Speedos
I love my Dad so very much. Ask anyone who knows me and they can attest we have a great relationship and I am a bit of a daddy’s girl. I say that to preface this story which my Dad and I were just laughing over, though at the time I was slightly embarrassed.
My father is a great swimmer and diver, he gave me my long, lanky limbs and he knew how to use them to swim way faster than I ever could and to also dive like a pro. He swam for his high school and college teams, leaving records standing for decades at each. He also coached high school girls swimming for a number of years. A story that is often shared from those years is when my brother Ry was little, he would join the girls in the pool for their workout. Except, rather than workout Ry was more like one of those floating chlorine containers you leave in the pool with the little weight at the bottom, bobbing around. My parents would put the appropriate floatation devices on him and drop him in the pool during some practices. The girls would swim around him or stop to play with him and everyone was happy. Ry also loved when my dad would plunk him off the diving board, and then he would pop up and bob around some more.
Flash forward several years to when I was swimming for my high school team. My dad had always helped me out with swimming, coaching me just a bit and offering tips. At one point he offered to tape me in one of my meets so I could see where I needed to improve. This is the first time I had ever seen myself in my Speedo and at a meet as a teenager. I was momentarily embarrassed for the girl in lane 6, bent over on the starting block, who seemed to be all gangly arms and legs, until my dad pointed out that I was the girl in lane 6. Then I was mortified.
Anyway, in addition to helping me out and offering some advice my dad offered to help out one of our more talented divers on my team. My high school swim team had gone through quite a few coaches and though there were several girls with talent on the team, it was hard to get the best out of them with so many coaching changes. So my dad offered to help one of our divers, who was also the number one gymnast in the state, to see if she could also be the best diver in the state.
When we finally decided on a date when my dad would come in, I began to panic just a little bit. Remember the first part of the story where I say my Dad was a swimmer himself years past? Well, as a result of that he got pretty comfortable practicing and racing and 30 years later, that remained unchanged. In this story I am 16, and everything is embarrassing when you are 16, and this was no exception. I had dealt with this issue in years past when my parents would take friends and I to the beach, and my dad would bust out his Speedo to go swimming. I eventually got over it because these were my friends, and they new my dad was a great, very normal guy, who liked Speedos because of his swimming background. But now the whole team would see my dad in a Speedo.
Finally the day comes for my dad to go with me to practice and I remind him to bring something to put on over his Speedo when he is not in the pool. I have come to terms with the Speedo wearing, but not the Speedo wearing while coaching. My dad was a great help, and he did eventually get on the diving board to show the diver a thing or too. For a moment I was so overwhelmingly proud of my 49 year old dad showing this high school athlete how it’s done, that I forgot I was trying to block out the memory.
Finally the pool portion of instruction was done. I reminded my dad to put on what he brought to cover up and he did.
He pulled out and put on his powder blue corduroy shorts, that he had cut himself from a pair of powder blue corduroy pants that had seen better days. You win this round. Bruce.
I love my Dad.
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Destroying a Bike
My childhood was rather ideal and much like you would see in a movie. I would spend my weekends riding my bike 10 minutes to my best friend Sam’s house where we would spend hours doing whatever we felt like because we were good kids, who got good grades, and our parents trusted us. Or had yard work and house work to tend to. Either way. In the time we spent being good kids, we would find things like old Cabbage Patch Kid Doll heads and throw them in the road in hopes of them getting run over. Why everyone always spotted the large object in the road and the two giggling 10 year old girls next to it was beyond us at that point. We also would take hours conducting seances, wandering around in the local cemetery (home to a famous murderer woman accused of murder), playing “light as a feather, stiff as a board” and just generally trying to make contact with the under world, you know, typical stuff.
This post is supposed to be about the demise of a bike, but in fleshing out the details, I seem to have hit on the fact that my best friend Sam and I may have enjoyed dabbling in the occult. Anyway back to the bike.
I would always bike to Sam’s house and she would get a ride to mine. In the latter part of my childhood years, I somehow shared a bike with my dad. This is thanks to the fact that the seat was majorly adjustable and I am majorly lanky. Nonetheless, I had a great bike and Sam was still waiting on a new one.One birthday, Sam got that bike. We were so excited at the opportunities ahead of us. We took the bike all over Sam’s neighborhood the first day, and eventually decided to ride back to my house together. As my long arms and legs maneuvered my bike, Sam was riding ahead of me. She slowed down to take a high curb and I wasn’t paying attention and then it happened. I rammed my bike into Sam’s new bike tire, completely warping it. One day in and her bike was unrideable. The rest of our days were spent with me riding to her house.
