I did not have a good sports weekend.
I'm still bitter about Mizzou being moved to the SEC. One of my NASCAR drivers is in the hunt for the championship, but he's only in the lead by three points. Another of my drivers is in hot water with his sponsor, NASCAR, and most of the fans, and by their reaction, you'd think he'd ran over all of their grandmothers and boiled their puppies (he didn't, by the way -- just to clarify). And yet another of my drivers (in a different series) ACCIDENTALLY wrecked a championship contender and pretty much ruined that guy's chances at winning the championship (oops).
As soon as that happened, the phone rang. (Hi Mom.)
Me: IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!
Mom: He's a loser who can't drive!
Me: You don't even know!
(We were still on the phone about five minutes later when they started interviewing two of the guys involved in the wreck.)
Me: Hey! Why aren't they interviewing Jason? He's standing right there!
Mom: BECAUSE HE'S A LOSER!
Me: They're being biased against him! They aren't getting his side of the story! No fair!
Mom: Ha ha - they don't like him, either!
Me: Shhh, now they're talking to him.
(Jason admitted he made a grave error and felt awful.)
Me: SEE??? He's man enough to admit a mistake, take ownership, and be remorseful. What more do you want?
Mom: BLOOD! I WANT BLOOD!
Me: You frighten me.
Mom: You asked.
Me: Don't talk to me right now. I'm mad at you.
Mom: Why? Because you like losers?
Me: Shhh. Don't talk to me!
Mom: I can't talk?
Me: That's right. I'm mad at you. You have to be quiet.
Mom: Then can I hang up?
Me: No.
Mom (laughing): Oh, I have to sit here and be miserable?
Me: Yes, that's right. That's your punishment.
Mom: Hmph. Well, can I --
Me: SSSHHHHHH. I'M BEING MAD AT YOU!
Felix comes over and meows into the phone.
Me: See? Even Felix knows! He's telling you how wrong you are!
Mom: No, he's talking to me because he feels bad for me.
Me: Traitor.
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
13 November 2011
29 October 2011
When Mom and Felix Gang up on Me
Last night, I received the following email from my mother:
"Hi How is my wonderful, beautiful, great daughter tonight? I am really writing to see if you are taking Felix to see Puss in Boots tomorrow. If you don't, I am going to tell him.
"Love, Mom"
As luck would have it, Felix was actually sitting on my lap when the email came and I opened it. Hmph. I asked him if he had interest in the movie, and he actually seemed to. Double hmph. So I then explained that we would probably have to rent it because I didn't think he would be allowed in the theater. I called Mom to tell her that she was causing problems because Fe saw the email, and she was delighted. "Good! Now I don't even have to tell him!"
Today, I am cooking a whole chicken in the Crock Pot (hang on - this relates to the story). When I cook a whole chicken, I boil the liver and gizzard, and let the cat eat them. Oscar used to LOVE liver so much that I'd buy it for him at the grocery store, but Fe only likes it enough that he gets it when I have it on hand already. I happened to be talking to my mom on the phone as I was boiling the innards, and Fe was mewing impatiently. I told her that I had already told Felix that since he was getting special treats today, we weren't going to the movies -- he could only get so much fun in one day. She informed me I wasn't being fair.
Felix kept mewing impatiently, so much so that Mom finally asked me what I was doing to the poor guy. I said, "He just REALLY wants his liver and gizzard. He doesn't understand the cooking process." To which she replied, "Oh. I thought I heard him say that he's mad you aren't taking him to see Puss in Boots today."
She's incorrigible.
19 October 2011
Random Rhinebeck Ramblings
Market baskets should not be allowed. The fad this year was market baskets. People bought these huge market baskets that they would then tote their purchases in. Said baskets were usually carried on the arm of the person, which put at my eye level. These baskets were hard and had no give. The fact that I didn't come home with two black eyes is completely unexplainable to me.
There was also a man who was carrying his toddler on his back in a huge-ass back-pack-like contraption. not one of those small, cosy, things that kept baby close, but a huge contraption that was basically a carry-all, a tote, and a storage bag all in one. Okay, fine. But then you might want to mind when you're backing into people, things, displays, etc.
I found out that it simultaneously amuses and annoys me when I pet a sheep and he poops as I pet him.
I will never again hear Peruvian flute music and not automatically want to pee.
I will never know what the other ladies in the bathroom thought when Ria, Rachel, and I went into a stall one-by-one and came out laughing. But it really worth the trip. And it was totally hysterical.
I still don't understand when they think they're going to the punkin chunkin. "We told them they can come any day." But it's a two-day event!
Some people really just do NOT understand that when they start telling you a story and the first part of the story is "Can I ask you something really inappropriate" and they are a complete stranger, that maybe the rest of the story/question shouldn't be asked/told.
The potato chip/dip man may think the sale to Ria and I wasn't worth it. But I do!
I think we scared the poor guy who asked if he could help us. When he said "You could have just said 'no,' that probably was a bad sign.
All in all, I don't think I stopped laughing (well, after I stopped crying when I told Rachel about The Work Incident).
I'm sorry I'll miss Rhinebeck next year.
There was also a man who was carrying his toddler on his back in a huge-ass back-pack-like contraption. not one of those small, cosy, things that kept baby close, but a huge contraption that was basically a carry-all, a tote, and a storage bag all in one. Okay, fine. But then you might want to mind when you're backing into people, things, displays, etc.
I found out that it simultaneously amuses and annoys me when I pet a sheep and he poops as I pet him.
I will never again hear Peruvian flute music and not automatically want to pee.
