Family, balls, and the anti-joke

I spent much of last week with these people:

These three are siblings (there are seven of us)


When I am with them, I feel like this:

(that's me in 2nd grade)

I met one of my sisters-in-law for the first time. I am fairly certain she thinks I am a pervert obsessed with balls. It started when they brought their dog for a visit. She loves chasing tennis balls. She brought her slimy, drool-covered ball to me, begging me to throw it for her and I said:

"Sorry, I don't do wet balls."

and then I started laughing hysterically, uncontrollably (to myself... can you say "crazy"?) thinking how that could be misconstrued...

I told you, it's like I regressed 25 years.

So wet balls became the joke of the week, surfacing in all conversations and repeatedly in a game we played one night.

I didn't help change the impression of "ball-obssessed" when I started rambling about that book on human mating and how part of the biological evidence that our ancestors engaged in casual sex has to do with the size of the human male testicles (long story, we can get into that later).

I am pretty sure she thinks I am a freak. S.S., I swear, I never even use the word "ball" in that context... like, ever...just last weekend, to impress you. Did it work?

Then one of my brothers (law student) started talking about anti-jokes (doesn't that sound like something law students would sit around doing?... that and playing some computer game about gnomes)... anyway, I found them hilarious. This was my favorite:

What is green and has wheels?



Grass, I lied about the wheels.


almost. died. laughing!

It is when you tell a joke, but instead of a punch-line, you give a serious answer.

So last night I googled "anti-joke" and sat reading them on my itouch in bed, howling, nearly in tears, because some of them are so funny. (not all of them, some things aren't funny in jokes or anti-jokes).

Here are a few of my favorites:


Why do women fake orgasms?



Because they want to give men the impression that they have climaxed.

------------------------

What do you call two Mexicans playing basketball?



Their names, if you know them. If not just say "excuse me"


------------------------------

What do you get when you cross a muffin with chocolate chips?



A chocolate chip muffin.

------------------------------

How many blondes does it take to screw in a light bulb?



It shouldn't take more than one person to do this task, regardless of hair color.

------------------------------

hilarious!

I can't apologize for my odd sense of humor, it is what it is. I blame it on my family.

Paralysis

I am indecisive. Very indecisive. Until I make a final decision and then I am very decided, there is no swaying me and I feel totally justified in my decision.

But until I decide, my mind is a blur of ifs and buts, pros and cons, hemming one way, hawing the other. I incessantly weigh the possible consequences of one decision over the other. I mull it over, chew on it, for endless minutes, hours or days, depending on the decision to be made.

Sometimes it is a decision as to what hair product to buy (banal, I know, but it is a hard decision). Gel or mousse? curl enhancer or frizz tamer? I sit there in the aisle for 10 minutes, grab a product, have second-thoughts, put it back, grab another, re-think, put it back, get the first product.... It's so annoying. It is a defect, really. You may want to rethink your desire to go out to eat with me. I take forever to order.

It becomes a kind of paralysis, this indecision. I can't make up my mind and then I am usually limited by other factors and then there is not much of a choice.

I am paralyzed right now on a minor decision and a major decision.

The minor one is a kitchen aid mixer, remember how I said I have been pining for one. Well, when my initial plan to win one from the Pioneer Woman didn't pan out, I had to comeup with plan B, namely, buy one.

One issue is that the US uses 110 voltage and Chile uses 220. I know several people who have taken their 110 mixers to Chile and just got an adapter. Kitchenaid, of course, discourages this practice and warns against electrocution, maiming and such (maybe not that dire), but certainly you could suffer from equipment failure.

Well, I found a website that sells 220 volt mixers for use out of the US, for a decent price, about the price of the 110 volt ones (price is an issue buying outside of the US--they cost about twice as much). This seems like the perfect option... except they only sell the Artisan mixer at 300 watts. Which would probably serve me just fine, since I have survived this long without one, but, cooking snob that I am, I wanted a professional, 575 watt mixer... but I can only find those in the 110 volt version, but about the same price as this Artisan 220v one. Such a dilemma! I have been hemming and hawing and trying to make a decision... and just can't.

It may be too late for the 220v mixer though, they take at least 3-5 days for shipping and that may not be enough time right now.

The other issue, much more important, that is causing this creeping tension up my back and into my neck and shoulders, is choosing a shipping company. We got a few quotes, one almost double but probably a more reputable company, and two very similar, but both questionable somehow, maybe, I can't decide. We are waiting for one last estimate, but they are taking forever... and our supposed shipping date is NEXT WEEK! I have been thinking about it non-stop and emailing and calling back and forth with company reps and such. One company SEEMS very transparent, but I just feel uneasy about it. I have decided several times to just go with them and schedule it and then I back down and wait a little more. I keep reading reviews and recommendations on google (my best friend and life partner) trying to find something that will help ease my mind. There are just so many potential problems and I don't want to be taken advantage of or lied to, or duped, or screwed... and I want my few irreplaceable possessions to arrive to their destination.

