Crass, Crude, and Raunchy: It's Not My Fault

First of all, I'm very pleased that I amuse my family with my willingness to talk about the crass, the crude, and the raunchy. Sometimes I find that I don't always use my filter.  I'd like to blame it on my husband, but let's face it:  I was like this way before I met him. Since I won't can't take responsibility for my lack of self-control regarding my smutty stories, I must find a culprit for my coarseness. 

This culprit was incredibly easy to find since I delve into it quite religiously and have for as long as I can remember.  No, no, no, I'm not talking about booze here people.  Believe me I do not need to imbibe to speak freely or filthy.  I'm talking about fiction.  You see - I've been reading since I left my mother's womb I can remember.  I was so pathetic in love with reading and literature that in elementary school (starting in 4th grade) my librarian would call me down when new books came in.  Why, you ask.  Oh, yeah, that's because I already read every book she had. Before you start making assumptions, let me state that this only included the genres I was interested in (science fiction, fantasy, historical fiction . . . You know - maybe I should've just written the only genre that I wasn't interested in: non-fiction). 
Well, anyway, that's how I remember it.   (I'll address how reading altered my reality and my memories in a later post.)

So, how did my reading influence my inability to discriminate appropriate conversational topics?  Sit and think about it for a minute:  when you are constantly deluged with information it becomes second nature to want to disuss it.  Not only do you want to discuss it, but also you are able to discuss it because you've lost a sense of reality.  Please don't get me wrong:  I'm not saying that I'm solely reading romance novels when all they do is talk about some handsome guy's quivering member.  Quite honestly, I don't even enjoy reading novels like that (okay, maybe I like them a little).  I'm just saying that when you read Are You There God, It's Me Margaret at the age of eight (maybe nine) you start to think it's okay to tell your dad you'll meet him in the car in a few minutes because you have to change your tampon. 

umm crooked what....... yIKEs

Last week we created a very special memory as a family... it was emotional, it was memorable, it was amazing.  If you want read about the details then visit http://kdrehmer.blogspot.com/2011/01/fire-still-burns-on-hill.html.  This here is the ridiculous story... the one that isn't full of sentiment but instead full of funny (well funny in my opinion...). 

If you read the link you know our grandfather passed away and that we hiked into the woods to his cabin spread his ashes and to share some special memories.  I am going to share one of my favorite comical moments of the day.  We are all standing by the fire... warming up and sharing stories.  My dad, the BOOMAN, suddenly tells us that Captain... otherwise known as Grandpa Rhodes... told him that when he came to the cabin in the summer time he would sunbath NAKED.  As soon as this came out of my dads mouth I started coughing, dry heaving... could not imagine this...did not want to envision this.

BUT DON'T WORRY.... Hollie thought this was HYSTERICAL.  She started to talk about how funny it would be if someone came upon the cabin and found him laying out naked.  She started to say that if you saw him sunbathing you would be able to determine if he had a crooked you know what..... and seeing how this apparently is one of her favorite topics of conversation she just loved throwing it in that day.  I was literally dying...crying with laughter.  She then continues to say that his you know who know what know had to be straight because he had a girl... Marijohn proved that his you know wasn't crooked.

I would like to know why my sister had to talk about my grandpas you know what that day... in fact anyday... why would she want to converse about such topics?  Talking about the curvature of anyones you know what is not something I want to talk about.  I sure don't want to think of my grandpa that way... I didn't want to read about Andy in that way.... does that make me a prude? maybe... am I ok with that... yuppers... but I will tell you what... I am grateful for Hollie and the things she talks about.  It makes me laugh, it calms me down when things are tense, it makes me happy when I am sad.

So we said goodbye to my grandpa that day... but apparently we also figured out some other things about him that day as well.

From Turkey Necks to Crooked Ding-Dongs

Skippy Reed (a.k.a our grandmother) is hysterical.  First of all, she actually wants and encourages her great grandchildren to call her Granny.  I don't know about you, but when I hear the word Granny, I think of that old Granny Clampett from the Beverly Hillbillies (and Granny Smith pies and Granny Smith apples). Secondly, if you met her you would totally assume she was your typical knit and crochet-loving grandma (because she is).  She quite frequently tells me how happy she is that at least someone in the family ended up like her (likes to knit, cook, bake, do basic womanly jobs from the '50s).  That's really where our similarities end.  Okay, not really.  As my sister mentioned in her previous post, Skippy also loves turtlenecks.  I hide my giraffe neck; she hides her turkey neck.  We also both can talk about crooked schlongs without blushing.  Seriously.  When I found out I was pregnant with Noah, my grandma was hoping for a girl.  Needless to say, when the ultrasound pic came back very definitely a boy, Skippy told me I better tell Andy to have his crooked twinkie fixed.  Apparently, crooked penises (penii? penes? - oddly I am unsure the plural form of penis) produce sons.  When I found out I was pregnant with Jonah, she definitely asked if Andy's kinky winky was straightened out yet because she was really ready for another angel in the family.  Lo and behold, the ultra sound pic came back yet again very definitely a male with his own little teenie weenie.  Clearly, I didn't fix Andy's twisted tally-whacker. 

My dad said he'd post a pic of the Skip, but since he hasn't, here she is:   

Gotta love her! 

Turkey Necks.... ohhh Skippy

I took grandma...aka Skippy Reed... to lunch on Saturday.  We are sitting at Tags when she starts to sing the praises of turtlenecks.   The sad thing is that she wasn't even aware of the turtleneck debate occuring here.  She spent a good five minutes telling me how and why they are the best thing ever created.  She then proceeds to tell me that if you have a Turkey Neck the only solution is a Turtle Neck.  I ask her what a turkey neck is... she tells me that when you get old all the skin gets loose on your neck and just hangs there... then she Gobbles at me.  I literally about fall out of my chair laughing.  I also tell her the she is the only person who has made me see the beauty of the turtleneck... so here it is TURTLE NECKS ARE GREAT FOR ALL OF THOSE WITH TURKEY NECKS!!!!

