What Did I Say?

It has happened on occasion (ok, on LOTS of occasions) that I get so frustrated/angry/hurt/whatever emotion that I can’t string together appropriate words in order to convey what I’m feeling.

I’m not talking about being at a loss for words or unable to find one that truly conveys what I’m feeling. I’m talking about those moments when you’re outside doing yardwork and unwittingly disturb a nest full of baby yellow jackets. Unsure of what has happened, only that you are being stung in all kinds of places simultaneously while your husband yells, “Don’t go inside! They’re all over your back!” Of course, you take off your shirt in the middle of the yard while exclaiming something so creative that when you tell the story to others, the phrase becomes synonymous with yellow jackets. For me, that expression was “fucking dickhammers!”

Let me be clear – I’m unsure WHY those are the words that I chose in that moment. I suppose it’s sort of like stream of consciousness stuff and whatever comes out of your mouth is just that – whatever.

This morning, I was doing laundry. This is nothing new for me. The pile of clothes I was about to wash were the ones my hubs and I were wearing on Saturday when we did a ton of yardwork. They had sat there in a pile since we cleaned up where they fermented throughout the weekend. I leaned over to pick them up. The scent that entered my nostril as I brought them up to the washer can only be described as severe body odor mixed with fresh vomit. And yes, I uttered a unique combination of words, out loud, in front of my dog. “Oh my God, these smell like fuck.” Mind you, it smelled nothing like you’d expect sex to smell like, but that’s what I said and I’ll stand by it.

This got me thinking about how we tend to overuse expletives that are common and well-known. We’re lacking creativity in this area of our lives and we should really do something about it.

I’m certain it’s instances like this that have caused people to unite seemingly unrelated words, creating tried and true favorites such as douchecanoe and twatwaffle. I know in my worst (and best) moments, I’ve had some pretty creative things roll off of my tongue.

When I was younger “dicktoast” was a favorite. Why? I don’t know. It was born out of extreme anger about something a person did/said. I think I probably meant to just say “dickhead” but back in the day, when someone made you angry, you often retorted, “you’re toast!” and my brain just decided to combine the two.

Now, if you’re not like me and able to spout off strange combinations on the fly, there are books to help you get your creative juices flowing.

That one is available at Amazon. It’s a flip book so you can create new combinations just by turning one of the “pages”. So you might wind up with relatively safe phrases like “Sissy Sniffer” or if you’re feeling a little saucier, you might find that “Nut Sniffer” is more to your liking.

You could also do this yourself for virtually nothing. Just cut up a bunch of paper and on each piece, write common swear words. Throw them all into a bowl and pick one. Read it outloud. Pick another. Read that outloud. Now put the two together. Sure, you might end up with something completely odd that doesn’t work the way you’d like it to, such as “tit dick”, but keep that one in the back of your mind because that might be the next great insult. If you’d prefer to be more creative, put all of the inappropriate words into one bowl and regular nouns and verbs into the other. Now you can come up with things like “snatch face” or “titty sprinkler”. You get the idea.

As for me, I’m just going to keep on rolling with the phrases that come out of my mouth randomly. I’m sure some are bound to catch on outside of my circle of weiner jackets. I mean friends.

Now go out into the world and use your new creative language skills and see what happens! But whatever you do, try not to be a pube gobbler. No one likes that.

Adulthood – Two Cautionary Tales

There are three things in this world that seem magical and exciting to kids.  I’m not talking about Disney World, Santa Claus, or accidentally discovering porn on the internet.  Those things are all very age and belief structure dependent.  I’m talking about the time-honored milestones – becoming a teenager at 13, getting your driver’s license around 16, and finally becoming an adult at 18. All three are mired in excitement and expectation and when reality hits, there’s bound to be a healthy dose of disappointment. 

Turning 13 is a big deal as a kid.  You go from “tween” to “teen” overnight.  Depending on when you developed physically, the thrills they associate with becoming a teenager are something we wish our kids would understand – is not all it’s cracked up to be.  Sure, there’s the excitement of your first pube, or maybe a lone beard hair.  PG 13 movies are now deemed OK for you to watch by the Motion Picture Association of America!  You’re no longer a “child” but an “adolescent”.  You have certainly arrived!  Oh, but so have your hormones, mood swings, and the dreaded parental guidance.  Unsightly body hair, unpleasant odors, horrendous attitudes, and a lot more of the word “no” from your parents.  But hey!  You know what’s next?  In 3 short years, you’re going to be 16!

Ah yes, Sweet 16. High School!  Boys!  Girls!  Learning to drive!  Getting your license and, hopefully, your first car.  You’ve even got a sweet after school job, making your own money.  Nothing can stop you now!  Except for your parents and the crushing sense of dread that you STILL have to ask if you can stay out until 10.  Oh man, I bet you can’t wait until you’re 18 – a REAL adult. 

