A Chris Themed Dream?

Tonight I had a really weird dream with 3 different Chris. I have not idea how to pluralize Chris right now as it is 5:30 in the morning and I am barely awake. Back to the dream. I don't use names on my blog, but I don't really see a way around this and it none of the people I mention are in contact with me now, so I guess it won't matter.

I was in a yellow 4-door sedan. It was old, from the seventies or something like that. Considering I am from the seventies, I would like to rephrase that to say it was middle aged. No, wait, it was, um in the prime of its life? Forget it. Anyway, my mom, dad and aunt were in the backseat. In the front seat was a girl-Kris, and a guy-Chris I used to make out with on occasion when I was about 19. I just reread that and would like to be clear; I only made out with the guy. It wasn't like I was having a threesome with Chris people. Wow, that got weird in a hurry.

The Kris and my parents were in town visiting. We were at some strip mall having just eaten at a restaurant. Kris was driving and decided to get out of the crowded parking lot by backing up onto the walkway in front of the strip mall to drive on the sidewalk around the cars back onto the parking lot. I questioned it and she said it was totally legal where she lives and started backing up. I was sitting in the passenger seat watching the cars beside us. She backed up but turned too soon and ran into the corner of the parked car sitting next to us. I saw this happening but couldn't tell her. Being a dream, I instead had a conversation with my father about how I didn't think she saw the parked cars like I did.

Instead of stopping when she took off the corner of the car, she kept backing up. The line of her trajectory had her scraping along the back of the next three cars in line. We finally yelled at her to stop. Which she did and got out to survey the mess. As we were sizing up the situation, a cop car pulled into the parking lot, flashed its lights once and stopped in front of us. I panicked because I realized I was suddenly sitting in the drivers' seat. There was a quick conversation in the car and we decided to tell the cop that Chris was the one driving. Apparently we came up with a dream-plausible reason for this, in case the cop asked.

The minute the cop walked up to the car, I started flirting. Not because he was attractive, but because I thought we could use all the help we could get. He was attractive though. Not hot exactly, but more my type. Yes, I know that sounds weird. I typically go for unorthodox looking guys. He was tall, with a round face a round middle, beefy upper body and kind eyes. (Yes, I like my guys with some middle, some squish to cuddle against. Six pack abs are hard and uncomfortable.) I must say I was totally on point. The cop was very taken with me and gave me his business card, in case I needed to contact him later with any questions. After he walked away, there was much discussion about my interaction. My father was telling my mom all about how that is how you have to act and gave a compliment akin to "That's my girl."

As we were getting out of the car, I looked at the card with the name Detective Chris Johnson. Mentally deciding that I would indeed have some questions later, I slipped the card into my pocket. Officer Chris came back and asked to speak to me and my father. He told us that in a few moments the officers who would be handling the case would be here and there would be a round of questioning for Make-Out-Chris. He was able to inform us as to the nature of the questioning with out really saying it. (There is a word for that whole phrase, but I am too tired to think of it.) Basically they were going to ask him a bunch of questions about pot. He liked us (me) and wanted to help us (me) out in any way possible, but since he was the first officer on the scene, he could not tell Make-Out-Chris himself.

My dad declined and sent me over to talk to him. Keep in mind that Make-Out-Chris was still 19 in this dream, so I was no longer attracted to him, he was more like a brother or cousin at this point. Before the other officers showed up, I was able to discuss this with him. I should mention that the reason for all this concern was that he was noticeably slow mentally. Not mentally challenged, just not quite quick witted enough to evade all the questioning without prepping.

This was only a dream aspect of Make-Out-Chris. When I was making out with him, he was in no way slow. Also I am not sure if he smoked pot back in the day, but given the crowd, it was highly likely. I am saying this because most people know my aversion to dating anyone who like the herb and understand that both of these things are pretty abnormal for me to be attracted to. Not that it mattered the dream because again, he was 19 and too young for me to be attracted to him.

