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Last night, girls night, we went to a bar called Dan's in Walnut Creek.  (I call this place The Scene of The Crime, but that's a story for another day.)  We managed to secure ourselves a table so we'd have somewhere to sit when we needed a break from dancing.  During one such break, a stumbly drunk red headed dude approached our table.  He introduced himself, asked our names and shook our hands.  His girlfriend was standing a few feet away and struck up a conversation with me.

Girlfriend:  Sorry.  He's so drunk!
Me:  Oh, no worries.
Girlfriend:  Hey, your hair is amazing!  It's red, right?  Sorry, it's dark in here.
Me:  Yes, it is, thank you!
Girlfriend:  He's (referring to her boyfriend, the stumbly drunk) the first ginger I've ever had.  We've been together 2 1/2 years.  We LOVE redheads!
Me (inner monologue on account of the speechlessness): Wait, what?
Me (out loud):  It's self inflicted, I dye it.
Girlfriend:  It's beautiful!
Me:  Thanks.
Girlfriend:  I don't want to sound weird, but you have a great rack!
Me: Oh, uh, haha, thanks, that's just Victoria's Secret!
Girlfriend:  Hey, me too!

At this point she says something to her ginger boyfriend and he introduces himself to me - again -  and shakes my hand - again.  I say, "We already met!"  He just stares at me blankly, still shaking my hand.  And I'm pretty sure the girlfriend is playing with my hair.  Yep, she's playing with my hair!  And he just smelled my hair!  I do my best to ignore all of that and with my free hand, pull my caged hand out of the ginger's and swap it with the girlfriend's free hand.  So now they're holding hands and she has stopped playing with my hair.  Then they leave.

I turn to my friends who all say some version of, "What the hell was that?!"  I relay the conversation I had with the girlfriend and say, "Um, I think they wanted to have sex with me!"  They never actually asked, but I'm thinking when I took my hand away and put their two hands together, instead of, I don't know, wrapping their hands around mine threesome style, it must have been the international sign for, "No, I do not want to have sex with you, couple."

Take note.  It could happen to you.

Grandmas say the darndest things: another batch of crazy

Grandma got some tests done and it's official: she has frontal lobe dementia.  Apparently it's a pretty difficult form of dementia and often times the "signs" aren't recognized for many years.  In other words, before you call your grandma a bat-shit crazy bitch, take her to have her brain x-rayed.  Or whatever it is they do.  Anyway, here are some more of the stories she's made up:

The house she's living in is going to be divided into 2 pieces (no, it's not).  In one half will be the old people who can't take care of themselves, you know, the kind that need help walking and wiping their own ass (people like her). In the other half will be my sister's ex-ex-boyfriend and a few of his police officer buddies, because they're going to help take care of said old people.  Not her, of course, she's going to have to move out because...wait for it...she's getting married!

Yep, she and Laurie (if you recall, Laurie is her first love and the 90-something year old man I'm trying to steal from her) are getting married!  When, you ask?  Well, when is the party?  What party, you ask?  The one my mom is throwing for her (she's not throwing a party for her) on Sunday, that's what the party is for, after all!  (Hey mom, remember that mystery party you're throwing for grandma?  It's her wedding!  You're gonna have a new daddy!  It's important that you remember that just because she loves Laurie, it doesn't mean she doesn't still love you).  Which Sunday, you ask?  She doesn't know, it's whatever Sunday comes after she moves out of the house (you know, after it gets divided into 2 pieces.  You gotta remember the details if you're gonna keep up.  If you're having trouble remembering the details you might want to have you brain x-rayed.  If this conversation made you dizzy, welcome to our world).

My favorite new story of hers is, of course, about The Ex.  You see, The Ex has been chanting my name in the middle of the night (possible, but not likely) and his new wife didn't take too kindly to that behavior, so...she shot him.  Now, I'm not saying that my Grandma's stories are premonitions, but she has always been a little clairvoyant.  Just sayin'.

The ugly, lame, cliche dork date

            A few months ago I went on my first date in a long time.  If you haven’t heard of a free and popular dating website called Plenty of Fish, then you’re not missing anything.  I have found all manner of freaks, weirdoes, (this is how spell check wants me to spell weirdos), perverts and yes, one time, a vampire on this site.  I mean; this pool of fish has been seriously peed in.

            So when a seemingly normal, human guy emails me, I tend to give him a few moments of my attention out of pure suspicion.  I inspect his profile for grammar errors and douchbaggery, rifle through his photos waiting to find pictures of his dog, truck, boat, partial profiles of ex-girlfriends’ faces that have been poorly cropped out, and, of course, the obligatory jet ski photo that I think every guy has stolen from somewhere on the internet.