It finally comes – adulthood.  You can take yourself to a rated R movie in a theater now.  You can register to vote!  You can buy your own lottery tickets and get that tattoo you’ve always wanted.  You can legally change your name, buy your own fireworks, and handle your own medical decisions without any help or direction at all (except the federal government and your insurance company).  But that’s another subject for another time.

We all looked forward to this time in our lives when we’d finally get to spread our wings and fly – doing it our way, just like Laverne & Shirley.  How dumb were we?  We didn’t think about bills or health insurance, copays, grocery shopping, and all of the things that go with each.  Most of us had it pretty easy under our parent’s care, even if we didn’t see it that way at the time.  Because the total shit-show that is adulthood is not something you can ever prepare properly for.  It’s trial by fire and that whole wanting to do it all on your own isn’t as great as you expected it to be. 

Now, I am 52 years old (ALMOST 53) and I have a lot of experience as an adult.  I could regale you with tales of my first real job, my first time I bought a car from a dealer, moving, changing jobs, marriage, divorce, pregnancy, and raising a son to be an adult, and having a stepson who is a tween.  Perhaps in time I’ll move through those and share my experiences. 

But right now, I want to talk to you about how you can have the greatest plan in the world, but shit happens and you’re never going to be fully prepared for it.  There are two stories contained in this entry because one is something everyone can expect and one is something that you don’t expect.    

Story number one – car issues. 

I’ve owned quite a few cars in my life.  The first few were either obtained by my mom helping me or me reading the classified ads in the newspaper to find a car that I could actually afford without a loan or much help from my parents.  When I was finally in a position to not by that rusted out  ’76 Cutlas Supreme for $800, I ventured to an actual car dealer and found my ’92 Saturn.  I drove that for a few years, then went with a Dodge Stratus, followed by a Nissan Versa, and now I’ve got a Kia Sorrento.  Never mind that it’s virtually uninsurable because of the TikTok videos showing people how to steal it. 

When I bought the Kia, we worked out an amazing trade for my quickly dying Nissan Versa and we drove home in the Sorrento shortly after.  I think I had it about a year when those TikTok videos came out and there was a HUGE uptick in thefts. 

The cost of insurance started to go up, even though I never made a claim and my driving record was spotless.  Now, my cousin is my insurance agent (let me know if you’re looking for one) and she always shops the different companies for me to get the best deal.  What we have discovered is that my current insurance is one of the few who will even insure it.  Yes, I got the software update that supposedly makes it harder to steal, and we can put a club on it, and yadda yadda yadda.  However, those things don’t seem to matter to insurance companies.  I’m at the point where there’s really only one other company who WILL insure it, but the cost of the policy is astronomical compared to what I’ve got going on now.  The problem is that cost keeps rising based solely on the fact that it’s a 2018 Kia Sorrento.  It doesn’t matter where I live or how I don’t drive very much at all since working from home.  Much like a pitbull, it’s got a bad reputation and everyone with one gets screwed.  I also have a pitbull, but that’s not the point here. 

Currently, due to some issues with his truck, my husband (who shall remain nameless) and I are in the position of being a one vehicle household.  Now it’s not a HUGE deal – except that hunting season is coming up.  It’s a trip he’s taken a lot of time to plan as it will be my stepson’s first hunting trip with Dad.  It involves 2 separate weekends. The first he could alter the plan and just go up Saturday night/Sunday morning and return on Monday.  I have plans that Saturday to celebrate my mom’s life so he can’t have the car then. After that, I know enough people that if I truly needed something I could ask.  Plus, the bar is a short walk from my backyard so I could still socialize without a ride from anyone if needed. 

The second trip is the hard one.  The current plan was for him to leave after Thanksgiving lunch and return Sunday evening.  The thought of not having anything to drive Thursday afternoon to  Sunday evening is just too much for me.  While I can plot to get my grocery needs handled while he’s still in town, I’ll pretty much be home bound and dependent upon whoever I can reach if there’s a legitimate need during this time.  Not to mention, they’re boys and they’ll mess up my car because it’s a genetic thing, apparently. 

Until we figure it out, during the week he’ll take the Kia to work.  I don’t usually need it except for next Wednesday when I have to go get my mammogram.  The hiccups come in on days like today.  I need an ingredient for my white chicken chili that I didn’t include in my grocery shopping yesterday.  DAMN IT.  I could walk up to the local gas station, but I’m unsure they’ll have what I need (a can of northern beans for my white chicken chili).    So if anyone lives near me and has a can, would you be willing to bring it to me? 

My point? You’re going to run into car trouble. How you get out of it will remain a mystery until you actually do it, but you may have to suck it up and ask for help, even if you THOUGHT you were prepared.

