Growing up, when we went to a party my sisters and all of the other kids were always lost in a made up world somewhere else. I, on the other hand, loved to sit at the table and listen to my parents and their friends tell stories and relive the Before Kids Days. My favorites were the college stories, the post-college stories, and the ones from my dad's annual camping trips (the one that had to come to an end when he left my mom home alone with a one-month old very colicky baby who now enjoys telling these stories herself). Of course, most of them involved alcohol... and extreme amounts of it. Going to a dry school I thought/ was kind of sad I'd be missing these stories from my life. Well, I'm not. Mine just involve less (read "no") alcohol.
One thing I've never really understood is why my mom had the audacity to give Mark--a man she's not married to--a wet willy just for sassing her. When I witnessed this first hand, boys still had coodies, and there was no way I would be getting anywhere near them much less close enough to stick my tongue in their ears. Well, I now have friends who are male, and I discovered this weekend that it's only a matter of time before Nikki, Elizabeth, and Andy get hard core wet willies (no finger).
I was giving my goodnight hugs on Saturday night when Elizabeth and Andy were on the Platonic Loveseat being, well, not very platonic. Instead of asking for goodnight hugs, I plunked myself down on the couch between them. Half of me was on top of Andy and the other half on top of Elizabeth. In about, oh, 1.5 seconds flat they flipped me on my back in the fetal position. Amy and Jennifer watched this whole deal and said all they could see of me were my knees. Not good!
"Watch my glasses!"
"Take them off!"
"No! Then I'm consenting to this rough housing. I don't consent! I don't consent!"
"Ooooh! Is she ticklish?!"
I am, but they didn't know that, and I sure as heck wasn't telling them.
Elizabeth and Andy decided the only thing to do to me in this situation was to lick me. Are we not past this game yet!? Elizabeth had the bottom half of my body in her lap, so she chose to lick the back of my right hand, not a big deal, I can wash that once I get free. Andy had my upper half and opted for the top of my head. I wasn't planning on showering before bed, thanks.
"I really want to lick her forehead," Elizabeth confessed. It's kind of a long-term goal, and they had me in the proper position. It was one of those "now or never" situations, and my goal was to make it a "never."
"Wouldn't that be awful?! She could just watch your tongue coming the whole time!"
Yes, that would be awful. I slapped my forearm to my forehead and held it tightly. All of the sudden there was a firm grasp on my wrist as Andy gently but forcefully pulled my hand away from my face. He's a "medical person;" he's done that before. Not fair! Elizabeth moved in for the kill but I beat her to the punch as my knees rapidly collided with my face. Word of advice: don't do that on a regular basis. A few more minutes of struggle and Elizabeth finally settled... her wet finger into my ear. Much further into my ear than a finger should go, I might add. I pushed her away with my feet and shoved Andy off of the couch. No winding up before bed... de-rile, de-rile.
I don't know if our three-on-a-couch experience will stand the test of time and be placed among the great "college stories" in my repertoire, but I do know that at the next opportunity they both will be receiving true business wet willies, tongue meet ear style.
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label Earwax. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Earwax. Show all posts
Monday, April 12, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
Two Fish Named Earwax
This definitely was a "You had to be there" story and no one remembers exactly what "there" was, but I'm going to do my best to explain why my sister has two fish named Earwax.
Several years ago, my mom had a student we'll call Eric for one reason and one reason only: that is not his name. Eric had this fascination with earwax. One day, we were sitting at the kitchen table eating our after school snack while Mom was doing dishes and telling us about Eric's earwax obsession. She started a sentence, "He has these two fish..."
"Named Earwax?" I asked, finishing the sentence for her in the only logical manner possible. No one knows what the real end of her sentence because we were all ridiculing Eric's supposed two fish named Earwax.
Eric never had two fish named Earwax but the joke stuck. Even when our other pets earned themselves obscure names based on bodily discharges, "earwax" was reserved for the two fish we didn't have. Oscar became "Booger," Christina became "Rash," Cassie became "Turd," and our male cat named Misty became "Puke" ("Puke did his thing"). Our family was Rash, Booger, Turd, Puke, and two fish named Earwax.