            I’m not sure who these guys think they’re fooling with these pictures.  It’s like, here’s a picture of my dog because I’m sensitive, here’s a picture of my truck because I’m macho, here’s a picture of all the cool places I’ve been because I’m well rounded, here’s a picture of me rock climbing because I’m adventurous, and here’s one tiny picture of my face 50 feet away because, well, I’m ugly.  Guys, just so you know, that’s what you’re telling us with those 11 annoying pictures of landscapes.

            But I digress.

            The seemingly normal guy was very nerdy looking.  Typically, after one look, I would ignore his email and log out.  But he had seen me at a piano bar and then recognized me on the site.  I didn’t remember seeing him at all (which was probably my first warning) but I loved the idea that someone had noticed me that I hadn’t noticed and then found me on a dating site and couldn’t pass up his chance to meet me a second time.  It was all very Nicholas Sparks.  So I let the voices in my head (thanks mom and sisters) that say stupid stuff like, “people get better looking when you get to know them, he could have a great personality, you need to give the guy a chance,” rule my decision to respond and agree to meet him in real life.  Letting those voices have a say should have been my second warning and seen as a sign of desperation.  I learned years ago after my very first post-divorce date that one should never go on a date just to go on a date but, unfortunately, I have a loud family and their three voices drowned out my one.

            We agreed to meet at a wine bar.  Casual.  Not as big a commitment as dinner, but not as lame as coffee (I don’t consider coffee to be a date, anyway.  Buy me a real drink, jackass).  I kept trying to forget that he wasn’t attractive at all in his pictures and telling myself that maybe he’s just not photogenic.  Partly because it made me feel superficial to care so much about what he looked like and partly because…well, let’s be honest, I just didn’t want to feel superficial; regardless of whether or not I was slash am.

            As soon as I walked in the door I wanted to run back out.  He was uglier (apparently spell check doesn’t recognize that as a word) than his pictures and nerdy had changed to dorky.  Nerdy can be cute, sometimes sexy, because nerds are smart.  Even geeks, with their real life video game battles have potential when they’re in costume, but dorks are just…dorks!  There’s no helping them.

            I didn’t run away.  He could see me.  I may be an asshole, but I do my best to limit my assholish acts to those I could stand having done back to me.  I would never want someone to take one look at me and run while in my path of vision.  So I powered through.  As I walked up to him he got up from his seat, flung one arm out for a half hug and said, “Happy hump day!”  I wanted to punch myself in the face.  Why had I agreed to this stupid date!  You know why?  Because I’m a lunatic!  When I hadn’t been on a date in several months and was feeling desperately low and insecure, I let the voices talk me into this date when I knew it was a bad idea.  Now that I was on the date, I was highly overconfident and couldn’t stop wondering how someone as beautiful and overall fantastic as I could be on a date with such an ugly, lame, cliché dork.  Yeah, I like to call it “passionate” not “crazy.”

            He continued to dig himself deeper by saying stupid shit, like, “I thought the Lollipop Guild was a club in San Francisco for midgets.”  Yes.  He actually said those words.  I was flabbergasted; caught between hoping he was messing with me and scared that he wasn’t.  My response went something like this, “You…the...what?...that’s…it’s…the Lollipop Guild is from The Wizard of Oz!  And I don’t think you’re supposed to say midget.”  I don’t know what my face was doing during this stammer but I don’t have a very good poker face, so it couldn’t have been kind.  He said, “Well, I know that now because I actually offended someone once asking if it was a club in San Francisco.”  Oh.  My.  Gosh.  I may have said that, I may have just stared at him like he was an idiot.  I may have done both.  Sometimes I have no filter and sometimes I’m shocked into silence.  Finally, I just laughed at him and then apologized for laughing at him and he said, “No, you should be laughing, it’s funny, that’s why I told you.”  That was when I knew he wasn’t messing with me - he didn’t realize that I was laughing at him, not with him.

            It didn’t get any better after that and I managed to get out of the date early (I scheduled the date before dance class so I had an excuse to leave if it sucked. Which it did.  I’m a genius.  You can learn a lot from me).  I didn’t let him pay for my champagne flight or walk me to my car and he was wise enough not to call me ever again.

            Later, when I told my sister the story, I said, “He just kept saying stupid, annoying shit like,

            “What’s your gig?” 

            “Um, my gig?” 

            “Yeah, what do you do?” 

            “Oh.  I have a really dumb job, I’m a receptionist.” 

            “That’s not a dumb job, I’m a babysitter.” 

            “You’re a babysitter?” 

            “Yeah, I babysit all the salespeople who work under me.”  

