Tag: Humor

Family, Humor, Satisfaction

Mothers’ Day, or Why We Shouldn’t Have Kids Soon

“For the record, I hate it when people do things to celebrate ‘future mothers’ on Mothers’ Day, like giving out flowers in church, so I don’t want to do anything with the holiday until we actually have kids.  However, if I’m pregnant on Mothers’ Day, I will expect you to do something, in the name of the fetus.”
“Duly noted.”
– C. and J.

While kids are a long ways off for us, we do have fun thinking about, arguing over, and speculating on our future family.  “You know you can’t swear in front of the kids, right?”,  “They will learn proper grammar, so help me!”, and “Piano lessons and a language are mandatory, ok?”  He looks forward to wrestling with them on the floor and playing catch, I look forward to answering questions and watching them discover the world.  And forcing them to read (though with us as parents, I don’t foresee too great a struggle in that vein).  I like to tease him about how, by marrying a petite woman like me, he’s forfeited his chance at a child playing basketball, and he counters that he’s switched his plans to baseball.  He takes a great deal of pleasure in shooting down all my potential baby names, and I smugly let him think what he wants because after nine months toting the little parasite around, gaining weight, going mental, being violently ill, and forcibly expelling it through a grueling multi-hour ordeal, I think I’ll manage to get the final say. 

 However, we are firmly on the same page regarding one thing about children: slave labor.  Oh, yes.  They will have chores.  Starting young.  It’s going to be fun to make them pull weeds, mow the lawn, and dust the house.  Mummy loves you, darlings!

Holidays, Humor, Life, Office, Silly, Stupid People, Work

When the Tres Leches Rose Up Against The People

“‘Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures; And all are to be sold, if you consider Their passions, and are dext’rous; some by features Are brought up, others by a warlike leader; Some by a place–as tend their years or natures; The most by ready cash–but all have prices, From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.”
– Lord Byron, Don Juan canto V, st. 27

Holidays are fun, regardless of nationality.  Take today: Cindo de Mayo.  Some people celebrate with chips and salsa, some with a fiesta, some with mariachi bands.  And some with bribery.

A certain student is banned from driving on campus.  This is due in large part to him accumulating up to four tickets in one day, parking in service/handicapped stalls, trying to fight our student officers, and claiming that he never received information that three people all told him (at the same time, in the same room together).  He was informed he had the ability to appeal the ban but would not be able to bring his car onto campus until a final decision had been made.  He said he understood and left.

Pictured: the filthy tool of corruption!

Today he came into our office, and asked for Red.
“You know about Cinco de Mayo, right?” he asked.  “It’s today.  So I brought you this.”
He held out a small packaged piece of tres leches cake with a meaningful expression.
“K, bye” he said quickly and hurried out.

Five minutes later we found his car in a non-student parking lot.

The real mystery here is, if he were trying to circumvent parking rules, why did he draw attention to himself by 1) attempted bribery and, 2) (and this is more perplexing) leaving his emergency lights flashing merrily away for over an hour?

How do you celebrate Cinco de Mayo?  Or any holiday for that matter?

Humor, Life, Marriage, Shopping, Silly

Lifestyles of the Poor and Obscure

“It’s an area of Dublin that still has lots of character.  It hasn’t been yuppified to ****.”
Lisa’s spirits started a slow slither.  She was desperate to live in a place that had been yuppified to ****.
– Marian Keys, Sushi for Beginners

Every once and a while a strange urge takes hold of me, shakes me around a bit as I struggle to be free of its grasp, and and is finally, forcibly thrown off while I stagger around gasping and trying to reorient myself.  It’s the (understandable but currently impractical) desire to have an upwardly-mobile-ish change to our lifestyle.

Nothing desperate, you understand.  But maybe…an in-house dishwasher (that isn’t J., I mean).  Or a newer flat that doesn’t have creaky floors (or my Lord and Lady Stompington above us).  A second car, one that can manage the highways without 4000 rpms or a using half a tank of gas to get to the city (45 minutes away).

Now, I’m aware that I’m in one of the best phases of my life.  Newly (relatively) married, no kids, no mortgages, the ability to do nearly whatever J. and I want.  And yet…sometimes I have this strange desire to be just a bit further on.  First house together and past renting creaky flats.  First pet, instead of surreptitiously googling local breeders and the Human Society at work.  First real double income paycheck, instead of single-and-very-small checks on paydays.

