Funny

Mitt Romney

I am not sure how many of the people who read my blog are actually political. (I know I try not to be; I loathe politicians, or anyone who acts like a politician – the 2nd of the two being the worst – at least politicians have a good reason to be so superficial) Because I try not to get too involved, my heart is not set on Mitt Romney for President, but I do think it would be great to have a Mormon for President (if he wasn’t a politician)

Well, I got an interesting e-mail yesterday that I thought was worth sharing. It starts out like this: (All the words from the e-mail will be italicized and I am unsure who to give the credit to)

If Mitt Romney became President of the US, won’t we have something we’ve never had before — a president who goes to a specific church?

Let me explain for my non-Mormon friends. In the Mormon church, you don’t get a choice of which congregation you go to, it is always preassigned by geographical area.

All other presidents belonged to religions that didn’t have tight congregational boundaries. Now, think about that: What Ward would the Romney’s be in?

Again for my Non-Mormon friends. Every Mormon congregation is called a ward and every ward is presided over by a Bishop. We believe a Bishop is called by God to serve for about 5 years. He can be any worthy male in the congregation (your dad, husband, best friend, car mechanic – the key being anyone – they can be totally smart, totally not smart, totally rich or totally poor, totally humble or totally prideful – but, in any case just a regular guy that you already know fairly well)

If you are Mitt’s new Bishop, here are your top questions:
1. Can you call Mitt and Ann as the Nursery leaders. (the people who work with the toddlers for two hours every week)… even if you really feel inspired?
2. Who is going to home teach them? (every Mormon is assigned a male Priesthood holder to visit their house monthly – the purpose being that we all check on each other and teach the gospel to each other as well as provide anything needed) Will you call someone who needs activation (you are called inactive in the Mormon church if you don’t attend regularly and sometimes callings are given to inactives to help them come back out) but may not pass the vetting and national security screening?
3. If Harry Reid and Mitt Romney are in the same High Priest group, will you need to be there to keep order? (This is funny because the High Priests are usually the old guys who are tired and ornery)
4. Exactly how will tithing settlement work? Will the Secretary of the Treasury come too? (Again, Mormons, go and see their Bishop at the end of every year to declare to the Bishop if they have paid a full 10% tithe that year)
5. Will you be inviting the new Romney family to speak in Sacrament Meeting and if they go a little over at what point do you ask them to sit down? (Mormons don’t pay preachers, people chosen from the congregation speak every week, and sometimes they get a little lengthy)
6. Will the Secret Service do a sweep of the building before each meeting? And if the Romney’s always leave before Sunday school, will the Sunday school president need to interview them? If they stay, where will you hold the class? (Funny because it is always a trick to make sure there is enough room for all the Sunday School classes, especially one which the President would be attending)
7. Can you call the Secret Service agents to help out in Primary? (Primary is where the children go for two hours every week after the family attends the first hour together. Many people aren’t willing to work in the primary, even though the church’s unwritten philosophy is that you never turn down a calling from the Lord)
8. If you give Mitt a calling and the two Democrats in the Ward raise their hand AGAINST sustaining him – partly out of habit – does the Supreme Court need to be involved? (Whenever service callings are given, the whole congregation always has the opportunity to sustain or not sustain the individual by raising their hand)
9. If you can’t give them a calling (job), and they don’t attend very often (for presidential stuff) will that mean they’re ‘less-active?’ If they’re not active, can you give them a Temple Recommend? And if you do,can they go? Will the Secret Service have to screen the temple too? (Only active members are considered worthy to hold a temple recommend and attend the temple which we regard as The Sacred House of the Lord – (we are encouraged to go to the temple as often as possible) I add my question, do you think that Mitt could just hire all temple worthy Secret Service agents to make life easier for everyone, and if so, what kind of scrutiny would there be?) 10. If the President wants to hold Sacrament Meeting at Camp David or the White House for security reasons, is that a conflict of Church and State?

