Monday, January 30, 2012

Big Red's last date is full of holes.

We recently had the opportunity to spend a day with 18 men from the Metro SWAT unit - and it totally did NOT suck. Upon our arrival we were introduced to the top weapons used by Metro for special ops jobs. We were allowed to touch and explore at our leisure. And then they actually let us handle their arsenal of munitions too, but only after careful placement of the necessary protective gear.

We had the pleasure of feeling the full power of open-fire with, pardon the highly technical terms, M-something's, MP-somethings, automatics, semi-automatics and my particular favorite - the Sniper rifle. Oh yeah baby. Normally it is Big Red who excels at any activity in the horizontal position, but this is where I'm afraid I realized I have a future if this lobbying thing doesn't work out.

As I took my stance to annihilate my ink-drawn silhouette PERP (Yeah I've got the lingo down) with one of the aforementioned weapons - some crazy woman to my left was screaming maniacally as her shells were flying past me. You guessed it - Big Red was in her element, and the only thing missing after her satisfactory aerobic exercise in domination, was the post euphoric drag of a cigarette - but she doesn't smoke. It's funny this is the first guy she's been somewhat close to in a while (albeit cardboard) and he's riddled with bullet holes after their first date.

Our limo for the day was an enormous armored truck affectionately name Bear, which has no resemblance to the paddywagons you may fondly remember from the nostalgic days of being escorted to Juvi from that raging Kegger-party. Nope this Boulder on wheels means business. It was a liberating experience to finally ride in a law enforcement vehicle sans handcuffs. Just kidding, Big Red and I have actually once before been in a police car without handcuffs - thank you Miami. What? He wanted to buy us a Cuban sandwich.

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Monday, January 9, 2012

When President Clinton speaks - I simply wonder what I'll be having for breakfast.

I'm here to tell you, when President Clinton talks, people listen. And I know this shouldn't be of any shock to anyone, except - I watched an over-packed room of intelligent societal figures breathlessly attentive to him, although they hadn't the faintest idea what he was saying.

At one point I glanced over at Big Red. And I had really tried to avoid eye contact with her during this painstaking journey through G-Nomes; sub atomic particles; and measuring light like a GPS, because I was convinced her head had surely exploded already, and I was not in the mood to clean up a mess.

So what I witnessed was the following, not only from Big Red, but from 99 percent of the people in the audience. Think of the times when your dog is looking up at you as you speak to him. And he stares at you in wonderment, ears perked up - turning his head to and fro - hanging on every word, while waiting for you to say anything he understands. "Wait, did she say ball, I think she said ball." "OMG I think she said Go for a walk, Walk?" "Snack? she said snack." And tail wagging commences once rewarded with a familiar phrase.

So needless to say, the only actual wagging at this event were the tongues of every woman who had that doe-eyed puppy dog look as they gazed into the President's eyes, knowing he would single them out to reward them with a word they might understand, "Treat?"

Don't get me wrong. I totally get the presence he commands when he enters a room; and his energy is all encompassing. But the moment he started talking of a parallel universe - my mind wandered to what I'd be eating for breakfast in the morning.

I would be remiss if I didn't tell you, the President sat a mere 16 inches from me (we were back to back) while other people were on stage talking about subject matter I actually understood.

However, in between Big Red and me was the President's carefully placed Secret Service Agent. Yes, we were in a 10,000 square foot ballroom, yet the staff thought it prudent to place the President's security detail practically in our laps. They will rethink such positioning next time, because as it turns out - we might be a little distracting.

(Big Red and Secret Service dude)

We were made aware of this when one of the President's Aides stopped by our table to ask the Agent if he was going to flirt all night or protect the President. Who knew he had a choice? I thought that was very liberal of them. Apparently in our effort to make the Agent feel at home - he was remiss in blocking a throng of people accosting the President during his Vegetarian delight.

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Sunday, January 1, 2012

Chaz Palmenteri is not invited to Cabo with us.

Well it is a new year and once again I have to start it with the threat of a Cabo trip encompassing a gaggle of girls. You see, I will hit a milestone in February of the ever-so-grand age of FIFTY. Yes you read that right. I'm on the other side of the mountain now.

I will be accompanied by a Diva wrapping her head around the thought of SIXTY. And then there is Big Red, who'll (Yaaawwwn) be kicking her tires to Forty-nine. Whatever. Did you read the part where I'll be FIFTY? And we'll have some tots in tow which include BFF, Blondie and New Mexico.

(To the left is 5 of the 6 heading south with the exception of Chaz Palmenteri)

So for this trip BR and I haven't agreed upon anything except a flight schedule, but I was considering tiptoeing around the thought of curtailing our lunching, dining, and liquid consumption to a manageable three days a week.

(Couldn't leave BFF out of the photos to the right)

What? That's 3/7ths of what we do now. That could be an enormous impact. All you math wizzes can reduce that 3/7ths to some sort of recognizable fraction I'm sure. I would..... but I can't.

So more importantly, BR and I have a mission in mid-January for SWAT training, which we have to prepare our vessels for - even if for nothing more than honing our flirting skills for our lengthy time with our HOT instructors. We're not very smart - so this could take hours.

Afterall, BR and I both have untarnished records for saving lives in Mexico. That's right we're each one-for-one, which equals two lives saved. I was always pretty good at the problem solving math. Anyway, it could happen again.

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