You Had to Be There - The Series - Entry #1

I love to quote people. When I hear something said that strikes me as funny, I think it deserves to be remembered and repeated. I'm constantly quoting lines from movies and TV shows in everyday conversation. I actually read somewhere recently that people who do that are socially inept, and as they feel unable to contribute their own thoughts to a conversation, they compensate by using the quotes of others as a crutch, or some such bullshit. Yada, yada, yada. I don't believe it. I think it's a sign of intelligent wit when one can properly insert the one line from Seinfeld that most perfectly enhances a dialogue. It's a bonding moment when the others in the conversation know what the hell you're talking about, right?

I also love quoting lines from my real life conversations. Have you ever said something that made you stop and realize how odd it would sound if taken out of context and repeated? I do it ALL the time, and I crack myself up. For example, on my old blog I once posted a story about the time I actually caught myself yelling to my daughter across the house, "Bring me the wax paper so I can iron your monkey!" That sentence made complete sense at the time, but on it's own it's a friggin' riot. To me.

This is the strange way my mind works. When I'm in a conversation, or listening to others speaking, I seem to listen on two different levels. On one level, I'm following and maybe contributing to the dialogue. On another level, my mind is sneakily tiptoeing through the words being said, like a devilish little humor imp, looking for anything funny to snap up and throw back later. People look at me funny when I burst out laughing during a serious conversation. I am known well in my close circle of friends for turning just about any part of a conversation into something dirty. Am I the only one who thinks a golf tournament on TV sounds a lot like porn? Every other thing the announcers say sounds dirty. It's all about balls, shafts, holes, strokes, (chips, dips, chains, whips). I'm easily entertained.

I do this often enough that I thought it might be fun to share these moments with my readers, so I'm starting a series. I'm calling it "You Had to Be There", because if you weren't there when it was said, you'd never guess what the quote could possibly mean in conversation. Let's get on with Entry #1.

"Honey, do me a favor and throw that eyeball over the fence, would you?"

Seriously. When would you ever expect to utter a sentence such as that? This was said the other day by my best friend, E. The story behind it isn't as funny as the quote itself, but I guess I should probably explain it...

Short version. Her dogs love to dismember and gut stuffed animals. Everyone who knows them knows this, and will often donate victims. My daughter, Thirteen, and I went over there the other day with a bag full of what we called "Death Row Inmates" to be slaughtered. During the massacre, we kept careful track of loose plastic eyeballs, to prevent any choking dogs. I wish I had taken photos.

Stay tuned for the next installment of You Had to Be There!

25 Days Later - This Better Be Good - Oral Sex

I haven't posted anything here on Suburban Bazaar in twenty-five days. Twenty-five of the busiest days of my adult life. Not each and every one of them, I admit, but the few and far between days that were slightly calmer ended up being days when I wanted to do nothing that required the firing of brain cells. One might argue that my writing does not actually involve much deep thought, but whatever. Truth is - I just didn't wanna write. (side note - my spell check just underlined 'didn't', but not 'wanna'. Weird.)

Anyhoo, the month of May was a doozy. (OK - anyhoo and doozy are underlined. Let's see how many non-words I can come up with here). It all started to go downhill after my Sicko de Mayo gastro-intestinal adventure that made me really empathize with pinatas. Then there was my daughter's school musical, Mothers' Day, a slew of birthdays with accompanying parties (including my own, ugh), my daughter's Confirmation, final exams and Graduation, more birthdays, Memorial Day, more parties, finally ending with yesterday - the day I officially became the parent of a teenager.

My daughter and only child turned thirteen yesterday.

Thanks to my daughter's brilliant mind, I will barely be able to get used to the idea of thirteen before high school starts this fall, as she is starting high school a year early. Even scarier - I let her join Facebook! (I'm not sure what's worse: me seeing what she's doing on Facebook, or her seeing what I'm doing on Facebook). I'm really angling for the Mother of the Year Award, so I sent her a Mafia Wars invite. Hey, I need one more Mafia member so I can buy Mafia Mike's Bar and make some big money! It's all about family, right?

I'm sure all of you parents will agree that there's never a dull moment in parenthood. At every stage there are amazing breakthroughs, challenges to overcome, and opportunities to write hysterical stories about your offspring. The teen years, I'm sure, will be full of all of the above. It's already beginning...
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ORAL SEX

My daughter, whom I will for the next year refer to as Thirteen, has just graduated from nine years of Catholic school. Sex Ed is interesting in Catholic school, as you can imagine. I began educating her on the subject at home at the age of nine, with a fabulous book from the seventies whose title I can't recall. It starts out explaining reproduction in plants, then moves on to animals, and finally shows a cartoon picture of a mommy and daddy laying side by side in bed with the covers pulled up to their chins. Because that's how it's done.

