Everybody REEL In

My mom has an old family fishing story starring my Auntie Cheryl.

My mom and Cheryl have five brothers and so anytime they went fishing with their dad there were boys around. And Grandpa Dick is a boy too. So one time Cheryl had to go pee and she refused to use the bucket to pee in and made her dad take her to shore.

"Everybody REEL IN, CHERYL has to go to the BATHROOM!!"

And that's our family quote for anytime you inconvenience others for your convenience.

But that's not the point of my story. 

The point of my story is that I went fishing with my dad and two of his friends the other night and I should have peed before we left the dock because I already had to go. But I didn't. So I suffered and fished for like three hours. Finally I realized I was going to have to pee in the boat and ask three men not to look.

But! We were in my dad's friend's boat! And I didn't even see it but there was a cabin under the deck! With a door that shuts! He let me go in there and pee into his little blue plastic fish rinsing bucket!

And you know how when you have to pee really really bad and so you pee for like 67 seconds and that 67 seconds feels like an eternity? It was one of those. I thought I was going to overflow the bucket - seriously. 

But I didn't. And then I took the walk of shame out of the cabin with my bucket of pee and very carefully and quickly dumped it over the edge and rinsed rinsed rinsed it a million times. I threw the bucket on the floor and resumed fishing.

...and nobody had to reel in.

But I had this to taunt me the rest of the night. The beating of the tell tale pee bucket.

It's lake water!!!! I swear!!!!

Matt Rasmussen

There was this kid in my high school art class named Matt Rasmussen. We joked around a lot and I'll never forget a painting he made of a chunk of swiss cheese floating on the ocean. He called it "Turds". He was always saying "turds". 

I have a distinct memory from that class one day and I mean it's really vivid. In it, he and I are standing at his desk near the teacher's desk and he's wearing a new orange-ish plaid flannel shirt. He's using the paper cutter. The bottom part of the front of his shirt was laying across the paper cutter and before I before I could say "turds" he sliced right through his art project and also through his brand new shirt. Oh, how we laughed.

In my mind this story happened as if it were yesterday. I tell everybody about the kid who cut his shirt in art class with the paper cutter.

Twenty years later, I recalled the story to Matt. He didn't remember it at all. "Must have been somebody else," he said. Bull Crap, "Matt Rasmussen", if that story didn't happen is any of my childhood real??

Well the point of this whole trip down my made-up fictitious memory lane is that good ol' forgettin' lyin' Matt wrote a book of poetry called Black Aperture and it's getting all kinds of accolades. In fact it was just announced as a finalist for the 2013 National Book Award for poetry! I went to a reading down at the Loft and got him to sign my copy and tried to force him to admit he was lying about the paper cutter.

He wouldn't budge.

At least we agree on one part of the story:

Congrats, Matt.

Oh, and you can buy Matt's book here. It's really, really good.

"You Know What I Like to Do?"

I'm in Puerto Rico with my sister and some friends, one of whom has a funny habit of swapping head for toes on the bed while she sleeps. In other words, she puts her feet by the headboard and her face by the footboard.

Exhibit A

Which reminds me of a story...

When I was about twelve, I had a friend who had HUGE boobs. Of course I had none. (I'm still waiting for them to come in.) Anyway this poor girl was really private about her boobs and I had thus far never been able to sneak a glance — not even like for swimming or sleepovers. She always changed in the closet while the rest of us 'two-backs' changed right in front of each other because what did we have to hide?

Well. One time she spent the night. My bedroom was attached to the bathroom by a tiny doorway that everybody but me banged their head on. And if you looked from the foot of my bed into the bathroom you could see the shower against the far wall. The shower had one of those sliding door situations, with a mirror on one side and a foggy glass door on the other. The way the tracks were set up, you were supposed to put the mirror by the shower head and the foggy glass door further away because the mirror was on the inside track. Correct door placement prevented water from going out the shower between the cracks in the two doors onto the floor outside, which was carpet (ew), but that's not the point of this story. The point of this story is that sometimes guests didn't know how the doors were supposed to go. Now, I didn't mean for this to happen, but it did: My friend with the boobs decided to take a shower and put the doors the wrong way and I accidentally noticed and I was so curious about those boobs that I swapped heads for toes on my bed and sort of watched her take a shower.

Yep. I did.

