Wednesday, March 31, 2010

My Earliest Political Statement

To be truthful, I do not remember this story AT ALL.  It is family lore and has been told to me many times.  Keep in mind; my mother's memory is both selective and creative ... so I cannot vouch for the accuracy of this story. I was December 1970 or 1971. My father, after completing his duty in Vietnam flying Med-Evac helicopters, was flying Marine Corps One for President Richard Nixon.

The White House was having some sort of Christmas party for the staff. It was a candlelight tour of The White House. Knowing my Mother and Father, I am sure that they spent all day getting ready.  My Mom with her hair rolled up in rollers the size of soup cans, except for her bangs, which were taped to her forehead with that pink tape everyone used back then. She probably used enough Aqua Net that night to make her own personal hole in to ozone. My father, in his office, with his groovy music playing on his big reel-to-reel stereo system, polishing his medals and bars. His already perfectly starched and ironed dress blues would be hanging by the door. I am sure that Francis, my heavy-set, black nanny, had scrubbed me up and made me sit still and play quietly until we were just about ready to leave. Right before my parents would leave, she would put me in a clean diaper, stuff me in my starched dress and set a big bow with scotch tape to my nearly bald head.

I imagine that the white house was beautiful. The entire house decorated for Christmas, pine boughs, red ribbons and white twinkle lights placed throughout the building.  Tables of hors 'd orderves and sweets displayed meticulously as staffers went by and tasted the fare. The time came for my mother, father and I to greet the president. The story, as told by my mother, goes something like this:

"Your Father and I took you up to see the president.  He was smiling and seemed very excited to meet you.  Your father introduced me to the president and I shook his hand.  He told me you were a very beautiful baby and then outstretched his arms to hold you. I handed you over to the president; he sat down on a settee and set you on his knee. He was smiling and talking to you, you were smiling and drooling (you were teething and a drool factory at the time) and then all of a sudden, his face changed.  He lifted you up and handed you to me. I noticed a wet mark on his pants where your butt had sat. The president excused himself and I took you to the bathroom to change your diaper. When I came back from the bathroom, your Dad was mortified and the president was wearing a different pair of pants. That is the story of when you peed on President Richard Milhous Nixon."

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Skin It

Before I met Mr. Misha, I dated a Sheriff's Deputy named Mark.  ER nurses have the "You'll never guess what my patient had stuck up his ass!" stories. Law enforcement people have good "You'll never guess what this bad guy had stuck up his ass" stories. He would tell me all sorts of stories. I thought I knew everywhere on a body where you could hide your dope.........I was wrong.

Mark was working "Intake" at the jail. This where the patrol cops would bring in people they arrested, where people turned themselves in, etc. So he has to do a strip search on this one bad guy. He takes him into the search room and has the guy get undressed, he tells the guy to squat and cough, bend over and cough, pull you butt cheeks apart and cough, etc. Then he tells this guy to pull back the foreskin on his penis, the guy does it.........and a little baggie of dope goes flying to the floor. The best part, the guy immediately yells; "That's not mine!"

Yet another argument against circumcision.......You can keep your weed in it!

Monday, March 29, 2010

My Mom Is Having An Identity Crisis

This is a picture of my Mom on her 60th Birthday. She is 3 years older now, but she looks pretty much the same. She is 5'2", blond hair, blue eyes, big boobs and a bubble butt.


She came over one day, as it was a spa day for our dogs.  I have a Cocker Spaniel and a pug; she has a Jack Russell Terrier.  We dropped "The Girls" off at the spa, stopped @ Starbucks to get coffee and croissants, and then went back to my house.  My mom doesn't smoke anymore, except when she is at my house, and then she "borrows" a cigarette and smokes it with her mocha.  We sit on the couch and catch up.  She updates me on family issues, dog issues and what she has done for the past few days.  It is usually pretty boring and she usually repeats at least one story she told me over the phone a couple of days before. Every once in a while, my mom tells me a GEM. This is one of them.

She had been at the dollar store in Vallejo.  She had been in the store for a few minutes when a young woman yells out; "Woo wee!  We got a white bitch in the store today!" My mom said she looked around the store and couldn't see the "white bitch".  She kept looking, but couldn't figure out who that lady was talking about.  She said she finished her shopping, checked out and as she was walking out the door ...  She realized that "white bitch" was her.  She started to laugh as she walked out to her car.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Goodbye Nana, The Final Installment

Just like the way she lived her life, the events surrounding her dying, death and mourning were filled with humor.  This is the fourth and final installment, enjoy!

When Nana died, we had a little memorial in Northern California for family and close friends.  It was strange.  The priest showed up at the house, drunk.  He also thought he was coming to the house for a "Blessing of the Home", so he brought the wrong book and had to have his assistant drive him back to the rectory to get the right book.  He came back to the house, said some prayers and everyone shared a story.  It was a little tense.  My cousin's Larry and Elsie  (Nana's nephew and niece from Tampa) were mad at my Aunt Marian and her husband.  Aunt Marian was mad at Uncle John.  Uncle John was mad at my Mom.  My mom was mad at everyone.  I was the youngest one there, but the only one mature enough to get along with the  whole family.  A stressful time was made even more so because I was playing referee for all of my idiotic family and their petty disagreements.  I was glad when we made it through lunch without a family brawl.

After lunch, we were all sitting out in the backyard chatting. My Nana's cousin, Elmira, noticed that both of my dogs were wearing St. Francis medals.  She asked me if I had taken them to church for the "Blessing of the Beasts" on the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi.  I told her that Cosmo, my Jack Russell Terrier, did not get along well with other dogs, so I had never taken them.  She immediately went to Father Tim and asked him if he could bless the dogs.  I took him outside and had the dogs sit.  He mumbled a blessing and sprinkled Holy Water on Candy, my yellow lab. She sat there very sweetly and took it all in.  Then he went to Cosmo.  As he started flinging the Holy Water on him, Cosmo started jumping up and biting at the drops of water.  Father Tim looked at me and said in his drunken Irish brogue, "I think that little one is going to need more than a sprinkle of Holy Water!"

