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I am going to blog more. I am. I need to blog. I miss it. Facebook is fun and I can be snarky and all but I miss actually sitting down at the computer and writing. So I’m going to give it a shot.
Anyway, what brings me back? Yet again, I opened mouth and inserted foot.
Conversation with co-workers on the way to lunch.
Christy: Oh, hey, the liquor store is having a sale. We should go buy beer.
This leads to a conversation about what our favorite liquors are.
C: I don’t really like hard liquor anymore. I had a perfectly made G&T and it tasted like crap.
Jessica A: Well, yeah. Gin. Blech!
Dana: I second your blech! (or something similar to that).
Brett: I like gin.
JA: It tastes like pine needles.
D (snorts): Uh, yeah, that’s what it’s made from (well, actually it’s juniper now that I think of it).
C: What’s your favorite, Brett?
Both Jess and I wince.
D: I haven’t had tequila since I almost threw up on the cute guy I had a crush on when we were playing spin the bottle.
Why? Why do I open my mouth? I know this just leads to trouble.
C (incredulous): Were you 15?
D (sheepishly): No. 28.
Later tonight, I was talking about Beth and mentioned this to her. I told her some day I’m going to write a book of really dumb things that I’ve done that probably no one else has done. She said she could probably add a few stories as well and that some of them are even written down.
Beth and I were talking the other night (April 16th because it’s now April 21st) and I decided I am going to go through this blog and pick some of my favorite stories. Stories that I will clean-up and think about publishing some day. And, I am going to try to blog more. I promise.
Okay, so I spent the weekend over at my sister’s. She picked me up on Friday and we went & purchased me a very nice interview outfit. It was the first outfit she picked out but I had to try on the other 3 she chose, two which were 3 piece suits. I demonstrate the suit for her & her question is “What do you think?” My words “Football player. In drag.” My shoulders were HUGE! Scary. The 3rd outfit was a dress that looked okay but was one of those layered dresses that looks like a two piece but is actually attached together. I had to ask Kari to help me get out of the dress. Obviously Keem is not going to assist me in getting undressed (this is something only a sister will do) so we said no.
The last outfit was an ankle-length skirt, loose and flowy (which I love) and a print blouse that was low cut enough that I didn’t feel like I was choking to death and was actually flattering. I did not think “Oh my God, you huge cow” when I looked in the mirror. This is an important requirement for clothing.
We then journeyed to her house where I got to meet Keith, a friend of Eric’s that has been staying with them because he needed to go to the VA for tests a month ago. Eric has been putting off driving Keith back to Iowa and so Keith has been staying in the breezeway (my future home if I ever end up having to live with my sister again) and fixing things around the house.
Keith and I started watching “Blood Diamond” a movie I would never think to watch on my own because it has a) Leonardo DiCaprio in it and b) is bloody and awful and people die and I hate that. I didn’t finish the movie, choosing instead to play Mah Jong Quest on the computer but Eric told me how it ended, doing the accents for Leonardo and the other main guy while he did (he’s not bad, actually, I never would have thought my brother-in-law could do a South African accent but this is apparently one of his talents). Beth, you would like this movie for the reason you did not like the Count of…sorry, the Man in the Iron Mask.
It was a weird weekend, all I’m going to say about it is that I did end up consoling Kari while she cried over a bad fight and I’m worried about the relationship. I also ended up missing karaoke so I could be with Kari during a difficult time. I am hoping that everything rights itself – I love that family together and when they are at their best, they are what I hope for in a marriage. When they’re not, though, I am glad I am still single. Enough about that.
Oh, I got my hair cut as well. As I was standing in my bathroom this morning, brushing my hair, I had the following conversation with Keem.
DM: Oh my God, I am freakin’ adorable.
Yes, I am quite modest.
Beth and I went to karaoke on Thursday. It was an interesting night, as evidenced in my last post. Apparently the lack of Effexor was having an adverse effect on my last nerve, which had been frayed years before. I am not known for my patience but I can usually keep from wanting to kill everyone I encounter. Usually. But this is not one of those nights. It is probably a good idea that I don’t like guns and feel the need to carry one around.
First of all, Beth finds a table for us while I get our beverages (Coke no ice for Beth, water lots of ice for me). I join her. We start catching up. Various people come over to chat with us. This is okay. One of them is Stubes, one is Sexy Craig. Suddenly a hoarde of people descends upon our table. They start sitting at our table. Do we know any of them? Not really.
DM: Have you ever wanted to just pretend you are crazy and start trying to get the crazy bugs off of you in order to get people to leave your table?
B (looks around): Tonight.
DM: Oh, Beth, the crazy bugs are crawling all over me. Get them off. Get them off.
