tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83670535172192018892024-03-13T19:41:55.711-07:00Most Likely to Have Bad HairMost Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.comBlogger63125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-1068846211095849112013-08-05T21:44:00.000-07:002013-08-05T21:44:19.514-07:00Hear No Evil<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Every few months, I begin a blog post with an apology about how it's been so long since I've posted, blah blah blah. I'm just going to skip that and say that I have the perfect story to bring me out of retirement.<br />
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I started this blog when I moved into my first apartment in the city, a sublet on 4th Street and Avenue B, so I could share all of my crazy stories about living in New York with my faithful readers (I think I'm up to about 8 now). Well 2.5 years, three apartments and four roommates later, a crazy enough story occurred this morning that I'm reminded why I started blogging to begin with.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good enough for Lenny Briscoe. Good enough for me.</td></tr>
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My parents raised me to be a good girl and drink Dunkin' Donuts, but I'm truly partial to street coffee. I love those Law & Order cups and the bond you form with your street coffee guy. When you live in a big city, it's nice to have those places where you feel like a regular. It makes the city a little smaller.<br />
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Since my brother and I just moved to the Upper East Side three weeks ago, my commute has flip-flopped (now I'm traveling downtown in the morning and uptown in the evening, rather than vice versa). As a result, I have had to find a new street coffee guy. Most mornings I take the bus, and I love my new coffee guy (even though he keeps trying to sell me on ice coffee.. ain't got time for that shit). On mornings when I'm running late, though, I take the subway. On those days, I get my coffee from Abdel.<br />
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Today was one of those days.<br />
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Abdel is mid-thirties-ish with a goofy smile. Today he had a buddy in his cart with him. The friend was wearing a soccer jersey. I'm not sure if these details are important but I like to set the scene/be prepared for an FBI sketch artist.<br />
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I walk up to the cart, "Good morning, Abdel!" He says, "You're back!" We exchange pleasantries. As I am about to give him my order, a firetruck roars up the block with the siren wailing. It startled me, and I jumped a little and then signaled the universal "I'll wait for him to pass because neither of us can hear what I'm saying."<br />
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At which point, Abdel reached out through the window of the cart and put his fingers in my ears.<br />
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In my ears.<br />
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He didn't muff them. He plugged them.<br />
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Ok, that is a thing that happened today. A (pretty much) stranger put his fingers in my ears. And his friend, a soccer fan, watched.<br />
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Good to be back, folks! Don't forget to always ride the bus, and tip your street coffee guy/ear plugger.</div>
Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-62864731054122198632013-03-15T21:29:00.002-07:002013-08-05T22:04:00.427-07:00That's a little forward, don't you think?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In November 2011, my dad and I got our first iPhones. As you know, my dad is not very tech savvy. The cell phone he had before he got his iPhone was so old that the antenna had broken off of it. That isn't an exaggeration. That is a fact... that is true... about his phone... in 2011. He was so overdue on phone upgrades that he got his iPhone 4S for free.<br />
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In fact, his camera-less flip phone with half an antenna was so old, they weren't even able to transfer over his SIM card, so he had to enter his contacts manually. I was home for Thanksgiving when we got our new phones, and I texted my cousin Eddie saying that my dad had an iPhone and this was bound to inspire a great blog post (ok, I'm a year and a half late but here it is). I told Eddie that my dad had to enter his contacts one-by-one and Eddie said, "Wait, so your dad doesn't have my number in his phone?" Given that I just taught my dad a few weeks ago how to copy-paste on a COMPUTER, at the time of this iPhone tutorial I knew that it would be awhile before he'd get to the E's in his phone book.<br />
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Two minutes later, my dad informed us that he had been contacted by his iPhone texting assistant, "Stefan."<br />
