Basically.

Garbage Pail Kid

When Kasey and I were kids, the Cabbage Patch doll craze was in full swing. Of course our family had no money for Cabbage Patch dolls, so we could only dream of them and stare longingly at our friends who cradled theirs and dressed them up and framed their Adoption Papers boasting names like Corey John and Beatrice Celeste and signed by none other than Xavier Roberts himself! They would bring them to school and enforce nap times. Kasey and I knew we would never know this true joy, but we got close enough to smell it and on several occasions my friend Tera let me hold her little Randall Alexander.

I have mentioned that our family managed an apartment complex on the wrong side of the tracks in South International Falls, Minnesota. I may have even mentioned that the kids in my family were forced to do manual labor for as little as $2 per month. 

But did I ever mention the best day of our lives? The day my dad came running into the house with a bald-headed Cabbage Patch doll in hand? He beamed proudly and gave it to Kasey and she squealed with delight. Her very own Cabbage Patch doll!

I was so excited I wrote about it this letter to my Auntie Julie, claiming full ownership even though my dad gave him to Kasey.

Never mind that Ethen Nathanial was dirty, naked, from the dumpster and had a noose around his neck.

Now That's Good Parenting.

Fallopa-who?

My friends Tara and Beth and I used to eat lunch together every day in Junior High. One day in the cafeteria, Tara started coughing. She grabbed her chest, looked at Beth and me and said, barely audibly:

 

 

"I got something caught in my fallopian tube."

Nope. In case any of you were wondering...



Esophagus. She had something caught in her esophagus:

 

Summer-isms, Vol. 56

"I'm gonna make you a sauce so good girl."

"Well, guess what? She has acne scars."

"I have never typed the word fart."

"He wants to make paper dolls out of me."

"When three people are holding hands I don't want to be one of them."

Sunday Favorites: First World Problems

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. This story originally appeared on April 30, 2012 when I was griping about my job:

Last week, as I was removing the 37th staple from the 37th bank statement in a mortgage loan file that I was preparing to send into underwriting, I couldn't help but feel VIOLENTLY ANGRY towards the loan officer who stapled them all together. It's like, I know where the bank statement starts and also where the bank statement ends. Do we really need to be stapling them? My nails are just tore up, guys. TORE UP.  Gosh my job is so irritating. Probably the worst in the whole world. I can't think of any worse job in the whole world. I'm paid hundreds of dollars a day to remove staples. It's not enough if you ask me.  

These mobile salespeople in Vietnam would agree that I am so mistreated:

I waved to this person and they waved back. I assumed it was "Hi!", but in retrospect I realized it was actually, "don't take my photo."

It's a difficult yet effective way to sell stuff on the go. You can even operate a food truck this way. Got a  pho (noodle soup) business? Bring it to the people. I saw a woman with a pot full of soup on each side and asked her if I could try lifting it.

O. M. Gee!  I felt like a champion power lifter.  It was so heavy.  HEAVY.  That smile is actually a wince.

So, you cart around thousands of pounds of merchandise hoping to sell a couple bucks' worth each day. Later on I told her about the staples and the low pay. (In sign language of course.) She was like, "Lady. You got to QUIT. That sucks."

Now That's Good Auntie-ing

Little Miyo, Puddin 'N Pie. Said my truck was "old fashioned". And then she only ate two bites of her $8.00 Cherryberry Frozen Yogurt Sundae. Back in the olden days she'd a been cruisin' for a bruisin'. But today is 2013 and you can't physically harm a child legally, so...

...Instead I made her carry all of my Bed Bath and Beyond purchases (I bought an over-door shoe holder for my shoes and also a fan! since my apartment has no A/C. And some Barkeeper's Friend because, well, you know.) And I wouldn't help her. Not for the entire quarter-mile walk back to Ol' Blue across the world's largest Urban Sprawl parking lot. (I also bought her a book -- James and the Giant Peach -- at Barnes and Noble and since she had no space to carry it I shoved it down her shorts.)

That'll learn her!

The Inevitable.

Well, it was just a matter of time. You can't buy and drive a 1987 Dodge Dakota pickup truck that had been sitting in a garage undriven for seven years without expecting a problem here and there. The main problem is that the truck stalls a lot. It just dies every time I try to push the gas during the first ten minutes of running it in the morning. The idle is turned up high enough that I just idle all the way down Lake Street and hope for no red lights. And up until now, I had been able to tweak/restart/jiggle/adjust/swear my way through all of Ol' Blue's hiccups. But the other night, she finally just. wouldn't. start.

At two in the morning.

In Dinkytown.

