I'm Just Sayin'

I saw a woman smell grass today. No I mean, she got down, put her face to the ground, inhaled deeply, stood up, sighed, stretched out her arms and then walked away. She'll probably have her own reality show soon.

Because WonderTurtle Said So...

A Book That Has Changed Your Life
I don't think I've yet read a book that has changed my life, but I have read many that have inspired me in one way or another. In general, anything by Vonnegut or Sedaris. More specifically (and recently) The Ice Queen by Alice Hoffman which captures a feeling of self-isolation quite well, and The Myth of You and Me by Leah Stewart which attempts to delve into the nuance of female friendship and how poisonous it can sometimes get (albeit over men which irks me but whatever.)

A Book That You Have Read More Than Once
The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald. What is it about unrequieted love?

A Book That Makes You Laugh
Holidays on Ice, David Sedaris

"There was a line for Santa and a line for the women's bathroom, and one woman, after asking me a dozen questions already, asked, "Which is the line for the women's bathroom?" I shouted that I thought it was the line with all the women in it. She said, "I'm going to have you fired."...Go ahead, be my guest. I'm wearing a green velvet costume; it doesn't
get any worse than this...I wanted to lean over and say, "I'm going to have you killed."

A Book That Made You Cry
Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini
What in your youth set the butterfly effect in motion up through your adulthood?

A Book You Wish You Had Written
Geek Love by Katherine Dunn 1. because it's my favorite and 2. because it's like no other book out there. I've
recommended it to a number of people, some of whom returned it unread. Whimps! I find this book to be an absolute amazing take on the relationship between parents and children. The physical setting and characters (freak show carnival people) mirror the twisted way in which family members can sometimes relate to one another. Recommended to me by none other than my beloved older brother, it is a fascinating and delightful/macabre read.

"Grownups can deal with scraped knees, dropped ice-cream cones, and lost dollies, but if they suspected the real reasons we cry they would fling us out of their arms in horrified revulsion....we need that warm adult stupidity....We make due with it rather than face alone the cavernous reaches of our skulls for which there is no remedy, no safety, no
comfort at all. We survive until, by sheer stamina, we escape into the dim innocence of our own adulthood and its forgetfulness."

A Book You Are Currently Reading
Around The World In Eighty Days, Jules Verne
Nine Strange Stories (short story collection)
Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams, Sylvia Plath
Thinking about re-reading Geek Love and Gatsby.

A Book You Have Been Meaning To Read
The Satanic Verses, Salman Rushdie
Papillion, Henri Charriere
And probably thirty other books I can't remember the titles of but when see in the book store scream, "I've always wanted to read this!!"

Sibling Rivalry

One evening after my gymnastics class I ran up to my room like always to do whatever it was I used to do at night when
I was ten. This particular evening, however, my big brother casually lounged in the hallway outside our bedrooms and
chatted on the gigantic 1987 cordless phone. I thought it suspicious, but went on with my business.

“Awwww! It didn’t work!” I suddenly heard him yell into the phone. He appeared at my door with what is probably the
biggest sh*t-eating grin I’ve seen to this day. (What an awful expression.)

“What didn’t work?” I asked in all my baby sister naïvete.

He pointed up. I immediately began screaming.

Artfully placed atop the door was a snake, its rubber composition unbeknownst to me. His dastardly plan did work, complete with tears and tattling, it just needed a little help.

I bet you he’s even chuckling now at the memory. Oh big brother, just you wait. You may have forgotten all the things your young hapabukbuk self pulled, but I have not.

Working For The Man

Know how I know I work for Corporate America?

It's raining outside and the hallways are spotted withlarge white buckets attached to sheets of plastic that run up to the ceiling.

And they're all 1/4 full of rain.

A Clown And Some Scissors

A few years ago an old co-worker of mine quit. She had this clown bobble head that said: THE JOKE'S ON YOU. I had to have it. She obliged.
One day I took the scissors out of my desk drawer and the bottom half of them were missing. I have no idea what happened to them.

And since blogger is being a jerk I can't upload my picture to share. Good things come to those who wait, eh?

-----later-----
And here it is! (with apologies to the clownphobics...it is a pretty demonized looking clown.)

Things I May Tell My Potential Future Children

People who don't like animals are evil. Do not trust them.

BOh.

Someone's been messing with my blogspot.