Elmira's husband, Bob had a bad back. As the afternoon wore on, he started complaining about it. I sat him in a chair with a heated back massager thingy, hoping to give him some relief.  He promptly fell asleep in it.  Elmira woke him when it was time to leave.  We were all in front of the house saying our goodbyes when, Bob (who is hard of hearing) YELLED; "Michele, I turned off your vibrator when I woke up!"  Bob and Elmira didn't really get it, they are in their 80's and very devout/naive... but the rest of family burst into laughter.  My neighbors looked at me funny for the next couple of days. 

A month later we had a funeral mass and burial service in Southern California. Nana had been cremated, but she wanted to be buried between her husband and mother.  My stupid relatives were still not getting along, so it was up to me to organize the whole deal and mediate between all of them.  Nana had left instructions on how she wanted the funeral to go, she had picked scripture and songs for the funeral mass.  All I really had to do was plan the wake and get someone to do the eulogy.  No one wanted to do the eulogy, so it was left up to me. I spent days writing and re-writing it, by the day of the funeral I was ready, but nervous.  It went fine, my legs were shaking so much...I was glad the podium was there to hide them.

My family had all sat apart in their separate camps, glaring at each other from time to time.  I hoped they would behave themselves at the wake.  

As I sat in the church, worrying about the potential for a full Jerry-Springer-type brawl, some of Nana's friends from Catholic Daughters came up to me.  They were all very sweet little old ladies.  They told me how much their friendship with Nana meant to them, they told me that I did a wonderful job with the eulogy, then one little old lady came up to me and as she hugged me she said, very seriously; "You know, now that Ferne has passed, you are the only sane one left in the Family."

I looked around at my family, still glaring............and realized she was probably right.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Not A Skeleton In Her Closet: Goodbye Nana Part 3

This is me, my Mom and my Nana.We knew Nana didn't have much time left when we visited her in Florida, so we wanted to get our portrait taken. Unfortunately, the only place available was Glamour Shots. They gave me a 'That Girl' flip, they had no idea what to do with my mom's frog fur hair, but Nana looked beautiful.Just like the way she lived her life, the events surrounding her dying, death and mourning were filled with humor. This is the third installment, enjoy!


The Duties of Mourning, September 2000

When Nana had come back out to California in the spring of 2000, it was supposed to be just a visit. She had planned on returning to Tampa. She left most of her stuff there. Her nephew Larry owned a shipping company, so he went back to Tampa, threw all of her stuff into a crate and shipped it to MY house. And there it sat, for weeks. I just couldn't get myself to go through it. Finally, one day my mom came over and we opened the crate.

We made 3 piles: go in the garbage, go to charity and keep. At first it was pretty easy, we just went through and started doing a quick sort. Most of her clothes went to charity, most of her toiletries/medications went into the garbage. You know how your mom always told you to wear clean underwear when you leave the house in case you get into an accident? I am telling you now, clean up your shit in your might die and your family will have to go through it. I spent hours going through all of Nana's prayer cards, little notebooks with the beginning of a joke written down and the punchline written in bold (she was never good at remembering jokes). She had tons of Kleenex. She had about 3 dozen sets of Rosary Beads and about 20 little pamphlets on how to pray the Rosary. She owned 3 shoe boxes full of hankies, and 2 shoe boxes of scarves. She had every kind of angel lapel pin and heart shaped earring known to man. I found her thong underwear. She had Mardi Gras beads with little penises on them. She had over 15 decks of cards. She had a lipstick in the shape of a penis. She had 5 shoe boxes full of stationary and greeting cards. She had about eight lists with everyone's birthday, wedding anniversary, date of divorce, date of death....I think she was afraid of sending a dead person a birthday card or a divorced couple an anniversary card. I had sorted through almost everything when found a white box about 2 inches wide and 10 inches tall. Inside was another box and in that box, some sort of plastic mold. I couldn't tell what the mold was, because it was filled with over 15 sets of glow in the dark plastic Rosary beads.


After removing all of the beads, this is what I found 


Apparently, she was using this to make ice for her Catholic Daughter's Bridge Club!

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

And Then She Was Gone: Goodbye Nana Part 2

Just like the way she lived her life, the events surrounding her dying, death and mourning were filled with humor.  This is the second installment, enjoy!


DEATH July 12, 2000

On the day that Nana died, I had to work and my mom had a doctor's appointment.  While Nana could still get up and around, she couldn't be left home alone, in case she needed something.  My Uncle John went to stay with her. Uncle John is a bad ass.


He gave my Nana and Grandpa a hard time when he was growing up.  He had run-ins with the law, spent sometime in jail and was finally straightening his life out. I imagine he was regretting all the years that he missed out on with his mother.He had been too busy with drugs and friends and mischief. Because of that, he was having a hard time dealing with the fact that she was dying. He kept saying that the doctors were "full of shit" and that she would be fine. My mom was hoping that the little bit of alone time he spent with her would help him accept the inevitable. She left the two of them alone and went to her appointment.

He was sitting at her bedside and they were talking. At one point Nana said to him "John, you were a pain in my ass coming into the world (he weighed almost 13 pounds when she gave birth to him) and you are still are a pain in my ass today. But I love you." She then closed her eyes, went to sleep and died. It was the best thing she could have said to him.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Goodbye Nana: Part One

This is my Nana. Just like the way she lived her life, the events surrounding her dying, death and mourning were filled with humor. This is the first installment, enjoy!
Part One: DYING July 11, 2000

In the summer of 2000, my Nana had enough. Although she had never smoked a day in her life, or let anyone smoke around her for that matter, she had End Stage Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. She had been on supplemental oxygen for several years and the stress of being poorly oxygenated had worn her heart out. She was living with my mother and Kaiser had initiated Hospice care for her. She was fine with it, she was ready to go.

