Disclaimers:
1. I am not trying to rip off the amazing blog posts that turned into an amazing book and a mediocre television show. I just have a mom that gives me some great material.
2. I love my mom. She is smart as shit and has always been supportive. She is just a shoot from the hip, tell it like it is kind of girl. It's where I get it from. But I am more refined. Kind of.
Me: Momma, I just don't know what to do about the weight gain. It is so frustrating. I can't do anything to lose it.
Mom: Well how much do you weigh?
Me: 1**
Mom: God- that is how much I weighed when I was six months pregnant with you.
Mom: *Farts* (in front of my BFF Katie O)
Me: Momma- I know you have known Katie O for a long time, but you can't just go farting in front of her like it is no big deal.
Mom: What!? I was trying to burp anyway.
Ten minutes pass...
Mom: *Burps*
Katie O: What-- were you trying to fart that time?
At a crowded place with good family friend, Wendy L.
Mom: *Says something loudly that is incredibly inappropriate about someone sitting nearby*
Wendy L: Jesus Christ, Cathy! Just because you are deaf doesn't mean everyone else is.
Mom: *Shrugs*
During my freshman year, a hurricane was in the gulf and school closed for a few days. I came home with a car load of dorm mates as refugees. It was the second week of school and I didn't know these people that well. One of the girls went upstairs to take a bath (a luxury you cannot get in a dorm- especially not in something like my parent's amazingly large porcelain beauty).
Girl comes downstairs after her bath.
Mom: Uhhhh-huhhhhhhh. I bet your vagina just feels great now! Especially after nothing but showers. I hate showers.
During another trip home freshman year, I was trying to find clothes to bring back with me. I had gained my freshman fifteen and my rummage through high school clothes was not going very well. After squeezing on a blue jean skirt- I stepped out of my closet to show my mom.
Mom: Ha! You look like a stuffed sausage!
After many shopping trips. I proudly show my mom my new purchase.
Me: I love it! I am so excited to wear it. Do you like it?
Mom: No. *Goes back to reading/computer/watching TV*
After letting her know that I had just blogged about her.....
Me: Mom, what did you think about that blog post I wrote about you?
Mom: I don't remember saying a lot of that, but it is really funny that I did.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Would a rose smell as sweet by another name?
I don't know. But my cat probably would be just as mean with another name. Any other name would probably be more fitting, too. Rather than "Sophie" I could call her "Beelzebub," "Diablita," or my mom's favorite when addressing her, "Bitch Face."
We always had pets when I was growing up. For most of my life, we had one or two dogs and at least two cats at any given points (pretty much like Noah's ark). Needless to say, when I entered adulthood, I really wanted a pet of my own. The prospect of finally owning an animal that would truly be mine and would love me the way most animals admire one family member a little more than the rest was exciting. I kept putting off getting a cat because I think I was a little scared of the 13-17 year commitment and I didn't have an extra $100 or so to go to the SPCA to get a healthy, spayed/neutered, friendly, compassionate, not afraid of people, nice to other animals cat. But when my boyfriend called me and told me that they found a kitten that had been dumped at the golf course he worked at, it was hard for me to say no.
Enter Sophie.
I was out of town when Dan brought her home and was anxious to get back to NOLA and see my new pet. She is a talker and the only way they could find her in the tall grass that she was hiding in was to meow to her. She would meow back. She was incredibly afraid of people so it took multiple guys a few hours and oven mitts and a box to get her. In Dan's defense, he had never really dealt with animals before and did not realize that while a tiny cat could claw the shit out of him, it would really not be that bad.
I ran into Dan's apartment and was ready to see a kitten playing on the floor, or sleeping on the sofa, or doing anything that normal kittens do but she was nowhere to be found. We had to meow for her and track her voice to her hiding place. I reached in and grabbed her and revealed my precious (I like to say it in a Schmeigal voice). My skinny ass, freaked out, sick, precious. As I begin to pet her, I realized she was sick- really sick. She had a huge scab on her neck, and she was very thin. The first night I brought her home, I put some towels in a laundry hamper and put her in the bathroom. She cried until I moved the laundry hamper into my room and put it next to my bed. (Get your 'awwwwws' out now, because this is about the only time you can say it during my four year relationship with Sophie).
