Texting with the Kiddo...
Kiddo: Hey the deposit came through today. Thank you thank you thank you!
Me: G
Me: Damn it, that was supposed say "Good".
Kiddo: I've already made $215 at KFC, but I won't get it until the next paycheck. :-(
Me: When does the next paycheck come?
Kiddo: Not for two more weeks.
Me: Has Bunny found a job yet?
Side note...I forgot to tell you guys that he got back together with Bunny on account of how she followed him and enrolled at his college and I'm not sure what the sequence of events was after that except that I suppose at one point his penis accidentally fell into her vagina and now they are living together over the summer in a house 6 miles from campus with a Mexican guy named Geronimo. I'm not even kidding. And yes, I will go into more detail about Geronimo, but not today. Blogging 101, dudes...always keep them wanting more.
So. Anyway...
Me: Has Bunny found a job yet?
Kiddo: Yes, she works at KFC too.
Me: So y'all work together. Awwww, so cute.
Kiddo: Yup. Pretty damn lucky and convenient.
Me: Y'all might as well just go ahead and get married and start having babies.
*phone silence*
Me: I'M KIDDING.
*longer phone silence*
Me: You know, because that would be ridiculous and I'm just being hilarious over here.
*more phone silence*
Me: Ok, your silence makes me think you already ARE having babies and are just trying to find a way to tell me so that I don't totally freak out and have a panic attack and OMG HOW AM I GOING TO TELL YOUR FATHER I'M TOO YOUNG TO BE A GRANDMOTHER!!!!
*still more phone silence*
Me: Stop smoking that bowl/having sex and answer your stepmother before she passes out!
*more mother fucking phone silence*
Me: I swear to all that is good and holy that if you do not answer me RIGHT NOW I WILL DRIVE DOWN THERE AND CUT YOUR PRIVATE PARTS OFF.
Kiddo: Calm down, I was in the bathroom. And may I just say oh hellllllll no to babies.
Me: Oh. Okay.
Me: That was totally hilarious, right? Me pretending to freak out. heh heh
Kiddo: Right. Pretending.
So. Guess who's getting a box full of condoms sent to him tomorrow?
Showing posts with label Hell To The No. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hell To The No. Show all posts
Monday, June 25, 2012
Thursday, December 29, 2011
I'm Pretty Sure I Had This Doll. Which Explains A Lot About Me.
I found this 1970's commercial on YouTube today. I'm almost positive someone gave me this doll for Christmas one year because I vaguely remember being terrified of it and refusing to sleep in my room until my mom got rid of it.
I don't know what scares me more...the doll or the creepy Exorcist head turns those kids are making. The only way this toy could have been worse is if they painted a clown face on it.
Oh shit.
I don't know what scares me more...the doll or the creepy Exorcist head turns those kids are making. The only way this toy could have been worse is if they painted a clown face on it.
Oh shit.
Friday, September 16, 2011
My Name Is Miss Yvonne. You Deleted My Talk Show. Prepare To Die.
Sometimes it really sucks having renters in your house. Sometimes they do really annoying and fucking stupid things. Things that 99.9% of the human population would not do. Like if you heard about someone doing those things you would be all “No way is anyone that stupid/rude/inconsiderate". And then? Your fucking renter does them and you feel the sudden urge to gouge their eyeball out with one of those tiny relish forks because it is the exact perfect size for eyeballs and that bastard totally deserves it.
Like maybe your renters buy scooters and ride them through the mud and then track the mud through the house and then leave their muddy shoes by the door and then fucking lie when you ask if they walked through your house with muddy shoes on.
Or maybe your renters decide to use your pasta strainer to clean their fish tank rocks but don’t plan on telling you they did it and thank you baby Jesus that you noticed it was missing before they returned it and you used it to strain your pasta and now you’re totally eating spaghetti ala fish poop for dinner. And then they giggle like three year olds when you ask them why they did it.
Perhaps your renter decides while you are out of town for the weekend to go out and get completely wasted and bring an equally wasted couple home from the bar with him that he has never met before in his life, then passes out in his bed while this drunk couple hang out in your house all night totally unsupervised and then your other renter gets up at 3am to pee and sees this strange couple fucking on your couch. Then you have to call your renter and yell at him and when you get home, all of your booze is missing and he “has no idea who took it”.
Oh! Here’s a good one. Your renter goes out and gets wasted AGAIN, only this time it’s during a weird Texas snowstorm, and he gets arrested for drunk driving and doesn’t come home for 3 days, so you think he must be dead in a ditch somewhere, and then he shows up and is all “Hey, I got arrested and have to go to court and can you please drive me there because they took my license away? Also, my kids are gonna come live here with me for like, 2 or 3 weeks and maybe they will stay forever. That’s cool, right?”.