Now I would love to post a picture of my Skippy but she would kill me!!!!  Ehhhhhh oh well I'm going to do it anyhow... shhhh don't tell her.  No I can't I don't want the rath of her :)

Did you tell her probably a skull shirt?

So Hollie's daughter is already...at six... smart enough to know that turtlenecks are not fun!  I do find it funny though that Alina wanted to know what Abrielle was wearing.  I wonder what she would have said if Hollie replied with, "probably some shirt with skulls on it."  Alina probably would have freaked and Hollie would have been telling the truth.


Abrielle, at age 3, is obsessed with skulls.  She went to a festival down town this fall.  There was pages after pages of super cute things she could have had done for face paint.  She chose a full blown, total face covering skull.  A few weeks before Christmas, Jason and her were at Five Below.  He told her she could have a change purse to keep inside her bag... she chose a black one with white skulls on it.


He loves that she is obsessed with skulls.  He went to target and bought her a black Christmas stocking, with bright pink fur trim and a white and  hot pink skull on it.  She was so happy when she saw it she had to carry it around with her for days and take it and show her Grandma.


I love that she likes skulls too.  I don't think it is the skull obsession exactly but the fact that she is a girly girl and a tom boy all at once.  She refuses to wear clothes that don't match and will not leave the house if she doesn't think she looks cute... but she will role around in the mud in those cute clothes.  All she wanted for Christmas was a "slow and fast car".  A remote control car... that is all she talked about.


So Hollie the next time Alina wants to know what her fashionable three year old niece is rocking tell her the shirt she got for Christmas this year... three quarter length sleeves, small front button pocket, black shirt with a million little white skulls... let me know how she responds.

Fashion Sense(less)

I love picking out clothes for my daughter, Alina, to wear.  She has a closet (and dresser) full of clothes.  Not only does she have a ton of clothes, but also she has shoes I want on my feet: black boots, brown shoes, ballet flats.  I love them all.  Every night before she goes to bed, I pick out her clothes for the following day.  This has been our routine since she started Pre-K.  I think the routine is about to change.

Yesterday Morning
Alina (dressed and walking out of her room before leaving for school):  Mom, I don't think I can wear this.  (She takes both of her hands and points at her outfit.  She has on black leggings, a jean skirt, a black turtleneck -- yep, I make her wear them, too -- a plaid hot pink and black vest with fur at the top, and black knee-high suede boots.)

Me (completely loving how she looks):  Alina, oh my gosh you look adorable.  Why don't you think you can wear it?

Alina:  Ugh, Mom, this just is not my fashion sense.  I do not feel comfortable in this. (Yep, you guessed it tugging at her turtleneck.)

Me (completely affronted thinking that now even my six-years-old is getting on me about turtlenecks):  So, now what?  You don't want to wear turtlenecks either? 

Alina (confused):  Huh?  What are you talking about Mom?  Why are you so mad I don't want to wear it?

Me (embarrassed because I'm taking out my love of turtlenecks and other people hatin' on them out on her):  Sorry, Lina.  But you do look adorable and you don't have time to change. 

Alina:  Well, I wonder what Abrielle's wearing today.  (Yes, that would be Kristen's daughter, Abrielle, as in my funky fashionista of a sister who's not only President but also founder of the I Hate Turtlenecks Unless You're a Little Girl fan club. Great.)

Me:  I don't know.  I bet she has a turtleneck on.  (She might.  She's three.)

Alina:  Well, that's great, Mom.  She's three.  I'm six!

Me:  Okay, well you're not changing, and you need to go brush your teeth.

(while Alina is brushing her teeth) Me to Andy:  Can you believe Alina didn't want to wear the outfit I picked out?

Andy:  Why?  What did you pick out? 

Me:  Just leggings, a skirt, a turtleneck, and a vest with a furry hood.

Andy (laughing):  Haha, you said furry hood.

Welcome to my world. 

No Bakes.. The Booman and a Scheme Gone Bad

This story is soon to be a classic.  I will tell it every year to Abrielle and I am sure Hollie will tell her children and they will tell their children and so on and so on.

It all started on a cold morning a few weeks before Christmas.  I had stopped over to my parents house so that the princess could play with her cousins.  I was relaxing on the couch when Mr. Boo so kindly asked me what I planned on brining to Christmas Eve.  I informed him that I didn't think that far ahead.  He asked....noooo begged.... me to make him No Bake cookies.  "They are his favorite", he said.  "Hollie isn't making them this year and your mom won't. So you have to." FIIIIIIIIIIINE!!! I tell him but at the same time I describe to him that I HATE MAKING NO BAKES.  That didn't phase him.  He wanted  no bakes... it was Christmas.  I had to make them for him.

A few days later I was all geared up to do the grocery shopping for Christmas.  I find this awesome looking Eggnong Custard dessert that I wanted to try and make.......pffff I remembered I had to make no bakes.  I send Hollie a text just to make sure that she wasn't making them.  She text me back and informs me she is making some.  I say thank you!!  Dad told me I had to because you weren't.

Phone rings... It's Hollie.  She very kindly informs me that the Booman was at her house the night before BRAGGING about tricking me into making no bakes.  Come to find out he had my aunt making him no bakes, my sister making him no bakes and he thought that I would fall right into his little scheme.  Oh no buddy... he wasn't getting No Bakes from me!!!


A quote from the man himself:

Chris Rhodes

"Just ate the last no bake cookie boy were they good if kristen didn't give me up I might have been able to hoard a few oh well holiday over cookies are gone"

January 4 at 10:47am ·