Last night we were on the way to our church’s block party and we passed my tailor’s, whose shop is right next to the Nascar collectible shop. My tailor is this little old French lady, who has to be like 93, and she is so, so good, and uber cheap. She has the dinkiest little shop, not that you could even see it from the road because it’s totally dwarfed by the 5 foot day-glo orange lettering advertising the NASCAR collectible store’s sign. Which is either totally ghetto or totally country, I’m not sure which. Anyway, we’re driving along, and Davey starts singing this song, at first I couldn’t make out the words, and then Kat lets out a squeal and hits Davey in the arm. Kat yells at him, I don’t have drunk in the trunk! Davey bursts out laughing and starts singing louder, his song now completely clear, “junk in the trunk, junk in the trunk”. Over and over and over. Chris and I look at each other, trying not to laugh, and I’m like, David, do you even know what that means? He’s like, yeah, it means you’ve got junk in your trunk. I’m like, yeah, and what does that mean? He goes, like JUNK in your butt. Then Chris says, and junk would be…? Davey gets the most serious look on his face and says, poop. It means you have poop in your butt. Once Chris and I stopped laughing enough to be able to speak, we were like, uh no, buddy. That’s really NOT what it means.
So we’re kinda semi-horrified at 1. Why he would ever say “junk in the trunk”, 2. Why on earth he would think that meant you have poop in your butt, and 3. Why Kat though he said drunk in the trunk. The only thing I can figure is, it is summer vacation, and since it’s been raining, they’ve been stuck inside with a lot of t.v. I completely blame it on the Disney Channel, I think he picked it from there. It's those damn High School Musical kids, they're a bad influence with all that singing and dancing. He probably thinks it’s talking about poop because, well, that’s what Davey does. He’s a gross little boy who thinks everything is about poop, boogers, dirt and bugs, but hey, what 9-year old boy doesn’t, right? The last one is a bit more perplexing. Granted, I’ve been drunk in a trunk, but that was a long, long time ago, and certainly I didn’t share that little tidbit with Kat. I think 9 may be a tad young to hear stories of my drunken debauchery days. So I can’t figure it out at all, so I’m like, Kat, why would you think he said drunk in the trunk? And she says (in her new super annoying valley-girl voice that she also no doubt picked up from the Disney Channel), well, I didn’t think he’d be talking about poop. I mean, as IF anyone would say that. That’s GROSS. Fair enough.
Showing posts with label pants pooping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pants pooping. Show all posts
Scrooge McDuck and Magellan do Boston
I don't know if it's just spring fever or I'm just completely lazy, but I've been pretty bad about updating my blog for the last week or so. I suppose I'm just not feeling very bloggy lately. I spent the majority of the week trying in vain to get ready for Kat's cheering competition in Rhode Island. Between packing, cleaning and laundry I was pretty busy. It amazes me that no matter how many loads of laundry I do, it's never done. I must've done about 17 loads last week. Apparently Chris and the kids didn't get the memo that we only wear ONE outfit a day and that just because you try on something for 30 seconds does not make it dirty. Sigh. Anyway, we left early Friday afternoon for Rhode Island. Despite several attempts to buy a GPS, Scrooge McDuck (aka Chris) says it's cheaper to print directions that to buy a GPS, so we used MapQuest...even though MapQuest gives us bad directions ALL the time. Well Scrooge McDuck got exactly what he paid for when MapQuest tried to kill us. Yeah, MapQuest apparently doesn't like the major highways and took us right through the middle of Boston, which we didn't even realize until we came around a corner and find ourselves smack in the middle of the Boston tunnels at freaking 4:15 on a Friday afternoon. Now in case I hadn't mentioned it before, I have a little claustrophobia thing. I also have a fear of being underground in the dark with a bunch of people who'd rather punch you in the face than let you switch lanes. So here we are sitting in bumper to bumper traffic in a fucking tunnel with idiots swerving in and out of lanes, honking horns, flipping people off...holy shit I thought I was going to die. Chris, normally cool, calm and collected, turned off the radio and was like shutupshutupshutup to the kids. He's asking me where to go, and I'm completely freaking out because I'm 110% sure that there's going to be a huge fireball coming through the tunnel any second (a'la Independence Day) and we're all going to die a firey death because we can't escape the tunnel of hell.
Believe it or not, the tunnel didn't explode and did see daylight again...45 minutes later. It was another 45 minutes before we were even out of Boston. Boston sucks. A lot. Finally, finally, finally we got to Rhode Island. We did get lost 3 times from the end of Boston to the Rhode Island state line. The whole time Chris is yelling at me, telling me to read the directions, which I totally was. It said get off at exit 8A, but there was no 8A. It went 9, 8, 7...no 8A. Someone told me later that 8A actually was after exit 6. Well of course it is, because that makes a lot of sense. Anyway, I told him to get off some exit and ask for directions.
Chris: Yeah, thanks a lot Magellan, you've been very helpful.
Me: Well you know what, that's what happens when you're too cheap to buy a GPS. I told you we should get one.
Chris: Yes well, once again you've done a superb job with navigation.
Me: Jackass.