Story #2

Because of my health issues, I’m on a blood thinner (rat poison) for the rest of my life.  I also started down the road of basing a healthier diet on Weight Watchers.  These two are related, just wait for it.  For me, the easiest thing to do with Weight Watchers is to stick to eggs and/or fruit for breakfast, and a giant salad for lunch, leaving me almost all of my food points for dinner and the occasional beer or four. 

Leafy greens actually make your blood more likely to clot, which is fine as long as you eat them in consistent amounts.  If I run out of baby spinach and lettuce, my bloodwork that week is always out of whack.  Sure, I try to drink more beer (which thins the blood) on those weeks to even it out, but it’s not an exact science and the beer doesn’t fit neatly into my eating plan. 

The whole premise here is I buy a lot of fresh vegetables.  Often, they go bad before I use them all, so I’ve recently been doing some research on proper storage to make them last just an extra couple of days.  I’m still so confused by all of the recommendations, so I thought I’d try something I haven’t yet – fruit and vegetable storage containers. 

I know what you’re thinking – how does this translate to a cautionary tale about being an adult?  I’m going to explain that as efficiently as possible. 

So first, in my research I should either 1) leave romaine lettuce sealed up in an airtight bag or 2) leave romaine lettuce in the crisper drawer, set to high humidity, but not sealed tightly.   UMMMM

I should also either A) Store broccoli in a container with holes and NOT in the crisper drawer and don’t crowd it or B) Cut it up and seal it in an airtight container. 

On and on it goes for most of my vegetables:  Do not slice cucumber until ready to use vs. slice it up an put it in water in an airtight container.  Onions – eat the whole thing once you peel it otherwise it will poison you.  Don’t get me started on carrots, celery, or green onions.  Notice there’s no mention of cauliflower.  That’s because it’s evil and tastes like ass. 

So I go on Amazon and start looking around for storage solutions so I can read the reviews of people who have actually tried them.  THIS IS A MISTAKE.  Looking at the products and the photos that accompany them are really causing me a whole lot of anxiety.  And here is where my tale becomes cautionary. DO NOT JUDGE YOUR OWN LIFE BASED ON WHAT YOU SEE IN ADVERTISEMENTS.  Also, it’s OK to question people’s choices, but do so in a humorous, light hearted way that doesn’t destroy them. 

Submission #1

OK SO.  FIRST OF ALL it is apparent that my refrigerator is completely and utterly inadequate, at least in terms of space.  I would need to take out every shelf of my refrigerator to get this sucker in there.  I’m unsure what this person is doing with all of those carrots and heads of lettuce, but I have a lot of broccoli in my refrigerator on a regular basis, so I get whatever you kink is.  What I don’t fully understand is why are there steaks, unwrapped, in a drawer above vegetables?  That’s a recipe for disaster on so many levels. 

Submission #2

Again, my refrigerator isn’t up to these standards.  But I have to ask 4 questions:

1. Who partially shucks one ear of corn then just leaves it in the fridge all willy nilly?
2. Who leaves grapes just floating around inside of their refrigerator.  At least put them in a bag or a bowl, fool.
3. Why are you storing bananas in the refrigerator?  That’s weird.
4. At least they have the chocolate syrup where it belongs – top shelf, baby!  Honestly, I don’t think that goes with anything pictured, except the bananas, but you do you. 

Submission #3

This one is a bit more realistic.  Note how when they reorganized with the new containers, they just threw away anything that wasn’t a fruit or vegetable.  Yogurt? Gone!  Some type of packaged meals?  History!  At least they’re thawing out the meat in the fridge and not the counter. I can only assume that they cooked it.

With all of these, aside from my refrigerator being simply a standard sized one, I have a major problem.  1/3 of my refrigerator at any given time is used up by leftovers in Tupperware.  Another sizeable portion is condiments and 23 different types of BBQ sauce.  Those live mostly in the door shelving, so they’re not bothersome.  Another portion is beer/water/seltzers.  The top right mostly pickles of varying flavors and non-cheese dairy products.  Cheese and lunchmeat in the little drawer.  Most of my veggies are in the drawers at the bottom, except for the broccoli which goes wherever I find space for it.  I don’t really have fruit because while everyone wants me to buy apples and oranges, those same people won’t eat them so I just stopped. 

I wound up purchasing these, simply because the fridge in the photos most closely resembles mine in that it has more than just some vegetables taking up all of the space.

I’ll let you know how they work out, if I can just figure out which things should be in water, which I need the colanders for, and which are just going to wind up holding milkbones in my pantry so that Opie can have fresh snacks. 

I’ll work on my anxiety about the state of my refrigerator and eventually, I predict I will use none of these as intended long term.  Why?  Because while it’ll work out great right away, it’ll wind up being too much of a bother to keep on doing it. So I’ll give up and just do it the way I’ve always done it. Welcome to being an adult!

