The Tale of Adolph C. Hunt

Let me first start off by saying that I'm quickly approaching 2,000 unique views on my blog. Who on earth is reading this?! I have no idea, but thanks whoever you are. And please keep reading.



So for those who have no clue who I am, other than this person who writes ridiculous stories, you may be wondering who all these people are that I'm talking about. Initially I thought about not using names, but then I figured it would get kind of obnoxious if I just kept using "my friend" instead of their actual name. So I've mentioned Shanda, Lainey, Elaine, Lisa, and Omar....and of course my husband Kevin....and etc. I will never give any more background on these folks other than what's relevant to the story. So since you don't know them, feel free to use the creative process to invent whatever details about them you'd like. A few new people will be introduced in this story, so enjoy. That is all.

Adolph C. Hunt. The name sounds fabricated, I know. But it's not. Adolph, well, the problem with that name is definitely self-explanatory. But the letter C being so close to the word Hunt just begs to be made fun of. The whole name is rather unnerving, if you ask me, and that's precisely where the story begins.

I was hanging out with Shanda one day, and she excused herself from the room to make a phone call. She came back, and I asked who she was speaking with. Her words: "Adolph C. Hunt, he's this guy I prank call." I starred at her blankly. "Excuse me, what?" I said. "Yes," she said, "a guy I just decided to prank call. I had to, his name is Adolph C. Hunt."




She informed me that she had been looking up a number in the phone book (remember when we used to use those?) and had run across the name, and found it irresistible. She then began the odyssey of oh-so-fabulous prank calls, that had been going on for a considerable amount of time.

I was beyond intrigued by this. And naturally, I felt like I had to do it too. I asked "what do you say when you call him?"

Shanda, oh Shanda. God love Shanda.

Shanda said, "I just sing 'I like to move it move it' over and over in a man voice." It took me quite some time to collect myself after hearing this, but I managed. Then I spent a moment trying to provoke a sense of calm before calling Adolph myself.



Adreneline pumping (yes, I excite easily) I picked up the phone and dialed. When he picked up the phone, in the background I heard the loud sounds of a football game and a bunch of rustling that suggested that Adolph had dropped the phone. A second later, a voice at the other end says "FUHBALL" as a form of a greeting. FUHBALL??? Do you seriously answer your phone during football season by saying FUHBALL? This completely caught me off guard, and immediately sent me into a fit of the giggles. I had to hang up. Clearly this Adolph fellow was a curious fig, and definitely an out-of-control football fan.



Moments later, I call again.

Adolph: "FUHHHHBALL!!"
Me: I like to move-it-move-it I like to move-it-move-it I like to move-it-move-it I like to move-it-move-it.....(pause)
Adolph: WHO THE HELL IS THIS, DAMN IT
Me: (pause)
Adolph: WHO THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE, I'LL CALL THE COPS
Me: I like to move-it-move-it I like to move-it-move-it I like to move-it-move-it I like to move-it-move-it.....MOVE IT!
Adolph: AH GAAD DAMMIT!!!! (click)



Shanda and I, who of course did this on speaker phone, then proceeded to roll on the floor convulsing with laughter. That was it. I was addicted.

News of the Adolph C. Hunt prank call spread throughout our group like wildfire. Everyone wanted in on this, it was just too entertaining to not love. We would have what were just short of Adolph prank calling parties....and the amount of people calling grew and grew.

I remember on nights we were bored, Betsy and I would drive around in her sister Sally's land rover and use one of those old school car cellulars to call Adolph on speaker phone. Over, and over and over. Adolph hated us. It was awesome.

Finally, by the time next football season rolled around, Adolph had decided it was enough. He answered the phone with his usual salutation, and when he heard "I LIKE TO MOVE-IT-MOVE-IT!!!" start up again, a spring sprung. He was finished. He held a number button on the phone down so it beeped loudly enough that we stopped to see what was going on. Betsy, Greg and I were the culprits in this situation, and had three-way dialed Adolph. We were always careful to block our number. This time, however, we had failed. He threatened his usual threat - but this time with a renewed fervor, saying "I HAVE YOUR NUMBER NOW YOU LITTLE BASTARDS! I'M GOING TO CALL THE POLICE!!!!"