So the secondary police officers arrive on the scene and Officer Chris drives away IN A WHITE 80s A-TEAM VAN! I kid you not. This van was the exact same, painted white with a blue strip diagonally down the side. To refresh your memory:


I recognized the shape because of the spoiler on top. (Why does a van need a spoiler? I guess since it is driven by Mr. T., I can understand and will not rant.) Sadly, I was suddenly very excited and decided I was definitely going to have some questions later for Officer Chris. Like how the freak he was allowed to have that van as a police car. It. Was. Awesome. Sadly, I am still excited.

The dream fast forwards to a day at the beach with my brothers and a few of their friends. (I don't remember exactly who.) For some reason we were soaked to the skin. Oddly we were still in Colorado. A section of beach and the highway leading away from it were just cut and pasted into the dream by my brain. We stop at a gas station to use the rest room and buy some snacks when they leave without me! Yup. They just totally forget about me and drive off. I am left standing outside.

All I have are the clothes on my back. I can't call my brother to tell him what a dumbass he is because I don't have my cell and don't have his number memorized. I have a minor philosophical conversation with myself about how times have changed and no one memorizes numbers anymore. But then, I reach into my pocket and find (fanfare) Officer Chris' card. It is dilapidated and soggy around the edges, but the number is intact.

I call. Seconds later the white, A-Team van drives up. With my heart all a-flutter at being rescued, I get into the van. We have an awesome, flirty conversation. Apparently I am looking for a job or considering going back to school. He tells me about a job and a school right next door to each other.

Then the dream cuts to me in a restaurant waiting for food. It is now nighttime I am still wet, I think I am now barefoot and a friend is waiting outside to take me home. I go out and tell him that I am still waiting on food, but am going to run next door to get applications for a job I heard about and look at the "school." We are waiting at yet another strip mall, so I have no idea what kind of school this is, but have the vague impression that it is a trade school of some sort. He tells me he is going to drive around the corner to run an errand but will be right back.

I get the applications go back to the restaurant and the lady behind the counter hands me a huge cellophane bag with hot dog buns in it. I take it and she explains that because she is sorry for the wait, she has given me 3 more hot dogs and extra buns, in case I want them later. I am now happy about the $2 hot dog that I purchased since it will give me leftovers for the week. Before that I was angry at the absurd price of $2. And I am elated that the hot dog buns appear to be whole wheat. There is so much wrong here that I can't even comment.

I go outside in time to see the the A-Team van drive off. I get into the car with the giant bag, prompting my friend to comment that I have, "Yet another week's worth of food." I ask him about Officer Chris and he tells me that Chris was checking up on me to make sure I had gotten home safely. My friend told him that I was getting a ride home with him and all was well. Chris then tells him how he also was checking to see if I needed help with the applications because he is certified in paperwork.

Hold on, I have to stop and laugh. Even in the dream we find that ludicrous and have a nice chuckle. I defend Officer Chris by saying that he is kind of a boy scout and really nice guy, so he is not really as goofy as he came off. We sit quietly for a few minutes driving up Broadway. I then turn to my friend and say, "I think I like Officer Chris, is it weird for me to tell you that?" (My friend is about 10 - 15 years older and is more of a fatherly type guy in my life which is why it would be weird to get all twitterpated with him. That is more of a girl to girl conversation in my head I guess.)

And then I wake up. With heartburn. Really, really bad heartburn. What that has to do with the dream, I don't know. Maybe it is all the $2 hotdogs I ate. But it did keep me from going back to sleep which in turn led me to write this all out. So you can thank the heartburn while I curse it.

As I think through my dream again, (I am not going to reread and edit, so just be happy you are getting a post as you judge all the errors.) I am noticing an "I am old" theme running through out along side the Chris theme. Let's not forget the real moral of this story. I would date anyone driving personalized A-Team van.

It is nice to know that nostalgic cheese is the real key to my heart. Like that was a huge secret.

Vacuum Headache

Dad: Oh and your vacuum may not have a headache for a while.
Me: Why?
Dad: I vacuumed up 3 motrin.

