Friday, November 25, 2011

A very interesting Thanksgiving

Sometimes, I tweet "special" occasions - full moon antics, adventures in cheese-smoking, Fun Times at the House of Cheese. Most recently, I tweeted Thanksgiving with my family. Here're those tweets (italicized), in order, with some commentary (typically without emphasis). I'm sorry Mom.

Many things are happening here at my parents. 1. My dad'll be a millionaire bc he fixes stupid. 2. We think the skeleton's a fox. My parents had there porch deck replaced on Wednesday. Upon removing the old decking, the contractors discovered the skeleton of an animal. My sister placed a beer can next to it, took a picture, and sent it to me via text.

Also, dad walked in and called mom brokeback osama terrorist bitch. The we watched the honey badger. Then, the recycling gave him hrt attck. I could explain the first part of this, but holy mother of seahorses, you really would not be able to understand that what he called her was ACTUALLY a term of endearment. The honey badger, while neither caring nor giving a shit, features again later in the festivities.

We have been here 90 minutes and holy crap I don't even know wtf to think.

so long as I have a signal in this swamp, i'll be tweeting this shit. Also, listening to motley cruel. Holidays BITCHES.

So he said she can't kill him by putting his trash on the ground because he fixes stupid. She said it was too dark to see and full of pee. My dad? He pees on his trash cans sometimes. And by sometimes, I mean pretty much all the time.

Holy crap, motley crue to Celine Dion. And Mike just called their cat an asshole, while he wears his new beer cozy hoodie. My life. At least it wasn't Josh Groban. My parents don't cultivate playlists on their iPods. They just put it on shuffle and wait to hear what happens.

he's calling their cat an asshole because he let her out and then my dad yelled at him for an hour. CATastrophe. Sacrilege. My father and his cat have this bond. They also have a routine. Not-quite-ready-for-a-circus routine, but a routine. Mike disrupted that routine.

Now we're listening to Abba while mom designs a room on. No, really. And the asshole cat paces at the door. This is just crazytalk, and happens way too often. Like, the last time Mom and I visited my sister in Massachusetts, as we drove over the line and towards Sturbridge, the BeeGee's starting singing, Massachusetts.

Mom: get down on all 4s and talk sweet talk. Mike: i got a backstroke! Dad now calls us all terrorists bc I didn't pack shoes for Mike. I don't need to explain this one, do I? OK, fine. They're trying to brush my dad's cat. 

Re: skeleton, we ruled out possum, muskrat, raccoon, and honey badger. Bc honey badger is totally possible. Little Mermaid soundtrack now. Remember that part about loading all songs on the iPod and then hitting shuffle? Yeah....

Fyi, dad is up way past his bed time. And we just had our first really inappropriate comment. Coincidence? I like to say "fyi" like Randall does in the honey badger video. And, you know it's REALLY inappropriate if 1. I say so and 2. I won't even post it.

Babytalkin' to the asshole cat. "did you give them the claw? " something about a sperm collection drive. Google it, stupid. OMG WTF.

Laugh inside, not outside. Also, we're back on the skeleton and how it was a dino: underporchasaurus. My dad, getting ready to go to bed, scolds the women of the house, telling them he didn't want to be jolted awake by maniacal laughter at midnight. AGAIN. So, he wants us to keep the laughing inside of us. Part 2 of that tweet? Nevermind that the porch was initially added to the front of the house AFTER they moved there in 1981.

Some people are gonna develop vacuums in their colons tmrw. Irritable bowel is the new angry birds. I pooped Hawaii! FULL colon cleanse. Don't despair, friends - dad's not yet in bed, and we're now at the poop-portion of the evening. Also, who among us has not pooped Hawaii?

Self-indouched colon cleanse. Happy colon, happy sleep. Ancient Chinese secret. 

Dr. Oz says your poop should be s-shaped. Cursive or print? My dad loves dr. Oz. Poop Primer. Dad confirms his love for Dr. Oz. We watch a video that reminds me of another video:

SNL with Charlie Day: Ask Dr. Oz
- Watch more Funny Videos at Vodpod.