If you’re assigned to be the Romney’s home teacher:
1. Can you just drop by, no appointment? (Funny because all Home Teachers have a reputation for not being so consistent)
2. Can you even call them for an appointment or do you have to go through the Chief of Staff?
3. Can you bring by Christmas sweets and cookies? Will they be analyzed? And for how many people – family, secret service details?
4. If you don’t come can the IRS do an audit on you?
5. Will they want to do a national security background check?
6. Do you have to have a permanent companion who has been vetted? Can you just grab any teacher or priest (priesthood holders who are 14 or 16) to come with you? And what if that priest has been a little wayward? Do you need to search him first?
7. Do you have to help him move in and out of the White House? (funny because everyone calls their home teachers when they move, that is what they are for – to help when you are in need)
8. If Ann Romney gets sick, are you allowed to bring in meals or at least tell the Relief Society about it? (The Relief Society is the Woman’s Organization that has the reputation of always knowing how to help everyone in need)
9. What can you share with the Bishop about the Romney’s?
10. Do you have to ask them about their year’s supply? (All Mormons have been encouraged by their church leaders for at least the past 50 years to have a year stockpile of food in case of emergency or famine)
11. If you get a late night call for a blessing will reporters follow you around wanting to know what was wrong and what you said? (All worthy male men in the church are given the Priesthood, where they can give blessings of comfort or healing by the laying on of hands – Men are encouraged to call their Home Teacher if they need a blessing)

If Mitt Romney is assigned to be YOUR home teacher:
1. Is telling the group leader you haven’t been home taught a national security breech? (funny because it is a temptation for everyone when they report at the end of month to say they’ve gone even if they haven’t)
2. If he wants to come at the end of the month, do you accept his reason,”I’ve been out of town?”
3 Will he drop by unannounced or will the media crews give him away? Grin!

There is more to this thing than the non member public can conceivably understand!! I wonder if Mitt and Ann have even stopped to ponder the possibilities.

I hoped I helped the Non-Mormon public understand. It sure seems that I took all the laughs out of it. And, here is my last question. You always refer to your Bishop as Bishop (whatever their last name is). Like LeGrand would be Bishop Gold. This is a way we show respect.

If Mitt Romney were the President of the United States, could his Stake President call him to serve as a Bishop at the same time? If he is a Bishop, do you call him Bishop President or President Bishop?

Conversation Pieces

LeGrand has repeatedly warned me that blogging about “the bedroom” is off limits and so I hope the following two funny conversations don’t cross the limits. If you are the kind of person who is afraid that you may not want to read further, please stop here. I don’t want to embarrass you or me. If you are even just 1% like me then I am sure I just peaked your curiosity and I know you will have to keep reading, even if you don’t know if you want to. If that is the case, I don’t mind if I embarrass you a little, just don’t tell me if I’ve offended you. I offend so many people in my life, and I just don’t need one more. Consider yourself warned.

LeGrand and I have been trying to get pregnant for 8 months now with no luck. We’ve never really had to work at it before and so we have gotten a little worried. As we were talking for the two minutes that we actually saw each other last night, LeGrand felt it necessary to share with me the infomercial that he had heard on the radio. I vaguely remember, as I was half asleep, but the commercial mentioned that there is a link to an enlarged prostate and fertilization. So, my memory was jogged about another short conversation that had occurred that I meant to blog about: (for your reading pleasure, here it is)

So, we were at LeGrand’s parents for Christmas and an interesting conversation took place that I thought was worth sharing. LeGrand’s little brother Logan started commenting that he needed to go and relieve his bladder in the bathroom. This small statement blew up into a huge thing. Jordan, the middle brother, starts telling Logan that he shouldn’t hold it for so long. “It’s not healthy.” Logan then says, “Yeah, when I hold it too long it almost starts to hurt.” So, this conversation is going on and on and it is almost making me uncomfortable re-sharing it here. (At the time it didn’t seem to be such a big deal) During the whole conversation, where even Faye and I added a few suggestions, LeGrand, the oldest brother, was sitting across the room at his laptop, totally oblivious. All of the sudden, LeGrand looks up and loudly exclaims, “Oh yeah, well I have an enlarged prostate.” What in the world? If you aren’t already laughing, then you have to imagine the look on the face of my usually quiet and subdued husband. The look was as if to say, “So, top that, you wimpy bladder brothers!” LeGrand swears that he was trying to warn Logan that he may have the beginning of prostrate problems, but I think he was just bragging.

