The title of this post is a direct quote from my 7-year old son from last night. He is quite enamored with his male genitalia. I know I covered this topic a few posts back, but it is an issue that just won't die in my household. He even asked me, "Why does it feel so good to scratch my balls?" I was like, "Kid, I am not qualified to answer that." I repeated my son's question to my husband but he was busy on the computer and basically just gave me that standard leave-me-alone answer of, "I don't know". So I texted David, my friend of 30 years:
I sent this text to David while out shopping with my son last weekend:
What's funny is that my son had been quietly playing with the iPad in the shopping cart and for whatever reason felt the need to make that proclamation. It was completely out of the blue. These kinds of things don't generally happen in everyday life. I've never been at a meeting where a male co-worker suddenly felt a need to blurt out, "Penises are the best!". But honestly, wouldn't that be the best meeting ever? I'm pretty sure I would fall out of my chair laughing. And everyone would be unsure if they should look at Mr. Penis Man or the hysterical woman on the floor. I apologize to my male readers because now I may have implanted a suggestion in your brain. You'll be in the midst of a boring meeting and think, "What if I just suddenly stand up and yell 'DICKS ARE AWESOME!'". Oh God. What if I now have that same compulsion? Seriously, this could be a problem. I blame my son. If it wasn't for his incessant chatter about his wiener, I would have never thought of this.
I guess I shouldn't be too hard on my kid. His default personality is "ridiculously happy". I've been kind of blue since getting the news about Alexei (see two posts back). It's hard to be sad around someone who continuously makes you laugh. Now that I think about it, maybe I should loan my son out to families who are grieving. His antics and constant questions would help take their mind off their loss. Because seriously, how could you be sad around someone who looks and acts like this:
I took this photo Wednesday night. He wanted me to dance with him but I just didn't have the heart to do so. Last night, Thursday, he again harassed me to dance with him (we dance to the music video channels on TV). This time I danced a little bit and it made me feel better. He's turning out to be cheaper and more effective than drugs and therapy. God I love that kid. Contact me for pricing if you too need help mending a broken heart or just need cheering up in general. I'm sure we can work something out. (Note to child protective services-- JUST KIDDING! This is a humor blog. Please don't start an investigation).
If you read my previous post, you know that I recently got some sad news about my friends in Russia. However, thinking of my time with Natasha and Alexei has made me remember some of the funny and share-worthy things that happened over there. I'm not getting any younger and my son already accuses me of having a bad memory. Some of the things that happened to me in Russia are so ridiculous that I need to write them down before I get any older. Otherwise I'll probably be accused of senility when I try to tell my stories later. "Post-Soviet Russia was a world of the absurd I tell you!", I'll yell from my nursing home bed. The nurses will be patronizing: "Now, now Miss Gina, we TOTALLY believe you when you say you once found a human skull on your balcony. Or that human flesh was sold in the supermarket near your apartment disguised as ordinary meat (I haven't related that story yet, but it's true. I wish I was exaggerating). Please dearie just take your meds and have a nap."
Anyway, before I travel down memory lane, I have to give you the latest update on Natasha and her daughter. In Russia the website "VK" is like the Russian version of Facebook. I'm not on Facebook but I am on VK so I can keep up with Natasha and her family. Anyway, yesterday when I checked Natasha's homepage, for her status she had written, "God help me, I can't do this." Then I started reading all the condolences that people had posted. It was a bad idea to read the outpouring of love and support for Natasha because as a rule I try not to cry at work. Then to make things worse, I read the VK page of Natasha's ten-year old daughter and some of her little friends had also written touching messages. Would you like to feel a sharp, knifelike pain in your heart? Read the words of one little girl consoling another, "Don't be afraid. Everything will be OK." Another little girl recounted that her own Papa had died two years ago and and although the pain was terrible it eventually got better. You know, it's easy to become jaded and cynical when you watch or read the news and you see how horribly we humans treat one another (and seemingly always have since the dawn of time). Then you see the the torrent of love and caring we can show when one of our own is hurting and it reminds you that maybe our species does have some redeeming qualities after all.
Before I forget, the mention of tears at work reminded me of this incident from years ago. One time I got a phone call that one of our family dogs had died unexpectedly. I had barely hung up the phone and was crying at my desk when one of our VP's came into my office. He had paperwork that he wanted to give me but the minute he saw my tears he threw the papers on my desk and bolted from my office. His reaction was so unexpected and the look of terror on his face almost made me laugh. It was like, "Oh lord -- a crying woman. Get me the hell out of here." What son-of-a-bitch behavior. Not that I expected him to give me a hug and try to console me. I think a normal person would have said something like, "Are you OK?" and I would have replied, "I just got some bad news but I'll be OK." I am capable of behaving in a professional manner (sometimes). I don't cry very often, but yes, death makes me cry. Call me crazy if you want.
In the summer of 1993, Natasha and I traveled with Alexei from Moscow to Alexei's hometown of Taganrog. Here's a map which will be helpful to refer to later in the story:
As soon as Natasha told me that we were going to Taganrog, the first words out of my mouth were, "That's where Anton Chekhov was born!" I nearly had a fangirl moment. Natasha looked at me and said something like, "It's embarrassing that I'm Russian and I didn't even know that." Full disclosure-- I had a crush on Chekhov. And yes I am aware that he is dead. I even visited his grave and took a photo of it. Hey-- don't judge me. Have you read Chekhov? He is awesome in every way. And easy on the eyes as well.
Alright-- back to our story. Alexei's family lived in a communal apartment in Taganrog. In the past I had visited people in communal apartments but this was the first time I had lived in one. By the way, I don't recommend it. Alexei's family had one large room which was a combination dining room/living room and one small bedroom. They had to share one bathroom, one toilet and a kitchen with two other families. I was lucky enough to get to travel to many cities in Russia but Taganrog was the only place I ever stayed that had the water turned off at night. I think the reason for doing so was water conservation. On the first evening of my visit, I didn't understand why suddenly everyone in the apartment started filling up every available container with water. Even the bathtub. If I remember correctly, from 10PM until 7AM all the water was turned off; the residents of the apartment had to be ready in case they needed water in the overnight hours. The next morning all the water was dumped out. It seemed to me like this attempt to conserve water actually achieved the opposite.
