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- a member for 18 years, 7 months and 27 days
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» Putting the Fun in Funeral
Forgot.
My cousin's wife passed away after a long bout of leukemia. She had two daughters, girls, who had come to grips with her impending death long before anyone else had. Caitlyn, the youngest, was sitting in the reception area of the hospital when the secretary said her, "Why, don't you look adorable today?"
Caitlyn replies brightly, "Thank you! It's my birthday, and my mommy just died!"
The woman promptly burst into tears. Caitlyn didn't really understand why.
(Mon 15th May 2006, 6:37, More)
Forgot.
My cousin's wife passed away after a long bout of leukemia. She had two daughters, girls, who had come to grips with her impending death long before anyone else had. Caitlyn, the youngest, was sitting in the reception area of the hospital when the secretary said her, "Why, don't you look adorable today?"
Caitlyn replies brightly, "Thank you! It's my birthday, and my mommy just died!"
The woman promptly burst into tears. Caitlyn didn't really understand why.
(Mon 15th May 2006, 6:37, More)
» Putting the Fun in Funeral
Iowa.
Luckily, I'm from a much better state than Iowa. It's frightening.
At my grandfather's funeral last year, my four year-old niece jumped into the wishing well outside, stripped herself of clothing and ran around the funeral home naked. My cousins (who knew we were blood relatives) repeatedly hit on me, causing much retching. Every single one of them had rosaries that they pulled from mystery locations; I was literally the only one in the room without a one, and laughed at their devoutness (much to my mother's horror). Just when everyone was "getting into" their prayers, someone dropped a gigantic plastic container of cake down the stairs, complete with "god damnit, Jesus." All in all, it was more entertaining than the last funeral I attended.
I think my grandpa's happy: he never really cared about church.
(Mon 15th May 2006, 6:05, More)
Iowa.
Luckily, I'm from a much better state than Iowa. It's frightening.
At my grandfather's funeral last year, my four year-old niece jumped into the wishing well outside, stripped herself of clothing and ran around the funeral home naked. My cousins (who knew we were blood relatives) repeatedly hit on me, causing much retching. Every single one of them had rosaries that they pulled from mystery locations; I was literally the only one in the room without a one, and laughed at their devoutness (much to my mother's horror). Just when everyone was "getting into" their prayers, someone dropped a gigantic plastic container of cake down the stairs, complete with "god damnit, Jesus." All in all, it was more entertaining than the last funeral I attended.
I think my grandpa's happy: he never really cared about church.
(Mon 15th May 2006, 6:05, More)
» In the Army Now - The joy of the Armed Forces
Serving our country.
I got set up on a blind date last summer with a Marine (Chad) who had just gotten back from Iraq. I have absolutely no idea WHY my friend thought I would be a choice candidate for this guy, but I went ahead, feeling sorry for him and his months away from his homeland. (Isn't that how most blind dates start, anyways? Pity?)
We meet, and I find out that Chad had lied about his height (he was actually 4 inches shorter than me). So, first strike.
I look at the menu, and ask the waiter if the soup is vegetarian friendly. Chad stares at me, and asks me why I decide not to eat animals. I explain, and he immediately orders the veal. Strike two.
When asked about my heritage, I respond, "Norwegian and German". He looks pleased and relaxes. When I ask him about HIS ethnic background, he replies, "Oh, I'm Aryan," and continues to talk about how he hates homosexuality. Holy. Shit.
At this point, I realize that I'm on a date with a white supremicist (there are many in this area of Wisconsin), and I'm looking desperately for an exit. The waiter is blocking the door, and I'm sweating nervously in my seat. He's gnawing a filet of heinously butchered baby cow in front of me, and I'm hoping that he doesn't take me back home to start burning crosses.
When things couldn't possibly get any more awkward, he asks me if I'd like to go shooting. "I've got some semi-automatics at home, y'know."
At this point, I'd rather gouge my eyes out with the salad forks than spend anymore time with him.
"Uh. I'm a democrat, and I think that we've just met. Bad idea."