B: That is the worst crazy act I have ever seen.
DM: Yeah. I’m better at faking asthma attacks.
Beth does start talking to an invisible person in the chair next to her. It doesn’t phase any of our univited guests.
And then the singing starts. Or, I should say, the really bad singing starts. I do not have a fork. I start clutching my hands together, digging the fingernails into my skin. After the 3rd or 4th horrible song of the evening, Beth did tell me to stop. I’m not sure if it was the fingernails or the weird faces of anger I’m sure I was making that worried her. I do have to remember to take my Effexor. It’s a nice buffer between me and those other people who dare to inhabit my world. Unlike Beth and Keem and everyone else I like who are welcome (if you’re reading this, you’re welcome).
It takes a special sort of person to sing “Summer Nights.” Unfortunately neither of the people on stage come close to that specialness. Believe me when I say that Beth stared up at the stage and says “I’m going to kill you” that she is completely justified.
Here’s an example. At the end of the song, the guy singing ends his song like this. “Oh. Those. Summer. Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhtttttttttttss.” He has just sung this like William Shatner meets Wing. Please, please shoot him. Or me. I really don’t care.
Have you heard of Wing? She is apparently an Internet singing sensation. On Saturday night, Beth was searching Rhapsody for really bad covers of songs. We found several but none of them prepared us for Wing. She is from Hong Kong & emigrated to New Zealand. She “sings” (and I am using that term loosely) Elvis, ACDC & Abba, songs you love. Until you hear your version. Go here. Listen. There are samples!
Here’s an example. “Lushee in the scky wi dimonds (repeated).” Then there was the random high pitched “Ahhhhh” that was a note I’ve never heard before. The best part was Beth’s reaction. Not so much the hysterical laughter but the suspense. Will she fall out of her chair? Will she knock over the computer? Will she make me start snorting with laughter? No, no, yes.
Some guy has actually started singing “Funky Comedina (or Cold Medina or whatever the heck it is. I don’t care enough to Google it)”. He is also wearing a beret. The only man who should sing this song is Ton Loc. He is not here.
Our table has been invaded by young people in their early 20’s. Somehow they just thought “Hey! Let’s just sit at this random table. That’ll be cool. And then we’ll giggle & squeal & make out with random guys & get very annoying. Yay!”
Let me put it this way. I’m not sure if what is rising in my throat is acid reflux or pure rage. I guess we’ll know for sure when I climb the nearest clock tower with either antacid or an AK-47.
At the end of the evening, this woman came up and asked if she could use my lighter. It was very loud so I didn’t really catch a lot of what she said. I later asked Beth for a translation.
DM (written): I know my hearing is bad but I only understood one out of every 8 words she said.
B (written): She first asked for your lighter. Then she asked why you don’t sing because you have a good voice (You good singer) and asked why you don’t sing on Thursday. Then she said she sucks it up but you’re a good singer.
What’s your name (she couldn’t get my name. No one can, especially when they are drunk)?
She’s the one who sang “Summer Niiiiiiiights.”
I tell you, sometimes I wonder why I go to karaoke. Then I remember. It’s not for the horrible singing or the incredibly drunken people. It’s for the catching up with my friends that happens after karaoke. And the blogging material, of course.
And I think to myself this guy can’t sing
“It’s A Wonderful World” is being sung by a guy in a jean jacket with a hair style frightfully close to being a mullet. When he first entered The Chalet, he said “I thought there was karaoke going on” in a fairly high voice. So it is a little disconcerting to hear him attempt to do the low growly voice. Beth and I have exchanged several telepathic looks. Pretty much we are letting each other know “Oh dear God, I’m scared now.”
Playing Trivial Pursuit with Beth
DM: What type of craft was the Super Chicken III, the first of its ilk to cross North America non-stop?
B: A chicken sled?
DM: No but now I’m imagining this sled being led by chickens. Mush!
B: What was it?
DM: Oh. A balloon.
It’s the Ken Show!
Ken is a cowboy (cowboy hat, tight jeans (tight in all the right places), shiny belt buckle). Since Beth and I are in no hurry to sing, Bryan has Ken just standing on stage and singing. Country songs. Kind of hot country songs.
B: He’s good.
DM: And cute.
B: Nice jeans.
DM: Nice belt buckle pointing to the package.
B: That’s not why I was looking at the jeans.
DM: I have no shame.*
*I don’t believe that’s exactly what I said but since she told me several times that I was staring and one step away from drooling, “I have no shame” pretty much sums it up. Also, Beth likes jeans because they emphasize muscular thighs. I like jeans because they emphasize other things (rear ends, mainly). Although Ken had nice thighs. Oh, hell, Ken had nice everything.