I always brought gifts with me whenever I was a guest in someone's home. These following items were always a hit:
That's right-- Marlboro cigarettes, toothbrushes and Maker's Mark. I also brought over condoms and tampons, but I didn't give those out as hostess gifts (because that that would have been weird). Whatever your vice I had you covered. Smoking? Drinking? F*cking? I've got a gift for that. Basically anything that was American (bourbon and Marlboros) or hard to find (toothbrushes, condoms and tampons) was popular. There were still quite a bit of shortages in the post-Soviet years. Or items that did exist were of horrible quality. Natasha bought some tampons that said "Tampax" but they must have been counterfeit. They were so poorly made it was hard to believe they would carry the trusted Tampax name. I'm not joking, I think if a woman used them she would risk getting a vaginal paper cut. Or possibly a splinter. Ugh. *Shudders* I think I gave the whole family toothbrushes but later Alexei told me that the first time he used his new toothbrush, he brushed one of his fillings out of his teeth. I immediately felt guilty, like in my attempt to help him have good oral health, I had actually made things worse. Natasha said that Alexei's old toothbrush was so worn that the bristles were basically flat. She told him, "You weren't brushing your teeth; it was more like you were ironing them." I gave Alexei's step-father a small bottle of Maker's Mark and later found out that this man was a terrible alcoholic and the mother wasn't happy that I had enabled his addiction. It was like I was the shittiest Santa Claus ever. My gifts brought pain and conflict instead of happiness. I also used to bring peanut butter to Russia, as that was an exotic food that most people hadn't tried. Thankfully I didn't bring peanut butter to Taganrog. With my luck, Alexei's entire family would have had a peanut allergy (unbeknownst to them) and I would have killed them all when I made PB&J sandwiches.
I enjoyed my visit to Taganrog. I got to see where Chekhov was born and lived; we took to a trip to the city of Rostov-on-the-Don; we spent a day on a sailboat on the Sea of Azov (where I fell asleep on deck and got horribly burned-- OK, that wasn't necessarily a fun part of the trip). Unfortunately, I had to return to Moscow to continue my studies and leave Natasha behind. Alexei helped me buy a return train ticket (buying train tickets back then was always a huge problem as demand outstripped supply). The train was some kind of new "private" train with nice two-person sleeping compartments. It was non-stop to Moscow, which meant that my return trip was much faster since we didn't have to stop at every city along the way to drop off and pick up passengers. Sounds awesome right? Take a look at the map above. Draw an imaginary straight line from Moscow to Taganrog. Do you notice how the country of Ukraine is in the way? Did you know that as an American traveling in Russia, my visa was only good for the country of Russia? In fact, on my visa, I was only supposed to be visiting cities that were actually LISTED on the visa. However, I brazenly traveled without a care wherever I wanted in Russia because no one had ever asked to see my passport. My female berth-mate was a chatty woman who spent her time complaining that she had to travel to Moscow to buy food and goods, because the most desirable items never made it out of the city. And I know she was right. My husband said that Moscovites were hated throughout the country for being spoiled and having a better standard of living compared to everyone else. When the train stopped unexpectedly, I asked something like, "What's going on? Why are we stopping?" Chatty Cathy told me we were going through Ukraine and their border control would be getting on the train to check passports. If I had lesser bowel control, I probably would have soiled myself. I wasn't supposed to be in Ukraine. I wasn't even supposed to have been in Taganrog. I must have looked terrified but thankfully when the guard came to our compartment, the other lady did all the talking. I nodded my head appropriately and didn't open my mouth. Because even though I can speak Russian I know I have a noticeable accent. It would have been obvious that I wasn't a native. I don't know what my punishment would have been; I imagine I would have ended up in some kind of holding cell somewhere (or worse). The guard didn't even check our passports. We must have seemed pretty harmless. We were just two women on the way to Moscow to go shopping. THANK GOD for Chatty-Cathy-- she saved my ass. Lesson learned-- always be nice to your travel mates even if they are annoying.
I know that you, my dear unseen readers, come here to read humor. I love to write about the absurdity and nonsense of every day life. However, if you came here today to laugh, you might want to come back another time. I have only sad things to write about today. This afternoon I had started writing my latest humorous post when I got bad news from Russia. My beloved friend Natasha (who I've mentioned before) unexpectedly lost her husband. It's too early to know the cause of his death but it was probably a heart attack. He was only 41. Their daughter is ten. It's incomprehensible to me that someone my age (Natasha and I are only one month apart) is now a widow.
Natasha and her husband Alexei met in 1992, just like my husband and me. Here's a photo of them together in my apartment in Moscow in the 90's:
I was going to crop out the ugly electrical outlet on the wall but decided to keep it so you'd see that this photo was indeed taken in Russia (though of course I have to reason to lie about that). During this same visit, Alexei took the following photo of Natasha and me together. It's in a frame in my living room. It's always been one of my favorite pictures as I think you can see the love between us in our body language. Natasha is like a sister to me. No exaggeration.
Natasha and her husband are (were) both actors. Natasha works in a theater in St. Petersburg. Alexei worked in all mediums: theater, TV, movies. He was quite well known. Natasha used to say that if Alexei was stopped by the police (the police in Russia love to stop drivers for any random reason) her husband would always get the reaction, "Oh it's you!" and be let go with only a warning. She said the one time she tried same tactic, "Do you know who I am?"-- the officer was like, "No".
I found out the bad news from Natasha's brother, first through a text then a phone call. It's amazing that technology keeps us connected no matter where we are in the world. I was able to call and talk to Natasha within minutes of getting the news. We are nearly 5,000 miles apart yet I was able to sit at my kitchen table while she was in her apartment in Russia and we were able to cry together over the phone. I told her that I wished I wasn't so far away; I wish I could help her get through these horrible next few days. She said my phone call was enough. And I know she's right.
If you think of it, please say a prayer or send positive energy or thoughts (whatever your personal belief) to Natasha and her daughter. As it happened, their daughter was spending the night with friends when this happened. She doesn't yet know that her father has passed away. It's late Monday afternoon as I write this, which means it's past midnight in St. Petersburg. It breaks my heart into a million little pieces to think that this little girl is asleep and when she gets up in the morning she is going to get the worst news of her life. Her life will be forever different after tomorrow.
