat: I hardly noticed. Look. I can still be menacing. Hiss!
Me: Heh. Heh. Not with only two teeth on one side of your mouth. You look comical.
Cat: For that, I'll bite your leg.
Me: Ow! Why *have* you started that biting thing?
Cat: Uh, duh, see above, re. bored.
Me: Well Sophia and Val are going to be here next weekend. No biting them!
Cat: Are they the kids?
Me: Yes. And they are even smaller than Stella. You were good with Stella this time. Can we repeat that performance with the little ones?
Cat: Hey. They come after me. I am only defending myself from those two foot monsters.
Me: Yeah. Well. Watch out for Val. He's fearless and likes to ride dogs.
Cat: Tell him to keep his distance from me. Nobody is saddling me.
Me: He's just a baby. He doesn't know any better. I don't know where you got that hatred of kids.
Cat: Warn him about me or I will send out my own warning.
Me: Menacing?
Cat: Right on.
Me: Gee, you're a surly one.
Cat: Like mother, like daughter.
Me: I don't subscribe to that "you're-my-child" pet craze. You are my cat.
Cat: Oh, but you have conversations with one.
Me: Uh...
Cat: That's why I like you.
Me: That's why I like you too.

Own It

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

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

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

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.