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Short Stories: Bathroom
After my blissful freshman year of living in one of the new dorm buildings on campus, I was shuffled along to where the upperclassmen left on campus lived: buildings from the 60’s that had to have been designed by MC Escher (thanks 30Rock!) This building had four main towers A,B,C,D all of which had suites in them labeled in to 100s followed by another A,B,C or D. I lived in A200B. None of this makes and I am not sure how any of us managed to find our dorm room after stumbling back from a party, or the bathroom even.
After moving in a finding my parents wandering around other towers with my TV in hand in a failed attempt to find my room, I shared a suite with three of my best friends and we all shared one bathroom. The bathroom was lovely painted concreted, an extremely old shower, a sink that smelled like vomit (in the sink’s defense, it only smelled like vomit after someone vomited in it) and a lighting fixture filled with bugs. Never the less countless hours were spent in that bathroom between the four or us showering, getting ready or, you know, vomiting.
The Shower Stand
Since there were four girls sharing one shower, there was a lot of shower products that needed a resting place. Our suite area was private, and you would only have to walk through it if you lived there, or if you eventually figured out that girls were running around in their underwear yelling and drinking each weekend. But, because of this privacy, we were able to leave all of our items in the shower without fear of being stolen, so long as we had somewhere to put them. Enter the tension rod shower caddy. It was a big tension rod with 4 little shelves on it. The rod was placed between the tub and the ceiling and we loaded it up with countless bottles of shampoo and shower gels. It was the perfect solution, and perfect warning system.
The first time it warned of us something, my roommate Christina was showering, drunk. Across the hall we heard a huge crashing sound in the bathroom. She had accidentally kicked the tension rod out of place sending everything crashing down. We all thought it was hilarious. Soon Val kicked down the rod under similar drunken circumstances. Hilarious. Then, it just became a thing. If you were drunk and showering, kicking the rod out of place was the thing to do. It let people know you were ready to party or going to be the girl who need to be carried home that night with her shoes on the wrong feet.
Watching your suite-mates run in to scoop up their shampoos and soaps was an added bonus.
Urine Overhead
This dorm building was old and not without its problems. One problem was that a group of guys who lived above us and loved to flood their bathroom. We have no idea how they managed to do it so frequently, but they were pros. When they would flood their bathroom, a nice trickle of urine water would come down our wall. Sometimes we would be around, others not. We knew it had happened by our soaking wet bath mat in front of the toilet. It was always pleasant on bare feet. One particular flood totally flooded our bathroom and the room below us, also soaking the hallway carpet and adding to the ambiance of the whole place. The university actually had someone clean up after this flood and it looked like they had done a good job, until the day I started staring at the light above the toilet. It was a square plastic fixture bolted to the ceiling that had its share of bugs, and now, I noticed, it was filled with water. Why would it be filled with…oh dear god! It’s urine water!!
For the rest of the year we took our lives in our hands everytime we used the toilet and prayed that today would not be the day that the plastic gave way and urine water soaked our hair with our pants around our ankles. We probably should’ve been afraid that an electrical light socket was filled with water, but hey, urine water seemed like a more direct threat.
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Oh, the hurdles. The great equalizer. If you’ve never watched a track meet or enjoyed some schadenfreude on YouTube, you may not know that the hurdle can and will take anyone down without notice or respect for their athletic abilities. They certainly will have no restraint for a gangly 14 year old girl, either.
My freshman year of high school I was tricked into joining the track team by a good friend. I had grown up swimming year round, but now that I was in high school, the swim season was just a few short months, leaving me with several months throughout the school year to putter around. The friend encouraged me to join by telling me that really anyone can run, but more importantly that I would be bored after school while all of my friends did their winter sports.
I agreed and told my parents about my decision, was proud, eventually cried about it and kept on. This pattern can be applied to anything in my life, such a jobs, new pursuits, moves, colleges choices, you name it. The pattern is decide, announce, cry and persevere. Except when it came to the flute. I quit that shit no problem, no need to persevere.
Back to winter track. One thing I learned quickly once signing up for track is that while most people can run from, say, a maniac wielding a knife or a crossing light that is flashing that orange hand, running consistently isn’t something that is a simple “can do” for most. Self included. The first time I ran a full mile outside, my lungs burned so bad I was convinced I was bleeding internally. Screw distance running, it was short events for me! I should’ve countered this impulse decision with the fact I have never won a short foot race in my life, never the first on to “goo” and often got outran and tagged in free the box.