B: I have just realized that I live in the wrong state to have a thing for cowboys.*
*I never would have thought she did but she adores Clint Eastwood and her favorite fictional character is Roland from Stephen King’s Gunslinger books and Roland is somewhat based on Clint Eastwood. Now myself? I just have a thing for men. But there is something about a cowboy, isn’t there?
Where do they come up with these drink names?
I finally decide to go up and sing. Ken was using the mike stand and I stand in front of it. The microphone is right above eye level for me. I look at Bryan. He laughs and lowers the stand.
DM: Ooh. I’ve never used the mike stand before. I might cradle the mike.*
*We had a discussion one night about Steve Perry and his urge to cradle the microphone like a lover.
B: Are you going to dance?
DM: Maybe. I might make some hand gestures. Interpretive dancing.
A random man at the bar speaks.
RM: Bobby, can I get a double shot of honey ham?
What? I look at Beth. The beginning notes to “Give Me One Reason” start. Just as I am about to open my mouth and sing, I dissolve into giggles.
DM: Did he just say honey ham?
Beth nods. She appears to be as amused as I am. I turn to Bryan.
DM: Yeah, can we try this again?
While I didn’t do hand gestures, that didn’t stop others from interpretive dance
Beth wrote this.
“A woman is singing “If I Could Turn Back Time.” She doesn’t sound a bit like Cher but has a take on the look and may have practiced the movements.”
This woman has the plain, kind of horsey look, long black hair and is actually performing some sort of dance moves. There was hair flipping as well.
I think this may have been about the Cher wannabe but I don’t remember. It’ll work here.
B: Maybe she’s dyslexic and is reading the notes wrong.
DM: But the notes aren’t on the screen.
B: I know but maybe they’re in her head. Maybe she’s dyslexic and has a photographic memory.
I think there’s a secret reason this show is called Pride
Pride (spelled with a lightning bolt in place of the I) is playing on the big screen. Pride appears to be boxing with a bit of ultimate fighting thrown in. It really doesn’t make much sense but then neither Beth or I are fans so maybe that explains why it doesn’t make sense. However, you do find your eyes drawn to the screen, usually in horror or amusement.
B: Come on! Put your crotch on his head. That seems to be the object of this game.
So, so true. In each of the matches before, both boxers/ultimate fighters/whatever the heck they are would end up slamming each other to the ground and flipping around. Heads were in groins. Groins were in heads. Groins were in groins. It was very disturbing, especially when the little Chinese guy was body slammed by the really big white guy.*
*Now I see nothing wrong with guy on guy action. In fact, I enjoy watching attractive men kiss (totally hot. I figure if the average guy loves the idea of woman on woman action, then I am obviously an average woman. Right? Right? How come no one ever agrees with this theory?). But these were not attractive men. These were scary looking men.
Exactly what note were you looking for there? Because you did not find it.
A woman is singing “black Velvet.” I am not sure but I think the best way to describe this is Kermit on mood-altering chemicals after a sex change. Completely monotone until you get to the very end and then she sang the final “If you please” about 3 octaves above her normal range.
B: I heard that in the bathroom.
DM: I think they may have heard that in the next county.*
*Again, I’m not really sure that I said this but I was thinking it and it is my blog so there!
There will be pictures from this night, well, one picture. I will present this picture when I can make sure that I can formulate the perfect words to tell the story of a love so true, it transcends the ages. It is beautiful. Inspiring. It’s between Craig (Beret Craig) and James (yes. That James). And that’s all I’m leaving you with for now. Because I am evil. Hee.
Okay, Beth, it’s done. Sorry it took so long.
It’s really weird that I’m finally getting around to writing an update about what happened last Saturday. Beth documented it very well in her post and it was a pretty interesting evening.
Anyway, read the above link so you know what I’m talking about or just take my words for it.
Beth and I ended up at the bar on Saturday and did not see THE BOY or Pete. After receiving an order of soda from the waitress (might I say that the Diet Coke was awful and the lime slices indifferent (yes, in my spare time I critique Diet Coke. Bobby serves the best. There’s no question about it)), we sat and watched the interactions between the bar patrons.
I enjoy spending time with Beth. She’s a great friend and it’s always fun to be around her. But this setting is not my favorite. I’m not a bar person. I don’t like them much. This is because I used to drink a lot when I was in my 20’s and now I don’t. So, unless there’s karaoke involved, I don’t much see the point. There was no karaoke. After a bit, while trying to have a conversation over the noise, we decide to play darts.
I suck at darts. Just so you know. This game is shaping up to be the longest game in the world. And there are too many people here. Rude, drunk people. I don’t like them.
