Saturday, August 31, 2013

Did you change your underwear?

It's always interesting to come home and visit with my folks. It's about a 5 and half hour drive from my house to theirs. It's just far enough to ensure that weekend visits need to be planned.

When I arrived this afternoon my mom was folding laundry at the kitchen table. My father was sitting at the other end watching her fold his underwear and suddenly blurts out, "don't look at my underwear".

Me - are you talking to me?

Dad - Yes, it makes me uncomfortable.

Me - I've seen your underwear. I used to do the laundry when I was a teenager, and that included your underwear.

Dad - I don't remember that.

Me - It doesn't really matter whether you remember; I used to fold your underwear.

Then turning his attention to my mother he says..."Hey, 11 pairs of underwear, not bad for one week".

Mom - this two weeks, there should be 14 pairs here.

Me - Oh My God! Don't you change your underwear everyday? What's wrong with you?

My father just gives me a blank look and shakes his head.

Me - Well? Do you change your underwear everyday? It's totally gross if you don't.

Dad - When are you leaving? Don't you have to go back to Minnesota now?

Several hours later we are sitting in the family room watching TV, as a family, something that has been totally lost on me for the past 22 years, since I live alone. Anyway, I got up to go get a hair tie and when I returned to the family room, it was obvious some one had passed gas.

Me - Alright, who did that?

Dad - Did what?

Me - You know what? Who farted?

Dad - It was your mother.

Mom - It wasn't me, I have diarrhea; if I have to fart I have to go to the bathroom. Your father farted.

Dad - Why do yo always blame me?

Mom - Because it's you.

Dad - No one farted.

Me - Seriously, Dad. It didn't smell in here when I left and now it does. You farted. Why are you blaming Mom for your smelly fart?

Dad - When are you going back to Minnesota? Are you taking your mother with? Are you going to be here tomorrow?

Good times...I'll be here until Tuesday (maybe), so stay tuned.


Sunday, August 25, 2013

Very random crap...

Today's post is brought to you by the number 14,610.

When I told my mother I didn't like my belly button she became upset...because, as she explained to me, it came from her. I had no response to that. Well played, Mom, well played.

There's new information about Mars One, and I think those people are nuts;

...but I prefer this tiger cub video.

I threw away a perfectly good hose the other day because the sprayer fell apart and I wasn't able to put it back together, nor was I able to unscrew the sprayer from the hose. Now, before you go all, "why didn't you just cut the hose and put a replacement end on"? It's actually cheaper to buy a new hose rather than take the time to go through all of that. Besides, one of my enterprising neighbors probably took it out of my garbage. I can pretty much set anything out on garbage day and it disappears. Plenty of hoarders around. The new hose sucks by the way, but the sprayer nozzle is excellent.

One of my favorite books (when I was a kid) was The Fat Cat, a Danish Folktale. I recommend checking it out if you've got kids.

As a follow up to It's hard to find monkeys for people who are 40...

As you can see, my father found a monkey card,

and it's pretty funny...

The "money" wasn't what I expected. I actually didn't expect any money, but what I got was Allied Issued Military currency (Italian Lire); Chinese money, and Moroccan money.  My great uncle served in WWII and gave this money to my grandfather (long since passed) who gave it to my father, who has now given it to me. Pretty cool, heh?

...and in case you were wondering about the number 14,610, it's the number of days I've been alive. I was able to calculate this number all by myself, despite being a girl. Go suck it Children's Place.           ( ̄へ  ̄)


P.S. I think it's time for an 800 calorie cupcake.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

When you march to the beat of your own drum, you're the only one who knows where the downbeat is...

I've been feeling introspective these past few months and thinking if the present me could go back in time and talk to the 25 year old me, what would she say? There are certainly many things that could be said which the present me would think were wise and insightful. Then I realize it wouldn't really matter, because the 25 year old me wouldn't listen anyway. Some things you just have learn by living.

Joking aside, I have been doing a lot of soul searching recently, assessing my values as well as what I want out of life. I realize that I have a lot of rules, especially about food, so many in fact they can be grouped into categories. I have rules that sound satirical, but aren't; rules that are based on science and nutrition; and socio-political rules. My other rules are mostly about cleanliness and hygiene, and about man hair. What remains is just a bunch of neuroses I use to drive myself nuts.

I figure I come by these rules rightly. My mother had a lot of rules.

One of which was you can't wear shorts until it's at least 75 degrees. When you grow up near Lake Michigan it doesn't hit 75 until mid to late June (usually); but in the meantime, when it's 74, you look like a weirdo running around in your Toughskins when all of your friends are in shorts.