"Oh. Well, I guess I'll talk to you later?"
"Yeah, I guess you will."
He later calls me to ask me out on a second date, telling me that he really liked the first, and that I'm a "real special lady."
This is a guy who is defending America. My country. I weep.
(Tue 28th Mar 2006, 23:27, More)
Serving our country.
I got set up on a blind date last summer with a Marine (Chad) who had just gotten back from Iraq. I have absolutely no idea WHY my friend thought I would be a choice candidate for this guy, but I went ahead, feeling sorry for him and his months away from his homeland. (Isn't that how most blind dates start, anyways? Pity?)
We meet, and I find out that Chad had lied about his height (he was actually 4 inches shorter than me). So, first strike.
I look at the menu, and ask the waiter if the soup is vegetarian friendly. Chad stares at me, and asks me why I decide not to eat animals. I explain, and he immediately orders the veal. Strike two.
When asked about my heritage, I respond, "Norwegian and German". He looks pleased and relaxes. When I ask him about HIS ethnic background, he replies, "Oh, I'm Aryan," and continues to talk about how he hates homosexuality. Holy. Shit.
At this point, I realize that I'm on a date with a white supremicist (there are many in this area of Wisconsin), and I'm looking desperately for an exit. The waiter is blocking the door, and I'm sweating nervously in my seat. He's gnawing a filet of heinously butchered baby cow in front of me, and I'm hoping that he doesn't take me back home to start burning crosses.
When things couldn't possibly get any more awkward, he asks me if I'd like to go shooting. "I've got some semi-automatics at home, y'know."
At this point, I'd rather gouge my eyes out with the salad forks than spend anymore time with him.
"Uh. I'm a democrat, and I think that we've just met. Bad idea."
"Oh. Well, I guess I'll talk to you later?"
"Yeah, I guess you will."
He later calls me to ask me out on a second date, telling me that he really liked the first, and that I'm a "real special lady."
This is a guy who is defending America. My country. I weep.
(Tue 28th Mar 2006, 23:27, More)
» Mugged
Paris.
Most people only see the quaint side of Paris, but my friend (actually named "Paris") and I have been treated to the worst. Paris was walking home one night from the bar, and stopped at knifepoint by a man demanding her purse. She calmly explained that her pet chinchilla was inside of it. He didn't believe her, he looked in her purse, and she kneed him in the groin. Even better, she stole his wallet and turned it into the police after she took the money out of it.
(Sun 18th Jun 2006, 20:38, More)
Paris.
Most people only see the quaint side of Paris, but my friend (actually named "Paris") and I have been treated to the worst. Paris was walking home one night from the bar, and stopped at knifepoint by a man demanding her purse. She calmly explained that her pet chinchilla was inside of it. He didn't believe her, he looked in her purse, and she kneed him in the groin. Even better, she stole his wallet and turned it into the police after she took the money out of it.
(Sun 18th Jun 2006, 20:38, More)
» Lies that got out of control
Not so much a foreign language,
but I tell everyone I'm Canadian to avoid conversations related to American politics and the NBA (people are strangely obsessed here). I've memorised every Toronto factoid on Wikipedia, and am always sure to use correct spellings (colour, organise, centre, etc.).
My entire Turkish neighborhood, however, found me out last week. My free kebap across is gone now. The men on stoops give me shifty eyes. At least I can hide my head in shame--as a woman here, it's surprisingly easy.
(Sun 15th Aug 2010, 20:03, More)
Not so much a foreign language,
but I tell everyone I'm Canadian to avoid conversations related to American politics and the NBA (people are strangely obsessed here). I've memorised every Toronto factoid on Wikipedia, and am always sure to use correct spellings (colour, organise, centre, etc.).
My entire Turkish neighborhood, however, found me out last week. My free kebap across is gone now. The men on stoops give me shifty eyes. At least I can hide my head in shame--as a woman here, it's surprisingly easy.
(Sun 15th Aug 2010, 20:03, More)