And another funny conversation that is totally not related yet is in a round about way. (has to do with male body parts – again stop reading now if you are easily offended) This is a conversation that happened between my brothers and sisters and I about a year and half ago. I have wanted to share it for a long time ago but have never felt appropriate. (I am going to now lose the two new readers that I gained this week, but hey, this blog is for me anyway and I like writing about funny things)

We were at my sister Sarah’s house. She lives in Lincoln, CA, and her house became the gathering place when my Grandma Dorothy died. The funeral was in close by Sacramento. All seven of us siblings were together for the first time in 6 years. So, where did the conversation head? – The natural place of course, what name were we each teaching our own children for the male body part. I have all daughters and so of course I wasn’t as involved here. My brothers, who all have sons were really getting animated. The following names were mentioned: Pe Pe, We We, Tinkles, Wa Wa, and on and on. Who knew there were so many choices? I had put my two cents in towards the beginning of the conversation, “We just teach the girls the correct scientific terminology like the parenting books tell us to….penis is the only word we use.” You should have heard the roars of disapproval from the peanut gallery. This is what really got the conversation going.

Seriously, I didn’t know when it would ever end. We were talking about his for about ten minutes, and the brothers started making up new names that would be good to use. I couldn’t stand it another minute. How could I possibly stop the conversation? Like a pro, if you ask me, “At our house we just call it King Kong.” (LeGrand is going to kill me because it really isn’t true) Yes, I really hope that you are laughing. But, if you are offended or not, I have to say that it’s o.k. because at the time, my plan worked like a charm. Everyone laughed so hard that we finally had a lull long enough in the conversation to change the subject.

Papa’s Puns

A comment left on my post from yesterday made me think that my father-in-law is secretly reading my blog. (I would be so honored) The anonymous comment was in regard to me working as a cashier at Target and said:”Some people hope for change; some people talk about change, but I’ve been working hard to make change since 2007!!!!!!”

Sure, anyone could have left this comment, but really, who left in this world has a pun in his pocket so readily? Duane does like to torture us all continually with his play on words, but it never really gets old. He may be getting old, but unlike him his humor will live forever. I don’t think that it would be possible to erase the practice of punnery from the Gold DNA. I am left to wonder where it all originated. I have been told that Grandpa Gold was a great humorist also.

So, I chose the picture of Duane above from behind. I am sure that he will be able to come up with something really good using the word behind. (He always does)

What is a pun exactly? It is just humor that is a play on words. Try to come up with some of your own, it is quite fun. I must warn you though, you may have to think really hard, I have been sitting here for the past 30 minutes and haven’t been able to come up with one. Thank goodness for the google search. It brought up this page from UT which left me wondering if punnery is a Southern thing. No wonder why all those Southern guys are funny.

In our family, Duane’s puns are numbered. Duane likes to pull out his little plays on words whenever his wit is up to the challenge, which unfortunately for us, is always. After ten years in the family, I have observed that Duane always awards himself with a little chuckle as to tell the intended listener that they had better acknowledge the humor also. I love this! And, I also love how the family tries to remember which number the pun is whenever Duane has succeeded at remembering. Really the jokes have never been assigned numbers for that would take all the pun out of it.

According to Erskine a pun is the lowest form of wit. Now, don’t be offended Duane, he also says it is “the foundation of all wit”. Freud also said that, puns are “the cheapest- can be made with the least trouble” (which Duane will find as a compliment I am sure because the Gold’s pride themselves on being thrifty.)

