More Sal-isms

Oh, that Sally....

On the phone with my mom;
Me, "Do you happen to know where my 5th grade school photo would be?"
Sal, "I don't know. What does it look like?"
Ummmm....

I guess that got her looking through her boxes of photos, because not long after our conversation, my phone started blowing up with texts from my mom of old pictures of me (none of them being my 5th grade school picture, however).
Me, via text, "Ugh. Why didn't the damn dentist ever put braces on me? Ew."
Sal's text response, "Because you didn't need them, snaggletooth!"

The year after I graduated from college, I had moved back in with good ol' Sally. One day, we were at Target together and I put a package of mint creme Oreos in her cart. I'm not quite sure how I got away with getting them home, but somehow I managed. 
Here's the thing, I only like the inside part of the Oreo. The cookie is a waste of my time. If my half-sister, Olivia, isn't around to eat the cookie part for me (she doesn't like the inside part. We're a perfect Oreo match), I will eat the middle out, stick the two cookies back together, and put them back in the package. I don't want to waste them! I figure someone has to eventually come along who isn't too grossed out and eat my discarded cookies. It's bound to happen.
Day 1 of Oreo Heaven, I ate the creme filling out of a good 7 or 8 cookies, putting their chocolate cookie carcasses back in the package. When I got home from work the next day, I went to find the box of Oreos, but they were no where in sight. Later, when my mom got home, I asked her, "Hey, Sal, where'd you hide the Oreos?"
"Oh, I decided that we didn't need that garbage in our house, so I took them into school and gave them to a co-worker."
"Umm, did you happen to check inside before you gave them away?"
Sal, "No, why?"
After explaining my Oreo eating habits to her, her eyes got huge. "Oh my gosh!" But then burst into a fit of laughter. "I'll have to go ask my co-worker how she liked those cookies tomorrow!"
I hope she enjoyed them. 

My mother has a tendency to buy cards (birthday, Christmas, Hanukkah, whatever she finds funny or appropriate for any particular reason or individual) and then just stick them in a big box in our house. Her intentions are good, which is to use them, but there is no rhyme, reason, or organization of any sort to this box, so the cards simply continue to fill up the box, year after year.
Every once in awhile, Mom will realize, "Oh crap! It's so-and-so's birthday!" and take out the box to go through cards, trying to find an appropriate card for that person. Last year, a couple days after my twin cousins, Ana and Cristina's birthday, I sat with Sally as she went through her card box, card by card. She re-laughed at some of the cards she had bought in the past years of her life, remembering some, but having no recollection of others, so the joke was just as new and hilarious as the first time she read it. She was a bit stressed at this point, because she had promised Ana and Cristina the year before that she wouldn't be late this year (ha). 
Finally, she pulls out a "Happy Belated Birthday" card. "Oh!" she says, "I bought this card for Ana a couple years ago!"
The card read, "Sorry I missed your birthday" on the front. I told Sal to just write "in 2004" on it and call it a day. Easy enough. The envelope was already addressed, stamped and ready to go. It had been floating around in the Well Intentioned Card Box for who knows how long, just waiting to be signed and sent to Ana. And really, can't a belated birthday card be sent out at any time of the year?
I am not lying about this at all. My mother put the card back in the box and sent Ana a different one.

Inappropriate Things to Say to Make a Seemingly Appropriate Situation Awkward

The following are some statements that I have actually said out loud, after being given relatively normal news. This is not a joke, it is purely confirmation of my awkward and, many times, inappropriate ways. I hope you get a laugh, and don't get insulted. Here you go....

Friend; "I'm pregnant."

Immediate response from me, "Are you ok?!!"

Male; "I'm gay."

Me; "Congratulations!"

Cousin, Male; "I'm gay."

Me; "Oh, great. Everyone probably thinks I'm a lesbian."

Friend; "I'm Jewish."

"Oh, my God! I LOVE bagels!"

And the winner is....

Boyfriend;  "I really like you, Lindsay Anderson."

Me; "I really like you too, (insert full name of his brother here)."

Well, that was awkward. Please note:  I did NOT have a crush on his brother, I guess his brother's name just rolled off the tongue a bit more easily. We are no longer dating.