I took her to the vet and three things of fluid, multiple tests, shaving her neck, removing the parasite that had been living there, getting her up to speed on shots and vaccinations, and $500 later, I finally had the cat I had been so excited about owning. And she was scared shitless of me and any other human.
During her first week in my house, her litter box (which was in the kitchen) remained clean. This really baffled me until I realized that she had been treating my laundry hamper with all of my work clothes that were waiting to be dry cleaned as her litter box. Great. She was too afraid to walk to the kitchen. Immediately after I found her new bathroom spot, I walked into my sun room- where she was- which scared the shit out of her. She puffed up, jumped on my desk and knocked over multiple tiles I brought home from Portugal, that I couldn't replace. At this point I looked at Dan with tears of rage in my eyes and told him I might get rid of her.I mean- can you blame me? So far- I had a cat that wouldn't let me touch her, felt it appropriate to poop on my work clothes, and broke things that couldn't be fixed or replaced.
Around month 2 of my proud ownership, she went into heat. I called the vet and told them but they said she was too young to go into heat. After a few nights of sleeplessness spent listening to my cat SCREAM for a mate and Dan wanting to shake her to death, I called the vet again and promised them she was in heat. Apparently, she was so dehydrated when I brought her in originally that she was much smaller than she should have been. (Don't worry- her weight has leveled out. When she runs, her stomach makes large swings side to side to keep up with her feet. It's charming). (Also, if you are unfamiliar with the noises cats can produce when they would like to mate or are mating, you can check out my enlightening post).
Over the first few months of owning her, she became more comfortable around people and even let Dan and me start to pet her. If you met her now, you could consider her a new cat. At this point, she is not afraid of anything. In fact, she often tries to kill any other cat that crosses her path. Once, I opened the door and the neighbors cat shot into my apartment. The result was the equivalent of a tantrum larger than those thrown on Toddler's and Tiaras. Sophie was so angry that she hid under the guest bed and screamed for hours. Even after the intruder had been escorted out, she still spit at me when I looked under the bed. Sweet Sophie.
Oh yeah, and did I mention she vomits? All of the time. I can hear her puking four rooms away. To make this whole situation better, picking up her puke often makes me lose my lunch. It's one of Dan's favorite things to witness. I use to think he was really mean until Mollie was over and got to witness it. After disposing of Sophie's puke- and then puking myself- I came back into the room to both Dan and Mollie cracking up. Honestly, though, I am really not sure if there is anything worse in the world than regurgitated canned cat food.
So, after a child hood of owning animals and dreaming of my first pet, I have Sophie. A cat that is guaranteed to live for at least 15 years (evil never dies).
I do have to let you know that I have been a little hard on her. She does love me. She follows me around and when I don't get up when she thinks I should- she comes in and does a very cute meow to wake me up. Also, when it is cold outside, and she is not sleeping directly on top of the vent in my room- taking up all of the heat for herself- she will cuddle up next to me (no lie- I will wake up in the middle of the night shivering to see her covering the entire vent. When I mover her off of the vent, her fur feels like an electric blanket). She sleeps on the foot of my bed and waits for me to get out of the shower. All in all, she has not turned out to be a totally terrible cat- she is just not the sweet, loving, fluffy thing I always wanted. But she is mine. And she does have a sweet, loving, fluffy name. So that has to count for something.
We always had pets when I was growing up. For most of my life, we had one or two dogs and at least two cats at any given points (pretty much like Noah's ark). Needless to say, when I entered adulthood, I really wanted a pet of my own. The prospect of finally owning an animal that would truly be mine and would love me the way most animals admire one family member a little more than the rest was exciting. I kept putting off getting a cat because I think I was a little scared of the 13-17 year commitment and I didn't have an extra $100 or so to go to the SPCA to get a healthy, spayed/neutered, friendly, compassionate, not afraid of people, nice to other animals cat. But when my boyfriend called me and told me that they found a kitten that had been dumped at the golf course he worked at, it was hard for me to say no.
