Men are dogs! I know, hear me out...

Every woman, in some point in her life, says that men are dogs. I know it's been over played. But hear me out. I'm not in a rant that men are dogs and are stupid. Nope, just that you should be aware of what you are getting into when you decide to share your life with a man and know how to react when they shit on your carpet. Here's one example, in order for you to get exactly what you want from a man, you have to look them in the eye and tell them exactly what you want. Just like training a dog, you don't ask them, “it would be nice if you sat”. You say, “sit” and they do it. Just like guys. You have to be direct or they don't do it. I know that sounds oversimplifying, but it's true. And you have to know how to pick your breed.

Guys are all different, just like dogs have different breeds. You've got your Chihuahua, he's small and cute. Great to curl up with and you have a great time alone at home. But the minute you take him out, he nips at other dogs, puffs up his chest and craps in your purse. Not fun and you could classify this guy as someone who is unsure of himself and hates it when you wear heels. Now you've got the Beagle. The Beagle is a great guy. He's loyal, dependable and great to curl up with. But the Beagle can be boring if you don't like lazing around the house playing video games. The Husky on the other hand is ideal. The Husky is handsome, loyal, obedient, and manly. You can take a Husky anywhere and he'll be the best dog on the block. Everyone loves a Husky! But, then you've got the allure of the Wolf. He's wild, mysterious, dark and everyone wants to have a Wolf by her side. The only thing is everyone loves the idea of having a sexy Wolf, until they maul you. You get no sympathy when you get mauled by a Wolf because all your friends say, “ you were messing with a Wolf, no wonder you're missing your hand”.

My ideal would be a Husky Wolf mix. For now, I will hang with the Huskys and Wolfs, but keep my guard up. We'll see which one I can break first... Sit, Wolf, Sit...

Maturity is for Losers

Have you ever been in a situation where it is highly inappropriate to laugh? The case of the giggles seems to only hit me when you can’t laugh, but I always do. Especially when I was hanging out with my friend Jared. He seemed to always find the twisted side of things with me. We would skip down the twisted humor trail holding hands making jokes about anything and everything, the more gross the better.

We were in high school advanced biology class, basically after we were done making fun of the kids who didn’t believe in evolution by boiling down their beliefs to the “invisible man in the sky” theory, we became board. Until one day, a poor student teacher came into our lives with the best tape in the world, When Animals Attack!

Since apparently our school had nothing better to show us, science wise, they made the decision to show us this load of gold. Jared and I knew that this was going to be great day! We got to the edge of our desks and let the animals attack.

Now, I had no idea that moose were extremely mean! But when they get mean it is the funniest thing I have ever seen. Here’s the situation, pretend that there is dramatic music with this description. There is this guy, drunk, walking outside of a bar in Alaska where a moose has taken over the town. I know it’s great already, but there is more. The guy stumbles outta’ the bar, where the moose is waiting for him! Like he’s gonna’ get in a knife fight with a moose. The guy starts to stumble like an asshole home, when the moose follows. By this time, Jared and I are giddy. The moose follows the guy for a couple blocks. The guy would stop look at the moose, and the moose would stop and look behind itself like he was trying to play off the fact that he is stalking this guy. After a while, we’re talking a full 8 times of this, the moose ATTACKS! The moose leaps into the air, pushes the drunken guy face first into the snow and commences to tap dance on his body. Jared and I are in stitches now, and then the clincher comes. The narrator says, all serious, that the guy died because of the moose mauling. Jared and I laugh so hard that tears are coming from our eyes, of course we are the only ones laughing, then the tape is shut off.

I will never forget this, the student teacher then said, “ you two lack maturity”, Yes, yes we do.

When Drive-Thru Bees ATTACK!

You must understand that bees SUCK! I hate them, they mess up everything, they are the only bug that you jump outta’ the way of. I especially hate those big assed bumblebees. Now they can go straight back to Hell! Not only was I stung right in the middle of the hand by one of these bumblebees when I was a child, but one tried to mess up my order at Taco Bell with my friend Maria.

Maria and I were inseparable! We did everything together in high school including almost getting killed by a bumblebee. We were doing what we do best in a small town like Davison, we were skipping class and makin’ a run for the boarder. We were maneuvering the skinny Taco Bell drive-thru in her big ass maroon Buick named Bertha making our way to the speaker. Maria rolled down the window and started her order. This apparently angered a huge bumblebee. It probably didn’t help that we were making fun of those bastards just a few minutes ago, but anyway.

She was ordering when out of know where, this bumblebee from hell came flying into Bertha! Here’s the dramatic re-enactment:

Taco Bell Guy: “Can I take your order?”

Maria: “Yah, can I get a taco supre---EEEEEEEMMMM! AH!

Me: “What the hell?!?!?!”

Maria: “ BEE! BEE! BEE!”

Me: “ SHIT!”

I fumbled for the door to let the pissed off bee out, and flung it open. The bumblebee flew out of our lives, but I think I could hear in laughing maniacally. Bumblebees are bastards….

Farts = Funny

When you think of farts, go ahead do it….They are the best thing that our body gives us to work with. This is my father’s medium, he is a true fart-ist. He can make any situation even funnier with a well-placed fart. He is a master at this; there are 2 events that come to mind in the household that will blow your mind and ass.

