Cabana Boy and The Muse do NYC: Part 4 (the limericks)

Originally published on MySpace on November 10, 2008.

CB and I spent our last day in Manhattan exploring and being tourists. We went to Wall Street, Ground Zero, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and when we couldn’t stand any longer, a little restaurant near Central Park called Bella Cucina (E 87th Street and Lexington Avenue).

We were seated at a small table by the window in a sort of enclosed sidewalk patio area. The view to the street was blocked by a row of large white trailers, because we were sitting smack in front of the staging area for a film called “Solitary Man.” We tried to guess who would star in a movie called Solitary Man, and CB suggested Russell Crowe. I was thinking it was probably some older actor who plays angst well. Someone like Bill Murray. We finally gave in and looked the movie up on IMDB and found it stars Michael Douglas, Susan Sarandon, Mary-Louise Parker, Jenna Fischer and Danny DeVito. Hmmm, could be interesting.

Back to the story… We perused the menu and were pleasantly surprised to find that the wine list contained bottles of wine that ranged from $25-$35 a bottle, which seemed to be completely unheard of in New York. We ordered a bottle of Chianti Classico, an appetizer and our entrees, and settled in for a nice dinner.

My friends will tell you that I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, especially if I’m drinking on an empty stomach. I was getting giggly before I even finished the first glass of wine. It was at that point that I noticed the table cloth was actually a sheet of butcher paper, and I whipped out my ballpoint pen to get creative.

I challenged CB to a limerick contest, and we both started writing furiously. The idea was to write fast and furiously without editing.

I finished my first limerick, and began to read it out loud to CB, barely able to finish each line because I was laughing so hard. Here’s the first limerick:

I once had a friend named Mike

Who rode around all day on a trike.

When asked if the seat

Made mince of his meat

He said, “Not anymore than I’d like.”

And here’s me cracking myself up.


I think this was CB’s first limerick for me:

There once was a girl named Kelly

Who had the most extraordinary jelly.

It swayed and it shook

And wobbled amok

And made nervous the whole of New Delhi.

By this time we were in hysterics. I then asked CB to give me a word to include in a limerick. He said, “Antidisestablishmentarianism,” to which I replied, “Uh no. How about a word I’d actually use.”

“Okay,” he said, “Makeup.” Ahh that’s better. I gave him the word “bustier” and here’s what we came up with.

Makeup

As a makeup artist I know

That on diva’s you have to go slow

Some powder, some gloss

Let them be the boss

Or out the door you will go.

Bustier

Her bustier was full of delights

And her knickers were feathery light

A kiss on her breast

Was always the best

Way to kick off the long summer night.

The evening went on like this until the entire table was covered with drawings and limericks, and the limericks just kept getting raunchier and raunchier as the night wore on. The couple at the table next to us (a mere four feet away) finally asked what was so funny. I told them we were being creative and writing nasty limericks. They were on a Match.com date, and were none too thrilled to be seated next to a loud silly couple like us. Too bad, so sad. As CB would say, “Get over it!”

When the meal was over and the bill was paid, we artfully rolled up our butcher paper full of memories and walked down the street to catch the subway back to the hotel.


Cabana Boy and The Muse do NYC: Part 3 (the punking of Carl)

Originally published on MySpace on November 8, 2008.

Punking Carl…

The scenario: Anna from St. Petersburg shares a cab with CB from the airport and then he can’t get rid of her.

We arrived at the hotel in the late afternoon, and CB called Carl to tell him he’d meet him in the lobby of the hotel at 5:30pm. When 5:30 rolled around I put on my best Russian accent (not that great but certainly passable), and headed down to the lobby with CB.

I let CB walk ahead and greet Carl, while I stayed back a bit behind a potted plant. I “Anna” then casually walked up to the pair with a sly smile and waited to be introduced.

“Oh, Carl this is Anna,” said CB with a complete poker face. I said hello to Carl and listened to the boys chit chat about where to go and what to do, until CB turned to me and asked, “What would you like to do Anna?”

“I need drink!” I replied in a thick accent. “In cab you promised buy me drink.”

“Well, there’s a couple of pubs down the street,” said Carl. “I went to one the other night that was pretty good.”

“Beer?” said CB. “Anna probably wants vodka.”

“Yes, I’m flying all day and need drink vodka,” Anna said.

Carl looked a bit confused by this point, seeing that he had no idea who Anna was or where she came from, and CB wasn’t giving any details. The three of us decided the pub would be fine and headed out of the hotel to find it.

When we got to the first street corner Carl said, “My cousin married a Russian girl. From Moscow I think”

Anna turned to CB, hit him in the shoulder and said, “See! I told you Russian girl very nice. You should marry Russian girl!”

“Where you from again Anna?” asked CB oh so innocently.

“I told you in cab. You remember nothing!” Anna said getting a little irritated.