Leave it to Oscar Levant to astutely point out: “A pun is the lowest form of humor- if you didn’t think of it first.” I am making it my goal this year to memorize a few puns so that I can perpetuate the humor into my children. I would also love it if I could master the lowest and cheapeast form of wit – wit in any form, is good to me. It may be an accomplishment of a lifetime if I can ever think of just one good pun before good old Papa.

Here are some puns just for the reader’s delight: (these are all Duane typical)

1. I used to be twins. My mother has a picture of me when I was two.
2. I work as a baker because I knead dough.
3. A dog not only has a fur coat but also pants.
4. Today I’ve got a pressing engagement. I must go to the cleaners.
5. I recently spent money on detergent to unclog my kitchen sink. It was money down the drain.

Right on Target


So, I had a short stint as a cashier at Target this year. Wow, was that enjoyable! If you ever need to be motivated to go back to college, just go and take a $7/hr job that deals with the public and retail during the holidays.

I have no idea why, but I have always had this dream of being a cashier ever since I was a little girl. I always loved to play grocery while growing up. I think I dreamed of being a cashier because it combines things that I love: meeting different people, working at a fast pace, pounding on a keyboard, and organizing (you can’t put the bacon in with the Tampax now, can you?) It only took two shifts for me to totally outlive my dream of being a cashier. Well, as LeGrand says, “It’s a good thing you got that cashier stint out of your system because I am on the virge of making the big bucks.” Time shall tell. When LG is a millionaire, I don’t think he will want a Target cashier for his trophy wife.

Well, anyhow, it is late and I am tired and I want to get to the funny part of my story. There were many things that happened funny at Target. I may remember all of them someday. There were also many unfunny things that happened to me at Target, like the day I left a customer in my checkout line with a quart of spilled chocolate milk. What person did I find to help me on my third day…the only person not working…the HR lady….what did she do….She exclaimed, “You left a spill, didn’t you watch that training video?” Oh, yeah, I vaguely remember that video that said to never leave a spill…but, if no one else is willing to help, how in the world will it ever get cleaned up unless you walk away and get some cleaning stuff? And, I had asked the customer to stay there and watch it. It was her own darn fault for handing the bottle to that darn toddler to chuck it down on the ground at least 5 times.

Well, you know I became the expert Target cashier because on my next to last shift when a woman urinated all over my checkout line, I didn’t move a muscle. I stood there like a statue and flipped my blinking light until my team lead came and took care of the situation (Yes, he took care of it alright – he told me, he would watch the spill while I ran to clean it up…yes, the joy of being management- another reason to go to college or work at Target for 10 years straight after getting your GED – And, he was quite helpful – he said, “You may want to get some Lysol off the shelf for this one”)

So, the short funny story. One evening, a woman came through. She was purchasing a bunch of “for kids only” stuff, including mylicon drops and detangling spray. Now, you know my goal in working at Target was to make sure everyone left with a smile. (not because Target told me to, just because I like to make people smile.) Now, if any guest left with a laugh, then I would be able to come home feeling really underpaid. (there is no feeling that can compare to being underpaid)

So, I strike up a conversation with this woman as I check her out. “Have you used this stuff before”, I ask as I chuck her mylicon drops in the bag. “I have three daughters and have never tried it.” She says, “Oh yeah, if you have three daughters you have to have it. You epecially need it with curly hair. You would not believe how much it helps.”

I say, “Really, curly hair, I have never heard that before. I have only heard that there is a link between babies with hair and a pregnant mother’s heartburn.” At which points she starts cracking up. I say, “I can’t believe that, children with curly hair have more gas than those with straight. That would explain why I have never needed those mylicon gas drops, all my girls have pretty straight hair. Who knew.” I keep going with, “Well, they did get some gas when they were really little; I wonder if that is when their hair was curlier.” She just laughs even harder, at which point she takes the bottle of Detangling Spray out of the bag. She says, “I thought you were asking me if I have used this stuff before, not the Mylicon drops.”

