Tell me

Quick question: when you load the dishwasher, do you put knives in handle down or up? I always put the handle up, and implore you do the same, lest you end up like me with a wound from her sister's cutlery. *shakes fist at sister*

That is all.

Now, let's talk about your commercials

I woke up at 7:30 today, researched and registered for classes, then slept from 10:30-1:30. And I'm beat.

This past weekend was a blur of orientations, driving, crab feasting, and kickballing. The annual crab feast was as good a time as ever, and even included a random fireworks show from the next town over (and not from my aunt's yard, as is sometimes the case). I drove back to Wilmington in the worst rain ever, so bad that I had to pull into the parking lot of a CVS for 20 minutes. It made me miss brunch the next day, since I had to get up early on Sunday to drive back to DC. I hate missing brunch.

Anyway, I need to go to bed. But enjoy this informative link: http://iscaliforniaonfire.com/

An email exchange

From: Cat
To: M Slash

I don't know why, but this made me think of your family...

via awkwardfamilyphotos.com:
"For Christmas my moms entire side of the family gets together. One Christmas when the family was exchanging gifts, my great aunt came over to thank me for the ornament I gave her. She said thank you then took a second look at me and my cousin sitting next to me and told us we’d make a cute couple. No one really knew what to say. Awkward."

From: M Slash
To: Cat

No, no...we're not allowed to marry our cousins anymore. It didn't turn out well.
Trufax.

From: Cat
To: M Slash

lol, I love your family.

Back!

Fantastic trip to the beach. I, of course, brought the house down at karaoke, with some help from my 74-year-old aunt, named the "most adorable thing in Rehoboth" by the gay men sitting next to us. She got to the bar and headed straight to the dance floor, earning free shots for us and the interest of lesbians for her.

T-minus 30 hours

My packing list for the Annual Family Trip to the Beach, written in the order in which the items came to mind:
Pillow
Blanket
Tattoos
Glow in the dark shot glasses/necklaces/etc.
Hottie whistle
Solo cups
Oatmeal

Woo!

Big day!

My sisters turn 55 today! I'm off to Delaware to celebrate the halfway mark of their 10 year journey to 60.
In a few years, I'll be exactly half their age! Exciting!

Isn't pale the new tan?

One of the lawyers at work is headed to Miami in few weeks. He commented to his secretary, who sits next to me, that if he didn't get some sun soon he'd "be as pale as [M Slash]."

IT'S NOT MY FAULT I DIDN'T GET THE TANNING GENE! My father was German and Irish, and my mother's family tends to be of the paler Armenians. I got the gene that causes tens of new moles to spring up each summer. Oddly, though, I still have tan lines from last summer. I don't tan deeply, but it sticks around forever. Which, yes, means that I'm even paler than I appear.

Sigh.

$

I played in my first poker tournament yesterday, and I'm pretty proud of how I did. Placed about 13/42, and then won all my money back in a cash game. My dreams of becoming my Aunt Zambo are getting closer to realization every day!

Happy Super Bowl, everyone! Think about the good things this site is trying to achieve when you're getting up for work tomorrow morning.

An email I received today

"I'm sorry that my hairy back bothers you so much.

But on a side note, I have never met anyone who had such an affinity for Burger King..."

Angry-gram!

A thousand violins are playing for me

It took me a long time to accept my first name. I've never been a huge fan, as it's a little too obscure (nothing weird, though, my parents were sane). In the past year or two, I've become OK with it, although there are still things I dislike.

First off, it sounds similar to other, more common names, and so when I introduce myself to someone in a loud area they often do a double-check, only with the wrong name. Sometimes I'll correct them, other times I don't bother. Hell, when am I going to see you again? That's right.