Winter track at my high school was a no-cut sport. So people like me would join the team and coaches would try to fill in the spots of the events and see where you fit. If they got lucky, they either found out your were pretty good or you just stopped bothering them. I started out with the 300, which is a short race, but not the shortest. I finished second to last consistently (which isn’t the worst, but again, “no-cut” sport, you can imagine the people I was beating). So it was time to mix things up. Next came my flirtation with the 600. Third to last each time. Alright! Clearly I wasn’t cut out for either event, as I didn’t have much speed over the short course. But I did (still do!) have long legs. My coach noticed this and ignored the fact that I didn’t know much how to control them and invited me to try out some hurdles in practice. We practiced first in a hallway off of the gym and I managed to clear the hurdle a few times with out severely injuring myself. After a few days of this, it was time to practice around the track.
Being in New England and it being winter, most sports practiced inside, many at the same time. While the hurdles were being set up around the indoor track, the girls basketball teams (frosh, jv and varsity teams) were leaving the courts that were in the center of the track so that the boys teams could practice. This meant that six teams, all levels, were in the gym, possibly watching what was going on on the track at that time. My older brother was also a senior on the basketball team and was now doubt pretending that the gangly uncoordinated girl with a panicked look on her face wasn’t his sister.
The reason for the panicked look is that the hurdle requires you to gain speed and launch yourself over it, without catching your back foot and falling flat on your face. Even if you know me as a slightly more coordinated adult now, none of these things seem like something I can do. After getting uncomfortable sweaty palms and sizing up the hurdles, it was my turn to try to clear a few hurdles in a row.
I think the trauma of the event has been blocked out so I am not even sure that I cleared one hurdle before it all started to go wrong. Either way, in front of several basketball teams, I kicked the hurdle over and got my legs tangled before I even had a chance to clear it. I slid forward onto my hands and knees until I landed on my face.
Mortified by what had just happened, I lay on my stomach and thought what would be the best damage control. So I obviously gave a thumbs up. I like to pretend my friend Sarah on the basketball team saw the thumbs up but she either didn’t or was also pretending not to know me. Someone who did seem to know me was my brother’s teammate who promptly ran over to me, while I was still lying on the ground and yelled
“Oh SHIT! That’s Morell’s sister!” Pointing and laughter ensued. Not by me.
Valuable lesson is, no matter how long your legs are, it doesn’t make up for the fact your are uncoordinated.
Also the friction caused from eating shit on an indoor track will melt a hole in the knee of your wind pants. And you will keep wearing them for the rest of the season.
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Potpourri of Awkwardness
Learning how to prove a point
I was eight years old and visiting my grandparents in Florida with my family. I had just started on the swim team and my dad, a former swimmer, was trying to give his adorable eight year old a few tips. I took in the tips, struggled with them, and then became frustrated because I wanted to play and not work on my stroke. My dad and I had a brief back and forth which included him telling me something inspiring about working hard and practicing. I wasn’t having it and wanted to pout, but where should I go to pout? I was in a pool, but I still needed to prove a point. So, I folded my arms and sat at the bottom of the pool. About 30 seconds later, my father won.
Nicole takes a tumble
Growing up, I rode my bike everywhere. Starting at around 13 years of age, I began sharing my 6’3” father’s bike. It was a little tall to hop onto but I always managed and it was really nice Schwinn. One day I got a new bike seat, so I was testing it out. I wasn’t actually riding the bike, but kind of sitting on it, balancing and testing it out. For some reason, I began to lose my balance. I couldn’t hop of the bike due to it being so tall and couldn’t twist to really break my fall. So straight down to the left I went. It wasn’t a bad fall, nothing broke, but I noticed my leg was covered in blood, and the inside of my knee was stinging. I looked and noticed a ½ circle of skin missing, and a pretty deep chunk at that. So I did what anyone would do and went screaming into the house for my mom. The rest of this story my mother denies happening to this day. It happened. She surveyed my wound and said “Wow, you might need stiches, can you find the chunk?”
So there I was crawling around on my knees looking for my chunk of flesh in the back yard. I never did find it. I never did get stiches. The scar looked pretty nasty for a while, and now it just looks like a chunk is missing from my leg, because, well, it is. The dénouement of this story comes every time my mother looks at the scar and says “We really should’ve gotten stitches in that.” Yeah.