DKJ93jal3203)*(@#&(jknmfkl;
ar390q3D*&#hj90eI(FiDFI0-)
KJDO(#)#_DLKKE#0344jakld-
DJI93()*908()@_!MlLKDKWLE

And that's totally not wingdings.
Why is my page all efed up?
I didn't even log in today until now!
Sheesh.

PS. Don't bother seeing Pulse. Sorry Kristin Bell. It's a stinker.
DISAPPOINTED!
PPS. See The Descent instead. Lots of running and screaming
and gore.
Good Times.

All Bark, No Bite

Sometimes I have to express myself over the phone using threatening words and gestures.


HR, please note, this does not mean I actually intend to follow through with any of it.

What Was I Thinking? Vol. 7

Time to show off!

My mother transformed her kitchen into a Southwestern oasis when I was very young. If she hadn’t realized it before, she would soon discover that when people find out you have a liking for something they give you a lot of it. She began receiving Native American dolls, Native American figurines, Native American(ish) pottery, etc. almost immediately.

One summer someone gave her a cactus akin to the one here:


Just imagine it as being about 3 feet tall, or reaching about stomach level of my eleven-year-old self. Also imagine it being placed at the end of the center island which you had to go around to get out of the kitchen.

During a gathering of her friends at the kitchen table, my mom explained that I was just back from arts camp and that I had made art things while there.

Auntie M: You did? Well what did you make?

Little Hapabukbuk: I’ll show you!!

Running with all the excitement a little girl possesses, I skidded around the island, slipped in the water my father dripped on the floor five minutes earlier and flew left arm first through the limbs of the cactus. We landed on the floor with a thud and then it was silent.

Until I heard the giggling. Slowly it came back to me. Running, slipping, sitting with my arm stuck in a cactus and then the giggling. All of them!

Eventually mom came over to make sure I was all right. She quickly broke off the leaves of the aloe plant in the window and dressed the huge scratches now adorning my arm, but I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive her for laughing first. I may not have any physical scars but I'm still crying on the inside.

WTHIWWY - City Life, Verse III

A reading from the book of What The Hell Is Wrong With You?

Here is the alleged application for the new sandwich maker at the cafeteria:

1. Can you make a sandwich?
a.) Yes
b.) No
c.) Maybe. Will there be more than 2 ingredients in it?

2. In a timely manner?
a.) Yes
b.) No
c.) Maybe. Will there be shiny things around to distract me?

3. Can you work a sandwich press?
a.) Yes
b.) No
c.) Maybe. Will I have to flip the sandwich at some point?

4. In a timely manner?
a.) Yes
b.) No
c.) Maybe. Will I have to take other orders in the meantime?

5. Please write a few sentences describing your strengths and
weaknesses in the sandwich making process:

I think I'm a pretty good sandwich maker. Sometimes though, it takes me a while to make them. Like this one time, this girl ordered something, and I had to ask her to repeat each of the three ingredients three times before I could actually put the damn thing together! Isn't that funny? Then she
wanted it pressed so I put it in the machine and kind of forgot about it, so when she came back to pick it up the whole bottom of the sandwich was burned! Hilarious!! But I'm cute though and I smile a lot, so most of the women forgive me. Though I don't think that girl did. She never came back...
So am I hired?

_________________________________________
For office use only:
_____Consider for hire
_____Do Not hire
__X__Hire immediately and enjoy the hilarity that ensues.

A History Of Hapabukbuk Piercings

My mother pierced my ears when I was three. Or rather, she had someone at the piercing pagoda pierce my ears when I was three. She tells me there was a lot of screaming and I almost went home with only one side done. Two years later I changed my earrings for the first time.

When I was fourteen she finally gave in to my begging and let me get a second piercing in my left ear. Assuming we went back to the piercing pagoda, she also allowed a nincompoop to do the job. Whoever it was, they clearly had no foresight to think I may have wanted a third piercing and put the second hole a thick thumb's width away from the first. A-hole.

During my first semester of college I got the top of my left ear pierced, this time it was Claire's I believe. It was all cool and fun but it was damn painful after the fact. Actually, sometimes it still is when the hoop gets stuck in the wrong position.

Then approached my twenty eighth birthday and the sudden desire for another piercing surfaced. Ok that's a lie. I'd been
thinking about getting another one in my right ear for a while but was too lazy, busy, etc. to get it done. So a few days before
my actual birthday, I stood in front of my bathroom mirror and did it myself. It was splendid.