Sweet precious mother of God.

He called Greg back, and a police officer was on the line. He wanted to file charges on us for harassment, and we were all going down in flames.

Luckily, and much to our surprise, the police officer seemed more amused than upset. He made us all apologize to dear old Adolph, and swear that we wouldn't do it again upon pains of imprisonment. We did all of the above without complaint, for we had been sure we were going to jail. I look back at it now and laugh, like, yeah right! Who would put teenagers in jail for prank calling a guy named Adolph?!

I'm sure Adolph C. Hunt has long since left this life, but he will not soon be forgotten. And that being said, I will be sending out evites to host a Skype prank calling party. God knows there surely is somebody named Adolph C. Hunt somewhere in the world that is just dying to be harassed. Let the legend live on.

Mental Majesty

A certain series of events has been told to me that created the best, and most hilarous, mental image I've ever had.

Now, I've only heard it told once. Perhaps the details are a bit fuzzy, but I've put together what I can remember and am attempting to write it down in the form of a story.

I'm a very visual person. Not that I necessarily am a visual learner, I just instantly picture what people say when they tell stories... even when I'd rather not. Very vividly, I might add. Which makes disgusting stories disgustingier, and beautiful stories beautifullier, sad stories saddier, and whatever else involves me seeing a clear mental picture of what's going on as if it were right in front of my face. Ps, I heart purposefully bad spelling. I do not, however, enjoy accidentally bad spelling - and I hate it more than anything when I realize I've sent an email out with exceptionally poor spelling after-the-fact. It eats at my very soul.

I also hate it when people ramble, yet astonishingly (and quite apparently) I do not mind if I do. On that note, we shall finally begin.

Every now and again, a funny story comes along that tickles my fancy because of the mental image aspect. When I think of these stories, one stands out among the rest.

Let's say there's a man, and this man has a wife. The wife happens to be pregnant, and is so pregnant that it makes it very difficult for her to sleep. She naps in the day when she can, and when she can't she's exhausted. In fact, either way she's exhausted.

I tried to pull up a picture of an exhausted lady on google, but all it came up with was Lady Gaga pictures. Go figure.

So one night the wife is trying to sleep, but all the husband and wife can hear is the loud chirping of frogs coming from a pond in their back yard. They try everything they can to distract themselves from the sound, but it's so overwhelmingly loud that no sound can be created to cover it that doesn't cause sleep-interuption in of itself.

After strong deliberation on how to solve this quandary, the man promptly gets up, goes outside, collects the frogs and throws them down a storm drain.



Quite proud of his brilliant solution, he crawls into bed - sure that this will no longer be a problem for him, or his wife.

Geez, google is in rare form today. I looked up "couple peacefully sleeping" and got this:



The next night the couple lays down to sleep. Suddenly - a bombardment of frog noises begins to rise like thunder. THEY HAD COME BACK! AND IN GREATER NUMBERS! Much like the sand people in Star Wars: A New Hope. Yes, I totally just went there.



The man, seething with anger, grabs the big bunch of frogs and once again makes a trek to the storm drain.



The next day comes and goes, and once again night befalls them. Silence. Then a cacophony of deafening frog chirps begins.







The man is completely filled with rage. Blind by the sudden rush of hate-fueled adrenaline, he starts grabbing frogs in a crazed fury. He comes out to the street with hands and robe pockets full of frogs. He doesn't know what to do. The storm drain idea is clearly a bad one, because apparently all they do down there is recruit friends to come back.

Then an idea begins to form. The man thinks "I SHALL END THEM!" But how? A car drives by, and light bulb in his head is ignited.



Like a crazed madman, his eyes wide with fury, he begins pelting the frogs under the wheels of passing cars like a gory bloodbath version of frogger.



This is the part of the story where I laugh to the point of tears. Because in my mind, there is a robed man pelting frogs at under passing cars at the speed of a major league pitcher...and laughing like the wild man of Borneo....




