Tag Archives: Family

Further proof I am an idiot.

21 Mar

There are some foods I love because of their texture: Tic Tacs would be one, banana chips another. I don’t even like bananas, but I love banana chips. Go figure.

One thing I like to do with banana chips is to put one in my mouth and wedge it between my upper teeth so it fits there snugly for a moment before I tap it with my tongue, breaking it in half and relieving the tension. (I know – this is vaguely pathetic. I can’t even believe I’m admitting this.)

Since you’re already cringing in horror at my revelation, I’ll take it one step further down the path of shame.

About a minute ago, I performed “Operation Wedge” and got a banana chip stuck in the roof of my mouth. Except, when I went to “tap and relieve” it, it wouldn’t break.

There is a fine line between enjoying a texture and imposing some odd tension on your palette, and freaking out because you think you’re going to need to have a banana chip surgically removed from your upper cleft.

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Open mouth (write Christmas card), insert foot.

29 Jan

Look - there's a book about me!

I’m a bit old fashioned when it comes to letters – I like to write them, I like to receive them, and I tend to believe email is a poor substitute for any sentiment that isn’t really urgent.

So it’s probably no surprise that I take Christmas cards fairly seriously, carving out hours before the holiday to write them. (And yes, I actually write in my Christmas cards, following the example my mom set when we were growing up. It seems to be a disappearing practice.)

Except this year I made a mistake. I sent a card to one of my cousins and FORGOT to include one of her children in the greeting. I addressed the salutation to her, her husband and their son. No mention of the daughter. OOPS.

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Vocabulary that sizzles. Fo’ shizzle.

26 Dec

To pass time on Christmas day, we started a three-generation game of Tripoli at my parents’ house. (Tripoli is a card game with three stages that includes Michigan Rummy, poker and money cards.)

Near the end of the game, my attention waned, so I got a bit squirrelly. When playing the poker stage, I announced that my hand contained a “fizzle hizzle” instead of saying “full house.”

When it was time to count off, I led with a “tizzle” (two), followed by a “thrizzle” and so on.

My 12 year old nephew got a kick out of my counting style, so when it was his turn to lay down a Jack, he announced it with “JIZZLE!”

And immediately made a swallowed noise of embarrassment that was combination laugh/cough/gasp that let us know he realized he had just said a word that might be a synonym for “ejaculation” at his grandparents’ dining table. On Christmas Day.

Because nothing says “Merry Christmas, Grandma!” like announcing that your pre-teen slang vocabulary now includes fornication. (Fortunately, I’m pretty sure “jiz” is not a word my parents know, because when I later tried to explain the humor to them, they gave me a blank look. Though actually, that might have been because I didn’t do the SNL skit justice when I explained it.)

Next year, by way of a sequel, we’ll have to take home a bag of chestnuts and see what that does for the conversation.

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This is wrong on so many levels…

13 Apr

So my 12 year old nephew has a “Lover of the Day” application on his Facebook account. That, in and of itself, has disturbed me since I noticed it a couple months ago.

It begs a few questions:

First, do 12-year-olds have lovers? Lord, I hope not.

Second, if pre-teens do have lovers, is it good to get them thinking that it is appropriate to adopt a new one DAILY?

And finally, is it WISE to let an application automatically generate one’s “lover of the day?” There are all sorts of ways this random selection process can create screwy results, as demonstrated here:

Call me crazy, but unless you live in West Virginia, I don’t think that your aunt should be an option.

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And that’s how I got an eye-patch.

6 Apr

Growing up, I thought I was fairly athletic. I might not have been the FIRST person chosen in a game of kickball, but I was definitely closer to the beginning than the end. At least, I don’t remember ever having to nervously kick at the dirt wishing I were invisible.

Two great things about being an adult are that a) you never have to worry about being THE LAST PERSON CHOSEN for anything, and b) thanks to Oprah, you can always find someone less in shape than you trying to perform an athletic feat. (Seriously, google “oprah marathon stories” and you’ll feel like a turd for not being able to run 26 miles if you weigh under 300 lbs.)

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