My father’s holiday is Halloween, he loves to carve pumpkins and not because he loves to make jack-o-lanterns, it’s because for a week after his farts smell like pumpkin guts. I have no idea what the science is behind this happening, but it does indeed happen. He even takes brakes when carving to really get his face in some pumpkin guts to take a deep breath to absorb more of the smell. And let me tell you, it works. I am no doctor, but that can’t be right.

Another ass-tastic story is the time when one of our cats Moesha was doing what cats do; lick their ass right in front of you. She was enjoying her bath sitting near my father. My father emits gas all the time so it really didn’t shock us when he played his Stradivari-ass while lying on the floor with the cat. Moesha on the other hand was appalled at the lack of class my father showed her while she was licking her ass. She gave my dad a death-look and moved a few feet way and continued to lick her ass.

What the hell!!

Okay, I don’t usually get on a soapbox and tell people how to live their lives. I’m just not that kind of person who goes around judging people thinking I am hot shit. But… What is with the pregnant 13 year olds on Maury? I just can’t get over ‘em. I love watching these train wrecks, because it doesn’t matter what kind of crap I am dealing with in my daily life, I am not that far up shit creek. But then I think about those sad kids, those kids are screwed.

I believe we are all dealt cards when we are born. Some have great cards and some are dealt with the worst cards ever. Now, it is our duty, as capable human beings, to trade your cards up to make yourself better. And as a parent, your job is to try your hardest to have your cards in order before you go and bring in a new human around here. This is all to make sure you don’t bring a brand spanking new serial killer into the world. Which apparently, these 13 year olds on Maury, have never thought about this or about anything at all.

Now, just think, if you found out that you were the product of your mother having unprotected sex with a dude she just met for a cheeseburger. I am not making this up! It was one of these stories on Maury! You would probably question the judgment of your mother wouldn’t you? And of course…. just how good what this cheeseburger?

When Shadow Puppetry ATTACKS!

Usually when you take a family vacation it is so boring you want to see if throwing yourself out the car door would liven things up a bit. Not so with my family, we are the show.

First, the ride, dull and boring until my father finds the only station playing opera and sings a long or better yet, when a certain station that plays different versions of “Louie Louie” all the way up north for hours and hours. It still haunts me to this day, I have a knee jerk reaction to the opening notes, I always kick the back of a seat yelling, “ Stop it! This is child abuse!” Or one trip to Kentucky, my family rented a car to go south in, sounds luxurious, but not so. My gaseous father found that farts are way better if you can lock the windows and force your loved ones to marinate in it. But those antics do not compare to the trip to Niagara Falls. We hit all the tourist traps and had some fun looking at water, but what we always remember is Shadow Puppets.

Yes, Shadow Puppets, you wouldn’t think that making these on your hotel wall at midnight with your feet or hands would almost bring you to tears with side splitting laughter, but it did. My father got the flashlight, propped it up and made with the shadow puppets. My favorite was the guy with a large nose sniffing, made with my father’s huge hand with the thumb forced thru the first two fingers of his fist, an instant classic. It made my sister and I snort with laughter. Then he pulled out all the stops with a toe band called, “the Great Pretenders”, which was his big toe as the lead and the others as back-up singers complete with faces drawn on with a Sharpie. He would sing classics and jingles with “the Great Pretenders”, such as; “weeeeee are the great pppreeetenders”, here’s the back-up part now, “ooooohhhhh oooohhhhh”. We would roar with laughter, while my mother claimed that she “didn’t get it”. Oh we got it all right, our dad was weird and so were we.

The Fruit Bat Incident

You have to remember that when you come into contact with my father, Dale, make sure you don’t let your guard down for a second. He will play a trick on you that will haunt you like a sarcastic specter for the ages of time. My mother Lori seems to forget this important lesson that my sister Michelle and I have found out thru the years.

My father, for some reason, had a bunch of time on his hands one day. He also had a broomstick, twine, a banana, plexi-glass bat wings and glue. My father is the MacGeiver of tomfoolery so this would become a perfect Saturday afternoon messing with my mom. Now, my mother isn’t afraid of bats, per say, but she doesn’t like it when things come rocketing at her face. This fact will come in handy for my father and his partner in crime, my sister.

What kills me about this is that he spent time and energy into making these wings to freak out my mother, no doubt giggling like a little school girl to himself while grinding the proportions out perfectly, sanding the rough edges of the wings. He then took great care of using a glue to attach the wins to a banana, which only my father has the know how to pull this off. Attaching it to the broomstick with the twine he was ready. After the masterpiece was complete, he must find a victim. This was easy, my mother seems to fall victim to our pranks. Well, the really good ones.

My father then called my sister to the garage, or as I like to call it, the Honeycomb Hangout, to unleash the plan to my sister. They plotted; they schemed and hissed with subdued laughter. While my father, who is afraid of heights, but not of a really good “owning”, climbed up on the roof and positioned himself near the back door. Where the plan was, my sister would lure my mother out with a claim of a “fruit bat” in Michigan.

My mother, falling for the claim and telling my sister she was crazy came out the backdoor, where my sister yelled, “ There it is!” pointing in horror. My father swooped the “fruit bat” he constructed at my unsuspecting mother. She yelled, and did a sort of karate chop at the direction of the psedo-fruit bat, before running into the house.

Thus, the “fruit bat incident” was born. The fruit bat stayed with us until it became rotted and old. But the story, it still is as fresh as the yellow fruit bat that lives at our back door.