One For My Husband

Here’s what you need to know. 

1. When I say something I write is “FOR” someone, it does not mean it’s about them.  It generally denotes that I’ve got a story or two about them in whatever it is I’m writing and I want them to take note, look back, and maybe have a laugh.
    
2. My husband is a righteous dude.  Not in the ways that Noah was considered righteous in the Bible.  More like Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction righteous.  Or maybe Ferris Bueller.  Either/or he’s solid. 
   

I can’t stand it when someone who doesn’t know shit from shinola decides to get all up in my face about something they know nothing about.  When this happens, I always do one thing in particular and then I decide which course of action I’m going to take. 

First, I think about “Am I right?” or “Did I do that?” depending on the situation.  Once I determine if I am, in fact, right I move on to “do I address it?” The answer isn’t always black and white.  Addressing it means I know what it’ll take to make it better or fix the situation and sometimes there is nothing that will do either, so why bother?  But when I do address it, you know it’ll be magical. 

Scenario #1 is work related.

I asked someone to complete a task and copied their superior on the email because this is the third time I asked for this particular thing to be completed. 

In response, this person laid into me about how “It says in the email that I have 30 days to complete it.  You should be clearer about your expectations.”

Now this sits wrong with me for a variety of reasons, but I must go through them in my head to make sure I can 100% support why this person is ridiculous.  Then, I look through emails to find dates and exact phrasing. 

A situation like this always calls for diplomacy because this is my job here and I am known for 2 things – getting my shit done in an amazing way and somehow remaining likeable by people who try to hinder me.  Plus, I’m a professional, damn it. 

I gathered all my documentation in one place and began my email response.  In it, I pointed out 2 important things:

1. The original email lists the due date as today.  It clearly says submissions close at 12:01 AM on the date listed. 
2. I sent an email 1 week ago clearly stating, “I need this earlier than normal due to an exceptional circumstance.”

To add the exclamation point at the end of my email, I not only attached the original email from 10/13 but the one I sent about needing it earlier on 10/19.  It was not enough for me to attach them.  I highlighted the portion in the original that said “COMPLETE BEFORE” then bolded the date.  I also highlighted, underlined, and bolded the portions in the second email about why I was asking for it earlier than usual.  Both are dick moves, but fuck, I’m not wrong and I was exceptionally clear.  For extra emphasis, I added in the email that I send out every 8 weeks reminding people when things like this are due.  You bet I highlighted the part that said, “within 14 days”. 

I could have been a complete douche and copied their supervisor on this, but nope.  Not today. I’m not interested in destroying this person.  I’m simply trying to let them know not to doubt what I’m saying or portray me as being unclear in previous communications. 

And what do you know?  That task was completed within 20 minutes of my reply with no other response.  BOOM.  Winner!

Scenario 2:

(Sorry honey).  I once told my husband he and the boy were on their own for lunch the next day, but that I’d be home in plenty of time to make dinner.  Later that evening, he starts talking about what they decided to do for dinner.  I said, “Oh, you don’t want me to cook?” He said, “You said we were on our own.”  “For lunch, but that’s fine if I don’t need to cook.  You still need to figure out lunch though.”  

Now it’s in this moment where I know for a fact what I said.  Better yet, I didn’t say it, I sent it as an instant message.  I wasn’t going to address it any further because it doesn’t really matter and isn’t important at all.  But then he uttered, “You should probably check your message.  You told me dinner.” 

OH NO HE DIDN’T. 

NOW I have to preface the remainder of this with about half of the time in these situations, he is 100% right.  The other half, he’s just not.  I will eat crow when I’m unsure and check and see that he is, in fact, right.  He has a far superior memory than I do.  Plus, I often mean to say one thing and wind up saying something different while multitasking.  I’m not good at those things.  So, if I’m in doubt but feel strongly about it, I’ll check what I can/can’t prove.  When I’m completely wrong, I’m very comfortable saying, “Oh.  You’re right.  Sorry.”  And yes, that happens quite often.

But this time.  This time I just KNEW I was right.  And when he threw out “you should probably check your message”, he may as well have thrown down the gauntlet.  I was more than willing to pick that bitch up.  See, it didn’t really matter to me that they were going to do their own thing for dinner.  It meant that I could stay out with my friend a bit longer and not worry about dinner and THAT my friends, is an awesome thing.

I let it pass for the moment and went inside.  I sat on the couch and opened up my messaging app.  I took a screen shot of the original message and texted it to him.  I heard his response from outside through the closed door – “SHIT”. 

Honestly, we had a good laugh about it.  He gets me.  I’m so thankful he does.