This is pretty embarrassing to admit. Just remember I was only twelve and still waiting for the boob fairy to pay me a visit. Anyway at some point during her shower, she looked out the foggy glass doors. I felt sure she was looking right at me! Busted! I didn't dare move. What if she saw me scramble to move? Then she would know I was watching her! I had to think quickly!

Instead, I stayed still and pretended to be sleeping when she got out of the shower. Casually and nonchalantly, I remarked, "You know what I like to do? I like to wake up in the morning and flip around in the bed and lay my head at the foot of the bed."

For the rest of our friendship I had to wake up in the morning and flip around in the bed and lay my head at the foot of the bed, because that's what "I like to do". The next morning, she put her towel over the foggy part of the glass. For privacy.

"You Can Stop it Now, Beth. Nobody's Looking At You."

In high school, my best friend Beth Lindahl used to make me die laughing by making faces at me and never cracking a smile until I peed my pants. One day in Health class, she must have been trying to get my attention but I must not have been looking at her because Miss Stadum yelled out to her (over the silent din of a class full of kids who were reading or something):

"YOU CAN STOP IT NOW BETH. NOBODY'S LOOKING AT YOU."

_____

I was reminded of that story this evening...

I went with some friends to go and see the Walker Art Center's last installation of Music and Movies in the Park. Barrio restaurant in downtown Minneapolis sets up their food truck at these events, and it was there that I had my Second and Third Dinners this evening.

As I approached for Third Dinner, I noticed that the food truck employee was wearing a "Nacho Libre"-type mask and was yelling "HOLA!" at the customers in a "BOO! (scared you)"-type fashion, and I was really not into it.

So I stood there looking at the menu, while this guy waited for me to notice him and his dumb mask. I wasn't impressed, but I could tell out of the corner of my eye that he really wanted me to notice him. I couldn't be bothered and so without taking my eyes off the menu I said, 

"I SEE YOUR DUMB MASK. OK?"

...and then I took this photo without his permission.

Am I Going to Jail?

I once said an incredibly inappropriate thing to a young Jeffrey Dahmer-type kid who I witnessed trying to flip a chipmunk around by its tail:

"HEY! Don't do that! How would you like it if I grabbed you by your tail and flipped you around? Where's your tail? Oh. It's in the front."

*I don't think he heard that last bit...he started running away when I started yelling at him.*


Which reminds me of a story.  And by story I mean another adorable video from our 2010 trip up north for Girls' Fishing Weekend.  Check this one for images of my mom and dad and our old house in International Falls.  *tear*

Once again, filmed and edited by the completely brilliant Shash.




Girl's Weekend in I-Falls from marble fawn on Vimeo.

Looking at Those Disgusting Hemorrhoids Reminds Me of Something...

Hobo Siren's recent Out of Context Friday Caption Photo Context reminded me of a story.

A group of my friends and I were hanging out one night and my sister Kasey got it in her head that it would be a BRILLIANT idea for us all to google image search for hemorrhoids. (She's like that.)  We looked at scads of photos. Scads. They're gross. I'm not going to post photos here, you'll just have to make your own search.

Anyway, we were all crowded around the computer screen, unable to look away when I remarked,(And in my opinion, the following is probably one of the funniest things I've ever said.)

"It's like looking in your mom's purse."

Click photo for credit -- I robbed it from a very messy blogger.

The resemblance is uncanny. Google it. Trust me.

Mean, Mean Older Sister, Vol. 2

After writing about Kelly and her terrible terrible meanness, and do you remember how mean she can really be? It got me thinking: was I ever mean to my younger sister Kasey? And of course the answer is no.

Look at us, getting along! At the Union Hall! Square dancing!

I do remember one time though, when Kasey was in the bathtub and I was mad at her for some reason -- I went into her bedroom and pulled out her entire underwear drawer. The full physical drawer. I brought it into the bathroom and dumped its contents into the bathwater with Kasey. So she had no underwear to put on after she got out.

Ha!

Camp Chair

I was reminded to bring a camp chair to this weekend's MS 150 mile bike ride* from Duluth to Minneapolis by my team leader, Chuck:

"Lawn chair - Very Important - Drop your lawn chair [...] before 3pm on Friday and it'll be waiting for you in Hinckley - if you don't bring a chair, please don't assume that it's okay to sit in other's chairs in Hinckley. Danger!"

Ha! "Danger!"

This reminded me of a story: A few years back a friend of mine went on a huge 15-20 girl hiking trip up to the Superior Hiking Trail. One of the women on the trip was painfully shy and had never been away from her husband of several years, except for going to work and the occasional TWO HOUR MOVIE. Seriously, this was her first girls' trip, and a weekend one at that. 