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Eddie, sometimes you really are quite brilliant.<br />
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I managed to record the whole thing without my dad noticing (I apologize it's all vertical.. I was new to the iPhone as well). I've trimmed it down to one video with just the highlights. Enjoy.<br />
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Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-25113489712196856712013-03-14T20:28:00.001-07:002013-03-14T20:28:07.783-07:00I'm bad at the internet.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Kelly informed me that the video at the end of my last post wasn't working. I've fixed it. Sorry, internet. <div>
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Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-68772396523495805332013-03-11T20:12:00.000-07:002013-03-14T20:20:30.474-07:00He was shitting on my deck. I got him.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I did not realize that between yesterday's blog post and the one prior to that, three months had passed. Yikes. Thanks to everyone who apparently still checks my blog and enjoyed yesterday's post - I appreciate you not giving up on me. </div>
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Since it's been forever, let's play a little catch up. I know my "dad" posts have been the fan favorites, so even though it's been a few months, I will try to relay some of the highlights of his visit at Christmas. I kept some notes on my phone and am trying to dust off my brain and remember what they mean. Let's take a look:</div>
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<b>"Peter Dinklage"</b> </div>
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This was great. We were at a Thai restaurant for dinner and were sitting in the window. My dad says, "Hey, you know who just walked by? That little guy.. You know, the one from Elf?" Without even saying a word, I bolted from my chair and ran out of the restaurant in pursuit of Peter Dinklage (in case you weren't aware, I have a not-so-secret, inexplicable thing for Tyrion Lannister). I ran up the block only to find, it was a child with his mother. Not Peter Dinklage with his wife. It would have been offensive had it been just another little person but the fact that it was a child was a whole new level of rude. Oops.</div>
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<b>"Raccoon in a cage"</b></div>
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I am so bummed I didn't have the foresight to send myself this video from his phone. My dad is looking through his photos and then starts chuckling to himself, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">à</span> la <b><a href="http://mostlikelytohavebadhair.blogspot.com/2012/09/these-guys-look-like-bunch-of-lemon-pops.html" target="_blank">Mariel's-party-hat</a></b>. "Mariel, you gotta check this out." So he shows me this video on our back deck of an angry raccoon in a cage. I asked why he took a video of it and he just said, "He was shitting on my deck. [more chuckling] I got him."</div>
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<b>"Drawing glasses on Evita"</b></div>
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While waiting for the curtain to rise at the Broadway production of Evita, I noticed my dad drawing glasses on his playbill. I asked if he was going to draw a moustache too and he just said "no" with a straight face. When he was finished drawing the glasses he laughed and said, "She kind of looks like your sister right?" Don't worry, Katy, I think it was a compliment.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A striking resemblance.</td></tr>
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<b>"I used to have hair like Ricky Martin."</b></div>
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I've mentioned his <b><a href="http://mostlikelytohavebadhair.blogspot.com/2012/09/these-guys-look-like-bunch-of-lemon-pops.html" target="_blank">receding hairline paranoia</a></b> before. I don't think I need to explain this one any further.</div>
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<b>"He has pants on."</b></div>
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No recollection on this one. But it sounds awesome.</div>
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<b>"Punjab"</b></div>
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That's what he would call me when I was getting ready in the morning and had my wet hair <b><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h2fk37-QLnE/TopJUp-iHLI/AAAAAAAADw8/1Vi_NPDPlUg/s1600/DVD+wrapping+in+towel.png" target="_blank">wrapped up in a towel</a></b>. More or less offensive than the case of mistaken Peter Dinklage identity?</div>
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<b>"The hillbilly you marry"</b></div>
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I don't remember the context of this but all you need to know is that this is <b><a href="http://mostlikelytohavebadhair.blogspot.com/2012/05/most-likely-to-have-hillbilly-teeth.html" target="_blank">not the first time</a></b> he has accused me of hillbilly affiliations.</div>
