Tiki Friday

Please, join us poolside and enjoy the lush sounds that can only be found at Tiki Friday.

Groove along as DJ Schmooie intoxicates us with his unique beats

Come on in and grab a seat - hey! - I meant a chair, you rascal!

You'll find the ladies powder room to the left of the tiki - gentlemen to the right. Please be respectful of the tiki as the god becomes quite irate about flash photography. The debris you see scattered about the floor are the bones of disrespectful patrons.

Also, please do not toss pennies into the god's mouth.
Management is not responsible for the results.

During matinees, a child-size god is available in the family lounge for the wee ones.

Sidle up to the bar and introduce yourself to our bartender, Rodney.
Maybe you'll get lucky and she'll share her scorpion bowl with you.

Order your 'poison' from our extensive drinks list.

If Rodney convinces you that a Zombie is what your whistle is waiting for - please do not approach the tiki god or the live entertainment for at least a half hour.

We meet the most stringent and modern safety codes and are fully sprinklered.
We carry a full range of fire insurance coverage.

You will marvel at the death defying feats of our warrior dancers. Ancient weapons - meticulously maintained and sharpened regularly - meet modern beats to create an awe-inspiring display of dance, desire and danger!

Tipping encouraged.

So, bring your friends (these are mine) and join us for Tiki Friday.

You'll be glad you did.

Fun stuff

I don't watch the show - but there's enough of a kitsch factor that I simply had to Mad Men myself.

Then, of course, there is Miss Chlorine to consider...



Alter egos can be a bitch. But then, so can I.

Another day, another triumph

I'm happy to report that, having been plucked out of my routine and dropped into co-managing a pretty major event at work (involving a Senior VP and Director of Research, no less) - with an equally short turn-around time - I was lucky enough to work with a team who went above and beyond and delivered a very professional celebration of some of our best and brightest.

That's one thing I have to be very grateful for. The caliber of folks that my company employs. Especially in our communications function.

It reminds me that I must be doing okay, no matter what self doubts I have - I'm still there and being counted on. And there are some pretty terrific and talented folks in there with me.

Oh my God.

I must love my job.

Yoink.

No wonder Mondays creep me the *&%$ out...

Funny, that...

The perception of the United States has somehow improved since President Obama took office.

I wonder why?

LOL.

Meanwhile, at home - approximately a NUTTY percentage (i.e., less than 1%) of Americans want to overthrow the government! YAY!

Those wacky kids!

Conservative wingnut and Free Republic founder Jim Robinson advocates overthrowing the government!

Oooh! Aaaaah! Coool!

From the remarks, however, it appears statistically impossible.

Even if we assume that the commenters could manage to pry themselves out of their Barca-loungers, locate their teeth and reading glasses - get the car out of the garage and fill up where the nice boy doesn't make you do it yourself (and they still check oil!) - get out the atlas and find Washington, D.C...........did you pack nice sandwiches? I hate the ones with that Italian meat. Did they have bologna? You remembered the relish, right?.....

Oh wait - they're asleep.................

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Forget it.

Yeah. Please. Try to overthrow Washington. I'll be the one in the viking helmet APPLAUDING as your ass is hauled off to federal prison on a treason charge.

Please. Please!!!! Try to overthrow the government. Come onnnnnnn! Now!

At least we'll have all you nut bags in a single location.

What's the sound of a million dinosaurs being sucked into the tar pits of history?

O o 0 o O
>Blurp<

Aches and pains

Last week, I managed to screw up my knee. Brian blames my love of improper footwear for my ongoing orthopedic challenges.

I do, after all, favor flip flops for most of the year. And there have been occasions where they, combined with a couple of martinis, have done me a mischief in the back garden.

And I did spend most of the late 80s and early 90s tripping around in flippy Brutini loafers in a variety of Miami Vice-inspired hues.

Many was the time I had to collect my alcoholic co-worker at the local bar in Tampa, scraping him off the bar, getting him into the car and then from the car into his townhouse.

This is not always easily accomplished in slick Italian leather soles and he did end up in a few bushes and was once actually dropped through a window as my feet shot out from under me.

But I digress.

This is also the same knee I damaged skiing a few years ago in Vermont. I was skiing Smuggler's Notch in northern Vermont when I performed what is known among the ski community as "a yard sale." Essentially, that means "everything goes."

As I bounced and flipped and flopped head over heels down the slope in a YouTube worthy display of unintentional gymnastics for the mobility challenged - strewing hat, goggles, gloves, you name it - the people on the ski lift overhead were sufficiently horrified enough to yell down at me when I had finally landed against a kind and forgiving snowbank, "Oh my GOD - don't move! Don't move!!"

