Scare the crap out of me.
As a child, I was absolutely TERRIFIED of Santa. I hated everything about him. I didn't want to sit in his lap. I didn't want to tell him what I wanted for Christmas and I didn't want to bump into him when he was dropping off my gifts.
You can imagine my fear when I would go shopping with my mom around Christmas. One of the department stores in Baton Rouge, Maison Blanche, would set up larger than life moving Santas along the roof that laughed jollily and slowly moved their heads from side to side. They still haunt my dreams. During these shopping trips, my anxiety would start to build as we turned into the parking lot. I could see the red donning bastards above the rows of cars. I would avert my eyes as we made our way in but ignoring the real Santa set up in the middle of the store was a different story. He was situated perfectly in the middle of the aisle. I knew he was there before I saw his bearded face or his black boots. I felt him. He was inevitable. As we would make our way from one end of the store to the other, my anxiety would pique as we approached the line of idiot children waiting to meet him. I never understood it. I would position myself so that my Mom would block my view and, with my head down, would push by the crowd. I always feared that he would look out amongst the kids and call me out of the crowd. "Little girl- you- the one who is trying to pretend I'm not here... you- yes- you, come tell me what you want for Christmas."
It still gives me chills.
Unfortunately, my yearly encounters with Santa extended beyond just seeing him. He would call me, too.
My Mom's family got a kick out of the Uncles calling the nieces and nephews on Christmas Eve and pretending to be Santa. During our meal, I would tensely sit and wait for the phone to ring. I would hope that I would be in the bathroom the moment he called or that he would just forget about me for a year. It went on for a while but ended the year I hung up and, a little confused, looked at my parents and said "Santa sounds a lot like Uncle John."
While I hated being on the receiving in, I think my Dad enjoyed being on the giving end (of this and more practical jokes--- you can find them all in my parent's book Funny Things to do to Your Kids When You are Slightly Buzzed--- all proceeds go toward my therapy).
One year, my Dad busted my cousin. The conversation went something like this:
Dad (Santa): Have you been a good girl this year?
Cousin: Oh, yeah Santa.
Dad: Are you sure? I think I see something on my list here.
Cousin: No, I was good.
Dad: Wait a minute- I see a note here that you kicked your dog, is that true?
Cousin:............................no
Dad: So you never kicked your dog, Latke?
Cousin: Here Momma, I'm done talking to Santa.
Another year, my Dad messed with the adults more than the kids. I think he had enough of playing Santa and decided to put in a special request. When he made the call to the family in Pensacola, he let them know that instead of milk and cookies he would need Dixie beer and white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies. Yep.
Who knew Santa had such fine taste?
Much to my Uncle's chagrin, he acquiesced to the cries of his children and went on a Christmas Eve hunt for Dixie beer and white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies.
I think they got another Uncle to make the call the next year.
Moral of the story? You should never get a Jew to play Santa.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
The blog's namesake
I am opinionated and I have a name that people don't quite understand.
And I think that the person who took my lunch order needs to be fired.
Love,
And I think that the person who took my lunch order needs to be fired.
Love,
Leila
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
The New Cat Call
You know what gets old? Getting whistled at from vehicles. Yes- I realize I am complaining about receiving "compliments;" but- honestly- if a compliment were a body, the drive by whistle/honk would be the pale under belly. Lame and something no one wants any part of.
Most of the time, I receive the cat calls as I make my way to or from work. And I can't imagine my facial expressions at any of these points warrant a shout out. Apparently the men who are brave enough to hit on someone from a moving vehicle are also the same guys who would hit on someone with RBF (resting bitch face). I guess they are thinking "that girl I just sped by could be cute if she didn't look like she just smell a fart. At least she can't slap me from the side of the road."
A few weeks ago, though, someone was clever enough to win my heart over from a moving vehicle. I was standing at the light waiting to cross when a BMW made its way down the street. The driver started honking and some guys whistled out of the back seat. As I rolled my eyes, I caught a quick glimpse of the car. Then I did a double take. Someone was hanging their entire ass out of the front window. It was spectacular.
As I crossed the street, my phone vibrated. It was my Dad. "Guess what?" I asked as I picked up. "Guess what just happened to me?"
"What?"
"Someone just mooned me from a car."
"Like full moon?"
"Yep."
"But it's a Wednesday..."
Most of the time, I receive the cat calls as I make my way to or from work. And I can't imagine my facial expressions at any of these points warrant a shout out. Apparently the men who are brave enough to hit on someone from a moving vehicle are also the same guys who would hit on someone with RBF (resting bitch face). I guess they are thinking "that girl I just sped by could be cute if she didn't look like she just smell a fart. At least she can't slap me from the side of the road."