By and by the gigantic space between the two holes in my left ear began to annoy me again and I decided I was finally going to do something about it. So a few weeks ago I stood in front of my bathroom mirror and did it myself. Again. A-hole. I should have measured it. It was clearly done by another nincompoop as it is closer to the second hole than the first.

I'll Play...

I can't believe it! I got tagged! I feel so popular!
Thanks Slack! You make a girl feel special...
ok so here goes:

4 jobs I've had:
1. laundress (i used to know what everyone in the fam's underwear looked like.)
2. paintress (i painted my father's office with a sponge at my mother's request. a sponge.)
3. intern'ess (i learned to make coffee at my first internship. i haven't made any since.)
4. blogger'ess (i know i know. it's a sad state of affairs.)

4 movies I could watch over and over:
1. Clue "men should be like kleenex. soft, strong and disposable."
2. Soapdish "the point is, quiz shows are beating us! there's a lady cooking sausage that almost tied us last week! a guy at my tennis club says it should be called the sun also sucks!"
3. Addams Family Values "20 thousand dollahs foah summah camp and he's mistah woowoo?"
4. Can't Hardly Wait "92% of women walkin' around LA goin' class or sex? what shall i do? 92 percent yo!"

4 places I have lived:
1. New Jersey
2. New York
3. UK
4. Pergatory

4 TV shows I love to watch:
1. lost
2. Six Feet Under
3. unwrapped
4. WEEDS (but i dont have showtime so i'm currently missing season 2. hrfphm.)

4 places I have been on vacation:
1. Aruba
2. Hong Kong
3. Galway
4. Hilo

4 websites I visit daily:
1. in her shell
2. two can anne
3. grant miller
4. casual slack
i am pathetically blog obsessed.

4 fave foods
1. cookies
2. cookies
3. cookies
4. cookies

4 places I'd like to be right now:
1. sleeping
2. on a boat
3. lost in a small town on the spanish riviera
4. with jesse metcalfe (wink, wink)

4 tags if you want to, because I doubt you will you bums:
1. in her shell
2. saserella
3. shorelinecity
4. um...anyone else who actually reads my ridiculousness?

Decoding Dad

My father has a really bad habit of saying what. Half the time it is legitimate because he is often in his own world and doesn't listen, but the other half is simply a reaction to being spoken to, probably because he's so used to saying it from not listening. Unless you've spent some time with him, you'd never know which what he was using. Most people have just gotten used to repeating themselves.

I didn't test this theory of mine until I became a moody teenager, bold enough to speak to him with condescention. Absorbed in whatever tv show I watching, he came in from the garage and asked me the same question he always asked when he came in after work.

"Where's your mother?"

"She's upstairs."

"What?"

"You heard me."

I couldn't believe it actually came out of my mouth. I looked up at him sheepishly and found him on the verge of a giggle.

"Yeah. Upstairs."

We both began laughing. Thanks dad, for always indulging me.

Happy birthday!!

I said, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

TrUE LifE RiDonkULousNEsS, Part Trois

Roughly 4.15 hours into our camping road trip upstate:

Angel: do i go right here?
Hapabukbuk: no. the next turn. we have to go by the bathrooms.
A: that was the bathroom, there is no next turn. this is someone's campsite.
HB: then go right back there.

We turn around, go back and take the right.

Few seconds later.

HB: turn here. turn here!
A: that's not it. we have to go past the lake.*
HB: we already went by the lake.
A: we did?

We turn around, go back and turn.

HB: 7…8…10…11…where the hell is 9?
A: i dunno. what does the map say?
HB: which map? the one that has lead us everywhere but where our campsite is?
A: (takes map) it's supposed to be right here.
HB gets out of car and begins to walk, through other people's campsites to find #8. Finally finds it and begins to wave flashlight in the hopes that A will see and once again turn the car around.
HB: um. it's right here.
A: fantastic. get the tent out of the trunk.
HB: ok fine. but first, which way to the bathroom??

(for Angel's take on the same exact conversation, go here.)
*It was more like an oversized pond.
Part Deux
Part Un

Dear Facilities

It's freaking FREEZING up in here.
Can you turn down the air just a little?
Please?
I have 1.5 hours to go, and I don't think I'll live through the frostbite.

Work Rest Room Etiquette

In an office bathroom that contains ten stalls, none of which are occupied save the one I just entered, do not follow me into the ladies and choose the stall directly next to mine. Just don't. Ok?

Is It 6 Yet?

Longest,
Boringest,
Day,
Ever.

I should appreciate this. It only comes along once every 8.7 months.

Remember this stuff?