I will never know what the other ladies in the bathroom thought when Ria, Rachel, and I went into a stall one-by-one and came out laughing. But it really worth the trip. And it was totally hysterical.
I still don't understand when they think they're going to the punkin chunkin. "We told them they can come any day." But it's a two-day event!
Some people really just do NOT understand that when they start telling you a story and the first part of the story is "Can I ask you something really inappropriate" and they are a complete stranger, that maybe the rest of the story/question shouldn't be asked/told.
The potato chip/dip man may think the sale to Ria and I wasn't worth it. But I do!
I think we scared the poor guy who asked if he could help us. When he said "You could have just said 'no,' that probably was a bad sign.
All in all, I don't think I stopped laughing (well, after I stopped crying when I told Rachel about The Work Incident).
I'm sorry I'll miss Rhinebeck next year.
14 October 2011
My Favourite YouTube Videos
I met with my friend Joanna for supper tonight. During supper, we ended up talking about some of my favourite YouTube videos. My newest favourite I shared with you on Monday.
Here are the other two that crack the top three.
1. Epic Why Guy. I discovered this video because it was posted on Ravelry a couple of years ago. Ever since then, Ria and I have discussed the many ways in which we could re-enact this. When I posted on Twitter the other day that I was going to be on the news, she replied with "Did they lock you out of the mall again?"
2. The Difference Between the United Kingdom, Great Britain, and England Explained. A great video made of facts but done so awesomely that it's just hysterically funny.
Here are the other two that crack the top three.
1. Epic Why Guy. I discovered this video because it was posted on Ravelry a couple of years ago. Ever since then, Ria and I have discussed the many ways in which we could re-enact this. When I posted on Twitter the other day that I was going to be on the news, she replied with "Did they lock you out of the mall again?"
20 September 2011
Dr. Gary A Boring
Rachel and I went out for supper last night. Somehow, we got to talking about how back home, there's a man named "Dr. Gary A Boring," and he's a chiropractor. So the big, brown sign in front of his building reads "Dr. Gary A Boring" and under that "CHIROPRACTOR." So, naturally, you get "Dr. Gary A Boring Chiropractor."
We got to laughing about all the various occupations that Gary probably shouldn't be - a professor. A comedian. A dentist (since they bore holes with their drill).
Any other ideas?
We got to laughing about all the various occupations that Gary probably shouldn't be - a professor. A comedian. A dentist (since they bore holes with their drill).
Any other ideas?
31 August 2011
My day... yesterday
In giving my thoughts about work yesterday, I didn't tell you about my adventures in getting to work yesterday.
First, I mixed up my hand soap with my facial moisturiser. Then, I dropped my loaded toothbrush onto my bathmat. And, of course, it fell toothpaste-side down. I thought I was all good after I got the morning ablutions sorted out.
I got dressed, felt good, and tried to head to work. At that time of day, the trolley comes pretty often, but I wanted to know which trolley I could catch. In attempting to look up the trolley schedule, I looked up the NASCAR schedule instead. Oy.
When I got finally got to work (via a trolley, not via a NASCAR driver), I waited in the lobby while security got my permanent security badge together. (I had used a temp badge on Monday. And they're needed! I need it just to get to the restroom, if I want to use the shortcut through the stairwell.)
While I was sitting there, I noticed that something seemed... odd. I discreetly checked, using my bag as a shield, and yep - I had arrived to work with my pants unzipped.
I'm happy to report that I arrived to work today with none of that fuss!
First, I mixed up my hand soap with my facial moisturiser. Then, I dropped my loaded toothbrush onto my bathmat. And, of course, it fell toothpaste-side down. I thought I was all good after I got the morning ablutions sorted out.
I got dressed, felt good, and tried to head to work. At that time of day, the trolley comes pretty often, but I wanted to know which trolley I could catch. In attempting to look up the trolley schedule, I looked up the NASCAR schedule instead. Oy.
When I got finally got to work (via a trolley, not via a NASCAR driver), I waited in the lobby while security got my permanent security badge together. (I had used a temp badge on Monday. And they're needed! I need it just to get to the restroom, if I want to use the shortcut through the stairwell.)
While I was sitting there, I noticed that something seemed... odd. I discreetly checked, using my bag as a shield, and yep - I had arrived to work with my pants unzipped.
I'm happy to report that I arrived to work today with none of that fuss!
23 August 2011
Chilling with Ria and Curt
Ria and Curt helped their daughter Angie move back in to Temple yesterday. As is custom, as soon as her stuff was unloaded, they were ceremoniously kicked out, which left them free to hang out with me. Yay! We had lunch at Chickie's and Pete's, where I introduced them to the wonder that is Crab Fries.
We also went to Target, where I crawled around on the ground in an attempt to fix the truck (I failed miserably). We hit Modell's, in an attempt to de-funk-ify my sneakers (we failed miserably). We then hit up Lowe's, where we were more successful -- Curt got a screwdriver set he wanted, and I got some keys made, some sneaker odour-remover stuff, AND I pictures of Chad Knaus! (Okay, a fake Chad, and not even Mini Chad, but a Chad nonetheless). Ria got an even better picture of him, and we decided it shall be my screen-saver for my new job.
From there, we headed to my place to hang out and let lunch settle until we deemed it time for supper. We hit up Pattaya, where they generously treated me to supper as a "congrats on the job" meal - yay! I didn't realise this was Curt's first foray into Thai food! A great time was had by all, I think. I got the drunken noodles, Ria got the late night noodles, and Curt got something that wouldn't kill him (sans shellfish and peanuts).