I was conscious but couldn't feel my right leg below the knee. A fellow skier who had witnessed the debacle stopped to make sure I was okay. He said he would send the ski patrol up for me.

So, I dragged myself over to the side far enough so as to not become a hazard to other skiers. And I began to ponder what life in a wheelchair would be like - how my brief but glorious skiing career had been - all while waiting for my young, Nordic ski patrol saviour to appear on his Arctic Cat to whisk me down the hill where caring hands and hot cocoa were doubtlessly waiting for me.

A few minutes later my saviour arrived in the form of a tall, lanky - and I suspect anorexic - old hippie on skis. Behind him he trailed a rustic looking travois of some sort - looking as if it were made of leather thongs and rancid beaver corpse tails.

My immediate and horrified response was "OH HELL NO."

I had images of being at the mercy of this man and his flimsy backwoods balsa wood contraption, lying on my back, my massive 6'2' frame trussed up like an Indian papoose as we race at breakneck speeds down the mountain. All my fantasies of waving,prom-queen like, at the other skiers as I clasped the thin, muscular waist of my rescuer with the other - waving, waving from the back of his roaring snowmobile were shattered.

I found the strength to stand - and was able to feel my leg again. It was sore, sure, but I could feel it.

I thanked the patrolman and assured him I would be able to ski the rest of the way down the mountain. I collected my things and suited up and, having waited sufficiently long enough that no one who had seen me on the ground was still in the area - I began my way down the hill.

This was when I discovered that standing and having feeling back in your leg does not equal "Sports-Leg!!! YAHHHHH!!!!"

My pattern the rest of the way down the mountain consisted of this:

side turn
fall
side turn
fall
mini-mogul
fall
ice
fall
side turn
fall
angry squirrel
fall
air
fall

You get the picture.

Anyway, I was laid up for a few weeks with a torn muscle and a multiple sprained tendon-y things.

But back to the present...

The Homeland Security puppies have been digging what I can only surmise are anti-Al-Quaeda shelters all over our back yard. And it was into one of these last week that I inadvertently flip-flopped my way into.

The resulting inelegant fall can best be described as a half turn face plant with minor English counterclockwise.

So, it's been a long and painful week - walking is okay but bending the knee for long periods is an exercise in torture. The 80-mile drive to my office on the one day I went in this week was only slightly less painful than the return trip.

But this morning, something magical happened. As I changed position in bed in the wee hours, I felt something SNAP - and it actually felt like something locking back into the correct place.

The bad news is that hurt like a mother_____. I shrieked out, causing three domesticated animals to back flip Charlie Brown-style off the bed. And then I laid there and whimpered for a bit, cursing various deities, family members and a few co-workers.

That was 7 hours ago and I'm still waiting for the inflammation to wear down a bit to figure out if it was a good thing or a bad thing that happened there. The fact that I can sit at my desk for a half hour at a stretch gives me hope.

Until then, it's Advil and tea. Until the work day is over, of course.

Then we move to vodka.

Without the flip flops, of course.

Chaps my ass

I don't have anything specific to blog about today, so I thought I'd aggregate a few random thoughts about everyday things that piss me off.

• People who wash a sinkload of dishes but leave 2-3 pieces unwashed. WHAT!?!? You ran out of steam?!? Jesus on a Zamboni!
  
  
• Anyone who doesn't know that that you can start to use the debit/credit card swipe machine before your grocery order is completely rung up. I want to hurt these people (or at least bruise them severely with my shopping trolley)
  
  Double voodoo on you if you don't begin to write your check before the order is complete. I will smite you where you stand and your grandchildren can come visit the dirty grease spot.
  
  
• If you can't park it - don't drive it. (i.e., anyone with a Hummer, Tahoe or Suburban). If you drive a Hummer, you're pretty much a dick-less asshole anyway.
  
  
• Reality shows about people whose problems don't include making mortgage/rent, buying groceries or keeping the lights on. We don't give a flying...you get the picture.
  
  
• Gay men who make bad choices (fashion, boyfriends, pets, etc.)
  
  
• Old hippies
  
  
• Anyone who drives under the speed limit, with their seats pulled all the way forward and clutching the steering wheel like they are on a freaking death-luge. STAY HOME!
  