Enter Sophie.
I was out of town when Dan brought her home and was anxious to get back to NOLA and see my new pet. She is a talker and the only way they could find her in the tall grass that she was hiding in was to meow to her. She would meow back. She was incredibly afraid of people so it took multiple guys a few hours and oven mitts and a box to get her. In Dan's defense, he had never really dealt with animals before and did not realize that while a tiny cat could claw the shit out of him, it would really not be that bad.
I ran into Dan's apartment and was ready to see a kitten playing on the floor, or sleeping on the sofa, or doing anything that normal kittens do but she was nowhere to be found. We had to meow for her and track her voice to her hiding place. I reached in and grabbed her and revealed my precious (I like to say it in a Schmeigal voice). My skinny ass, freaked out, sick, precious. As I begin to pet her, I realized she was sick- really sick. She had a huge scab on her neck, and she was very thin. The first night I brought her home, I put some towels in a laundry hamper and put her in the bathroom. She cried until I moved the laundry hamper into my room and put it next to my bed. (Get your 'awwwwws' out now, because this is about the only time you can say it during my four year relationship with Sophie).
I took her to the vet and three things of fluid, multiple tests, shaving her neck, removing the parasite that had been living there, getting her up to speed on shots and vaccinations, and $500 later, I finally had the cat I had been so excited about owning. And she was scared shitless of me and any other human.
During her first week in my house, her litter box (which was in the kitchen) remained clean. This really baffled me until I realized that she had been treating my laundry hamper with all of my work clothes that were waiting to be dry cleaned as her litter box. Great. She was too afraid to walk to the kitchen. Immediately after I found her new bathroom spot, I walked into my sun room- where she was- which scared the shit out of her. She puffed up, jumped on my desk and knocked over multiple tiles I brought home from Portugal, that I couldn't replace. At this point I looked at Dan with tears of rage in my eyes and told him I might get rid of her.I mean- can you blame me? So far- I had a cat that wouldn't let me touch her, felt it appropriate to poop on my work clothes, and broke things that couldn't be fixed or replaced.
Around month 2 of my proud ownership, she went into heat. I called the vet and told them but they said she was too young to go into heat. After a few nights of sleeplessness spent listening to my cat SCREAM for a mate and Dan wanting to shake her to death, I called the vet again and promised them she was in heat. Apparently, she was so dehydrated when I brought her in originally that she was much smaller than she should have been. (Don't worry- her weight has leveled out. When she runs, her stomach makes large swings side to side to keep up with her feet. It's charming). (Also, if you are unfamiliar with the noises cats can produce when they would like to mate or are mating, you can check out my enlightening post).
Over the first few months of owning her, she became more comfortable around people and even let Dan and me start to pet her. If you met her now, you could consider her a new cat. At this point, she is not afraid of anything. In fact, she often tries to kill any other cat that crosses her path. Once, I opened the door and the neighbors cat shot into my apartment. The result was the equivalent of a tantrum larger than those thrown on Toddler's and Tiaras. Sophie was so angry that she hid under the guest bed and screamed for hours. Even after the intruder had been escorted out, she still spit at me when I looked under the bed. Sweet Sophie.
Oh yeah, and did I mention she vomits? All of the time. I can hear her puking four rooms away. To make this whole situation better, picking up her puke often makes me lose my lunch. It's one of Dan's favorite things to witness. I use to think he was really mean until Mollie was over and got to witness it. After disposing of Sophie's puke- and then puking myself- I came back into the room to both Dan and Mollie cracking up. Honestly, though, I am really not sure if there is anything worse in the world than regurgitated canned cat food.