At this point he is experiencing the ecstasy of relief in his frog murder spree. Blinded by such elation, he manages to not see an approaching police car. Once again, he unleashes the Wrath of God on a frog by pitching it as he would a fastball under the police car.




The police officer promptly slams on his breaks, turns around, and rolls down the window. Realizing what he's done, the man snaps out of his frog murder high and comes back to his impending animal cruelty misdemeanor. Panicked, he begins to explain his actions.

OFFICER! My wife, she's pregnant. And the frogs...the DAMN FROGS....THE NOISE! She couldn't sleep! And I DIDN'T know what to DO!!!

In a storm of wild gesturing, the story tries to come out in a series of sentence fragments. The police officer, having heard enough even prior to the story being finished, simply rolls up his window and drives away.

The man, in awe of the events which had just transpired, empties his robe pockets of frogs. He trudges back to the house to his wife. He lays down, in a silence that is devoid of frog noises, and relishes the thought of the mass murder as he drifts to sleep.

The Prank

In high school Lisa and I did a whole lot of driving around on a daily basis. Since Lisa was birthed, she has had a planner - and in order to fulfill all of the obligations Lisa's planner details (of which there are many), one is required to do quite a bit of errand running. In fact, I'm not sure how we ever got anything accomplished prior to Lisa getting her driver's license.

During the high school years everyone was extremely bored until they discovered parties. I remember Rachel and I would just call each other on the phone and watch tv. We wouldn't even say anything until the commercial breaks, and sometimes not even then. Class was boring, life was boring, so naturally when all other options had been exhausted - you just started calling people.

So Lisa and I filled our time with errand running and general running around waiting for phone calls which could potentially lead to doing something other than being bored. However, sometimes there were planner action items that needed to get done which occasionally prevented us from taking calls. During these times when we were unable to answer - once a person had tried one of us, they would try the other if the first one didn't answer. We found this annoying or funny depending on the day, and we would jointly make decisions to answer or not answer our phones.



One day on a no calls afternoon, Lisa received several calls from Omar - which of course went unanswered. We ran our errands for the day, back and forth from Kinkos to Lisa's. I can't even tell you how many countless hours I've put in at Kinkos just watching Lisa finish various projects. When she decided to laminate her projects, I went ahead and did mine too. Lisa is definitely a large contributor to several As I received on my stupid high school projects.

At any rate, at some point Omar decided that he was displeased by the lack of returned phone calls. As a result he decided to exact the best prank ever played with Elaine, a friend whose phone calls had also gone unanswered by Lisa that afternoon.

Later, when evening had rolled around, and Lisa and I decided to leave her house again. I'm sure we'd probably munched on cheez its and had enough diet coke for it to be considered dinner, and decided to go to Roasters for coffee. We got into her Isuzu Rodeo, and pulled out of the driveway. We were mostly out and almost pulling onto the street, when we saw something like this in the driveway where her car, only seconds earlier, had been parked:




The animal was completely indecipherable, but one thing was certain - it was most definitely dead. "What IS that?!?!" was probably said close to a million times along with "I DON'T KNOWWW!!" Still undecided on what this creature could be, we resigned ourselves to the fact that nothing could be done any longer. Perhaps it had been a cat that got caught in the engine? Cats are known to nap in or under cars in cold weather. All we knew was that it made us sad, and we didn't want to touch it. Shaken and disturbed, we decided to go on with our plan to get coffee.

At Roasters we began to tell people of this horrid incident, and when news of it reached two certain people - it was met with only smirks of blatant satisfaction. Why were Omar and Elaine so pleased at our misfortune?? I'll tell you why. They'd carried out the most innovative and disgusting form of revenge ever. They had actally created this mystery dead animal, and had been watching us discover its "remains" from the alley.

In their planning phase, they had decided the objective was to get our attention. But how? What could they do to ensure returned phone calls and simultaneously gross us out? A solution emerged out of the darkness, and took form as a dead animal. Logistics then began to be formulated.