I am sure that my face turned a brighter shade of red then my beautiful Target polo. At which point, I started cracking up. I had no reason to be embarassed, she was loving this funny conversation. As a few other people around us started laughing too, my shirt immediately flushed back to it’s normal color, which is roughly the same shade of my Target khaki pants. Now, don’t you think that they should have given me a raise to at least $7.50/an hr. I made at least 6 people laugh that night, not to mention the skill of making my skin the same colors as my uniform.

Skipping Christmas

 

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Call me Scrooge, but I hate putting up the Christmas tree. Yes, of course, I am always happy when it is done and we are greeted by twinking lights in our living room for a whole month! (two, if I never get around to taking it down in January) But, c’mon what sadistic Martha Stewart came up with the tradition of putting away every knick knack in your house just to unload 6 huge boxes of junk. Is this really a necessary part of enjoying the holidays?

One of these days I will get the courage up to skip Christmas as I read about in John Grisham’s book.

Here is a picture of LG enjoying his Thanksgiving holiday. I am not trying to make him feel bad; I really am glad that he was enjoying some down time.

But, shouldn’t we all be able to enjoy our holidays, regardless of our gender?

We need an ACLU Christmas. We need to keep all of our National Holidays, yet, the week after we celebrate, we should have the ACLU version where the men do all the work that the women usually handle and the women act like the men (ie. sitting on the couch reading a book, playing football with our friends, watching sports on TV)

Think about it. Who does the work? We’ll start with Easter for the pure delight of making a point. Who buys the candy, who shops for those cute Easter outfits? Who makes sure that they get up at the crack of dawn to stage the fact that the Easter Bunny has visited (Abigail does read my blog now and so I have to be careful what I say here – I know she doesn’t believe in the Easter Bunny any more)

Next holiday – July 4th – Who buys and prepares the food and plans the outing? Really, all the men have to do is set off the fireworks..and is that really work?

Halloween – Who buys the candy, who tries to keep everyone from consuming the candy when you bought it the week earlier? Who makes the costumes? Who runs around like a mad woman on 10/31 making sure that all the preparations are accomplished for trick or treating, including the dinner, and making sure that you can somewhat tell what the kids are dressed up as, even under their coats?

Thanksgiving – who combs all the adds looking for the cheapest turkey? Who bakes the pies and the rolls and the, do you really want me to finish the food list? Who has to clean the house like a turkey with her head cut off to accomidate all the company? And, who is that actually sets that darn table? If all of that isn’t enough. Now, in American culture, we are expected to get up at the crack of dawn the day after Thanksgiving to make sure we get the best deals for the next holiday coming up.

and Christmas … I don’t think I have to explain the thought process.

I think I would really be willing to give up the two Woman holidays of the year (Valentine’s and Mother’s Day) to eliminate all the other holiday work throughout the year.

I know, I know, I am a whiner. It’s all about the memories we are making. I can’t help it that I prefer to make memories without working myself like a horse.

Not that you care, but I really wanted to add a picture of me in here of decorating the tree last night. Guess why I didn’t? I spared you the trauma of staring at my big fat bum. Every picture that was taken I was leaning over and picking something up, moving furniture, or plugging something in. Yep, you got it….working.

And were you wondering what LG was doing through all of the Christmas festivities – you got it – not working – unless you consider taking my picture work – which come to think of it – maybe he was working – staring at my bum really can’t be considered enjoyable. HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!

Oh, and I just added the bonus picture of Kitty Bear. I think she may feel like I do about this whole tree nonsense. Check her out; she’s staring it down.

The Your Nighted States

Today, between the 1pm kindergarten pick up and the 2:45 end of the day, two of the girls and I stopped by the post office to mail a Christmas package to my parents. The postal worker kindly gave the girls the post office’s coloring book. It is entitled “Greetings from America” and teaches U.S. historical and geographical facts. It’s pretty cool and of course the girls are always delighted to get a special surprise that breaks up the monotony of running errands with mom.

On the way home, this was the comical conversation.

Bella talking to herself incoherently, “So people sleep at night and they live in the states.”