Second, and I know others of you out there with uncommon names can relate to this, did you ever want a personalized souvenir when you were little? Like, say, a toothbrush or a pen or one of those fake street signs? Toast got one of those when we were young. I won't reveal her name here, but let's just say the hospital probably had a betting pool on how many girls would be born on the floor with her name that year. A young child, I could not quite grasp why I couldn't have my own street sign as well. I have searched in vain in the years since, every time I venture into a souvenir shop I am drawn to the displays of license plates and keychains. Much like Bart in the clip below, I am often dumbfounded by some of the names on these things, while the thousands of people with my name are left to suffer.

Long-term goal

As part of my ongoing quest to become my Aunt Zambo, I have signed up for a poker tournament. I hope to follow this up with venturing outside in winter with a sleeveless shirt and no jacket, then by polishing off a bottle of wine by myself, and then by finally reaching the ultimate goal of spending $700 at Kmart.

I may have to shrink myself, though, for the full effect.

I love Zambo.

Why do you want to hurt me?

I would just like to post here what I wrote, verbatim, on Toast's wall earlier:

HAPPPPPPPPPY (almost) BIRTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHDAYYYYYYYYY!!!!!
I wasn't going to post until tomorrow, but I'm sitting here listening to music on demand, and as the current song started and I heard the first few lines, I thought, "Good God, is this Party All the Time?!?"
AND IT WAS.
So I thought you'd enjoy that. Cause you like to party all the time, party all the time, party all the tiiiiimmmmmmmme.

Also? Not my best moment, music-wise.

Well, my dear, happy birthday!

We were getting anxious

Christmas is not only a time to reconnect with family, but also an opportunity to introduce your relatives to any new love interests one may have. My most favorite cousin Toast found herself in this situation this year, although the fine young gentleman did not arrive until 8:30, avoiding the majority of family. By the time they got to the house, only the most die-hard family members remained, only staying to meet the new man. Now, earlier in the day one of our aunts had remarked, "You either love us or hate us. We've scared off quite a few people." This is true; we do tend to inspire feelings on either end of the scale, not the middle.

Anyway, minutes after new boyfriend entered the house, one aunt launched into a story of how she had spent hours walking around with toilet paper hanging from her pants. And then followed that with (with a prompt from me, I will admit) an assertion that Jolly Rancher gelatin has the consistency of a baby's butt. All the while reinforcing my belief that it is best to marry the person first, THEN introduce him to the family. Divorces are expensive.

All in all, not a bad introduction to the family. Just remember Toast, at least there were no fart machines around. Just wait until the beach!

Cough, cough, cough

Christmas was much fun, and gave me a great deal of fodder for the blog, but let me start by saying that all the parents in Southern and Central New Jersey must take their kids to my cousin's street in December to prove that Santa is watching. Because the huge Santa staring down onto the unsuspecting public that sits in my relatives' window was one of the creepiest things I've seen in a long time.

Have you seen my socks?

Thanksgiving went on longer than intended, thanks to my cousin's husband who makes sure everyone's drink is never empty. The sign of a good bartender, yes, and one who won't mind if four of his in-laws have to crash at his house. The main highlight was when my cousin's wife told me that whenever she hears "Fat-bottomed Girls" she thinks of me. Finally! A theme song!

I went to Chadwick's in Friendship Heights on Saturday as part of a birthday bar crawl, and as we were walking up there I told my friend not to ask for free drinks, because at a 21st birthday there two years ago the bartender took some of the shots off the bill since the celebrant didn't ask for any freebies. Sure enough, as we were cashing out, the same bartender took a drink off the bill for the same reason.

A varied curriculum is best

I've written before about my father's unique take on life, and I came across another example recently. When he was a high school football coach in the 50s and early 60s, he also taught history. Now, his teaching method was a little radical for the times, and occasionally this got him into trouble with the head of the department. Concerned about his style, she would sometimes sit in on his classes to monitor. On one such day, Dad had the door to his classroom open, and all of a sudden a football came flying into the room as someone in the hall yelled, "Hey, Coach!"

She was not amused.

Needless to say, she found it necessary to drop in again. Well, she must have decided to do so without warning, as she came into the class one day to find the devoted teacher showing football films. He claimed it was "current events" day.