Curt headed home, Ria and I watched and episode of "Brad Meltzer's Decoded" (it's my mission to get everyone hooked on this show), then we hit the hay. Today, we hit the Gold Standard Café for breakfast, then the post office where Ria nearly got us kicked out for making a scene, the pet shop, and then back to my place for two more episodes of "Decoded." (Ria's nearly through Season One - just in time for Season Two!)
Just as she was about to leave, the earthquake hit! More on that tomorrow!
I also want to give a huge shout-out to Julie who sent me an über-sweet note of luck and encouragement yesterday because she thought it was my first day of work. It truly is the thought that counts. Thank you!
We also went to Target, where I crawled around on the ground in an attempt to fix the truck (I failed miserably). We hit Modell's, in an attempt to de-funk-ify my sneakers (we failed miserably). We then hit up Lowe's, where we were more successful -- Curt got a screwdriver set he wanted, and I got some keys made, some sneaker odour-remover stuff, AND I pictures of Chad Knaus! (Okay, a fake Chad, and not even Mini Chad, but a Chad nonetheless). Ria got an even better picture of him, and we decided it shall be my screen-saver for my new job.
From there, we headed to my place to hang out and let lunch settle until we deemed it time for supper. We hit up Pattaya, where they generously treated me to supper as a "congrats on the job" meal - yay! I didn't realise this was Curt's first foray into Thai food! A great time was had by all, I think. I got the drunken noodles, Ria got the late night noodles, and Curt got something that wouldn't kill him (sans shellfish and peanuts).
Curt headed home, Ria and I watched and episode of "Brad Meltzer's Decoded" (it's my mission to get everyone hooked on this show), then we hit the hay. Today, we hit the Gold Standard Café for breakfast, then the post office where Ria nearly got us kicked out for making a scene, the pet shop, and then back to my place for two more episodes of "Decoded." (Ria's nearly through Season One - just in time for Season Two!)
Just as she was about to leave, the earthquake hit! More on that tomorrow!
I also want to give a huge shout-out to Julie who sent me an über-sweet note of luck and encouragement yesterday because she thought it was my first day of work. It truly is the thought that counts. Thank you!
27 July 2011
Wednesday Weirdness
I normally don't watch the news. I get my news from either the paper or online sources. I like to able to control what I'm exposed to, so I don't get overly depressed or angry by sensationalised stories or "stories."
But last night, I was doing something when the show I was watching went off and the news came on, and I wasn't able to change the channel on time. And before I knew it, the most amazing thing unfolded before my ears. So I had to rewind to see if what I THOUGHT had happened had actually happened.
In a nutshell, here's what went down: A reporter was reporting live on an animal hoarding story in front of the house from which the animals were confiscated. Suddenly, a man attacked the reporter and his cameraman - on live television! The anchor (safely back in the studio) quickly cut to another story.
Later in the newscast, they came back to the live reporter who explained that the attacker was the son of the man arrested (who owned the house they were standing in front in), but the police now had him in handcuffs. He reported on the story, wrapping up by letting us know he had to go give his statement to the police.
The fantastic thing about this is the stupidity of the attacker. Who thinks, "Oh hey! There's a live telecast; I'll go attack the guy reporting on live television in front of the camera recording everything!"
Here are the videos so you, too, can revel in the sheer awesome of this. (Warning: I laughed myself silly for a good ten minutes.)
The first video with the attack:
But last night, I was doing something when the show I was watching went off and the news came on, and I wasn't able to change the channel on time. And before I knew it, the most amazing thing unfolded before my ears. So I had to rewind to see if what I THOUGHT had happened had actually happened.
In a nutshell, here's what went down: A reporter was reporting live on an animal hoarding story in front of the house from which the animals were confiscated. Suddenly, a man attacked the reporter and his cameraman - on live television! The anchor (safely back in the studio) quickly cut to another story.
Later in the newscast, they came back to the live reporter who explained that the attacker was the son of the man arrested (who owned the house they were standing in front in), but the police now had him in handcuffs. He reported on the story, wrapping up by letting us know he had to go give his statement to the police.
The fantastic thing about this is the stupidity of the attacker. Who thinks, "Oh hey! There's a live telecast; I'll go attack the guy reporting on live television in front of the camera recording everything!"
Here are the videos so you, too, can revel in the sheer awesome of this. (Warning: I laughed myself silly for a good ten minutes.)
The first video with the attack:
25 May 2011
Wednesday Weigh-In
Well, not really.
I've been battling a massive headache for the past couple of days. Usually, I would just pop an Ultram and go about my day. But the last time I took one, I had Ultram hang-over for the entire next day. Ultram is what my neurologist gave me to replace Darvocet, and I'd been taking it with great success until the most recent time. Since I had physiotherapy today, I didn't want to take something that might make me groggy and clumsy. And I have an important day tomorrow, so I'm also wary of taking it tonight.
All this to say that I slept in until the last possible moment this morning, dashed off to physio, had a tornado scare back in Missouri to deal with, came home, ate something in bed while I read until I fell asleep (which took about 20 minutes), napped, and showered. By that time my friend was at my door, and it was time to go run errands together. We hit IKEA and Target, and had supper at IKEA. That was my big day! Somewhere in there, I did weigh myself, but it wasn't my usual "first thing in the morning before I've eaten," so I'll just do it next week, and report in then.
In other news, I found out tonight that Katy Perry's contract rider is FORTY-FIVE pages. What the hell crazy-ass demands can someone make that could possibly take up FORTY-FIVE pages???? I was talking to Mom about this, and I said that I think my two "demands" would be "please make sure there aren't any pork-type snacks" and "please make sure there is plenty of water available," since I don't drink any caffeine and I'd feel bad if they wasted money getting a lot of soft drinks.
