Yesterday I heard a commercial that began with, “If money could talk, what would it say?” I don’t know what the commercial was for but I heard that as I came down the stairs and answered the question without skipping a beat as if the TV could hear me, “I’m covered in cocaine and feces.”
Category Archives: Engineer
Off-color food humor
On Black Friday Kurt and I went out to run some errands one of which was to grab some lunch. We didn’t want to drive far to get something to eat, so our choices were limited. After running through the list and not hearing anything that really struck a chord, Kurt jokingly suggested McDonald’s. “The McRib is back on the menu.” He said in mock cheer. Kurt, as with most people that know me at all fully would expect one of my famous sneers which very clearly convey, “What are you fucking retarded?” That’s not what he got.
I avoid chain restaurants especially ones that have a drive-thru. That doesn’t mean I never get dragged to them or even that I don’t go voluntarily on occasion. I just avoid them. Thanks to their attempts at trying to offer healthy options, I can usually find something to pick at. I sheepishly told Kurt that I actually like the McRib. I know it’s something that most people only confess to their priests, rabbis, or other equivalent. It’s my deep dark secret. I like the McRib, and I ordered one with extra pickles. Apparently, their idea of extra pickles and my idea of extra pickles don’t match up. I think I need to go back and order the way I used to, “I want a cheese burger with extra pickles. No, scratch that. I want a pickle burger with a meat patty and cheese. Yes, I want everything on it. And don’t forget the pickles.”
Sophia had a couple fries, but we brought with us a banana and some bread for her. She can’t finish a whole banana so Kurt and I took turns taking bites of the other half. Each time I took a bite of the yellow phallic symbol Kurt would say, “That’s a girl”. I glared at him. Kurt offered me the last bite and as I leaned in, he took the banana away. “You BANANA tease!”
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Pumpkin head cracks me up!
Kurt: How did you remember about the pumpkin?
Erica: Huh? What pumpkin?
Kurt: On your blog.
I was still confused.
Kurt: The pumpkin carving, I just read about that.
Erica: OH! You didn’t remember that?
Kurt: No, I read your blog post and got to the part about, “we can’t show each other till weren’t done.” And I thought, that really does sound like me, so I kept reading. When you got to the part about turning the pumpkins around at the same time, I thought,
[Kurt raised his fists to the side of his head and made them tremble excitedly side to side as he said the next line.]
Kurt: “oh my gosh, I wonder what I carved.”
Erica: Are you kidding me? You really didn’t remember? Do you remember carving “Kurtie [hearts] Erica” on the metal railing at Grand Coulee Damn?
Kurt: I defiled government property?
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The Great Pumpkin Carving
I’m not the girly girl romantic type. As a matter a fact, I don’t think I’m girly at all. I can appreciate the sentiment behind a bouquet of flowers, but I’ve never demanded, begged or other wise hinted for anyone to send me any. I have a few treasured pieces of jewelry such as the one pair of earrings that I have worn since I was fifteen, but again I don’t get sparkles in my eyes as I pass by stores nor do I become envious of people dripping in ice. I just don’t care. It’s not my bag.
I’m not a big shopper. I don’t mind going to stores, but I never buy anything. I don’t wear makeup and I don’t keep up with any sort of fashion. Upon returning to work from maternity leave, one of the guys congratulated me on my “mom pants”. I knew he was being a little shit, but I thought he was insinuating that my pants looked like a sausage casing that I had been stuffed into. I wear I size six. Even if just after maternity leave I was bursting at my size six seems, nobody could honestly look at me and say I was fat, so I protested. “These are the same pants I’ve worn since high school.” He had to explain that “mom pants” had to do with the long pants zipper, not weight. Whatever, I don’t do fashion. I don’t like the show-off-your-belly pants, and I certainly wouldn’t couple the fuck-me-tattoo across the small of the back with the ass-crack-and-thong-display pants. I used to wear super short shorts in high school (as in wore it to school) and then wear a pullover top that was barely longer than my shorts. I was asked on a regular basis if I was wearing any pants underneath, and if I moved in a certain way the bottom of my bottom could be seen, so I’m not judging anyone’s fashion. I’m just sayin’ I had my own twisted sense of style.
Until I met Kurt I really didn’t care for kissing or cuddling. No, that isn’t a euphemism for something else. If I meant to say fucking, I would say FUCKING. MYGOD you really didn’t like kissing or cuddling? No, no I didn’t. And no, I’ve never been raped so spare me the wealth of Dr. Phil-isms and other such things that pass for psychology knowledge.
