Post #100

This is monumental. Tonight I am sitting here writing my 100th post to this blog. I have written about my disastrous dating life, meeting and dealing with stupid people, human rights, my family, posted pictures, and the most important thing to me in the world, my friends.

In honor of post #100 and a milestone, I am going to do some random blogging. I just couldn't decide which topic should be the focus.

Family

A couple of days ago at work, I used my dad as an example of a NABABNA customer. He's the organized, normal person. A banker asked me what my dad was like.

My response, "He's normal, organized. He likes things to make sense and he's very logical and smart. He's funny and a great father."

The banker said to me, "He sounds very nice. What's your mom like?"

My response (I'm so sorry), "She's a freak."

In defense, my mom is a freak, but she's a super cool freak and she has her responsible side. She called me a week ago and she was crying.

B: "Mom, why are you crying?"

M: "I bought jeans today."

B: "Did they not fit or something?"

M: "No, they're bell bottoms!!!"

As a child of the late sixties and seventies, I guess flare jeans are something she just doesn't want anymore. Side note: one of my favorite outfits involves big flares and a shirt I swear hung in my mom's closet twenty years ago.

Another story about my mom and this may not be suitable for children.

My mother has a bit of defiant streak in her. The house where she lives (and I lived in) is adjacent to an Alcoholics Anonymous building. A war has been waged. She didn't start the fire, but she didn't put it out either.

The people from AA tend to dispose of their garbage over the fence into my mom's backyard. Since my mom doesn't like the devaluation of her property due to her backyard becoming a waste dump, she tends to yell at the random people in the parking lot, telling them to keep their crap and use a real dumpster.

Imagine my surprise, waking up one afternoon (I worked nights already), walking upstairs and finding my mother, standing in the backyard. This would not be so amusing except for the fact of what she was doing while she was standing in the backyard.

My mother, a woman only five foot four and petite, is standing facing the AA building. She is screaming, "You f-ing pr*cks! Keep your G-d*m sh*t out of my backyard. You stupid, ignorant c*cks! What the f*ck!" (Yes, she can make truck drivers and ex-marines blush.)

This is bad enough. If this was all I had seen, I would have chalked it up to a normal day. What makes the site of my mom in the backyard interesting is what she has found and is whipping over her head in a circular motion, getting ready to launch it back over the fence and probably wishing it will cause massive amounts of damage like a grenade. What is my mom holding while she's screaming?

A bright, neon orange dildo.

That's right. She found an orange dildo in the backyard. And this set her off on a roaring rampage.

Oh, how I wish I turn out like my dad. I love her, I truly do, I just don't want to be her. (On a positive side, I am actually closer in personality to my dad. He's always been one of my heroes and I'm a little bit of a daddy's girl.)

When Spackle and Duct Tape Just Won't Do

It is a known fact to my friends that I was a bowler in my childhood. Bowling was my life. My typical week consisted of school, bowling, school, bowling, school, bowling, bowling, bowling, bowling.

I was at home one evening, practicing my bowling swing. Did I mention that I'm a dork? If you didn't know, I'm a dork. It's okay, I've learned to accept it. So I was practicing my swing. I'm standing in the hallway, while my parents are at their bowling league, swinging my bowling ball back and forth, trying to keep the ball straight.

Disaster struck. As I was bringing the ball back down, I forgot where I was. I forgot I was standing in my hallway and not at the line of a lane looking at 10 pins taunting me to knock them down. Forgetting where I was did not help me that evening.

I let go of the ball.

I need to explain my bowling swing now I think. When I bowl, I have an unusual swing for a female. Most women bring the ball back in an arc, stopping at lower back level. Not me. My swing is about power. When I am bowling, my backswing brings the ball higher than my head. If I kept the arc going any more, I would probably topple over. There are bowling alleys with automatic scorers that also show the speed of the ball. Whenever I see young boys at these alleys, they are always goofing off, trying to throw the ball as fast as they can. Without effort, I still hit higher speeds than they do.

Now that I've explained my swing, remember the fact that I let go of the fourteen pound bowling ball in my family's hallway.

The wall never had a chance.

As a kid, I never really did anything requiring major punishment. Since punishment was a rarity, I was terrified of it. Actually, I still am. When I'm standing there, staring at the gaping hole in the wall, I freak out.

'Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God' keeps running through my head. 'What am I going to do to fix this? What are my parents going to say? They're never going to let me go bowling again.' I run into the basement and check out my dad's workbench. I have the thought in my head, 'Spackle will fix anything.'

Here's an interesting fact that my twelve-year old mind did not grasp: Spackle will not fill a bowling ball sized hole in drywall.

I think I cried for two hours waiting for my parents to get home and punish me. When my dad walked in the door, I went up to him and told him I needed to show him something. With my head hung low, I walked my dad over to the giant hole in the wall.

How does my dad react?

He laughed at me. He laughed very hard.

Two days later, he found a way to fix the hole. He put a board over it and made it into an access panel. My dad is the greatest.

The Tower Grows Closer

I annoyed Dana again tonight in my Dark Tower obsession. Here is what I said to her to make her roll her eyes (and this also helps reinforce my obsession for the Dark Tower story):

"Which Wal-Mart should I go to and buy the book? The one in Fridley is closer to me but the one in Stillwater had the books out the last times I needed to buy them. I would go to the Stillwater Wal-Mart because I'm sure I'll get it, but then I have a longer drive home and it would take away from precious reading time. What am I going to do?"

Yes, she laughed at me. I still don't know which Wal-Mart I'm going to at midnight on Monday. Less than 72 hours to go.

Open Karaoke Invitation

Dana and I are planning on karaoke on Sunday night again. Why? Because we love it! Come join us! Open Invitation - check here for details on how to get there.



Well, that's enough for tonight. Conan O'Brien just came on and I think I'm going to get ready for bed.

5 Comments:

At 9:57 AM, rod said...

this is a VERY worthy 100th blog post.

At 12:28 PM, CarpeDM said...

Beth. Beth, Beth, Beth. And you think you're not funny. This was hilarious.

Rod's so right, this is a great 100th post.

At 1:39 PM, The Lioness said...

Hilarious, yes! That was the word I was going to use too - and am, in fact, using! And I'm fully unbiased bcs I don't know you, bright-red-haired person. Mazel tov on the 100th!

At 1:40 PM, The Lioness said...

DM, just the way you kept writing Beth's name made my day. I almost giggled - and mind you I'm no giggler. You rock!

At 2:49 PM, yobyol said...

congratulations on your 100th post. You have a great sense of humor and an excellent writing style.