Who needs enemies?
My friend Sam and I have been BFF’s since we were about 6. We have been through many hilarious stories and injuries together–this story combines both. Sam and I did musical theater together in the summers and loved it. One year we actually wrote, starred in and directed our own play. Maybe I will get into the plot of it another Thursday. Anyway, each summer there is a big performance at the end with all the kids involved doing some singing and dancing crap. This year one performance included singing ‘Grand Old Flag’ complete with small American flags each of us had. To change songs, the flags were passed and collected through all of us to someone on the side of the stage. I was at the edge of the stage so all of the flags from the stage would be passed to me. Sam was to my left. She quickly passed all of the little flags on little poles to me. Directly into my eye. I was promptly pulled of stage to make sure she didn’t permanently blind me. I can still hear Sam’s mom saying “Who needs enemies with friends like these?”
Flipper
I was a bad baby. My parents told me that if they had had me first instead of my brother, I would’ve been an only child. They nicknamed me Flipper, because if you even so much a creaked open the door to my bedroom I would start crying and rolling around. My dad said I had a strong will and knew I would use it for good or for evil. My mom said it was because I was just so smart and sick of being a baby. God I love those people. Anyway, cut to my mom’s birthday while I am a baby. She is changing me, there is an ice cream cake waiting to celebrate her birthday out on the table. She turns to grab a diaper for a split second. I spaz and roll off the table onto the ground. I broke my tiny little arm. My mother starts crying hysterically as any good mom would. My brother who is 3 or 4 at the time starts running around screaming that my arm is going to fall off. My father calmly collects all of us and puts us in the car to the hospital. I get a tiny little cast on my right arm limiting my mobility a bit. The ice cream cake melted all over the table and my mom feels guilty to this day. I did stop sucking my thumb in record time.
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For My Grandmother
My wonderful grandmother passed away a month an a half ago, at 91 years of age. She was the thoughest woman I know, and I am so lucky to have known her. She made me giggle a lot, smile a lot and taught me a lot. Some of which may have been some old wives tales.
She was also the kind of woman who:
- Bought anything and everything buy one get one, and kept bags of groceries waiting for us. She lived through the Depression, a deal is a deal, can’t pass it up and you don’t know when the next bad turn might happen.
- Kept the Oreos in her convection oven, because she didn’t care or know how to use it.
- Would sweep the sidewalk in front of her house in curlers and slippers.
- Who lived independently til she was 85 years old, missing living on her own everyday after
- Was friends with everyone in the neighborhood. Friends who she would describe by their nationality, the Puerto Rican family, her Portuguese neighbors…
- Taught me that Cracklin Oatbran is the best cereal ever.
- Let me know that 3 inches of water was all you needed to take a bath. (Depression shining through again)
- Would pull the covers off from on top of my head, afraid I was going to suffocate myself.
She was wonderful, and will be greatly missed. I love you, Gram. 8.27.19-11.23.10
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On nudity and white asses
Let’s jump into this one shall we? I sleep naked, I prefer being naked. I wasn’t always this way, college made me this way.
My freshman year of college my friends and I signed up to play Oozeball. Oozeball is volleyball in the mud. The college I went to offered a pre-vet program and Turf and Grass management majors so there was alot of fields and grass on campus. Once a year they dug up one of these fields and hosed it down until it was about 4 inches deep with mud. At this point I assume you are all thinking a cat fight broke out, me and some chick wrestled each other’s clothes and manhandled each other in the mud and that’s how I became a somewhat nudist…not quite. But if smut stories is all you are here for, please leave a comment and I will be sure to include more.
Anyway, this Ooozeball took place on my campus at the end of April/ beginning of May in Rhode Island. Who needs sunscreen at this time of year in New England? Well after 4 hours of playing volleyball in the mud I scored my self and AMAZING sunburn on one half of my body. I was exhausted and it was already starting to hurt. All my clothes irritated it. Luckily my churchy (we’ll cover that later) roommate was out of town so I decided to sleep naked. It was glorious. After months of sleeping in the same room as a complete stranger, I now had the freedom to be naked. My roommate later returned and I went back to clothes sleeping. But that summer I never slept with clothes on and haven’t looked back since.