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<b>"Space Cowboys"</b></div>
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He was partnered with my uncle Joe for our family boozeball foosball tournament on Christmas and given their seniority in the group, he referred to their team as the "Space Cowboys." God, I love a good Space Cowboys reference. Dad FTW.</div>
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<b>"Law & Order retirement"</b></div>
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His dream for partial retirement is to play "the neighbor" in a few episodes of Law & Order per season. His line would always be something along the lines of "he mostly just kept to himself, never seemed to bother anybody." I'm not sure how you get away with playing that part multiple times but if elaborate disguises are involved, I will lead the crusade for NBC to greenlight 8 new Law & Order franchises in the next 10 years.</div>
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<b>"Instagram"</b></div>
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We went for a nice family walk in Central Park and I snapped a couple of nice Instagram photos out of it:</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YJ646m_sbAg/UT6U-RBRgPI/AAAAAAAAAd8/zDhGy4lDnPE/s1600/horse_drawn_Carriage_Central_Park_Instagram.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YJ646m_sbAg/UT6U-RBRgPI/AAAAAAAAAd8/zDhGy4lDnPE/s400/horse_drawn_Carriage_Central_Park_Instagram.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QNGlxB2P-RQ/UT6U-UYcrlI/AAAAAAAAAeA/8SCNSrxFQTU/s1600/family_Central_Park.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QNGlxB2P-RQ/UT6U-UYcrlI/AAAAAAAAAeA/8SCNSrxFQTU/s400/family_Central_Park.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not an Instagram pic, but please note that the first 4 times I tried to take this picture, <br />
my dad would wave his hands around like a jazz clown right before I could snap the picture.</td></tr>
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We went to a bar after our walk, and I showed the pictures to my parents, knowing that my dad's reaction to the filters would be similar to if I hopped in a time machine and treated Buster Keaton to a screening of Avatar. Obviously this was spot on, and I explained Instagram to him. Distressed that he was just finding out about this now, here was his response: "We've wasted so much time over this trip. You could've been teaching me this." Instagram? "Apps." There is not enough time in the world.</div>
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<b>"Walking on the moon"</b></div>
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After leaving aforementioned bar, his Irish coffees had caught up with him and he just said "Whoo, I feel like I'm walking on the moon!"</div>
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And finally.. a short video I captured when he was trying to insist that since he's gotten an iPhone, all of a sudden everyone started to text him all the time and he doesn't know how they know he has an iPhone now.. Yeah I know.. If you think that explanation rattled your brain, just wait until you see what it does to him (note: Mary Manning is a nursing home on the Upper East Side):</div>
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Cannot stop laughing at that meltdown. Incredible.</div>
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Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-66455786835950752622013-03-10T21:30:00.000-07:002013-03-11T16:26:05.004-07:00Just Checking<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was on the phone with my mom today, and she told me that she and my dad were planning the itinerary for our trip to London/Ireland this summer. She then casually mentioned that she was looking through papers and notes from when we went to Ireland when I was a kid and found a note that I had written to her on the trip. Take a look at this and join me in trying to figure out what the fuck kind of weirdo child I was once upon a time:<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pjetXBSq9a0/UT1WqbPVOLI/AAAAAAAAAds/mRopejp2fJc/s1600/are_our_cousins_catholic.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pjetXBSq9a0/UT1WqbPVOLI/AAAAAAAAAds/mRopejp2fJc/s640/are_our_cousins_catholic.jpeg" width="476" /></a></div>
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"Oh my god, what?" (Yes, I heard you say that out loud. Don't worry, I had the same reaction.)</div>
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When I asked how and why I had creepily given her this note, she said she couldn't remember what the context was but that she thinks I PASSED IT TO HER UNDER THE TABLE. </div>