I was figuring that she was making 4 year old reference self-talk to the fact that we live in The United States and we have our night while my sister-in-law’s family has day in Korea. We have had that conversation with her a few times.

I keep on eavesdropping. Bella: “So it’s you and states.”

Sophia, “Yes Bella, it’s The United States.”

Bella, “Yeah, The Your Nighted States….we sleep at night.”

When I commented that it was great that we live in The Your Nighted States we all had a good chuckle. The girls also loved being surprised by mom listening in during the mundane and long car rides home from school.

Then Abigail gets in the car and starts looking through her book and says, “Mom I can tell you the United States Presidents.”

“Oh really, all of them?” “No, not all of them, just George Washington, John Adams and Abraham Lincoln; I am not sure of that guy in the middle with the glasses.”

Sophia, “That’s Teddy Bear Roosevelt.” Abigail, “Oh yeah, and Teddy Roosevelt.”

My response: “Abigail now we live in The Your Nighted States, didn’t you know?”

P.S. It’s not John Adams, that’s Thomas Jefferson.

The Southern Baptists

In no way do I want to be disrespectful to my friends of other faiths, but I just gotta blog about something kind of funny. I love the Southern Christian people. We are surrounded by people who are not afraid to talk about their faith and this is not only refreshing but faith promoting. The picture above is the Historical First Baptist church in downtown Knoxville.

But, on with my entry. (Please don’t be offended anyone) In the South, we are known as the Bible Belt. I never quite understood what that meant until I moved here 4 years ago. We literally have a different church on every corner. (as opposed to different LDS ward buildings in Utah) On some intersections you can even find two different Baptist churches across from one another. I have no idea how many different sects that there are in the Baptist church. Here are the ones that I have learned of: Southern Baptist, Primitive Baptist, Calvary Baptist, First Baptist. Some of these could just be names of congregations, I’m not totally sure. The point being that we are the Bible Belt because people around here really read their Bibles.

From what I have learned about Baptists, the most important thing one can do is be “saved”. Besides that, it doesn’t really matter what you believe and as a Baptist you can go to whichever church you want, picking a preacher that you like. Agreeing with all the doctrines preached is a huge bonus, and the main reason that the number of congregations are always growing. Being a Mormon, however, is not acceptable to people of the Baptist faith. The Baptists don’t consider us to be Christian because for some reason their preachers have taught them that our being saved is not the same as theirs. I still have yet to figure that out.

Here is an interesting website I came across tonight: Knoxkoupons. I can make no sense whatsoever as to why there is a website that totally focuses on church congregations with the title having the word Koupon in it. I am also unsure as to whether or not I should be saddened by the fact that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is not on the list.

So, onto the funny part. As I have mentioned before, we have a funny way of talking here in the South. I never really thought about the origin of our vocabulary words until I was recently enlightened in Sunday School. Here are two seperate Bible references that we studied within the past couple of weeks.

Rom. 8: 18
18 For I reckon that the asufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the bglory which shall be revealed cin us.

Rom. 12: 14
14 Bless them which persecute you: bless, and curse not.

So, I got an answer to a question that I had never bothered to ask just by going to Sunday School. (this could be some kind of motivational “attend your meetings” speech) The question: Where do Southerners get their vocabulary? The origin: The Holy Bible. Two Southern phrases from tbe Book or Romans: “I reckon” & “Bless his heart”.

Our family especially likes the Southern phrase, “bless his heart.” You can almost get away with murder, as long as you are willing to say “bless his heart” after you kill someone. For instance, “Oh honey, you are getting so fat, bless your heart.”

The Hubby’s Humor


Those of you that have been loyal readers from the beginning know that this blog was a gift to me from my husband for Valentine’s Day a few years back. It really has been one of the best gifts he has ever given me. One, I love to write and I use this blog all the time. (except for the year 2006) 😉 Two, this blog is a great therapeutic tool! And three, LG was able to use his skills in Computer Science (which he will adamantly oppose, saying that it doesn’t take computer skills to set up a blog) to gift this to me. Of course there is no better gift than giving of yourself.