Two Conversations

My parents are going on day trips today and tomorrow to give me a couple of days to rest. Sadly, I cannot keep up with my newly retired father who also needs naps every afternoon. Yesterday I was so exhausted, I fell out of my bed trying to get up. Luckily, my bed is close to the floor because I fell pretty hard on the ankle I twisted last month falling off the bottom stair of an establishment onto the sidewalk. I am pretty sure I fell because I went back to sleep as I was rolling out of bed. It all happened very quickly.

My exhaustion has very little to do with my parents being here, other than I find it hard to remain reclined when I am visiting with them. It just feels rude. I am exhausted because I am going through an insomnia spell which happens a lot since I've been sick. I crashed in my hammock chair yesterday afternoon for 3 hours when my mom took my dad back to their hotel for his nap. I woke up feeling refreshed and rested for the first time in a week. Well, first I woke up in a panic because my phone was ringing and I forgot where I was. Which made the whole cocooned in a bunch of rope less comforting and more bondage-y. And not in a good way.

Today my folks went up into Golden and beyond just to check out the little towns. My mom called this afternoon to let me know they would not be back to have dinner with me. She was very excited and asked me to guess what they found out there. I was stumped for a few seconds until I remembered that the route they were taking went right through Black Hawk, our local gambling getaway. I can't believe I forgot about Black Hawk when I was trying to think of places to send them for the day. Anyway here is a snippit of the conversation.

Mom: Your dad won $150 on a penny machine!
Me (glumly): Well don't come back then. Keep going and see if you can win back the $XXX I borrowed from you yesterday.
Mom: That's what I was thinking!

God bless her pea pickin' heart. Seriously. It would make me feel much less guilty.

My second conversation took place after I played a little phone tag with my boss today, when he finally answered my call it went a little something like this:

Me: Hey! How are you?
Boss: I'm doing better than you!
Me: Niiice. Real nice.

I miss him!

Oh Lord, Is This Really My Life?

So, you are getting multiple posts today. For one thing I feel guilty about the ads. For another thing, I am bored out of my mind. I feel like a caged animal. I want to go outside in the beautiful weather before it goes away, but instead I am stuck here on the couch. Luckily I am easily amused once I can distract myself.

Take for instance the ads on my blog. I know actually writing about them is only going to make it worse. But, the crap? Menopause? Low Testosterone? Now I have advertisers trying to diagnose my hormone problems. This is so awesome and humiliating all at once. I only really have myself to blame. Now I am on a mission. I must write about enough things to upset the balance I have already created here.

This will be the ultimate test of my evil genius. I can see if I can predict the ads from my posts. Since I have already subjected all you peeps to multiple posts of randomness, I can't imagine this will make much difference. Oooh, I know. Let's talk about my mom's careless flaunting of power tool safety.

For starters she told me a story the other day about how she saw a neighbor out in the yard mowing his lawn. So she sneaked up behind him to startle him while he was backing up. I laughed hysterically and can't even remember what the actual story was about because I could totally see her doing that. Not a thought of what might happened if he tripped and upset the mower, just pure excitement and getting to make someone jump. The best one was when I went out into the backyard to ask her a question and found her up in a tree.

She was standing in a flower bed on a small 3 or 4 foot stepladder, hanging onto a branch for balance with one hand and a chainsaw in another, while cutting another branch out of said tree. Go back and reread that last sentence and see how many wrong things you can find with that. Shocked and horrified, I yelled at her to get down from there and asked her what she thought she was doing. She said I was being overly dramatic and I had nothing to worry about because she had done it before. I just turned around and went back into the house.

These are only the things I know of. My mom is an awesome carpenter and works with tools all the time. She even built a wall in our old house. And the garage remodeled into a family room was built by her and her father. He had a little carpentry shop in his garage and to this day the smell of cedar reminds me of him. I have no idea where that gene went with her children. I know I don't have it. I can't even hang a picture without help. As near as I can tell both of my sister-in-laws do any building type projects around my brothers' homes. Maybe it is just skipping a generation.

OK, let's see if I can get some Makita ads, Ace Hardware or Home repair. Is it sad that I find this more than a little exciting?