  
• All my ex-boyfriends
  
  
• Purse dogs
  
  
• People who don't get British humor
  
  
• Anyone who thinks Justin Timberlake is sexy
  
  
• Anyone who eats at an Applebees
  
  
• Walmart
  
  
• Anyone over 50 with a visible tattoo
  
  
• Anyone who is too cheap to buy teeth (this is most prevalent in Vermont and New Hampshire for some reason)
  
  
• My extended family. Is it wrong that I find it funny that my cousin's oldest burnt down their trailer? WTF - I'm already going to hell.
  
  
• Dollar stores - they reek of spoiled milk, cigarettes and shame.
  
  
• Bloggers who only link to things with a no more than 5-word intro -- "I agree" - Couldn't have said it better" - Screw you! You aren't a blogger - you're a douche.
  
  
• Anything related to Ed Hardy

I'm going to bed.

Anatomy of an almost-perfect day

7:34 am

Woken by the now-famous "wiggly worm" tactics and incessant licking of puppies who are pretty much done with sleeping, thank you very much.

Happily, they wake me out of a dream (nightmare) of complete inadequacy, working once again for the evil boss who nearly destroyed my confidence oh-so-many-years ago in San Francisco.

We hate her.

7:40 am

Dogs outside. Coffee brewing. Back to sleep on the sofa in the cool morning air with a yummy fleece blanket.

8:32 am

Awake again. Much more refreshed and ready to start the day. Struggle out of the blanket/pillow/sofa's yummy death grip.

8:34 am

First sip of coffee. Universe rights itself a bit.

8:35 am

Dogs back in house, eating breakfast.

8:43 am

Dogs attack lone sleeping body in bedroom upstairs - much screaming is heard.

9:00 am

Entertain thoughts of making breakfast.

9:08

Bacon is in the oven

9:15 am

Come to Brian's aid in trying to bend the neighbor's gutter and gutter guards back into shape after one of our tree limbs fell in a thunderstorm and whacked the hell out of it.

He's too short - I'm afraid of heights.

9:15-9:45 am

Marital hilarity ensues.

Gutter is approximately 90% back to normal.

My conclusion? Fuck it. Write the check.

9:46 am

Cocktails!

10 am

Breakfast

10:01-12:01 pm

Cocktails!

12:30 pm

Arrive, nattily dressed, at local AIDS charity auction. Held at a campy but now defunct 1950s Catskills lakeside resort hotel. Knotty pine and wrought iron are in abundance.

12:31 - 2:00 pm

Mingle with snotty queens, old hippies and young, liberal and - ahem - CURRENT couples of all sexes .

Enjoyed a mild yet full Chardonnay and a cheeky ice cold Vinho Verde in our travels.

Peruse silent auction items ranging from "insane artist nails bottle caps to chair and calls it an armadillo" to "bath and body care" - "1 hour Feng Shui session (only picked up $10 - HA!)" - original oil paintings and watercolors - bad homosexual art - bad pottery - and more bad homosexual art.

I have many nemeses in this community who I have never met. They have caught me sniggering at the fact that wearing Gucci loafers doesn't make you stylish if you are retarded enough to wear a striped Hilfiger Polo with checked Lauren pants. You simply need your gay card taken away.

What you fail to recognize is that - withour our intervention - you are a pink plastic shopping bag hat away from being an old woman in Chinatown. In the rain.

Also - if you have worked out to the point where your veins are literally all that is holding your skin on to you - have a fucking Snickers or something. I don't care - you are a skeleton with flesh at this point.

I moved cat-like around my quarry - reveling in the fact that YES the most bizarre and disenfranchised homos we met were still the most interesting. The rest were severely OLD Malibu Ken dolls who you knew still wore mesh t-shirts at home and thought that polyester was a choice.

Pardon me - I just threw up a little. Ack.

2:03 pm

Realized Brian's boss wasn't showing up after all. We decided we had better booze at home.

2:25 pm

Arrived home - set to planned tasks du jour. Brian trimmed and tamed the climbing hydrangea on the side portico while I scrubbed the intentionally washable living room rug of doggy pee on the patio after a brief uprising and rebellion, facilitated by the scent of an elderly "leaker."

2:30 pm - 3:45 pm

Hilarity ensues. Cocktails are consumed. Home grown cucumbers are processed into a yummy dill and Greek yoghurt salad. Laundry is hung to dry...

and then it happens.

I announce that - despite previous intentions - I don't actually need to commute to my office tomorrow. The "important" meeting to reasssure my vice president that the upcoming event - in which the director of our division will present global technical excellence awards will not be met by an auditorium of three people, with another five watching via simulcast and which will be in good enough shape to assure everyone concerned with some confidence that it will not be a total clusterfuck - was scheduled for 15 minutes and by phone.