A few weeks ago, though, someone was clever enough to win my heart over from a moving vehicle. I was standing at the light waiting to cross when a BMW made its way down the street. The driver started honking and some guys whistled out of the back seat. As I rolled my eyes, I caught a quick glimpse of the car. Then I did a double take. Someone was hanging their entire ass out of the front window. It was spectacular.
As I crossed the street, my phone vibrated. It was my Dad. "Guess what?" I asked as I picked up. "Guess what just happened to me?"
"What?"
"Someone just mooned me from a car."
"Like full moon?"
"Yep."
"But it's a Wednesday..."
Thursday, July 4, 2013
God bless America
A few years ago we were visiting my Aunt over the 4th of July. She lives a few blocks from a country club that celebrates the 4th appropriately- with a pyrotechnical display of America's unyielding pride.
They shoot off fireworks.
We were planning on grilling and eating dinner outside so that we could enjoy the show.
There were other people coming over and we wanted to get an idea of the schedule, so my Aunt called the country club to ask when the fireworks would start.
Her question was met with a pregnant pause.
"After the dinner is served," the employee sighed as he rolled his eyes at the idea of a freeloading American plebeian.
My Aunt held back a laugh as she hung up the phone.
While we didn't have a set schedule, our 4th still played out perfectly: burgers, family, and fireworks (without having to wait in line at the bar or for the valet to get our car).
They shoot off fireworks.
We were planning on grilling and eating dinner outside so that we could enjoy the show.
There were other people coming over and we wanted to get an idea of the schedule, so my Aunt called the country club to ask when the fireworks would start.
Her question was met with a pregnant pause.
"After the dinner is served," the employee sighed as he rolled his eyes at the idea of a freeloading American plebeian.
My Aunt held back a laugh as she hung up the phone.
While we didn't have a set schedule, our 4th still played out perfectly: burgers, family, and fireworks (without having to wait in line at the bar or for the valet to get our car).
 |
| Can't hold us back. We've got style and big ass sunflowers. |
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Momma Wasabi
A few months ago my parents were in town for a weekend and I decided that we should have dinner at a sushi place that they had never been to. My mom isn't a huge sushi fan but always finds other things on the menu to whet her appetite.
While she is not a big sushi fan, she is consistently a fan of wrapping up the meal when she is done eating. And "meal" here applies to everyone's meal- not just hers. And this dinner was no exception. As is typical, she ate light and fast and was done way before my Dad and me. My Dad and I also tend to talk and eat a lot more than her, so that could be part of the unaligned feast lengths. Nevertheless, Momma-san had no use to draw out dinner at the sushi restaurant and, when she was done eating and done listening to us talk, she politely started combining the leftovers onto one plate to make it easier for the waiter. (She's nothing if not thoughtful).
The minute I saw her reach for my sushi roll in order to organize and combine, I made a snotty comment that probably made her wistfully muse about what life would have been like if she and my father had used a prophylactic about 30 years ago. (Sorry Momma--- I heart you!).
But- alas- the deed had been done. With ninja like speed, my Mom had cleared all of the remaining sushi pieces from the big plate to a smaller, more condensed one and had officially declared the meal over. Her hand motions were reminiscent to Jerry Lee Lewis banging out rock and roll and my Dad and I tried to focus as we watched her make a fatal error. As her right hand moved the final roll, her left hand swooped down for a nugget of wasabi and then popped it into her mouth. She was on autopilot. I heard my Dad try to get out a warning but it was too late. Our eyes widened as my Dad and I watched my Mom accidentally pull a "Jackass" like stunt. We were anticipating a Roger Rabbit moment, one in which her eyes bugged out and smoke billowed from her ears. Time at our table slowed to almost a stop and then suddenly accelerated as my Mom spit the green orb out with a large "PEHHHHHHUGHHHHHHHH."
I lost it. I couldn't contain the snorts or the tears and didn't even try to be respectful of the fact that other diners were sitting close enough to touch. I banged on the table and howled.
UUUHHHHH-----HUUHHHHHHH---- THAT'S WHAT YOU GET!!!! WRAPPING UP MY MEAL. TOUCHING MY SUSHI!!!! AHAHAHAHAH.
Momma, in between gulps of water, retorted: "I thought it was--- glug glug glug--- avocado!!!"
My Dad had tried to do the right thing by stopping her but still did not lose sight of the humor of the situation. He had the giggles too. "I tried to tell you- but you were too fast- and then that was it. We just had to see how long it would take you."