One day, I went over to help my mom bathe her. We put a chair in the bathtub, got Nana in and cleaned her up. I washed her hair and when she got out of the tub, I rubbed her back with her favorite lotion. Into a clean nightgown and Nana was ready for a nap. While she napped, I visited with my mom and told her about the date I had been on the night before.

A little while later, Nana woke up. She asked me to help her with her breathing treatment. I set up her nebulizer and sat her on the end of the bed. While she breathed-in the medicine that would make it easier for her to breathe, I gave her a pedicure. After that, I sat behind her on the bed with my legs on either side of her and gently pounded on her back to work up any gunk that was in her lungs.

While I was doing this, Nana was checking out my feet. She finally asked me, "Michele, do your feet hurt?" I said, "No, why?" She replied, "Well I am looking at your toes and they are so red. It looks like they are sore." I then said, "Nana, I am a redhead and it is over 100 degrees outside. My skin turns red when I am hot." A 78-year-old woman should never utter what she said next; " I bet your pussy is really red too!" I nearly died. I screamed "Nana!" so loud, my mom thought she was dying and ran into the room. She found Nana and I on the bed in tears. I was crying, Nana was coughing and laughing. Neither of us could talk. My mom yells, "What is the matter?" In between laughs I tell her, "Nana, ha, said, ha, that, ha ha, my, ha, my p-p-p-p-PUSSY, is, is is, red!"

My mom had no idea what I was talking about and still didn't understand what was going on. By this time I am on the floor crying with laugher, I couldn't stop. My mom is freaking out, Nana is still laughing and coughing, the dogs have come in the room and are running around trying to figure out what is going on, it was a circus. Finally, Nana calmed down and said to my mom "Joan, you daughter is a real fire crotch!" then Nana and I started to howl with laughter. My mom just turned around and left room muttering, "You two are crazy!" That was the last time I saw my Nana alive.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Bless Me Father For I Have Sinned

Why I Never Became A Soldier For Christ

I was raised Catholic.  I don't have many memories of going to Mass with my mother.  I don't really remember her ever going to Mass on a regular basis. But she insisted on me having a Catholic upbringing.I was baptized at one month of age. I had my First Holy Communion when I was in 2nd grade.

When it was time for me to start my training for my Confirmation, my mom was a wild, drinking, twice-divorced woman.  She still insisted that I go to Catechism every week and work toward my Confirmation.

For those of you not familiar with it, here is what Wikipedia has to say about it:

In the teaching of the Roman Catholic Church, Confirmation, known also as Chrismation,[1] is one of the seven sacraments instituted by Christ for the conferral of sanctifying grace and the strengthening of the union between individual souls and God.

I started a little late; most people start their training around 14 or 15 years old.  I was almost 17 when I started. I considered myself quite the rebel by then and thought that organized religion was a bunch of crap and that to participate in it was diving into "the slag heap of gutless conformity". But then my mom bribed me... she said that if I got confirmed, she would buy me the 1963, powder blue, rag top,  Karman Ghia I had been saving my money for. I caved. I reluctantly went to Catechism once a week.

It wasn't that bad and the church had a new priest who was really cool. We also had interaction with some of the kids who had already been confirmed and were acting as peer councilors. I had a big crush on of them. My crush on this dude made no sense to me. He was an athlete, on the Honor Roll and active in student government. I hung out with the punks, skaters, drama club members and other assorted "freaks". He and I started hanging out together when we were at church. When he found out I was failing Algebra for the THIRD time, he offered to tutor me. It was great. I believe I finally passed that stupid fucking class because of him.

I saw him after school at least three days a week.  We were about to have a break from school and Catechism and I was sad about not seeing him. I was hoping he would find some excuse to see me during the break and he did! He said his parents were going to away during the break and his older brother was having a party. He asked me to come.

I showed up at the party and felt instantly uncomfortable. Aside from the girl friend I brought with me, I didn't really "know" anyone there. Someone handed me a wine cooler and I drank it down pretty quickly. It tasted so good; I had another, and another, and another I am not sure how many I had. Somehow, I ended up on a couch making out with him. When he suggested we go into another room, the wine coolers told me "Go!" The only empty room was his parent's bedroom. We sat and talked for a little bit and started making out again.  And then it happened... we lost our virginity.

The next day he called me to make sure I was okay with what happened. I really didn't know what to say. I was glad that I had "got it over with", but I had wished it had been a little more romantic, a lot less painful and a little bit more pleasurable. I reassured him that I was cool. He apologized and said that he had not planned on doing that, that what we had done was a SIN. I rolled my eyes as I listened to him talk about sin, penance and repentance. I had never realized how devout he was. I thought to myself, "Holy Hell, I just screwed someone who thinks he might want to be a priest someday!" To get him off the phone, I assured him that I would confess and repent next time I went to church. I had NO plans to confess it, but it made him feel better. I usually made crap up before I went into confession:

Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been "x amount of time" since my last confession. I lied to my mom, I used the Lord's name in vain, and I had impure thoughts, yada yada yada...

I hardly ever actually confessed my REAL sins and when I did...I didn't name names. Unfortunately, he had no such practice.

The next time I went to Catechism, he was there. Since he was an Altar Boy, he knew I had not been to Mass since our "Sin". Since I had not been to Mass, I had not received Communion. Since I had not received Communion, I had not been to confession. He was worried that I would die before I confessed and end up in PURGATORY, or where ever the hell you go. I assured him I would go to confession that night.

When I got into the confessional, I got a huge shock. It wasn't the cool priest, but the scary one.  We did the whole confession deal and I said my "usual" sins. Before giving me my penance, Father Scary asked me if I had anything else to confess.  I felt my stomach drop, but kept my cool and said no. That is when I found out that my co-sinner had named names the last time he went to confession. Father Scary knew about our "Sin". I was pissed. I went off on a tirade about the sanctity of the confessional and how he had broke it by letting me know that my co-conspirator had fessed up. I stormed out of the confessional, without my penance and never stepped foot in my Catechism class again.