Rules Are Meant to Be Broken

Why I Sleep With a Nightlight
Part II

(Click here for Part I)

The most memorable game of Hide and Seek in the Dark was an almost surreal experience. By surreal I mean scarring. And by almost, I mean with absolute certainty. My aunt and mom were hiding and the kids were seeking. Try as we might, we could not find them. My cousin T and I got bored and decided to let the boys keep looking while we took a break. We climbed up on my parents bed and proceeded to scare the holy hell out of ourselves. I don't know who started it, I wouldn't doubt that it was me and my overactive imagination. We started talking about how it was so dark that you could make yourself see things. It was like when you close your eyes, you can still see pictures and images.

As we described the things we saw, the ideas got creepier and creepier. The only thing I remember specifically was one of us saying there was a claw creeping over the edge of the bed. We started screaming and did not stop even when all the boys stampeded into the room to our rescue. Hysterically we told them how we had freaked ourselves out. After we calmed down, we had a mini conference to discuss the situation we were facing. We had been looking for them for over an hour unable to find them and had to face facts. It was time to break one of the rules.

The amount of dedication we had to keeping the game rules intact amazes me. Not one of us even contemplated turning on the lights. I could be remembering this incorrectly, but we didn't even turn the lights on during the screaming. The boys had to calm us down in the dark. It was extremely important that we not violate their hiding places. After much discussion, it was decided that we would give up. We all went into the bathroom and waited while my cousin E broadcasted the terms of our surrender throughout the house. We would retreat to the bathroom and make a lot of noise to cover up any sounds they might make extracting themselves from where they had hidden. They could come out without worrying about discovery. Then he joined us and closed the door as he yelled, "Olly, olly oxen free!"

Ten minutes passed and nobody came to get us. To say my family is stubborn is an understatement. We assumed that they weren't going to come out even though we couldn't find them. So we decided we were just going to stop looking for them. We went out into the living room. For some reason during this particular game, the living room curtains had not been closed. This gave us enough light to see; it was eerie and ghostly. After the screaming earlier, we were all a little tense. I don't remember what we talked about but I do know that E and I were a little worried.

It is funny to think back on how we started taking charge of the situation. We quietly discussed between ourselves what we thought was really going on while reassuring the younger kids that everything was fine. The only plan we had worked out was that we were just going to keep everyone calm and wait until our moms got bored enough to come out. They had been hiding for almost two hours which was twice as long as we could ever remember a round lasting for so it could only be a matter of time.

During one of these discussions, I happened to look up and see my aunt reflected in the living room window. I whipped around to look at the dining room thinking that she had finally decided to come out. She wasn't there. I turned back around and saw nothing in the window. All I could do was point at the window in mute terror trying to comprehend what I had just seen. E had watched the whole mystifying performance but had not seen what I had. Somehow he managed to get me to explain what was freaking me out. Another conference was had and we decided to look outside. None of us believed that they would hide outside because A) it was against the rules and B) they would have killed any one of us who had dared to go outside in the middle of the night, so there is no way we could have found them if they did. However, we had to find out what was going on and see what was out there.

After much discussion, it was decided that I would be the one to open the door. No one else was willing to do it and the general consensus was that I was the oldest by six months, so it fell to me. Looking back, it seems like a sit-com. We formed a sort of line that went in order from oldest to youngest. I was pushed to the door by the four others clumped behind me to lend me moral support. Taking a deep breath, I reached out and grabbed the door handle. Before I could do anything, I felt the handle turn under my hand. Screaming I flung myself backwards with so much force, I knocked everyone down into a giant heap. At this point, every child there was screaming, yelling, crying and/or peeing while trying to extract themselves from the pile up to run away.

My aunt hurried through the door followed closely by my mom. I don't know how long it took them to calm us down. I do remember being livid and yelling at them for breaking the rules and hiding outside. I wasn't angry that they had scared me so badly I may or may not have peed my pants. I was indignant that they had destroyed the integrity of our game. Especially after we spent so much time preserving it.

It didn't help that they couldn't stop laughing.