I recapped the scene no less than a dozen times that night to my parents. And it made me laugh every time.
I would wrap up with a life lesson, but none were learned. My Mom continues to end meals when she is ready but sometimes the abrupt ending is blog worthy. Thank you, Momma-san!
While she is not a big sushi fan, she is consistently a fan of wrapping up the meal when she is done eating. And "meal" here applies to everyone's meal- not just hers. And this dinner was no exception. As is typical, she ate light and fast and was done way before my Dad and me. My Dad and I also tend to talk and eat a lot more than her, so that could be part of the unaligned feast lengths. Nevertheless, Momma-san had no use to draw out dinner at the sushi restaurant and, when she was done eating and done listening to us talk, she politely started combining the leftovers onto one plate to make it easier for the waiter. (She's nothing if not thoughtful).
The minute I saw her reach for my sushi roll in order to organize and combine, I made a snotty comment that probably made her wistfully muse about what life would have been like if she and my father had used a prophylactic about 30 years ago. (Sorry Momma--- I heart you!).
But- alas- the deed had been done. With ninja like speed, my Mom had cleared all of the remaining sushi pieces from the big plate to a smaller, more condensed one and had officially declared the meal over. Her hand motions were reminiscent to Jerry Lee Lewis banging out rock and roll and my Dad and I tried to focus as we watched her make a fatal error. As her right hand moved the final roll, her left hand swooped down for a nugget of wasabi and then popped it into her mouth. She was on autopilot. I heard my Dad try to get out a warning but it was too late. Our eyes widened as my Dad and I watched my Mom accidentally pull a "Jackass" like stunt. We were anticipating a Roger Rabbit moment, one in which her eyes bugged out and smoke billowed from her ears. Time at our table slowed to almost a stop and then suddenly accelerated as my Mom spit the green orb out with a large "PEHHHHHHUGHHHHHHHH."
I lost it. I couldn't contain the snorts or the tears and didn't even try to be respectful of the fact that other diners were sitting close enough to touch. I banged on the table and howled.
UUUHHHHH-----HUUHHHHHHH---- THAT'S WHAT YOU GET!!!! WRAPPING UP MY MEAL. TOUCHING MY SUSHI!!!! AHAHAHAHAH.
Momma, in between gulps of water, retorted: "I thought it was--- glug glug glug--- avocado!!!"
My Dad had tried to do the right thing by stopping her but still did not lose sight of the humor of the situation. He had the giggles too. "I tried to tell you- but you were too fast- and then that was it. We just had to see how long it would take you."
I recapped the scene no less than a dozen times that night to my parents. And it made me laugh every time.
I would wrap up with a life lesson, but none were learned. My Mom continues to end meals when she is ready but sometimes the abrupt ending is blog worthy. Thank you, Momma-san!
Friday, May 24, 2013
The dangers of slo-mo replays
I'm the first to tell you that I can dish it but can't take it. I do not like being the target of a prank or joke--- especially if there is more than one person in on it. But this one was good and played out much better than the pranker ever expected.
Last fall, I was at a very big college football game when I got a text from my friend, Michael.
*I just saw you on TV.*
I was pumped. I told my Dad and my Uncle that we had, despite our sub prime seats, been included in the shots of the crowd.
They both responded with the same question- "how did they get us all the way up here?"
"I don't know- the sky cam? They can do anything these days! I am not sure, but my friend told me he saw us."
Even with my excitement, a little apprehension sank in. How did they get us all the way up here?
I texted him back- are you sure it was us? Did you see the guy rooting for the other team sitting right next to us?
*Yep. Saw him and everything.*
My phone vibrated again. It was another friend of mine, Charles.
*I just saw you on TV at the game!*
I was beaming at this point! We had been sitting in the same seats for over two decades and I had never made the big screen and now----- I finally had-- AND--- at a moment where my team was winning, so I wasn't one of those "devastated beyond rational and acceptable belief that my team was about to lose" people.
I bragged about my new found fame to a few people after the game and went on with my life.
I was channel surfing a few weeks later when I came across a replay of the game.
PERFECT. Now I could witness my moment of glory. All it was going to take was a little bit of math. I paused the game and got out my phone to see the exact time that my friend texted me. I googled the time that the game kicked off and did some quick calculations to figure out that I needed to keep my eyes peeled during the middle of the second quarter.