Mom said hers would be "Please have Diet Pepsi in bottles." (She hates the way it tastes in cans.)
Apparently, we make crappy divas.
So, if you were a huge star, what would your rider have in it?
I've been battling a massive headache for the past couple of days. Usually, I would just pop an Ultram and go about my day. But the last time I took one, I had Ultram hang-over for the entire next day. Ultram is what my neurologist gave me to replace Darvocet, and I'd been taking it with great success until the most recent time. Since I had physiotherapy today, I didn't want to take something that might make me groggy and clumsy. And I have an important day tomorrow, so I'm also wary of taking it tonight.
All this to say that I slept in until the last possible moment this morning, dashed off to physio, had a tornado scare back in Missouri to deal with, came home, ate something in bed while I read until I fell asleep (which took about 20 minutes), napped, and showered. By that time my friend was at my door, and it was time to go run errands together. We hit IKEA and Target, and had supper at IKEA. That was my big day! Somewhere in there, I did weigh myself, but it wasn't my usual "first thing in the morning before I've eaten," so I'll just do it next week, and report in then.
In other news, I found out tonight that Katy Perry's contract rider is FORTY-FIVE pages. What the hell crazy-ass demands can someone make that could possibly take up FORTY-FIVE pages???? I was talking to Mom about this, and I said that I think my two "demands" would be "please make sure there aren't any pork-type snacks" and "please make sure there is plenty of water available," since I don't drink any caffeine and I'd feel bad if they wasted money getting a lot of soft drinks.
Mom said hers would be "Please have Diet Pepsi in bottles." (She hates the way it tastes in cans.)
Apparently, we make crappy divas.
So, if you were a huge star, what would your rider have in it?
01 May 2011
Burlesque (or: Phone Calls with My Mom)
I called my mom tonight, and she informed me that she was just sitting down to watch "Burlesque." I reminded her that I had also wanted to see it. Knowing that she and her husband rarely rent movies just for the two of them, I suspicious asked "Is Laura there?" (Laura is Dale's daughter.)
Mom: Yep.
Me: So you're watching a movie I wanted to see, but with Laura?
Mom: Pretty much.
Me: You're showing favouritism! That's not nice!
Mom: I think my daughter has told me that before.
Me: Well... I want to watch the movie.
Mom: I can turn it up and hold the phone up and you can hear it.
Me: Hmmm. Okay. That'll work.
Mom: If I had a webcam, you could watch it.
Me: I have a webcam!
Mom: Okay, aim it at Missouri and see if that works.
Me: Why are you watching the movie without me?
Mom: Because I want to see Cher.
Me: Then just fast-forward to her part. Don't watch the rest.
Mom: I can call you when it's over. Will that help?
Me: No! I don't want to just see the end!
Mom: Oh.
Me: Next time, can you just watch movies that I DON'T want to see? I can send you a list. It's a big one. You'll have plenty to choose from.
Mom (laughing): Okay, honey. That sounds good.
Mom: Yep.
Me: So you're watching a movie I wanted to see, but with Laura?
Mom: Pretty much.
Me: You're showing favouritism! That's not nice!
Mom: I think my daughter has told me that before.
Me: Well... I want to watch the movie.
Mom: I can turn it up and hold the phone up and you can hear it.
Me: Hmmm. Okay. That'll work.
Mom: If I had a webcam, you could watch it.
Me: I have a webcam!
Mom: Okay, aim it at Missouri and see if that works.
Me: Why are you watching the movie without me?
Mom: Because I want to see Cher.
Me: Then just fast-forward to her part. Don't watch the rest.
Mom: I can call you when it's over. Will that help?
Me: No! I don't want to just see the end!
Mom: Oh.
Me: Next time, can you just watch movies that I DON'T want to see? I can send you a list. It's a big one. You'll have plenty to choose from.
Mom (laughing): Okay, honey. That sounds good.
17 April 2011
Felix
My cat has been cracking me up lately.
He has a collection of mice that he likes to play with - small furry mice, little leather mice, catnip mice, rattler mice, knitted mice, etc. For some reason, he has decided lately that the best way to play with his mice is to choose one, toss it onto the bed (usually when I'm sound asleep), chase it around on the bed until it falls off the bed, dive under the bed, chase it under the bed, wrestle it into submission, crawl back onto bed (but ONLY between the bars on the headboard and the wall, which means scooting the under-bed storage boxes around), fling the mouse onto the bed to show his dominance, lather, rinse, repeat.
Sometimes, when I'm reading in bed (which is what I do every night - sometimes until I literally fall asleep holding the book; it's many a night I wake up when the book slips from my hand and bops me in the face), he'll come to bed and toss a mouse on me. I'll toss the mouse down the hall. The other night, I had slightly bad aim, and the mouse landed in a box. I was curious to see what he would do, so I didn't get up to get the mouse out of the box. He attempted to paw the mouse out, but in his... zealous attempts to get mouse out of the box, he ended up scooting the box about a six-inches across the room (and, no, this was not an empty box!). He finally got mouse out of the box, where mouse was promptly punished for trying to hide from him. Bad Mouse! That'll teach him!
He has a collection of mice that he likes to play with - small furry mice, little leather mice, catnip mice, rattler mice, knitted mice, etc. For some reason, he has decided lately that the best way to play with his mice is to choose one, toss it onto the bed (usually when I'm sound asleep), chase it around on the bed until it falls off the bed, dive under the bed, chase it under the bed, wrestle it into submission, crawl back onto bed (but ONLY between the bars on the headboard and the wall, which means scooting the under-bed storage boxes around), fling the mouse onto the bed to show his dominance, lather, rinse, repeat.