Could be that your renter turns out to be a reclusive hoarder who packs the bedroom she is living in to the ceiling with junk, but you don’t really notice how much she has in there until it’s too late. Also she has a cat. Also she’s morbidly obese and orders a pizza and three sub sandwiches and keeps them in her room to eat on for two days. Also she decides to move to another country and doesn’t start packing until the night before her flight. Also after she’s gone, you realize she’s left 50 (I am not exaggerating, y’all) bags of trash, a bed, a table, an office chair and a dirty litter box in her room for you to dispose of. Also she emails you a week later to ask when you will be sending her deposit back. Also you totally flip out and write back that it will be a cold day in hell when she gets her deposit back and then spend two weeks obsessively cleaning the room while whispering “unclean…unclean…”.
And then maybe after all of those morons, you somehow get lucky and your next renter is great. He’s your son’s friend, so you worry at first that maybe this was a bad idea. But he is respectful and sweet and is sad when we are not home because “I miss you guys when you aren’t here”. He pays his rent on time. He is a little scared of making you mad, thanks to some well placed looks and comments about not pissing you off because you’re a fucking genius when it comes to intimidation. But he still says “bye family” when he leaves for work and sits down to tell us all about his day when he gets home. You know, like your own child would do if they weren’t going through a completely selfish and asshole-y phase right now. You have no complaints, things are going wonderfully.
And then?
The fucker has to go and ruin it by DELETING YOUR DVR RECORDING OF THE DR. PHIL CASEY ANTHONY PARENTS’ INTERVIEW.
Yeah.
He’s fucking terrified. He knows what he did and now he’s hiding from me. I haven’t seen him since Monday. I hope he’s prepared for when we meet again, because shit is about to go down, yo. You don’t fuck with a woman’s talk show recordings. Never. Never ever. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. But retribution will be swift and terrible.
Like maybe your renters buy scooters and ride them through the mud and then track the mud through the house and then leave their muddy shoes by the door and then fucking lie when you ask if they walked through your house with muddy shoes on.
Or maybe your renters decide to use your pasta strainer to clean their fish tank rocks but don’t plan on telling you they did it and thank you baby Jesus that you noticed it was missing before they returned it and you used it to strain your pasta and now you’re totally eating spaghetti ala fish poop for dinner. And then they giggle like three year olds when you ask them why they did it.
Perhaps your renter decides while you are out of town for the weekend to go out and get completely wasted and bring an equally wasted couple home from the bar with him that he has never met before in his life, then passes out in his bed while this drunk couple hang out in your house all night totally unsupervised and then your other renter gets up at 3am to pee and sees this strange couple fucking on your couch. Then you have to call your renter and yell at him and when you get home, all of your booze is missing and he “has no idea who took it”.
Oh! Here’s a good one. Your renter goes out and gets wasted AGAIN, only this time it’s during a weird Texas snowstorm, and he gets arrested for drunk driving and doesn’t come home for 3 days, so you think he must be dead in a ditch somewhere, and then he shows up and is all “Hey, I got arrested and have to go to court and can you please drive me there because they took my license away? Also, my kids are gonna come live here with me for like, 2 or 3 weeks and maybe they will stay forever. That’s cool, right?”.
Could be that your renter turns out to be a reclusive hoarder who packs the bedroom she is living in to the ceiling with junk, but you don’t really notice how much she has in there until it’s too late. Also she has a cat. Also she’s morbidly obese and orders a pizza and three sub sandwiches and keeps them in her room to eat on for two days. Also she decides to move to another country and doesn’t start packing until the night before her flight. Also after she’s gone, you realize she’s left 50 (I am not exaggerating, y’all) bags of trash, a bed, a table, an office chair and a dirty litter box in her room for you to dispose of. Also she emails you a week later to ask when you will be sending her deposit back. Also you totally flip out and write back that it will be a cold day in hell when she gets her deposit back and then spend two weeks obsessively cleaning the room while whispering “unclean…unclean…”.
And then maybe after all of those morons, you somehow get lucky and your next renter is great. He’s your son’s friend, so you worry at first that maybe this was a bad idea. But he is respectful and sweet and is sad when we are not home because “I miss you guys when you aren’t here”. He pays his rent on time. He is a little scared of making you mad, thanks to some well placed looks and comments about not pissing you off because you’re a fucking genius when it comes to intimidation. But he still says “bye family” when he leaves for work and sits down to tell us all about his day when he gets home. You know, like your own child would do if they weren’t going through a completely selfish and asshole-y phase right now. You have no complaints, things are going wonderfully.