Everybody was instructed to bring their own camp chair. The first night, as daylight started to dwindle, all the girls moved from picnic tables and smaller groups to one large circular group around the fire. It was noted that there was one chair missing. The picnic table was dragged up to the fire to accommodate everybody, and discussion ensued for some minutes about how one of their chairs must have gotten knocked over and landed in the weeds. Some even started feeling around in the dark to find the missing chair. The search was unsuccessful and it was decided that it was going to have to resume at daylight.

The next day, the chair was nowhere to be found. Speculation regarding it's fate began. Could it be possible that one of the other campers at another site STOLE it? Surely that couldn't be so. The chairs were counted, recounted and counted again. Someone had the bright idea that each woman should stand next to her chair so it could be determined whose was missing. Unfortunately a few of the girls were at the showers at that moment and so it wasn't determined.

The entire weekend went by with plenty of hashing and rehashing what must have happened to the missing chair. And when it was all over and cars were packed and miles were driven back to the city, one of the women dropped the Shy Girl at her home. As she was getting her stuff out of the back, her driver asked, "hey! Where's your chair?", when she breezed by -- briskly walking to the house, whispering over her shoulder: "I didn't bring one."


It must be mentioned that during the entire weekend: the fire the first night, the discussion at the fire, the search the next day, the "stand next to your chair" detective attempt...Miss Shy was always sitting in a chair (or standing next to one), not admitting anything.

Not her chair. She didn't bring one.

*(still accepting donations for my ride for MS Research here)

Yet Another Baby-Related Unsolicited Confession

A reader's comment on this previous post reminded me of a story:

Once, when I was having a non-baby-related ultrasound, I insisted that the technician print me a picture of my empty womb. She shrugged her shoulders and complied.

And then I brought it to work and hung it on my cube wall - where it stayed for YEARS.

Not my uterus.

Speaking of Pickled Pig Lips...

The story of the Pickled Pig Lips reminded me of my mom.  Apparently it reminded her of me too, given her comment to that post:

 Mom said...

That is the second time your lips touched those kind of lips.

September 12, 2011 1:05 PM

She loves that one.  When we were growing up, if Kasey or I ever got lippy (pun intended), my mom would yell at us:

"You just remember what that mouth grazed while you were being born."

Me and me marm.

Now THAT'S good parenting!

So...Peaceful...Those Butterflies

Look at the little '88' on his wings!

At the Iguazu Falls, on the border of Brazil and Argentina, there are zillions of butterflies.  Zillions.  And they are very happy to land right on you like it were some Disney cartoon and you were a singing princess.

Just look how wonderful and peaceful...

Truth be told, I didn't really like it.  Get off me!

Getting in touch with the Nature.

I posted these photos to my facebook profile, and the following picture I captioned something about how the thing loved my armpit and how it stayed there forever as I hyperventilated and tried to take a photo.  I also put, you know, most people love my armpits.  My friend Katie reminded me that Ben Affleck does NOT love my armpits (click here for THAT story) and Brett said, "Well it does have B.O. written on it so maybe there was a reason it felt at home."

I Guess I'm the Tampon Lady

A friend just emailed me and told me that he passed the tampon aisle at Walmart the other day and thought of me.

Which reminded me of yet another tampon story:

I was just in that aisle the other day (no reason) and a man was standing there staring at all the products, sticky note in hand, looking completely lost. So first I laughed at him, and then as a joke, I told him to let me know if he needed any help. Clearly his wife had given him specific instructions and he couldn't find the right ones. He leaned over and read from the sticky note in a whisper, "I'm looking for Tucks Pads". "OH!" I exclaimed, "those aren't in this aisle..." I hesistated, but then went on, "you know that's for hemerhhoids, right?" And he whispered back, "I know."

Good Ol' Brian Hartman

I saw Brian Hartman tonight at my work going away party. He is my friend Tammy's husband, and I used to work with him about 12 years ago. One time we were playing "Best Ball" golf at a work function, which means that everybody plays, but you just advance to the furthest ball hit and go from there. Of course my ball was never the 'best', and so we always had to pick up my ball on the way to the best one. Since we were in a golf cart, Brian convinced me that, in the interest of saving time he would just drive next to the ball and I could lean out of the cart and just grab it. So I complied. I grabbed onto the rollbar with my left hand, crouched down low, and prepped myself to grab the ball with my right hand. Brian must have counted on all of this, because just as I had my hand all the way to the ground, ready to impress him with my on-the-go golf ball grabbing skills, he YANKED the steering wheel to the left and I went a-tumblin'.