I didn't get confirmed and become a "Soldier of Christ". I didn't get my Karman Ghia.  I never spent any alone time with that boy again. Each year at Christmas, I would get a Christmas card from him and he would apologize. He continued to send me the cards when he went away to college. He always said he was still praying for me. When I moved away, we lost touch. I have not seen or heard from him in 20 years. I am pretty sure he still prays for me.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Pump It!

So, It was like 1988 or something and my aunt was getting married.  My mom and I went down to Southern California to help with the pre-wedding prep and of course, attend the wedding.  The pre-wedding stuff went as expected for the most part.  My aunt's friends took her to Chippendale's for her bachelorette party.  She got really drunk and barfed in Denny's.  She then got locked out of the house and woke my Nana (her mother) up by trying to climb the stone fence in her mini skirt at 3am.  For the day of the wedding, I had been assigned to the guest book.  I was pissed, because it is my opinion that you assign the guest book to the relative your mother wants you to have in the wedding, but you can't stand them, so you give them guest book duty. I refused guest book duty. This made my aunt a bit pissed at me.  I knew she had given me that assignment because she didn't like my pink streaks in my hair, my multiple ear piercings, my completely black wardrobe or my combat boots. She found some other annoying relative to do it. By the rehearsal dinner, she wasn't mad at me anymore.

When the day of the wedding finally arrived, everyone was wound up.  As my aunt was stepping into her wedding gown, my mom, queen of the inappropriate comments, said "Gee, you have been eating a lot this week.  I hope you still fit in your dress."  I heard one of the bridesmaids saying, "She says she is still a virgin.  I don't believe her.  I think she is pregnant." The person I was most shocked by was my Nana.  She was really nervous.   I made her a mimosa and she seemed to calm down.

The wedding seemed to be going smooth. Everyone made it down the aisle, the music went off without a hitch, and it seemed fine.  But it was a Catholic wedding so it was long.  While kneeling during part of the ceremony, my aunt fainted. It wasn't that dramatic, she just slumped over on the groom.  The priest had the altar boys get her some water and a chair and the wedding went on.  Unfortunately, Nana thought the fainting spell was HYSTERICAL.  She started giggling.  She kept on giggling.  She was trying to be quiet about it, but it wasn't working.  Her giggling made my mom start to giggle. The two of them were shaking and crying, they were giggling so hard.  I started to worry.  Both of them had a history of getting the giggles and then peeing their pants.  I was really concerned that both of them would pee in their "wedding outfits" and end up at the reception in their housecoats.  While I was worrying about potential urinary incontinence, other people started to notice the two of them cracking up.  An old lady sitting behind me kept hitting me on the shoulder and telling me to get my mother and grandmother to control herself.  Just then, the ring bearer started to turn green.  He went running up the isle and puked in the vestibule of the church.  That was all it took. My mother and my grandmother lost it.  What were quiet giggles turned into loud laughter that echoed through the church.  The wedding stopped while someone went to tend to the ring bearer.  Someone got a mop and bucket and cleaned up the barf.  All the time, my Nana and mom were laughing hysterically.  My aunt shot me a dirty look. Apparently, it was my fault that someone had drugged and liquored up her mother.  I tried to get the two of them to be quiet, but the more I told them to behave the harder they laughed.  They eventually shut up and the wedding went on.

At the reception, things seemed okay.  But Nana kept drinking and she kept getting louder and LOUDER.  At one point she started yelling out requests to the DJ.  Most of them seemed appropriate for a woman of her age.  "Glenn Miller!" she yelled to the DJ.  He played "In the Mood".  "Rock Around The Clock!" she hollered. The DJ played Bill Haley and the Comets.  She was up and dancing with any man, woman or child who would join her.  It was quite entertaining and the DJ was really sweet to my Nana.  I knew it was time to take Nana home when I walked by and heard her say to the DJ; "Play that Pump it song" The DJ had no idea what she was talking about.  She said you know, that 'Oh, baby baby, pump it real good' song!" He looked like he was ready to die.  Here was this 70-something woman, gyrating her hips and yelling, "pump it!" over and over and getting progressively louder.  I figured I would help the guy out.  I went up to him and said; " I think she means Push It by Salt n Pepa". The DJ was shocked that Nana was a hip-hop fan, but he played her song anyway.

Nana danced the whole afternoon and then finally passed out next to the cake table.  I took her home and tucked her in.  The next day we figured out what had happened.  My mom had slipped Nana a Valium that morning and everyone kept filling up her mimosa glass.  We really should have talked to each other before doping up the mother of the bride!

Thursday, March 18, 2010

You Messed With The Wrong Chick, Dude.

You get a little jaded when you work in a bar. When I was 21, I worked in a cowboy bar in a Navy town...I was weary of drunk cowboy/sailor pick up lines about two hours into my first shift. I heard all of the pick up lines; I saw what happened as 2 a.m. neared each night. Because of that, I didn't date customers.  I flirted with them, I was a friend with some, but I did not date them. 

Until I met Dave.  He was shy and very sweet.  He would always ask to take me to breakfast after the bar closed, I usually would refuse.  One night he got some of the other employees to go, so I agreed.  He was a perfect gentleman.  Another night, my mom came into the bar. He met my mom that night and the two of them had quite a conversation while I was working.  When she found out that Dave didn't have anyone to spend Easter with, she invited him (and about a half dozen other sailors) to our house for Easter Dinner.

Dave showed up at the house on Easter with flowers and wine for my mom and an Easter basket, complete with a pink fuzzy stuffed bunny, for me.  Towards the end of the night he asked me out.  He said he had bought tickets to the Grand National Rodeo and would like me to join him.  I agreed. We went to the rodeo. It was a lot of fun and again, he was a perfect gentleman.  He was sweet and when he walked me to my door that night, all he did was ask for a hug goodnight. He called the next day and asked if I would go out to dinner with him and I said yes. 