And then?
The fucker has to go and ruin it by DELETING YOUR DVR RECORDING OF THE DR. PHIL CASEY ANTHONY PARENTS’ INTERVIEW.
Yeah.
He’s fucking terrified. He knows what he did and now he’s hiding from me. I haven’t seen him since Monday. I hope he’s prepared for when we meet again, because shit is about to go down, yo. You don’t fuck with a woman’s talk show recordings. Never. Never ever. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. But retribution will be swift and terrible.
Friday, May 6, 2011
I’m Either The Nicest Person On The Planet, Or The Dumbest. My Vote Is For The Second One.
I don’t know what it is about me this week, but I’ve been bombarded with requests for favors. I don’t know what the hell is going on. Do I have the word “helpful” or “sucker” tattooed on my forehead? Am I too nice? Did I borrow a pen from you two years ago and now it’s payback time?
Shit!
First, I offered to pass along a friend’s resume to a department in my office. That was me just being awesome…she didn’t ask me to do it. But she got an interview the next day and got offered the job. I felt great. I did a good deed! Hooray me! Apparently my friend told everyone what I had done for her, because my email has now been flooded with resumes from not one, not two, but five other people. Five! All of them with greetings like “Hi, Natalie told me your work was hiring. Can you please get me an interview? Signed, person you have never met.”
Then it was a vendor that I used to work with at an old job. He asked me to get him a lunch meeting with my boss. He wants to get his foot in the door, which is a hard thing to do unless you know someone. I like the guy. I sympathize with him. I want him to succeed. So I said yes and got my boss to agree to lunch that day. The next day, he texts me and asks if I could maybe possibly kind of tell him what our current vendor is bidding for jobs? You know, so he could be competitive? Because he really really wants to work for us?
Umm. No. I’m not losing my job for you, dude. Except I don’t know how to say no to awkward, inappropriate requests. So instead I told him I would “try to find out”. And then never told him anything. And now he keeps texting asking me and I’m all “sorry, I’m swamped right now” and “I don’t know where to find the bids” and still he keeps texting and now I have to get up the nerve to tell him no. Because yeah, I’m not doing that.
Then it was a guy I work with. He asked me if I could please “call this number and ask for Sherry and then if she is there, ask her when the next tax assessment class is”. To which I was all “Huh?” and he was all “It’s my ex-wife and she’s psycho and I need to find out if she’s actually working where she says she is so I can get my child support.” and I was all “I don’t want to do that.” and he was all “Why not?” and I was all because I don’t want to get involved in your crazy life. But I only said that last part in my head. What came out of my mouth was “Ummm, okay.” So I called, and thank you baby Jesus, no one answered. So I told him and he was all “Try again!” and I was all “No!” and he was all “Why not?” and I was all “Because it’s weird, okay?”. And then he left me alone. For two hours. Since then, he asks every time he walks by my desk, giving me wounded puppy faces when I say no.
Then! This morning another co-worker told me about how she got so wasted last night and didn’t get home until 4am and omg she might still be a little drunk and she doesn’t remember where she parked her car. So now she has no car, no wallet and no cell phone. She followed that up by asking if she could borrow my car to run to the store “real quick”. And I said yes, because we go to lunch every Friday and we’ve sang karaoke together and how do you say no to a kind of sort of friend when she asks to borrow your car? You don't. If you are me, anyway.
So now I’m sitting at my desk, about to call and ask Shelly about tax assessment classes while texting “I still can’t find the vendor bid files, but I’ll keep looking!” and thinking about where my car might be right now and how I can’t even call to make sure everything is okay because she doesn’t have a cell phone on account of it being in her lost car somewhere in downtown Dallas.
Fuck, I’m an idiot.
Don’t forget, I’m posting today over at Sprocket Ink, the most super cool and totally awesome snarky news website ever! This afternoon I’m writing about how Mariah Carey loves her living room so much that she named one of her babies after it. If I’m lyin’ then I’m dyin’.
Shit!
First, I offered to pass along a friend’s resume to a department in my office. That was me just being awesome…she didn’t ask me to do it. But she got an interview the next day and got offered the job. I felt great. I did a good deed! Hooray me! Apparently my friend told everyone what I had done for her, because my email has now been flooded with resumes from not one, not two, but five other people. Five! All of them with greetings like “Hi, Natalie told me your work was hiring. Can you please get me an interview? Signed, person you have never met.”