Brought to You by the Number 12

There are a couple songs that I will randomly, yet consistently, get stuck in my head. For example, the intro to Eye of the Tiger gets stuck in my noodle ALL THE TIME. Most frequently when I am exercising or doing anything that could be considered challenging, but always when I am climbing stairs (obvi). Click here if you need inspiration/annoyance in your life. Close your eyes and just listen though, because Survivor's video for this song is probably the most uninspiring thing you could imagine. Except I want to jump in the sack with that keyboard player. Ooh-la-la!

Among my many other unfailing "ear worms", is the Ladybug Picnic song. Don't know it? Well, you obviously weren't a Sesame Street kid. Or maybe it's just because you didn't have good ol' Sally for a mom. I think that she heard the song while I was watching the ever-wonderful Sesame Street and it got stuck in her head, therefore singing it randomly and bam! forever in her daughter's head and heart. Anytime I hear someone say, "1, 2, 3," I instantly think, "4, 5, 6,...7, 8, 9,...10, 11, 12, and the ladybugs came, to the ladybug picnic!" Every. Time.

Those were the only words I remembered, though. Until the other day, when I was searching YouTube for a specific Don Music clip (another Sesame Street reference) and came across the glorious Ladybug Picnic song. I was dying. This song is hilarious! I felt that I needed to share it with the 4 or 5 people who read my blog. I hope that you get a good laugh out of it too.

Many of you may not know this, but one of my goals in life is to meet a Muppet. I would also love to write for a children's show, and this musical cartoon just reconfirms that. You can pretty much say the most ridiculous things, put it to an upbeat tune with some bright colors and you've got yourself a hit. Kids are simple. That's part of why they are way more fun than complicated adults. 

Anyway, hope you enjoy, and maybe donate some furniture to some ladybugs near you, because I hear household items are outrageously priced for them.  But they can tell a mean knock-knock joke.

A Million Little Pieces; Confessions of my Broccoli Bender

               

                I have a confession; I can cook. I’m not proud of it and I have been trying to hide it for years. But I can. And I’m pretty decent too.  

                Yes, there have been some discrepancies. There was the early morning incident, where I fumbled around in the cupboards of my dimly lit apartment for the cinnamon, but when I took a big bite of my oatmeal, I realized that the spice that I had accidentally used was cayenne pepper.

                Then there was the time when I was making a funfetti cake for a friend’s birthday but I was out of vegetable oil.  Note to my readers; olive oil DOES NOT equal vegetable oil* I like to call that a not-so-funfetti cake followed by store-bought cupcakes. Rookie mistake.

                There have been a few defining moments in my life when I realized that I was getting old. The first was when I realized that I was beginning to enjoy Sheryl Crow’s music. Then one day I found myself watching home improvement shows on HGTV and I had a minor panic attack (which could have been a heart attack judging from the assumed age of any HGTV-watcher). Now I am consistently finding grey hairs on my head and have also found that I don’t mind cooking and preparing meals. I think that I might even like it. What is this world coming to? The minute I start wearing bright red lipstick and calling people “sonny,” I will assume the end is near.

                I keep an incredibly tidy house too.  The military has nothing on me. Nothing is out of place. For three years I asked my mom for a label-maker before she realized that I was serious and gave me one for my birthday. Best present ever. With a skeptical look on their faces, people ask me, “What are you going to label?” Are you kidding me?! What am I not going to label?! My house is like a robber’s dream come true, just go straight for the good stuff, it’s not hard to locate. You can find anything in my house, no problem.

                But how does this happen? I’ve spent a lifetime steering clear of any hint of housewife-y-ness. I have also spent the last ten years of my life trying not to become an adult. I used to hate broccoli when I was a kid. Now I can’t get enough of it! Make this adult-y-ness stop! What’s next? Dentures? Wrinkles? “Mom jeans”? Children???

                The only way that I can think to combat this inevitable demise is to keep my hair long and my jeans low. I have also had a sudden urge to start a garden, but will cross that bridge when I get to it. So until then, if you have any good recipes that you would like to send me…AUGH! No! I mean, let the dish sit in the sink for more than five minutes….it’s fiiiine….

               

*Vegetable and canola oil are both derived from vegetables and can be interchangeable in recipes. Olives are a fruit and this oil is not acceptable for most baked goods. Read about it here.

The Continuous Posting of Conversations I've Had With My Mom

"I was watching something today and I'm going to tell you about it. You can make fun of me on your stupid blog if you want."
Don't mind if I do Mom-io. Don't mind if I do.