Here is a picture of LG. He is the love of my life, which none of you care about, but look at his cuteness. Just looking at a picture of him makes me smile. LG was the one who thought of the name for my blog. “I’m so funny” came from my oft heard self description of my sad sense of humor. (If I was really funny, I wouldn’t have to declare it to everyone after telling a joke, right?) The other source of this blog’s name is from the dialogue that often takes place between LG and me. Whenever one of us gets a good joke in, we are both known to profess to each other, “I’m so funny.” Usually this will turn into a little bit of fun bantering between us; of course he always lets me have the last, “No, I’m so funny.” This is very kind of him considering that he really does have the quicker wit.

We also like to sometimes exclaim to one another, “You’re so funny!” “You’re so funny” can be said for two reasons. These reasons have never been officially discussed, but have just evolved over time and are simply understood by just the two of us. The first kind of “You’re so funny” is said in a de·rog·a·to·ry fashion. The meaning of the expression really being, “you’re NOT so funny.” The second instance where we will say “you’re so funny” is always in only the finest complimentary way. The trick with the “you’re so funny” expression is that the giver of the words has to deliver the phrase in a monotone fashion. The whole fun with saying, “you’re so funny” is making the recipient of the phrase try to figure out if the humor is being described as 1- that was bad! or 2- that was really good!

Last night LG gave me a point in case example of his quick wit. I just had to share. We were in bed having our usual late night chat. Directly after our nightly prayers, and right before falling to sleep sometimes we will engage in (NO, not that) conversation. We go over the happenings of the day, talk about our next day’s plans, and sometimes, rarely, LG will even venture into the world of sharing his true deep down feelings. LG was a little down last night. He said he was having self confidence issues. (which I am sure he will be happy that I have told the whole world today on my blog – and which will also mean that it will be a while before he dares share any more personal feelings) But this story is worth it and I HAVE to give you the background information or it just won’t be the same. I will conveniently leave out some other details, only because LG has threatened me. 🙂

Our conversation progressed last night by me pressing for the exact reasons he was down on himself. He told me a few things he felt and then I got the chance to dispel his negative thoughts. By the time I got done, I thought, “I should tell him some others things he is good at.” LG’s complete ignorance of my weak compliments led me to start using the usual backup stupid complimentary phrases, the last being, “And, you know that I think that you have the perfect amount of chest hair.”

You have to understand that this last compliment was given with a sweet kiss attached. And, what was his reply? “So do you.” How does he expect my pep talk to lead to any form of intimacy when all I could do was just crack up? In between my fits of laughter I got the last word of course, “You’re so funny!” And this time I am sure that my tone gave away the meaning of the phrase.

Last night, LG may have won the I’msofunny game. Happily in this case, I declare the war as never being over. Last night, LG was truly #2 “you really are so funny” and not #1, “you’re not so funny.” with those three quick words, “So do you.”

Maybe some of those writers in Hollywood could step aside and give LG a shot. I tell you what, “So do you”, blurted out in .001 seconds?! I would almost be proud of his joke if it wasn’t in reference to me having hair on my chest (which just in case you are wondering, I don’t) If I did, that wouldn’t be so funny, now would it?

This is the way we do it in the south

So, I am addicted to reading the comments on my blog. The other day I was frustrated because none of my blogging friends have updated and no one is giving me the desperate attention I shouldn’t need. LG informed me that I have fallen away from what I do best, telling funny stories. “No one wants to read about your kids”, he said. He then informed me that I ruined my reading audience because back in the beginning I was getting at least 20 hits a day, and that now, if we could remember how to get to my tracker it would be just the same 5 friends. Oh well, I guess I’ll never be famous. Isn’t this blogging thing so egotistical? Who really wants to read anything that I have to write about except other bloggers who are just as desperate as I am for some comment action. I mean really, be honest with yourself, don’t we all blog for the comments?