Then it was a vendor that I used to work with at an old job. He asked me to get him a lunch meeting with my boss. He wants to get his foot in the door, which is a hard thing to do unless you know someone. I like the guy. I sympathize with him. I want him to succeed. So I said yes and got my boss to agree to lunch that day. The next day, he texts me and asks if I could maybe possibly kind of tell him what our current vendor is bidding for jobs? You know, so he could be competitive? Because he really really wants to work for us?
Umm. No. I’m not losing my job for you, dude. Except I don’t know how to say no to awkward, inappropriate requests. So instead I told him I would “try to find out”. And then never told him anything. And now he keeps texting asking me and I’m all “sorry, I’m swamped right now” and “I don’t know where to find the bids” and still he keeps texting and now I have to get up the nerve to tell him no. Because yeah, I’m not doing that.
Then it was a guy I work with. He asked me if I could please “call this number and ask for Sherry and then if she is there, ask her when the next tax assessment class is”. To which I was all “Huh?” and he was all “It’s my ex-wife and she’s psycho and I need to find out if she’s actually working where she says she is so I can get my child support.” and I was all “I don’t want to do that.” and he was all “Why not?” and I was all because I don’t want to get involved in your crazy life. But I only said that last part in my head. What came out of my mouth was “Ummm, okay.” So I called, and thank you baby Jesus, no one answered. So I told him and he was all “Try again!” and I was all “No!” and he was all “Why not?” and I was all “Because it’s weird, okay?”. And then he left me alone. For two hours. Since then, he asks every time he walks by my desk, giving me wounded puppy faces when I say no.
Then! This morning another co-worker told me about how she got so wasted last night and didn’t get home until 4am and omg she might still be a little drunk and she doesn’t remember where she parked her car. So now she has no car, no wallet and no cell phone. She followed that up by asking if she could borrow my car to run to the store “real quick”. And I said yes, because we go to lunch every Friday and we’ve sang karaoke together and how do you say no to a kind of sort of friend when she asks to borrow your car? You don't. If you are me, anyway.
So now I’m sitting at my desk, about to call and ask Shelly about tax assessment classes while texting “I still can’t find the vendor bid files, but I’ll keep looking!” and thinking about where my car might be right now and how I can’t even call to make sure everything is okay because she doesn’t have a cell phone on account of it being in her lost car somewhere in downtown Dallas.
Fuck, I’m an idiot.
Don’t forget, I’m posting today over at Sprocket Ink, the most super cool and totally awesome snarky news website ever! This afternoon I’m writing about how Mariah Carey loves her living room so much that she named one of her babies after it. If I’m lyin’ then I’m dyin’.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Seems Like My Serial Killer Could Have Picked A Better Weapon
Yesterday was our 8th anniversary, but Captain Carl has been in Oklahoma all week for stupid business stuff so I totally spent the day alone. Well, I did have dinner with my sister…but after that I was by myself. You can go ahead and start feeling sorry for me now.
So I get home after dinner and I’m all feeling sorry for myself and I call the Captain and he’s all “I’m watching Dancing with the Stars.” and I’m all “What? We are apart on our anniversary and you’re watching a show you won’t ever watch with me?” and he’s all “There’s nothing else on.” and I’m all “Then you should have drove home to be with me on our anniversary.” and he’s all “But we're four hours apart and I have to work tomorrow.” and I’m all “Still. Whatever. I don’t even care.”
Not the most romantic anniversary ever. But it’s okay because he’s coming home tonight and it’s totally going to be romantic and he is totally going to rub my back for me. What? That’s romantic. He loves to do that. Especially right after a four hour drive. *shifty eyes*
So I go to bed and I’m lying there on my back and I can’t get comfortable. I decide to try sleeping on my stomach. And that’s when it happened...
My biggest fear is home invasion. I’m terrified that someone is going to get into my house and murder me. This fear is magnified by a zillion when I’m alone. I’m completely rational throughout the evening. I eat dinner, watch tv, read a book. Whatever. I’m not scared at all. And then I go to bed and blam! Petrified. I’m convinced a psycho killer has snuck into my house while I was at work and has been hiding in my closet or under my bed or in my shower the whole time I’ve been there. And now he’s waiting for me to fall asleep so he can murder me with a knife from my very own kitchen. Or with the fireplace poker from my very own fireplace. Or with the hitachi magic wand vibrator from my very own sex toy drawer. The murder weapon is always something we own. Because serial killers love irony. Apparently.