Almost at the end of our game when we see Pete. Just Pete. He is BOYless. The bastard. We are wondering if there was a bit of bait and switch going on. Pete pretty much ignores me and concentrates on Beth. I have no idea of the conversation that is going on because all I can hear is the loud music and the screams of flirtation from the drunk people. Yet, oddly, whenever Beth directs a comment to me, I can hear her.
Have you ever been friends with that one person who can read your mind? When one look can exchange an entire conversation? There’s that connection that few people ever get to experience. I’ve been lucky enough to have that connection with a few people. Keem is one. Beth is another. So even though I can’t really hear what she’s saying and I’ve never learned to read lips, everything she is saying to me is crystal clear. How did she end up on a date with Pete? We are asking each other that telepathically. What the hell is going on?
We start playing another game of darts with Pete. We were wrong about the previous game. This is now the longest game of darts ever. EVER. Dude, what is up with the bumping of the knuckles? It is so not bringing me any luck. If it was, THE BOY would be here and you would be handsome and debonair and in to me. And quite possibly English with a witty sense of humor. Since your sense of humor seems to consist of calling all of your friends assholes, you’re not that amusing. Well, at least to your face.
Pete wanders off. Beth and I have a quick conversation about what we’re going to do to end this evening. I ask her if I should fake an asthma attack. We decide this is a good idea. After this game is over, I’m going to fake one. It’s not like I haven’t had enough of them in my past to know what they look like.
A million hours later, we are still playing darts. Some guy wanders over and starts talking to Pete. He asks Pete if he wants to go to the neighboring bar, Pig’s Lung. I panic. Why do I panic? Many years ago, my bar of choice was the Pig’s Lung. My friend Becky and I used to go there every night. I haven’t been there in years and I don’t want to go back. Not tonight. Not ever.
Pete asks me if I want to go to the Pig’s Lung. I tell him to ask Beth. He does. They have a conversation about going. She is not excited about the prospect but he is clueless and doesn’t get it. He gives her this inane argument about how she’s the prettiest girl there. Um, she’s not there. Idiot.
I start coughing. Hard. Beth looks at me in panic. She’s not expecting this because the dart game is still going on. Pete is turned the other way when she asks me if I’m okay. I say, in a normal tone of voice (or telepatically because Pete doesn’t hear me), “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” I start coughing even harder. Commencing (fake) asthma attack.
When Pete figures out that I am in distress, he is concerned. I am not feeling overly guilty about this because I know that he’s only concerned because his BOY free access to Beth is going to be cut off if I get sick. He offers me a glass of water. I want to ask him if he’s ever known of a time that water has stopped an asthma attack. Because, really, it won’t work. Unless the water is being served by Bobby. But that would be beautiful and there would be karaoke and Perfect Diet Coke with lime slices and Bobby and Bryan and Michael and the beautiful, beautiful Chalet. And THE BOY would be there as well.
Anyway, long story short, we manage to convince him that I am inhalerless and need to go get my inhaler. We leave. And then go and play pool.
The next night, we are at karaoke, oh thank you, God. We are telling Bryan the story. When we get to the part about how he wanted to go to the Pig’s Lung, I say “I am not going to the Pig’s Lung. I used to hang out at Pig’s.”
Bryan laughs. “I love the fact that you have your own little name for it even. Pig’s.”
I continue. “I had sex with a bouncer from Pig’s.”
The entire table stops and looks at me. Do I shut up? No, I continue. “Yes. In my Grandmother’s driveway. While my mom is flashing the porch light. What am I going to do? Go in there and see if he still works there and ask him if he remembers me?”
Later on, when THE BOY shows up, he makes a comment to me after I’ve finished singing whatever I sang. But I rocked.
He says, with that half smile on his face, that knowing half smile “You sure sing a hell of a song for someone with asthma.”
He knows I faked the asthma attack. He has to know. Especially since I’m sitting there with a cigarette. Not that I smoke. Because that would be wrong. HE KNOWS I FAKED THE ASTHMA ATTACK! And he doesn’t care. He thinks it’s funny. How cool is that?
There’s more to this post but I don’t have time to finish it right now. I will leave you with this little tidbit. On Saturday night, when Beth and I were heading to the pool hall and laughing about the fact that I faked the asthma attack, I said this “You know, I wish I would have thought of this the time the really annoying guy was hitting on Becky.”
Beth says something like “You didn’t?” Or “What happened?”
I continue. “Yeah, this would probably been a better idea than sleeping with him.”
Don’t you hate it when I leave you hanging like this? Aren’t I a bitch?
Okay, to finish my story.