“Oh that’s right, Leningrad,” said CB.

“No! Not called Leningrad long time. St. Petersburg now,” said Anna with authority.

And on we walked.

When we got close to the pub CB asked Anna what she normally ate in Russia, and what she’d like for dinner. “Borscht? You eat Borscht?”

“Cabbage, potatoes, borscht. I had enough Borscht for lifetime. No more borscht!”

As we approached the front door of the restaurant CB pulled Carl aside, gave him a God-help-me look and said, “I shared a cab with her from the airport and now I can’t get rid of her!”

An angsty Irish waitress greeted us as we entered the pub and showed us to a table in the corner in the back of the pub, which was a good thing because Anna was about to get “drunk” and start getting more forward.

We sat down and looked at the menu, and Anna started asking questions. “What’s dis, chicken fingers? It’s real fingers?” Carl and CB explained that they were not real chicken fingers at all, and that chicken didn’t really have fingers. Anna continued to peruse the menu and ask totally naïve questions about the various food items until the waitress came back.

“What’ll ya be having,” she asked in a lilting Irish accent. CB and Carl each ordered a pint of something, and then CB asked if there was a full bar because Anna wanted vodka. He ordered a vodka tonic for Anna and the waitress rolled her eyes as she walked away.

Anna downs her first vodka tonic…

“I’m feeling tired. I can’t go sister’s house now too late. I stay with you?” Anna said as she put her hand on CB’s thigh.

“No Anna, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said CB.

Carl was getting visibly uncomfortable at this point and starting to sweat.

“You told me in cab you have two beds in room. Yes?” said Anna, pressing CB even more. “I just sleep okay? I sleep in other bed with clothes on. I not want sex with you. You thinking I want sex with you. I don’t.”

I could see Carl’s mind spinning, wanting to find a way to get his work colleague out of this horrible predicament with Anna. “We have a meeting at 9, remember?” he piped up, hoping this would help CB’s case.

“You told me in cab you have two beds. My sister live so far away. Can’t go tonight. I sleep in your room, okay? It’s good. I go home early morning.”

“Carl’s right, we have a meeting at 9. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Anna continued to touch CB’s leg, his arm, his face, and get more “drunk” and persistent. Carl had a look of desperation on his face at this point. CB was having a hard time keeping a straight face and I couldn’t take it anymore, so I “Anna” turned to CB and said, “Daahling. I think you tell Carl what’s going on now.”

“Carl, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend Kelly,” said CB. “She does a lot of improv, and she’s not really Russian.”

Carl just looked like he’d been hit with a two-by-four and looked at CB. “No shit!” he mumbled.

In the end we raised our glasses and toasted Carl for being such a good sport. I’m pretty sure he has yet to recover from being punked by CB and The Muse.

Cabana Boy and The Muse do NYC: Part 1

Originally published on MySpace on November 4, 2008.

Cabana Boy: Travels with The Muse

(This is a collaborative effort. The first paragraph is written by Cabana Boy, and the second is written by me, etc…)

“Who else is coming with us?” I asked as The Muse wheeled in the largest suitcase I’d seen in years – the expandable gusset already deployed. “You know we’re only going to be in New York for four days, the other day and a half we’re on an airplane.”

“I’m a girl!” I said, “I need shoes and bags and coats. What if the weather changes?” It was true. My bag was the size of Ford F-150 packed for a 6-month road trip with a family of five. I had packed 2-week’s (okay, well, maybe three) week’s worth of clothing for a 4-day jaunt to New York.

When I travel for business I like traveling light. No checked bags, get in, do the work, get out. The Muse looked a little sheepish and I quickly realized that her mobile Macy’s wasn’t worth picking a fight over. Besides, we had a king sized bed waiting at the Roosevelt Hotel and who knew what secrets this vault of hers would yield up?

Macy’s? Hmph! Nothing but Nordstrom and Sak’s Fifth Avenue in my bag! Well, except for the vintage black wool swing coat I bought at Value Village for $9.99. Hey! This coat once graced the racks of I. Magnin. It says so right on the tag. Anyway, back to the subject at hand: the size of my bag. Size matters when you’re going to NYC.

At The Muse’s recent Sex and the City movie party I was invited to come as Mr. Big – but that’s another story. Guys, just so we’re clear, the I. Magnin wool swing coat wasn’t in the bag, but worn on The Muse’s rather fetching shoulders. Note no mention has been made of the computer or the handbag. We weren’t traveling light; we were prepared for an all out assault.

You can’t wear black shoes with brown pants! I had to bring the black shoes, the brown shoes, the running shoes, the four dresses, seven tops, three hats, three purses (because you can’t carry a brown leather bag when you’re wearing a black and white dress), the red patent leather flats (because I just might not be able to wear the stilettos for more than a New York block). “Honey, do you have a problem with the size of my bag?”

“No, dear, of course not.” I replied. To be continued…

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