But for some reason, none of the usual fears were running through my head last night. Everything was quiet and I was in a comfortable sleeping position. Lying on stomach, one arm under the pillow…so comfy. I was almost asleep when I felt a pinch on my arm.
Ouch.
I ignore it. Until I feel it again, only more painful this time.
Damn, what is that? OMG, maybe it’s a spider!
I jump up and turn on the light. I turn my pillow over several times and find nothing. Then I just stare at my bed for awhile, waiting for the spider to come out. Nothing. I reach over and grab my glasses and when I turn back to the bed, I see it.
A june bug. Crawling across my bed towards me. Much screaming and flailing of arms. I am completely grossed out. A june bug was under my pillow.
How the fuck did it get under there??? OMG, I bet the serial killer totally put it there to distract me and he is totally creeping up behind me right now to strangle me with a wire hanger from my very own closet!
It's a testament to my crazy brain that I was able to turn one june bug into a murder weapon. Of course there wasn’t a serial killer behind me. But the june bug was still there. So I had to kill it with my sex toy catalog and then I switched pillows just in case the other one was infested with june bugs because duh, of course it was and then I laid in bed wide awake for an hour because I was all itchy and convinced that the june bug had laid eggs in my arm and now I was a host for millions of baby june bugs and OMG it’s totally going to be like that one guy that had a headache and he went to the doctor and the doctor found hundreds of maggots in his ear!
Yeah.
The serial killer thing isn’t nearly as scary as june bug larvae growing in my body.
p.s. I texted Captain Carl this morning to tell him about what happened and I was all “a june bug was under my pillow last night and it bit me.” and he was all “june bugs don’t bite.” and I was all “Then it pinched me. Or laid eggs in my arm. Whatever it did, it was gross.” and he was all “heh heh” and I was all “It was traumatic, shut up!” and he was all “Was it right side only june bugs?’ and then I died from loving him so much. That man is sooo my soul mate.
So I get home after dinner and I’m all feeling sorry for myself and I call the Captain and he’s all “I’m watching Dancing with the Stars.” and I’m all “What? We are apart on our anniversary and you’re watching a show you won’t ever watch with me?” and he’s all “There’s nothing else on.” and I’m all “Then you should have drove home to be with me on our anniversary.” and he’s all “But we're four hours apart and I have to work tomorrow.” and I’m all “Still. Whatever. I don’t even care.”
Not the most romantic anniversary ever. But it’s okay because he’s coming home tonight and it’s totally going to be romantic and he is totally going to rub my back for me. What? That’s romantic. He loves to do that. Especially right after a four hour drive. *shifty eyes*
So I go to bed and I’m lying there on my back and I can’t get comfortable. I decide to try sleeping on my stomach. And that’s when it happened...
My biggest fear is home invasion. I’m terrified that someone is going to get into my house and murder me. This fear is magnified by a zillion when I’m alone. I’m completely rational throughout the evening. I eat dinner, watch tv, read a book. Whatever. I’m not scared at all. And then I go to bed and blam! Petrified. I’m convinced a psycho killer has snuck into my house while I was at work and has been hiding in my closet or under my bed or in my shower the whole time I’ve been there. And now he’s waiting for me to fall asleep so he can murder me with a knife from my very own kitchen. Or with the fireplace poker from my very own fireplace. Or with the hitachi magic wand vibrator from my very own sex toy drawer. The murder weapon is always something we own. Because serial killers love irony. Apparently.
But for some reason, none of the usual fears were running through my head last night. Everything was quiet and I was in a comfortable sleeping position. Lying on stomach, one arm under the pillow…so comfy. I was almost asleep when I felt a pinch on my arm.
Ouch.
I ignore it. Until I feel it again, only more painful this time.
Damn, what is that? OMG, maybe it’s a spider!
I jump up and turn on the light. I turn my pillow over several times and find nothing. Then I just stare at my bed for awhile, waiting for the spider to come out. Nothing. I reach over and grab my glasses and when I turn back to the bed, I see it.
A june bug. Crawling across my bed towards me. Much screaming and flailing of arms. I am completely grossed out. A june bug was under my pillow.
How the fuck did it get under there??? OMG, I bet the serial killer totally put it there to distract me and he is totally creeping up behind me right now to strangle me with a wire hanger from my very own closet!
It's a testament to my crazy brain that I was able to turn one june bug into a murder weapon. Of course there wasn’t a serial killer behind me. But the june bug was still there. So I had to kill it with my sex toy catalog and then I switched pillows just in case the other one was infested with june bugs because duh, of course it was and then I laid in bed wide awake for an hour because I was all itchy and convinced that the june bug had laid eggs in my arm and now I was a host for millions of baby june bugs and OMG it’s totally going to be like that one guy that had a headache and he went to the doctor and the doctor found hundreds of maggots in his ear!
