Last Sunday, the stars aligned and three bloggy universes collided (much like my car with many, many rocks and trees).
Peg (Peg-o-Leg’s Ramblings), Darla (She’s A Maineiac) and I stumbled across each other’s blogs eons ago, back when we were still trying to figure out how you posted the whosewhatsit up by the whatchamathingy. I’d been lucky enough to hang out with Darla before, but this time we upped the ante and met Peg in Portland, where she was visiting with family.
Any Catfish fan knows that meeting an online friend can go terribly, awfully, heinously awry – but not with these two. They’re every bit as hilarious, warmhearted and adorable as their words. Last weekend we were just a gaggle of blogging vets, inhabiting the same fresh Maine air, trying to fit four years worth of conversation into two short hours.
In fact, rather than try to cram all of the goodness into one post, I think I’ll let the two of them explain the rest. (Click on their logos below to check out all of the great things they have to say about me their accounts of our meet-up!)
This drunk person story has served as a cautionary tale for me for 25 years. I live in a small town where the social life for those of us in the business community revolves around fundraisers for local charities and civic organizations. It was at an after-hours for one such group (Rotary, Kiwanis, I can’t remember). The adult beverages were flowing and I noticed one woman, let’s call her Judy, had imbibed perhaps a bit too freely. She was attractively dressed in a shirt, short skirt, black pantyhose and boots.
Judy staggered into the bathroom and my attention was claimed elsewhere until she reappeared some time later. She came out of the ladies room crying, mascara running down her face. She sobbed, “somebody stole my skirt!”
Judy’s skirt was tucked up in the back of her pantyhose, leaving all the territory south of the waistband open to the interested view of the entire bar.
What lesson do we take away from this? When going out drinking, ALWAYS wear pants.
Fresh Veggies/Gingerlea emailed her entry to me (and yes, she has two blogs because she’s too much awesome for just one!):
If you have ever been to the French Quarter and understand the true depth of what it means to close down a bar in New Orleans, then you know what it feels like to plop down in the back of a cab and have a Cajun cabbie yell, “It’s twenty bucks EXTRA if she pukes!”
New Orleans is a great place to visit. There’s food, fun and folly at every street corner. Literally. I had the displeasure of vacationing there with Ex-Husband #2. Let’s just call him Rectal Payne. He was a pretty fellow, so it was no shocker to have him lead me to one of the more spectacular gay bars in the city, only to have the bartender ask me what I was doing there. I think this was a hint that they wanted me to leave, without Mr. Pretty.
Our adventures took us from the rainbow-covered bar to a horrible dump that was blasting karaoke. It occurred to me that I remembered a terrible rendition of Melissa Etheridge song, and now realized that Rectal Payne simply took me from one gay bar to another. …I’m so naïve sometimes.
I believe this is the bar where I decided to take up smoking cigarettes. If you have ever met me in sober life, you would know that I do not smoke. I vaguely remember the bartender laughing at me while I was complaining about not being about to get that damn cigarette lit. Apparently, I was struggling to light the filter. Marlboro Woman, I am not.
The miracle of drunkenness happened much later. I woke up on the floor under a table. It was a carpeted floor, so I was pretty sure that I wasn’t in a bar anymore. And, it didn’t smell that bad. That was almost reassuring. I was snuggled up to the base of the small table and facing a wall. This is where I had a reality check. Or, more like a “panties on – check.” No pants or shoes, though. That can’t be good. Where the hell was I?
I tried to stay still under the table, just in case. I could hear the loud whirr of an air-conditioner, but no other background noises. I closed my eyes. I decided that I was already in enough trouble, and who knows what happened to Rectal Payne. Since I wasn’t having any pain of my own, I decided I would return to my passed out state and worry about it later.
Fortunately, I awoke from my drunken stupor facing the other direction and realized that I was hugging the side table of my hotel room. Apparently, I had been unable to maintain a horizontal position on the much more comfortable mattress. As the story goes, I slithered from between the bed and the wall to spoon with the side table.
My sigh of relief was quickly replaced by a very quick run to the bathroom to evacuate the dozen raw oysters we had decided to have for a midnight snack. Oh.my.gawd—bad idea. An even worse idea was Rectal Payne leaving his toothbrush out on the counter. Yup. I committed the sin of befouling his toothbrush. No worries. I was then spectacularly distracted by a spontaneous ceiling collapse in the shower.
I was just standing there trying to gather my thoughts when all of the tiles in the shower of the downtown New Orleans Ramada Inn just fell off of the ceiling. Rectal Payne jumped out of bed and screamed like a drag queen missing his favorite high heels.
The staff at the Ramada was more than accommodating and quickly gave us another room. We just called the front desk and they switched us. It was like that happened all of the time? I was in no condition to ask questions, so I just packed up and moved on to the new room.