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Oh my god, so we were sitting in a pub eating some shepherd's pie and I was in the corner sketchily composing THIS note under the table, like a squirrely little missionary? Like, oh man, I'm so excited we finally got to meet our cousins in Ireland. They're so nice and fun. Shit, what if they're not Catholic? What if these really awesome people aren't Catholic like me and instead of meeting me at the Pearly Gates, they're going to <b><a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me7seqNeg71rzxujso1_500.gif" target="_blank">BURN IN HELL?!???</a></b> (for the record, I do not - nor have I ever - believed anything like this.. it's just fun to imagine the psychological innerworkings of whatever the <i>eff </i>prompted me to write this very strange note.)</div>
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Or was I crafting some clever joke in my head, something about three guys walking into a bar, a Galway man, a Limerick man, and the pope... and thought to myself, maybe it's only funny if you're Catholic. Expert comedy maneuver, Mariel.. definitely double check with Mom. Know your audience.</div>
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I really love the "just checking" at the end of it. Because it's like there's an unwritten "or else" that follows. Like I was sitting there and suddenly wondered whether they could be in cahoots with some Northern Ireland Protestants and this pleasant group consumption of shepherd's pies was about to turn into a Tarantino-style blood bath at any moment. Quick, Mariel, better draw some shitty mountains, circle them, and write Mom a note confirming the religious preferences of our cousins... you know, in case we need IRA reinforcements. JUST CHECKING.</div>
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Speaking of messages taken out of context, I will leave you with a text from Kelly McKenna that I received tonight after telling her I was writing a blog post:</div>
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"If you site me in this one, don't make me sound like a racist."</div>
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No problem.</div>
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Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-80769137957809766702012-12-14T20:39:00.001-08:002012-12-14T20:39:30.587-08:00God Bless German Engineering<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My dad sent me this video the other day via iMessage..<br />
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First thoughts... Did you mean to send this to me? Is that our kitchen table? Does it play music? Are <b><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QVJ2zUsHhCM/ULg3vhFzsHI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/8y0Q598zc9k/s400/9_pigs_candle_ornament.jpg" target="_blank">these pigs</a></b> involved? What is that?<br />
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Let's find out:<br />
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That is some serious confidence in your 4 level German Christmas pyramid carousel, Dad. Hope it lives up to expectations. #ItWill.</div>
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Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-40753120789483259362012-12-04T21:17:00.001-08:002012-12-04T21:21:33.613-08:00People You May Know<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Tell me if you see anything unusual in this screen grab from my Facebook homepage this evening (click to enlarge). I'll give you a hint: it has nothing to do with Duane Reade.<br />
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That's right. According to Facebook, people I <i>may</i> know include Nathan Thomas, friends with Anthony P. G. Berger, and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joe_Rogan" target="_blank"><b>Joe Rogan</b></a>, host of Fear Factor. Obviously I clicked on Mr. Rogan immediately because this sparked my interest. Do I have a mutual friend with Joe Rogan? Here is what I found:</div>
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8 friends?! You hosted a show where people won trips to Las Vegas based on how many inches of cow rectum they were willing to digest on national TV and I literally have 719 more Facebook friends than you. Congratulations, Joe. Evidently friends are not a factor for you. You must be the most miserable human to interact with face-to-face. When your friends want to hang out, do you make them walk barefoot through a tank of hypodermic needles and then feed them a pizza topped with coagulated blood and giraffe tongues? Is that why you're so lonely? Good lord, that gig messed you <i>up</i>.</div>
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Aside from your Fear Factor psychological trauma, though.. UFC (Color Commentator)? Seriously? You get ONE line from the resume that goes on your Facebook page and you're going with UFC Color Commentator rather than Fear Factor or NewsRadio? No wonder <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dog_Eat_Dog_(U.S._game_show)" target="_blank"><b>Brooke Burns</b></a> won't accept your friend request. You are the Balthazar Getty of reality show hosts.</div>