I'm not kidding when I say that this post is not safe for work. Things of a sexual nature will be discussed here. If this bothers you, please do not read any further. I'll stop and wait a second for those readers who feel uncomfortable to leave.
OK, now that the prudes are gone, let's have some fun. This is a joint blog post with my friend Alanna from the blog "White Girls Be Like". I only met Alanna a few months ago but it turns out that she is my comedic soulmate. She's also young enough to be my daughter which probably speaks volumes about her maturity and says much about my immaturity. We thought it would be fun to do a joint post. When discussing topics Alanna mentioned that any time something says that it's "NSFW" you immediately want to read it. We both noticed that any of our posts that discuss sex are always among the most read. It was a no-brainer to decide to do a sex-themed (mostly) post. We asked each other four questions. Two questions are here on my website; the other two questions are answered on Alanna's website. There will be a link at the end where the laughs continue.
Before we get to the questions, I wanted to share this NSFW text conversation that Alanna and I had last night. It turns out that in addition to our similar senses of humor, we are also alike in being completely clueless regarding the meanings of suggestive songs.
So even though we think sex is funny and we like to talk about it, apparently we don't notice it until someone points it out to us. We may not be the most qualified people to be discussing sex, now that I think of it.
Anyway, without further ado, here is your chance to get to know your two hostesses (I was going to put "with the mostesses" but it looks weird and doesn't really make sense; I do like the way it rhymes though) a little better:
1. Name one of the funniest or weirdest places you've ever had sex.
2. How did you learn about sex and how old were you?
3. Did you ever accidentally see your parents having sex?
4. Describe something embarrassing that you've done.
1. Name one of the funniest or weirdest places you've ever had sex.
One of the weirdest places I ever had sex seemed completely normal at the time it happened; it was only later that I found out that the spot we used was kind of creepy. During my engagement to my husband, I was a graduate student in the U.S. and he had a full-time job in Russia. We had spent nearly a month together over the Christmas and New Year holidays from December 1992 to January 1993. Then we didn't see each other again until the beginning of June. So basically six months apart. There was no Skyping, no sexting-- nothing that people have nowadays to keep in contact. A phone call to Russia was $3 a minute so our phone calls were brief; often we sent love letters via fax (instead of sounding romantic, I know this just makes us sound old) When I came to Moscow to study for the summer, the Russian found a nice apartment for me to rent near the a metro station. The area was safe and I didn't have to ride very far to get to the University. The apartment had previously been owned by Russian Air Force General (now deceased). I arrived in Moscow and my beloved met me at the airport and took me to my new apartment. We were meeting the woman who had rented it to me (or actually him, since I think it was still illegal to rent to foreigners at that time). I remember she decided to give us the full and complete tour of this typical-sized Russian apartment. She kept pointing out all these really unnecessary details. Meanwhile the Russian and I are dying, DYING, to have our way with each other. We had been apart nearly six months, remember? I remember thinking, "Oh my God lady, just finish up already and GO!" It was like something you'd see on a sitcom. Let's imagine the camera focusing on a young couple trying to keep their hands off each other. The clueless older woman points out details like, "The toilet might run a little bit. Just jiggle the handle and the water will stop. Oh, let me show you where I keep the matches to light the stove. Would you like me to make some tea for all of us?" I probably exaggerate a bit but that's how I remember it. The landlady finally left and we quickly made good use of the bed in the one bedroom. As an aside, long distance relationships are no fun; the only part that IS fun is making up for lost time when you are finally together. Later, I don't think the Russian spent the night. I don't remember. He didn't always since his job was closer to his apartment in the northern part of the city and I was in the southern part of town. I slept in sex-defiled bed for one night, maybe two, and then I stopped because something about that bed gave me the heebie-jeebies. Yes, that is the actual scientific term for what I was feeling. I don't know why, but I felt like someone had died in that bed. I switched to sleeping on the pull-out couch in the living room and slept there for the next three months. Later when I got to know my neighbors, I asked a female neighbor, "Did the General die in that bed?" The woman squirmed like she'd been put on the spot and said yes. So my intuition was right! I don't know what it all means but I can't help but think that this ex-Soviet military man must have been rolling in his grave if he'd have known that an American girl-- the enemy!-- was sleeping in his bed. Even worse, SCREWING in his bed. The horror! Later I realized that we'd done the deed in a place where a man had died. It just seems wrong and disrespectful. And creepy. Bleh.
My friends and I were hanging out in the basement of my friend’s grandma's house and stumbled upon a 90's porno movie.
(I truly hope it wasn't the grandma's.)
We were drinking and decided it would be funny to watch it together, and it totally was. But because it WAS porn and those sort of things just can't be helped, me and my boyfriend at the time decided to go have sex on the bathroom floor (because standing-up-style doesn't make any sense and I believe you're lying if you've done it successfully). All of our friends were right outside and could totally hear us but we were young and shameless, so we just completed our task and went right back out to chill like everything was completely normal.
4. Describe something embarrassing that you've done (Yes I know it's out of order. The other two question's are on Alanna's website. This is my website and I'll write in the order I want to. So shut up and enjoy your free entertainment).
Oh the ways I've embarrassed myself over the years-- it's hard to choose just one memory. I could probably have a recurring blog post of the things I do that are embarrassing. However, this incident has always stuck out in my memory. It happened probably ten years ago. The building I worked in at the time was 11-stories high and the parking lot was quite large. Normally it wasn't a big deal to walk a long distance to your car unless the weather was bad. On this particular summer day it was raining and I was wearing sandals. The rain was coming down hard and I ran to my car as fast as I could while trying to keep my sandals on my feet (I think they were slides). Even now I don't know exactly how I managed to do this, but at the exact moment I threw open the car door, I slipped forward in my sandals and my momentum was fast enough that I hit myself in the face with the edge of the car door. Hard. Really hard. Like, "I hope I didn't just break my nose" hard. The door hit along the side of my nose and the inside corner of my eye. I ended up giving myself a black eye. Not the entire eye, just half of it, but it still looked horrible. In public I felt like I should've worn a sign that said, "I'm just clumsy-- I'm not being abused." I'm sure there was security camera footage of that moment. I hope the guys who monitored that camera had a good laugh at my expense. I don't blame them. It's not something you see everyday. I actually wish I could have seen it. It would be kind of neat to own that clip because we could play it at my funeral someday and it would be a perfect example of my personality. And it would make people laugh. I hope. Or else people might wonder, "Did Gina have some sort of mental disability that no one ever talked about?". And that would be a reasonable question to ask.