Some People Think it is Fun to Make You Wet Your Pants

Why I Sleep With a Nightlight
Part I

When I was about twelve, my dad used to work nights. Every couple of months, my aunt would come down with my two cousins E (12) and T, (10) to have a slumber party with my mom, my brothers R (10), M (8) and me. I know we must have done a lot of fun things, but everything is overshadowed in my memory by the main event of Hide and Seek in the Dark.

We would play kids against the grownups with only three rules. 1. You couldn't go outside. 2. You couldn't turn on the lights. 3. You couldn't give up. You had to search until you found everyone. My mom would turn off the lights and close all the drapes which left only the small kitchen window and appliance lights to break the darkness. This opened up a ton of places to hide.

Because it was pitch black in some rooms, you could pretty much stand in the middle of the floor without being found by sight. Our game was very hands on and even that didn't guarantee success. The seeker might touch you and not "find" you. Many times a hider started talking, thinking that they had been found, only to startle the seeker into a blind, screaming panic. I wonder what the neighbors thought was going on. We would have company over, wait for it to get dark and turn off all the lights. Then occasional, random screams of women and children would be heard from the otherwise silent home.

I now have an intense fear of sticking my hand in dark places thanks to my aunt who managed to squeeze herself between the water heater and the furnace in the laundry room. Because we had exhausted every thinkable hiding spot unable to find her, I had finally decided to feel all the way around the interior of the house. Much to my horror, it worked a little too well. As I was feeling hand over hand against the outline of the room, I suddenly felt fabric. This being the laundry room, I thought it was clothing. But it felt like it was wrapped around a tube-shaped object. I started to explore it further, trying to decide what it was, when it started laughing maniacally. Terrified, I screamed bloody murder. It turned out it was my aunt's arm. That was the LAST time I stuck my hand anywhere that was large enough for a body part to hide.

Our house was a typical, three bed, two bath home with a living room and a garage remodeled into a family room. You would think that after a while, the game would get old because all the good hiding spots would be found. You would be underestimating the creativity of my family. One of my brothers hid in the dryer. It took forever to find him. After she found him, my mom told me that she always thought it would be a good hiding spot, but she never expected anyone to actually climb in there. My best spot was on top of the refrigerator. It took forever before my aunt finally found me and taught me an important lesson. I glowed in the dark.

I had very long blond hair and was extremely pale. Any light at all would reflect off of my skin and hair. I had never realized this and since I have never been comfortable in the dark, I always hid in the rooms that weren't completely blacked out. All this time, I had been mediocre at hiding. I had great spots, but was too easily found. Because I was above the line of sight, I may have never been found had she not gotten desperate and looked up. From that night forward, I wore a dark hooded sweatshirt that transformed me into a hide and seek ninja, enabling me to finally pay my aunt back for freaking me the hell out with her disembodied laugh and arm.

I had learned that the best places to hide were right out in the open. People still tried to hide in places where they couldn't be seen if the lights were on and expected everyone else to do the same. I used this to my advantage after I learned what was giving me away in the dark. I finally found sweet revenge on my aunt just by sitting in a living room chair. I put my ninja cloak on backwards with the hood up over my face and tucked my hair into the collar of my shirt. Then I pulled the sleeves down over my hands; sat back and waited. When they couldn't find me, my aunt came through the room again and started feeling along the furniture with her hands. She felt my wrist, covered by the sweatshirt, and started feeling her way up my arm. I pulled off the hood and started to stand up. Terrified she screamed bloody murder.

Scaring her was totally unintentional, but immensely satisfying.

Tomorrow I will give you Part II: Rules Are Made to be Broken

A Christmas Story in June

Yesterday when I was writing about birthday hijinks, I remembered another story initiated by my birthday celebration. The same week I got the surprise party from our clients, my project manager and good friend decided we should have our very own celebration since we had kitchenettes in our hotel rooms. We went to the store; bought a bottle of my favorite vodka; went back to her place; and made martinis. The two of us without alcohol involved is bad enough. We can get into all kinds of trouble because we egg each other on and have the same sense of humor.