Absolutely
pleasing
and
revolting
at
the
same
exact
time.


I could totally go for a piece.

I Knew It All Along. You Are All Out To Get Me.

You Are 40% Paranoid Schizophrenic

You're pretty grounded, though you have your occasional paranoid moments. Just make sure to ignore those voices in your head!

Are You A Paranoid Schizophrenic?

I Didn't Even Cheat To Get This

You Are Cookie Monster

Misunderstood as a primal monster, you're a true hedonist with a huge sweet tooth. You are usually feeling: Hungry. Cookies are preferred, but you'll eat anything if cookies aren't around. You are famous for: Your slightly crazy eyes and usual way of speaking How you life your life: In the moment. "Me want COOKIE!"

The Sesame Street Personality Quiz

See? I Told You.

Except for the traditional, conservative part.

You Are a Chocolate Chip Cookie

Traditional and conservative, most people find you comforting. You're friendly and easy to get to know. This makes you very popular - without even trying!

What Kind of Cookie Are You?

WTHIWWY - City Life, Verse II

A reading from the book of What The Hell Is Wrong With You?:

Have you ever touched the edge of a rising escalator stair? And by touch I mean fallen on with all your body weight?

Yes, to all who witnessed my clumsiness, it was more painful than it looked. It still hurts! A lot! Those stairs are sharp and I have three small bruises across my palm to prove it. And yes, my ankle hurts too, thanks for wondering.

As I remained frozen in a push-up type pose, nose-to-the-escalator-contemplating-my-next-move, I thought damn this should be funnier. Then the pain reached my brain and I realized why it was not.

I most want to thank you all though, for picking up on my 'don't make a big deal out of this' vibe and not inquiring if I was ok. Underneath the repressed giggles I know you were truly concerned with my well-being. I know because I've been in your position.

It's important not to let anyone think you care or are capable of helping someone who may or may not be in distress. Because then everyone would want your help and that is clearly unacceptable. And how dare I fall in front of you anyway? I'm so gauche it's unbelievable!

TrUE LifE RiDonkULousNEsS, Part Deux

Roughly 4 hours into our camping road trip upstate:

Angel: that's the road i'm telling you.
Hapabukbuk: are you sure? it seems to me it should be on the other side.
A: that's it. foghill. it said foghill!
HB: you could read that sign?
A: no but I'm telling you that's it!
HB: ok! fine! foghill! so it should be on this road then to the left…(reads directions)…after we cross a dirt road. a what? what the hell kind of place is this?
A: you picked it.
HB: you want to fight about it? look…look i see lights.
A: that's a house.
HB: and it looks like a tornado hit it. but they have electricity!
A: there! there are more lights.
HB: lots of them. it looks like…christmas lights?
A: that must be it.
HB: thank gad. i'm so hungry i could eat my hand.

And lo and behold, our campsite greets us:


HB: hee. heehee. ha. HA. HAHA. HAHAHAAHAAHAH!
A: what is the matter with you?
HB: do you not see the huge light up santa head hooked to that tree?
A: ???
HB: and the actual lighted christmas lights everywhere? what, did they forget to take it all down?
A: SHHH!!!
HB: did i pick the absolute trashiest campsite this side of the planet or what?
A: can you lower your voice just a little please?
HB: what? you think they might have shotguns?

Part Un

An Accident Is An Accident Until It's Not

My father, being male, loves sport cars and actually let me drive the one he had when I was in high school. I called the car Floyd. Sometimes. It was fab and all the boys were jealous. I still can’t believe my mother allowed it. One day KB and I were out driving somewhere and we got lost. I backed the car up over the curb and heard something awful. Venturing to find out what it was, I found a large, long scratch along the bumper. A fairly bright white scratch in green paint. I could have cried.

I decided to wait until he said something.

He never did.

A few years later he sold the car.

“Dad, did you ever see that big scratch?”

“Hmmm?”

“On the left side near the light?”

“I did that.”

All that sweating to find out Dad had done it himself. Unbelievable. It makes total sense though. I drove over a curb, not into something sharp 2 ft off the ground. Hey, are you always logical during times of high anxiety?

I Apologize

One last post in keeping with the whole juvenile thing. The whole non-comprehension of Atwood has forced me into regression.

But look! It's an embedded clip! How Fun! The Big Pot Debate! Enjoy!

Juvenile Mad Libs

Because I have the sense of humor of a 4 year old.

There was a poopy woman
Who pooped in a shoe
She had so many poops
She didn't know what to do

You try it. I'm sure yours isn't much better.

