Wednesday, December 29, 2004


Damn! I did the most unusual thing for Christmas, but I felt pretty damn good about it! It was a couple days before the 24th, and I was just plannin' on havin' the regular old time, you know, fuckin' around with the boys and getting dumb on brandy and champagne, opening gifts and stuff, but then on Bravo I saw this show about moms. I was like, Ray, what have you done for your mom lately. I ain't see her much, and I know I should call more often, and dammit, this woman carried me around in her belly and gave me love when all I could give in return was a load in my pants. Ray had to do somethin' for his momma.

Next thing I knew, I had booked us into separate suites at Napoli, that swank new J. Vincent J. Lemoni hotel-casino down in the Vegas underground. I met her at the NSTL line just outta town and got us a limo to the hotel. I had the works lined up for her: fancy lunches at Spiedo (even one time at the chef's table in the kitchen so she could meet Vonrieght Auf Den Krightenmueller, her favorite celebrity chef and the owner of Spiedo), massages, an after-hours tour of the Frank Sinatra museum, and the black-tie Christmas dinner at the Algiers followed by the signature Bellini brunch at Bel Forno. Lemoni himself was at the dinner, and we traded some market banter before I noticed mom gettin' bored talking to his wife, so I had to cut it short. Too bad. It'd be nice to get in with a whale like that. I bet that guy plays golf courses that even the CIA doesn't know about. Like, on Mauritius.

Oh, and her Christmas present? You guessed it: shopping spree in the Napoli Premier Shopping Concourse. She was so thrilled, but I wish she had picked out more stuff. She is so humble about presents for herself. I had to kind of force her into getting every little thing, from a new scarf at Prada to a new pair of sandals at L'Imaggio. She would always be like "Oh but Raymond, it's so expensive." I told her that anytime she mentioned the price of anything, she had to choose something additional from the same store that cost more than or equal to the thing she was looking at, but it's hard to change people's ways. Especially if that person is a mom who is used to commenting on expensiveness. Fortunately, I made mental notes of stuff she acted silently interested in and went back later to have it shipped to her house. I got her this one freestanding green marble globe with gilded latitude and longitude lines that is gonna look mad-dope in her little parlor where she likes to sit.

For her present to me, I gave her my credit card and told her to pick something out for me from one of the shops while I had a Whangee Breeze at the Whangee Blenderdrinks, Esq. cart. She was so cute about it. Half an hour later she showed up with this little two-pack of short socks they had on clearance at Foot Time, saying how she always thought I could use more warm socks. I talked her into an Amaretto Whangee and she told me a bunch of stories about dad that I had never heard before. It's cool what your parents will tell you when you get older and they think you can handle the information. It turns out that dad was a pretty slick dude and a real ladykiller, and that he had a motorcycle.

Huh. Looking back, I guess that isn't too much of a revelation. She also said that he had a hat. I don't even know what kind of hat. She thinks it might have been brown.

Anyhow, I could tell that mom was touched that we spent this special holiday together, and I feel pretty great that it all came together. Guys, if you have a mom who is alive, or even if she's dead, do somethin' nice for her. Ain't no other person in the world who done for you like mom has done. Mom lived to make you, and wiped a million different things off you, and acted like it was a big deal when you fell on your knee, and buys you socks so your feet can be warm even if you have sold thirty million albums.

Alright, time to plan my New Year's party! Out, chochachos.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Holiday-Themed Party!

Damn, the holidays really snuck up on me this year! I been pretty busy (readin' a lot of the magazines that have been pilin' up around my place — this is something I do at the end of every year) so I didn't even start plannin' my big holiday party until yesterday. Even still, it's gonna be a real class act! Now, my holiday party isn't a big blowout like what I usually do in the yard on Fridays. It's a classy indoor event, and I only invite about twenty of my closest crew. I don't go so far as to make it black tie, but I do ask that the men wear coat and necktie. Also acceptable is a sport coat with a nice turtleneck, since that is what Pat always wears. He refuses to wear a necktie (which if you ask me is kind of childish since a man looks damn good in a tie) because he says ties are symbols of oppression. Maybe when he sees the rude orange Hermès I'm gonna full-Windsor-up tomorrow he'll change his mind, because when I tie that one on I look nothing like oppression.

Food-wise, I got all the holiday classics. Big old pepper-crusted prime rib, roasted goose, stuffing, Yorkshire pudding, green bean casserole, cream-corn casserole, figgy-dowdy, and that nasty rock-hard spumoni like you get for dessert at bad Italian joints. I know everybody hates it, but it's my tradition, like how some folks always gotta serve fruitcake. For whettin' the whistle I'm gonna spring a few cases of 1972 Chateau Mouton Rothschild I won at auction last August. Sure, it's a pretty pricey glug, but as the old man used to say, "It don't do anyone no good in the bottle." Word up, Ramses Luther Smuckles, wherever you might be. Peace.