You know, because he’s so important that he has people who work under him.  Way to work that into the conversation.  I seriously think guys only ask us what we do so they can tell us what they do.  But anyway, I just kept looking at him and thinking, all the shit you’re saying maybe wouldn’t sound so stupid and annoying, might even sound cute and funny, if you had a different face.  Ya know, just get a different face?”

            And that is the ugly truth, my friends.  Pun intended.

Chapter 24, or The Lovely Liotta

            My name change had gone through almost exactly a year after The Ex left [June 2009], so I felt that such auspicious timing should be rewarded with a party.  Are you shocked?  I had what I called my Name Change Party (there’s no such thing as a bad party title).   I sent out an Evite saying this:

Hello, my name is Jen Liotta.  Would you like to come to my party and meet the new me?  I'll have snacks and drinks, games, karaoke, or we can go bar hopping if that tickles your fancy (we have bars in Chino Hills now!).  Whatever we do it'll be awesome because I'm a Liotta again!

I went to Costco and Bevmo to get snacks and mixers for cocktails.  My plan was to name everything after me (an all about me party, I’m a genius).  I put place cards by all the appetizers.  I had pesto and liotta Brie, chipotle liotta mini tacos, beef and cheese quesadiliottas, and sweet liotta cakes.  I made two signature cocktails, one that represented me and one that represented The Ex.  For his drink I wanted to make some version of an Adios Mother Fucker.  Appropriate, no?  I called it the Death to The Ex.  And for my drink I wanted something dainty and delicious, just like me (what, I don’t come across as dainty?).  I called it the Lovely Liotta.

            The day of the party I sent an email to everyone I knew saying this:

Okay family and friends, I finally got myself a new email address!  Drum roll please.........

                disneylady78@gmail.com

     No more lame “The Ex” email address, and the Name Change Party is tonight!!!  Featuring two drinks: The Lovely Liotta, and the Death to The Ex!  Don’t be jealous that I’m totally creative.

     If you want to send me an email telling me how awesome you think I am, please do not reply to this one.  Use the fantastic new address above!

xoxo,

Jen LIOTTA

My dad responded with this:  

Awesome party drink names.  What is in them?  Let me suggest that the Lovely Liotta be a sweet, tasty, and caring drink that will make you feel good, while the Death to The Ex should be just fun enough to try, containing the latest mix of rebellious booze that will leave its taste in you for several years, and then suddenly leave without reason.  Love you, Dad.

I almost peed my pants laughing.  I decided to write those descriptions on note cards and place them in front of the punch bowls.  The description of the Death to The Ex was the hit of the party.

I made my friends in attendance wear name tags that said, “Hello, my name is” and then their first name followed by my last name.  Midway through the party I made them all take out their cell phones and change my last name.  Then it was time to play games.  We broke out the Wii and everyone laughed at me while I kicked ass at Dance Dance Revolution.  I guess I looked funny Dance Dancing in a dress, but not as funny as I looked playing Twister in a dress.  I tried to go change into shorts but my friends would not have that.  They were like hell no, you’re playing in that dress and we’re going to take pictures.  So I was like, fine.  They’re the ones that had to stare at my fat ass.

                              In case you can't tell, my ass is in my friend's face.  Ha to the ha.

          I am thankful to my friends for celebrating my new slash old name like they were ringing in a new year.

Annoying encounters: 2

I had a date night with my sister recently and towards the end of the evening I got hit on.  She went to the bathroom and a man who looked about 70 years old (I'll admit he couldn't have been 70, but he looked a lot older than my dad, who is 64) took her seat.

Me:  (Practically throwing myself on her chair before he can) Oh, sorry, this seat is taken.

Old Man:  (As he sits in the chair) It's okay, don't panic.

Me:  (With a slightly annoyed smile) My sister is sitting there, see - this is her stuff, she's just in the bathroom.

Old Man:  (Not deterred) I know, I saw her go to the bathroom.  That's why I came over here to talk to you.  I had to tell you, I think you're beautiful.

Me:  I think you look like my grandpa!

Old Man:  (laughing)  I probably do!

Me:  And you smell like him, too!  What is it about old dudes that they all smell the same?

Old Man:  Well, if you can smell it, that's a good thing!

Me:  (What the fuck does that mean?)  Uh, ha ha ha.

Old Man:  Don't worry, I'm harmless.

Me:  (laughing) Oh, I'm pretty sure I could take you down like that (snap my fingers)!

Old Man:  (returned laughter) My 83 year old mother could take me down like that!

Me:  (courtesy laughter while hoping we're finally done)  Oh, there's my sister!  Nice meeting you.

