Tag Archives: silly

Letters

I yanked open the door and there he was, my mailman. We both jumped, startled. His hand was full of letters and literally by my knees, about to stick our mail into the slot in our front door.
“Oh, uh-”DSCN1377
“Sorry-”
“I was just about to-”
“Yeah…”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, sorry I startled-”
“No, no-”
“It must happen all the time.”
“No, not really…”
“Oh.”
“So yeah…”
“Yeah I’ll take that.”
I took the mail from him.
“Have a nice day!” we both said in unison.
I really need to get a mailbox.

That’s right, I’m back folks! After a bit of a sabbatical, I am writing again and hoping to post more often. To keep up, feel free to like my Facebook Page.

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Imagine That

Imagine that, one day, some day in the future, some popular kid loses a bet. Everyone loves this kid; the boys emulate him, the girls follow him around and stalk him on Facebook. Or if it’s really far in the future, some new version of Facebook. But getting back to the kid, let’s call him Eugene, because this is the future and in the future Eugene could become a cool name. So Eugene loses a bet, with his other football-playing buddies – or maybe chess-playing..we don’t know what the future holds – and he has to wear a pink bunny suit to school. He is honorable, so he follows through with this bet, and goes to school wearing a giant fluffy pink bunny outfit, large pink ears and all. But instead of kids pointing and laughing, they see him and just think “Wow, that Eugene, he’s so cool, only he could pull off a giant pink bunny suit.” His football-slash-chess-loving-friends see that he’s not the least bit embarrassed, and so they decide it’s now cool and do the same. They go to the store, and next thing you know, there’s a run on pink bunny suits for teenage-sized people, and they can’t be bought anywhere. Totally sold out. No store within a fifty-minute drive has anything even resembling this bunny suit. Sure, they have white, and blue, and some even have indigo, but those aren’t the cool ones. It HAS to be pink. Imagine if the principal somehow missed this trend because he was too busy in his office reprimanding deviants, and one day, he walks to the cafeteria because it’s tots day and everyone loves tots, and he finds a whole giant caf full of teenagers dressed as pink bunnies. Pink bunnies in line. Pink bunnies eating with friends. Pink bunnies doing homework. Reading books. Listening to iPods. Texting. Getting into a fight. What would he say? What in the world would he say?

Probably something like “What the hell is this, some kind of pink bunny rabbit brouhaha?”

Probably something like that.

This absurd story was inspired by a few words/phrases people asked me to use in a story, “pink bunny rabbit” and “brouhaha” by Jess and Tiffani, respectively. And if, for some reason, this story made you want to dress like a pink bunny rabbit, please click on the pic and you can buy those.

Underwierd

“I don’t like my underweird, daddy,” she said to up him as they stood in line at the market. He had no clue what she was talking about, but noticed she was doing the pee pee dance.

“Your what?”

“Underweird.”

“Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

“Huh?”

“The bathroom. Potty? Do you have to pee?”

She looked up at him and seemed to think about it. He couldn’t believe she was surrounded by all of that candy and not begging for some.

“No, thank you. I don’t have to go.” He was baffled. Why was she doing the pee pee dance if she didn’t have to pee? You don’t just do that awkward dance, grabbing at yourself and putting your knees together. He’d never seen her act like this before.

“Okay, let’s go to the bathroom,” he said to her, reaching out for her hand. She took it and he carried the basket of food towards the restrooms. The marmalade slipped from side to side due to its weight, which threw him off a bit as he walked. As he stopped in front of the restrooms, she pulled at his hand a bit.

“Can I wait out here?” she pleaded.

“What?”

“While you pee?” she said to him.

“You’re the one who has to pee,” he responded with his eyebrows up. He had no clue what was going on.

“Nuh-uh. I don’t have to pee.” She started pulling at herself again.

“Then what are you doing?” he asked, pointing to her hands. She began to do what he thought was the pee pee dance once more.

“It’s my underweird. I don’t like my underweird.”

“Your WHAT?” He looked up into the flourescent lights of the market as if God or the loudspeakers of the supermarket could help him. Meanwhile, she pulled her skirt up and pointed at her underwear.

“My UNDERWEIRD!” she said, pointing. He finally understood and pushed her skirt back into place.

“Okay hun. We can change them when we get home. And for the record, it’s underWEAR.”

“What’s a record?” she asked.

“Never mind.”

Drawing by the super-talented Larissa Meek.

