Mom of the Year- Blood Type Edition

Fifi: Hey mom, what's my blood type?

Me: I don't know.

F: Tell me.

Me:  I don't know. Why? Were they talking about a blood shortage on tv of a certain blood-type and you're panicking?*

F: No, but tell me!

Me: Don't worry, I don't mine either.

F: I want to know. Please tell me mom.

Me: I don't know!

F: PLEASE

Me: Look. I don't even know who your sister's father is.

F: (Glares angrily) There is a lesser percentage of getting a certain disease depending on your blood type, so tell me what it is.

M: You are not at risk for whatever shit they are talking about. Go turn the freaking news off now. 

I am an awesome parent. That is all.

*Fifi has an issue with irrational fears, so I saw this coming.

Bad moms in blood-type related lineup. 

Of course it is. When it's not wine.

I Like the Vodka Too

This afternoon I was telling Raquel about a blog I'm currently in love with called Like the Vodka. 

I was explaining the premise- An American wife and Russian husband; she calls him The Russian and posts about their conversations and funny scenarios due to language and cultural differences.

I was saying how it was impossible to read it without herring* his dialogue in a Russian accent whenever she wrote the husband's words.

So I read an excerpt of a post aloud:

The Russian: My friend Ivan is excited about his mother-in-law coming to U.S. She will prepare adish from the bear.

Wife: Where's Ivan gonna get a bear?

TR: He already has, in the freezer.

W: Ivan has the bear in the freezer?

TR: Ecktually, just the hand...

W: What exactly is a bear hand?

TR:  You know, in the front. The bear uses to operate.

W: The bear is a surgeon?

My Russian accent was an epic fail but we were laughing hysterically.

Raquel: We have to get us a Russian.

Me: I just peed myself a little.

R: Remember that hotel where I worked and my boss was Indian and always messing up phrases like instead of 'mountain out of a mole hill' he'd say 'mountain out of a speck' or something?

Me: Yes, bahaahha!

So basically we want a foreigner to hang out with so we can make fun of their accent and misinterpretation of sayings for our personal amusement. Naturally. #morereasonswearegoingtohell

I don't know if this foreigner would follow us around, come over at set appointment times or be a part of our group. It would seem unfair taking them out with us and ridiculing everything they say. But it does sound entertaining, so I'm game.

So when Raquel says 'We need a Russian.'

I say Egg-zectly!

(*hearing... Apropos typo, so it stays)

More fitting than you know.
image via

Quelle Horreur

I'm going to let you in on a secret that might have me ostracized world wide. 

I really don't care about the Olympics. collective gasp

Don't care to watch. Don't care who wins.

I don't think that makes me un- American. Or even un-Chinese, un-Russian, un-Greek and un-every-other-country-in-the-world. And not even un-Olympic.

It's not as if I don't think they are worthwhile and important. It's just that I have no interest in watching them. I don't bother watching other sports, so why should I start now?

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for flexing our country's athletic prowess and some healthy competition, but I don't want to spend hours watching each event. Just listening to the commentators is torture in its own right.

The last few weeks have been an Olympics overload on the senses. The television figuratively vomiting the subject from every orifice. I'm sure my Toshiba would do it literally if it could. 

At dinner one night in Tulsa, our table was flanked by giant televisions replaying momentous Olympic achievemenets like Keri Strug's historic vault. It was also discussed at dinner that Olympian Shannon Miller was from a small Oklahoma town nearby. In the hotel room, Lola and Raquel watched events and marveled over Oscar Pistorius. (I couldn't remember his name so I literally had to google 'who was the no legged Olympian in the 2012 Olympics' #goingtohell)

The news reported on who won which events regularly. Networks aired triumphs and tragedies of Olympics past. Facebook was a flutter with posts about the opening ceremonies and dismay with the time delay.

It has been one giant voyeuristic Olympic orgy.

When it's over just let me know the number of gold medals we won so I can start wagering on how many will be revoked for scandals like steroid use, intelligibility due to sexual re-assignment surgery or inappropriate texting of wing wang photos aka behavior unbecoming of an Olympian.

Now, if they added some events like wine tasting, name that tune and power shoe shopping before your demonic toddler throws a tantrum in the store, I may be down to watch. Or enter.

Or how about an event where participants must make an edible and appealing dinner using the sparse ingredients of a semi-empty fridge and pantry in 30 minutes ala Chopped. While hurdling small children and pets. And refereeing sibling smack-downs. And yelling at a husband to turn down the volume on the god damned television.

I would totally watch that shit.

Even the Queen is bored.

Texts from Wiener: Part Deux

This was a very special Mother's Day conversation:

Can you feel the love?

In other news, I'm an awesome mom! 

Shit People Say

Things said out loud to me while sober: 
(Well, at least I was sober. Not sure about them)


Aesthetician while giving me an eyebrow wax before my 20th high school reunion: You know, you should get a Brazilian before your reunion. I could do it now.
Me: What the hell do you think I'll be doing at my reunion that requires a Brazilian?!


Clerk at target: I like your nipple. 
Me: *???* (She may have said I like your necklace, but she had an accent and I still can't figure out how nipple could sound like necklace. Also, my nipples weren't showing. That time.)


Nurse after childbirth while looking at my hoo ha as the doctor stitched me up: *making a frowny face* You're really swollen.
Me: *Ya think?* #awkward


Car salesman: Where did you go to high school?
Me: The 'local now known as wealthy part of town high school.'  
Car salesman: That explains the bleach blonde hair.
Me: Um, okay?? *WTF?? Guess who's not buying a car from you?*


Young European guys at a resort in the Bahamas: Do you want to go to the disco?

This was directed at Raquel and I while vacationing there years ago. I'm pretty sure the A Night at the Roxbury characters were based on them. 

We did not go to the disco. But we did go on the booze cruise.