For lack of wanting to actually kill an animal or touch roadkill, they had come up with a brilliant alternative. They de-stuffed one of Elaine's plush stuffed animals and filled it with ground beef, egg shells and various other things that would create a crunch noise. They also removed the plastic eyes or anything else that would trigger us to think it was fake. Then they placed it on the driveway, and covered it with red syrup to create the blood. All that was left to be done was to watch us pull out of the driveway from a safe distance so they could hysterically laugh.

At that point, all I could think was "bastards."

It was disturbing, disgusting and horrible - but I had to give them credit. At least it was innovative and original.

The evening came and went, and the next day Lisa told her parents and began to start a clean-up effort. Lisa and her dad went outside, and discovered something very odd. The creature was missing. They looked low and high, and could find it nowhere. It had vanished.

Later that afternoon, Lisa's mom was approached by their elderly neighbor; one of two twin sisters living next door. She quietly said "I found a poor little creature that died on your driveway. I think he had fallen from a tree. I nestled him in a shoebox, and said a little prayer before putting him in our dumpster."



Lisa's mom, who was now well informed of the prank, did everything she could to not laugh. This poor elderly woman of deteriorating mental capacity thought that it was real, and had even given it a burial. Rather than trying to explain a genuinely bizarre teenage prank, Lisa's mom just said "Thank you. Thank you so much, how sweet of you." and called it a day.

When she reported this back to Lisa and I, we laughed until we cried...but not before we returned a lot of phone calls.

Tranquilized Giraffe

"I would never run a marathon. Not even a half marathon. What situation in life would require you to run at length like that? It's ridiculous. Only idiots do that." - Me, 2006

"Hey, so, I just signed up for the 3M Half Marathon." - Me, 2010

.....................................................................................................................................................................................................

I have never been athletic. Ever. I'm a moderately good player at the grand activity of water volleyball, which is a sport that thankfully doesn't require much movement. Nor does it require you to serve the ball very far. Yes, this sport fits in quite nicely with my athletic prowess. Needless to say I never intended to branch out any further than water volleyball or the elliptical machine at the gym.

Well, two months ago I was diagnosed with Epilepsy. I'm on medication for it now, and my doctor told me that I needed to get fit - as sometimes this helps with controlling seizures. Not like the "fitness" I was doing then, which is moderate exercise. Like real, challenging, life-altering exercise. You know, like Rocky...or anyone else you can picture that has a training montage. I was pretty sad about the diagnosis in general - but suddenly, something struck fear into my heart.

Wait...she just said I couldn't drink with this medication. No happy hours? No fun-filled nights at weddings or Christmas parties? What about a glass of wine when I get home from work....no? Are you serious?

This leaves quite a great void in my life where fun activities used to take place. Crap. New Years? Aw. I just keep thinking of things that will no longer contain the majesty they used to. MAN!

So in an effort to find something to keep me busy, and....er....fit for real, I took a long time deciding.

What should I pick up....yoga? Meditation doesn't really appeal to me, I'm not good at being introspective. I'm scared my negativity would be replaced with a wider understanding of the universe - and that's a trade I'm not willing to make yet. Rowing? Nah. Cycling? People in Austin don't seem to take kindly to bike riders. You'd think with Lance Armstrong being a resident here that people would love all things bike - but really there's a lot of people who are none too enthusiastic about cyclists. So what else....

Running?

No way. I'm terrible at running. I can't run. I remember people running laps around me in middle school when I was in track. I have a short stride, even when I'm in shape. Plus I'm a very poor self-motivator with exercise. And more importantly, I'm slow.

I look like a tranquilized giraffe when I run. Close your eyes and picture a giraffe, hit with 40 tranquilizer darts, and you can envision the colossal train wreck that is me trying to be a runner. See below.



Spot on, spot on.

I've gone through a gauntlet of "you can't do it" thoughts in my head. To me, running is the scariest among all sport possibilities.

But I'm going to do it anyway.

I told my neurologist about this and she wasn't happy. I confessed that I'm terrible about drinking water, and something she strongly stressed to me is that it's very important for me to stay hydrated - a need that running doesn't really play to. In an effort to appease her and assure her I would have an ample amount of water, I went and bought a camelbak. It's this super nerdy looking backpack that you wear when you run that contains about 3 bottles worth of water.