Our second date was more of the same, his sweet southern drawl and perfect southern gentleman manners.  That night when he walked me to the door, he asked for a kiss.  This went on for a few more weeks and then one night, I when was a little tipsy and we ended up making out on my couch.  That is as far as it went, but I was really starting to fall for this guy.

One night I was working at the bar and Dave came in.  He and his buddies were celebrating something (I don't remember what) and they were pretty drunk.  His friends all wanted to go to another bar, but Dave didn't.  He asked if I could give him a ride home, I said yes.  So when the bar closed, I poured Dave into my VW bug and drove him back to the base.  When we got to his building, I wasn't sure he could navigate the stairs on his own, so I decided to walk him to his room. 

We got to his room and he invited me in.  Drunken Dave wasn't as shy anymore.  He started telling me he loved me, how beautiful I was, etc.  He was laying it on pretty thick.  We kissed a little, and then he had to use the bathroom.  While he was in the bathroom, I went to his desk to freshen up in the mirror.  After giving my hair a quick fluff, I looked down on the desk and saw HIS WEDDING INVITATIONS!  Dave was getting married in two months.  I didn't know what to do.  I was sooooooo pissed.  I decided to play it cool.  When he came out of the bathroom, I told him I had to go home because I had a Chemistry test the next day.  He was a little sad, but let me go with just a hug.

All the way home I was trying to figure out what I was going to do.  I knew I wasn't going to see him anymore, I also knew I wanted him to feel pain.  The next day, I told my friend what had happened.  We plotted and schemed for days.  We decided that Mother's Day was going to be the day.  It was in two weeks, but he had weekend duty the week before that, so it would be the next time I was going to see him. He was supposed to come over for Sunday dinner; we decided that we would hold a surprise bridal shower for him.  What better way to get him than to call him on his shit in front of everyone?  My mom was into it too, she was even making a cake especially for the occasion.

The weekend before Mother's day there was a big car race at Sear's Point, the racetrack by the bar.  I knew I was going to be a busy night, because my section of the bar was full when my shift started.  I jumped right in and started taking drink orders for my customers.  By the time the band started their first set, I had already made over $50.00 in tips. I was a happy girl.  While I was at the bar putting in my drink order, Louise, one of the other cocktail waitresses came up to me and told me that Dave was in her section.  I freaked out.  I had not planned to see him for another week. I didn't think I could stay cool and not tip my hand for a whole night.  

Then a light bulb went off.  I whispered instructions to my friend, she laughed and agreed to my plan.  I sent a note up to the band; the lead singer winked at me and gave me a thumb's up.  My plan was set.

During the band's break, I watched as my fellow cocktail waitress went up to Dave and whispered in his ear what I had told her to say; "Michele didn't expect you to be here tonight.  She thought you had duty.  You need to keep clear of her tonight because her husband is here and he is really jealous."  I saw the color drain from Dave's face.  It felt great.  I then saw him go to the bar and down two double shots of tequila.  I had let my whole section (most of them were regulars) know what was going on.  Anytime Dave tried to get near me, they ran interference for me.  The band started up again and the first song they played was a dedication.  The lead singer said; "One of our waitresses has a request. This song is for a special cowboy who is getting married next month."  Then they started playing "Your Cheatin' Heart".  This sent Dave over the edge. 

He came straight up to the bar and said, "I can't believe you lied to me".  I said; "What do you mean?"  He said; "You didn't tell me you were married!"  I replied: "I am not married Dave, but would it matter if I was? " He looked shocked and said "Well if I say I say no, it makes me sound like an asshole."  I looked him straight in the eye and quietly said: "Dave, you already are an asshole."  I grabbed my tray full of drinks and waked away.

The night continued on.  I was busy, so busy that I didn't really noticed what was going on with Dave.  The story of what he did had circulated around the bar.  People were giving him shit, girls were giving him dirty looks, and some guys were taking pity on him and were buying him shots.  Dave was getting drunk.  So drunk, that he thought somehow "we could work this out".  When the flower lady walked into the bar, Dave bought all of her flowers and had them sent over to me.  I took them and passed them out to all of my customers. 

He kept trying to come talk to me, but Patrick, the wonderful bouncer, kept him out of my section.  Eventually, Dave left the bar and I was free to finish my shift in peace.  After the bar closed, Louise and I walked out together.  There was Dave standing next to my car with a bouquet of roses.  He said, " I can't believe you gave away all those flowers I got for you. I was trying to say I was sorry and you don't even care."  I looked at him and said; " How dare you think that a bunch of roses would make me forget that you are getting married. How dare you think that you could 'work this out" with me.  How dare you think that I would even have anything to do with you after all the shit you've pulled?  Go home Dave, just go home!"  I got into my car and as I started to drive away he said; "What am I supposed to do with these flowers?"  Louise stuck her head out the window and yelled "Send 'em to yer wife!" 

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Not My Classiest Moment.

I was raised as an only child.  Liz was raised with three brothers.  All the shit they gave her, she passed on to me.  Once Liz found your weak spot, she went after it with a zeal she usually reserved for Patriots, Bruins, Celtics and Red Sox games.  One St. Patrick's Day, Liz decided that the way I blew my nose was weird.  The way I held my kleenex was weird.  The sound I made when I blew my nose was weird.  My nostrils were weird.  Of course, she didn't stop there.  I was also not wearing enough green that day.  So she kept pinching me and otherwise berating me for not celebrating enough.  Liz didn't care that I wasn't Irish.  I was her bestie, so I was automatically Irish and needed to embrace the day.

I just happened to have a horrible sinus infection that weekend.  I felt like shit and I really wasn't in the mood for Liz's teasing.  But I had agreed to go to some shoe store in Oakland with her, so I was trapped in a car with a bullying Irish girl who was determined to harass me until I died.  On and on she went each time I blew my nose.  I had to do something to shut her up.  But what could I do?  I pondered this problem while she went on and on until it came to me.  I waited until we were parked in front of the shoe store.  I grabbed a kleenex, blew as hard as I could into it and before she could start giving me shit about it-
I opened up the kleenex, showed her the contents, which were, in fact, BRIGHT GREEN  and yelled, 


She left me alone the rest of the day. 