I frequently go through Sal's refrigerator when I go home. She tends to forget stuff is in there.
"Can I throw these fuzzy green tortillas and slimy mushrooms away or are you conducting some sort of science experiment?"
Sal, "Science experiment."
"So then it's safe to assume that this is on its way to becoming a fine cheese and is not spoiled milk?"
"You got it, kid!"

Mom, "So, I've decided that I am not going to eat bacon anymore. I saw on Dr. Oz that one of the best ways to a healthy heart is to quit eating bacon."
Me, "I can't remember the last time I even saw you eat bacon."
"Well, I figure it won't be too difficult!"

And one of my favorites,
"If you're not nice, I'm going to use your toothbrush on your dog while you're out of the house!"

The Time My Mother Made Me Eat a Dog Treat

This is a story about the time my mother made me eat a dog treat. Yes, that wonderful Sally O’Malley, who you all love so much, forced me to eat a treat designed specifically for canines. And it is for this reason that if I ever write a book it will not be dedicated to her, because of this episode of child abuse.

It was back during my high school years, back when it was easier and more likely that a child would be abused by their parent. It’s years later when the roles are reversed, and as the parent ages, children are more able to abuse them. I threaten Sal all the time that I will not hesitate to put her in a home the first chance I get. And not one of those ritzy ones, but the old folk homes that make headline news because their residents are getting neglected and abused. Force me to eat a dog treat and you’ll be spending your Golden Years eating cat food. You’ve been warned.

Anyway, I was downstairs in the bedroom and adjoining TV area that was my teenage dungeon during what I like to call my “genius years” (because that is exactly what I thought I was). I was lying on the couch, watching MTV, or some other teenage garbage, avoiding homework and attempting to be as lazy as possible on that rainy afternoon. The greyness of the outdoors made my cement basement area even more dungeonesque, with its ground level windows letting in what little light the rainclouds would allow to shine through them. This all seemed to match so well with my lovely teenage personality (not lovely at all).

Sal had been out running errands that day, and I was perfectly content to have the house to myself. Not that it really mattered, since I had confined myself to the basement TV anyway, but at least I didn’t have my mom constantly trying to talk to me.  When Sally got home she yelled “hi” down the stairs to me. I yelled an unenthusiastic “hey” back up to her, my eyes never wavering from the television. After the commotion of putting all the groceries away subsided, Mom came tromping down the stairs with something in her hands.

“Here, try this.” She said, handing over whatever was in her hand. I glanced up at it, skeptically. It resembled some sort of biscuit/cookie concoction.

“No, thanks.” I responded, eyes going back to the TV.

“Just try it! I just got them at the store.” She continued.

“No, thanks. I don’t want any.”

“Come on! Just try it! They’re really good!”

“MOM. I’m not hungry. I don’t want any.”

“Just take a bite. Come on. They’re good.” She insisted.

Oh, my God. I knew my only option to get her out of my hair was to just take a damn bite.

“Ugh. Fine.” I said, snatching the biscuit out of her hand and taking a small bite out of it. I instantly let it fall out of my mouth and into my other hand. It tasted like flour. Not sweet or cookie-like at all. “Ew. It’s gross.” I said and handed the remains of the cookie and the rejected bite back to her.

“AHAHAHAHAHHAHAA!” Sal cracked up. “It’s a dog treat! HAHAHAHAHA”

I stared at her with my unimpressed teenage eyes. “You’re hilarious.” I stated, rolling my eyes and going back to my MTV. I couldn’t let her win. I would not laugh. I must act annoyed. Through her boisterous giggling, she explained that she had bought them for Steve (our dog) at some all natural dog bakery that had just opened. They were made of flour, molasses, and other natural boring crap which is how she conjured up this “hilarious” prank. I knew the persistent pushing to get me to eat this thing was a bit suspicious. I’ve now explained to her that she really could have played out this practical joke much better than that (although I guarantee I would have had the same reaction).

To this day she still cracks up when I tell this story (to friends, not CPS, although the thought has crossed my mind a time or twelve). And although I am past my teenage years, I still have the same eye-roll-with-a-bored-sigh response. I put a fake cockroach in her bed once, years before the dog treat incident, and she nearly had a heart attack. Now there’s a prank I can laugh at! Alas, I guess the dog treat was payback for me. But that also means that the ball is in my court now…hmmm…