Over the next few years, the discussions became more open and detailed. I firmly believe that my child should be free to discuss absolutely anything with her mother, and she does - so far. She now understands that the cartoon picture of the dogs in action in that book was actually more accurate, even in humans. Catholic schools, however, teach the subject in a much different - and less pleasant - way. In fact, her eighth grade presented a two-week course this past year entitled "ABSTINENCE CLASS'. It apparently was chock-full of horrifying documentaries and slide shows of diseases - complete with photos of crusty oozing things - and gruesome childbirth videos. The kids were terrified - which I'm sure is the point - and the parents laughed their asses off. It would have bothered me that she was subjected to such a negative view of a beautiful part of life if I wasn't already telling her the truth at home.

One afternoon, in the car home from school, Thirteen announced that she had a question about one of the subjects discussed in ABSTINENCE CLASS. I felt so proud that she felt comfortable enough to ask me, and to be the one to give her the answer. The conversation went a little like this:

13: "The instructor kept mentioning something called ORAL SEX. She talked about how you can catch diseases even while practicing ORAL SEX, and that some kids think that ORAL SEX is not really sex, but it is. She never once told us what the heck ORAL SEX is, though! What is it?"

ME: (Beads of sweat forming on my brow, mouth getting dry, ears ringing) "Um. Well. You know what parts of the body are involved in regular sex, right?"

13: "Uh huh."

ME: "Um. Well. Imagine a man and a woman (we'll stick with that for now) and the parts involved."

13: "OK"

ME: (Trying to operate a moving vehicle while simultaneously trying to correctly answer a serious question that could potentially scar my child for life if I answer wrong.) "Um. OK. Well subtract one of those parts and add. . . a mouth." (I figure relating it to a math problem might make it less disturbing).

13:

ME: (gulp)

13:

ME: (holding breath)

13: "EEEEEEEWWWWW!!!!! Oh no. Mom! (thinking) Wait. . . I think I understand how a man can put. . . but I don't. . . how does. . ." (blank look)

ME: "Tongue"

13:

ME: (trembling - partly with fear, partly with pent-up hysterical laughter)

13: "EEEEEEEEWWWWWW!!!!! OK. Can we talk about something else now?"

And that's our lesson for today.

Thursday Thunks - Watermelon Licker!

1. Why the heck did you come back this week to do this meme?

It was either this, or I was going to write a post about the horrendously violent stomach/intestinal virus I've been suffering from for the last two days. It would have been titled "Sicko de Mayo", and would have taught a great lesson about NOT going to the Cinco de Mayo fiesta for margaritas and Mexican food right when a very contagious stomach/intestinal virus starts running rampant through your family. Let's just say I had a very rough day yesterday. And I will never eat Mexican food again. Trust me, this meme will be an easier read.

2. Ever whiten your teeth?

I worked in cosmetic dentistry for eight years. I think it was once a job requirement to whiten my teeth. I haven't whitened them since, but I need to. Thanks for reminding me. I'll put that on the list of things I can't afford.

3. Do you drive the speed limit?

I ALWAYS drive the speed limit. When there's a cop behind me.

4. Did the dog eat your homework?

Answering goofy meme questions is the closest I come to homework, and my dog hasn't yet gone so far as to attempt to swallow my laptop, but she does eat cat puke and paint, among other things.

5. How many bites does it take to get to the center of a watermelon?

To the classic Tootsie Pop question, I always answer "I'm a licker, not a biter". That doesn't quite work with this question, though. On to the next question!

6. Did you eat paint chips as a child?

No, but my college roommate and I once considered smoking paint chips. Long story. Involves a fourth-story dorm room window ledge. If I tell you more I'll have to kill you. Go Gators!

7. If someone rang your doorbell/knocked on your door at 1am, would you answer it?

Um. I suppose that would depend on who was at the door. If it was an axe murderer or an escaped loony - No. If it was Bruce Willis in a towel - Yes. The key here is to yell, "Who is it?!"

8. "Amazingly Smooth" makes you think of what?

Bruce Willis in a towel.

9. What was the last stupid thing someone said to you? (not counting this meme's questions).

"You should eat something. You'll feel better." Blleecchhrrrggghhh

10. Would you eat a stick of butter for $100?

Blleecchhrrrggghhh

11. Find the nearest fabric tab, not counting your clothing you are wearing. What does it say the object is made of and where was it made?

100% Cotton. Made in China. I swear I didn't make that up. I just grabbed a beach towel out of the closet and that's what it said. Now I want to go to the beach.

12. What is the strangest name you've ever heard someone name their child (or a person you met... however you want to answer it)?

I had two strangely named friends in high school. Goldberry Sunflower, who was conceived in the fall of 1969 in upstate New York (shocker!), and Ronald McDonald, who's parents apparently didn't like him.

13. Why is some toilet paper really soft and others are really hard?

The phrase "You get what you pay for" is probably most obviously true when referring to toilet paper. Cheap Equals Chafe! I just made that up. I should go into advertising.

