It’s so damn hot…milk was a bad choice

I finally saw Anchorman for the first time last night, and suddenly all these quotes I’ve literally been hearing for years that I thought were mildly funny but didn’t get, are so much FUNNIER. I guess it’s another one of those movies that everyone had already seen that I just…didn’t.

so was this beard

This is how I  imagine all Texans complaining about the heat

My sister always gets mad at me for talking about stuff that I never got to do growing up because every so often I shift into martyred soul mode and regale her with all the times I haven’t been to Uno’s, or Chili’s; didn’t do this, didn’t do that, or whatever. A tiny, miniscule part of that may be my horrible memory, but I tell myself it’s probably just because it’s usually her fault–let it be known that growing up we also NEVER got pizza goldfish because she thought that was “gross.” A couple months ago I bought it when I was with her at the grocery store because now I’m Grown Up and totally in control of my own decisions. They were on sale and I only bought them to stick it to her (I know–don’t mess with me). I wish I could say revenge was tasty, but you were right, ma soeur. Pizza really isn’t the best flavor. Pretty sure I finished them anyway, though.

Such are the tales of a poor, misunderstood baby of the family. Still, there seem to be quite a few, gaping holes in my childhood that normal people I grew up with seem to have filled up. I was the one standing awkwardly to the side during school dances when the Cotton Eyed Joe came on (and I’d still be, today). I don’t know any of the N’sync songs except for “bye, bye, bye,” and by that I mean that one line, not the whole song. And now that I think about it, I probably wouldn’t understand any other major pop culture reference of the time–but now I overcompensate by religiously reading celebrity gossip–Kristen Stewart, how could you??  And while all my elementary school friends got ballroom dressed up for cotillion, I was so in the dark I thought they were talking about Gentile’s, the produce market nearby. Don’t worry though–I ended up learning the box dance steps from a Berenstain Bears book, so yeah, I think I’ve pretty much covered my ballroom dance education.

So instead of slipping on white gloves or singing with my hairbrush, I was more interested in reading Nancy Drew under the covers.  I was busy learning trying to fly with my best friend and one of our many imaginary friends, Tiny the tiny (shocker) fairy or building dinosaur nests out of leftover grass hay. I feel a sort of need to put a disclaimer here and say that yes, my best friend, at least was a real, living person whom everyone could see.

Just so you know, this Titanic victim's grave is in Halifax, Nova Scotia. They are in no way related to our family but judging by the flowers I presume it is Jack Dawson, but not the fictional Jack Dawson in the movie Titanic, which the girls who brought the flowers clearly did not know--but my father made sure to point it out to us. Yup.

Here I am with my sister at a Titanic victim’s grave. I have my hands clasped behind my back like an old tenured professor and I doubt I have never not been a dork in my entire life.

But in the end I turned out okay, right?

You stay classy, San Diego Thanks for stopping by, y’all.

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