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Given the fact that we have zero mutual friends and that this is clearly a fake Facebook account, I am curious as to why Facebook has suggested that we know each other. Has Facebook been pushing Joe Rogan on anyone else? Please let me know. I'm probably going to lose 12 minutes of sleep over this once I'm done writing this post.</div>
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In conclusion:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Duh.</td></tr>
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Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-68947781866132357972012-11-29T21:12:00.001-08:002012-11-30T02:45:25.285-08:00Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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While I was growing up, my family never put up our Christmas tree until December. My mom hated rushing the holiday after Thanksgiving. But given that I am the only person in my family who enjoys helping my mom decorate the tree, we became "those people" once I went to college because if I didn't put up the tree with her over Thanksgiving, she'd have to go it alone sometime in the weeks following. Now that I'm living out in New York, though, this has become an especially important part of my Thanksgiving break at home. My family comes to New York for Christmas, so Thanksgiving weekend, when I decorate the tree with my mom, is the only time I actually get to see our Christmas tree in person. I have always loved Christmas (if Nat King Cole's "Christmas Song" makes an appearance in the old iTunes shuffle, at any time of year, I will not skip the song - out of respect), and since we have had the same artificial tree for the last 15 years (we could never have a real Christmas tree since we always traveled during the holidays and apparently that would be a fire hazard - one of those facts your parents tell you when you're 8 years old and you just accept as the truth of God, like how eating carrots gives you strong teeth), seeing this tree is a fond reminder of Christmas memories and a welcome constant as life has transitioned rapidly from high school to college to moving across the country and trying to be an adult (I'll get there one day). <br />
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Maybe it's because I'd just entered my 24th year on God's green earth just a couple of days before, but as we were decorating the tree this year, I contemplated how many years, how many Christmases and vacations and birthdays and presidential elections (yes, we commemorate each presidential election with a Christmas ornament, you mean your family doesn't do that?), had resulted in the endless number of ornaments my parents have collected. </div>
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So then of course, I started thinking, geez Mariel, you're already 24 and you have about 3 ornaments in your wheelhouse and you don't even have a Christmas tree to put them on, and next year you're going to be 25 and then you start the countdown from 30 and it's like, ok you've got 5 years to get your shit together and have a respectable Christmas tree.. STEP UP, WOMAN.</div>
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Ok, nearly-quarter-life-crisis aside, my mom and I started laughing about how funny some of these ornaments are so without further ado, here is a glimpse into the Christmas tree at the Synan house:</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H0Fa_ysqdME/ULgyycq6mbI/AAAAAAAAAY8/SwEy21DPuKw/s1600/1_martini_shaker_ornament.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H0Fa_ysqdME/ULgyycq6mbI/AAAAAAAAAY8/SwEy21DPuKw/s320/1_martini_shaker_ornament.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags.</div>
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This year, Christmas came straight up with a twist. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-evCyUIxNveE/ULg2aUagnjI/AAAAAAAAAZY/WV4GqSDffYA/s1600/2_puppy_Weapon_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-evCyUIxNveE/ULg2aUagnjI/AAAAAAAAAZY/WV4GqSDffYA/s400/2_puppy_Weapon_ornament.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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This ornament was one of my sister Katy's creations. I think she made it in first grade. You know, back when she was going through her Chinese throwing star phase. I swear to God, one of these years, this thing is going to pierce one of our hands while we're rustling through the ornament box. This has weathered a lot of packing and unpacking over the years so believe it or not, it has actually LOST a few toothpicks but this could absolutely still double as a weapon. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5l8pb9Vfx_Q" target="_blank"><b>Kevin McCallister would be proud.</b></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HvqCqXTi0s8/ULg2nHRYdAI/AAAAAAAAAZo/k_IoyHEPuOQ/s1600/4_mariel_snowman_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HvqCqXTi0s8/ULg2nHRYdAI/AAAAAAAAAZo/k_IoyHEPuOQ/s400/4_mariel_snowman_ornament.