So, after a child hood of owning animals and dreaming of my first pet, I have Sophie. A cat that is guaranteed to live for at least 15 years (evil never dies).
I do have to let you know that I have been a little hard on her. She does love me. She follows me around and when I don't get up when she thinks I should- she comes in and does a very cute meow to wake me up. Also, when it is cold outside, and she is not sleeping directly on top of the vent in my room- taking up all of the heat for herself- she will cuddle up next to me (no lie- I will wake up in the middle of the night shivering to see her covering the entire vent. When I mover her off of the vent, her fur feels like an electric blanket). She sleeps on the foot of my bed and waits for me to get out of the shower. All in all, she has not turned out to be a totally terrible cat- she is just not the sweet, loving, fluffy thing I always wanted. But she is mine. And she does have a sweet, loving, fluffy name. So that has to count for something.
 |
| This is Sophie.... sooooo happy to be held. LOVE! |
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Oh, Avocado... so close, yet so far
If I could rewrite bible stories to fit what I think really happened (let's pause for a moment and really take in what I just said.... I used the word "I" and "bible" in the same sentence.... like I really know anything about any bible stories), I would have the tree in the garden of Eden full of avocados. And the tree next to it would be a Reginelli's Caesar dressing tree or a Newman's Own Balsamic Vinaigrette tree. Because I could resist a delicious looking apple (unlike Stephanie Choy*), but I could never resist an avocado- especially if I had some amazing dressing to go with it.
With that being said, you can imagine my excitement when I saw that the Subway near my house got with the program and started to offer avocado as a sandwich accoutrement (probably not the correct use of the word- but honestly- it is one of those words that should be used as often as possible). Needless to say, when I ordered my six inch turkey on wheat- I was gonna get me some avocado with that. Alright future Leila- go back and warn past Subway Leila that ordering avocado will only add 15 minutes to her Subway adventure- but it is worth it anyway. (PS- If someone could help me find some sort of sound effect or image that I could use to insert "uhh uhhh- that's not going to happen" when I want to warn past Leila about something- it would be much appreciated).
So I am standing in the Subway line and the sandwich artists are busy at work. There is a couple ahead of me and two guys behind me and my friend, Mollie, there to witness it all. I order my turkey- no cheese please- I am being healthy and get to the veggies selection of the process. The guy in front of me asks for avocado on his foot long sandwich and apparently they only have enough for half of it (ie, three ice cream scoops full). The lady working at Subway told him she would be right back and brought the empty avocado container to the back. The next lady was ready to finish up my sandwich but I let her know that I also wanted avocado so she moved onto the next person in line- whose order I got to pay attention to since I had nothing else to do but wait for my avocado. This gentleman ordered a six inch tuna on white bread, with olives, and extra mayonnaise. You read that right.
The wait for the avocado continued so the ladies behind the counter decided they would start ringing people up to avoid a bottle neck. At this point- two things happened. An elderly couple walked in and the man took a seat at a table while his wife got in line and the couple in front of me was rung up (even though he was still waiting on his three more ice cream scoops of avocado). The couple was rung up and the woman begin to argue with the total and couldn't understand why it came out to $16. Once it was explained to her multiple times, and she was satisfied, she pulled out a $100 to pay. At a Subway. A hundred dollar bill. Instead of signs that say "We do not accept bills larger than $20" I think places should have signs that say "We can break $100"- because I think it is fair to say that pretty much NOWHERE can break "$100" and it would allow companies to save money on all of the signs they buy that say "No bills larger than $20." Because everyone knows that you should not go into a Subway, or any fast food place, or any gas station, or ANYWHERE and try to buy $16 worth of stuff with a hundred dollar bill. Needless to say- much confusion ensued behind the counter- as they had to get the manager and try to figure out if they had enough cash to break this stupid bill and still have change for other customers.
As this is going on, the elderly lady stepped out of line two times to ask her husband to clarify his sandwich order. Really? The man has probably had the same sandwich order since Eisenhower was in office. Those things don't change. No- he doesn't want to try banana peppers. No- he doesn't want it on some fancy bread. Just wheat. Come on now.
