...U.A.F.

I never knew the reality of flabby old lady arms until I got them in my 29th year. Some call it U.A.F. (Under Arm Flab), but we prefer: "Charms, Charms, Hamhock Arms."

I'm going to move into the gym, but not until I've finished my 2nd frozen pomegranate margarita on this gorge summer day. Wonder where I get that flab??

...Sophisticated Madam

You know you've had a fun night when 4 tables surrounding you ask to be moved, you have ordered 3 rounds of dinner, and you have had so many muddled cucumber drinks that the entire restaurant has run out of cucumbers...

Recently had an amazing getaway weekend to Boston, which was much needed, given that NYC has been a gray, cloudy mess. Found out that Boston is also a gray, cloudy mess right now, but at least it's not NY.

This visit to Boston served as a creative rebirth of the blog--work has been too busy for me to have any sort of entertaining commentary. But, summer is on the way (apparently) and it is time to revive these posts. Thus, I present Boston Quote Wall Masterpiece Theatre. I dare say it is the quote wall to end all quote walls, but I'll let you be the judge of that. (Editor's Notes appear in parentheses)

Curtain up on Eastern Standard restaurant (Manhattanites, think of a large-scale version of Balthazar)

Caroline tells us the tragicomic story of the Great Pumpkin Golf Cart--a brilliant idea for a Halloween DUI-proof transport vehicle. She was so excited to see it after work on Halloween and in order to explain that excitement, the only thing she could do was break out into song: "This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." Now imagine this being sung while swilling a cocktail, accompanied by a lovely grovelly voice. (I don't have a clue as to why anyone would want to change tables around us??)

Caroline tells us of how she tried to smuggle some booze into a party: "We wrapped it in swaddling clothes and laid it in a manger." (She is re-writing the New Testament, one booze-filled Bible passage at a time.)

Still on fire from her excellent Halloween tales, Caroline explains her penchant for the same costumes: "For Halloween, I'm either Peg Bundy or Cher because it's an easy transition. Not much more needed to complete the look."

A few of the ladies at our table get up to smoke on the sidewalk and strike up a convo with some guys. The following ensues:

Sabrina laughs at something and snorts. "Yes, I'm a snorter. Wait. A lazy breather." (Good save)

Sabrina asks one of the guys: "You win $700 if you know what a FUPA is."
Guy: "Fat Upper P*$$% Area."
Barbara Jean: "Oh wait, you mean a Gunt?"
Sabrina adds: "It's also a toolshed. But you have to lift the shed to get to the tool." (Clearly the cocktails are a flowin' by this point in the evening.)

Sabrina and Barbara Jean don't like this guy and come storming back to the table to tell us about him:
Barbara Jean: "I want to go and find that man. He needs to be blanket beaten."
All of us: "Blanket beaten seems a little harsh!"
Barbara Jean: "I was folded into a pull-out couch as a child, and you wonder why I want to blanket beat people??" (Barbara Jean is clearly the youngest of 5.)

The saga of Jason Bourne (Barbara Jean's alter-ego) is told at the table:
Caroline: "All I get is a phone call from Barbara Jean, who says: 'I have left the venue.'"
Barbara Jean: "I knew I needed to get out of the venue, so I left and went to the diviest bar in all of Boston." (This evening also included Barbara Jean's husband carrying her down the hotel's hallway fireman style--slung over his shoulder--and Barbara Jean helping her friend throw keys into the harbor after the friend had dumped her boyfriend. Unfortunately, one of those keys was her own house key...)

Caroline brings us back to present day and professes how much she loves Barbara Jean (now known as Jason Bourne): "I'd give you my kidney, Jason. I'd cut it out and hand it to you and wouldn't even cry."

Barbara Jean (with Caroline's commentary) relates the story of Fluffy, the now-dead cat:
BJ: "So, the dog killed the cat."
Caroline: "The dog was working for the Third Reich. It was a German Shepard and Pit Bull mix. It's a total Michael Vick scenario. He killed our cat--Winner Winner, Siamese Dinner!"
BJ: "But it was really the children who killed the cat by letting it out. So I told them, 'You children killed the cat.' It was their verbal blanket beating. I made the children go to the viewing of the cat and then no one could eat because we're all nauseous. We have to double-bag the cat to bury it. But we can't tell the neighbors that my children killed the cat because they'd kill our dog (Caroline chimes in: "That belongs to the Third Reich"). So rather than bury the cat, we have to hide the evidence: 'The cat's in the Charles, son. The cat's in the Charles.'"

Caroline recounts her daughter's brief sojourn in the military.
BJ's advice: "When you go off to war, when in doubt, tuck and roll."
Caroline describes just how brief the military stint lasted: "She comes back from the war after nine days. She was 'Johnny-We-Hardly-Knew-Ye' not 'Johnny-Comes-Marching-Home'"

Sabrina and Tiff stay out later than the rest of us, like true champions, and wind up having some drinks with some rather young guys at the bar. In the middle of one of the guys talking to Sabrina, she says "Ummm...you can continue talking but I really can't concentrate while you are wearing that pinky ring."

Sabrina and I go out to bars unchaperoned on Saturday night and start heckling some guy whose opening line was, "What's the longest relationship you've been in?" I refuse to let him live it down. Before he heads to the bathroom he says to Sabrina and I: "Wow. I really can't decide which one of you I want to make out with." (Touche!)

I left my coat in the closet of our hotel room and called to have them leave it at the front desk. Room is under Sabrina's name, which provides a very awkward encounter between me and the bellman:

Me: "I think you have my coat?"

Bellman: "What name is it under?"

Me: "Sabrina"

Bellman: "Are you Sabrina?"

Me: "Yes."

Bellman: "Can I see some ID?"

Me: "I'm not Sabrina."

Curtain.