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

To Catch A Predator: Doggie Style

A long time ago, I when I was spending a lot of time on myspace, I made profiles for our dogs.  Harley is a Pug, she has a face that only her parents could love.

Mimi, on the other hand, is blonde, slim and very pretty.I would expect that she would attract suitors.  I didn't expect that she would get some perv on myspace sending her messages!

Seriously, this dude ACTUALLY looked at the picture album on my dog's myspace page....saw ONE picture of me (which was a picture of me with the dog and MY HUSBAND)

What a tool!  Here is the email exchange (before I blocked him):

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: greg
Date: Aug 12, 2007 3:53 PM

well hello from napa cali .. saw your profile and had to say your a total kncok-out hun.. if you want to chat feel free to add me on here or yahoo messenger my id is mandragon70.. im 37 single italian male work here in napa too .. im 5'11 160 lbs ask what ever you like beautifull ...

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Mimi, Princess Wigglebutt of Cocker Doodle Doo
Date: Aug 12, 2007 4:01 PM

You realize I am cocker spaniel?

----------------- Original Message -----------------

From: greg
Date: Aug 12, 2007 4:03 PM

i was asumeing that you were the beautifull woman with the man and dog.. titaled x-mas 2005 lol was i correct

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Mimi, Princess Wigglebutt of Cocker Doodle Doo
Date: Aug 12, 2007 4:05 PM

That is my mom and my dad.  They are married and are my top two friends. 

---------------- Original Message -----------------
From: greg
Date: Aug 12, 2007 4:06 PM

well then you are probly as beautifull as your mom lol.. but my mistake sorry lol.. and i see there are no pics of you .. do you have any to post

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Mimi, Princess Wigglebutt of Cocker Doodle Doo
Date: Aug 12, 2007 4:09 PM

Dude, this is a DOG profile.  Are you into dogs?  Or are you looking for pics of humans?  My humans are happily married and monogamous, so you are barking up the wrong tree.

Monday, March 15, 2010

There’s Gnome Place Like Home

My mother, Joan, hangs out with a bunch of German ladies. She has hung out with these women since I was a little girl. I played with their kids. I went to their kids' weddings and they came to my wedding.

In their younger days, my mom and "The German Girls" would go out drinking. As they have aged, their activities have slowed down to lunches monthly and a big German dinner each September for Oktoberfest.

The one thing that has remained constant throughout the years: Garden Gnomes, or as they are called in German, Gartenzwerge. Trixie has them. Gertie has them. Helga has them. Ursula has them. Britta has them. Every one of them, except for my mother, has gnomes in their garden.


I am not talking about that stupid travel gnome that we see in commercials, I mean real, German gnomes. Gnomes by Heissner and Griebel, which have changed very little in appearance since the late 1800's.


I learned a lot about gnomes when I was trying to find pictures that looked like the ones I had seen in the German Girls' gardens.

Gnomes are mythical creatures that live in the depths of the earth and guard treasure! They are a species that has senses sharper than humans. Their job is to assist all living things. Gnomes symbolize integrity, honesty and hard work. They are supposed to bring good luck to any garden they inhabit.

There are three basic kinds of Gnomes:

The Worker Gnome (Bitter)- equipped with working tools, mostly from the field of mining and horticulture such as pick ax, spade or watering can.


The Leisure Gnome (Gen X)- often found in a relaxed posture and frequently he is equipped with things to help him enjoy his well-deserved relaxation such as a pipe or fishing rod


The Culture Gnome (Elitist)- The youngest representative of the garden gnome family shows his interest in culture and education with objects such as a book or musical instrument.


Lately, the German girls have been doing some strange things with their gnomes. When Ursula's husband died, she had her gardener dig a hole in the backyard and she buried all of the male gnomes. She said the boy gnomes reminded her of her husband. Makes sense to me. Trixie and her husband sold their home and now travel the country in their RV. Trixie takes her gnomes with her and set them up outside the RV when they make camp. That makes sense to me too.

The most interesting gnome incident happened a few years ago. Ingrid's mother was coming from Germany to see her. Ingrid had just been given a clean bill of health from her doctor after fighting breast cancer and her mother was coming to help her celebrate. Ingrid was still a bit weak from the cancer treatments, so my mom and I went over to help her get her house ready for the visit. Ingrid's boyfriend, Bob (a dead ringer for James Earl Jones), had done all of the big jobs; cleaning of the gutters, trimming of the trees, etc., so mom and I would help with weeding and planting, nothing too big.

While helping her with the yard work, I noticed that she was removing all the gnomes from their various posts throughout her yard. I asked her what she was doing, because I had never seen her garden gnome-less. She said she wanted to clean them up for her mother's visit.

It was getting late, so we decided to call it a day. We said we would return the next day to put the finishing touches on the yard. When we returned the next day, the gnomes had all been put back into their places. They were all shiny, clean and newly painted. There was just one noticeable difference; Ingrid had painted all of the male gnomes faces black. I stifled a laugh as my mother asked Ingrid what she had done. Ingrid's response was simple, "I vas thinkink dat since Bob is black und I am vite, so should our Gartenzwerge."

Friday, March 12, 2010

Smiles. Everyone, smiles!

My family was not one who took many "family vacations".  My school breaks were usually spent with me flying solo, under the care of a flight attendant, to Virginia or Southern California.  The trips to Virginia were few and occurred at such a young age, that I have little memory of them.  I remember being seated in the front, next to the flight attendants.  I remember getting to go to the cockpit to see the flight crew and being given sets of wings.  This must have happened quite a lot, because I still have over a dozen sets of flight wings from various airlines that have gone out of business.  The trips to SoCal were more memorable, as I made that trip at least 3 times a year for over 15 years.