So I had to get 'er towed to a mechanic. And thus began a week of a new type of swearing. That night Tan from Saigon Garage on Lake Street cleaned out my carburetor for $180. I got the truck back the next day and it did run, but it still didn't seem quite "right". 

Two days later, I broke down on the way to work. Directly in front of Saigon Garage. I couldn't believe my luck! Tan got it started though and told me to come back the next day. Well of course I couldn't get it started that night at work and had to get another tow over to Saigon. But I got a new starter for $229 and he did some other things that I couldn't quite understand (his English is not as good as mine) and now Ol' Blue is purring like a kitten and running better than ever!

The point of this whole story is that all week my dad has been beside himself because of me having car problems and being stranded and him being so far away and not being able to help out.

Here's what he said to me:

"KADY. You can't be having your truck towed every day. Not a woman of your statue."

Hal-isms, Vol. 40

"Kady: Kiss the ground you walk on and thank your lucky stars I'm your father."

"When you're the only sensible person, you take a lot of grief for it."

"Don't write that. It's out of context."

"It's all gonna be to your chagrin someday."

"It was one catastrophic after another."

Sunday Favorites: Bathrooms

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. This story originally appeared on May 1, 2010, when I had a giant epiphany about bathrooms:

I had an epiphany yesterday.

I am probably shooting myself in the foot with my bathroom fear because I'm spending WAY too much time in there, trying to mentally prep myself for the task at hand.

First, I either foot-push or middle-finger-push the door open slowly, scanning the floor and walls and ceiling for geckos or spiders.  Then I step into the stall slowly, slowly, slowly, turning sideways to make myself skinny(!) so I don't touch anything.  I look around again for creepy crawleys.  Then I use a piece of my kleenex to lift the lid in a Western-syle toilet to check for spiders, bugs, rats under the seat.  Then I step from left foot to right foot, mustering courage to begin the process.  My hands are usually in the air in front of me, or at my sides, waving slightly.  I breathe in and out, slowly.  Then I usually make sure my camera, wallet, purse, sunglasses are secured before I unzip my pants and slowly, slowly turn around. The rest of the procedure is carried out in a similarly slow and tedious fashion.   

The epiphany is this:  Why not hurry up, pee and get the heck out of there?!

Triathlon? More like Sharknado.

This was BEFORE the swim.

Then the rain stopped and we applied our sunscreen. A creepy neighbor offered to take our photo. She kept saying, "keep rubbing girls...keep rubbing it in..." And then she took a picture with her own personal camera.

SHARKNADO!!

I must see this movie.

Sunday Favorites: The Tuxedo

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. This story originally appeared on October 25, 2010:

My friend tells me the most hilarious story from when he was a leetle tiny boy:
Unfortunately, he peed his pants at school. He hoped to get away with it. Nope. His friends were like, "did you pee your pants?" 

His answer? 
"No. Uh....my mom accidentally washed my jeans with my dad's tuxedo."

The following are the details of the story that make me DIE:
A. Not only did he NOT pee his pants...
B. He asserted that his family was rich and his dad had a tuxedo.
C. He clearly didn't do his research. You can't WASH a tuxedo in the washing machine.
D. If you DID wash a tuxedo in the washing machine, with your little kids play jeans, would it bleed onto the jeans? In the crotch? NO.

Summer-isms, Vol. 55

"My outfit doesn't even match my outfit."

"I have no self control when it comes to roasted chicken. I could eat the whole thing."

"I don't know how the Lady and the Tramp song goes."

"I'd rather have diarrhea any day of the week."

"New Orleans was my pork awakening."

2012 vs. 2013

Same dad...antagonizing the same dog in the same yard in front of the same garage. What's different?

 

 

RIP, little Acura.

 

Lady's Slipper Hunting

It's that time of year again, folks! Maybe my favorite...

 

I'm visiting my parents this week and today my Dad and I went out hunting for the Minnesota State Flower, the Showy Lady's Slipper. Two years ago they were primarily of the pink-and-white variety, and we saw a few yellow ones as well. We haven't seen any yellows this year, but instead have seen TONS of straight white lady's slippers. TONS! (I thought they didn't exist).

They grow in the ditches along the highway next to my parents' place. And there are millions!

 

The elusive white!

White!

 

Present Time!

Parents and smart phones. Something's not quite right. I say: Bring a little nostalgia into the picture!! 

eBay: search for "retro handset smartphone". Now she can put the dumb phone in her purse and talk like a NORMAL PERSON on her headset. (She had been getting a little too "Real Housewives" for my taste...always putting people on speaker and holding the phone in front of her mouth.)

p.s. Extra favorite daughter points for matching the headset to the phone.