Scenario 3:

My first ex husband from Virginia once insisted beyond a shadow of a doubt that Robert E Lee Day was the same day as Martin Luther King Jr. Day.  It was in the state of Virginia at the time.  They called it “Lee/King Day”.  BUT he went further to INSIST that it was a federal holiday.  Oh, dear God, I can’t make that up.  I did my best to inform him that there is no way in hell that the Government of the United States of America would have a federal holiday honoring a loser from our Civil War.  And if they did, they certainly wouldn’t put it on the same day earmarked to honor a civil rights leader. 

On a later date, he was trying to give me directions to a building (this was pre-GPS because I’m old), and I asked him, “Will it be on my left or my right?”  You see, when I’m driving somewhere unfamiliar, I need to know every little thing well ahead of time, so I’m not caught off guard in the wrong lane at the wrong time.  I panic. He said to me, “Well, it’s an even number on North 6^th Street, which means it will be on the East side of the street.  If you were on South 6^th street, it would be on the West side.”  He said it with such confidence and bravado.  But it was clear to me that he had no idea how address numbers actually work.  So I said, “No.  All even numbers will always be on one side of the street and odd numbers on the left.  I don’t know where I’m going and therefore I won’t know the compass directions of where I’m heading, so I just want to know if I’ll be turning right or left into the parking lot.”  That should be easy to answer, right?

He stared at me for a moment, so confused and he said, “You’ll be on North 6^th Street, so you’ll be headed north.”  To which I responded “Not necessarily.  The street is ALWAYS ‘North 6^th Street’ no matter which way you’re heading.  It’s not different just because you’re going a different direction.”

Yet, he insisted that he lived there his whole life and while that may be how things work “where you’re from”, that’s not how they work in Virginia.  I had some very bad news for him that evening as I explained how street names and addresses worked with the help of my favorite website, letmegooglethatforyou.com.  Poor dude. 

Scenario 4 – The one where I was wrong

Yes, I’ve been wrong before, but here’s the thing.  When I know for a fact that I did/didn’t do or say something, rest assured I have proof.  If I don’t, I’m not really going to press it.  So, when I DO pursue it, I’m almost always in the right.  It’s a matter of picking your battles.  I don’t pick ones I am not sure about winning. Sometimes though, I’m sure I can win and I decide it’s just not worth the battle.   You should know that only participating in battles that I KNOW I can win does not mean that I am always right.  I make mistakes.  A LOT of them.  I apologize and move on.  That’s how life works.  But there was this time where I was so very sure of myself and the hubs was very sure of himself and, well I chose to hammer it out and walked away with egg on my face. 

I know, I know, you’re waiting for the story.  I’m going to be completely honest with you here – I don’t actually remember it.  Not because it wasn’t important or because I have difficulty admitting my error.  I KNOW I was wrong.  I know I had to apologize for many, many moons.  But I honestly can’t remember it. 

The real reason I can’t is because he’s so righteous that once it’s settled, he doesn’t bring it up again.  It became one of those “lesson learned” moments and I’m pretty sure that’s one mistake I haven’t made again, whatever it was, because there’s been no further discussion of it.  It most likely had something to do with telling him something was happening on a specific day or time and being completely wrong.  Or perhaps it was he told me something and I swore up and down that he didn’t, when he actually did.  This is why everything goes into a calendar now.  And it’s why I prefer to text important tidbits.  Whatever it was made me feel terrible and I now purposely use the calendar for even the smallest things (ask me when the next Packers game is and what network it’s on.  It’s on the calendar!)  If he tells me something like “I’m going to be late because I’ve got to free a cat from a tree”, I keep the text.  If he tells me it vocally, I usually confirm it via test or instant message, just so I know and he knows that I know.

All kidding aside, I’m sure there have been lots of times I was wrong.  I’m sure he could tell you about them if you asked. But I always try to apologize and correct myself moving forward because let’s face it – no one likes to be wrong. 

I know I pronounce a lot of uncommon words incorrectly or use them inappropriately.  He does point those out to me, not to be a dick, but to make sure I’m not making the same mistakes that may make me look foolish one day.  Plus, it’s kind of our thing to correct each other’s verbal missteps.  We laugh about it and I’m totally ok with that.   He still tells me things like “sleep good”, just because it’s funny at this point.  I just can’t bring myself to tell him “ride safe” and when I hear someone else say it, I always add “ly” under my breath.  I hope to say it, out loud, one day and NOT correct myself, just to see the reaction he’d have. 

And just like that, this concludes my missive. 

Creepy Cool or Just Meh – You Decide

Let me tell you about the Cream City Cannibal Tour so that if you ever happen to be in Milwaukee and have an interest in the macabre you know what you’re in for!

First of all, this is not a free tour.  It is outside and happens in whatever kind of weather you’ve got going on at the time.  The price was $40/person.  We went at 7pm, so the sun was down, and there was a light drizzle.  It was perfect for spookiness.  But let’s back up. 