The only problem is that we still didn't have any fish much less two of them with the same unique name. For years, this is where the joke stayed (well, except for my aunt and uncle naming their dog Fish and our new cat being nicknamed Cow... our poor animals!).
This Christmas, Christina received a fish tank. Of course, now we could finally have our two fish named Earwax! Even though she calls her three fish Mo, Curly, and Larry they will forever be Earwax, Earwax, and Fishy to me. Frankly, my names are better because it took Christina a week before she realized she'd named her fish after the Three Stooges.
When she got a fresh-water shark, she named him Bruce after the shark in Finding Nemo. Creative? I think not. I renamed him "Juice." I then learned he's a red-tailed shark, but he looks more like an orange-tailed shark, so he became "Orange Juice."
Today's new fish was a catfish cleverly named "Kitty." Growing up, my mom had a catfish named Flat Bush. She said for awhile she even forgot he was catfish; he was a flat bush in her eyes. Therefore every catfish will forever be named Flat Bush.
"Man, Katie, your family is weird," you say.
"If you only knew," I respond.
"UPGRADE!" Laura screams.
Be sure to check in every week to hear about the newest additions to our family. Christina can have up to 11 inches worth of fish but not all in one fish and they have to be added one a week.
<>< Katie
Several years ago, my mom had a student we'll call Eric for one reason and one reason only: that is not his name. Eric had this fascination with earwax. One day, we were sitting at the kitchen table eating our after school snack while Mom was doing dishes and telling us about Eric's earwax obsession. She started a sentence, "He has these two fish..."
"Named Earwax?" I asked, finishing the sentence for her in the only logical manner possible. No one knows what the real end of her sentence because we were all ridiculing Eric's supposed two fish named Earwax.
Eric never had two fish named Earwax but the joke stuck. Even when our other pets earned themselves obscure names based on bodily discharges, "earwax" was reserved for the two fish we didn't have. Oscar became "Booger," Christina became "Rash," Cassie became "Turd," and our male cat named Misty became "Puke" ("Puke did his thing"). Our family was Rash, Booger, Turd, Puke, and two fish named Earwax.
The only problem is that we still didn't have any fish much less two of them with the same unique name. For years, this is where the joke stayed (well, except for my aunt and uncle naming their dog Fish and our new cat being nicknamed Cow... our poor animals!).
This Christmas, Christina received a fish tank. Of course, now we could finally have our two fish named Earwax! Even though she calls her three fish Mo, Curly, and Larry they will forever be Earwax, Earwax, and Fishy to me. Frankly, my names are better because it took Christina a week before she realized she'd named her fish after the Three Stooges.
When she got a fresh-water shark, she named him Bruce after the shark in Finding Nemo. Creative? I think not. I renamed him "Juice." I then learned he's a red-tailed shark, but he looks more like an orange-tailed shark, so he became "Orange Juice."
Today's new fish was a catfish cleverly named "Kitty." Growing up, my mom had a catfish named Flat Bush. She said for awhile she even forgot he was catfish; he was a flat bush in her eyes. Therefore every catfish will forever be named Flat Bush.
"Man, Katie, your family is weird," you say.
"If you only knew," I respond.
"UPGRADE!" Laura screams.
Be sure to check in every week to hear about the newest additions to our family. Christina can have up to 11 inches worth of fish but not all in one fish and they have to be added one a week.
<>< Katie
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Daily Mullings
I don't know what to write about today. I wrote a blog about smashing glass against the fire place, and I'm proud it as a writer but it doesn't have a point. I might post it anyway. I've toyed with the idea of explaining why my sister has two fish named Earwax but I think that's a "you had to be there" story and no quality of writing will do it justice. I could blog about Lyme disease since that's something that's become close to my heart and my aunt and uncle's dog was just diagnosed with it (missed by the first vet, big surprise there...). Or I could make reading this blog worth your time unlike the book I'm reading right now.
As of yesterday when I went to the bookstore, I am currently reading The Condition by Jennifer Haigh. Supposedly it's about a woman with Turner's Syndrome, a disease I did a case study on in 9th grade. Well, I'm 126 pages into it and I'm not quite sure what it's about. Way too many details about too many people. I understand explaining the lives of the five people in the family since they are all adults, but the lives of every person each individual has ever met is a little bit of overkill. Why am I reading this? I don't want you to ask the same about my blog. That is, assuming you're still reading. Is there anyone but Melissa here?
