Why I give thanks!

I sit here today in my red boy short underwear contemplating not only things I am thankful for but things I would be thankful to not have anymore.

We all make mistakes. We date the wrong people for too long. We chew gum with our mouths open. We say inappropriate things in front of grandma.
And we buy leather pants.

I can explain these pants and why they are in my possession. I bought them many, many years ago under the spell of a man whom I believed to have taste. He suggested I try them on. I did. He said they looked good. I wanted to have a relationship of sorts with him. I’m stupid and prone to impulsive decisions. I bought the pants.

The relationship, probably for better, never materialized. The man, whose name I can’t even recall, is a distant memory. I think he was short.

Ultimately the pants were placed in the closet where they have remained, unworn, for nearly a decade. I would like to emphasize that aside from trying these pants on, they have never, ever been worn. In public or private.

I have not worn these leather pants for the following reasons:
I am not a member of Queen.
I do not like motorcycles.
I am not Rod Stewart.
I am not French.
I do not cruise for transvestites in an expensive sports car.

These were not cheap leather pants. They are Donna Karan leather pants. They’re for women. Brave women I would think. Perhaps tattooed, pierced women. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say you either have to be very tough, very gay, or very famous to wear these pants and get away with it.

They’d probably look great on the right lady. And I'm thankful that ladies can get away with leather pants much more often than men can. (It’s a sad fact that men who own leather pants will have to come to terms with.)

They are size 6. I am no longer a size 6, so even were I to suddenly decide I was a famous gay biker I would not be able to wear these pants. These pants are destined for someone else. For reasons unknown - perhaps to keep my options open, in case I wanted to become a pirate - I have shuffled these unworn pants from condo to condo, closet to closet. Alas, it is now time to part ways so that I may use the extra room for any rhinestone-studded jeans I may purchase in the future.

These pants are in excellent condition. They were never taken on pirate expeditions. They weren’t worn onstage. They didn’t straddle a Harley, or a guy named Harley. They just hung there, sad and ignored, for a few presidencies.

Someone, somewhere, will look great in these pants. I’m hoping that someone is you.

Please someone, just take these leather pants.

Candy Is Dandy, but ...

Ever notice that the deeper we fall into Winter, the shorter the weekends seem? Saturday and Sunday flew by without my consent, so now I sit here at the office yet again in dismay in my white monkey g-string (heck yeah I support the Sierra Club ... so?).

I woke up this morning with every intention of going for a run at 6 before heading to the office. Unfortunately, Chaz had ulterior motives ... blushing. So instead, we stayed in bed and ate candy for breakfast (this is NOT code for anything, we seriously just laid there and snacked on IceBreakers Sour Candy for about an hour). And as I finally braved out into the cool fall morning, the overcast sky reminded me that Hannakuh and Christmas are just around the corner.

I was reminded of afternoons filled with tree-trimming, piping hot apple cider (with or without Jack Daniels, it's an acquired taste), and the sounds of Bing Crosby lilting through the air, wintery walks through Central Park with thick mittens toasting my hands ... and my father drunk on Christmas morning when I was but a girl, trying to light a fire with wet logs from the heap out back, burning off his eyebrows and half his right pinky finger (hahaha, ohhh how the circle spins right round, baby, right round).

That was the year I thought I'd be SO crafty as to buy him a religious gift for Christmas. My father (Tony) is a big Catholic fanatic who was raised in the Northeast before Vatican II came around. He doesn't believe in the mass even being said in English (we're all going straight to hell according to him ... too bad I've had all this alcohol, I'm going to ignite IMMEDIATELY upon entry!).

But I digress: so I thought I had come up with this ingenious idea to get in his good graces one year. I bought him this great gift that really embodied all his beliefs ... something tangible that could really send the message that I was ready to be an adult about the Church. So I wrapped it all up and put it under the tree, barely able to contain my excitement until Christmas morning.

When December 25th rolled around, I was the first one downstairs on the couch waiting for everyone else to wake up to open presents. I can clearly remember the rage in my father's eyes as he opened the gift that said "To: Tony, From: Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Christ" ... I don't think I'll ever understand how a Virgin Mary Paperdoll could disintegrate so quickly in a December fire.

But then, isn't all religion based on faith and mystery?

A Grand Re-Opening???

I know, dear readers, that I have taken a week and a half hiatus. Babies, I've gone through scores of underwear in that time (of which I am today wearing the black satin), but I hereby promise to keep you informed of all the comings and goings of Sassy.

That's right, raise your glasses even if it is only 10:34AM! Take a moment to have the happiest hour of your day and say (in true Chaz style) "Chee-ahs" because the Sass is BACK!

So to fill you all in, I've comprised a list of a few goings on in the past week or so ... we can start clean slated and return to regularly scheduled programming tomorrow morning:

-A huge round of applause is due to Asa, who completed the 30th Annual Marine Corps Marathon on Sunday, October 31st. His race time was 5:11:10, #12898 overall, and 8434 for his gender! We're so proud of him ... these results are QUITE admirable for a first time marathon runner! (And his nipples weren't bleeding or anything ... trust that I checked!)

-Chaz and I are planning our first (2) mini-breaks for the week before and the week after Christmas. First stop Philadelphia for time with some of my nieces and nephews ... then off to Boston for plenty of drinking and an old-fashioned Boston Tea Party over New Years. (Hey, if a week with me kills him, it kills him)

-Big interview yesterday with the Executive Committee for another promotion (read: any excuse for me to go spend over $500 on a new suit). Wish me luck, but like I'll need it. ::insert one eyebrow up here::

-I had to go to a funeral last weekend in Philadelphia: my Great Aunt Ruth died at the age of 94. She was born in 1911 and lived through the Roaring 20s, The Great Depression, World War II, Vietnam, the Soft Drink wars ... you know, pretty much everything "We Didn't Start The Fire" covers. She was the original spitfire in the family and I learned much of what I know from her. Any woman who can get away with "Is that a banana in your pocket? Because I sure know it's not your manhood" at the age of 75 is aces in my book.

-I swore off the hard stuff for about 4 days, but then stumbled over to Chaz's place on Wednesday night with a bag full of dinner and a head full of red wine. I think the world's a more pleasant place as long as I can have martini's.

-A moment of silence for Bandi's autistic now-ex-boyfriend. I wish I could say I miss seeing-and-not-hearing you, dear, but the fact remains that I DON'T.

So that's a start for now ... I promise that I have un-boarded the windows of the condo and the champagne is back on ice!