Sometimes, when I'm reading in bed (which is what I do every night - sometimes until I literally fall asleep holding the book; it's many a night I wake up when the book slips from my hand and bops me in the face), he'll come to bed and toss a mouse on me. I'll toss the mouse down the hall. The other night, I had slightly bad aim, and the mouse landed in a box. I was curious to see what he would do, so I didn't get up to get the mouse out of the box. He attempted to paw the mouse out, but in his... zealous attempts to get mouse out of the box, he ended up scooting the box about a six-inches across the room (and, no, this was not an empty box!). He finally got mouse out of the box, where mouse was promptly punished for trying to hide from him. Bad Mouse! That'll teach him!
30 March 2011
Something is not quite right
So, I'm watching tv earlier today, and one of those "if you took this medication and now your head is falling off," commercials came on begging people to join a class-action lawsuit. It caught my attention because it happened to be a medication and an issue that was discussed only yesterday in my doctor's appointment.
But when THIS screen came on my tv, I did a double-take. I did such a double-take, I'm surprised I don't have whiplash, actually. Then I had to pause the television so I could take a picture and send it to some friends who I knew would appreciate it.
Then I decided it needed a larger audience.
Enjoy!
But when THIS screen came on my tv, I did a double-take. I did such a double-take, I'm surprised I don't have whiplash, actually. Then I had to pause the television so I could take a picture and send it to some friends who I knew would appreciate it.
Then I decided it needed a larger audience.
Enjoy!
06 March 2011
Poor Marcos Ambrose (no race spoilers)
Last week, as Mom and I were on the phone during pre-race festivities, they started interviewing Marcos Ambrose. Suddenly, Mom interrupts our conversation to say, "Every time I see that man, I hate him more and more!"
Now, for my non-NASCAR friends, Marcos Ambrose is generally known as one of the most likeable, easy-going drivers in the garage. So I figured she CAN'T be talking about him. "Uh, Mom? WHO about you talking about?" "That guy on the tv! What's-his-name!"
"Marcos Ambrose?"
"Yeah!"
"What'd he ever do to you?"
"Isn't he the guy who was so rude to us in Kansas?"
"No, Mom. That was A.J. Allmendinger."
"Ohhhhhh! That's right! Oops. I've been hating the wrong guy all this time!"
I died laughing. "Mom! How could you hate The Thunder from Down Under! He drives the Little Debbie car, for God's sake! And has commercials with koala bears!"
"Well, I thought he was mean to us! And here I've been rooting for him to crash. Whoops!"
"OH MY GOD! YOU'RE why he wrecked in Daytona last week! You owe Marcos Ambrose an apology, Mom!"
So let this be a lesson to you. If you ever meet my mom, make sure she doesn't get you confused with anyone else later. It could be disastrous.
Now, for my non-NASCAR friends, Marcos Ambrose is generally known as one of the most likeable, easy-going drivers in the garage. So I figured she CAN'T be talking about him. "Uh, Mom? WHO about you talking about?" "That guy on the tv! What's-his-name!"
"Marcos Ambrose?"
"Yeah!"
"What'd he ever do to you?"
"Isn't he the guy who was so rude to us in Kansas?"
"No, Mom. That was A.J. Allmendinger."
"Ohhhhhh! That's right! Oops. I've been hating the wrong guy all this time!"
I died laughing. "Mom! How could you hate The Thunder from Down Under! He drives the Little Debbie car, for God's sake! And has commercials with koala bears!"
"Well, I thought he was mean to us! And here I've been rooting for him to crash. Whoops!"
"OH MY GOD! YOU'RE why he wrecked in Daytona last week! You owe Marcos Ambrose an apology, Mom!"
So let this be a lesson to you. If you ever meet my mom, make sure she doesn't get you confused with anyone else later. It could be disastrous.
26 February 2011
Phone Calls with Mom
Some of you who know me from Rav are familiar with the "Phone Calls with Min's Mom" posts/threads.
Here's tonight's edition.
Mom: I'm proud of you.
Me: You are?
Mom: You didn't know that?
Me: I wasn't sure today.
Mom: I'm sometimes embarrassed of you, but I'm always proud of you.
Me: HEY!
Mom: Like the day the guy asked you your name, and he didn't hear you, so he asked you again, and then you shouted it at him and then you spelled it at him for emphasis.
Me: I did no such thing.
Mom: You did. You were about four years old.
Me: Hmph. I don't remember that.
Mom: Did I tell you Jerry Mathis died?
Me: Yeah...? Oh my God! It was Jerry I did that to?!?!
Mom: No, I was just wondering if I told you he died. Because it was a Coke meeting that happened at.
Me: Jerry died at a Coke meeting?
Mom: No, the guy asked you your name at a Coke meeting.
Me: Oh.
Mom: And you said, "I TOLD you it's Min! M-I-N! MIN!"
Me: See? I was being nice. I just wanted to make sure he heard me!
Mom: You were being a rude child, and it was embarrassing.
Here's tonight's edition.
Mom: I'm proud of you.
Me: You are?
Mom: You didn't know that?
Me: I wasn't sure today.
Mom: I'm sometimes embarrassed of you, but I'm always proud of you.
Me: HEY!
Mom: Like the day the guy asked you your name, and he didn't hear you, so he asked you again, and then you shouted it at him and then you spelled it at him for emphasis.