'Ha Ha Kady, the joke's on you', he must have thought, but as he looked over his shoulder to see his horrible trick come to fruition, he noticed that I looked as if I was going to pull out of it. I somehow landed on my feet, and tried to run as fast as humanly possible to stay upright. When he tells the story, he explained at that moment that he was actually rooting for me, and for a while it looked like I would just run right out of the situation. But of course, the inertia of having been so rudely tossed out of a golf cart caught up to me and I took a tumbler. A 'header' as he describes. And he laughed and laughed.

I agreed that it would have been funny, if it hadn't been me.

Tonight I reminded him of this story and we laughed again. And then, as he left, he said, "Well, see ya, have fun on your trip, blog me or something."

That same day, (on the golf course) I had to go to the bathroom really really really bad. There were no port-a-potties anywhere near, so I made an executive decision to go in the woods. I had it in my head that if I could just find a fallen tree, I could sit on it, like a toilet and go to the bathroom that way. So, I found a fallen tree. I didn't realize until I sat on it that it was actually more like a twig than a tree, and of course it snapped right out from under my naked butt. Unfortunately this fallen "tree" was chosen also because of it's choice location on a downward slope. My logic was that the pee would run downhill, backwards away from me. Anyway, when I fell, I fell backwards. And continued falling backwards, in a sommersaulting motion, all the way down the hill. Peeing all the way.

Old Roommates

I was just reminded of a story about an old roommate...the one who said "gotiate" instead of negotiate, "taminated" instead of contaminated, and "seya" phone instead of cellular phone. One morning she said she felt as if I "belitter" her, instead of belittle. "Lungs" instead of Lunds, and she spelled Ryan's name Ronnie...what a laugh a minute that girl was.

So anyways, one day I was down in the laundry room, and moving my white bed sheets from the washing machine into the dryer. As I reached into the machine for the last items, I found an unidentified black item. "No big deal," I thought...the sheets didn't appear to show signs of color from a black item...but before I threw said unidentified black object into the dryer I kind of looked closer to find out exactly what it was. As I looked closer, I recognized it less and less and then finally realized it was a pair of my roommates' underwear. I screamed and cried and freaked out imagining the crotch part of her underwear rubbing up against the part of the sheets that my face touch, and then I calmed myself down, no doubt rationalizing that at least now that they've been washed it's not that bad that I've got them in my hand. Then I rechecked the washing machine for any last items to put in the dryer. And there. Stuck. To the side. Of the inside. Of the machine. Was a pad.

I called Kasey and FREAKED out. "What should I DOOOO????!!!?!", I screamed into the phone.

"THROW THE SHEETS AWAY!!", she replied.

This I just couldn't resist...

We happened upon this little number in Tallin, Estonia...notice how in the photos I'm not technically going anywhere near this toilet. Which, is also "technically" how I go to the bathroom in any public restroom. Sorry. There you have it. I stand (or more accurately: crouch). This is not usually my cup of tea, but you should see some of the toilets I have been in.

My sister Kim just reminded me of a story that brings me great dissatisfaction. Once, while in some European country and I'm sorry but I can't really remember which one, but what does it matter? Anyway, there was no toilet paper in the stall where I was. I looked through my bag, my pockets, for anything. Nothing. Any sign of tissue. Nothing. Only a couple of wadded up funny moneys from a different country. I called out to my neighbors. The few there either didn't answer, or didn't speak English. And so, I'm embarrassed to admit, I examined my money to see which one was the smallest value, and of those, which one was the dirtiest and yuckiest (therefore worthy of wasting in this way) and I used a Euro to wipe my butt. A money. Dirty, disgusting money. Passed through thousands of hands, and millions of germs. And countless situations. Touching my most intimate and private parts.

Looking back, I regret not choosing the most crisp and clean bill.

And now you know.

Perfect Teeth

My parents raised me right, and so therefore I have always been very comfortable conversing with people of all ages. When I was maybe 7 or 8 I was chatting with this elderly gentleman and I was so impressed by his nice white straight teeth and so I told him so. I asked him, "did you have braces when you were a kid?" I went ON and ON about his awesome teeth.

Finally he said, "Do you want me to take them out so you can get a closer look?"