Lament

So I finished reading Margaret Atwood's Surfacing last night.
It absolutely pains me to admit that I don't think I really understood it. I mean, I kind of understood it, I just didn't get it.
Maybe it was because I found myself skimming some passages, there was a lot of flowery imagery supposedly critiquing modern society and our place in it...but...but...I feel dumber.
Dumbed down by all the reality shows I don't watch but am forced to acknowledge exist and therefore expunge intelligence, the lack of real literature I've read and the fact that I have to deal with so many incompetent people on a daily basis.
I've become defective.

Readings From The Good Book Of What's Happening?

What Was I Thinking? (A blatant rip off of Grant Miller's artistry, The Worst Things That Have Ever Happened To Me)

Vol. 12

Vol. 11

Vol. 10

Vol. 9

Vol. 8

Vol. 7

Vol. 6

Vol. 4 & 5

Vol. 3

Vol. 2

Vol. 1

Readings From The Good Book of Bitterness

What The Hell Is Wrong With You?
By
Hapabukbuk

Preface

Shutup Van, Letter I

Shutup Van, Letter II

Shutup Van, Letter III

Shutup Van, Letter IV

A Letter To The Celebrities I

A Letter To The Celebrities II

A Letter To The Celebrities III

A Letter To The Celebrities IV

City Life, Verse I

City Life, Verse II

City Life, Verse III

City Life, Verse IV

Hardly Working, Verse I

Hardly Working, Verse II

Public Transport, Letter I

Public Transport, Letter V

Side Bar

WTHIWWY - Shutup Van, Letter III

A reading from the book of What The Hell Is Wrong With You?:

Dear Shutup Driver:

I will not beat around the bush. You are a jerk. Here are the reasons why:

1. Every red light is a complete and utter surprise for you in a city with lights every 20 ft.
2. Cutting across three lanes of traffic, almost sideswiping a cop and running over pedestrians is second nature to you.
3. Your taste in music is sh*tty.
4. The one time I tried to sit in the front seat in an attempt to have a nausea free morning, you barked at me to get in the back. Barked. Despite the fact that you gave no explanation I complied due to it being 8am and I was exhausted. The next thing I know some pregnant woman gets in the front seat. It would have been nice if you had told me instead of treating me like an undesireable. You bastard.
5. Your hair is stupid. Ponytails are so 1987.

So no, I won't pay for your crappy shutup service because I know you get paid whether I do or not. Maybe if you learned how to drive, how to treat passengers and cut your hair, people would like you better.

Hapabukbuk

What Was I Thinking? Vol. 6

Omg that's her. Get down. GET DOWN!

There are some situations where you just don't know how you're going to react until it happens. You can guess based on other behavioral patterns, you can claim you'd do what anyone else would do, you can even convince yourself you know what you'd do, but it's all hearsay until the real deal occurs.

I was on my way to visit some friends this past weekend when I learned something new about myself....and it was absolutely infuriating.

The train pulled slowly into a station and my car rolled to a stop in front of a railing. A railing that my ex-good friend was leaning up against. Upon that moment of recognition, my body became a mass of jelly and I practically slid to the floor.

Ok Ok, how would you handle seeing someone from a past life where the friendship ended badly, no apologies were ever uttered and you've thwarted every attempt to get back in touch?

I panicked with an irrationality that rivaled my mother's.

#1 I wasn't even sure it was her.
#2 Even if it was her, I was on a train that would be leaving momentarily and she was clearly there to pick someone up.
#3 Where was I? Somewhere in Rhode Island? She wouldn't be anywhere near Rhode Island.
#4 Was that her?

As I sat there hunched down in my seat I felt utterly foolish and thanked the gods of travel that the man who had sat down next to me got off one stop earlier. It's nice when no one is around to actually witness you humiliate yourself.

I slowly pushed up into a respectable sitting position and looked over at her again. Then I proceeded to immediately repeat the absurdity with a renewed ridiculousness.

#5 Maybe she moved to Rhode Island? Or was I in Connecticut?
#6 That's not her. Omg is it her?
#7 But seriously, even if it is, what's she going to do? Run up to the window and start yelling through the glass?
#8 I'm on a freakin' train. With tinted windows. Sit up.

I lifted myself up and looked again. The person she was waiting for approached and she took off her sunglasses. I started to laugh. Out loud.