Go see how the other Thursday Thunks participants answered, here!

Ten Awesome Bands

Today's Ten on Tuesday reveals my somewhat odd combination of taste in music, with my list of the ten most awesome bands, IMO. Here are my all-time faves, listed in reverse-alphabetical order, as Blogger seems to insist on when uploading photos. Click on each band's photo to visit their official homepages. I wonder what a psychiatrist would make of this...

1. The Fray


2. The Cure


3. The Clash


4. Stone Sour


5. Queen


6. Nine Inch Nails


7. Gipsy Kings


8. Eagles


9. Duran Duran


10. Dave Matthews Band

Is it just me, or do you hear the "One of These Things is Not Like the Others" tune from Sesame Street in your head when you look at this list? For more awesome bands, check out the other participants' lists at Ten on Tuesday!

Lies and Laziness

I lied. I didn't intend to. I really was summoned for jury duty this past week. You may have assumed that my lack of posts during the week was due to the fact that I was chosen for some glamorous high-profile murder trial and was sequestered in a hotel somewhere without the ability to access the internet or read a newspaper or speak to anyone but my big and sexy deputy/bodyguard, Bruce. Hey, it's my blog. If I want to throw in some imaginary men, I can.

Truth is, I never even went. As directed, I called the juror hotline Sunday evening and squealed like a twelve year old girl at a Jonas Brothers concert when I heard on the recorded message that my number wasn't called. I was free! It's moments like these that bring a tear to your eye and make you think about how beautiful life really is.

Since there was a very real possibility that I could have been stuck there all week - as I have been before - I hadn't made any plans for the week. I really didn't even plan to work. As it turns out, this was a mistake. I am a creature of habit. When the routine of my life is disturbed, chaos ensues. I was BORED. I really need to make some unemployed friends for times like this. One minute I'd be bouncing off the walls with pent-up energy; the next I'd be shuffling around, barely upright, probably drooling, lost in a fog.

So why didn't I spend more time writing? Because none of you want to read witty and entertaining stories about how I spent my day cleaning out my refrigerator and freezer. Or how I spent an hour and a half attacking my checkbook register with white-out because I screwed up by five dollars two months ago and it was driving me crazy. Sure, I could have hopped on some of my favorite memes and just answer the silly questions they ask, but my brain was oatmeal. I couldn't summon the desire. See how I threw the word 'summon' in there, to tie up the whole jury duty theme?

Anyhoo... I'm excited to be getting back to normal life. If you can call anything about me normal. Stay tuned!

Jury Doody

Starting tomorrow morning at the un-Godly hour of 8am, I will be grudgingly performing my civic duty by sitting in a very big, very cold, windowless room with 200 unemployed/elderly/too-stupid-to-come-up-with-a-good-excuse (ahem) people in very uncomfortable chairs for eight hours hoping that we are lucky enough to be chosen to go upstairs and sit in a much smaller, even colder windowless room with only 5 other unemployed/elderly/stupid people to decide the fate of some ding-a-ling who got busted for God-knows-what so that we don't have to come back the next day and the next day and the next day and the next.

I am so excited I could just tinkle. Oh how I love jury duty. It apparently loves me, as this is my third stint in three years. I love it almost as much as I would love having a root canal performed by a blind dentist on crack. The best I can hope for is to come back with some good stories to blog about. Wish me luck.

Bob Teaches a Lesson About Karma

Once upon a time When I was in college, I was a little bit of a wild woman. Which is why I never graduated, but that's a story for another time. One night, while heading back to our apartment after some drinking and clubbing, my girlfriends and I met Bob. He was standing on the side of the dark and deserted road, all decked out in orange and white stripes, flanked by his identical buddies, his one big orange eye winking at us in the night. We couldn't resist.

We kidnapped Bob. We threw him in the trunk of the car, giggling like a bunch of drunk college girls, and took him home with us. In the morning (or possibly afternoon) the three of us dragged our hungover, cotton-mouthed, head-pounding asses out of bed to find Bob standing in our living room, staring accusingly at us. More giggling.

Little did we know, though... Bob had a little surprise for us. A secret weapon. A little revenge plot. See... Bob had a big fat spider egg sac in his pocket. And he got even. About a week after Bob unwillingly came to live with us, the eggs hatched. We could almost hear Bob's evil laugh as hundreds of little baby spiders swarmed all over him, down his legs, and out into our apartment. Something you may or may not know about me... I HATE SPIDERS. Why, Bob? Why? Why did it have to be spiders?

I was reminded of this story yesterday. I was driving my daughter and her girlfriend home from school - through a construction zone - when my daughter said, "Look, Mom. Bob's Barricades." Then she proceeded to tell her friend the funny story about her mom being cursed with a plague of spiders after stealing a Bob. Her friend simply said... "That's karma." You got that right, girl.