Yeah.
The serial killer thing isn’t nearly as scary as june bug larvae growing in my body.
p.s. I texted Captain Carl this morning to tell him about what happened and I was all “a june bug was under my pillow last night and it bit me.” and he was all “june bugs don’t bite.” and I was all “Then it pinched me. Or laid eggs in my arm. Whatever it did, it was gross.” and he was all “heh heh” and I was all “It was traumatic, shut up!” and he was all “Was it right side only june bugs?’ and then I died from loving him so much. That man is sooo my soul mate.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
I’m Either The Best Sister Ever Or Really Stupid. Probably Both.
I’m going home for Thanksgiving. Home to Minnesota to my parents house. I haven’t been home for the holidays (Yes, I really just typed that. I'll just go ahead and punch myself in the face now.) in 11 years. That was my first Christmas after moving to Texas and no way was I staying down here where it was 75 degrees and sunny when I could be back home where there was snow. I mean, what’s Christmas without the snow? And as it turned out, the temperatures never got above zero degrees. Yeah, I was really happy to come back to the warm weather after that last visit.
But the last couple of years I’ve been longing to be up north for Christmas again. Last year, the Dallas area got a huge (by southern standards) winter storm on Christmas Eve. It would have been perfect, except that we went to New Orleans for Christmas and missed it. Not that I’m complaining. I was drinking hurricanes and eating gumbo, who the hell cares about snow? But still, my northern roots are calling to me.
My parents are usually in Arizona by this time of year. They are retired snowbirds and can hardly wait to get to Mesa by the end of October. But my dad has been sick this year. He has leukemia and needed to stay close to his doctor in MN for chemo, so they aren’t heading to AZ until after Thanksgiving (he's doing great, by the way. This post isn't about that, but I didn't want to leave you hanging). So I was all “This year is my chance! I should totally go home for Thanksgiving so my parents won’t be alone on the holiday! I’m booking a flight right now!” to Captain Carl. And all three of my sisters agreed with me and booked tickets too.
So I’m flying up on Thursday morning. Because we are poor white trash, we could only afford one ticket so the Captain is staying home to host his side of the family’s Thanksgiving at our house. Which is weird, but whatever because there is already snow on the ground up there! Hooray! It’ll be almost like Christmas! I’m totally building a snowman and making snow angels!
And then I checked the weather channel. The high temp on Thursday up there is going to be 15 degrees. 15 DEGREES. My sister that still lives up there emailed to tell me it’s going to be the coldest Thanksgiving in 20 years.
Awesome.
I mean, I want snow. Snow. Not freezing nostrils. Not temps too cold for my wimpy southern version of a winter jacket to handle. And certainly not so cold that, holy hell, my whole family has to stay inside for 4 days straight. My whole two parent, four sisters and two nieces in a 3 bedroom house family. We’ll kill each other. You may think I’m exaggerating. Rest assured, I am not. Not even a little bit. This is how it will go down:
Me: Hey, let’s go outside!
Sister #1: It’s too cold.
Me: Oh come on! It’ll be fun! We can build a snow fort!
Sister #2: No way.
Sister #3: Let’s play a game.
Sisters #1 and #2: Yeah, let’s!
Me: Oh shit.
Because that is how the murders always start in my family. With a game.
Pictionary?
A massacre.
Trivial Pursuit?
Crime scene.
Dominoes?
Total slaughter.
It always starts out with optimism. This time will be different. This time we’ll have fun. This time we’ll all get along. This time no one will accuse anyone else of cheating. This time no one will overturn the table in a fit of rage over coming in second place. But the conclusion is almost always the same. Everyone not talking to everyone. At least one sister crying. At least one other sister calling their husband/boyfriend to tell them she is coming home early. My mom shutting herself up in her room for the rest of the day. And my dad reading the paper, pretending he can’t hear what is happening.
But I’ve decided to be optimistic. This will be a good visit. Only 3.5 days. Just long enough for everyone to stop missing each other and just short enough to keep everyone from getting on each other’s nerves.
Unfortunately, I’ve been recruited by one of my sisters. To go Black Friday shopping. At 4am. In 15 degree weather. I mean, I just….I don’t even……
The thing is, I could have just said no, as the Captain pointed out last night. I could have said no and slept until 10am on my air mattress on the living room floor and pretended not to notice my sister's hurt feelings. But I said yes. Because I know how much it will mean to her. And I’ll play every game anyone wants to play. Because it’s family. And it’s going to be awesome and it’s going to be a blood bath and it’s going to be exhausting and I’m going to love every minute of it.