So now I'm a tranquilized giraffe with a little pakpak on my back. Spectacular.

In addition to that, it's around....hmm.....478 degrees outside with 108230918341% humidity in Austin right now. Clearly, a GREAT time to decide to start running. However, even if it were a normal temperature, I would still have this....thing.......

I turn completely red when I do anything exercise oriented. I've got such a fair complexion that my face (and sometimes legs) turn red even if I'm trucking along at a comfortable pace. Thankfully right now it is actually hot outside so I might be able to get away with not looking too weird while summer weather is still here.

Finally, I have one last reason to support my "I look like a nerd" statement. I'm not ever going to use my shirt to wipe sweat, even if I somehow get a hot bod. Why? Because I'm not showing my stomach in public to all the weirdo people out there aimlessly wandering the neighborhood! Therefore I have a wrist sweatband. Yep, you remember them - circa 1980? They're very attractive.

Thus we are left with the final product - a red tranquilized giraffe with a lil pakpak and an 80's sweat band.

Let me put it this way.....



Less nerdy than me.

PROGRESS ALERT

Despite the fact that I clearly have obstacles....many many obstacles....I have actually made progress.

I can run 3 miles without stopping! A first in Mary history. I can also run 10 minute miles! Also a first in Mary history. I know, I know. It's not that great, but come on - it's me guys. Today's mountain? 4 miles.

Wish me luck!

Signed,

Giraffe

Noteworthy People: Part II

I used to work in financial services. It was maddening, painful, dreadfully boring - yet somehow extremely stressful - and no amount of showering could remove the feeling of filth that it caused me. The one positive thing I can say about it is that it threw me in with a bunch of interesting characters.

Looking back on it, even the ones that I considered conniving are still somewhat entertaining. I had a boss at one of the banks where I used to work that might have possibly been satan incarnate, but I can still appreciate him because he did find it humorous when I emailed him this after he kept peeking out of his office to see what his employees were up to:

“If you peek out of your office at me again I’m going to throw a stapler at your head.”

He promptly responded by sticking his head out of his office, staring at me with wild serial killer eyes, then giggling. (click picture below)


Enough of him, though. The person I must address in this particular post is a gentleman named Baxter.

It's difficult to really capture the glory that is Baxter through the written word. Almost tragic, actually, to think I could do it. Perhaps an oil painting is in order? No time for that. I'll try my best.

Baxter, like most Austinites, was a transplant. He hailed from the wilds of Mississippi and had an indiscernible accent. You couldn't have told where he was from, you just knew he wasn't local.

My initial impression of Baxter was, well... "HA! His name is Baxter."

Baxter is the type of first name that one generally associates with boating shoes, a tobacco pipe and an avant-garde mustache. This Baxter, however, was a twenty-something year old with loafers and an affinity for WWF wrestling.

He would end his sentences -pause- give a sideways glance, and very pointedly say "brother" doing his best to channel Hulk Hogan. He would often regale me with his favorite old-school WWF moments. I would stare at him while he was wildly gesturing, doing voices and being inexcusably enthusiastic about this fake wrestling nonsense.



Then, I would go home, and find myself saying BROTHER randomly. For shame, Mary.

Listening to and subsequently emulating Baxter was like reality television. Terrible. And addictive.

Suddenly I started to gain an appreciation of Baxter and his way of doing things. I would watch as he casually strolled into his performance evaluation meetings. They were routinely bad, but Baxter didn't care. He would put his arms behind his head, lock his fingers in place, and lean his chair dangerously far back as he was being scolded about his lack of sales. Baxter would then somehow magically turn the scolding around, and exit the room having just received an apology from our boss.

With a certain pep in his step, he would stroll back to his desk and plop down in his seat - unaware that what he had done was astonishing. I just sat, mouth gaping, wondering how he did it.

