Skip to main content

Randomly awesome

Lily had a bloody nose, and Jerod threw her Kleenex in the toilet. She sauntered into the family room an hour-or-so later and announced;"Daddy, I think I'm bleeding like Mommy does."

"What?" Jerod asked her -- shocked and appalled that his daughter speaks fluent Tampax.

"You know," Lily said rolling her eyes. "Mommy bleeds every once in awhile. Well -- I went to the bathroom, and there's blood in the toilet just like what happens to Mommy."


It's the random, out-of-left-field stuff that makes life bearable. Take the recently-divorced guy who's never said more than "hi" and "have a nice day" to his women co-workers. He joined the girls for lunch one day and commented, "I'm either an alien or a non-practicing homosexual -- any thoughts, ladies?"

I wish I could bottle those moments and store them for rainy, uninteresting days.

Surprises past puberty are sort of like genetic mutations; they're almost always bad -- cancer, infidelity, STDs, unemployment ... I live for that moment of unexpected, out-of-context hilarity -- at lunch with my mom and daughters, and Ashlyn -- who's language skills are still developing -- pointed at a clock on the wall and screamed at the top of her lungs, "C*CK! BIG C*CK! C*CK, Mama!"

I threw my hand over her mouth and shushed her trying desperately not to laugh, but funny is funny -- I could't help it. And Lily seeing my mom and me in stitches wanted in on the joke.

"That's right Ashlyn, it's a big c*ck," Lily said -- with a sort of amused and bewildered expression. "What is a c*ck, anyway?"

Mom told her that a c*ck is a rooster, which is technically correct -- the same way a bitch is a female dog, and an ass is a donkey. But I'm pretty sure that no one in elementary school calls a rooster a c*ck, or they don't mean rooster when they say it.

"It's a really bad word," I said. "It is a rooster, but it's mostly a really, really bad word, and you can't use it EVER."

"But Ashlyn said it a million times."

"She's not saying it on purpose," I said. "You know better now, because I told you it's a bad word."

"Bad word?" Ashlyn asked. "C*CK! C*CK! C*CK ... C*CK!"

"C-LLLLLLL-OCK," I corrected. "C-LLLLLLL-OCK."

"C*CK!"

Now we call them watches -- takes care of that "L" problem.

Comments

  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Sorry about the previous removed comment. It didn't come out right.

    Anyway, typing while tired never works.

    My three year old son says clock the same way. He also has trouble pronouncing fish. It sounds more like "b*tch, b*tch!" He started screaming it in a restaurant one night, and people started giving us nasty looks. Of course, it probably didn't help that my husband and I were laughing.

    ReplyDelete
  3. The good stuff indeed!! The stories that last a lifetime. Layer, when you are older they will tell them to you and everyone will still be laughing.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

I showed you mine -- it's your turn now.

Popular posts from this blog

The insecure writer's support group

The ground is important -- for several reasons.

Among them

Gravity makes no sense without it -- there's no mandate that science be logical so long as our scientists are the smartest smartypants on the planet, in which case "because I said so" is an acceptable explanation. The ground is important, because it's something to build on -- a starting point, a foundation.

I respect the ground, because it has on occasion fallen out from under me, and it's rather unsettling to watch your life in free-fall mode -- to see your accomplishments disintegrate in an instant or a decade in some cases. It all depends on how fast you're falling.

Most of us drop in slow motion. We'll catch a ledge or an up draft every once in a while and think "this is it!" But then we go on falling. Or do we? Is the "bottom" just a figment of our imaginations? Can we lay new ground wherever we choose?


Ask Alice

None of my friends growing up were impressed with Disney's…

Writers get laid

Writers get laid -- or they would if they tried -- because people -- especially women -- are impressed by the phrase, "I'm a writer." It's romantic.

Introducing yourself as a writer insinuates substance and depth of character; people like that. They don't know why, except that one-dimensional characters on T.V. sitcoms and big-screen romantic comedies prattle on and on about the whole package -- a good looking, funny, intelligent single with rock-solid values and money.

People admire the skill and dedication it takes to be a novelist or a journalist or a screen writer  -- "I always wanted to be a writer," they tell you with stars in their eyes.

Whether they know it's a myth or not they imagine us in rich, thrilling lives with sports cars and beach houses and Louboutin shoes like Carrie Bradshaw. So the woman at the grocery store doesn't feel bad when she puts back the US Weekly she read cover to cover before she checks out.

Or downloading unauth…

My favorite geeks

Imagine a little girl in pink granny glasses. Her haircut gives her a boyish look and she’s dressed in a purple checked sweater with red high waters and electric-blue duck shoes. A couple of kids on the playground tell her how cool she looks, and -- not comprehending their sarcasm -- she smiles brightly and thanks them.
That was me -- the dork in ginormous glasses. I answered to many names in elementary school -- loser, duck feet, four eyes and a few others I'd rather forget -- smart, pretty and fashionable I was not. It felt like the end of the world back then. All the popular girls braided each other's hair during story time at the library while I picked my nose and talked to myself. 
I'm not ashamed to admit it. I was a dork -- as big a dork as it's possible to be -- and it gave me character. I think Lester Bangs said it best : "Good-looking people don't have any spine. Their art never lasts."
No one called 4-year-old Paris Hilton -- or Lindsay Lohan or B…