Well the fiasco at the register died down and the lady paid. Since there was still no avocado to be seen, the Subway lady decided she would start ringing up the men behind me. Fair enough. They shouldn't have to wait for avocado. One of them clearly did not like anything green- only gelatinous white for him. So they start to ring them up. They check out the guy that did not order the tuna fish sandwich at about the same time the avocado appears (insert heavenly glow and angels singing in background). During this transaction, my sandwich gets its avocado dollops and is wrapped up and sent down the line to be rung up. It is placed next to a similar looking six inch sandwich. The lady at the cash register asks her coworker which sandwich is mine and she can't remember. Honestly- I was pretty sure I knew- but I was not taking that chance. I had whole wheat, turkey, and avocado. He had tuna. And white bread. And mayonnaise. He quickly said "check- because I definitely don't want her sandwich." I appreciated his honesty. They unwrapped the sandwiches- figured out which was mine, and sent me on my way. Thank god for avocado and the wonderful cluster that ensued. If it were not for that, what would I have to blog about?
*PS- I have to give a shout out to my friend, Stephanie Choy. Steph was home one Fall to celebrate the glorious story of the pilgrims and the Indians, and do like all Americans do, and consume enough to last anyone a week. After the meal wrapped up, she was wandering through the kitchen when she saw "the most beautiful apple in the world." Steph, who was not listening to her body at that point, decided that an apple has never hurt anything before. She consumed the ripe beauty and immediately regurgitated it. And her Thanksgiving meal. All of it. Gotta listen to your body and not fall for that Garden of Eden trick. Unless, of course, it is full of Avocado and Salad Dressing trees.
With that being said, you can imagine my excitement when I saw that the Subway near my house got with the program and started to offer avocado as a sandwich accoutrement (probably not the correct use of the word- but honestly- it is one of those words that should be used as often as possible). Needless to say, when I ordered my six inch turkey on wheat- I was gonna get me some avocado with that. Alright future Leila- go back and warn past Subway Leila that ordering avocado will only add 15 minutes to her Subway adventure- but it is worth it anyway. (PS- If someone could help me find some sort of sound effect or image that I could use to insert "uhh uhhh- that's not going to happen" when I want to warn past Leila about something- it would be much appreciated).
So I am standing in the Subway line and the sandwich artists are busy at work. There is a couple ahead of me and two guys behind me and my friend, Mollie, there to witness it all. I order my turkey- no cheese please- I am being healthy and get to the veggies selection of the process. The guy in front of me asks for avocado on his foot long sandwich and apparently they only have enough for half of it (ie, three ice cream scoops full). The lady working at Subway told him she would be right back and brought the empty avocado container to the back. The next lady was ready to finish up my sandwich but I let her know that I also wanted avocado so she moved onto the next person in line- whose order I got to pay attention to since I had nothing else to do but wait for my avocado. This gentleman ordered a six inch tuna on white bread, with olives, and extra mayonnaise. You read that right.
The wait for the avocado continued so the ladies behind the counter decided they would start ringing people up to avoid a bottle neck. At this point- two things happened. An elderly couple walked in and the man took a seat at a table while his wife got in line and the couple in front of me was rung up (even though he was still waiting on his three more ice cream scoops of avocado). The couple was rung up and the woman begin to argue with the total and couldn't understand why it came out to $16. Once it was explained to her multiple times, and she was satisfied, she pulled out a $100 to pay. At a Subway. A hundred dollar bill. Instead of signs that say "We do not accept bills larger than $20" I think places should have signs that say "We can break $100"- because I think it is fair to say that pretty much NOWHERE can break "$100" and it would allow companies to save money on all of the signs they buy that say "No bills larger than $20." Because everyone knows that you should not go into a Subway, or any fast food place, or any gas station, or ANYWHERE and try to buy $16 worth of stuff with a hundred dollar bill. Needless to say- much confusion ensued behind the counter- as they had to get the manager and try to figure out if they had enough cash to break this stupid bill and still have change for other customers.
