The Suburbs

I went to my friend's husband's birthday party.  HAPPY BIRTHDAY Tom...I know you read this blog.  Sneaky bastard.

I looked like crap.  I recently became older, like John McCaine's wife. My feet are swelling.  I can't afford a pedicure.  I'd smeared drops of red polish on my swollen toes...dismissing the baby ones because..I can't see them.

The party was in full swing when I arrived.

A little tot ran up to me and delivered a hug remembering me from Thanksgiving. (Brilliant child.)

The adorable girl and I played a game.  The game was called, "Say what Auntie Charmaine tells you to say." It's a delightful game.

She tugged on Toms sleeve, "Uncle Tom, did your hair ever have color in it?"

She said hilarious things.  (It's wrong to exploit a child, but man it was funny).

It stopped being funny when I told her to ask a fella with a pot belly, "Are you in your first or second trimester?"

After talking politics with Tom's brother (nobody but me participated) the conversation waned.  I picked up a baseball glove and asked, "Does anyone want to play catch?"

Myself and the men hit the grass.  I was in high heels but gave them a run for their money.  "Jeez, Charmaine packs some heat!" Rick said.

"Welcome to the gun show", I said kissing my biceps.  (My arms are toothpicks)

As Tom threw the ball across the field to his brother I yelled, "Does this remind you of when you were a kid?" He replied, "Actually it does."

Later, when the brothers departed, I tried to leave.  Tom said, "Oh no, you're not going anywhere."  It gave Linda (his wife and my favorite person) a chance to chat.

Why am I telling you this?  Because I want you to know what it's like when a single women visits married people. There is love, warmth, children and honorable men.

There was a neighbour.  "I like your toe nail polish", he said.  "Ahh, don't look at my feet!" I demurly screamed.  He followed me to my car and said, "The next time you drop by I'll give you a flower for that bud vase inside your Beetle. I see you have a Turbo." (He used to race cars.)

"That's right", I said.  My orb shaped vehicle is deceptively aero-dynamic. If you want to race, prepare to lose.

"You're spunky", he said.

"Not really", I replied.

Then I drove away.

I Can't Even Pass a Personality Test.

At an industry event today, we took a sales style/personality test.
I charted my responses and scrolled down to find my "personality type".

It read...."you flunked dumb ass."

My "type" was that of a person who had obviously CHEATED.

When the classifications were read aloud I went to the corner of the ballroom where my friends were huddled having been "categorized".

Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is how to take a test.  (Refuse to be categorized.)

Class dismissed.

Jesus Christ

This is not a post about the Lord.

I was almost home, stuck in a traffic when I saw him. 

Motorcyle cop at 6:00 o'clock (behind me). "Maybe he won't notice my plates?" I optimistically mused. 

Flashing lights.

Me:  "Hi officer, I know why you pulled me over."
Police:  "Oh really, why?"
Me:  "Because you want a date to the Policeman's ball?"
Police:  "No, that's not it."
Me:  "Then there must be some mistake".
Police:  "You're a funny woman."
Me:  "Yea, so they say".
Police:  "I spotted you way back on Iris Street."
Me:  "Oh, so now your following me?  You must really be desperate. 
Police: License and registration please. Why is your registration expired?"
Me:  Cuz I'm broke. 
Police:  "So times are tough eh?"  (Sencing I might be able to capitalize on this...)
Me:  "Oh yes, tough tough tough. He was cute so I scanned his ring finger. But I sensed a certain stupidity.
Me:  "I could never marry a stupid man."
Police:  Parden me?
Me:  "Nothing."
Police:  Where were you coming from? 
Me:  "A meeting with Al Kaida." I knew he wasn't listening.
Police:  "Your registration is expired AND you're not wearing your seatbelt."
Me:  "Shit."  "I mean, Shiate...uh, Muslim.  What about those Shiates officer?"
Police:  "AND your license is expired."
Me: "Wha the Fuc..uh...dge.  Fudge.  Oh hell... just shoot me."

The Financial Times

With a considerable Irish accent my Uncle  implored, "Charmaine, have you read the Financial Times?"

When I hear the word "financial" my mind goes black.  I don't like f-words that fail to end in "uck".  (Irish people like to swear.)  It makes us happy.

For the record...the Financial Times is the paper at your news stand published on pink paper.  It's not all about finance, rather, it's a fascinating paper published in London.  You will learn about what is going on in this country (and the world) if you pick it up.

You will not, however, learn anything about Brittany Spears.

It's the real deal.  (Reporting not dummied down for a third grade audiance.)

The next time you are at the news stand reaching for the New York Times (because you are a thinking person)...look to your right and grab the pink paper...

Then let's talk about the articles you might read like...Learned Addiction.  (Computer game addiction had one couple in Korea arrested for focusing on raising a "virtual" baby while their own child starved to death.)  You don't get "points" on the internet for feeding your baby in real life. 

Everyone is so starved for legitamate attention they need computer game "points". 

Let's give each other points...shall we?   Points in the real world for behaving well when being politically correct has numbed everyone into oblivion.

Meeting Planners Annonymous

Hi.  My name is Charmaine.  It's been almost a year since I planned my last meeting. 

"HI CHARMAINNNNNNNE!"

Last night I attendede a little gala (industry event) hosted by MPI.  (Meeting Planners International).  Okay, so it wasn't a GALA per se.  It was an event at the Discovery Museum in Santa Ana with a silent auction. 

They had strolling tables (these are girls dressed in ridiculous costumes around which a table is built).  They move throughout the space and serve hors d'eouvres on...uh...their table which basically looks like an enourmous skirt.  I used to want to BE a strolling table.  You can't be a strolling table if your over the age of 25.  Life is so unfair.

It was a remember-youth theme. Tray-passed hors d'eouvres were "kid" inspired including shot glasses filled with ketchup and 5 french fries poking up like sticks, grilled cheese triangles, mini-corn dogs, baby sliders.  It was a cute idea that should have remained "an idea". 

I appreciated going along with my new work colleague, the lovely, the heavenly (in more ways then one) Kristin.  We worked together formerly.  Watching her, having blossomed into a gifted planner, was a real treat.  I knew her when she was just a grasshopper in the crazy world of event planning. I felt like a proud mama. 

After the event we skipped off to The Geisha House. It was a dissappointment. But when a strolling table bores you...you're obviously hard to impress!