This is the curse of working at home. I don't need to drive 80 miles each way for a 15 minute meeting, when I have other days in the week with many more meetings where my actual presence might be meaningful.

Anyway...

As I am telling this to Brian, his face falls.

He mumbles and gnashes his teeth. He finally speaks and says, " I can't believe it. You always do this. I can't plan anything!"

I'm shocked. I understand that my chemical and paranormal make-up has prevented me from being surprised by anyone. anywhere in my entire life.

I can walk into a house and tell you where anything has changed and where things are hidden after only seeing it once. I am that screwed up.

And if I am not working off visual cues, I will still manage to screw it up.

Brian? I can hide his Christmas gifts under the coffee table in the living room - he'll never notice them.

So - it turns out that I have been screwing up FOR WEEKS!

My office/guest room at home doesn't have a door hung (long story - extremely religious family owned the house previously - doors removed and saloon doors installed - Virgin Marys installed looking in on both the girls' and boys' rooms - very fucked up, as were the four siblings we met at the closing), so we always talked about a great old door - the original porch door, with a paneled bottom and a windowed top - becoming my office door. The glass would actually allow us to frost it and paint "office" on the window.

Little did I know, Brian was trying to surprise me by having our carpenter come by - measure - and re-frame and re-hang the door while I was at work.

MY BAD.

And, being summer - with many folks taking vacations - I have been a little more vicarious about the days I go to the office. Some days I wake up and find the balance of the meetings I might have attended in person have been rescheduled. Other days, I simply can't absorb the three hours lost to commuting against the amount of work I need to accomplish in a day.

Anyway - it's all cool. I would have totally loved the surprise - but our carpenter, Chris, is a great guy. I love my B just a whole lot more for trying to surprise me, but mostly - I am looking forward to a future where I will never be on a conference call where these are heard: (and these are all based on real experience)

• Who's snoring?
• Is that the "Dynasty" opening credits I hear?
• "FLUSH" "Damn it!"

Anwyay - it's all good.

I hope everyone had a beautiful Sunday like us.

Ours isn't over - I have corn on the cob soaking to be done on the grill, alongside some fat old chicken breasts that have been marinating in Herbs du Provence, olive oil and red wine vinegar for three days - as well as a delicious cucumber dill salad.

Cheers all!!

Dur.

I failed to note a significant milestone here.

Eighteen years ago, this past June, I met the love of my life - in typically bizarre circumstances.

I was drowning my sorrows at being stuck with a loser for an evening over Chinese food at the Metro in San Francisco's Castro District.

After dinner, the loser (my roommate's friend, recently relocated) and I braved the cologne levels in the adjacent bar and I proceeded to win a Jaegermeister-sponsored boat race which involved incredibly inebriated people downing shots of Jaeger and trying to blow a toy sailboat across a wading pool without vomiting.

It was a magical evening, to be sure.

We met on the narrow deck overlooking Market Street as we were trying to avoid the wildly flaming tiki torches because we had so much product in our hair that we didn't want to be incinerated on the spot.

We didn't hit it off at first, but over breakfast the following morning (yes, I'm simply that easy) magic was born.

So, a month late, but here's to you, babe. I love you more than ever and, as you often note, we still rush home every night to be together. That must be love.

xoxo

Top classic comedies

Inspired by Lou's "Don't Quote Me" post over at The Quiet Life, I've decided to post my own top twelve movie quotes list.

This time, it's classic film comedies (1930s - 1950s) - see how many you can get right. I'll post the answers in the comments! (no peeking!)

1. "Now lets get this straight, Gus. The chaperone's job is to see that nobody else has any fun. Nobody chaperones the chaperone. That's why I'm so right for this job."
   
   
2. "I'll admit I may have seen better days, but I'm still not to be had for the price of a cocktail like a salted peanut."
   
   
3. "Is this a courting or a donnybrook? Have the good manners not to hit the man until he's your husband and entitled to hit you back."
   
   
4. "If there's one thing I know, it's men. I ought to. It's been my life's work."
   
   
5. "The important thing is the rhythm. Always have rhythm in your shaking. Now a Manhattan you shake to fox-trot time, a Bronx to two-step time, a dry martini you always shake to waltz time."
   
   
6. "All you need to start an asylum is an empty room and the right kind of people."
   
   
7. "Oh... Do you remember, Martha, once, a long time ago, we thought if he'd be George Washington, it might be a change for him, and we suggested it...And do you know what happened? He just stayed under his bed for days and wouldn't be anybody."
   