It wasn't her. And I'm officially a moron. I so don't want to be one of those people who hides from other people they don't want to talk to or even see ever again. But apparently I am.

I should at least get something for owning up to it.

This House Has Baggage

My friends Fiend and Professor got married a few months ago. My recent visit was my first introduction to the house they just bought and the many potential stories hidden in its walls. Like many newlyweds just starting out they are pouring their hearts, souls and bank accounts into fixing it up.

This short play is dedicated to them.

Act 1
(The day the newlyweds bought their first house)
Agent: So...what do you think? The couple here now can be out by month's end.
Professor: Honey?
Fiend: It's wonderful! I love it!
Professor: Sold!

Act 2
(Newlyweds' moving in day, weeks later)
Fiend: (calling from the bathroom) Honey, didn't there used to be a door on this cabinet?

Act 3
(Couples' moving out day, a week earlier)
Divorcee: I'm taking the mug.
Divorcer: (yelling from the bathroom) For &#^$ sake, I told you that mug was mine!
Divorcee: It's my #&*@ mug, I bought it, it's coming with me!
Divorcer: #%@$ YOU! (rips the cabinet door off the hinges)

The End

I hope it sheds some light on the mysterious condition of the bathroom. Nancy Drew's got nothing on me.

It's Been Hot. I Get It.

However, can someone please get me this woman's recipe?

And a car. I'll need that too. Thanks.

Feel Good Good Omen Cats

Be a liberal like me and give everyone a hug.
Or click on these links and have advertisers hand over cash for humanity.
Either way, it's free and it'll make you feel good.
So do it.
For real.
HERE to feed the animals.
HERE to feed the humans.
HERE to feed the forest.

"Lemonade Stand Girl On A Suburban Afternoon"

Contrary to what some may believe, my mother does not drink alcohol. Only once in a while does she partake at a party or at New Year's in order to participate in the spirit of things. She drinks so seldom that sometimes she even surprises herself.

As master of all things related to selling crap, whether it be on ebay or at a garage sale, she will never turn down the chance to help run a crap selling event. The last one she dug into was in Florida, outside, on a particularly hot day. At one point she came inside, desperate for a drink, and spotted a pitcher of freshly made lemonade. She loves lemonade so it was to her delight to make such a find.

She poured herself a glass and quickly drank it, trying her best to quench her thirst. Halfway through her second glass one of her friends came into the kitchen and made a beeline for the lemonade.

"Where'd all the margarita go?"

She looked at my mom, my mom looked at her glass and suddenly felt very woozy.

"I wondered why that tasted so funny," she said.

Oh mom. Drunk at a garage sale. What's next?

Gift Giving In The Haole-BukBuk House

My parents have a hard time shopping for one another. Every year it seems my father buys something for my mother that she hates, and she in turn tries to buy something to make him mad. Problem is, he never gets mad.

This year he bought her flowers for Mother's Day. For some reason this upset her so she bought him a garden hose for Father's Day. He giggled when he told me on the phone. Giggled and told me he went out and bought golf balls. This pacified my mother because she felt that if he wasn't mad about the garden hose he wouldn't have bought the golf balls.

This is the logic that shaped my childhood.

The prize winning gifts remain branded in my and my brothers' minds and will continue to be alluded to during holidays forevermore. Somehow the subject always comes up much to both our parents' chagrin.

To: Mom
From: Dad

Whatever possessed him to think my mother would want a bread maker* we will never know. Whatever possessed her to completely freak out about receiving a bread maker we also will never know. She was enraged by the fact that he bought her a kitchen appliance and made him take it back immediately. He thought he was doing a good thing because she loves bread. Apparently he was wrong. And none of us will ever forget it.

To: Dad
From: Mom

That's right. A Flowbee.** I'll say it again. A Flowbee. Whatever possessed her to think it was a good idea to buy a Flowbee we will never know. Whatever possessed him to actually be excited about receiving it we also will never know. What I do know is that when he took the Flowbee out of the box, someone else's hair fell out of it. Apparently not only had my mother bought a Flowbee, she bought a returned Flowbee that someone at the department store was lazy enough to not check before restocking. I have to say Flowbee one more time. Talk about ew factor.

*not the actual bread maker
**not my actual dad

Not Blurring Lines

I saw The Devil Wears Prada last night after eating some diner food that didn’t sit well with me. All night I had nightmares about Meryl Streep being my boss and waking up in sweat because I didn’t pick up the Gucci bags and the extra hot latte.

I most certainly do know where the line between real life and movies is.

I do too.