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!
Friday, March 19, 2010
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!"
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 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,
"HAPPY FUCKING ST. PATRICK'S DAY!"
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."
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"
Or
"WWE, male, Hump Island"
Or
"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.
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"
Or
"WWE, male, Hump Island"
Or
"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!
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 ago...so 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!"
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 ago...so 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!"
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
My Dirty Little Secret
There is one aspect of my life that I have not shared with you. I am a part time Ho. I used to be a Ho more often, but husbands and children have made scheduling a difficult. I only get to be a Ho about 3 times a year.
Now, before you start thinking I am a part-time prostitute...let me explain. I have 5 great girlfriends. I have been friends with them for years. One night, we decided to have a "Girl's Night Out" (GNO). We got all dressed up, hopped in a cab and went out for some fun. It was on that night where we overheard someone calling us "A bunch of Hoz" (or hoes, or ho's, however you want to spell it). We found that descriptor quite hysterical, since we were all upstanding young ladies. Instead of becoming outraged by the comment, we embraced the moniker and ran with it.
We had so much fun on our GNO that we vowed to make it a regular event. We adopted pseudonyms or "HO names". We used these names when we went out. Using an alias can be quite freeing and made our evenings out even more fun. I will probably explain how we came up with our names at a later post, but here they are along with a semi-sarcastic biography that will act as a teaser for future HO blog posts:
Ginger (Me)
"You know…red hair, big boobs, big mouth!" That is how most would describe Ginger. The unofficial activities director of the HOZ, she is the one who is the thread that has brought this band of girls together.
Trixie
Trixie met Ginger while she was a 2nd grader at Robert Semple Elementary School (1977). Know as for her practical jokes and smart-ass sense of humor. Trixie is the "Crunchy" HO, won't eat things with feet or fur and is the hypnochick of the bunch. She is also the Renaissance woman, hoisting her boobs up at Faires annually.
Brittney
Brittney and Ginger met when Ginger moved in across the street (1980)……….Sunset Villas was never the same. The "Heather Locklear-Barbara Mandrell" look-alike of the bunch. Those blue eyes of Brittney's have broken many hearts. She is the Three Stooges fan, the one who can quote movie lines and make you pee your pants.
Sally...Whoosh, that Girl!
Sally and Ginger met in beauty school (1987). Sally felt a bit threatened by Ginger's multicolored nails………but they soon grew to be partners in crime. Music lyrics are the best way to describe Sally, "Never trust a big butt and a smile…that girl is poison!" Sally is known for her butt wiggle, her smile and her Steno-pad.
Roxanne
Roxie and Ginger met the first week of the BSN program, our last year of nursing school (1996). They bonded over body odors, nicotine and caffeine. Roxie is known for her admiration of the penis, her grace, her military weapon expertise and her lack of a "dimmer" switch when out partying. She is also famous for her ability to pack for any trip in minutes, her talent for making up new words and her integrity.
Isabella
Izzie met Ginger in 1997, Introduced by her childhood friend, Roxie (Roxie and Izzie have know each other since kindergarten). Isabella is the Pancho Villa scholar. She is the author of the "Text Book Tuesday" method of adolescent education. She has made the phrase…."However Comma", popular throughout the western U.S. Izzie is the choreographer of the HOZ…Ice Ice Baby!
So that is the history of the HOZ!
Now, before you start thinking I am a part-time prostitute...let me explain. I have 5 great girlfriends. I have been friends with them for years. One night, we decided to have a "Girl's Night Out" (GNO). We got all dressed up, hopped in a cab and went out for some fun. It was on that night where we overheard someone calling us "A bunch of Hoz" (or hoes, or ho's, however you want to spell it). We found that descriptor quite hysterical, since we were all upstanding young ladies. Instead of becoming outraged by the comment, we embraced the moniker and ran with it.
We had so much fun on our GNO that we vowed to make it a regular event. We adopted pseudonyms or "HO names". We used these names when we went out. Using an alias can be quite freeing and made our evenings out even more fun. I will probably explain how we came up with our names at a later post, but here they are along with a semi-sarcastic biography that will act as a teaser for future HO blog posts:
Ginger (Me)
"You know…red hair, big boobs, big mouth!" That is how most would describe Ginger. The unofficial activities director of the HOZ, she is the one who is the thread that has brought this band of girls together.
Trixie
Trixie met Ginger while she was a 2nd grader at Robert Semple Elementary School (1977). Know as for her practical jokes and smart-ass sense of humor. Trixie is the "Crunchy" HO, won't eat things with feet or fur and is the hypnochick of the bunch. She is also the Renaissance woman, hoisting her boobs up at Faires annually.
Brittney
Brittney and Ginger met when Ginger moved in across the street (1980)……….Sunset Villas was never the same. The "Heather Locklear-Barbara Mandrell" look-alike of the bunch. Those blue eyes of Brittney's have broken many hearts. She is the Three Stooges fan, the one who can quote movie lines and make you pee your pants.
Sally...Whoosh, that Girl!
Sally and Ginger met in beauty school (1987). Sally felt a bit threatened by Ginger's multicolored nails………but they soon grew to be partners in crime. Music lyrics are the best way to describe Sally, "Never trust a big butt and a smile…that girl is poison!" Sally is known for her butt wiggle, her smile and her Steno-pad.
Roxanne
Roxie and Ginger met the first week of the BSN program, our last year of nursing school (1996). They bonded over body odors, nicotine and caffeine. Roxie is known for her admiration of the penis, her grace, her military weapon expertise and her lack of a "dimmer" switch when out partying. She is also famous for her ability to pack for any trip in minutes, her talent for making up new words and her integrity.
Isabella
Izzie met Ginger in 1997, Introduced by her childhood friend, Roxie (Roxie and Izzie have know each other since kindergarten). Isabella is the Pancho Villa scholar. She is the author of the "Text Book Tuesday" method of adolescent education. She has made the phrase…."However Comma", popular throughout the western U.S. Izzie is the choreographer of the HOZ…Ice Ice Baby!
So that is the history of the HOZ!
Monday, March 08, 2010
Blogging for International Women's Day 2010
What does "Equal Rights For All" mean to you?
It means that everyone has worth. That little girls are valued as much as little boys. It means that everyone has the freedom to make choices for their own lives. The choice to marry who they want, or to not marry. It means that each person has control of their own body, of their own lives. It means equal pay for equal work. It means safe and accessible health care for all. It means education for all. It means freedom from exploitation.
It means an end to this: Little girls don't need to get divorces.
It means that pregnant women are not jailed for falling down stairs: Pregnant? Don't Fall Down The Stairs
It means no one should die because they are denied an abortion: Mother Denied Cancer Treatment Because of Abortion Ban
It means that a church would show outrage against a rapist, not the victim and those who tried to help her: Nine-Year-Old's Abortion Outrages Brazil's Catholic Church
It means more of this: Gay Couples Line Up For Licenses To Wed
And more of this: Saving the World's Women
And a lot more of this: Midwives in Afghanistan Try To Rebuild Women's Healthcare System
I'm realistic enough to know that bigotry, sexism and misogyny will always exist. But I hope that someday society will force people with those views into the minority and out of control. I hope that lawmakers and world leaders will fight for the rights of those who have no voice. I have already read how access to health care, education and micro-loans have changed the lives of women in developing countries. I know it is possible.
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