We arrived at Shaker’s Cigar Bar, which is where the tour kicks off.  We got all checked in, received a wrist band, then were informed of what we got along with the wrist band.  Sprecher Brewery brews a couple of beers for Shaker’s.  So right off the bat, they tell you that you get $1 off each one of those beers you order.  YAY!  I like discounted beer.  So, in my mind, this tour has technically cost me only $38.  If beer isn’t your thing, that wrist band will get you $5 off their signature “Death in the Afternoon” cocktail, which is made with absinthe.  If we wanted to purchase merchandise, that wrist band was also good for $5 off.  I did not get anything.  In retrospect, I should have used it to “buy” the pint glass with the ghost on it. 

That was only $5, so I’m assuming I would have only had to pay the tax.  If the dude said you had to spend a certain amount to get the discount, I missed it. 

So, we ordered our drinks and sat at the bar and started checking out the place.  Here’s some things you should know about Shakers. 

1. The bar was built in 1894.  On what used to be a cemetery.  It started as a cooperage for Schlitz Brewing. 
   
2. Enter prohibition.  It is at this point that it’s said the Capone brothers, Al, Frank, and Ralph, took ownership of the building and turned it into a speakeasy, complete with a whore house upstairs. 
   
3. I can’t find what happened to it in between, but in 1986 it was purchased by the current owners. 
   
4. It has been called the “Fifth most haunted bar” in America.
   
5. Inside, it’s pretty creepy with evidence of the former brothel, cobwebs, shredded brown paper on the floor, and a variety of spooky accoutrements.

6. Even the bartenders were decked out in spooky attire.  I meant to ask if they do that year-round or if it was because Halloween is close, but I completely forgot.

7. There are several other tours operated out of this building.  I’ll talk about them near the end as I give you my “must do” list.

8. You can read about some of its history here.

Suddenly, it was 7:00 and time to go.  Our tour guide, Rhonda, gathered us outside and began to set the scene for what we were about to “tour” – Jeffrey Dahmer’s old stomping grounds.  For the next hour plus, we walked up and down second street, hearing the stories of which victims Dahmer picked up at which bars.  It’s important to note that the only 2 bars still in existence that Dahmer frequented here are actually still up and running under the same name – LaCage & Shaker’s.  Why is that important?  Because several of the places sit vacant, so you’re just standing in front of what would have been the entrance.  One of them is now a local brunch place.  Another is a different bar.  And you don’t go into any of those. 
Our tour guide was very knowledgeable about the whole Dahmer story.  The problem for me?  So am I.  I did glean one or two new things from the tour, but that was about it.  I’m unsure how someone who wasn’t familiar with all the ins and outs would feel about it, but for me, I wasn’t overly impressed.  It wasn’t creepy or spooky at all, but it WAS interesting.  So, I suppose it really depends on what you hope to get out of it. 

At the end of the tour, we each got a free can of one of the aforementioned beers, and since my hubs has celiac and can’t drink beer that’s not gluten free, I got 2 cans and headed home. 

In summary, my $40 got me:  a wrist band, $2 off my drinks, and 2 free cans of beer.  More importantly, it gave me the opportunity to sit inside Shaker’s Cigar Bar, where hubs purchased and smoked a cigar while we sat there.  But it also gave me some much appreciated 1:1 time with the hubby.  

I guess now is the time to tell you that during the roughly 80 minutes of the tour, there is not a single mention of the fact that he was, in fact, a cannibal. Perhaps they should rename the tour “Dahmer’s Hunting Grounds”. It would be far more accurate.

Even after all of that, I’m still glad we went.  Also, not sure why it’s billed as “ADULTS ONLY” except for the story about sodomy via candle and a mere mention of genitals.  You can get more adult than that by reading some of my past writings, and I won’t even charge you for it. 

While sitting at the bar, I had the opportunity to check out some of the other tours they offer that might serve up the appropriate level of creepiness that I typically look for. 

There’s the Original Ghost Tour, which looks to be about 60 minutes of behind-the-scenes and creepy tales of many things that happened within that bar.  But I’m more interested in the Ghost Tour 2.0.  They’ve increased the time spent to 90 minutes and call it, “a longer, grittier, more salacious version of the Original.”   I think this is one I’m up for.  I’m pretty sure there were people killed in that building and I want to hear about it. 

There’s one called “The Whorin’ 20s”.  This does not seem to be a creepy one, but I LOVE to learn about history and this will tell stories of the late 1800s when the mayor at the time allowed open prostitution, gambling, and drugs. 

One more I’m interested in “The Milwauking Dead”.  This promises to cover “over 150 dead bodies in a mile and a half”.  They say it is not a ghost tour, and I don’t even care.  I love tales of horrible things and seeing the places associated with them.