It all started during our first martinis when she expressed a desire to repay my dad for a bunch of bootlegged Bob Dylan CDs he had made for her at my request. As I was mixing the second martinis, I asked her if she remembered the leg lamp in A Christmas Story. I told her about this gift I had seen online and wanted to get for him, but it was too expensive. Hoping she would chip in, I brought up a website that sold leg lamp replicas and that's when the trouble began.

She loved it so much that she decided to get one for her husband for Father's Day. Since she was willing to do it, I changed my mind about it costing too much. They were only $70 and definitely worth the price. As we were checking out, we were presented with the option to have the lamp shipped in a crate exactly like the one in the movie. We debated the pros and cons over our third martinis. The crate was $150, but weren't we already laughing hysterically at the mere thought? The shipping cost came to $80. But only because the crate was so heavy. And we had already decided the crate was essential. We made our purchases and congratulated ourselves on being generally awesome.

The next morning, dreams and reality were fighting over my state of consciousness, when reality landed a drop kick to my gut. I shot out of bed with the realization that the previous night I had spent $300 on a gag gift. I called my coworker who told me she woke up the same way, but got on line immediately and canceled her order. Since she was on her way to the client's office, I couldn't use her laptop.

Not having one of my own, I called my then boyfriend in Denver and begged him to cancel the order for me when he got to his office. With his commute and the time differences, it shipped before he could cancel. When I called, they said I could return it for a refund but I would still have to pay the shipping fees. This left me to decide if I wanted to pay $300 for a lamp or pay $160 for no lamp. I told them I appreciated the help, but I would go ahead and keep it. He then said he had received another order to the same city that had been canceled earlier and asked if I knew anything about it. I confessed the incident and we both laughed. I decided to make the most of it and prepare my mom for the arriving present.

I vaguely described the situation and told her it was an expensive present that I couldn't return and implored her not to lecture me if she ever found out how much it cost. I didn't tell her what it was. My family is cuckoo for gifts, mostly the watching others open them part. I figured I had already ruined the surprise for my brothers when begging them to chip in. The least I could do was let my mom enjoy the fun. I called her and told her something was being shipped to dad and I needed her help to keep him from figuring out what it was until he opened it. I told her she would have to cover up the box when it came, but to call me so we could share the joke.

I called her a week later when I didn't hear from her. She told me she did get it, but she didn't call me or cover it up because it was in a wood crate that hid what it was. She giggled and announced they knew it was Italian because it said "Fragile" on it in big letters and paused for my reaction. I didn't quite know what to say. She explained that it looked just like the crate that gets delivered in A Christmas Story. More silence from my end. Exasperated, she described the leg lamp delivery scene to jog my memory. The only thing I said was, "And you still don't know what it is?"

"No!" She laughed. "But, it says Fra-GEE-lay on it just like that scene, so we can't stop repeating it." It finally dawned on me that there was no way they would guess the expensive present was a leg lamp. I suddenly laughed wishing I could be there when he opened it just to see my mom's face. I asked her to call me so I could at least hear the reactions. She agreed and we left it at that. Unfortunately, my mom's mom passed away a week later. I went back to Oregon for the funeral. The silver lining was that it meant I would be in town for Father's Day.

The time finally came for my dad to open his gift. My brothers brought it into the room with my mom chanting "fra-GEE-lay" in the background. She tried to stop them from laying it down on its side and pointed to the "this end up" printed on the box. I interrupted and told her to trust me, it would be all right. They got the crowbar out and took the lid off. When my dad started digging through the excelsior, my brothers repeated lines from the movie and threw chunks of it over their shoulders, while my mom exclaimed, "They even have straw just like A Christmas Story!"

I knew when my dad found the lamp because he stopped digging; took a couple of steps back from the crate; looked at me; and laughed harder than I had ever heard him laugh before. My mom, couldn't stand the suspense, so she reached into the box and pulled out the leg. At that point, she started laughing and my brothers reenacted the scene complete with stroking the leg up to the thigh in a creepy imitation of Ralphie. It was an amazing shot of humor after a weekend of grief, which may have accounted for the extra hilarity. It has even become a part of our family traditions as we have "just the place for it. Right in the middle of our front room window." The neighbors wait for it to come out every year.

