Tag Archives: my mom

In other news: Mom hates museums.

7 Apr

Last week when I posted about our trip to the Library of Congress, I was primarily fixated on the bitchy woman who worked security. I completely didn’t do the rest of the visit justice.

If you like books or architecture, then the LOC should be on your must-see list when you visit DC. It’s free (like almost every other cultural destination in this fine city), and it’s a gem.

I take any willing guest there if faced with a rainy day, but it’s been years since I took the guided tour. The building is loaded with symbolism, and over the years my explanations have gotten a bit thin.

“See that statue there? She represents travel, which is why she’s holding onto a train.”

<A docent sadly shakes his head as he walks by.>

So this time, knowing my dad is history buff, I suggested we all take the guided tour. Much better than me making shit up that he’d be able to call me on.

Continue reading

Your dog sleeps with the fishes…

8 Jul

My mind works frighteningly well when it comes to revenge.

For example, the other day a friend shared a Facebook post with me via email that said, “What do i do with the cockroach i taped into the bathroom sink?”

My response (which was about as reflexive as breathing), was, “I assume you closed the drain and put tape over the overflow hole? In that case, I recommend you pour Dran-O down the hole, light a match, drop that down the hole, urinate into the hole  via a funnel, then send aphids down. Other than that, I’m at a loss.”

Alan’s response to that was, “Remind me never, ever to make you mad.”

That’s sage advice, because I come by this revenge thing honestly. It’s in my genes.

Growing up, we knew that the “I don’t get mad, I get even,” mug belonged to my mother. And if you used it, well… you could expect consequences.

Continue reading