My biggest concern is the marketing.  Can I trust the words on the website?  I mean, I did for the Cannibal Tour.  I’d like to remind you that I thought I was going on a tour that was “rife with tales of caution, psychological dissection, and terrifying details”, which for me simply was NOT the case.  It was billed as “so gruesome, that NBC called it the “Tour of Terror””.  I’m going to tell you that unless it has been tamed down, like a lot, this is NOT the tour of terror.  I think the real Tour of Terror currently would be walking through the halls of Congress, knowing that not much of anything is going on there these days.  THAT is truly terrifying.

Aquaman, Dahmer, and Me

Yesterday, my friend and I ventured out to Total Wine & More in Brookfield.  Normally, this wouldn’t be worth sharing because who really cares about what kind of beer I select for my build-your-own 6 pack when I go there.  I mean, yesterday I bought 3 stouts, 2 porters, and a red ale, all of which I’m excited to try.  The draw of this store, for me, is exactly that – hundreds of craft beers that I’ve never heard of and the opportunity to buy and taste them all – solely limited by the amount of extra fun money in my bank account.  Most of the bars around here do NOT have decent craft beers on tap.  The ones who do – well I’ve probably tried everything they have already, and I like to venture out and fill up my Untapp’d account with as many different beers as I can.  And how else can I try and drink 6 full cans/bottles of what I call “fancy beer” for *usually* under $18?  I say usually because some of those single cans/bottles can cost $10 or more.  I think my most expensive one yesterday was $5.99 but I usually pay $7 for a pint of craft beer in a bar. 

That has nothing to do with why I was there yesterday, although it was an added benefit (When in Rome).  No, yesterday I was there because it was announced that Aquaman himself (the Jason Momoa version) and his vodka partner, Blaine Halvorson would be there signing bottles of their vodka – Meili Vodka. Not to diminish Halvorson’s role with the vodka, but I wouldn’t have gone to meet Blaine Halvorson, unless I knew something about him that I admired. From this point forward, please just assume I’m talking about him as well.  To some degree.  Kind of.   Now, I love vodka AND Momoa, so why wouldn’t I go? 

Lucky for me, my fellow Momoa lover, Autumn, came along as my wing woman.  Or perhaps I was hers. 

Either way, we headed out to see about seeing Jason Momoa and getting a bottle of vodka that we would likely never open.  I should probably count the number of times I type “Momoa” in this blog entry. 

Now, it was publicized that he’d be there doing his thing from 2:30pm – 4:00pm, so only 90 minutes if you struggle with the maths.  We did NOT camp out overnight as many people did.  No, we met for some lunch and laughs.  We were talking about what we thought we might say to him when we got our big chance.  She was going to warn him NOT to fall in love with her.  I decided I was going to play the disinterested girl and tell him that I had no idea who he was, but my husband was a fan and couldn’t get off of work.  Then, I’d ask him if he’s ever been in any movie or tv show that I might have seen and deny ever seeing any of them.  In my head, we’d have a good laugh and I’d ask for him to pose with me doing something ridiculous so I could tease my husband with it.  I had plans! After a good meal and a lot of laughing, we headed down the street to Totes Wine. 

Upon our arrival, it was obvious that we likely would never get inside to see him in the flesh (and unfortunately in the clothes as well).  The line started in front of the store and wrapped all the way around the entire strip mall when we arrived around 1:15. Yes, we still got in the line. 

If you were there, you understand the chaos that unfolded.  I know he was at the Costco in New Berlin before heading our way, and I’m willing to bet it was pretty much the same kind of crazy there.  So we’re in this long-ass line. 

As they set up the winding cattle lines, the line started moving forward.  And then I saw it.  We’d have to exit the parking lot onto the grassy knoll, which meant going up a large curb, and start winding around in the grass.  While we were openly discussing how we could get her chair up the curb, these really awesome folks from Beloit informed us that the first row on the grass was really half grass and half giant rocks – likely not passable in her chair.  They told us we were now with them and helped get the chair up over the curb and onto the grass – probably saving us at least an hour’s wait.  YAY NICE PEOPLE!!

As we’re moving through the line, a lady in the row ahead of us pointed out that there’s a few steps once you hit the concrete again and no ramp.  It was at this point that the next amazing thing happened.  One of the dudes who was on the vodka team was passing out some stuff to the crowd.  He unilaterally made the decision that we shouldn’t have to deal with all of the “how will we get the chair there” discussion, wheeled her down the embankment and set us up in the line on the sidewalk, bypassing yet another large group of people.  We suddenly realized that we actually might get in to see him before he had to leave.  EXCITEMENT!