Because there’s no place like home.
But the last couple of years I’ve been longing to be up north for Christmas again. Last year, the Dallas area got a huge (by southern standards) winter storm on Christmas Eve. It would have been perfect, except that we went to New Orleans for Christmas and missed it. Not that I’m complaining. I was drinking hurricanes and eating gumbo, who the hell cares about snow? But still, my northern roots are calling to me.
My parents are usually in Arizona by this time of year. They are retired snowbirds and can hardly wait to get to Mesa by the end of October. But my dad has been sick this year. He has leukemia and needed to stay close to his doctor in MN for chemo, so they aren’t heading to AZ until after Thanksgiving (he's doing great, by the way. This post isn't about that, but I didn't want to leave you hanging). So I was all “This year is my chance! I should totally go home for Thanksgiving so my parents won’t be alone on the holiday! I’m booking a flight right now!” to Captain Carl. And all three of my sisters agreed with me and booked tickets too.
So I’m flying up on Thursday morning. Because we are poor white trash, we could only afford one ticket so the Captain is staying home to host his side of the family’s Thanksgiving at our house. Which is weird, but whatever because there is already snow on the ground up there! Hooray! It’ll be almost like Christmas! I’m totally building a snowman and making snow angels!
And then I checked the weather channel. The high temp on Thursday up there is going to be 15 degrees. 15 DEGREES. My sister that still lives up there emailed to tell me it’s going to be the coldest Thanksgiving in 20 years.
Awesome.
I mean, I want snow. Snow. Not freezing nostrils. Not temps too cold for my wimpy southern version of a winter jacket to handle. And certainly not so cold that, holy hell, my whole family has to stay inside for 4 days straight. My whole two parent, four sisters and two nieces in a 3 bedroom house family. We’ll kill each other. You may think I’m exaggerating. Rest assured, I am not. Not even a little bit. This is how it will go down:
Me: Hey, let’s go outside!
Sister #1: It’s too cold.
Me: Oh come on! It’ll be fun! We can build a snow fort!
Sister #2: No way.
Sister #3: Let’s play a game.
Sisters #1 and #2: Yeah, let’s!
Me: Oh shit.
Because that is how the murders always start in my family. With a game.
Pictionary?
A massacre.
Trivial Pursuit?
Crime scene.
Dominoes?
Total slaughter.
It always starts out with optimism. This time will be different. This time we’ll have fun. This time we’ll all get along. This time no one will accuse anyone else of cheating. This time no one will overturn the table in a fit of rage over coming in second place. But the conclusion is almost always the same. Everyone not talking to everyone. At least one sister crying. At least one other sister calling their husband/boyfriend to tell them she is coming home early. My mom shutting herself up in her room for the rest of the day. And my dad reading the paper, pretending he can’t hear what is happening.
But I’ve decided to be optimistic. This will be a good visit. Only 3.5 days. Just long enough for everyone to stop missing each other and just short enough to keep everyone from getting on each other’s nerves.
Unfortunately, I’ve been recruited by one of my sisters. To go Black Friday shopping. At 4am. In 15 degree weather. I mean, I just….I don’t even……
The thing is, I could have just said no, as the Captain pointed out last night. I could have said no and slept until 10am on my air mattress on the living room floor and pretended not to notice my sister's hurt feelings. But I said yes. Because I know how much it will mean to her. And I’ll play every game anyone wants to play. Because it’s family. And it’s going to be awesome and it’s going to be a blood bath and it’s going to be exhausting and I’m going to love every minute of it.
Because there’s no place like home.
Monday, November 8, 2010
This Guy Is The Reason My Life Will Never Be Exciting
So I heard a review on the radio about a movie called “127 hours”. It’s about that guy who went hiking alone and didn’t tell anyone where he was going and then he fell or something and got his arm caught under a rock and 5 days later he cut his own arm off to get free.
Yeah.
So hiking is out for me. For, like, ever. Because I don’t know about you but fuck that shit. And the worst part is, it happened while he was walking. He wasn’t parachuting, he wasn’t bungee jumping, he wasn’t wrestling tigers. He was doing something fairly common that millions of people do. Maybe a more advanced type of walking, sure. But still. Walking. This is what scares me.