I guess, worst case scenario, we can put our boxes in storage (though it is more work) and make a decision when we have more info and feel better about it. We won't be flying out for a bit still... still waiting on the consulate.

Why am I so paralyzed by decisions? I am starting to wonder if maybe I just wait it out until I am forced to take the option that I want to take but am hesitant to formally decide on. hmmm I'll have to think about that and get back to you...

Disgruntled

I am feeling a little grumbly today. There is a fascinating book I am reading on human sexual strategies from an evolutionary standpoint that I would love to be commenting on (and will later), but I just can't focus.

I am leaving for Portland tomorrow. Most of my family lives in Oregon. I haven't been there for over five years, though, if that reveals anything. Well, part of it reveals my reluctance to travel with kids, but mostly it reveals a reluctance to visit family. My last visit "home" was a disaster, so was the one before that. My family's visits to see me have varied. My theory is that one-on-one visits are fine, but the more of us that get together, the closer the dynamic shifts back to our very unhealthy original dynamic. My family.... is complicated, let's just say that.

I am trying not to feel stress and anxiety about it, and most of it will be fine, but there are at least two events that will be very difficult. One is visiting one of my sisters who is in prison (I haven't said that out loud to very many people). I want to cry even thinking about it. The other is meeting with my mom. My relationship with her is painful and almost impossible. We haven't been speaking. We go through this cycle where we are talking, we have the inevitable break-up, and then we go for months without speaking much, then there is an invitation to resume relations. I am at the point, after so many cycles, where I am hesitant to resume relations. It is excruciating.

I hate Mother's day. Even though I am a mother and loved G's hugs and kisses (Nico is stubborn), I would gladly forego breakfast in bed and gifts to not have to face the dilemma with my own mom: do I call or not and what does it mean either way? I called.

....................................

In other news...

I have been getting estimates for shipping our boxes to Chile and have been terrified about making a grave mistake in choosing a shipping company. In the meantime, there are signs that our buyer for the house is having issues. It may work out just fine, but my fear is that at the last minute it won't, we will have shipped our things and sold everything else and will be sleeping on the floor eating microwaved popcorn off of paper plates (maybe I should visualize Chinese take-out) for months waiting for another buyer. GAH!! So cross your fingers.

As we get closer and closer to the big move, my feet feel wetter and wetter. This post has already been so relaxed and joyous that I'll save those fears for another day.

Can you tell anxiety is an issue for me...?

Notice: I look like a stalker, but I am not

I read a post yesterday about stat counters, where you can see how many hits you have per day and where they come from, how long they visit, how they find you, what they look at, what search words they use that lead to your page, etc. The blogger was wondering what new lurker was reading her blog from a certain city that had never shown up before.

These stats make me nervous. But not because of my own blog, I had never installed one of these, mostly because it might make me sad. I installed one yesterday out of curiosity (thanks Abby, look what you have started!)

The good news is that I have one return reader. The bad news is it is ME. Ok, I am now blocked from the counting. I know I don't have that many readers, but come on... is it really just me?

They make me nervous, mostly because of the blog reader I am. If I visit your site at all, I look like a stalker. If I read your blog, your number of views will be hyper-inflated because of me. It is because I am ansty and I am a clicker (and for the moment I have lots of idle time on my hands). If I see you have a new post I click on your blog. If it looks long, I might come back later to read it. I might come back later if I want to comment... or if I wanted to read it again... or see what comments other people left... or to see (for those of you who comment on comments) if you commented on my comment. I may very well have been interrupted on one of more of those visits, which means another visit later to finish up what I meant to do there. I might remember something on one of your posts that I want to look up or read again. I might look at old posts from way back before I knew you (virtually).

See? That is like 20 clicks. It looks suspicious. I realize that and I apologize if it has given you the impression that I am obsessed with your blog.

That I also know where you work and where you live, is purely coincidental. (totally kidding, for most of you)

Busted...

I have a strict NO TOYS AT THE TABLE rule at my house. Toys can get all mucky at the table, they often lead to fights and whining, but mostly, they are a distraction from the principal goal... eating.

Yesterday, at lunch, after I had finished eating and was waiting for the tots to ever-so-slowly finish munching their lunch, I whipped out my itouch and started fooling around.

G tipped her head, looked down her nose at me, and said in a solemn voice:

Momma, no toys at the table!

You are absolutely right dear! It won't happen again