It was right around 3:15 when some official person came out and said that Momoa was coming out to walk the line *Cue Johnny Cash*.  They instructed us to stand as close to the wall as possible, have our phones out and ready for a selfie, and he would stop briefly for a quick picture with each person, but there were no do-overs because he had a lot of people to get through.  We waited. Just as he was about to get to us, a bunch of people walked up from the parking lot, as if they were going into the store we were in front of, and then JUST STOPPED AND GOT OUT THEIR PHONES.  While it was annoying to have waited for a couple of hours to have these people just randomly get in front of us, it wasn’t that big of a deal since he was moving through the line anyway.  However, they made it impossible for Autumn to properly turn her chair around and get closer to the wall as the po po were yelling at us to do, and I let the cop know that.  It didn’t change anything, but I felt better for having said something. I will mention these people again in a minute.

And then, he was there.  Ready to take pictures with us. Holding a speaker with music blaring out of it. He leaned in and Autumn quickly snapped her selfies, rapid fire.  I was next!  He starts to lean in and as I hit the button, someone from that irritating group of people thrust their baby toward him.  So my photo was of me all smiley and him, looking the other way at the baby. 

He wound up holding the baby for a photo.  Then he went to the next people behind me because that’s where his handler/security/partner had moved to.  I was bummed. 

We figured out that you could go inside and buy one of the bottles of vodka that he signed, so we got into THAT line.  I was shocked at one point to look to my right and wonder what a $2499.97 bottle of wine would taste like. 

Once we had our autographed vodka bottles, we wandered around the store picking out other things to buy.  We discovered that the check out line for ALL customers was that same line to pick up your autographed bottles.  Not wanting to get back into THAT line again, we were asking if there was another option to check out.  The one guy must’ve thought we weren’t a part of Momoa-Fest and escorted us to the front saying, “You shouldn’t have to wait if you’re not even here for that”.  We put our other purchases on the conveyor belt and waited for him to walk away before putting the vodka bottles up there.  I felt a little guilty about all of the people we skipped in all of the lines, but not really.  They should have organized that in a much better way. 

Now, I’ve met a couple of celebrities at meet & greets. In the early 80s it was members of the Milwaukee Brewers when they’d have the fan appreciation events and you got to go down on the field for autographs and photos with a few of the players.  In the late 80s and 90s, it was bands at record stores and yes, as teens we camped out for that shit.  You’d get in the line, get to talk to every member of the band present while getting your stuff autographed and snapping a picture or two (or 53, which I think was my personal best at one such event).  You couldn’t be in the photos back then.  There were no cell phones, so you used an actual camera.  Selfies weren’t a thing, but hey, I got to talk to a lot of bands I loved at the time.

I’ve met other celebrities at local versions of ComiCon. At those events, I paid money to get an item autographed and have my photo taken with them.  And yes, lines were long for those things, but it was organized and enabled you to spend a little bit of 1:1 time with the celeb of your choice.  I’ve always managed to turn that short bit of time into something ridiculous.

When I met Michael Rooker, I made a joke about having to wait my turn because he was drinking a Frappuccino and didn’t get me one.  That man shared his frap with me, engaged in a lively conversation, and posed for a few photos with me before signing my picture. Definitely my favorite meeting of all time.

When I met Ryan Hurst, I had a beer in my hand at the time and told him I wasn’t sharing because the beer cost me $10.  Then, I put my free hand on his butt while smiling innocently for the camera. 

GOOD TIMES.    

Anyway, I should have known that in a 90-minute time span there would be NO WAY to get much more than 90 people through a line to see Momoa, get an autograph and buy a bottle of vodka.  I just didn’t think it through, but I wouldn’t change it for the world – except maybe to have had a decent selfie with that beautiful man. 

The next thing I’m looking forward to will happen on Saturday.  After much hemming-and-hawing about what kind of pre-Halloween adventure we were going to have, The Husband and I decided on the “Cream City Cannibal Tour”.  From their website:  “As seen on the BBC, yes, that BBC. this tour is so gruesome, that NBC called it the ” Tour of Terror” and NETFLIX picked this tour as one of the eight most unique adventure tours in the world for a new series: “Dark Tourist.” The Cream City Cannibal Tour has been featured in the John Borowski film; Serial Killer Culture and used by regional University Psychology and Criminal Justice departments. Walk in the exact footsteps of cannibalistic serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer, where he poached 7 of his 17 victims. Rife with tales of caution, psychological dissection, and terrifying details, the Cream City Cannibal is not for the feint of heart.”  Not even the grammatical errors and typos in that description deterred us from buying the tickets.  I’m hopeful that it will be a little creepy and a whole lot of fun for us.  I’ll let you know. 

For the record, I typed “Momoa” 10 times (including that last one).  Sometime next week, I’ll fill you in on the Cannibal tour and we’ll see how many times I mention Dahmer.  Until then, here’s a couple photos of that bottle of vodka that I will never open.