Again, I feel as if this an understandable feeling, but I’m constantly shocked by what will trigger the flood of longing.  Today Wise and I headed out to get a cake for our monthly department birthday party.  The venue was Costco, wherein I have not spent previous quality time.  Oh dear.

Back, temptress!

There were boxes of strawberries that had not yet succumbed to slime and decay.  There were bags of frozen chicken that contained more than two or three breasts.  There were quality diamonds, iPods, lawn chairs, massive bags of chips, huge bales of toilet paper…yes, it was all very impressive.  But, above all, there were SAMPLES.

Wise and I wandered the store sucking down granola, salad, juice, and finally this.

And now, suddenly, I am wrestling the desire for a Costco membership, something I will probably not need until there are more than two of us…solely because I now crave a bottle of Roasted Blackberry Chipotle Sauce.  Aren’t I supposed to be craving babies or something?  Why do I want a dog and fancy fruit/chili sauce instead?

History, Humor, Movies

Free the Kraken: Victim of Over-Marketing!

“I’m having a little trouble concentrating.”
“Oh, well I could sell you some of my Adderall if you want.”
“No, thanks, I’m off pills.”
“That’s a wise choice because I knew this girl who like had this crazy freak out because she took too many behavioral meds at once and she like ripped off her clothes, and dove into the fountain at Ridgedale Mall and was like, ‘Blah I am a Kraken from the sea!'”
“I hear that was you.”
“Well, it was good seeing you, Su-Chin.”
– Juno, 2007

I’ve been doing some thinking, and I’ve decided that the stupidest line that could ever possibly be shouted out at any given time is, “Release the Kraken.”

For one very good reason: it’s overused.  Which is too bad really, it’s a potentially great line completely slaughtered by pop culture.

There are the hordes of annoying people trying to celebrate this year’s remake of Clash of the Titans, by trying to make “Release the Kraken” happen.

This phenomena is not new.  One of the oddest utterances of this phrase occurred in 2004, during a pre-season friendly between Liverpool and Celtic held in Connecticut.  Max Bretos on the Fox Sports commentary team shouted the following…

In fact, the only time I’ve ever heard the word “kraken” without its seeming obligatory introductory “release the-” has been in Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean series (which is also, incidentally, dying the slow death of cultural over-exposure).

I’m shallow enough to admit that the constant barrage of this phrase, overheard in grocery stores, at malls, on campus, and in parking lots (in the last week alone), is the main reason that I have no interest in seeing this movie.  Also, I remember seeing the original at some point in my childhood and, being something of a wunderkind with mythology (read: nerd), feeling absolutely disgusted with the creative liberties they took.  Mechanical owl?  Medusa spitting scorpions from her decapitated neck?  Acidic blood?  Please!  I’m a purist.

Family, Humor, Husband, School, University, Work

I Need a Weekend…

“It’s a sin to be tired.”
-Kate Moss

Round about finals, we all get a little loopy.  J.’s schedule affects me just as much as it does him because we only have one car so where one goes, the other must follow.  Meaning, that because J.’s exams start at 7am, guess who also gets to come into work an hour early?

The disruption to our sleep schedule means that C. becomes a walking zombie of ludicrousness.

Our flat hasn’t been cleaned in over a week, I reach a point of exhausted hysteria by 9pm every night, I can’t speak properly, the smallest and most basic tasks become incomprehensible, and I have a perma-migraine raging behind my right eye.

Pictured: J.'s friends Tim and Heidi. As seen by C. at 10pm.

But I knew I’d reached critical mass last night when driving home from my sister-in-law’s (Milly) bridal shower (her fiance spent his evening with the future-brothers-in-law and assorted children), J. was talking about his friends, “Tim and Heidi,” and I furrowed my brow in tired confusion.
“Wait?  Tim and Heidi?  As in Gunn and Klum?”

Sidenote: do they not (his friends, I mean) have the potentially most awesome Halloween costume?

Food, Friends, Home, Humor, Work

Half. Baked.

“There is a peculiar burning odor in the room, like explosives.  The kitchen fills with smoke and the hot, sweet, ashy smell of scorched cookies.  The war has begun.”
– Allison Lurie

The end of a semester is always a bit sad, largely because we often have a turnover in student employees.  Today is Daae’s last day and Sport’s second to last day.

In honor…actually, in mourning…of the day, Wise and I decided that we wanted to do something for them and I said I would make a bunch of cookies for the office.  Unfortunately I had my creative writing final which lasted until 8pm (which was a surprising amount of fun, but that’s another post) and then I had to spend half an hour Harley (yes, I named it), so I didn’t open my cupboards until 9:30 which is when I discovered we had no butter – or milk, or bread, but who’s keeping tabs?