I told Rectal Payne months later that I had done my best to clean that toothbrush, but he never forgave me. I always thought that was why we ended in divorce. Oysters on his toothbrush. I’m thinking now that it might have had more to do with that gay bar. But, I am certain that oysters are not an aphrodisiac.
Oh, well. I have moved and found a new drinking buddy. We make our own beer and try to keep our cups upright.
Congratulations you two! Julie and I will be in touch via email so you can start discussing your artwork!
Thanks again, everyone, for sharing your stories with such gusto! I owe you a drink.
Because you’ve done all the heavy lifting. So enough of me. Onto you.
In our inaugural issue, we’re going to once again prove that sexy sells. It’s all about the ladies today!
Editor’s Note: Your favorite blogger (ahem) did an ongoing slap bracelet giveaway this year, but the bracelets feature my old blog name, “GoGuiltyPleasures!”. For a full listing of all Slap Bracelet pictures and posts, please see my Slap Bracelets page.
Rache is totally smart, talented, stunning, and funny, and could have any blogger she wants as a friend. Yet one of the highlights of my bloggy life was finding out Rache had mentioned me on another blog as a blogger she would really like to be friends with. I told her this made up for all the years of sitting at The Geek Table at lunch. Now I’m at RACHEL’S TABLE, ya’ll!
Rache’s blog focuses on natural, locally grown food, which is a plus on its own, but her unpretentious and humorous attitude make reading her blog heaven on earth. You’ll get a lot more out of it than [delicious!] recipes, I promise.
As if that wasn’t enough? This summer, she took her slap bracelets on vacation, and, well, you just need to see this for yourself. Rache’s slap bracelets crashed a wedding! Even I couldn’t pull that off!
Things started off harmlessly enough on Rache’s vacation, in Plymouth, Massachusetts…
Then it was onto the beaches of Cape Cod…
And while seeing the sights is all well and good, I started to wonder if Rache really knew me. But then…
And now, onto the wedding extraordinaire…
Rache told me the groom looked like Run-DMC’s son, Diggy (she was worried I wouldn’t ‘get’ that, hahaha…Please), which is why she took this picture:
And then the kicker, Rache actually accosted the bride and groom (he’s totally Diggy, right?!) to take this next picture! Yes. Yes, you should be giving her a standing ovation right now.
In today’s featured article, I’d like to point you towards another gorgeous, slap braceleted lady, Angie Z., who didn’t get nearly the attention she deserved in her original unveiling (I’m thinking a Ladies in Slap Bracelets 2013 calendar might be in order this holiday season, no?).
If people don’t understand why I love Angie and her blog so much, all they need do is read this slap bracelet letter and see the accompanying photos, which take us back to a simpler time, when slap bracelets weren’t yet shanks.
I received my snap bracelets in the mail and couldn’t be happier. They are everything I ever wanted in vinyl wrist accessories.
In fact, what I would’ve given to have them years ago. (I could’ve been the coolest girl in high school.) What I would’ve given to have them in the summer of ’93, just in time for my senior year photo shoot.
Can you believe we’re seniors? It’s gone so fast!
After giving it some thought, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands — quite literally. Because who says you can’t reinvent the past?
That’s right — with my very own snap bracelets, I decided to recreate my senior pictures. I happen to have some of my old clothes even — the early ’90s certainly paved the way in high fashion. I think you’ll agree that we gave up the hair bump far too soon.
I’ll always remember the homecoming party at T-Bone’s house when we karaoked to Ace of Base. I’ll always remember how you proposed marriage to Mark Calderon from Color Me Badd. I’ll always remember how we ruled the school in our band uniforms. My memory is a little fuzzy on that last one.
Stay cool, never change, and never stop wearing your velvet choker,
P.S. Why does my old letter jacket stink like Cool Ranch Doritos?
Angie, I still dream about you.
That Fun and Quirky Last Page of Every Magazine – Lady-Blogger Contest Shenanigans
Katy runs an ongoing “7 Deadly Sins” writing contest, which supports charity and writing and you and other awesome things. I am entering the current round (“Lust”), though I should have stopped while I was ahead…at “Gluttony.” The Deadline for “Lust” entries is MIDNIGHT (12am EST), SATURDAY, JULY 28th.
To celebrate two years of blogging, Darla’s offering some FABULOUS Maine-themed goodies. All you have to do is sell your soul tell your most embarrassing childhood stories! I’m sure you don’t have any of those! Yeah! Me either! DEADLINE: NOON (12pm EST), MONDAY, JULY 30th.
Stay tuned for Summer is Hot and So Are You Issue #2 hitting newsstandsWordPress Readers (ha ha, no.) inboxes next week! I don’t know exactly what that means yet, but not because you’re not HOT, but because there’s SO MUCH OF YOUR HOTNESS to pick from! Wooo!
Please shower these lovely ladies with attention and compliments in the comments section below, and/or let us all know what else we should be checking out in the blogosphere! I know you will, because you’re amazing like that.