So, on with my desperate attempt to entertain my readers with a story that doesn’t have to do with my children. Which may backfire because all of my readers may be in the future when my children get older and decide to do genealogy by reading their mom’s blog. And, then they will just want to hear their stories, and instead they will find this one. Man, us mom’s, sometimes we just can’t win.

A few years ago, when I was very new to the South and was trying to learn all the new vocabulary I had an interesting experience at WalMart. Of course it happened at Wal-Mart because Tennesseans don’t shop anywhere else. This story has to do with the picture above in a round about way…see if you can figure it out. I got the picture above from, I know you won’t believe it, the international towing museum, which is amazingly located down south a bit in Chattanooga,TN.

I was checking out in the regular line, as opposed to the infamous Self Check Out, which is where I normally check out. I may have shied away from Self Check Out a little after the above mentioned linked experience, and come to think of it, it was shortly after the funny check out story and I was checking out late at night (which explains why I wasn’t in my favorite closed self check out line.)

So, this night, a gruff looking man pulled his buggy up behind mine (we use the word buggy instead of shopping cart in the South) On a side note, I learned very quickly to holler (not yell) at my children to get in the buggy. No onlookers understood my discipline when I told my kids to get in the cart. I like to think of my audience you know. So, on with the story, as the cashier checked out my mountains of groceries, this gruff man asked her politely if she would keep an eye on his buggy. He explained, “I’m a wrecker driver and I just got a page.” He took off and the cashier pulled his buggy of merchandise out of the line.

I was perplexed. “What’s a wrecker driver?”, I asked the cashier, with as close as I can get to a Southern accent. I knew I would sound as if I was from a foreign country. The cashier looked at me as if I was from a foreign country. I explained further, “If you can’t tell already, I am not from the South.” (not hard for most people to notice since calling a shopping cart a buggy is as close as I get to a southern drawl) “So what that you aren’t from the south, are you stupid?”, her glare seemed to scream at me. So, I asked again,”What’s a wrecker driver, I really don’t know what that is.”

As she must have noticed the tear forming in my eye from frustration, she answered nonchalantly, “It’s a person who drives a wrecker, honey.”

I probably should have stopped there, but just couldn’t end the insanity until I got my answers. “What’s a wrecker?”

“Well, you know, honey, it’s the thing that people call when they’ve been in an accident or their car broke down.”

“Ohhhhhhhhh, a TOW TRUCK!”, I responded feeling so enlightened.

She then replied, “What’s a tow truck?” I saved her the humiliation and explained, “It’s what the rest of this country calls a wrecker driver.”

Well surely this WalMart cashier must have been the more misinformed person because even the best of the best wrecker drivers call their museum the “International TOWING Museum”, not the “International Wrecker Museum.” I took pride in myself tonight for knowing more than the old WalMart checker about wreckers. Surely she doesn’t know about the wrecker museum or this website that I found tonight while searching for a picture of a wrecker to post.

Do you think I can pass as a true Southerner yet? I guess I’ll have the ultimate test when my car breaks down. If I look under the T’s in the yellow book before I look up the W’s than I will have failed. But, if I go straight to the “wrecker section”, well, then let’s just say that then y’all will know that I am at least one southern vocabulary word closer.

California Fires

So, LG and I took the girls for a getaway to the Atlanta temple yesterday. It’s a three hour drive each way. We left very early to get a jump start and it was a typical Southern Fall foggy morning.

Between navigating for LG, taking care of the kids in the car, and making the 7 soccer party calls from my cell phone, my mind wandered from the road. I looked up to see a wall of “smoke”. I exclaimed, “Honey, there’s a fire, slow down.”

Yes, I’m a Californian and grew up among frequent fires. LG turned to me and said, “Go home hippie.”

He didn’t really say that but that’s not the point. Our conversation just now went something like this.

Me: “Well, aren’t fog and smoke from the same element anyway?”

“No, Fog is water; smoke is pollution, you hippie.”

“What are you talking about you redneck, smoke is not pollution.”