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I can't give Katy too hard of a time without calling to attention one of my signature pieces. That's right. This is a Turd original. Gold bangs on snowmen were definitely on trend that year. #MostLikelyToHaveTheBestHair. The "y" on "Melly" was spelled backwards on the back of this. Shocking.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HvqCqXTi0s8/ULg2nHRYdAI/AAAAAAAAAZo/k_IoyHEPuOQ/s1600/4_mariel_snowman_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UlROLPJiIlg/ULg280ldzOI/AAAAAAAAAZw/8i70Drz37tk/s1600/5_nick_synan_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UlROLPJiIlg/ULg280ldzOI/AAAAAAAAAZw/8i70Drz37tk/s400/5_nick_synan_ornament.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I started to rip on my brother Nicholas when I saw this one. I mean, talk about an egocentric Christmas ornament. Forget baby Jesus, Christmas is ALL. ABOUT. NICK. But then my mom reminded me of the homemade Christmas ornament we have from my dad's childhood...</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UlROLPJiIlg/ULg280ldzOI/AAAAAAAAAZw/8i70Drz37tk/s1600/5_nick_synan_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-afSXdjfdrdw/ULg29lUD4AI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/_M2slQq5oWw/s1600/6_dad_excessive_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-afSXdjfdrdw/ULg29lUD4AI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/_M2slQq5oWw/s400/6_dad_excessive_ornament.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Note that this is the only ornament I am not showing with a close-up, because I needed to give perspective on how large this thing is. There is no appropriate place to hang it on the tree. But I have to hand it to my dad, talk about a power play. There was no amount of macaroni or glitter his brother or sister could use that would upstage this behemoth. As a fellow middle child, I respect the strategy. Naughty or nice? Walk that line, Dad. This one is for Santa to decide.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eM1uG7V1-2o/ULg3V6tRrUI/AAAAAAAAAaA/BpyO4mU1ygs/s1600/7_dentist_oral_surgeon_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eM1uG7V1-2o/ULg3V6tRrUI/AAAAAAAAAaA/BpyO4mU1ygs/s400/7_dentist_oral_surgeon_ornament.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Wait, your family doesn't have a dentist/oral surgeon Christmas ornament?</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eM1uG7V1-2o/ULg3V6tRrUI/AAAAAAAAAaA/BpyO4mU1ygs/s1600/7_dentist_oral_surgeon_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yVqTmTvEHlk/ULg3kHX22MI/AAAAAAAAAaI/L1346uQr3zY/s1600/8_dentist_oral_surgeon_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yVqTmTvEHlk/ULg3kHX22MI/AAAAAAAAAaI/L1346uQr3zY/s400/8_dentist_oral_surgeon_ornament.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Wait, your family doesn't have two dentist/oral surgeon Christmas ornaments?</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yVqTmTvEHlk/ULg3kHX22MI/AAAAAAAAAaI/L1346uQr3zY/s1600/8_dentist_oral_surgeon_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QVJ2zUsHhCM/ULg3vhFzsHI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/8y0Q598zc9k/s1600/9_pigs_candle_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QVJ2zUsHhCM/ULg3vhFzsHI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/8y0Q598zc9k/s400/9_pigs_candle_ornament.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Nothing weird going on here.. Nope, just ask these furtive pigs clutching a candle. </div>
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This has always been one of my favorite ornaments. I don't know what it is, maybe the side eye. Bringing a little bit of bitchiness to the holidays? Absolutely.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QVJ2zUsHhCM/ULg3vhFzsHI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/8y0Q598zc9k/s1600/9_pigs_candle_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iEQh9bJnHCU/ULg381eXIzI/AAAAAAAAAaY/R9MuG0n1CSU/s1600/10_basketball_player_stripper_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iEQh9bJnHCU/ULg381eXIzI/AAAAAAAAAaY/R9MuG0n1CSU/s400/10_basketball_player_stripper_ornament.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I can't even take credit for finding the humor in this one. Way to go, Mom, for pointing out the pantless, pre-pubescent basketball player. Why is he giggling about covering his privates with a basketball? Why did he curl his eyelashes? WHERE ARE HIS PANTS? Attention readers: if you stumble across an "Unintentionally Inappropriate Christmas Ornaments" tumblr, please, for the love of baby Jesus and the Magi, submit this.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJGNpHtzp7k/ULg4wjMJbeI/AAAAAAAAAag/goQCfDpaSgg/s1600/11_gnome_acorn_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJGNpHtzp7k/ULg4wjMJbeI/AAAAAAAAAag/goQCfDpaSgg/s400/11_gnome_acorn_ornament.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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And last but not least.. what's that lurking in the shadows?</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJGNpHtzp7k/ULg4wjMJbeI/AAAAAAAAAag/goQCfDpaSgg/s1600/11_gnome_acorn_ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YaGlLXFtJK4/ULg5K1kI3bI/AAAAAAAAAao/4s1pA3HzgPc/s1600/12_gnome_acorn_ornament_CU.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YaGlLXFtJK4/ULg5K1kI3bI/AAAAAAAAAao/4s1pA3HzgPc/s400/12_gnome_acorn_ornament_CU.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Oh don't worry, it's just the velvet-armed gnome-acorn centaur. Trust me, it's more afraid of you than you are of it.</div>
