Monday, September 7, 2009
My dad can fling the bull quite well. This little piece of trophy is now in his garden as a warning to snails and other pests in his garden...we fling more than poo in this yard. It was a Toastmaster trophy he won. I so remember him going to Toastmaster meetings. Although in my little kid mind, why on earth would someone voluntarily speak in front of a bunch of people.
The gift of gab runs in my family. It merrily skipped right over me. Being a PTA president in one of my past lives, I learned how to do it without as much quavering in my voice, but I cannot improvise and be quick on my feet so to speak. (hee, hee.) I am a heckler's dream. Both my daughters have no problem being in front of a crowd speaking or performing. Teddy Bear truly has the gift...being that she takes after her grandpa and her dad with his gift of Blarney. (So nice to be half Irish and half Mexican. I think manana translates in both countries.)
The only gift of gab I have is sitting around with friends and shooting the shit. And last night, to my BB's great consternation, we did just that. We went to BB and JuJuBeez's friend's house, Mz. Shrink Lady and the Gadget Master and they had another friend over, JD, who works with them. Yes, a lady geek. All three of them pull out their iPhone faster than a flasher can whip it out.
I truly need to start taking notes because for the life of me I cannot remember how we went from one subject to another...although I seriously think the Gadget Master loves to egg us on. BB sat at the end of the table with his Dodger hat pulled way down and his iPhone up and his shoulders are probably permanently hunched in a shrug position trying to block out all sound.
JD mentioned that she had been to a spa and was waiting for her turn with another older couple. I guess when you wait for your massage, you wear a robe and are nekkid underneath. And Mr. Older Guy had a problem with robe etiquette. JD said his wife kept poking him to cover up, but JD sat across from them and she said that, yes, she could see old man junk. Okay, you cannot say something like that around Mz. Shrink Lady. She gets all wide eyed and you can totally see the gears and pulleys in her mind whirring away and lord help us. Did you look, she asks. Shrink Lady said she probably could not have turned her head away....like seeing a car wreck. JD said she tried to pretend she was relaxing in her chair with her head back and her eyes closed.
This somehow (like I said, margaritas are not conducive to good remembering) led to someone asking if I knew what a fruit basket was. Gullible gob strikes again. A fruit basket? You mean like from Harry and Davids? *sigh* No. No. As best as I can remember, it was a man bending over and his hanging bits are a banana and nuts in a basket. Oh. my. god. I told her it could be worse. He could have wanted tea with his fruit basket.
Then little Mz. Shrink Lady asks when you go to the doc to ride the silver spurs, do you pretty yourself up some? Which led to her asking do you shave or wax? (Only later did Gadget Master bring up the manscape aspect of the whole conversation. dang.) JD said she waxes which led to all of us asking what that was like. She told us that her waxer person said the best thing a lady can do is make sure her feet smell clean. Her feet? Am I missing something here? Well, apparently most lady peoples are pretty good about showing up for a waxing with clean lady bits, but I guess since you have to fling your leg back and practically have your leg on their shoulder, so clean smelling tootsies are good waxing etiquette. You learn something new every day.
I hesitate to mention where the rest of the conversation went...you know that line, the imaginary line of what you should or should not say? Well, Mz. Shrink Lady and JuJuBeez, and now apparently JD, have no problem leaping right over that line skipping into no man's land. Well, Gadget Master seemed to have no problem keeping up.
Can you believe that we actually were there to watch the Padres and Dodgers' game? I'm not sure what base we made it to last night. No, I mean how well we scored. No, no, I mean who beat who?
Posted by Happy Hour...Somewhere at 11:26 AM