Many years ago, back when I hung out with my friend, Becky, and we used to go to the bar a lot, we ended up at a bar in Stillwater. There we consumed many kamikazes (evil, evil drink that it is).
Some guy named Jim started hitting on Becky. Hard. She tried to be polite and dissuade him. She tried to be nice and convince him she wasn’t interested. It didn’t work. We then tried telling him that we were lovers and I was annoyed that he was hitting on my woman. That didn’t work. In fact, that intrigued him even more. We tried getting up and walking away. He followed us.
At one point, we mentioned that we were married (not to each other) and had children. Becky said she had 3, I said I had 5. I’m not sure where that number came from. This is how persistent this man was. He told me I had a great body for someone who had 5 kids. Now, I was thinner then but still, it’s a cheesy line. I know I try to get his attention away from Becky because she’s my friend and I’m trying to protect her.
The rest of the evening is vague. Probably because of the amount of alcohol I had consumed. Plus, this was a long time ago. I know it was before we moved to Madison but I’m not sure when exactly. I do know it was during the late 80’s. I met Becky when I was going to college so that was either 1985 or 1986. We moved to Madison in 1989 or 1990. I’m not good with this math thing. Or the memory thing. You may have noticed this before.
I do know that, at one point, this guy and I ended up walking through the streets of Stillwater. I have no idea where Becky is. I have no idea where we are. Suddenly we end up at this partially constructed building. Somehow he talks me into exploring it.
Then we are kissing. Why? He’s not the best looking guy I’ve ever seen. I’m really not that interested in him at all since I have this horrible, heart-wrenching crush on some guy named Tim (who now I can barely remember but at the time, well, he was absolutely wonderful and I adored him). But I’m lonely and Tim’s not interested (gay, not that I knew it at the time) and this guy is there so what the heck. What’s a little kissing going to hurt?
The next thing I know, Jim has lifted me up onto one of the planks in the construction area. This gives me an idea that he’s pretty strong because even though I was thinner then, I probably weighed about 200 pounds (how weird is it that I would love weighing 200 again?). I don’t know about you but I certainly can’t lift 200 pounds. So he’s definitely stronger than me.
We continue kissing. I’m completely out of it. I don’t remember much more than the kissing. Except that, the next thing I know, I’m naked, he’s (oh, how do I say this tactfully…) visiting and it hurts. Splinters from the boards, absolutely (again, with the tact) no excitement on my part and therefore, the friction was not so pleasant. So I ask him to stop.
This is what he says to me. “I’m almost done.”
Um, hey, Mr. “Let Me Invade Your Personal Space Because You’re Drunk And Don’t Have A Clue As To What Is Going On” Jim, I don’t care that you’re almost done. This hurts. Stop now.
He doesn’t. I know that he’s stronger than me, I know that’s there not much I can do about this and quite frankly, at this point, the best that I can do is just lie back, pretend that he’s Tim and hope that he finishes quickly. Thinking about Tim brings a bit more enthusiasm on my part. At least it doesn’t hurt any more (except for the splinters).
I think I mentioned that I was extremely lonely, right? That’s about the only thing that explains what happened next. I look him straight in the eyes. “Tell me you love me,” I demand. He complies.
I then start calling him Tim. As in “I love you, Tim.” He took offense to this. “My name’s Jim,” he says. I, in my brusque, “I don’t really give a damn what your name is, jerk” fashion say “I KNOW what your name is.” And then I call him Tim again.
He finally finishes. I get up, get dressed and walk away. He calls after me “Hey, don’t you want a ride?” I keep walking, crying the entire way. I find my way back to the bar. No Becky. I ask the guy she had been talking to if he’d seen her. He says, after looking at my tear-stained face, “Are you okay? She was looking for you but when she couldn’t find you, she left.”
Great. I’m stranded in Stillwater. I’m drunk, I’ve just been through a situation that may or may not be considered acquaintance rape (due to the fact that I had asked him to stop and he wouldn’t), I’m wandering up and down the streets of Stillwater, crying and looking extremely pathetic. This is not good.
At the very depths of my despair, while I am lost (because of course I got lost), I find myself in front of the Stillwater Cemetary. I stare wistfully into the cemetery, at all of the tombstones, and start crying again. “Please help me,” I cry to the dead people. (It’s probably a good thing none of them take me up on it. I would have freaked out). I look up. There I see the light of a Super America. Oh, thank God.
I end up taking a cab home. Becky called me the next day, apologizing profusely for leaving. We had a good cry and it brought us closer together. And that, dear reader, is one of the many reasons why I don’t drink anymore. I have done stupid, stupid things under the influence of alcohol.