He could've walked by, tapped me on the shoulder, said, "Hey, you're beautiful" and then went on his way like sweet old men do, but he actually waited for my sister to leave and then sat down and made himself comfortable!  A behavior more suited to creepy old men.  He had balls, though.  Gotta give him that.

Grandmas say the darndest things

So, my grandma has officially lost her marbles.  She has left the building.  Literally, in fact, because she now requires 24 hour care.  She poops almost uncontrollably, talks to people who aren't there (and some who don't actually exist) and has been diagnosed with the big D - Dementia.  Being the kind of person who would rather look for the funny than dwell on the sad, I'd like to highlight some of her more humorous rantings.

Here are some of the ideas Grandma has gotten into her head lately:

1.  My sisters are having a double wedding (one sister is engaged, one is single - Grandma didn't tell us who the single sister is marrying and I'm sure said sister would like to know).
2.  My older sister is pregnant (she's not so much pregnant as she is NOT pregnant).
3.  My dad died.  He had heart surgery and didn't make it (he's alive and kicking so, naturally, now we tease him about his tiny dried up little heart).
4.  (And this is the best one) The Ex died and I needed to make money so I moved to LA and became a prostitute (To semi-quote Chelsea Handler: I'm not a prostitute - I don't charge people!).  And as if that wasn't enough?
              4a.  I brought my sister's ex-boyfriend with me to LA because he needed to make money, too.
              4b.  I am trying to steal her boyfriend.  She's been talking a lot about her first love (one day my uncle found her with a packed suitcase and when he asked where she was going, she said, "Laurie is coming to pick me up.  We're going to Vegas."  Did I mention that she's 92 years old?) so once, when I was visiting her, I asked for his last name and suggested we look him up and find him (the Nicholas Sparks romantic in me wanted to see her reunited with her first love 70 or so years later), to which she responded, "Oh, he's here.  He could be under this table right now, but no one will bring him to me."  Then, after I left, she told my aunt, "That Jennifer Liotta, she's after Laurie."  (Well, I am in the market for a man in his 90s.)

I read something somewhere that said, statistically, a husband will die six to 18 months after his wife dies.  I couldn't find anything that said how long a wife would survive after the death of her husband, but my Grandpa died 10 years ago and Grams is still kicking and screaming.  Literally.  She told one of the nurses (who she thinks is her maid/butler/cook), "I'm going to tell my son to fire you!  I don't need you here and if you don't leave me alone I'm gonna punch you in the face!"  Can you blame her?  It's so hard to find good help to wipe your ass these days.

Dumb Detox, Day 28!

I did it!  28 days no refined sugar, no gluten, no red meat, no dairy, no ALCOHOL!

At work today, people kept asking me what I'm going to do now.  As if I just won the Superbowl.  I don't plan on changing much dietary-wise.  But come Friday night, I am retoxing cocktail-wise.  

With the exception of Parmesan withdrawals the first couple times I ate rice pasta and the high probability of eating my own arm if I hadn't gotten to eat chicken when I did, I really didn't have any cravings.  I put all my forbidden foods on the top shelf of my refrigerator with the intent to take them to my parent's house.  Of course, my lazy ass never ended up doing that, so it all just sat there.  Eggs, four different kinds of cheese, 9 grain sourdough bread, turkey bacon...and I never even noticed them!  Never got tempted.  My hippie sister says it's because eating the foods causes the cravings - so if you don't eat them, your brain no longer thinks it wants them.  

I was told a long time ago (by one of those emails my mom forwarded to me) that if you're craving chocolate it means your body needs Magnesium, so you should eat an apple instead.  I was like, yeah, my body may want magnesium, but my mouth wants chocolate.  And you know what doesn't taste like chocolate?  A fucking apple!  My hippie sister laughed at me when I told her that I haven't craved chocolate at all during this 28 day process and, coincidentally, I have been eating apples on the regular. 

I ate quite often, filled up fast, found I wasn't as hungry as usual and lost 9 pounds total.  Hippie sister was like, "Isn't it amazing how different your body reacts when you give it food it can actually digest?"  Alright, I think I've rebelled long enough.  There might be something to this healthy eating business.

Here are some dumb lessons I learned on this dumb detox:

1.  You do have to drink to have fun - if  you go to a bar.
2.  You'd be surprised the things you can do - or not do - when you're afraid your hippie sister is going to get even more skinny than you.
3.  Detoxing makes you poop a lot.  And I already poop a lot.
4.  After being miserably bloated, you do get that burst of energy that people talk about - and it turns you into an asshole who says the kind of annoying, positive, motivational shit you used to enjoy making fun of.
5.  Rice bread tastes like cake...if cake tastes like cardboard.

28 down, 0 to go!

Thanks for taking this journey with me!  I hope you enjoyed a few cocktails while reading.