I settled in and half heartedly watched the replay until the second quarter, at which point I turned on my hawk eyes and started scanning the crowd. (Aside- about me- I like looking for things-- shells, waldo, me at football games etc). At this point the game itself kind of became a nuisance. I didn't really care about watching any of the downs, TDs, or turnovers-- I just wanted to see my shining face in the crowd. I would scan forward anytime they annoyingly showed the players and field just to get to another crowd shot and then I would quickly pause and start perusing. Just to make sure I saw everything I would play the crowd shot on slo-mo.
BBBBBBBIIIIIIGGGGGGG GGGGUUUUUYYYYYY OFFFFFFFFFFERRRRRRRSSSSSS POPPPPPPCORRRRRRNNNNN TOOOO WIFFFFFFFEEEE WHOOOOO SHAKKKKESSS HERRRRR HEEEEEAAADDDDDD NOOOOOOOOO.
I made it to the end of the second quarter without getting a glimpse of myself and checked my math. I had to have missed it. I started over. After 45 minutes of this, I texted my friend, Michael--- Are you sure you saw me in the stands?
*What?*
At the game- you texted me and said you just saw me in the stands. Are you sure it was me?
*Oh yeah- yeah- no- I didn't see you. I just made that up.*
Really?
*Yeah and I told Charles to text you, too. Why?*
I just spent 45 minutes watching the second quarter in slo-mo trying to see myself.
*Really!?!? HAHAHAHAHHAHA*
(My response that is not blog appropriate)
*HAHAHAH Charles was certain you were going to know we were lying! But this is too great! I didn't even think about you trying to watch it. I just thought you were going to tell everyone. HAHAHAHAH*
I fumed for a while and garnished a good life lesson. It has nothing to do with being shallow and how spending the better part of the night trying to make sure I looked cute on national TV backfired on me.Or how technology has advanced to the point of truly allowing us to rot our brains in slow motion. Or how watching crowd shots over and over makes you realize that America really does have a problem with obesity and the irony of the crowd juxtaposed with the players reinforces the ever growing issue that this nation is really unhealthy. Nope- it has nothing to do with any of that. Really it boils down to one thing-- Michael is a liar.
Last fall, I was at a very big college football game when I got a text from my friend, Michael.
*I just saw you on TV.*
I was pumped. I told my Dad and my Uncle that we had, despite our sub prime seats, been included in the shots of the crowd.
They both responded with the same question- "how did they get us all the way up here?"
"I don't know- the sky cam? They can do anything these days! I am not sure, but my friend told me he saw us."
Even with my excitement, a little apprehension sank in. How did they get us all the way up here?
I texted him back- are you sure it was us? Did you see the guy rooting for the other team sitting right next to us?
*Yep. Saw him and everything.*
My phone vibrated again. It was another friend of mine, Charles.
*I just saw you on TV at the game!*
I was beaming at this point! We had been sitting in the same seats for over two decades and I had never made the big screen and now----- I finally had-- AND--- at a moment where my team was winning, so I wasn't one of those "devastated beyond rational and acceptable belief that my team was about to lose" people.
 |
| "This is sadder than Granmaw's funeral." |
I was channel surfing a few weeks later when I came across a replay of the game.
PERFECT. Now I could witness my moment of glory. All it was going to take was a little bit of math. I paused the game and got out my phone to see the exact time that my friend texted me. I googled the time that the game kicked off and did some quick calculations to figure out that I needed to keep my eyes peeled during the middle of the second quarter.
I settled in and half heartedly watched the replay until the second quarter, at which point I turned on my hawk eyes and started scanning the crowd. (Aside- about me- I like looking for things-- shells, waldo, me at football games etc). At this point the game itself kind of became a nuisance. I didn't really care about watching any of the downs, TDs, or turnovers-- I just wanted to see my shining face in the crowd. I would scan forward anytime they annoyingly showed the players and field just to get to another crowd shot and then I would quickly pause and start perusing. Just to make sure I saw everything I would play the crowd shot on slo-mo.
BBBBBBBIIIIIIGGGGGGG GGGGUUUUUYYYYYY OFFFFFFFFFFERRRRRRRSSSSSS POPPPPPPCORRRRRRNNNNN TOOOO WIFFFFFFFEEEE WHOOOOO SHAKKKKESSS HERRRRR HEEEEEAAADDDDDD NOOOOOOOOO.
I made it to the end of the second quarter without getting a glimpse of myself and checked my math. I had to have missed it. I started over. After 45 minutes of this, I texted my friend, Michael--- Are you sure you saw me in the stands?
*What?*
At the game- you texted me and said you just saw me in the stands. Are you sure it was me?