Relationship btwn wizard of Oz and Dr. Oz, and would there have been a movie if everyone just pooped. No place like home. To poop. Straw man? Too dry, needed water. Tin man? Too creaky, needed lube. Cowardly lion? Too scarded, needed to relax. Tornado as a metaphor for flushing.

so, we're still talking about the skeleton the contractors found under the deck. apparently, they just tossed it in the street yesterday... I draw the line at posting skeleton pictures on my blog. It's a weird line to draw, but there it is. Also, Happy Thanksgiving! It's officially Thursday!

now my sister is burying it in the pet "cementary" (my mom spelled it wrong). upon closer investigation, it's pretty much a cat. poor kitty. I won't tell you that burying consisted of catapulting the skeleton into the woods behind my parents' house. Still, I suppose that's better than TOSSING IT INTO THE STREET LIKE SOME KIND OF COMMON DOUCHEBAG.

it's noon, so i'm going to have wine. i expect things to be quiet until about 3ish when my dad emerges from his cave again. I believe it was 12:07, to be exact.

wrongo. have you heard about The Body? somehow there's a dressmaker's body in my mom's tree IN HER FRONT YARD. it's been there for weeks. So much for predicted calmness. Also, The Body deserves its own post.

There's a story behind this, but I'm going to let the picture speak for itself for now.

Share photos on twitter with Twitpic

On making Yonanas: you put a banana in and then it comes out like softserve and it doesn't taste like bananas! Even tho only ing is bananas. I love my mother. I really do. MOM, I LOVE YOU. But she buys CRAZY things. I'm not saying they're not awesome or cool or useful. But, there are more times than I can remember when I've visited or talked with her and she's said, "OOOH, wait until you see this new AWESOME thing I bought! It does AWESOME STUFF!" And, Ma, it's awesome. But it's also funny.

So I said, I don't like bananas & she said it doesn't taste like them. So I asked what're the ing again? Oh, right. Just BANANAS.

Guys, I'm sorry. Dinner was sedate, with only a brief conversation about Dr. Oz and poop. Maybe dessert will be better. I'm here 'til 8.

Ahhhh. Discussing whether my dad's truck is the automobile equivalent of a hermaphrodite. He has an Avalanche.

Aunt and mother and sister and I are skyping. IN THE SAME HOUSE. What is SMS? SS Minnow? What?

Farting: it's a medical condition. Only after careful discussion of colostomy bags and various surgeries was it determined that farting should be excused as not only natural but also a medical condition.

My mom, on a river clean-up: most people found tires, i found a penis. OMG, this is such a STORY. So, my mother did a Earth Day clean-up thing years ago, riding a personal watercraft over to the Christina River, full-on wet suit and everything. Somehow, she won the lottery and discovered a water-logged dildo with burst bumps (design feature or the effects of being lost to the march?) AND BROUGHT IT HOME. She eventually threw it under the front porch. You know, where the underporchasaurus was found. As far as we know, the contractors did NOT throw a dildo in the street.

Handjob can opener. Black dildo with syphilis. Blind handjobs. Unrelated. Or are they?

Why would you shave your asshole? Salad tossing. And, we're having dessert now.

Front bidet is like turning your balls into a punching bag. Also had to explain glory holes to mom.  Because apparently Sam and his mom were discussing glory holes BEFORE dinner at their house. And yes, there's a Twitter hashtag for Sam's mom. If you have to ask, you really don't want to know.

I don't pee when i sneeze because i do my elliptical exercises. For my ill lips. Do kegels and improve your bagel hole. My aunt, preparing for a sneeze, is told to not pee her pants. She informs us she does elliptical exercises, so there. YOU MEAN KEGELS???? Yeah, I always mix those words up.

HONEY BADGER AGAIN OMG WTF. DYING. AND PEEING. Really should've pushed for Jack Chop, too.

We made a video. It is terrible and perhaps not 100% correct. But it gives you an idea of what it's like in the Jerz. For the record, I am 100% sober, just showing that my natural state of mind is pretty fucked up. Also, I'm sorry Mom. 

the last thing my dad said to me last night was he was going to spend the day today pleasuring his leaves. Think about it. My father did not feature as largely in this year's feast as he has in previous years. One year, he came to my house in a 3-piece suit, only to strip down before dessert revealing his squirrel-with-nuts t-shirt on underneath. I do have a video of him that shows him in profile with someone (me) stage-whispering, "THE LEGEND", but he only appears in the video for like 3 seconds. The rest of the video is of someone sleeping with her face almost in an empty Tupperwhatsit, snoring. BUT I'M NOT POSTING THAT ONE, MOM. You're welcome.