I don't remember being on a plane with any relative during my childhood.  My family, when we did go on a trip, it was a road trip.  We went to Yellowstone Park in a caravan of Chevy Blazers when I was 3 or 4. I went to the Pacific Northwest with my aunt and grandparents.  Those were the only times I can remember taking a LONG road trip.  Most ran in the 3-6 hour range.  We would mostly pass the time singing.  Our repertoire was small:  The Beach Boys "Endless Summer", the soundtrack from "The Sound of Music", Bachman Turner Overdrive, Credence Clearwater Revival and Queen's "A Night at the Opera".  An eclectic mix, but fitting for my family.  I don't which was more hysterical; watching my Nana sing Bohemian's Rhapsody (She did it way before Dana Carvey and Mike Myers) or the look on passing motorists' faces when they heard my mom, my nana, my aunt and I, yodeling at the top of our lungs, along with Julie Andrew's "Lonely Goatherd".

As I got older, I took road trips with my boyfriend, the man I refer to as, "Evil Steve".  We spent most of our road trips arguing. Arguing about driving, about where to eat, about what music to listen to, pretty much arguing about everything.  To this day, I cannot figure out why we stayed together for so long.

Besides Mr. Misha, most of my road trips nowadays are with the HOZ.  The car is stocked with beverages and snacks.  The CD player or iPod is filled with "official" HO music.  We are all in a good mood and we take off.  Usually after the first dozen songs or so, it is time to play HUMP ISLAND.  

What is Hump Island you say?  Well, Hump Island is a game where you imagine yourself on a deserted island and you have to choose the one person you want island with you and you must have regular sexual activity with said person.   Since I am afflicted with self-diagnosed OCD, I have demanded that we have HUMP ISLAND Categories.  We usually start off with a pretty tame category like "Movie star, male, under 60, Hump Island".  Then each one of us states our pick.  As time goes by the categories get more daring:

"Television star, female, over 50, Hump Island"


"WWE, male, Hump Island"


"Female, Comic Book Character, Hump Island"

Or my personal favorite

"60's-70's Family Sit-com, Hump Island"

The goofier the categories get, the more hysterical it becomes.

So, my gentle readers, in case you have not been here before...

Welcome to Hump Island!

Either pick a category I have mentioned and answer it or make your own and post it for others to answer.  This might just be a fun way to waste some time.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

The Hoz Go To Sea

It was October 2002.  The Hoz were going on their first trip outside of the USA. 

Our Destination: Mexico.

Our Transportation: Cruise Ship.

Our Mission: Have a kick ass time!
We arrived at the airport and after securing the "HO-mobile" in long-term parking; we were off to check in.  This was the HOZ first airplane ride since 9/11, so we were not prepared for security screening.  Apparently, my boobs had been deemed by Homeland Security as Weapons of Mass Destruction.  I was separated from the rest of the HOZ, taken behind a screen and felt up by a scowling Filipino lady you kept saying "I will touch you here mom.  Now I touch you here mom."  I had my footwear taken and checked for explosives.  When my breasts and shoes were deemed safe, I was allowed to join my friends.

We immediately headed to the bar.  You see, Roxie is afraid of flying.  Normally, a fear of flying wouldn't be funny.  But Roxie is in the Air Force Reserves Nurse Corps.  She needs a minimum of 3 drinks before boarding a plane.  (If there is turbulence or it is a long flight, we must re-dose her mid-flight with at least 2 cocktails every 90 minutes.) No HO shall drink alone, so we all join her.  About 3 rounds later, it is time to board.

The flight and the van ride to the ship were typical for us; we were entertaining and a wee bit loud.  Embarking on the ship was tedious, but we muddled through.  Our first night at sea we found the ship's piano bar and that is where we spent a good portion of our evenings.    Cocktails, cigars and 6 seats around a piano...we were happy HOZ. 

We had picked a historical tour and wine tasting as our excursion in Ensenada.  It was just a few hours long and then we would be let loose to do as we pleased for the rest of the day.  What happened on the tour is a hysterical story, but it has to be told in person.  It requires the nuances of voice and movement that I cannot convey with written words.  So if we ever meet up in person, ask me about it.

Anywho, the six of us got off the bus and headed out to explore the city.  We made arrangements that if we split up, we would meet at a bar called "Papas and Beer" at a designated time. We didn't even get 3 blocks down the street when Brittney and Trixie disappeared.  So the remaining four HOZ set off to shop, we all bought some silver jewelry.  I bought a couple of really cool crucifixes. I am not a zealot, I just like rustic crosses and interesting art featuring BVM, Blessed Virgin Mary.  I also found this diorama portraying Elvis in Viva Las Vegas, Dia de los muertos style.  It was colorful and fun with all of the little "Calaveras" decorating it.  I loved it, but I let the HOZ talk me out of buying it.  I will never let that happen again!

With our arms full with wonderful trinkets made by local artist, we headed to the bar to meet up with the two straggling HOZ.  The scene at the bar was alarming.  Women baring their breasts and drunken frat boys cheering them on.  There was also some sort of tribute to the "Bride Stealing of Kazakhstan", where a girl would be grabbed by the staff of the bar, held down, tequila forced down her gullet and then her breasts would be exposed and a "Papas and Beer" sticker would be placed on her bare breasts.   Now before some of my friends get their panties all in a bunch, these girls were active and willing participants.  How do I know this?  When we walked in an eventually got to our table, we told our waiter that we did not want to participate in any of that crap.  Our request was honored and we had great service and a fun time.

We found Brittney and Trixie sitting in the back of the patio, with a bucket of Coronas and a plate full of munchies waiting for us.  For some reason, Brittney was holding ice to her lip.   Sally, the most caring of the HOZ, inquired what had happened.  Trixie started to tell the story, but was overcome with laughter and fell off her barstool. After she recovered, she shared this story.