As this is going on, the elderly lady stepped out of line two times to ask her husband to clarify his sandwich order. Really? The man has probably had the same sandwich order since Eisenhower was in office. Those things don't change. No- he doesn't want to try banana peppers. No- he doesn't want it on some fancy bread. Just wheat. Come on now.
Well the fiasco at the register died down and the lady paid. Since there was still no avocado to be seen, the Subway lady decided she would start ringing up the men behind me. Fair enough. They shouldn't have to wait for avocado. One of them clearly did not like anything green- only gelatinous white for him. So they start to ring them up. They check out the guy that did not order the tuna fish sandwich at about the same time the avocado appears (insert heavenly glow and angels singing in background). During this transaction, my sandwich gets its avocado dollops and is wrapped up and sent down the line to be rung up. It is placed next to a similar looking six inch sandwich. The lady at the cash register asks her coworker which sandwich is mine and she can't remember. Honestly- I was pretty sure I knew- but I was not taking that chance. I had whole wheat, turkey, and avocado. He had tuna. And white bread. And mayonnaise. He quickly said "check- because I definitely don't want her sandwich." I appreciated his honesty. They unwrapped the sandwiches- figured out which was mine, and sent me on my way. Thank god for avocado and the wonderful cluster that ensued. If it were not for that, what would I have to blog about?
*PS- I have to give a shout out to my friend, Stephanie Choy. Steph was home one Fall to celebrate the glorious story of the pilgrims and the Indians, and do like all Americans do, and consume enough to last anyone a week. After the meal wrapped up, she was wandering through the kitchen when she saw "the most beautiful apple in the world." Steph, who was not listening to her body at that point, decided that an apple has never hurt anything before. She consumed the ripe beauty and immediately regurgitated it. And her Thanksgiving meal. All of it. Gotta listen to your body and not fall for that Garden of Eden trick. Unless, of course, it is full of Avocado and Salad Dressing trees.
Friday, June 3, 2011
You know that dream where....
You go to class and realize you have a test you didn't study for or you are standing in front of a crowd naked or....... you bust your ass in front of a lot of people. Yeah, well I am lucky enough to have that last one come true. So- keep wishing upon stars, because some time dreams really do come true.
I grew up going to Henry S Jacobs camp in Utica, MS (a bustling town). The summer after my Freshman year in college, I worked as a counselor at the camp. It was a great experience. I really liked my co-counselor and our campers. My co-counselor, Jodie, was easy to get along with and had a similar sense of humor as me.
Every night at camp, each unit participates in an evening program. The units are broken up by age group (basically by elementary school kids, middle school kids, and soon to be high school kids). The counselors plan the evening session every day and present a skit at lunch to give their campers an idea about what to expect that night. All the cabins in the unit participate in the program together except one night a session... a very special night.... bunk night. Each cabin has one bunk night during their time at camp where they get to do whatever they want while the rest of the camp is going to their evening programs. I have very vivid memories of some of my bunk nights that included swimming across Lake Gary (I think my counselors slipped all of us something to convince us to do that), eating so much cake I thought I was going to vomit, and being lifted up in a chair (similar to a Jewish wedding)- which seemed like a good idea at the time until one of us almost lost our head to the ceiling fan.
So when it came to planning a bunk night for our cabin, Jodie and I, with all of these amazing memories, knew we had to do something special for our girls. And we had to get them really excited during the skit at lunch. And this is where the story takes a turn. I can't remember anything that our bunk night entailed. Not one single detail. Nothing. And the reason for this is because all I remember about our bunk night is the skit.