But the best story from these years involved an exam he gave to a particularly social group of students. Tired of their chatting during class, he gave them a test with the following questions:

What was the most important thing you did last weekend? Who accompanied you?

What did you wear? Did others approve of the style?

Were there any changes in relationships over the weekend? What was the reason?

What are your plans for this weekend, and whom will you be with? Who will be driving?

Name at least four things that you have done this month in the community: Include who was involved, what you wore, and where it occurred.

Please answer all questions in complete sentences. You may use the back of the page if you need more room.
GOOD LUCK!

Goodbye?

I have a milk crate in my front closet for storage and traveling purposes (excellent for carrying large amounts of alcohol to family vacations). The other day, I noticed that I may be in a bit of trouble:



Yes, that line at the bottom reads, "Use by other than owner punishable by law."
By "owner," do they mean owner of the dairy? Or owner of the milk crate?

I'm not quite sure how the crate ended up in my possession (although I have my suspicions), but now live in fear of the police showing up at my door and taking my crate from its loving home.

This explains a lot

Since it's Veterans Day, I thought I'd share a story about my father, who was a WWII vet. Not a tale about what he faced during the war, but rather one about how these years changed his life. Of course, the GI bill meant he was able to buy his parents a house and attend college, but one important consequence of his service in the Marines was something you may not expect. It got him a drivers license.

After he left the service, he enrolled at the University of Delaware and joined the football team. One summer, the chief of police in Rehoboth, a resort town on Delaware's coast, decided to hire some of the UD football players as seasonal cops. My dad went down there and worked with a few of his friends for the summer. Now, in order to be a Rehoboth policeman one had to have a valid drivers license. Dad didn't have one, so they sent him off to highway patrol headquarters to obtain one. As his friend put it, "After several hours of instruction and observation, including the car ending up in the center divider of the highway, the examiner said he would issue a license if [Dad] promised never to drive outside Rehoboth."

Some of my sisters have inherited these driving skills.

I DEMAND RESTITUTION!

Last night, I made a horrifying discovery. It came to my attention that someone to whom I am related, and whom I admired greatly, has never seen A Charlie Brown Christmas. She claimed this failure is due to her "not being much of a Peanuts person."

Now, if you know me, you know that there are few things in this world that I love more than Snoopy. I was upset this year that I couldn't watch It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. One of my first toys was a Linus doll. I had a baby blanket with the Peanuts characters on it. My distrust of France started with the creepy chateau in Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown. Hell, when I was little, I begged my parents to buy a puny tree for Christmas, and, when they refused, I dragged it around the lot yelling, "I HAVE MY OWN MONEY! I'LL BUY IT!"

Needless to say, I am disturbed by this development. I found it apropos that, shortly after she made this statement, we watched the commercial featuring the Macy's Charlie Brown balloon beating Stewie and Underdog for the Coke balloon. Go Chuck!

Biding my time before the game

There was a conversation at work the other day concerning women whose husbands watch sports (specifically, the NFL) obsessively, refusing to miss a game during the season. I'd always thought that this was fairly common, if not the norm, because my father's reaction to leaving the house on Saturday or Sunday in the fall was usually somewhere between "bewildered" and "shocked and appalled". It wasn't until I got to college and found that none of my male friends enjoyed watching sports that I realized it's not universal behavior.

The wives in question began debating whether it is a byproduct of the internet age, with the instant access to information, the ability to track multiple games at once, and, of course, fantasy leagues bringing a new dimension to fandom. I argued that these obsessions have always existed, the only difference is that now people have more opportunities to indulge them. My dad would watch whatever game they were showing, all that mattered was that football was on. He didn't need to have a rooting interest beforehand, he just genuinely liked the game. Hell, this was a man so into horse racing that he would watch the televised results at night to see how he would have done if he had gone to the track (this was after his bookie retired).

I imagine that I would be the sports fanatic in a marriage. I just hope any future husband of mine isn't too into "doing things" on Sundays.