*Oh yeah- yeah- no- I didn't see you. I just made that up.*
Really?
*Yeah and I told Charles to text you, too. Why?*
I just spent 45 minutes watching the second quarter in slo-mo trying to see myself.
*Really!?!? HAHAHAHAHHAHA*
(My response that is not blog appropriate)
*HAHAHAH Charles was certain you were going to know we were lying! But this is too great! I didn't even think about you trying to watch it. I just thought you were going to tell everyone. HAHAHAHAH*
I fumed for a while and garnished a good life lesson. It has nothing to do with being shallow and how spending the better part of the night trying to make sure I looked cute on national TV backfired on me.Or how technology has advanced to the point of truly allowing us to rot our brains in slow motion. Or how watching crowd shots over and over makes you realize that America really does have a problem with obesity and the irony of the crowd juxtaposed with the players reinforces the ever growing issue that this nation is really unhealthy. Nope- it has nothing to do with any of that. Really it boils down to one thing-- Michael is a liar.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Gotta know your quarters
A few weeks ago my Dad, a friend, and I were waiting for the bus to head downtown to participate in the Crescent City Classic (a 10K that is always won by Kenyans... wait-- is that redundant?). It was early in the morning and we were all carrying exactly what we needed and nothing more:
"Which state quarter has Elizabeth II on it?"
My friend, Michael, and my Dad both looked at me.
I inspected the quarter with some asinine sentiments.
"I bet it's some dumb state that doesn't realize we broke away from the British... oh, shit."
"I grabbed a stupid Canadian quarter! Why do I even have this in my change jar? I'm not going to be able to get on the bus. I can't go downtown. I can't run today!"
My Dad tried to insert a voice of reason: "Just pretend like you don't know. Play it cool and see if the machine accepts it."
Now that sounded easy enough, but playing it cool is not exactly one of my strong suits.
The bus pulled up and I got on. I put my dollar in and quickly put in the quarter. The machine spit it out the bottom. The bus driver told me to try it again. And again the machine said "peh- I don't want anything related to a LOONEY, you fool." The bus driver picked up the rejected quarter. "I don't know what this is, but it isn't a coin."
I panicked.
"I'm sorry!!! It's a Canadian quarter. But I live right there! I can run home right now and run to the next stop. You won't have to wait. I promise. I'll sprint. I grabbed the wrong change!"
At that point a good Samaritan stepped in. I think my flailing was making them uncomfortable.
"Here's a quarter. Here you go."
"Ohmygod- thank you so much. I have no idea how that happened. Here- take the Canadian quarter!!"
I got on the bus and sat down with a relieved sigh. The friendly passenger got up and gave me back my coin. "Thanks, but I don't really want a Canadian quarter."
I understood that. I pocketed my silly coin with an embarasssed look and let the lesson of the day sink in:
No state quarter has Queen Elizabeth II on it. None of them. Not even the "dumb ones."
- headphones and ipod----- check
- house key--------check
- $1.25------che....
"Which state quarter has Elizabeth II on it?"
My friend, Michael, and my Dad both looked at me.
I inspected the quarter with some asinine sentiments.
"I bet it's some dumb state that doesn't realize we broke away from the British... oh, shit."
"I grabbed a stupid Canadian quarter! Why do I even have this in my change jar? I'm not going to be able to get on the bus. I can't go downtown. I can't run today!"
My Dad tried to insert a voice of reason: "Just pretend like you don't know. Play it cool and see if the machine accepts it."
Now that sounded easy enough, but playing it cool is not exactly one of my strong suits.
The bus pulled up and I got on. I put my dollar in and quickly put in the quarter. The machine spit it out the bottom. The bus driver told me to try it again. And again the machine said "peh- I don't want anything related to a LOONEY, you fool." The bus driver picked up the rejected quarter. "I don't know what this is, but it isn't a coin."
I panicked.
"I'm sorry!!! It's a Canadian quarter. But I live right there! I can run home right now and run to the next stop. You won't have to wait. I promise. I'll sprint. I grabbed the wrong change!"
At that point a good Samaritan stepped in. I think my flailing was making them uncomfortable.
"Here's a quarter. Here you go."
"Ohmygod- thank you so much. I have no idea how that happened. Here- take the Canadian quarter!!"
I got on the bus and sat down with a relieved sigh. The friendly passenger got up and gave me back my coin. "Thanks, but I don't really want a Canadian quarter."
I understood that. I pocketed my silly coin with an embarasssed look and let the lesson of the day sink in:
No state quarter has Queen Elizabeth II on it. None of them. Not even the "dumb ones."
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