While walking down the streets of Ensenada, Brittney and Trixie were approached by a man wearing a sombrero and a serape, holding an iguana. He introduced the reptile as "Juana" and asked if they wanted a picture with her.  Brittney agreed instantly and gave the man 5 bucks.  As she was posing with Juana and her keeper, Juana started to crawl towards her.  Brittney thought that Juana wanted to be friends, so she moved closer and started to pucker up to give her a kiss.  Apparently, Juana was more chaste than Brittney and promptly bit her on the lip.

Immediately, Roxie and I (the two RNs of the HOZ) went to inspect the wound.  Knowing that Brittney is desperately afraid of needles, I started teasing her and telling her that she was going to need a shot.  A BIG HUGE SHOT. A big shot full of antibiotics that would HURT REAL BAD.  Then Roxie started to run off a list of possible diseases carried by iguanas.  Brittney started to get pale.  Once again, it was Sally to the rescue.  She reassured Brittney that alcohol would kill all of the bacteria and she was sure the ship's doctor would be able to give her pills to treat her iguana bite.  Brittney liked Sally's plan of care wholeheartedly and ordered some tequila.  Several hours and many rounds later, it was time to head back to the ship.  We all hopped into a station-wagon taxicab and bid Papas and Beer a loud Adios!

The line to get back on the ship was long and our buzz wore off before we boarded.  We quickly took Brittney to the ship's infirmary.  The look on the nurse's face when we told her what had happened was priceless.  She took Brittney's vital signs and went to fetch Dr. Bricker.  As he inspected her wound, he shook his head and said in a thick accent; " I haf been a sheep's doctor for meeny jears.  I haf neber hat a laydee who get bit by leezard."

Well of course you haven't, Dr. Bricker...this was the first time the HOZ had gone to sea!

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

The Hoz Go To Vegas

First of all, getting the schedules of 6 busy, professional women to meld...nearly impossible.  Eventually, we did it and picked President's Day weekend in 2000.  Sally (whoosh, that girl) was in charge of travel arrangements for the trip.  She found us a great deal.  5 days and 4 nights at the beautiful and glamorous "Westward Ho!"  Our rooms were right next to each other in the rear of the property.   PERFECT!

Four of us flew in on Friday afternoon. The last two HOZ, Roxie and Izzy, would be meeting us later that evening. Since Roxie (who is in the Air Force reserves but cannot fly on an airplane without at least 4 or 5 five cocktails pre-flight) was not with us AND it was a pre 9/11 trip, we arrived as usual.... 20 minutes before the plane was scheduled to take off.  We must have been quite a sight in our furry-animal-print cowboy hats and "Knock-me-down, fuck-me-NOW!" boots, running down the concourse to make our plane in time. 

We all get situated on the plane and get ready for take off.  Sally (whoosh, that girl) decides that each of us needs a "Commemorative" Barf Bag for our HO weekend.  She proceeds to ask the surrounding passengers if she can have their Air Sickness bags.  They gladly give them up, thinking that otherwise she might HURL on them. Unbeknown to them, this is just another one of her "craft" projects. She spends a good part of the flight "personalizing" each HOZ barf bag. 

Because we were the last to get on the plane, we could not find seats together.  We proceeded to shout across the aisles to each other.  The flight attendant asked us to keep it down and had the brilliant idea to quiet us with drink coupons.  (She must have studied "Strategery" at Regent University.) The free drinks left us friendlier and louder.  I have never seen a flight crew happier to land than that night. 

We deplane, get our bags and thanks to the free drinks on the plane, become illiterate.  We can't find the area where the taxis are.  We end up finding a rather timid Russian man with a Limo and hire him (it) to take us to THE WESTWARD HO, IN THE REAR!  (And that is just how we said it, yelling and with great glee and enthusiasm) With only 2/3rds of the HOZ in town, the first part of the night was pretty mellow.  When Roxie and Izzy arrived...THE PARTY BEGAN!   

I could give you a blow by blow of the whole weekend, but you all have lives and I do need my right hand to perform cervical exams at work. So, I can't really justify getting carpal tunnel syndrome to tell you about a drunken weekend I had 7 years I will just tell you about Saturday night.

Every HO trip involves one BIG night.  The night we get dressed up like floozies (or HOZ, as it were) and set out to torment, tease and titillate.  There isn't a specific dress code for HO Night, but there are some "givens". 

Number One: Glitta! You folks probably know it as glitter, but to a HO, it is pronounced "Glitta". 

Number Two: Big Hair! At least 1/3 of can of hair spray is required. 

Number Three: Cleavage!  Hoist the girls up, put some glitter on 'em and take 'em out for the evening. 

All of us had dressed accordingly.  Our plan was, a nice fancy dinner, then to Studio 54 for a night of dancing.  Dinner went fine.  We had no problems getting into Studio 54.  As soon as we walked in, we knew IT WAS ON!  The music was great and there was this gorgeous man dancing in a cage wearing fuzzy, pink hot pants.   After a dance or two, we head to the bar.  It was a zoo.  Sally (whoosh, that girl) and I take the drink orders and enter the fray.  Just then, the DJ starts a Michael Jackson  "Don't Stop Till Ya Get Enough" mix.  Brittney with a precision not expected from a drunken blonde girl, grabs her crotch and squeals along with the song.  This smooth move attracts the guy standing next to her and they start to talk.  He is instantly enamored with Brittney. By the time I get back from the bar, they are dirty dancing.  I ask one of the HOZ what happened while I was at the bar, I mean, I was only gone a few minutes and already Brittney has snared a MAN! 

The music is so loud, when she tells me what happened, I heard; "Brittney met a bomber from Oklahoma!" 

I immediately respond with; "That's not funny.  The Oklahoma City bombings are not something to joke about." 

She replies; "Not a bomber, an EMBALMER!"  

Incredulous, I respond with; "A what?"

Other HO: "He's an undertaker and he showed us his embalming license.  You'll never guess what his name is...Rocky!  And his license says 'Rocky (insert middle and last name), II:"

Me: "You have got to be kidding me! He's a Sequel?"

Other HO: "Yep, Brittney is dirty dancing with Rocky II, The Undertaker!"