   
8. "Oh, that's the first sane remark I've heard today. C'malong, ____, I know a formula that's said to pop the pennies off the eyelids of dead Irishmen."
   
   
9. "Get me a bromide - and put some gin in it!"
   
   
10. "When a man is wrestling a leopard in the middle of a pond, he's in no position to run."
    
    
11. "If we bring a little joy into your humdrum lives, it makes us feel as though our hard work ain't been in vain for nothin'. Bless you all."
    
    
12. "You're willing to pay him a thousand dollars a night just for singing? Why, you can get a phonograph record of Minnie the Moocher for 75 cents. And for a buck and a quarter, you can get Minnie."
    

MEMEmememememe

Having now spotted this little activity over at edders' I don't care for your tone site, and at Bob's site, I Should Be Laughing - I decided to plunge into the meme pool myself.

Try it yourself. It's harder than you might expect. The instructions are to answer each question using only song titles from one artist.

I chose Annie Lennox. In part because her music has always resonated with me. She's also one of the most talented and beautiful musical souls I've ever heard.

Out of necessity, I may have cheated a bit - citing both solo tracks as well as Eurythmics tracks. But what the heck - are the Interweb police gonna come get me, huh?

My backup was Pat Benatar, but her high energy girl rocker style seemed at odds with the calm place I've reached in my life. Although, she will always have a special place in my heart as the one who helped save a 16 year old boy through her words and music.

So, without further ado:

* Are you male or female? – Missionary Man

* Describe yourself – Sisters Are Doing it for Themselves

* How do you feel about yourself – There Must Be an Angel Playing With My Heart

* If you could go anywhere, where would you go – Into the West

* Favorite form of transportation – Walking on Broken Glass

* Your best friend is – Right by Your Side

* Your favorite color is – A Whiter Shade of Pale

* What's the weather like – Here Comes the Rain Again

* If your life was a TV show, what would it be called – Sweet Dreams are Made of This

* What is life to you – The Miracle of Love

* What is the best advice you have to give – Never Gonna Cry Again

* If you could change your name, what would it be – Angel

* Your favorite food – Little Bird

My joy list

In response to my long-lost female doppelganger, way prettier and three month older twin sister edder's joy list, I share my own.

• The scent of rain
• The way puppies smell
• Cotton blankets
• Irish linen
• Pajama pants
• Vodka martinis at brunch
  
• Driving
• Cooking with gleeful abandon
• Entertaining friends
• Laughing
• Telling stories
• Line-dried laundry
• Classic films
• Rereading great stories
• Classic female jazz vocalists
• Flowers that smell only at night
• The secret language - both spoken and unspoken - that Brian and I have
• Rushing home to see each other - even 19 years later.
  
  And some that I share with edder (from her list):
  
  
• when the people I love accept me just as I am, especially when I fuck up
  
• instantly connecting with new people and wondering "why haven't we met before?"
• that first sip of coffee
• a comment from one of my bloggy friends or a newcomer

Just so you know

2Xist soy briefs with wicking properties are only good as a one-way kind of thing.

Don't get caught in a thunderstorm - that's all I'm saying.

I feel like Swamp Thing.

Knowledge is power.

Made me laugh

Best letter to the editor response EVER in a local newspaper:

"For the first time, a Palin actually decides to pull out early."

Classic.

Oh, Hell no!

Check out the debut of Chicago's new Sears Tower viewing "ledges."

On one visit as a teenager, I remember exiting the 103-floor express elevator and being amazed at the updraft blowing out between the floor and the elevator cab. It blew up skirts and shopping bags, and bounced baby carriages a couples inches off the ground.

This would be another good reason not to wear a skirt to the Sears Tower.

I'm so afraid of heights, I only barely kept my morning toast down looking at these images.

Finally! A death I care about!

The celebrity body count continues to rise - Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Billy Mays, Karl Malden, Gale Storm, Fred Travaleno - but only one death this past week really socked me in the gut.

Mollie Sugden - most well known for playing the unbelievably "colorful" Mrs. Slocombe in the Brit Com "Are you being served?" - has died at the age of 86.

I can remember discovering this show on PBS as a teenager and howling my ass off. And Mollie's foil, a Mr. Wilberforce Clayborne Humphries , was probably the first gay man I ever saw on television.

I own most of the series on DVD now and I watch it when I am cleaning, ironing or just need some mindless laughs.

Mollie was a consummate comedienne and we are all better for having known her. She entertained generations.

Godspeed, Mollie.


A tribute


Grace and Favour: "Rotten bitch"
("Are you being served again" in US)