The first fall season Kurt and I were together, I went over to his apartment one night and he wanted to go buy pumpkins to carve into jack-o-lanterns. Really? Huh, ok. We walked across the street to the grocery store and picked out a couple of pumpkins. It was our eighth month together. My one girly trait is that I knew after four months that he was “the one”. I waited for him to indicate he felt the same because I knew if I said anything too soon I’d scare him off.
We took our pumpkins back to his kitchen and laid out newspaper for the ensuing mess (not that type of mess my twisted little monkeys). I had only carved a pumpkin once before so I didn’t really know what I was doing. Mr. engineering spreadsheet ruler and protractor fanatic went to town laying out his secret design. I followed suit and started with the typical triangle eyes. I turned my pumpkin around to face Kurt for design approval. “No,” he said, “we can’t show each other till weren’t done.” I turned my triangle eyed pumpkin head around again. I continued with my basic, very traditional toothy grinning pumpkin face and finished long before Kurt with all of his precise measurements. It was obvious that he was doing something much more elaborate than I had. I had no clue what type of decoration he was doing, but is was freehand, so sight unseen I was impressed. He finally finished his masterpiece and asked if I was ready to turn mine around. We turned our pumpkins around to show each other at the same time. He didn’t do a face at all! He wrote, “Kurt + Erica”. He didn’t actually tell me he loved me until after we’d been together for a year, but I knew.
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George Carlin turned us into necrophiliacs
Last night Kurt and I were watching one of George Carlin’s old comedy acts. I’ve seen them all before. I’m a huge fan of Uncle George and was in a odd daze for a couple days after his death. Kurt thought that he had found an act that we hadn’t seen yet, but it turned out he simply didn’t rate it on Netflix. It didn’t matter. I love Carlin. I may not laugh at every bit like I used to, but I appreciate and enjoy it just the same. The comedy bit we heard last night had the seven dirty words skit plus three add on words and an informative history of the word fuck. It turns out, according to Uncle George, that the word fuck in old English originally mean to hit something as with a stick. It has somehow morphed into a sexual word. Some people combine sex and violence as Uncle George acknowledges, but it seems odd to marry the two with one word, unless describing a specific act. Towards the end of his fuck tirade he says,
“The person who thought up the slogan, ‘Make Love, Not War,’ . . . his job was over that day. He could’ve retired at that moment. If it would’ve been me, I would’ve walked away. So long, I’m goin’ to the beach. You guys work it out.”
“Now I have a slogan, too. It’s not as euphonious. It doesn’t roll off the tongue. It’s ‘Make Fuck, Not Kill.’ Substitute the word ‘fuck’ for the word ‘kill’ in all of our writings. I’d love to see it. Just for awhile. Just for a year or so. And we would change.”
He gives some examples of the switched words like, “my horse broke his leg, guess I have to fuck him now”.
Another comedian I like to watch is Jeff Dunham. He’s a ventriloquist with several puppets. My favorite is Achmed the Dead Terrorist. Achmed is easily upset by audiences that laugh at jokes told about him and will say, “Silence! I kill you!” Except that it sounds like, “I keel you!” which is what we currently yell at our cat when he sits just outside our wide-open bedroom door and meows incessantly. Thanks to the two comedians, we’ve decided it might be more effective if we yell, “Silence! I fuck you!” as our threat to the cat.
We also decided that instead of yelling, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you” when we’re upset at each other or the cat we shall kill and then fuck. It seems only humane.
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55 Flash Fiction Friday: Death by Poblano
“I’m not eating peppers anymore.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I have heartburn and my stomach hurts like hell.”
I flash my sad puppy face at him.
“It’s not your fault.”
“But I’m going to make Pozole tomorrow.”
He quickly switches gears, “I find it interesting you’re trying to kill me after telling you I’m getting a raise.”
Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man. You may also visit Flash Fiction Friday 55′s, a blog dedicated to hosting 55 Flash Fiction Friday posts.
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Death by Relleno
We went out to eat at out favorite Mexican restaurant last night. I ordered the Chile Relleno which is pronounced REE-Yen-oh. The chile relleno they make is only ok, but sometimes I just crave it anyway. This time they made it super greasy. It was a little gross, but I ate it anyway. When I got to the end with the stem and seeds Kurt said, “Don’t eat those seeds.”