It turns out $300 was a bargain for the amount of joy we got in exchange.

Big Sister Lobster-Possum Wrestling Technique Revealed!

Below are the 10 simple steps to keep control of your younger brother when he does eventually grow much bigger than you. I generally use this when he doesn't let me have my way. Sometimes I just do it for fun.

1. Get within hearing distance of mom.

2. Start to pinch your brother.

3. When he grabs your wrists to immobilize you, start yelling, "Ow, my wrists. You're hurting me! Let go of my wrists!"

4. Mother will start yelling from the other room, "Let go of her! You are going to break her arms! You can't grab at her wrists like!" (At this point, you can grin at your brother as long as you continue to cry out.)

5. Continue to try and pinch your brother so that he maintains control of your wrists to defend himself.

6. When mom enters the room stop pinching and collapse to your knees. Writhing in agony is always a plus.

7. Brother will eventually realize what you are doing and only lightly encircle your wrists.

8. This will only make the situation funnier when mom yells at him some more while he tries to show her that he isn't doing anything and you are only making it all up.

9. Brother will leave the room in disgust as it is a no win situation for him.

10. Thank your mom for her help to ensure she reacts appropriately the next time.

Feel free to silently laugh at your brother from a view where he can see you, but mom cannot. I find that hugging her so that I can look over her shoulder is the most effective method.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ode to My Mom

Ten years ago, I tried to get her to use email so we could communicate more often after I moved to Denver. Her first and last email to me for eight years was, "I hope you are happy. I am now going to Hell because you are making me use an instrument of the Devil to write this message."

So when I told her about my blog yesterday afternoon, the most I expected was indifference. Instead, the first words out of her mouth were, "Did you write about bacon? You HAVE to write about bacon!" This is when I realized that while I thought I was doing this for myself, I am actually writing this for her. Follow along and you will see why.

My mom called me back later in the evening because she had read my blog and wanted to comment on Goldie, but wasn't sure how to log in and could I walk her through the process. Also she was very upset that I didn't have any followers so she had to follow me so that I can have at least one.

While I was signing her up, I randomly mention, "Did you know that I am a robot?"

She nonchalantly replies, "Of course I know you are a robot. I'm your mom. I picked you up from the manufacturing plant when you were a baby."

What I meant was I can never read those pop up texts that ensure you are not some spambot. She had no clue what I was talking about, but it didn't even phase her. Weirdo.

After she had read through the other posts, she announced her idea on my next subject. I am not making this up, and this will explain SO much about who I am.

She tells me that my next post has to be about bunny slippers and how it is so scary to wear them. Because they have eyes. And you can't wear dresses and bunny slippers because they might peek at your underwear.

I love my mom.

She ended the conversation by telling me that I am her favorite daughter and her other two daughters don't compare. I assumed she meant my sister-in-laws which shocked me into silence*. So, she immediately followed up with, "I meant your brothers." Which turned a wildly misplaced statement into a totally awesome FACE! It is the long awaited for comeback to all the "your mama" jokes my brothers have told to each other over the years. Thank God she waited until I was blogging to finally say something insulting. About the boys. She has slammed me on more than one occasion.

Unlike the rest of the family's witty repartee, these jokes are always a little dazing. Mostly because she rarely says anything that might be construed as mean. But when she does a) she beats everyone else to the joke, which says a lot in my family; b) always sounds like she has been practicing the line for years waiting for that exact moment; and c) delivers it perfectly, generating a split-second of silence as everyone glances around awkwardly at each other to figure out if she is joking. Then the room dissolves into laughter. Meanwhile, I am left contemplating the fact that I was just burned by my mom and trying to decide if I should be offended or proud.

Hint: I am always proud. Thanks for being my first follower.
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*This totally horrified and shocked me into silence because she has taught me that when we marry, our spouses ARE her children and our family and they WILL be treated equally. Which is why I am doubly thankful that my sisters are absolutely amazing because it made the whole idea a no brainer. And also why I am very sorry. But you guys knew what you were marrying into, so maybe just kind of sorry.