I mean, I’ve gone hiking before without incident. Mostly in flat places where the biggest rock is the size of my foot with maybe one or two big enough to stand on. But seriously, y’all. I really don’t like walking around as much as I like keeping my arm. So as of today, hiking is permanently banned from my life. Just the thought of doing something that could result in me having to cut off any of my body parts makes me want to buy a rascal and never walk anywhere again.
Oh shit. What if the rascal hits a rock and throws me off and I get trapped anyway?? It's a lose-lose situation, y'all.
Not to mention that this guy cut off his arm with his pocketknife. I never carry a pocketknife. Or any knife for that matter. Sometimes I carry a spoon in my purse (don’t ask) but no way would that cut through bone. Unless I could spend my 5 days sharpening the spoon on the rock that trapped me to a vicious point and therefore make it possible to cut off my arm. Then I could be all “Ha! Take that rock! How’s that for irony! I used the very thing that which trapped mine self’s arm to free thine self from thy perilous grasp!”. I figure I’d be so delirious by then that I would have slipped into a bad Shakespearean accent for some reason. I mean, I just cut off my own arm for fuck’s sake. Give me a break. You try cutting off your arm and see if whatever you say afterwards makes any sense, you big jerkface.
Honestly, I just don’t think I could do it. I told Captain Carl that very thing and he was all “You totally would if you had no other choice.” and I was all “No way, I’d rather die than cut part of myself off.” and he was all “You’d be surprised what you could do if you were faced with death.” and I was all “You know what I would do? I would call someone with my cell phone like any smart person would.” and he was all “You probably wouldn’t get any reception since you’d be in a remote location, which is why no one could find you in the first place.” and I was all “Since when is the IHOP parking lot a ‘remote location’?” and he was all “What?” and I was all “Because that’s as far as I’m hiking from now on. From our car to the IHOP.” and he was all “Don’t you want to live an adventurous, exciting life? See new places? Push the boundaries?” and I was all “When was the last time you saw someone cut their own arm off at an IHOP?” and he was all *blink* and I was all “I think I’ve made my point.”
I figure finally trying one of those weird fruit syrups they have at IHOP is adventure enough for me. Suck it, excitement.
Yeah.
So hiking is out for me. For, like, ever. Because I don’t know about you but fuck that shit. And the worst part is, it happened while he was walking. He wasn’t parachuting, he wasn’t bungee jumping, he wasn’t wrestling tigers. He was doing something fairly common that millions of people do. Maybe a more advanced type of walking, sure. But still. Walking. This is what scares me.
I mean, I’ve gone hiking before without incident. Mostly in flat places where the biggest rock is the size of my foot with maybe one or two big enough to stand on. But seriously, y’all. I really don’t like walking around as much as I like keeping my arm. So as of today, hiking is permanently banned from my life. Just the thought of doing something that could result in me having to cut off any of my body parts makes me want to buy a rascal and never walk anywhere again.
Oh shit. What if the rascal hits a rock and throws me off and I get trapped anyway?? It's a lose-lose situation, y'all.
Not to mention that this guy cut off his arm with his pocketknife. I never carry a pocketknife. Or any knife for that matter. Sometimes I carry a spoon in my purse (don’t ask) but no way would that cut through bone. Unless I could spend my 5 days sharpening the spoon on the rock that trapped me to a vicious point and therefore make it possible to cut off my arm. Then I could be all “Ha! Take that rock! How’s that for irony! I used the very thing that which trapped mine self’s arm to free thine self from thy perilous grasp!”. I figure I’d be so delirious by then that I would have slipped into a bad Shakespearean accent for some reason. I mean, I just cut off my own arm for fuck’s sake. Give me a break. You try cutting off your arm and see if whatever you say afterwards makes any sense, you big jerkface.
Honestly, I just don’t think I could do it. I told Captain Carl that very thing and he was all “You totally would if you had no other choice.” and I was all “No way, I’d rather die than cut part of myself off.” and he was all “You’d be surprised what you could do if you were faced with death.” and I was all “You know what I would do? I would call someone with my cell phone like any smart person would.” and he was all “You probably wouldn’t get any reception since you’d be in a remote location, which is why no one could find you in the first place.” and I was all “Since when is the IHOP parking lot a ‘remote location’?” and he was all “What?” and I was all “Because that’s as far as I’m hiking from now on. From our car to the IHOP.” and he was all “Don’t you want to live an adventurous, exciting life? See new places? Push the boundaries?” and I was all “When was the last time you saw someone cut their own arm off at an IHOP?” and he was all *blink* and I was all “I think I’ve made my point.”
I figure finally trying one of those weird fruit syrups they have at IHOP is adventure enough for me. Suck it, excitement.
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