(Side note:  We go through butter at an alarming rate.  Perhaps I should up my Harley time to an hour?)

So, off to the store.  While I went in with the best of frugal intentions, I came out with butter, milk, bread, apples, oranges, carrots, dried fruit, yogurt, English muffins, granola bars, vegetables, chocolate chips, and evaporated milk.  Oops.

Now, I'm no culinary wonder, but I do know my chocolate chip cookies!

Then I got to work whipping up a double batch of chocolate chip cookies and thanking Mum and Dad for the foresight of getting me an industrial sized Kitchen Aid for a wedding present.  It was all going swimmingly until I pulled the first pan out of the oven.

Something had gone terribly wrong.  They didn’t look like cookies at all, they looked like scones.  But they didn’t taste like scones, they tasted like incredibly dry biscuits.  But they didn’t feel like biscuits, the felt like hockey pucks.  You can imagine my confusion.

We picked up some donuts this morning instead.

Family, Humor, Husband

Lys-Dexia

“Check and see the oven inside.”
“Something in the oven there is.”
“…wait, what?  What did I say?”
“Something along the lines of, ‘Do or do not, there is no try.’  Don’t worry, I speak C. fluently.”
“Go die.”
– C. and J.

I swear I have a speech problem, and not just Foot-In-Mouth disease (a tragic, incurable illness wherein the sufferer is constantly choking on their own stupidity and awkwardness).  I frequently speak in Spoonerisms.

Pictured: a Dad Face.

I blame Dad.  He has a bit of a goofy sense of humor, and one of the things he finds most funny is to switch up words.  Depending on how much sleep the siblings have had, our response to this can vary from a pity-chuckle to uproarious laughter.  So when Mika misbehaves and Dad sighs, “Dupid sog,” accompanied by a Dad Face, we will probably all find it pretty funny.

The irony is that I can’t make a Spoonerism off the top of my head the way Dad can.  But, without even trying, I CAN completely rearrange a sentence into one that utterly defies logic and grammar.  In fact, I do it quite regularly.

More’s the pity for me, J. is just as quick as my Dad in the comebacks.  Curses.

Family, Friends, History, Humor, Husband, Weekend

How to Look Creepy in Front of Strangers

“When all of a sudden, people say, ‘Wow, you look nice,’ and carry on, it’s shocking.  Really awkward.”
– Nikki Cox 

Hey kids! Let's learn about history from your bizarre Aunt C.!

If ever you are participating in a group game night with a bunch of people you have only met once before and with whom you share absolutely no history, conversation, or shared interest (because they are part of your brother-in-law’s set and that one time you met them before was over a year ago), and you a playing a game in which you have to describe a person from history…who might not have been a palatable choice for a conservative crowd… 

…do not, under any circumstances, try to get your teammates to guess the name on the card you chose.  Skip it and go to the next card.  Trust me on this. 

Dear, dear. Now we're all uncomfortable, aren't we?

Example:
“Ok!  He’s an 18th century French writer who was extremely controversial.  Got locked up for years because of what he wrote, both in the Bastille and an insane asylum.  To be fair he was basically a filthy, vile pornographer who wrote about horrible things.  Word “sadism” comes from his name.” 

Example Response:
“Um, wow, C., you know a lot about this weirdo…”  

Blast.  I look a pervert.

Family, Friends, Humor, Life, Shopping

Girl. Friends.

“Today was a good day.”
– Ice Cube 

Today Venice and I drove up to visit Marie in the hospital (currently residing there due to general unpleasantness of the pancreas).  We brought her a huge gift basket we made thanks to a major geek-out in Target where we bought anything pink, Liberty of London, or necessary to a fine lady incarcerated against her will that we could find.  After that we headed into the city.  We shopped J. Crew and Loft, scored major finds on the sale racks,  and ate a luxurious lunch (free drinks from the waiter!).  Afterwards I met up with J. at his parents house where he was studying for exams and fell asleep for two glorious hours on a comfy sofa.  

In other words, exactly what I needed. 

There's family you're born into, family you marry into and family you make. All are important. My Ladies Who Lunch friends (Venice, Marie, Peregrine, Ariosa, Margot, Angel, Fairy, GS, etc.) will someday be the surrogate Aunts of my children. Who will be awfully confused when they get a school assignment to make a family tree.