'Twas the night before 2011 (which some may refer to as "New Year's Eve"). My ex and I were having people over his house to celebrate and drink and all that. Little did I know, while I was hanging out in the main area with the girls, the boys were in the tool room taking shots of Bacardi 151.
After a while, the boys come out and my ex was WASTED BEYOND BELIEF. He was clearly already in blackout-mode and barely comprehensible, dancing me around and being silly. When it came time to pick up one of our friends from work to come join the festivities, my ex was pretty much gone. It took like a half hour to finally get him in the car. I hadn't been drinking so I drove the group of us to go pick the guy up and by the time we got back, my ex had fallen asleep in the backseat. The rest of us just went inside since it was clear there was no possibility of waking him, and we all continued to drink and chill.
Eventually, my ex’s mom came downstairs asking where he was and I told her in the most delicate way possible that her 18-year-old son was passed out drunk in his car and probably shouldn't be disturbed. Of course my advice was not heeded and she and her husband called his father to come pick him up. When the father and his wife arrived, they foolishly attempted to wake him up, but he was so out of it, he didn’t realize his father was pulling him out of the car, and he proceeded to go bananas and mercilessly beat up his father on the front lawn. This nonsense provoked interest from the neighbors and the ones who weren't busy laughing and making bets were calling the police. He was arrested and spent the night in the drunk tank because that’s what happens when you drink 151.
Everybody left except his two best friends and after the craziness, we continued to get drunk on the remaining alcohol. Because I was a little angry he got himself in trouble yet again, I decided to take the $500 in cash he got for his birthday and treat the three of us to an evening at the strip club down the street.
(I realize I’m a terrible person and will burn in Hell but like I said a million times, THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DRINK 151!!!)
Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, strip club. (Which, by the way, I totally think it’s wrong to have a strip club a block away from a neighborhood with children and families and a Morningstar Pregnancy Services place across the street. But I got in for free, so you have to take the good with the bad I suppose.)
I gave the two boys $100 each to place where they may and we all watched a lovely woman dressed in black light-reacting clothes expertly pay her way through college. I was making it rain on this ho. At the very least, I bought her a textbook or two.
After a while, we got a little bored putting $1 bills in various clothing items, so we found we found a room with a pool table and a lonely pole. The boys played pool and I tried my hand at the pole. Everything was going quite well and I had some pretty stellar moves (if I do say so myself) until I turned upside-down to do that slidey-thing. I got about a third of the way down and then my heavy Timberland boots decided to drop me right on my head. The boys (and some other patrons) heard the “supposedly” loud crash/bang noise and looked at me, still upside-down with my legs hanging over me.
(Quite like a stuffed animal, I was told.)
I popped right up and everybody laughed. The strippers implied I “didn't have what it takes” but that’s some bullshit because everything was fine until my work boots turned on me. So ungrateful. Like, I totally bought you a textbook, you slut. Anyway, the boys and I decided to leave, and I still get ridiculed to this day.
To read the answers to the other two questions please click http://whitegirlsbelike.wordpress.com/2015/01/23/sex-with-Gina/
I hope you enjoyed our little Q & A session. Feel free to recount your own funny stories in the comments section if you'd like. Just don't write anything that will make me want to stick a fork in my eyes. I have that reaction pretty much every time I check my Google search queries. For every one funny search term there are like three that are so filthy that I feel the need to purify my body and soul afterwards. So let's have a good time but try not to psychologically damage each other. Deal?
I know that comedians and writers have made jokes about and written ad nauseum about men and their love of their boy parts. I honestly always thought that the jokes were exaggerated just to be funny. Hyperbole in action. Now that I'm raising a boy, I see that they weren't kidding. It seems like each day my son lets me know in some way that he is enamored with his wiener. This is all new territory for me. I didn't grow up around boys. I have one sister; my Mom was one of five girls. Our speciality is girls. When I found out I was pregnant with a boy, I had to go out and buy books about raising boys. I knew I was going to need all the help I could get. Thankfully I have friends who are raising boys so that's been helpful to be able to compare notes and ask, "Does you son do fill in the blank?" (usually something innapropriate and socially unacceptable). So with this in mind, here are a couple of texts from the past two days:
Yep-- his balls are just there to look cool. It's amazing how biology works. It's hard to know how to react in these situations. I don't want him to feel ashamed of his male organ or think that anything he is feeling is unnatural. At the same time, I don't want to see him doing things like use his privates as a gun. Which he has. Sound effects and all. "Phew, phew".
In a similar vein, I sent this text yesterday:
OK, on to a new topic. Over the past few weeks, my son has decided that it's funny to shove crap under the locked bathroom door whenever I'm in there. He doesn't like being locked out but I don't like him sneaking up on me while I shower and ripping back the shower curtain à la Norman Bates in Psycho. Or he'll just come in to ask me stupid random questions while I'm trying to have a few relaxing moments to myself. The first text below is to a family member with three kids:
The little hat is a hard Playmobil helmet. Just recently I stepped on it with my bare foot (sharp side up, just like in the photo) and it was so painful it brought tears to my eyes. People talk about how painful Legos are when stepped on; I tell you that Playmobil accessories could give Lego a run for their money.
When I get out of the shower and see this stuff on the floor I have to admit that I find it funny, just because it's so absurd. I can't let my son know this though or it will only encourage him. By the way, this is a problem I have ALL THE TIME (and I know it's true for other parents too). He will say or do something inappropriate and I have to turn my face away so he doesn't see me laugh or smile. He's getting better about catching me though and will even say, "If it's so bad then why are you laughing?" Dammit. I hate it that I can't outsmart him.
These last two things aren't super funny but just a couple of the many random thoughts I have on any given day. Sometimes I keep them to myself; sometimes I share them with my friends and family (AKA my "helpless victims").