Jodie and I were planning to come hauling ass into the dining hall from different directions and jump onto the stage in the middle and do something silly to let our campers know it was bunk night. The stage was really just a large wooden block that was about a foot and a half tall. Over my time as a camper, I probably watched at least 100 people jump on and off that stage. After my skit, I think the rules were changed to (in your best Long Island Jewish mother accent) "no jumping on or off the stage" (you could poke your eye out). So Jodie and I were lined up for our skit and came running into the dining hall. We neared the stage and Jodie got there a second before me and jumped on. I made my move to jump but apparently miscalculated and hit both of my shins directly on the corner. Anyone who understands basic physics knows what happens next (think a body in motion will remain in motion). Well- my body was in motion- it was just my legs that had stopped. The rest of my body kept going and my face went directly into Jodie's crotch. Smack Dab. It was the most intense, quickest, and unplanned lesbian occurrence of my life. And the entire population of the camp- campers, counselors, and staff members were there to witness it.
I immediately popped up and pretended like I didn't just head butt my co-counselor's vagina in front of the entire camp. But there's no playing that one down. Especially when you have bruised and bloodied shins and tears coming out of your eyes. So, if you ever find yourself in a situation that you are afraid of falling in front of a lot of people- just try to measure your distance from others and make sure that if you do fall- that no one's private parts will be there to catch you.
I grew up going to Henry S Jacobs camp in Utica, MS (a bustling town). The summer after my Freshman year in college, I worked as a counselor at the camp. It was a great experience. I really liked my co-counselor and our campers. My co-counselor, Jodie, was easy to get along with and had a similar sense of humor as me.
Every night at camp, each unit participates in an evening program. The units are broken up by age group (basically by elementary school kids, middle school kids, and soon to be high school kids). The counselors plan the evening session every day and present a skit at lunch to give their campers an idea about what to expect that night. All the cabins in the unit participate in the program together except one night a session... a very special night.... bunk night. Each cabin has one bunk night during their time at camp where they get to do whatever they want while the rest of the camp is going to their evening programs. I have very vivid memories of some of my bunk nights that included swimming across Lake Gary (I think my counselors slipped all of us something to convince us to do that), eating so much cake I thought I was going to vomit, and being lifted up in a chair (similar to a Jewish wedding)- which seemed like a good idea at the time until one of us almost lost our head to the ceiling fan.
So when it came to planning a bunk night for our cabin, Jodie and I, with all of these amazing memories, knew we had to do something special for our girls. And we had to get them really excited during the skit at lunch. And this is where the story takes a turn. I can't remember anything that our bunk night entailed. Not one single detail. Nothing. And the reason for this is because all I remember about our bunk night is the skit.
Jodie and I were planning to come hauling ass into the dining hall from different directions and jump onto the stage in the middle and do something silly to let our campers know it was bunk night. The stage was really just a large wooden block that was about a foot and a half tall. Over my time as a camper, I probably watched at least 100 people jump on and off that stage. After my skit, I think the rules were changed to (in your best Long Island Jewish mother accent) "no jumping on or off the stage" (you could poke your eye out). So Jodie and I were lined up for our skit and came running into the dining hall. We neared the stage and Jodie got there a second before me and jumped on. I made my move to jump but apparently miscalculated and hit both of my shins directly on the corner. Anyone who understands basic physics knows what happens next (think a body in motion will remain in motion). Well- my body was in motion- it was just my legs that had stopped. The rest of my body kept going and my face went directly into Jodie's crotch. Smack Dab. It was the most intense, quickest, and unplanned lesbian occurrence of my life. And the entire population of the camp- campers, counselors, and staff members were there to witness it.
I immediately popped up and pretended like I didn't just head butt my co-counselor's vagina in front of the entire camp. But there's no playing that one down. Especially when you have bruised and bloodied shins and tears coming out of your eyes. So, if you ever find yourself in a situation that you are afraid of falling in front of a lot of people- just try to measure your distance from others and make sure that if you do fall- that no one's private parts will be there to catch you.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
I have massive sneezes.
This morning, while I was getting ready for work, I sneezed. My neighbor (who was standing in his drive way) yelled "Bless you."
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