As such, getting up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night is a confusing experience. I am half awake, fumbling for my robe or just running and hoping I don’t run into a roommate in the hall. Which I have before, luckily I have lived with all best friends since then, so what’s a little boob between friends? Now any chance I get I am naked. Whenever my roommate is out of town, you better believe I am not wearing clothes. Working from home one day? Yep, no pants.
There is one caveat to my nudity. My white ass. That thing has never seen the light of day. I mean there is only a small-ish area that is white since my bathing suit bottom always creeps up my ass. But the first time being with a new dude, I am not ashamed of my body, just my pale ass. And you best believe I will grab my robe to cover it before letting new dude see it. Oh well, there is always nude beaches to tan that baby up! Luckily there is one not far from my house!
So yes, this is how I came to love being naked–try it sometime wont you? And the reason I am writing this today is that the roommate and I are hopefully moving to an apartment where I would get a bathroom right off my bedroom. Meaning, oh yes, more naked time.
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Ruining lives since 1985
So let’s discuss a little interesting fact about myself. I have been single the majority of my life. I have dated around quite a bit, but nothing has lasted longer than 3 or 4 months since high school. Unless you count 4 years of on again off again hooking up with a good friend, which I don’t, unless I am trying to fit in. Anyway, this is a fact I am mostly fine with, and something I have done to myself pretty much. I am very independent and even more so as a result of so much single time. I also have a tendency to set my mind to what I want, and not let go until I have it. As people a prying my fingers one by one off of what I want I am still there, crying and holding on. So I have a tendency to do this with men, which keeps me away from other potential suitors. I mean I think I was “in love” with Mr. OnAgainOffAgain for probably 2 years of it.
Upon moving to SD, I willingly got into another one of these situations which finally ended after a year of hooking up, fake dates, and holding back feelings on both sides. He finally actually started dating someone he met on Match.com. Yep. Oh an I guessed that too. I asked his new boring-ass g/f how they met and she said friend of a friend. Yeah, what a bitch for referring to the internet like that. The internet is everyone’s close friend and should never be referred to as a friend of a friend. So anywho, with the proverbial band aid ripped off, I jumped back into the dating pool.
Holy shit, that pool is like my parents’ pool come the end of winter. All the floats you used to “winter” it are warped, half deflated basketballs and and the cover didn’t really do its job and the whole thing is filled with dead leaves anyway.
But let me tell you, I am a halfway decent looking and very outgoing and personable so I have no issue with guys talking to me or asking me out. I have an issue with myself, and finding one of these lame asses I actually like.
So the first guy to step up to the challenge was Tom. Tom had more of a chance than most because I went up to him. I am a chooser, so I have far better luck with guys I approach or ones I stare at enough and send enough vibes to until they approach me. But honestly, I am more the proactive type. Tom was tall, funny, got my humor and a former college football player. I was already excited in a number of ways. After downing some cheap champagne I was more in love, not because I was drunk, but because I love champagne and anyone who will put it down with me. We hopped to the next bar and Tom insisted on paying $20 to get us to the front of the line. More points. We danced the night away and went our separate ways. We went on a date the following Wednesday. It went well, I wasn’t sure if he thought I hated him because my intense personality, talking with my hands and general firey-ness are often misinterpreted in SoCal. Little did I know, I already had him hooked.
We were supposed to hang out again the next week, but never made definite plans so when he texted me that day, I said I was just going home and I would meet with him on Saturday or maybe Friday, no big deal. So I meet up with him later on Friday night. We both were celebrating friends birthday’s earlier in the night, so naturally he was drunk and I was stone sober and obnoxiously full. He immediately brings up our “date” I broke. I never knew if was solid plans. He takes things a little seriously, the first flag goes up. We end up dancing the night away and he is becoming more entertaining. I partially chose my men based on entertainment value, a fact that is sure to haunt me later in life. But he wont stop bringing up the “date” I broke. So the night ends and he asks me back to his place to cuddle and then have breakfast.
I say a stern “no” based on the fact he used the word cuddle. And that he does not live with in walking distance so escape would be difficult. Well, someone took massive offense to that and let me walk home alone. Strike one. He then texts me all night saying he likes me and he doesn’t normally like anyone and he doesn’t know how to read me and blah blah blah. Dude, I like you enough to hang out with you. I like my hands and face enough to not go home with a somewhat stranger who could mangle them too. Hands and face always win! Drama continues, he calls me at like 2am and we discuss this. Drama DRAMA.