It's the absolute truth that my husband was called "The Whiner". My son just learned about this recently and thought it was hilarious. I told him, "I don't know why you think that's so funny. Your nickname when you were smaller was 'Whiney Junior'". I won't complain about my husband and kid and their whiney tendencies since they can't defend themselves. Let's just say that whatever faults I may have, no one has ever accused me of being a whiner as a kid or adult. I have plenty of other shitty characteristics but I'm not a whiner. That gives me a vague feeling of satisfaction. Very vague, but I'll take it.
Let's get this post started off with a bang (pun intended as you'll soon see). I sent this text message to various friends and family bright and early this morning. This incident was on my mind as I drove in to work. I like to think that normal people send Monday morning texts that say something like, "Good morning! How was your weekend?" Here's what I sent (with a typo, should be "ate" not "at"):
The response above made me laugh until tears rolled down my face. I was all alone in my office laughing like an insane, hysterical woman. Though now that I think of it, my coworkers are probably used to this. Then I received this reply which set me off again:
I swear, this is the best Monday morning I've had in ages. And I will never again hear the words "Bengay" or "Lawrence Welk" without thinking to myself, "Ah yes, safe words used by the elderly".
This next thing happened last Friday afternoon. It's a work-email exchange between me and my friend in our IT department. It made me laugh which made me deem it share worthy:
I've found that it's fun to just say "No" when asked to do things at work. Everyone is so used the polite response of "Yes" that they are taken aback to hear the opposite. I do it jokingly sometimes just to see the reaction the other person has. You definitely need to know your audience though. This only works with people who have a good sense of humor. Don't try it on someone who will immediately go tattle on your ass to Human Resources. Which reminds me of this tweet which I absolutey loved:
New topic... this past weekend my son and I watched "Return of the Jedi". It was his first time seeing the movie but he already knew the storyline from playing Star Wars Lego games on the iPad. At one point in the movie Yoda said, "Skywalker" and my son gasped, which led to this conversation:
Later I googled different versions of "foul-mouthed Yoda" or "Yoda says curse words" but I didn't find anything. I was going to include a clip in this post. Now that Disney owns Star Wars they probably have someone whose job it is to scour the internet to make sure that there are no YouTube clips of Yoda being obscene. Dammit. I'll probably get a "cease and desist" letter just for posting my text messages. Oh well. Until that day comes I'm leaving this up. Yeah. That'll show the man. Now I'm going to sit here for a second and feel all smug and superior for being such a rebel. Feel free to join me if you'd like. You just read my words so you're equally guilty. Feels good, doesn't it?
I feel like I should apologize up front since my post today is basically a recap of my last 24 hours told via text messages. I didn't have any particular topic to discuss today but these random messages made me laugh. And I figure, if they made me laugh, they might make you laugh too. Worse case scenario is that you've wasted a couple of minutes out of your life. The last set of messages is actually educational, so this post does have some redeeming value.
I sent these texts yesterday afternoon:
The next time I see a Kardashian on TV I'm going to think of this comment. And you will too. And we'll both imagine someone on the toilet. It's will be our own inside joke. And if you try to explain to someone why you're laughing it will sound insane. Welcome to my world.
These next texts are actually kind of touching:
It's kind of a tragic story. Apparently this man was widowed at a relatively young age. He was left to raise a 10-year old alone; he never remarried. He pined for my Aunt for four decades. After all this time they should get to make love! I don't know their reasons for abstaining but it makes me feel kind of sad. Apparently no one is asking my opinion though...
Unrelated-- I wanted to share a sure-fire tip on how to get noticed in meetings. I learned this technique yesterday. Fill a giant glass of ice water to the brim and then dump it down the front of yourself as you walk to the meeting. When you walk into the room late, people will have no choice but to stop what they're doing and stare at you and your water-stained clothing. You are guaranteed to be the center of attention. I managed to get ice in my bra which is a singularly unpleasant sensation which I do not recommend. Regarding that meeting I sent this text today.
You know the saying, "You learn something new every day?" It's even more true in this age of the Internet. If my son ever has to do a class project where he needs to recreate an ancient Greek or Roman headdress, I know exactly where to turn for the necessary materials.
At lunch today I ran into a nearby "Tuesday Morning" store to look for a specific toy building set that my son wants. I thought I had seen one there previously. Right now my kid is all about Legos, Mega Bloks, Halo, etc. This photo from last Friday shows a pretty typical scene at our house. I have to mention that he loses pieces ALL THE TIME but never thinks that it's his fault. He's convinced that the factories are sending out sets with missing pieces. No lie, after working on this Halo set below he told me that he was missing pieces and wanted me to email the company. I declined to do so.
While at Tuesday Morning today I didn't find the building set I was looking for, but I did find this nightmare-inducing toy below. I had to stand there in the toy aisle and send out this strange image to all my friends. I also sent it to The Bloggess (My hero! I adore her. But not in a creepy way.) and she re-tweeted it, which totally made my day:
Looking at the gaping maw of this chicken gives me the shivers. And not the good kind. I read the back of the box and apparently the goal of the game is to root about in the stomach and pull out things like fake worms.You're supposed to leave three of the organs alone (I don't know which ones); it will squawk if you grab an organ. This seems like a game that maybe our great-grandparents would have enjoyed playing. It would have been a fun AND educational game to play when we were a more agrarian society. This might have be THE hot toy to have 100-plus years ago. OK-- I just now called over my seven-year old boy to get his opinion. He thinks it would be fun to play. He said, "It would make you think when you tried to figure out what you were feeling and I like thinking games". So I stand corrected. Dammit. I may have to return to the store and buy that stupid game.
After I left the store the following incident occurred
This is probably another example of a possible way I might be arrested someday. Along with accidentally getting into other people's cars and hugging old women in the grocery store (OK, I didn't do that second one but I wanted to). Is it illegal to lick another's person's car window? Will have to google that later...
