Poodles

There I was last Saturday, sitting at home and minding my own business, trying to forget the horrific cocktails we drank the night before (note to self, never drink a cocktail with the name Tasty Facial – It might sound yummy with it’s combination of Kiwi, Cucumber and Vodka, but it’s just naaaasty) using the internets and going on the Google when Nik phoned me in a panic wanting to know how fast I could be ready and get myself over to Marco’s house. Nik obviously has no respect for someone trying to get their Google on and so 30 minutes later, there I was as packed and ready to go, watching Nik and Marco take their own sweet time getting ready as if I had nothing better to do.

The reason for the packed bag was that Marco, Nik and I were going to make like Bing Crosby, Bob Hope and Dorothy Lamour and go on a road trip. We weren’t going anywhere near as exciting as Singapore, Zanzibar, Morocco, Utopia, Rio, Bali or Hong Kong, but the trip was sure to be filled with the required musical numbers, bad jokes and the occasional insult hurled about the car. After piling into the car, Nik behind the wheel, Marco in the passenger seat and me shoved in the back like some disobedient child, we pointed the car toward the French Riviera and were on our way. Of course, we weren’t going all the way to the Riviera, we were only going as far south as Brussels, but you know how I like to indulge my little fantasy life. Sometimes it’s the only life I seem to have, so I try to make the most of it and upholster it in as much crushed velvet and chintz as possible.

Nik is one of those people who drive and dance at the same time and he seems to have a weak spot for Whitney and Pink remixes. Who can blame him? Nik has about the same amount of rhythm as the former Mrs. Bobby Brown and just about as much attitude. He is a true Divo. Divo with a capital D! Thank you Jesus! Yes! Marco slept most of the way and I tried to get my Sudoku going in the backseat while waiting for the in-flight movie and beverage service, but there was so much turbulence on the road that I finally gave up and joined Nik in a variety of hand movements that turned the heads of many and we could feel the looks of envy and amazement directed at us.

Before long we were making our final approach into the capital of Europe and the car barely came to a slow crawl when Marco opened the door and shoved me out of the car, threw my hand luggage at me and yelled at Nik to step on it. Fortunately for me, Joe was at home using the Google and he provided me with a roof over my head, an alcoholic beverage for my hand and some Moma Roma pizza to calm the hunger pains. Nik and Marco refused to let me have any food even though they ate Pringles and chocolate chip cookies all the way down, occasionally letting me smell the empty tins while they laughed their evil laughs and so I arrived at Joes faint from my recent nutritional deficiencies.

Once I was properly nourished and cocktailed, it was time to get serious and head out for some fun. Joe and I met up with Marco, Nik, Karim and Alba who had all been to a supposedly fabulous dinner to which Joe and I were not invited. Thanks guys and girl. Next time I see Karim, I will be sure to rest my knife between the tines of my fork. It wasn’t long before my evening took a strange and bizarre turn.

Karim and Joe dragged (no pun intended) to Chez Maman, where they do what I can only describe here as horribly bad drag. But, it can be fun to see just how bad bad drag can be. I was so unprepared I almost went into shock. First up was some man/woman/thing with too much foundation and an unkempt wig made for some bad polyester. He/she/it was trying to lip-sync to some Sophia Loren type song... And not once, but twice and without a pause. They just put the CD on repeat and there she went again. Then we had a potato of a man in a silver moo-moo. Even Elizabeth Taylor can’t make a moo-moo look glamorous when she has a 20 carat diamond hanging around her neck, but that point was obviously lost on the entertainer who decided to wow the crowd with his version of “Il Venait Davoir 18 Ans”. He was too old for that song, by a few times but that didn’t stop the multiple performances. Next time, I think he should wear his rouge on his cheeks and not his jaw line. Suddenly it was all so quiet, it was oh so still and I felt alone and it was so peaceful until some skinny little thing with messy hair and pink combat boots stood atop the bar and worked the crowd with her performance to “It's oh so quiet” and I quickly realized that I would be hard pressed to find something worse than a bad Bjork. If there had been a dead swan lying about, I would have used it to knock her off the bar.

Finally Sunday arrived and it was time for church, or brunch as we call it in our little circle and so we congregated at Tea and Eat for yet another round of fabulous dishes and a discussion of the pressing issues of the day. It became painfully clear last weekend that for this Christmas season, poodles are the new reindeer and I would even go so far as to say that poodles are the new plastic pink flamingo for the discriminating trailer-park dweller. There were poodles everywhere and in assorted colors and ready for a variety of uses. Bags, belts, shirts, shower curtains, clocks and on and on. I just hope this doesn’t mean the re-popularisation of the poodle perm that so many women felt necessary to walk around with in the 70’s. It was scary enough the first time around...