Anyhow, before dinner there's this nice string quartet gonna play the classics (Greensleeves, Jingle Bells, Red Toad Holler) while everybody dips into the eggnog and Hot Toddies and chats about the year. After dinner we're gonna just stay and mingle for a spell, and then I'll hand out my gifts to everyone in front of the tree. In the past it's been Segways, kitchen remodels, Ski-doos...somethin' nice tailored to each person's interests, you know. This year I'm pretty excited to give Téodor this big copper Turbot poaching pan I found at Williams-Sonoma, along with an imported Turbot. Damn, that's an ugly fish. I was lookin' at it earlier.

Alright, if I don't see you—happy holidays, all. Nice.


Monday, December 13, 2004

Roast Beef, Housemate.

It's kinda fun havin' Beef as a housemate! It's like old knucklehead times, straight back into the days when we skated curbs and tried to learn Axel F on the piano. Doggies get up around 11, shuffle through the delivery menus (he's been gettin' the Oprah lately, which is this mad meatball calzone from Pizza Ciao, but I been deliciously in love with the Hot and Sour Noodle they do down at Seven Flavor Kitchen). We play some pool, crack some brew, and pick a flick for the afternoon (today we watched the whole Fawlty Towers DVD set, so funny). Then we dude out for a couple hours, checkin' email or readin' or swimmin', and decide what to eat for dinner. It is mad simple. Tonight we roasted this big bunch of partridges that we saw Emeril make; it was scrumptious along with his mushroom bread pudding. I opened some Cakebread and the flavors sailed on up.

It's kind of like the Odd Couple, you know, except I don't know which of either of them to compare us to. Anyhow...tomorrow we decided to buy remote-control boats at 75 Hobbies, and we're gonna make little jump-ramps outta floating styrofoam wedges.

Saturday, December 04, 2004

I don't usually do this, but...

Damn, you all know I wear my heart on my sleeve. Well, today I was down at Victrolo's for brunch, havin' my special Metallica Cakes (two pancakes, each wrapped around a sausage, and the chef draws a little ketchup electric guitar on each wrap using a squirt bottle), and I finally did it. I asked Zochelle the waitress out. I can't tell you how long I been watchin' her fine rumpus walk past my table...they make them wear these tight black pants at Victrolo's, and these white blouses that you can usually see the bra through...Zochelle got that action goin' on. Girl is to sexy what crime is to jail: the reason. I mad want to bump when I see her.

So today I'm sittin' there munchin' on my tasty little Metallica Cakes, and she keeps walkin' by and fillin' peoples' water glasses and coffee and stuff, and I'm havin' my bloody, and I decide to step up to the plate. It was one of those moments where you kind of step off the bungee platform, you know? You think to yourself, I've just got the one life and I sure as hell want to go for broke. So I decided to attempt to get those chumptylicious thighs into my bedroom.

She was walkin' past, and I was looking pretty good. I'd done myself up with a slick a.m. getup and was sporting a sick Movado chunky silver bracelet. I held out my hand and intercepted hers. She wasn't really ready for it, you know, kind of jerking it away real fast (I let go, you don't want to seem like a rapist) but then when she got a look at me she stopped and smiled. I put it on the trowel and spread it heavy, fellows.

Turned out she was off for a half hour pretty quick, so I wolfed down the Cakes and closed the tab. We met around the corner at Tabla Hawaiiana, this fun Hawaiian-Mexican joint that specializes in eye-openers. I got her a Banana Sunrise, and I had a 7&7, and before too long her tight blouse and mad thighs got me cookin' up a banana sunrise of my own, in my pants.

We got poverty-style pretty quick and before long she decided to quit her job and come screw at my place. I was all ears for that and ten minutes later we rolled into the crib. She did a sexy little walk as she slid outta her black pants, and then in front of my bed she undid her blouse, button by button, totally staring into my eyes as my banana sunrise rose once again.

Damn, but sometimes you run into a liquor nut. Right in the middle of some pretty givin' slippy, she bottomed out and changed her tune from ooh ahh and started railin' about how rich guys like me keep her class down. I got to tell you, this came outta nowhere. I was lovin' this woman like a derrick and all of a sudden she starts showin' teeth. Before you could say Dry Rubbah she had run off to the bathroom and locked herself in there.

Once she started retchin' I voided the Lady Privacy rule and unlocked the door with the skeleton key. She was buck nude in the tub and blowin' chunks, so I did the right thing and sat it out, occasionally wiping various things off. I pumped up the little aerobed mattress and set it right by the front door. I figured we didn't want to see nothin' of each other after this, so I put some Odwalla C-Monster and aspirin by the side of the bed. Soon she was all tucked in and she had left by about 7am this morning.

I think I'm meeting Téodor for golf this afternoon, and maybe gonna go pick out a Christmas tree. I hope the Christmas tree lot doesn't try to force that damn free coffee mug with their name on it on me again this year. That is such a damn ugly mug.