He's referring to last spring when we were going to Six Flags in Massachusetts and I read the directions wrong and we wound up literally in the ghetto...like with real live drug dealers and hookers on the corner. We were supposed to go to a street in Agawam, and I led us to a street of the same name in Springfield. We had to stop at a convenience store next to a bar with one of those LIVE DANCING NUDE GIRLS! signs for directions. He was pretty pissed. He also could be referring to the time that we went to Athens, Georgia and we took a 3 hour detour on country dirt road because I mis-read the map. All we saw were cows and fields for hours and hours. He was pretty pissed. Of course he could be talking about the time that we went to York's Wild Kingdom and I mis-read the map and missed the exit and drove into New Hampshire...twice. He was really pissed that time. It's just a few detours, what's the big deal? And this time it wasn't even my fault, I read the directions right, it was totally MapQuest's fault.
When we got home he started pricing GPSs.
Believe it or not, the tunnel didn't explode and did see daylight again...45 minutes later. It was another 45 minutes before we were even out of Boston. Boston sucks. A lot. Finally, finally, finally we got to Rhode Island. We did get lost 3 times from the end of Boston to the Rhode Island state line. The whole time Chris is yelling at me, telling me to read the directions, which I totally was. It said get off at exit 8A, but there was no 8A. It went 9, 8, 7...no 8A. Someone told me later that 8A actually was after exit 6. Well of course it is, because that makes a lot of sense. Anyway, I told him to get off some exit and ask for directions.
Chris: Yeah, thanks a lot Magellan, you've been very helpful.
Me: Well you know what, that's what happens when you're too cheap to buy a GPS. I told you we should get one.
Chris: Yes well, once again you've done a superb job with navigation.
Me: Jackass.
He's referring to last spring when we were going to Six Flags in Massachusetts and I read the directions wrong and we wound up literally in the ghetto...like with real live drug dealers and hookers on the corner. We were supposed to go to a street in Agawam, and I led us to a street of the same name in Springfield. We had to stop at a convenience store next to a bar with one of those LIVE DANCING NUDE GIRLS! signs for directions. He was pretty pissed. He also could be referring to the time that we went to Athens, Georgia and we took a 3 hour detour on country dirt road because I mis-read the map. All we saw were cows and fields for hours and hours. He was pretty pissed. Of course he could be talking about the time that we went to York's Wild Kingdom and I mis-read the map and missed the exit and drove into New Hampshire...twice. He was really pissed that time. It's just a few detours, what's the big deal? And this time it wasn't even my fault, I read the directions right, it was totally MapQuest's fault.
When we got home he started pricing GPSs.
The scary truth about Fiber One
So the not smoking thing sucks. And I mean sucks as in I suck at it. I started smoking again Friday night. I did however make it a whopping 13 hours without smoking. Maybe next week. I am still on my quest to no longer be a hog beast. While I can't seem to drag my lazy ass to the gym, the Weight Watchers thing is going pretty well. I'm tracking all my food and behaving, which is nice for a change. I'm eating a Lean Cuisine for lunch. Lemon pepper fish. It's remarkably good. It may just be the hunger talking, but it's really not bad. It's surprising what tastes good when you've realized that your fat jeans are too tight and you refuse to buy a bigger size.
I had a Fiber One bar for breakfast and was like, mmmmm, chocolately goodness. Now normally, I'd be all mmmmm, chocolately cardboard. Desperation is a funny thing that way. How sad is that I actually look forward to eating those gross bars? The last time I was on Weight Watchers I ate them all the time. Kat had gone into the pantry to get a snack in the snack basket and she pulls out a Fiber One bar. She was like, ooo, chocolate. Can I have it? I was like, yeah, but it'll make you poop. She's like, that's ok. I have to poop anyway. I was like, well go ahead, but I warned you. So a couple of hours later she's watching tv and gets this horrified look on her face and goes racing up the stairs. She came back down all relieved looking and goes, phew. Mom, those bars make me poop FAST. I was like, I know, I told you that. So Davey, goes, um...Mom? I had 2...what's going to happen? I was like, oh my God?! You had 2?! Davey, that's so, so bad! You're going to poop your pants! His face totally fell and he got all teary-eyed. I was like, aww, I'm totally kidding. He's like, THAT'S NOT ANYTHING TO JOKE ABOUT MOM!
He didn't poop his pants of course, but he's never had another Fiber One bar. He also is very leery about granola bars. It's probably a bad thing that I scare my children into not eating healthy food by tormenting them with threats of pants-pooping. Heh. That's quite possibly the strangest sentence I've ever written.
I had a Fiber One bar for breakfast and was like, mmmmm, chocolately goodness. Now normally, I'd be all mmmmm, chocolately cardboard. Desperation is a funny thing that way. How sad is that I actually look forward to eating those gross bars? The last time I was on Weight Watchers I ate them all the time. Kat had gone into the pantry to get a snack in the snack basket and she pulls out a Fiber One bar. She was like, ooo, chocolate. Can I have it? I was like, yeah, but it'll make you poop. She's like, that's ok. I have to poop anyway. I was like, well go ahead, but I warned you. So a couple of hours later she's watching tv and gets this horrified look on her face and goes racing up the stairs. She came back down all relieved looking and goes, phew. Mom, those bars make me poop FAST. I was like, I know, I told you that. So Davey, goes, um...Mom? I had 2...what's going to happen? I was like, oh my God?! You had 2?! Davey, that's so, so bad! You're going to poop your pants! His face totally fell and he got all teary-eyed. I was like, aww, I'm totally kidding. He's like, THAT'S NOT ANYTHING TO JOKE ABOUT MOM!
He didn't poop his pants of course, but he's never had another Fiber One bar. He also is very leery about granola bars. It's probably a bad thing that I scare my children into not eating healthy food by tormenting them with threats of pants-pooping. Heh. That's quite possibly the strangest sentence I've ever written.