Me: I did no such thing.
Mom: You did. You were about four years old.
Me: Hmph. I don't remember that.
Mom: Did I tell you Jerry Mathis died?
Me: Yeah...? Oh my God! It was Jerry I did that to?!?!
Mom: No, I was just wondering if I told you he died. Because it was a Coke meeting that happened at.
Me: Jerry died at a Coke meeting?
Mom: No, the guy asked you your name at a Coke meeting.
Me: Oh.
Mom: And you said, "I TOLD you it's Min! M-I-N! MIN!"
Me: See? I was being nice. I just wanted to make sure he heard me!
Mom: You were being a rude child, and it was embarrassing.
12 February 2011
A Satisfying Day
I got more accomplished today than expected, because of help from Ria and Naomi.
I got great news from a close friend.
I got to hear my mom and Ria argue about who hung up on who.
I laughed myself into an asthma attack.
It was all amazingly satisfying.
I got great news from a close friend.
I got to hear my mom and Ria argue about who hung up on who.
I laughed myself into an asthma attack.
It was all amazingly satisfying.
05 February 2011
Game Shows
I love game shows. LOVE them.
Mostly, I love shouting at the people on them. Thus, my neighbours probably hate them.
For instance, the morons the other day on "Million Dollar Money Drop" who didn't know that Billy Crystal has hosted more Oscar shows (eight) than Steve Martin (three, including the one he co-hosted with Alec Baldwin)? Ha! Or the woman on "Jeopardy!" the other day who called the "valley of the shadow of the death" the "valley of the shadow of darkness"? Unacceptable!
"Million Dollar Money Drop" is a pretty new show. You start out with one million dollars, and the object of the game is to keep the money. At the beginning of the show, each question has four answers. You have to place your bundles of money on the correct answer. If you aren't sure of the answer, you can spread your money among different answers, as long as you keep one answer blank. The wrong answer choices will drop out, and the money you put on those answers goes away forever. Whatever money you have left at the end of seven questions is yours to keep.
Earlier this week, one of the questions was, "Which of these is heaviest: a baseball, a basketball, a football, or a hockey puck?" And the women kept yelling to her husband that the puck HAD to be heaviest. Her reasoning? Because when they drop the puck, it just FALLS RIGHT DOWN to the ice. It JUST. FALLS! RIGHT AWAY! Also, when it hits things, it SMASHES THEM! Therefore, it must be heaviest. They also eliminated basketball right away. Because it's "full of air." That was the second question. They lost all of their money. ALL. OF. IT.
It was brilliant. I loved it.
Have I mentioned how much I love game shows?
Mostly, I love shouting at the people on them. Thus, my neighbours probably hate them.
For instance, the morons the other day on "Million Dollar Money Drop" who didn't know that Billy Crystal has hosted more Oscar shows (eight) than Steve Martin (three, including the one he co-hosted with Alec Baldwin)? Ha! Or the woman on "Jeopardy!" the other day who called the "valley of the shadow of the death" the "valley of the shadow of darkness"? Unacceptable!
"Million Dollar Money Drop" is a pretty new show. You start out with one million dollars, and the object of the game is to keep the money. At the beginning of the show, each question has four answers. You have to place your bundles of money on the correct answer. If you aren't sure of the answer, you can spread your money among different answers, as long as you keep one answer blank. The wrong answer choices will drop out, and the money you put on those answers goes away forever. Whatever money you have left at the end of seven questions is yours to keep.
Earlier this week, one of the questions was, "Which of these is heaviest: a baseball, a basketball, a football, or a hockey puck?" And the women kept yelling to her husband that the puck HAD to be heaviest. Her reasoning? Because when they drop the puck, it just FALLS RIGHT DOWN to the ice. It JUST. FALLS! RIGHT AWAY! Also, when it hits things, it SMASHES THEM! Therefore, it must be heaviest. They also eliminated basketball right away. Because it's "full of air." That was the second question. They lost all of their money. ALL. OF. IT.
It was brilliant. I loved it.
Have I mentioned how much I love game shows?
28 January 2011
My mom, the comedian
Last night, Mom tole me I'd wake up this morning feeling perfect. When I woke up this morning still feeling half-dead, I called her first thing.
Me: I'm still sick.
Mom: No, you're not.
Me: I'm not?
Mom: Nope. Mind over matter.
Me: Why didn't you tell me that a week ago?
Mom: I thought you'd figure it out.
Me: Why don't come here and take care of me?
Mom: I told you last night - I'm getting my hair cut today.
I called her later that day.
Me: Tell me a funny story.
Mom: Why?
Me: Because that's what moms do when their daughters are sick. They tell them funny stories to keep them entertained.
Mom: But I don't know any funny stories.
Me: Make one up.
Mom: Um... Okay. Joey Logano (her favourite active NASCAR driver) was a cute, handsome -
Me: Okay, Mom. That's definitely made up, but it's not FUNNY.
Mom: Oh, okay. Weeeell. How about this: Tony Stewart will win the Daytona 500 this year.
Sorry, Ria, but it DID make me laugh.
After tonight's X Games ended, I called Mom to do the post-games wrap-up. We talked for a bit, and I ended with "Did you think of a funny story for me yet?" She said she hadn't. I scolded her, telling her she had ALL DAY to think of one. Then I made her listen to me cough for about ten minutes in hopes of making her feel guilty for not coming over to take care of me (it didn't work).
I told her to tell me a story about Grandpa (her dad; he died when I was four). She said he wasn't funny. I said there had to be at least one funny story about him, and then she started laughing. She said one when they were water-skiing, he decided to let go of the rope, and he was going to come up on the dock. But he missed and hit the middle of the diving board instead.