Speaking & Spelling

She heard a robotic voice, somehow reminiscent of the 1980s, echoing up the stairs, possibly from the living room. She poked her head out of the sewing room to listen.
I-L-O
“What the heck is that? What are you doing down there?” she yelled down to him.
V-E
“Seriously! What the heck is that voice? It sounds like a robot.”
She waited for an answer, but he stayed silent. It was just her and the strange robot.
Y
She had enough and dropped the fabric she was sewing onto the chair. “That’s it, I’m coming down there!” She was smiling now.
O
“If that’s what I think it is you’re in big trouble, mister!”
U
She jumped to skip the last few steps and slid a little on the hardwood floor because of her socks. As she grabbed the bannister and slid around it she had a view of the love seat across the room where he was sitting with a giant, sly grin on his face and a red machine of some sort on his lap.
“You didn’t!” she yelled as she ran across and jumped onto the love seat and hugged him.
“Like it? I found it at a yard sale down the street while you were sewing. Still works!”
She went to hug him again but instead, as he prepared for the love, she snatched the machine from his hands.
“I love Speak & Spell! I had this as a kid! I’m playing.”
First she ran her fingers across the multi-colored keyboard, then across the words Texas Instruments. She giggled at the little icon that included the state of Texas in the corner. Her finger landed on the Go button and it spoke in a monotone voice. “Spell-through.
“How do you know which through it is?” he asked her.
“Hell if I know. This thing is thirty years old! I’m just guessing!”
She pushed the buttons and the robot spoke the letters as she hit them.
T-H-R-O-U-G-H- that is correct. Now spell, love.”
She smiled and started again.

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Setters vs. Pointers?

I stood before the two doors, entrances to the restrooms at a small café known as The White Dog and felt like I was watching a tennis match.

I looked at the left door. Then the right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left.

How in the hell was I supposed to know which one was the men’s room?

Both had a painting of a dog.

To my left, a big white dog with brown spots. Pointers, it said. Pointers? That’s probably for the men, right?

The other side a mostly white dog, similar enough to the other that I really couldn’t be sure. Setters, it said. Setters? That’s close enough to sitters, right? And women sit on the toilet no matter what…so…

I had no idea what to do. I could go with my gut since a peeing guy  would definitely be considered a pointer. But what if I was wrong? And not only did I go in there, use the bathroom, spot whatever sort of feminine stuff was usually in a bathroom and then as I attempt to discreetly leave find a woman waiting to use it? I’d be so busted!

I checked the lower half of the paintings, hoping for some sort of doggie parts that might answer my question. No luck. I would have to take a chance.

I opened the pointers door and relaxed as I saw that the seat was not down.

Success.

La Nuit Française

“I’ve never seen a balloon cause so much trouble!”

“I know, right?” she said to me.

We had just finished watching the 1956 French classic Le Balloon Rouge, or The Red Balloon.

“That kid got into so much trouble!” she said. I nodded. “How did you know there was so little dialogue?”

“Someone told me.” I had come up with the idea of creating our own soundtrack to it, side two of Françoise Hardy’s Maid in Paris, then side one of the Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin record.

“It made it more fun, didn’t it?”

“Oui!”

“Dork.”

She fell back onto the couch and started staring at the ceiling. “I’m glad we didn’t sell them.”

“Even though we could use the money.”

“Money can’t replace the beauty of those records.”

Someone had just offered me a shit-ton of money for my collection of record française. Yeah right, like I would part with them.

“Yeah right, like I would part with them. I lugged half of them all the way across Montreal, and most of the others, I left clothing behind in Paris for those. They are definitely worth more than money to me.”

“Me too. They’re half the reason I liked you at first.”

“Very funny.”

“Fine, that’s a lie, but on the first date it is how you lured me back to your place. French records, a little wine, you sure know how to make a girl melt.”

“You’d be surprised how often that line works. I have a nice collection of French records at my place…”

“Nice.” She frowned. “Wait, you are kidding, right?”

“Of course. I’ve never shared these records with another woman.” She looked at me. “What?”

“Never?
I thought about it and decided to come clean. “Fine, fine, I have tried. None of them appreciated them.”

“Not as much as me, right?” she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me into her arms.

“Nope!” I said as I kissed her. We made out for a bit until the needle started scratching against nothing, then returned to its arm rest.

“Should I flip it?” she asked. “Or should we maybe watch the movie again with the real audio, just to see if the effect is different?”

I smiled and picked up the remote to start the movie again. The balloon once again floated down to the little boy and I laughed as he was once again told he could not bring it on the bus, thus being late for school again.

“I’ve never seen a balloon cause so much trouble.”