The next day, wanting to smooth things over I shoot him a text to see what he is up to. He says he is day drinking and staying in the beach neighborhood while I have plans to head downtown. Perfect. Well I get downtown later that night and he texts me saying he is headed there too. Guess where he is line for? The bar I am already at. A little scary but fine. I show him off to a few friends but maintain a little distance because I am still celebrating said friend’s bday and friends are the priority. The whole crew then switches bars and I tell Tom where we are going but no need to follow. Who is there immediately after us? Tom. He proceeds to be all over me all night, like kisses on the cheek, hugging, standing over me (all form a guy I met two weeks ago) and gets mad at me for not spending enough time with him on my friends bday.
Yes strikes 2, 3 and 4. He then asks me to his place again, and when I say no he gets pissed and calls me a solid 12 times in a row. I am no terrified. Possesive people scare me. I have found a pattern of guys realizing I am different and then wanting to hold on so tight. Well, what makes me different is my independnce — so as such, this ain’t gonna work.
Bye Tom. Nice knowing you. Sorry I made you fall in love with me and ran a away screaming, but you’re not the first. Stay tuned for a few dates I actually break, yeah those get good.
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Sorry about abandoning you once again, blog world. This is probably why I don’t have a boyfriend. Anywho, as I sit here rocking back and forth after a devastating loss, I figured I would say hello. The Patriots just lost my one point. I almost threw up. I was at my good friend’s house enjoying the game, and if you want to know the one simple trick to getting your house guests to leave here it is: having the team they are all rooting for lose. We were out of there so fast. Why stick around and cry in the presence of others, when you can curl up in the fetal position and cry alone?
As I walked back towards my house in my Welker jersey, all I could think was “If anyone says anything to me about the game, I will tell them I am going to stab them.” The I thought, “Can you get arrested for threatening someone like that? Maybe I will just tell them to shut up.” Better plan. Luckily no body said anything. Some of you are probably wondering why strangers yelling at me is any concern, because who does that? Everybody. Somehow being in San Diego and a Pats fan causes me to be in enemy territory. I can’t imagine why. Maybe it has something to do with us always ruining their dreams of making it to the Super Bowl. I don’t know…:).
But anyway, there really is no point to this post other than trying to make people feel bad for me. I guess life isn’t so bad if the only thing causing me to curl up and bawl is a team of large men. Well, that sounded terrible. If only I could be so lucky to have Tom Brady make me cry. A girl can dream…
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Do you know who Jack Handy is? You should. He doesn’t really exist though. He is a man of many great quotes that were short segments on SNL during the 90′s. Some of these quotes are directly responsible for people thinking I was hilarious during my sophomore year of college. These people just checked my AIM away messages where I keep these gems and did not credit the great man. His quotes are awesome, I love them, and you should too. Here are just a few favorites.
“I hope that someday we will be able to put away our fears and prejudices and just laugh at people.”
“The next time I have meat and mashed potatoes, I think I’ll put a very large blob of potatoes on my plate with just a little piece of meat. And if someone asks me why I didn’t get more meat, I’ll just say, “Oh, you mean this?” and pull out a big piece of meat from inside the blob of potatoes, where I’ve hidden it. Good magic trick, huh?”
“Somebody told me it was frightening how much topsoil we are losing each year, but I told that story around the campfire and nobody got scared”
“I bet a fun thing would be to go way back in time to where there was going to be an eclipse and tell the cave men, “If I have come to destroy you, may the sun be blotted out from the sky.” Just then the eclipse would start, and they’d probably try to kill you or something, but then you could explain about the rotation of the moon and all, and everyone would get a good laugh.”
“When I was a kid my favorite relative was Uncle Caveman. After school we’d all go play in his cave, and every once in a while he would eat one of us. It wasn’t until later that I found out that Uncle Caveman was a bear.”
“Kids love jokes, s one day I told my 7 year old nephew that I would take him to disney world. Instead, I drove him to a burned out warehouse and said, “uh oh, Disney World burned down.” He cried and cried, but deep down I bet he thought it was pretty funny.”
In other news, I won my first fantasy football game. It was pretty exciting, but there is a good chance I am going to get spanked this week. There is a New England/ Boston sports bar not far from our apartment and we go there for Pats games since they aren’t broadcast out here. In case you are unaware, the Pats beat the favored Ravens this weekend. I have Derrick Mason of the Ravens on my fantasy team and he made and awesome TD catch. Everyone at the bar was pissed, I threw up my arms in elation, everyone shot me dirty looks. Fantasy football is so conflicting and a wave of emotions, but again, I love it.
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