Me: I'm still sick.
Mom: No, you're not.
Me: I'm not?
Mom: Nope. Mind over matter.
Me: Why didn't you tell me that a week ago?
Mom: I thought you'd figure it out.
Me: Why don't come here and take care of me?
Mom: I told you last night - I'm getting my hair cut today.
I called her later that day.
Me: Tell me a funny story.
Mom: Why?
Me: Because that's what moms do when their daughters are sick. They tell them funny stories to keep them entertained.
Mom: But I don't know any funny stories.
Me: Make one up.
Mom: Um... Okay. Joey Logano (her favourite active NASCAR driver) was a cute, handsome -
Me: Okay, Mom. That's definitely made up, but it's not FUNNY.
Mom: Oh, okay. Weeeell. How about this: Tony Stewart will win the Daytona 500 this year.
Sorry, Ria, but it DID make me laugh.
After tonight's X Games ended, I called Mom to do the post-games wrap-up. We talked for a bit, and I ended with "Did you think of a funny story for me yet?" She said she hadn't. I scolded her, telling her she had ALL DAY to think of one. Then I made her listen to me cough for about ten minutes in hopes of making her feel guilty for not coming over to take care of me (it didn't work).
I told her to tell me a story about Grandpa (her dad; he died when I was four). She said he wasn't funny. I said there had to be at least one funny story about him, and then she started laughing. She said one when they were water-skiing, he decided to let go of the rope, and he was going to come up on the dock. But he missed and hit the middle of the diving board instead.
26 January 2011
There's this gravestone in New Orleans...
My mom's husband Dale has a habit of telling the same stories over and over again. When he starts, Mom looks and me and we giggle. Sometimes, under our breath, we finish the story before he does. And we can do this because he has this habit of stopping at random points in a story and making you think the story is over. You may even start to reply. But as you do, he'll start talking again, and you'll realise he's finishing the story.
One of his stories is about a gravestone in New Orleans (and each story is told basically the same way each time). It says "I told you I was sick." The most recent time this story came up was when I was home this past Christmas, and we were talking about my ongoing lower GI issues (don't worry, no details here). I said that every doctor was convinced it wasn't in their speciality but that every doctor agreed SOMETHING was wrong. So I was just going to wait until I died and put "I TOLD YOU SO!" on my marker. Cue the story. "You know, there this gravestone in New Orleans..."
Since last Thursday, I've had a cold. It didn't start out too bad, and I was hoping that maybe I'd get to attend the two events I had planned for this past Tuesday (a friend's thesis defence and my favourite author was appearing at the local library), but alas, it was not meant to be. And the past 24 hours of this cold have been downright vicious. Last night, I didn't well because I was coughing so much. This morning I napped fitfully because of all the coughing. I tried to nap again in the afternoon, but again with the coughing. The coughing fits are so vicious that I end up gagging and dry heaving (sorry). My back, sides, and abdomen hurt from all the coughing. And I can't breathe, which seems problematic.
So I called Mom to ask her if anyone had ever died from a cold. She told me no. Go to bed, lay on my stomach, and I'd be better soon (this is a long-standing inside joke). We didn't talk long since she got tired of hearing me gagging (she's always been an empathetic one), but we were on the phone long enough for this:
Me: So, you're sure I'm not going die?
Mom: YES.
Me: Okay. But, you know...
Mom: What?
Me: There's this gravestone in New Orleans...
Mom: And it says "I told you I was sick?"
Me: You got it.
Mom (laughing): I love you, honey. Bye!
Me: Love you, too. G'night.
I then called my friend Med Student, who told me people CAN die from cold, but they're usually old and immunocompromised, neither of which I am. I relayed this to Mom later, and she said, "So I was right; colds don't kill people. The heart attack that the cold gives the people kills them. Or when they're coughing and they fall down the stairs, THAT kills them. But the cold itself didn't do it."
Moms. They always gotta be right.
One of his stories is about a gravestone in New Orleans (and each story is told basically the same way each time). It says "I told you I was sick." The most recent time this story came up was when I was home this past Christmas, and we were talking about my ongoing lower GI issues (don't worry, no details here). I said that every doctor was convinced it wasn't in their speciality but that every doctor agreed SOMETHING was wrong. So I was just going to wait until I died and put "I TOLD YOU SO!" on my marker. Cue the story. "You know, there this gravestone in New Orleans..."
Since last Thursday, I've had a cold. It didn't start out too bad, and I was hoping that maybe I'd get to attend the two events I had planned for this past Tuesday (a friend's thesis defence and my favourite author was appearing at the local library), but alas, it was not meant to be. And the past 24 hours of this cold have been downright vicious. Last night, I didn't well because I was coughing so much. This morning I napped fitfully because of all the coughing. I tried to nap again in the afternoon, but again with the coughing. The coughing fits are so vicious that I end up gagging and dry heaving (sorry). My back, sides, and abdomen hurt from all the coughing. And I can't breathe, which seems problematic.
So I called Mom to ask her if anyone had ever died from a cold. She told me no. Go to bed, lay on my stomach, and I'd be better soon (this is a long-standing inside joke). We didn't talk long since she got tired of hearing me gagging (she's always been an empathetic one), but we were on the phone long enough for this:
Me: So, you're sure I'm not going die?
Mom: YES.
Me: Okay. But, you know...
Mom: What?
Me: There's this gravestone in New Orleans...
Mom: And it says "I told you I was sick?"
Me: You got it.
