Since I'm still a little blogged out, I'll continue on my random memories kick from yesterday. This time, inappropriate memories are the topic. So, pretty much, my parents and in-laws should procede to the comments section. Then again - who am I kidding? - I've always been the person who shares way too much information. Like telling my mom that I ditched school the day before, thinking that enough time had passed to calm her.
Numero Uno - (Warning: This references my unmentionables!) When I was a sophomore in college, I went use the loo one day and a McDonald's straw wrapper fell out of my underoos. Now, at the time I had not eaten at a McDonald's in a good two years. Also, I had just spent a busy day at The University, where there is no McDonald's on campus or adjacent. Now, I know that when I get to heaven I'm supposed to ask really important questions like, "What really happened to Amelia Earhart?" Or, "Just how much wood can a woodchuck chuck?" But my first order of business will be to ask, "How the heck did that straw wrapper find its way into my panties?" Seriously, if you have any guesses, please do share. (Acceptable words for my underthings are training pants, chonies and granny shorts. Panties is merely for laughs and should be avoided in all other contexts.)
Numero Dos - (Warning: This references alternative lifestyles.) Soon after birthing Miss Dub, I went to my post-partum checkup. The nurse kept asking how home life was, using really PC terms like, "partner" and "family unit." Eventually, I mentioned that Mr. Dub was graduating from school, to which she responded: "You have a husband?" To which I replied, "According to my marriage license." To which she explained, "Your chart says you're a lesbian." Now, I'll be honest that my hair and wardrobe weren't top notch at the time, but seriously? I told her to keep it in my file because it would add an element of hilarity to all future appointments, but, alas, she changed it. And, like that, my brief stint as a married lesbian was over.
Numero Tres - (Warning: This references non-committal kissing.) As a senior in college, I went out to dinner with a nice divorcee who lived in my complex. I may or may not have been more interested in the free food than him. (I'm a sucker for salmon tacos!) When it became clear that he was pretty much open to tying the knot after dessert, I mentioned that I had an early day at work and would need to get home pronto. But when I got back, I was bored so I called a friend to pick me up. Living in the same complex, however, I had to dress in black and dart behind bushes to avoid my almost-fiance's stalker ways. When I arrived at my friend's boyfriend's house, I ended up snuggling with some total stranger, who then insisted on taking me home and practically forced me to kiss him in the middle of our parking lot - much to the chagrin of my divorced neighbor. After some significant kissing he romantically whispered, "I'll call you." To which I said, "Uh, I really don't think you will. Let's just call this one a practice session." He was cool with that. And to this day, so am I.
Numero Cuatro - (Warning: This references adolescent obnoxiousness.) When I was in high school, me and my sidekick liked to spend our weekends unconventionally. Let's just say that we spent an abnormal amount of time at Kinko's, Target and Disneyland. (Which is weird because we lived in Arizona.) But one of the "normal" things we did was cruise Mill Avenue, the main drag adjacent to ASU. It's also home to the biggest collection of freaks, breakdancers and panhandlers you've ever seen. On occassion we would try selling some crafts or balloon animals, but one night we decided to give away money rather than ask for it. We stood on the corner with a pile of quarters in our hands and shouted, "Who wants free money? Get your free money here!" Surprisingly, no one wanted it. We'd go to hand out a quarter and people would reject it like we'd offered them a religious pamphlet. I mean, does no one appreciate a good game of ski ball any more? Them quarters could've translated into a stuffed animal for a skilled ski baller.
In a similar vein, we once went to Venice Beach and made a sign that said, "Unattractive, can't get a date - How 'bout some change?" We only made enough cash to buy lunch, but we got a lot of date offers and several self esteem lectures.
Numero Cinco - (Warning: This references nothing.) Shoot, I'm out of ideas and starting to blush. So I implore you to finish up my list with your own random memory, appropriateness of your choosing.
Any straw wrappers in your granny shorts lately?
And on a scale of 1-10, how offensive was this post?