In a strange coincidence, the chicken toy wasn't the only odd toy that I saw today. This morning I ran across this on the Playmobil website:
Playmobil makes a lot of interesting and creative toys but this is not one of them. I sent out this email to various friends and family:
My son likes a lot of the Playmobil toys because they're so realistic. I just happened to notice this set for sale. The “Housekeeping Service” set. Because what kid doesn’t want to pretend that they’re a maid in a hotel? This is part of the “Summer Fun” series. Yes, because plunging clogged toilets is nothing BUT fun. There’s an actual little plunger below if you’ll notice. And a tiny mouse that I guess needs to be killed. What kind of shitty hotel is this anyway? Might as well include “bug bed” spray while they’re at it. And a tiny ash tray filled with overflowing cigarette butts. I want to tell kids who actually want this, "There is there is NOTHING fun about laundry, ironing or pest control. Seriously. That’s called real life kids! Pretend to be an astronaut while you can. Reality will come soon enough…"
I got a lot of funny replies but this was my favorite:
Today's post is going to discuss sex. Why, you ask? "Well, why not?" is my answer. I've noticed that posts that include the word "sex" or other racy terms are among my most read. We're such predictable creatures aren't we? Not that there's anything wrong with that. Sex is one of the best parts of being alive. Who doesn't want to talk and read about sex? Yeah-- it's a great topic all right. Until you're talking about it with your little boy. I sent this text last Thursday:
I really do blame the school bus. If not the school bus it would be the playground or lunch room though. I was a kid once; I know how the world works. Last spring my son, then in Kindergarten, sat on my lap as we watched a wedding on TV. At the end of the ceremony, as the bride and groom walked down the aisle, my son turned to me and said, "Now they're going to go have sex." You know that sound of the record player needle scriching across the vinyl? The one that indicates extreme surprise? I swear I heard that in my head. I had to ask him, "What does that mean exactly?" He acted embarrassed and said, "It's when you sleep naked together in bed." I was like, "You're exactly right." That's all he needs to know for now. I asked where he learned about sex and he said on the school bus. It must have been a frequent topic on the bus because a few weeks previously he had asked me out of the blue, "What did you and Papa do after your wedding?". I told him, "Well, we took a limo ride to our hotel room." "And then?" "We ordered room service." "And then?" At that point I started getting uncomfortable with this line of questioning. He finally just asked me, "Did you get naked in bed together?." I wanted to say, "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT??? OH MY GOD! HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS?". Instead I told him, "No, I slept in a nightgown." Which was the truth. I had a fancy white nightgown which in hindsight was actually a great waste of money. Anyway, my son didn't pursue that line of questioning any further. So in summary, sex is great as long as you're not discussing it with your kids, parents or God forbid-- grandparents. Or any elderly relative. Or your teacher Or minister. OK, the list is actually pretty long now that I think about it.
This reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend at at work when she was pregnant. Her son is now in high school, so it was many years ago. She said that being pregnant was kind of embarrassing because everyone now had proof that you were having sex. Unprotected sex no less. I thought it was funny on her part, but kind of odd. Yet when I was pregnant I remember sometimes feeling the same way. Your protruding stomach announces to the world, "A man has ejaculated inside of me!" So yeah, I'd agree that it is kind of embarrassing. Suddenly makes you think differently about pregnant Princess Kate, doesn't it?
Anyway-- topic change to wind up this post. I sent this text last week:
I couldn't believe spell check wouldn't recognize "existential". It changed it to "extra sensual" every time. You'd think that the youth of today, doing all their texting, would be using the term "existential crisis' all the time. Maybe I need to send an email to Apple about this so that they can get on top of this problem. I'll get right on that...
Full disclosure-- this post is not particularly humorous. I'm telling you this upfront so you're not disappointed and all, "I came here to read inappropriate humor and instead I'm reading your goddamn autobiography." Hopefully you won't think that. If you do, well, then stop being such a dick. This is free entertainment after all. And you know the adage, "You get what you pay for." Anyway, recently Alanna of the blog "White Girls Be Like" asked me how and where I met my husband. I realized that I often talk about my Russian husband here but I've never told our backstory. It's kind of interesting (I think). Coincidentally, since it's "Throwback Thursday" I thought today would be a good day to share the photo below. Though honestly, if it was any other day of the week, I'd still post it. Because I'm a rebel that way. This is a photo of my husband (then boyfriend) and me in front of Pizza Hut in Moscow in 1992.
We met quite by chance at the beginning of June 1992, just days after I had arrived in Moscow to study for the summer. There was only one Pizza Hut in all of Moscow and the restaurant was divided into two halves. One half for rubles; the other half for hard currency. Because of the exchange rate, I could eat at the ruble side for a ridiculously cheap amount. The lines for that side of the restaurant were always long-- like sometimes there were two-hour wait times. On the hard currency side it was so empty you could probably hear crickets chirping. But I digress. On the day we met I was with a Russian girl, Irina. I had only recently met Irina because I was acting as a courier and passing along gifts from this guy Taylor from my hometown (more about him later). The ruble-side line was huge that day so Irina said, "Let me go see if I know anyone in line," A few seconds later she came running back, grabbed my hand and said, "Let's go." I suddenly found myself being introduced to my future husband. He and Irina knew each other from being on a group trip to Bulgaria (or some other eastern European country-- I can't remember) a few years previously. "The Russian" was at Pizza Hut alone on his lunch break. He was the next person in line; if Irina and I had arrived a few moments later, he would have already been inside the restaurant and we'd have never met. The three of us hit it off during lunch and afterwards Irina took off because she was leaving for Austria the next day (it's weird that I can remember that detail but if you asked me what I ate for breakfast this morning I'd have to think about it for a minute). The Russian and I ended up spending the rest of the day together. He didn't go back to work. We took a boat ride on the river and walked all around Moscow. At the end of the day, he wanted to escort me home. I said no, not because I didn't want him to, but because we lived so far apart. Moscow is a huge place. I lived in the far southern part of the city; he lived in the far northern part. On the Metro it was about an hour ride between our two stations. I didn't want him to waste two hours of his life just to take me home. What's funny is that before I even made it back to the apartment (where I was living with my Russian Mom and her family), The Russian had already called to talk to me. My Russian Mom was immediately suspicious. As soon as I walked in the door she told me in an annoyed voice, "Some MAN just called here asking for you." So yeah, The Russian pursued me intently from the beginning; I was equally enamored. I'll spare you all the details though. We dated all through that summer and fall and got married two years later.