Mom (laughing): I love you, honey. Bye!
Me: Love you, too. G'night.
I then called my friend Med Student, who told me people CAN die from cold, but they're usually old and immunocompromised, neither of which I am. I relayed this to Mom later, and she said, "So I was right; colds don't kill people. The heart attack that the cold gives the people kills them. Or when they're coughing and they fall down the stairs, THAT kills them. But the cold itself didn't do it."
Moms. They always gotta be right.
24 January 2011
Really! I'm not THAT old!
The day before my birthday this year, I got a solicitation for a Hoveround. I called my mom to ask if she was the one who had put me on the mailing list, but she denied being the culprit and said she hadn't thought of it.
When I called my sister for her birthday on Thursday, I told her about it (she's several years older than I am), and she told me that on her 25th birthday, she got an advert to join the Older Women's League. Again, she couldn't figure out which of her friends had signed her up, but she knew one of them was behind it.
But, see, in both cases, we think the joke is actually on them. I got to looking at the advert for the Hoveround and it's actually kind of nifty. There's a cupholder in the armrest and just behind that is a place for a totebag. So I can drink and drive AND always have my knitting handy! And I figured out that if I start socking away ten bucks a month now for my Hoveround, by the time I actually need one, I'll be able to get a really GOOD one. Laura said I'll be able to upgrade to the Audi of Hoverounds while all you will be rolling around in the Hondas.
Meanwhile, she actually joined OWL. She figured that if she investing in OWL then, "they'd have their shit together by the time [she] got to the age [she] actually needed them." And, in her words, "this is what happens when you try to play jokes on Capricorns who are over-achievers and have their shit together! We'll show them!"
Well, this was all fun and games until today. In today's mail I got a letter from a law firm informing me that if the hip replacement I had received wasn't going well, I could join a class action law suit.
Seriously, people, I'M NOT THAT OLD!
When I called my sister for her birthday on Thursday, I told her about it (she's several years older than I am), and she told me that on her 25th birthday, she got an advert to join the Older Women's League. Again, she couldn't figure out which of her friends had signed her up, but she knew one of them was behind it.
But, see, in both cases, we think the joke is actually on them. I got to looking at the advert for the Hoveround and it's actually kind of nifty. There's a cupholder in the armrest and just behind that is a place for a totebag. So I can drink and drive AND always have my knitting handy! And I figured out that if I start socking away ten bucks a month now for my Hoveround, by the time I actually need one, I'll be able to get a really GOOD one. Laura said I'll be able to upgrade to the Audi of Hoverounds while all you will be rolling around in the Hondas.
Meanwhile, she actually joined OWL. She figured that if she investing in OWL then, "they'd have their shit together by the time [she] got to the age [she] actually needed them." And, in her words, "this is what happens when you try to play jokes on Capricorns who are over-achievers and have their shit together! We'll show them!"
Well, this was all fun and games until today. In today's mail I got a letter from a law firm informing me that if the hip replacement I had received wasn't going well, I could join a class action law suit.
Seriously, people, I'M NOT THAT OLD!
22 January 2011
I have a speshul cat
During the months when the radiators aren't on, I usually cover the one in the living room with a towel so Felix can sit on it and still look out the window. In the fall/winter months, though, I remove the towel so the heat can come out of radiator. However, Felix has apparently decided that the lack of towel is no reason to not sit on the radiator anyway. But instead of sitting on the radiator and looking out the window, he sits on the radiator and rests his head on the couch cushion to either nap, watch television, or keep an eye on me.
But this isn't why he's a speshul snowflake. I was talking to the woman who owns a local pet shop just two blocks from my house about Felix's odd litter box habits, in the hopes that she would say to me, "Oh, yeah, the reason cats do that is because..." but, no. Here's what happened instead:
I explained to her that Felix tends to use his litter box, and then hop out of it and randomly scratch at the litter mat or the lip of the litter box or the walls, in the apparent hope that this will cover what he's just done. (Now, apparently, THIS part isn't so unusual. But the NEXT part is.)
I then explained to her that before he uses his litter box, he will spend a great deal of time digging a hole. This hole has to be the right size, the right shape, and in the right place. And then he will sometimes abandon the hole and jump out of the box. Then he will come back to the box and some point in time and dig an entirely new hole. Again, right size, right shape, right place. He then puts his FRONT paws in the hole, and does his business - not in the hole - but wherever his hind end is while his front paws are in the hole!
I asked Courtney, the pet shop owner, if she had explanation for this, and her only answer (as she laughed), "I think you have a speshul cat."
But this isn't why he's a speshul snowflake. I was talking to the woman who owns a local pet shop just two blocks from my house about Felix's odd litter box habits, in the hopes that she would say to me, "Oh, yeah, the reason cats do that is because..." but, no. Here's what happened instead:
I explained to her that Felix tends to use his litter box, and then hop out of it and randomly scratch at the litter mat or the lip of the litter box or the walls, in the apparent hope that this will cover what he's just done. (Now, apparently, THIS part isn't so unusual. But the NEXT part is.)
I then explained to her that before he uses his litter box, he will spend a great deal of time digging a hole. This hole has to be the right size, the right shape, and in the right place. And then he will sometimes abandon the hole and jump out of the box. Then he will come back to the box and some point in time and dig an entirely new hole. Again, right size, right shape, right place. He then puts his FRONT paws in the hole, and does his business - not in the hole - but wherever his hind end is while his front paws are in the hole!
I asked Courtney, the pet shop owner, if she had explanation for this, and her only answer (as she laughed), "I think you have a speshul cat."
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