On nights that the two of us had to work until 7pm, I would sit and listen to Baxter tell tales. One of my favorites:

When Baxter was in high school, he woke up one morning and decided his school needed a mascot, and he was going to be it. He would dress up and booty dance all around whatever sporting event he was attending. Once he got all-up-on a football player while the player was trying to accept an award. The result was an angry football player swinging punches at a mascot on a podium.

But my most favorite of tales is that of Baxter and his dog.

For a heterosexual man that enjoys such masculine activities as wrestling, one would presume that Baxter was inclined to own a dog that reflected his masculinity. Baxter, however, owned a bichon frise - for which he picked a particularly special name. Which was ...



Baxter.

Now, I must say, I have owned a variety of pets (which I've made abundantly clear in a previous post). But not once has it occurred to me to name one after myself. Though apparently Baxter so thoroughly loved his dog that he could think of no better name for him than the name that had so lovingly been bestowed upon himself.

Truly Baxter had the utmost respect for himself, and being the embodiment of perfection that he was, I can only imagine he could think of no better way to honor the most perfect of dogs.

Needless to say, Baxter (the human) was a devout pet owner. He would take Baxter (the dog) for walks every morning.

To hear him tell stories about his walks was certainly not out of the ordinary. But one particular day, he decided to throw in a particular detail that left me breathless with laughter. Baxter was not one to quit on a garment due to wear, or for that matter, due to it being seasonal apparel. Thus, he had found a use for a particular article of clothing he had received during Christmas. Allow me to illustrate:



THIS, dear readers, is Baxter's dog-walking outfit. No shirt. Just a man, his adidas flip flops, and Santa Claus boxer shorts.

He managed to startle one very unfortunate female neighbor (and God knows how many others) with his antics. In a rush, she was leaving her apartment - she backed out of her door, locked it, and quickly whirled around only to see a shirtless wonder in Santa shorts. Baxter simply looked her in the eyes, laughed at her gaping expression, and relished the thought of her going to work and wondering about this strangely-clad neighbor of hers.

I can think of no better way to accurately capture this man's personality than a mental image of an ear to ear grin, Santa boxer shorts, and a yipping bichon frise. Need I go on further? I think not.

Enjoy.

Noteworthy People: Part 1

In college Shanda and I met a guy named Pee Pee Jones.

Yes, seriously.

I think his name sprang from having a first and middle name both beginning with the letter P, but regardless - the man opted to go by Pee Pee. He kind of looked like Jesus. Or maybe Jason Lee in the film Big Trouble.



Shanda and I decided we wanted to dress up for Halloween. Now, Shanda and I used to dress up for regular parties during college, so we were looking for something exceptional. I remember dressing up as batman and spiderman for some random keg slash fraternity party. It was amazing. We also had these white velcro tennis shoes that we had everybody sign. It was a hilarious night - I desperately wish I had pictures.

Anyway, this story begins at Electric Lady Land/Lucy In Disguise with Diamonds, which is a completely bizarre costume shop in Austin on Congress. Perhaps you've seen it? It's hard to miss.



Here's the scene:

Shanda and I are perusing costumes, and I'm ranting on about how I think it's key that we go as dinosaurs or dragons. Shanda was opting for giant fruit. Then, we find the perfect costume. GRAPES. She the purple, I the green. The thing is - grapes are a difficult selection to try on. So we stake out this giant dressing room and wait, wait, wait, wait for the person inside to come out. We wait so long that we decide it must be unoccupied. Shanda, being braver than me when it comes to disturbing someone in a dressing room, finally flings open the fabric curtain door. We see something like this -



It was Pee Pee Jones. Standing on his head. In a cape and a bat mask. He'd been silently plotting this escapade for weeks, and we were the unfortunate people who happened upon him. It scared me immediately, I was not prepared to see a ridiculous fool upside down in a dressing room. I stepped backwards and fell through a round rack of frilly skirts. Shanda stared at him with angry hate-filled eyes, and then doubled over laughing.

It took little more than introductions before Pee Pee engaged us in his mission. The night was somewhat of a blur, but I distinctly remember going with him and watching him randomly start dancing at people as they got out of their cars to go into walmart. Bat mask and all. And the man could dance. If he had never removed that bat mask I would have thought he was Michael Jackson.

