Conversational Circle of Death

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While riding in my parents' minivan, King and Curtis were having an all too familiar circular conversation.

Pointing at the video screen on the ceiling, King said, "I could play Xbox on that."

Curtis responded, "No, you couldn't."

"Yes. I could."

"No. You couldn't."

King finally realized that he was caught in his dad's conversational circle of death.

He tried to break free, "If I was the only one in the minivan, I could. I mean it would be possible."

But Curtis delivered what would normally be the conversation-killing death-blow, "And if my aunt had balls, she'd be my uncle."

Then Michael jumped in and turned the conversation on its head, "Well… not necessarily."

Weblinks: Harlem Shake, Thrift Shop, and Rednecks in Trucks

My husband, Curtis, is much more up-to-date with current happenings and trends than I am. He commented once that my web-links were not very "cutting edge". So I asked him to contribute. Here's what is trending and interesting, according to Curtis.

DISCLAIMER: I take absolutely no responsibility whatsoever for any of this content. Except for the cute dog at the end. That's all me.

The Harlem Shake

A week ago this video appeared on YouTube. (Please don't feel bad if you can't stand to watch the whole thing. I couldn't.)

Since then it has gotten over seven million views and has inspired people all over the world to video themselves doing the Harlem Shake, including the Norwegian army and Jeff Gordon. Curtis finds the progression of these viral videos very interesting, in a sort of anthropological sense. 

You can search YouTube for more videos, if you wish.


Thrift Shop

For the past couple of weeks Curtis has been obsessed with pop music. I think it is akin to being unable to stop yourself from staring at an accident scene on the highway. At least I hope it is nothing more than that. For the time being, it has made family car rides where Dad controls the radio much more interesting. (Pop music makes me annoyed and aggressive. Who knew?) The song that started Curtis' "pop" phase was Thrift Shop by Macklemore.


"Here, Honey, hold my beer while I try something."

Another of Curtis' picks for today's web-links is a video of a pickup truck going over a jump. It is going way too fast. It ends badly. Enjoy!


Swims with Dolphins

After that, I think we could use a little detox. How about a dog swimming with dolphins?

Ah.... that's better.


So, what do you think? Would you like to hear more of Curtis' picks for the latest and greatest on the interwebs?

It's okay. You can say, "yes". I know you still love me.

Mio Peloso Italiano

 
My hairy Italian

My hairy Italian

 

I am married to a swarthy Sicilian. He is dark and handsome and.... hairy. All his hairs look the same: short, dark, coarse, and curly.

The other day I opened the camera on my phone while it was pointed down at some vintage Fire King coffee mugs that my mom gave me. I liked the way it looked, so I snapped the picture.

Later, I took a closer look.

 
Fire King Mugs with Beard Hair

Fire King Mugs with Beard Hair

 

Aren't they awesome mugs? Let's just ignore what I'm going to assume is a beard hair on the kitchen table. Okay?

What up, Britches?

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I just started reading aloud to the boys the book Little Britches: Father and I Were Ranchers by Ralph Moody.

Mike looked at the title and asked,

What if the "r" was missing?

My response was:

Um... How do you know that word?

Both boys looked at their father.

Me? I don't use that word.

To which King responded:

What about that time you kept saying to us 'What up, Bitches?'

Oh, yeah.


Jackpot!

I have started calling Curtis the human slot-machine. I find coins all over the house: pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters. I find them in the usual places, like on the bedside table, in the bottom of the washing machine and in the couch. I also find them on the floor of every room of the house. I even find them on the floor of the shower. Now, think about that for a minute. Where exactly are they coming from that they could wind up there?

You Know How Difficult Angels Can Be

 

Every year at Christmastime, Curtis sets up the tree, and the boys and I decorate it. I always have such idealistic expectations for this tradition: we will listen to Christmas music as we lovingly pull out ornaments and reminisce about Christmases past. Joy to the World. Peace on Earth. And all that.

Of course, this is rarely how things actually play out. Most of the time, the tree trimming session ends with me yelling at the boys because they aren't being careful with the breakable ornaments. I usually finish the job myself, after forbidding them to even look at another ornament, lest they break it. I've learned to alleviate this problem somewhat by storing the non-breakable ornaments separately and instructing the boys to pull from that box while decorating. 

This year things went surprisingly well. I remained relatively calm and there were no broken ornaments during the process, although Jethro ate a few later.

"Christmas is yummy."

 

After we finished putting all the ornaments on the tree, it was time for Curtis to add our Christmas angel to the top.

The boys and I crafted our angel ourselves. She is supposed to be singing,
but she looks more like someone just jammed a Christmas tree up her butt.

 

I gave Curtis his cue, indicating his role in our little Christmas drama was upon us,

Alright, Honey, all we need now is our angel on top.

He replied,

As I remember, that's sort of a pain in the ass.

So far this year, our pain-in-the-ass angel has yet to make it to the top of the tree.