Friday, November 18, 2011

More conversations from home

Mike: I ran out of soap. And shampoo.

(Me, thinking: Please let this not be the start of the conversation I think it is. Please let it be something crazy, but not Crazy, like, he's going to make his own soap or shampoo, or use baking soda or something like that.)

Mike: So, I made a decision.

Me, bracing: Oh?

Mike: I'm on a horse.

Me: What?

Mike: I'm ON ... a horse.

Me: WHAT???

Mike: I'm ooooon a HORSE.

Me: OK..... Like, Mane and Tail Shampoo?

Mike: What?

Me: Because I've always wanted to try that.

Mike: No. You'll see. I'm on a horse.

And so I go upstairs, with Mike yelling behind me, "I'M ON A HORSE!!!!!"

Shit, he's on a horse. I predict this will be the first thing he says to me every morning until the Old Spice runs out.

Monday, November 14, 2011

3,000 days later

It feels like it's been a thousand years since we started our inadvertent dining room remodel. It all started with a leaky tub and a pesky water stain on the ceiling in the dining room. It was so long ago, that we've lost the photos, but I can tell you there were LOTS of photos! High-quality images of 3mp using a fantastic Olympus digital camera that would now cause everyone to fall down laughing but was top-notch in 2002.

We fought with that leaky tub for years. First, it was the overflow. Then, it was faulty drain seal. Then, it was water coming from behind the missing tile. It was always something, and just when we'd fix it, something else would start to leak. Water leaks are a bitch like that. So, in order to replace the dining room ceiling, we had to complete a bathroom remodel. That's another post for another day, but let me tell you how Not Fun it is to live without a functioning bathroom in a one-bathroom row house. Thank goodness our neighbors were having a baby the week we were without a toilet because there's a limit to how many times one should use a bucket for things other than mop water.

Once the bathroom was done, we were able to install the dining room ceiling. It only took about 9 years. It was worth the wait.


Dining room

Dining room

Tuesday, November 01, 2011

Long time

Once upon a time, many years ago, in the days before high-speed internets, and the Miracle of the Ikea Closet System, Mike and I popped over to my parents' house unannounced. We knew my mom was out, but that she was due back soon, so we let ourselves in and proceeded back to the old man cave to say hey to my dad.

We weren't being particularly quiet or stealthy, though we could have been riding angry camels down the hall and my dad probably wouldn't have heard us coming given that the volume on the TV was set to Deafen. We get to the door and I poke my head in, casual-like, and find my dad engrossed completely in whatever is on TV. I nudge Mike to have him look in, too, because my dad ... he was a sight to behold: laid back in his recliner, watching Gangs of New York or The Beach, wearing his stew-shirt (an old SJU sweatshirt, covered in food stains, that my dad claims he will boil and use for sustenance when the apocalypse, in whatever form it takes, comes), and a pair of drumsticks tucked under his armpits.

Now, when I tell this story in person, people often look a little confused. Drumsticks? Like, the ice cream cone things? Like actual chicken drumsticks? And I have to tell them neither of those is correct. My dad had actual drum-upon-the-snare-drum drumsticks stuck in each armpit. I want to say that I don't know or understand why, but I do, on many levels. Here're two: I bought my dad the drumsticks as a gift one year (perhaps even THAT year) and 2. drumsticks are perfect for sticking in your armpits - it just works, especially when reclined.

So, there we are, 1/2 of a bad version of the Town Musicians of Bremen, peering amusedly around the door jamb, quietly trying to not call attention to ourselves. Suddenly, my dad loudly proclaims, "Me love you long time, Titanic Boy!"

Unable to control ourselves, we scram down the hall, doubled over in laughter. After several minutes, we're finally able to whisper without choking on countless belly-chortles. I say to Mike, "Holy crap! He recognizes Leonardo DiCaprio from another movie!" And that only makes us laugh more.

Earlier today, Mike emailed me to let me know that a special package had arrived in the mail. I thought it was something for me, something delightfully fibery, something crafty. But, I was wrong. He replied to me with one word: "DRUMSTICKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" And that was when I realized that no matter how much I try to deny it or rationalize it or ignore it, I really have married some version of my father.

Titanic Boy
boy pictures

(Original image here. I decided to have some fun....)