What's interesting is that our story could have ended so differently if the man Taylor, who I mentioned previously, had been more assertive and made his true feelings known to me. I met Taylor (not his real name, but a close approximation) because he had visited Russia the year before and had met Irina and wanted to correspond with her but didn't speak Russian. The university where I was a student put us in contact with each other. I was 21 and Taylor was 42 but we got along well. We started hanging out sometimes. He took me to this cool park in a different state on a one-day road trip. I thought it was admirable that he did volunteer work helping people who needed assistance heating their homes. I automatically assumed we were just friends because I knew he liked Irina AND he had a female lover-- a married woman. He told me that the woman's husband knew about the arrangement and was OK with it. The whole thing was odd to me but I was like, "Whatever consenting adults do in the privacy of their own home is no one else's business." I remember one time he showed me the Woody Allen movie, "Manhattan"-- you know, the one about a 42-year old dating a 17-year old. I remember him saying something like age doesn't matter when people are in love but I never made the connection that he might like me in any way other than as a friend. The day before I left for Russia I visited with him to get the gifts that he wanted to send to Irina. I helped him with the translation of a letter to her. When it was time to go he leaned on his elbows against my open car window and talked to me for a minute. Suddenly he pulled my head close to his and kissed me passionately. Like, it was a really, really good kiss. And completely unexpected. I remember thinking, "Oh-- I guess likes me in a romantic way." But seriously-- why in the hell did he wait until I was leaving the country for THREE months to spring this on me? As fate would have it, within days of my arrival in Moscow I met The Russian at Pizza Hut. If I had been dating Taylor before I left the States, I don't know if I would have pursued a relationship with The Russian. Who knows. When my son is older, I am going to tell him that it a freaking MIRACLE that he is alive. If I had been like two minutes late to Pizza Hut, I wouldn't have met The Russian and my son wouldn't have been born. If Taylor had been more upfront with me earlier on, we would have probably dated, and again, my son wouldn't have been born. If my body (for reasons unknown) hadn't finally cooperated after five miscarriages, my son wouldn't have been born. This kid has won the proverbial golden ticket. He's still too little to understand these things, but when he's older you can bet I'll be reminding him of this ALL THE TIME. He'll probably be sick of this story and groan whenever I bring it up. That won't stop me though. I love to annoy him.
OK, I hope this post didn't bore you to tears. I'll be returning to my usual irrevant topics in the future. I'm already thinking about a future post that discusses condoms-- or rather, coupons for condoms. Those really exist. Coupons. Not condoms. I know that you know that condoms exist.
My last post was Sunday afternoon. By yesterday morning (Monday) I found myself thinking, "I have nothing to write about. There is absolutely nothing funny or interesting to share on my blog." Oh silly me. Oh me of such little faith. All I needed to do was let the day progress in its natural way and let the humor come to me. I've started to notice that my three failsafe topics (and perhaps this is kind of sad) are my kid, the grocery store and Google search queries.
I often go to the grocery store on my lunch hour so I don't have to do it after work with a kid in tow. There is a small Kroger just two blocks down from my office. I've written before about the weird produce clerk who is a little TOO friendly to me; I think he may be mentally unhinged. There's another produce guy who works there but I generally try to avoid him because he always looks angry. In his defense, he's actually been nice to me when I've needed help (like "Are there any more McIntosh apples in the back?"). Yesterday I sent this text:
I've included a gif of Homey (or Homie-- I saw both spellings online) so you have a visual reference. By the way, this is the first time I've ever uploaded a gif before. It only took like seven attempts. If it's not working for you, I'm sorry. It looks OK on my end.
At the end of my purchase, the register spit out a bunch of coupons. I've written about the fact that Kroger, like many stores, uses targeted marketing based on your buying habits. That's great a lot of the time. I buy cage-free eggs whenever possible. "Here's a coupon for cage-free eggs!" We eat a lot of Greek yogurt. "Here are coupons for Greek yogurt!". Lately something has changed and Kroger now seems to think I'm an elderly person. I've been getting coupons for things like denture adhesive and incontinence pads. I've joked that I'm going to start buying things like beer and condoms in mass quantities to change my marketing profile. I sent this text:
I don't want to devote my entire blog to funny shit my kid says, but I swear I probably could. If I ever run dry on comedy material, all I need to do is sit down with him for ten minutes and I guarantee you that I'll have something to write about. This was the first thing he told me when he got off the school bus yesterday:
Some of my best conversations with my son occur during his bathtime. Maybe he lets his guard down because he's naked and vulnerable? Hard to say. In any case, if I want the real story about something I wait and ask when he's in the tub.
OK, I feel a little bad about calling a six or seven year old a hussy. Maybe she has older brothers. I asked my son, "Did she say this out loud for everyone on the bus to hear?" He said no-- just to him. So yeah-- yet another example that much of my son's real education takes place on the school bus and not in the school room.
I hope you aren't bored when I write about my Google search queries. They amuse me greatly. I like to check every few days or so just to see what's new. For my website, it seems like the search terms are 80-90% sexual in nature. I'm not sure if that's a reflection on me or if it's typical for Google in general. Some of the search terms are just vile and perverted. Here are some new ones that made me laugh:
I've written about my "goober tendencies", as I call them, in previous posts. I know I'm not the only person in the world who is clumsy, accident-prone and forgetful. I have a friend at work who says the Myers-Briggs Test should include one more letter-- a "G" for those of us who are goobers. I would be an INFJ-G; she would be an ENTJ-G. Our personalities are quite different but we share the same sense of humor and the same goober tendencies. My mother had these same tendencies as well (which used to drive us all crazy) so if gooberness is a genetic trait, I know I inherited it from her. I pity my husband because I know that I annoy the living shit out of him sometimes; hell, I annoy MYSELF sometimes. Want some examples? Here are texts I've sent out in the past few days:
If you or a loved one suffers from goober tendencies, please know that you are not alone. There are thousands, if not millions of us, living in the world. If you find yourself becoming annoyed with a "G" person, please know that we're not behaving this way to piss you off. We can't help it. If we could change we would. This has been public service announcement by Goober Tendencies Anonymous. We should probably have a support group of some kind but we'd likely forget the dates and times and locations of the meetings.