Another rule my mother had was the air conditioner couldn't be turned on until at least June 1st, which is usually not an issue in Wisconsin; the converse however, was the heat doesn't get turned on until at least October 1st. This can be dodgy, but that's why we have sweatshirts. I'm not sure where or how her rules originated, nor do I understand why the cooling and heating rules are date based rather than temperature based, like the shorts rule. She still follows the heat and cooling rules.

Another eccentric rule was that she would never where shorts without nylons; and these weren't the nylons that matched her skin. No, no...these were the nylons that were "mocha" colored. She was embarrassed by how white her legs were, but apparently had no qualms about wearing mocha colored nylons under shorts, because that isn't weird or anything.

My dad's rules were less complex... get up, go to work; come home, wash the car, eat, sleep, repeat. And the big one...stay off the lawn.

And now, I'd like to use this sentence to thank my parents for helping me to become the person I am today. Who knows how I would have turned out without all those crazy rules. I'd like to say a little less neurotic, but probably not.


P.S. I used to poke fun at my mom for how white her legs were, because in the summer I lived outside and was very tan. My legs are now whiter than hers and I usually don't wear shorts because I too, am embarrassed by how white my legs are.

P.P. S. I don't wear nylons under my shorts when I break down and wear them.

P.P.P.S. I don't wear shorts unless it's at least 85 degrees...I get too cold otherwise. And my rules about using the heating and cooling systems in my house are temperature based, not date based.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

It's hard to find monkeys for people who are 40....

My dad says a lot of stuff, much of which seems odd, even when taken in context.

For example, the title of this post. While it appears to be a stand alone statement, the context in which it was said pertains to greeting cards, specifically birthday cards. My father was apparently looking for a birthday card for my upcoming birthday. So in a couple of weeks, I'll be looking forward to a birthday card with some type of primate on it. Surprise!

Some of the other things I learned about card shopping...Wal-Mart is for old people and they don't have good cards or cards with monkeys. Target has good cards. Hallmark has a section with nickel cards, but they're hard to find. When I informed my father that they did not have a card section where cards cost a nickel and that there is nothing one can buy for a nickel anymore because it isn't 1935, I was informed that you can, in fact, purchase many things for a nickel and was subsequently challenged to a nickel war.

If you're wondering what a nickel war is, you are not alone. So I'll tell you. A nickel war is where you purchase things that cost a nickel every time you find them. Which I'm totally fine with, since this means I'll be saving a lot of nickels. Not really sure who will win this one, but I'm on the edge of my chair. Maybe he'll send a nickel with the card. Stay tuned for details.


Monday, August 12, 2013

Here's Blood in Your Eye...

Welcome to Monday!

If you don't like to look at pictures of eyes then stop reading.

It's always a joy to wake up on a Monday morning and finding a blood spot in your eye. It looks much more alarming than it is, but nonetheless gave me quite the jolt when I looked in the mirror this morning and reminded me why I didn't become a physician. The doc says it should clear up in two weeks or so. Fantastic.

I may have to come up with some fun story of how it happened. Because the truth is, let's face it, rather pillow did this to me. Yawn.

On a positive note, it should be a grand week. The weather is perfect. The sun is shining; it's warm but not too warm; it isn't humid (which is quite unusual for August); and I am one week closer to vacation. Yeah.

It can only get better.


Friday, August 2, 2013

People will tell you that Xanax and M&Ms are not a proper diet...

The neighbors recently started playing badminton in their backyard. I'm all for badminton...I love badminton, especially backyard badminton. But seriously, if you're playing badminton in your backyard, you should be playing by backyard margarita rules, which basically boil down to, "dude, I hit the birdie over the net". None of this three hits per side, or there's some kind of "imaginary" line that makes the little birdie go out and gives the other side a point.  If you're into the competitive stuff go join a league and let the rest of us have some fun.

When played in a backyard, the following games fall into the let's have fun and not get all competitive so we kill everyone's buzz category: badminton, volleyball, croquet, boccie ball, lawn Jarts (which you probably shouldn't play drunk, but then what's the point really?), and horseshoes.

And let's get this straight, if for some reason I end up on your team and you yell at me because I'm trying to have drunk backyard fun and you're desperate to win, I might just kick you in the nuts (even if you don't have them). Just remember it's the backyard and nobody cares whether you win, but they will remember how big a douche bag you were. And...if there are children involved and you make them cry, I will make you cry. Count on it.

Did you ever have one those weeks at work where you feel like you're in a scene from Animal Farm? That's pretty much how my week went. It really makes want to make up a bunch of random stuff and then say that I never said any of that. Some people would call it a cluster-fuck, however, I prefer goat rodeo.

And one more thing, can someone please explain how a person manages to get a speeding ticket during rush hour? I don't understand. Traffic moves at a crawl or at least 15 miles below the posted speed limit and yet some folks manage to acquire speeding tickets. If I ever figure it out, I'll be sure to let everyone know.