Me: They aren’t that bad.
Kurt: Your head will explode.
Me: No, if I eat it your head will probably explode, and if I keep eating this grease you’ll have to have your gallbladder removed AGAIN.
Kurt: You’ll only get two and a quarter times my annual pay.
That threw me off a bit. At first, I didn’t realize he was talking about insurance money I would get if he dies.
Me: It’s not a set amount?
Kurt: No, it’s based off my pay.
Me: You need a raise!
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How much is an appropriate amount?
How much peanut butter should be left in the jar before it’s left on the counter to signify, “we’re almost out” or just tossed in the trash? I pulled this jar of Jiff Extra Crunchy out of the cupboard to find that Kurt left this much:
It’s not even enough to very lightly cover a half a slice of small bread. At least we still have the creamy peanut butter, which in the house is generally considered only suitable for a diaper.
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Inside Voice
Tonight we went out for Thai food at a fairly quiet restaurant. I don’t mean that no one was there. There were four or five other tables of people, but it was quiet. Sophia was comfortable enough to change that. “Ah da da da!” She said happily. Kurt and I look at each other. “shshshshshshshsh” We told her. “Ah da da DA!” She said again. We smiled at each other. “Shshsh Use your inside voice, no wait your outside voice is quieter,” Kurt said. “Ah da da da da DA da.”
“You have to be quiet, don’t be like daddy, be like mommy.” Kurt says.
“eeeeeEEEEE!” She shrieked.
Kurt and I laughed, “Well, that is what mommy sounded like last night.” He said.
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Cruiser Games
Sophia isn’t walking yet. I’m not as concerned about her not walking as I am about her not talking though, because I know she can walk. She’s an extremely cautious baby. She is incredibly steady when standing and can stand without pulling up on something. She can even go from standing to squatting or lower herself to her seat without crashing to the floor. She has full control. She just needs to take that next step. Two days before her birthday I swear I saw her take one step when she was busy moving two Mega Bloks from one chair in the computer room to another just a step away. So she’s not-a-toddler yet. She’s a cruiser.
The first game invented by our cruising baby was to butt scoot between my feet while I’m trying to cook or do dishes. She first started doing this about three or four weeks ago and when I told Kurt about it he watched for her to start her game and then he followed her! They both went right between my feet as I’m trying to cook with knives and hot cast iron pans. As Kurt pushed through he said, “wow, that’s a tight fit.” Funny, he’s never complained about that in the past.
Kurt has mimicked the baby before the scoot between mommies feet game. If baby cruiser realizes that I’m in the kitchen without her she’ll butt scoot on over and right behind her is the louder thudding sound of her THIRTY-SIX year old father BUTT SCOOTING. Just imagine it. I six foot four inch, thirty-six year old man, butt scooting behind his one year old daughter. She thinks it’s funny. I’m a little creeped out by it mostly because after he sees my look of disdain he throws his arms out and shouts (he actually uses his normal voice, but it’s a shout), “Have sex with me!” in a geeky voice, that resembles a loud version of Pat from SNL.
Baby cruiser loves to be chased. I think this started with Kurt stomping around behind her when she was headed for drawers we wanted her to stay out of. Now anytime she’s headed for something she knows we don’t want her around she giggles as she butt scoots towards it. She has also taken to rolling over and scooting away during diaper changes, right after I take her diaper off. She’s getting QUICK! And saying, “I’m gonna get you” or stomping behind her makes her giggle so hard she almost can’t move. It’s HILARIOUS!
After learning all the things that need to move out of the bathroom before taking a shower with baby cruiser in the room she began a new version of “mommy fetch this”. Usually “mommy fetch this” is played while baby cruiser is restrained to a chair and she pretends that she has no idea if gravity really works *every time*. This version of “mommy fetch this” works when baby drops something in the tub and mommy quickly tosses it back out far enough to give herself a second to rinse a toe but not so far that baby cruiser decides she doesn’t want to go after it. The first time baby cruiser played this game was with a remote control I bought for her in hopes that she would leave the real ones alone. Stop laughing! Yes, I know, stupid new mom.
She tossed the remote into the tub a few times during my shower, and after that one of the controls that plays a song sounded like a dying mariachi band. Yes, the whole band. We had to take the batteries out and let it dry up. It’s mostly back to normal now. Since then I’ve had to save several stuffed animals and an opened package of panty liners that she found on top of the toilet tank. Damn her for being tall!