I'm writing this post on a Sunday afternoon. Whenever possible, I like to take naps on Sunday afternoons (and on Saturday afternoons; I just like naps in general). However, tomorrow is my first day back to work after two weeks off for Christmas break. My normal routine is all out of whack. I've been going to bed after midnight and sleeping until 10a.m. or so. It's been awesome, as you can well imagine. I'm staying awake this afternoon so hopefully I'll be tired at my regular bedtime tonight. I know that going to work tomorrow is going to suck ass. That's the most polite way I can put it. Like most people on a break from work or school, I've gotten completely lazy in my habits. I had this conversation with my friend David. Note-- the unattributed quote is by comedian Paula Pell:
Tomorrow is probably going to be one of those days where I tell my boss, "Don't talk to me until 10 a.m." I really do tell him that. He appreciates my honesty. Tomorrow millions of tired and grumpy employees will be returning to the workplace. It should be a nationwide rule that we all minimize communication while everyone feels out of sorts. Tuesday will be a better day.
This last thing is something that caught my eye and amused me. The mail was piled perfectly to make the words on a catalog appear like this:
Right before I started typing this post I looked up my website information on a domain-lookup website. I just wanted to see what exactly was listed. One line was "family friendly" and for my site it said, "NO". My first thought was "Hey-- who made that determination?" but then I noticed that I've used obscenities like five times just in this post alone. So yeah, my website should probably carry an "R" rating. I could write at a PG level but then that would require censoring myself and I have to do enough of that in real life. Getting to be my real R-rated self on my website is one of my joys in life. Anyway, if you too have goober tendencies, feel free to share your examples in the comments section. It will help me feel better about myself as well as provide entertainment for others.
Hey everyone it's that time again (note-- I started to write, "It's that time of the month again!" and then I quickly realized how that sounds. All the male readers would have gone "CLICK" to a new webpage. And I wouldn't have blamed them). No, it's time for this:
A group of funny bloggers (myself included) want to bring joy and laughter into your life. At the end of this post is a list of the awesome people who participate in this "blog hop". Some are giving away fun prizes. Last month I gave away a Whoopie Cushion. This time I don't have any kind of giveaway. And let's be honest-- spending time with me is really the greatest gift you could possibly receive, right? I'll pause here for a second so you can think to yourself, "This lady is so full of shit." OK, the truth is that I wasn't even sure I would participate this time. The only reason I'm writing this post is because it's past midnight and my husband and son are asleep. I'm awake because my days and nights are mixed up from being off from work for nearly two weeks (yay Christmas vacation!). I've been sleeping in every day until 10 in the morning and I have to tell you that it is as effing awesome as it sounds. Anyway, I thought I'd go ahead and try to share something funny with you guys though I don't have anything to give you. Other than my love for you. There-- how did that sound? Still like someone full of shit. I know.
Last night was New Year's Eve. I know that some people sent out messages and emails wishing their friends and loved ones a Happy 2015. Here's what my friends and family got from me:
The Rose Bowl Parade was on TV this morning ; it played in the background while I made pancakes for breakfast. This caught my attention:
I'm not exaggerating when I say that Jesus was waving. The photo taken from my TV screen is of poor quality, still, if you look closely you can see his hand in the air. It just seems disrespectful or something. Maybe it's just me...
OK, on to a COMPLETELY different topic. This event happened a year ago. It was a Friday afternoon in December and I was at a Sam's Club. The lines were ridiculously long but not unexpected for that time of year. There was a man in front of me in a camouflage shirt. A BUTTON-DOWN camouflage shirt. That caught my attention because I had never seen such a thing before. For the hunter who likes to dress up a bit I guess. Anyway, Mr. Camo Man was clean shaven and probably in his mid 60's. He struck up a conversation with me and since there was nothing else better to do we talked while we waited. I honestly don't remember what we talked about. Until he said this to me as I started to load my items onto to the belt: "I should buy your groceries for you." I wasn't sure I heard correctly so I said, "What?". He suddenly looked embarrassed and said, "I could buy your groceries for you." Maybe he was just trying to be funny but it seemed like a sincere statement. I immediately felt awkward. I said something like, "No, that's OK." As the cashier rang up my order, Mr. Camo Man stood a few feet away. He wasn't looking at his phone or anything; he was just standing there. I suddenly realized, "Oh God, I think he's waiting for me." I got out my phone and I swear I was going to take this guy's photo (you know, so that once the police found my body, maybe it would help them find my killer). Thankfully the kind, but weird, stranger made his way to the food court. As soon as my order was complete I rushed out of the store and didn't look back. I should mention here that I paid $185 for my groceries. When I told my husband this story his response was "Why didn't you let him pay?" I told him, "Uh, I didn't let him because I'm sure he would have wanted something in return. And I didn't feel like giving a stranger a blow job in the parking lot." His response was meant to be funny but it kind of pissed me off: "It probably would have been over in five minutes. You could have saved us $185". GAH! GROSS! I told him, "I am worth so much more than $185! I should command at least six figures!" By the way, this conversation goes down in history as one of the strangest we've had in 20 years of marriage. I told this story to several friends because, HELLO, it's a great story. One of my male friends said, "Six figures is kind of high. I think you're going to price yourself out of the market." I was like, "What market? I am not in the BJ market! I was just making a point." So form groups and discuss if you think I should have a let a kind stranger buy my groceries. I think I made the right call.
Below are the names of the funny and fabulous bloggers you might, no, you SHOULD check out for Funny Blog Friday:
Victoria of Angst Anarchy
Alanna of White Girls Be Like…
Jamie of Fits of Wit
Jessie of Jessie Reyna
HE Ellis of HE Ellis
Ben of Ben’s Bitter Blog
Gina of Endearingly Wacko
Eric of Opticynicism
Jenn of Properly Ridiculous
Alice of Alice At Wonderland
Lisa of Buddhaful Britt
JC of JCS Bloggery
Sarah of No Cry Babies
Elke of The Pretty Platform
Jack of The Things I see Up Here
Chicks A & E of Too Funny Chicks
Charly of Crazy Life
Kevin of Trailer Trash Deluxe
Karilin of That Nameless Color
Arthur of Pouring My Art Out
I'm the worst kind of asshole-- I think I'm funny.
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(Note--I only joined FB in January 2016. Come be my friend, if you want, and like my page before I get fed up with the whole thing and delete my FB account. Kidding. Maybe.)