Oh! Storytime!
Since the story involves Bob you have to hear me like Bob hears everything I say: supersonic speed in a pitch so high only dogs can understand (I've been frequently told I'm "Telemundo in English").
A few weeks ago, I was the only attendee of HIGH SCHOOL Bible study. This isn't the first time this has happened, but in all previous instances I was still, well, the target audience. This particular week Bob had been prepared to teach on messianic prophesies as found in Zechariah (that's means everything in Zechariah the predicted Christ's coming). It was time to start and Bob looked around the room, "There's no one here," he announced.
"Am I no one?" I retorted.
"You know what meant," he said with a smile. Of course I did. I've only known Bob for seven years; that's enough time to know anyone's quirks (trust me, we both have plenty).
The two of us took a big step in our relationship and sat at the same bar table to investigate these passages. Even with both of our brains put together we could not wrap our minds around some of these passages. "But how does this predict Christ's coming?" "Are they talking about Christ here or not?" "Why do we insist this is Christ? This part came to fruition but not the rest of this." "What does this mean?" "The study Bible said THAT?"
Yeah, not a very educational but incredibly challenging. It was relaxing to wrestle with these ideas without a facade. Without either one of us needing the answers. Both of us were willing to admit we didn't understand.
"Maybe it's a good thing no one came today," he said at the end of our time.
"I came."
"That's what I mean. You're probably the only one who's ok leaving with more questions than answers," he said and paused. "I feel like a failure."
"You're not," I assured him. He was right: I was ok leaving with more questions than answers.
"I'm a failure. You're a failure," he said with a laugh. Thanks for the support, Bob. :-)
Learn to be ok with questions. They don't all need to be answered but that should not stop you from asking them.
What does this mean?
<>< Katie
As of yesterday when I went to the bookstore, I am currently reading The Condition by Jennifer Haigh. Supposedly it's about a woman with Turner's Syndrome, a disease I did a case study on in 9th grade. Well, I'm 126 pages into it and I'm not quite sure what it's about. Way too many details about too many people. I understand explaining the lives of the five people in the family since they are all adults, but the lives of every person each individual has ever met is a little bit of overkill. Why am I reading this? I don't want you to ask the same about my blog. That is, assuming you're still reading. Is there anyone but Melissa here?
Oh! Storytime!
Since the story involves Bob you have to hear me like Bob hears everything I say: supersonic speed in a pitch so high only dogs can understand (I've been frequently told I'm "Telemundo in English").
A few weeks ago, I was the only attendee of HIGH SCHOOL Bible study. This isn't the first time this has happened, but in all previous instances I was still, well, the target audience. This particular week Bob had been prepared to teach on messianic prophesies as found in Zechariah (that's means everything in Zechariah the predicted Christ's coming). It was time to start and Bob looked around the room, "There's no one here," he announced.
"Am I no one?" I retorted.
"You know what meant," he said with a smile. Of course I did. I've only known Bob for seven years; that's enough time to know anyone's quirks (trust me, we both have plenty).
The two of us took a big step in our relationship and sat at the same bar table to investigate these passages. Even with both of our brains put together we could not wrap our minds around some of these passages. "But how does this predict Christ's coming?" "Are they talking about Christ here or not?" "Why do we insist this is Christ? This part came to fruition but not the rest of this." "What does this mean?" "The study Bible said THAT?"
Yeah, not a very educational but incredibly challenging. It was relaxing to wrestle with these ideas without a facade. Without either one of us needing the answers. Both of us were willing to admit we didn't understand.
"Maybe it's a good thing no one came today," he said at the end of our time.
"I came."
"That's what I mean. You're probably the only one who's ok leaving with more questions than answers," he said and paused. "I feel like a failure."
"You're not," I assured him. He was right: I was ok leaving with more questions than answers.
"I'm a failure. You're a failure," he said with a laugh. Thanks for the support, Bob. :-)
Learn to be ok with questions. They don't all need to be answered but that should not stop you from asking them.
What does this mean?
<>< Katie
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