As the evening raged on, our walmart funtimes turned into a random party he'd been invited to. You have no idea what it's like to walk into a party and hear PEE PEE is HERE!!!! And then get bum-rushed by a group of crazed Pee Pee Jones fans. PEEEEE PEEEEEEEEEE!

There was this girl, super cute dress and stiletto heels, somewhat out of place at this hipster party - that saw Pee Pee from across the room. In a whirlwind of excitement she ran to see him and slipped on an unseen puddle on the wooden floor. She skidded, then cascaded into the crowd of Pee Pee fans, knocking half of them over - including me. At first I was a little put-out, but the scene leading up to the fall was too hilarious to not appreciate.

Side note - it's funny, because even if you know the guy, no matter what you do when you tell a story about him it still sounds like you're talking about, well, you know.

I'll never forget a particular stunt Pee Pee told me he used to pull. Every time he stepped onto an elevator he would turn and face the back. He had a special affinity for doing this in full elevators, where there were a bunch of uncomfortable men in suits. He would stand there, looking all weird and Jesusy, staring at them. He wouldn't move when the doors would open. He would make people go around him. I've always wanted to try it, but I've not yet overcome the fear. Nor have I mustered the strength to just stare people blankly in the face, and have them return the glance with terror that I might be a gunman with bad intentions. Maybe some day.

Shanda hung out with him a few times, and I know they had crazy adventures. She told me what they were, but I can no longer remember a lot of my fuzzy college times. Perhaps she'll add to this post?

I never saw Pee Pee again. But I know he's out there, bat masking it up. He was a cool guy. Find the Pee Pee in yourself, friends. And....don't take that the wrong way.

To Do: Slam Head on Keyboard

I do and say the wrong things. I don't know what it is, but I also have this weird....let's say....ability to transpose words or select the wrong recipient, which can change a simple text or email into a ticking time-bomb of embarrassment. This only happens to me with one person. So I'm guessing what happened was - fates conspired, and when they did, they landed on the idea that it was perfect to have this occur towards the person that I want to be embarrassed in front of the least - my father.

Example:

Father: Your grandfather is going to have quadruple bypass heart surgery.
Me: Oh. Oh no. Oh, dad! When? Why?
Father: (Long medical explanation)
Me: (brain processing)
Father: I hesitated to tell you, I didn't know whether or not I should - I didn't want you to worry.
Me: Are quadruple vasectomies dangerous for someone as advanced in years as he is?
Father: I'm sure they are, but he's having heart surgery.


Just thinking about that makes me cringe. Who says that?

Me?! Surely you jest.

Come on, Mary. I'd like to think it was because I was emotionally overwhelmed. Alas, it's still no excuse.

Example 2:

I loooooove www.someecards.com. It makes the sun shine. It is the cherry on top. It helped God create (or rest, I can't remember) on the 7th day. And certainly, if I've run out of things to do at work, it makes me look occupied.

One day I found a card. I can't remember what it was at the moment, something work related I believe. I decided I would introduce my father to the ultimate awesomeness of the some ecard website via this card. It was tame enough, after all. Some of the ecards at this site are not so tame. Though the not-so-tame ones, however vulgar they may be, are just as - if not more hilarious than the tame kind. SO! I decide to send one to the father unit. I click send, completely proud of being the facilitator in this introduction process.

I get an email some hours later with a single sentence

"Mary, there is no way this card could possibly be for me."

WHAT? What is that supposed to mean? How could you not find a some ecard funny? Impossible I say, totally impossible.

Then I see that I'm still able to click the card. So, scowl on face, I decide to click on the card and improve my mood by relishing whatever joke lay within. I click, I see the card (which is green for St. Patrick's day) and the caption says the following -

"Let's make out before we inevitably puke on each other."


......


Oh. My. God.

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?? AND WHY??? Curse you, some ecards!!! I believe, quite honestly, my reaction was to slam my head directly on my keyboard. Needless to say, this was not the card I had initially selected.

We never spoke of it again.



I think I've illustrated my point.

At this point I'm starting to wonder why I decided to disclose this information...