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This ornament is everything. I feel like my mom got this in Austria? Or maybe she made it when she was a kid? Regardless, it is one of those ornaments that doesn't have a string or ribbon or hook or anything, so instead of hanging it up, it nestles on the branches. </div>
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<i>Nestles </i>on the branches<i>.</i> This creeped me out as a child. I was convinced it was alive and didn't want to be restrained hanging mid-air by fishing wire so instead it sat on the branches so that it could move about freely during the night. I don't know why it scared me. It's not like it has velvet arms or a cane or is half-gnome, half-acorn or anything.</div>
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Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-46743997751774417062012-10-05T08:44:00.000-07:002012-10-05T08:44:04.056-07:00T-Rex Arms FTW<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This gif had to be made. You're welcome, world.<br />
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<a href="http://s1070.photobucket.com/albums/u491/marielsynan/?action=view&current=CeeLo_the_Voice_swag.gif" target="_blank"><img alt="Cee Lo is a Boss" border="0" src="http://i1070.photobucket.com/albums/u491/marielsynan/CeeLo_the_Voice_swag.gif" /></a><br />
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Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-28134136185499159232012-10-02T20:09:00.000-07:002012-11-30T02:45:05.795-08:00Facebook's Newest Member<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Ann Synan has joined Facebook. That's right, my mom is on Facebook.<br />
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If you haven't already friended her in the last 3.7 seconds, learn how to read and open new Safari tabs faster. Command-T, chumps.<br />
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I'm super excited about this because I know she's going to be really good at Facebook. Almost as good as I am at watching television on Netflix. That's wizard-level status.<br />
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Mom, if you're reading this, no need to sign your wall posts. Same rules as texting. However, "Always, Mom" was the cutest end to a first-time wall post so it was truly an honor to receive that Facebook alert. Can't wait for you to start "liking" every wall post from Reg Douglas/photo taken at Percy's from here until infinity.<br />
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Love you!</div>
Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-14426840832380234422012-09-25T21:02:00.000-07:002012-11-30T02:45:37.984-08:00These Guys Look Like a Bunch of Lemon Pops<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Carolyn says she's going to boycott my blog until I post the stories about my dad from our trip to Kauai. Given the infrequency with which I've been blogging, this would not be a very impressive protest on her part. But all the same, I know how much <s>the world</s> my 7 loyal readers love stories about my dad, so I shall oblige.<br />
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1. If any of you have ever been to the Hawaiian islands, you'll know that there are chickens and roosters running around all over the place. When you first notice them, it's sort of a novel thing and you want to take lots of pictures. And then after a couple of days, they're sort of just squirrels with feathers. Anyway, my family had been in Oahu for a week before I got there so the novelty really should have worn off for Bill. But the first morning I was in Kauai, I went for a walk with my parents, and in the middle of a conversation with my mother and me, he just darted off into some tall grass after some chickens. And he was meowing. Meowing. At some feral chickens. My previous understanding of the bird-cat relationship - which is mostly based on the Looney Tunes - would indicate that he was trying to scare them away with his meows, but the excited grin on his face suggested it was a misguided attempt at befriending them. Moving on.<br />
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2. He bought the above t-shirt and told me that it's "as seen on Hawaii Five-O.. the new series." I laughed and he said, "No, it really is!" Oh ok.. I thought that was a joke. I liked it better when it was a joke.<br />
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3. While getting ready for dinner one night, he walked into my siblings' and my room, looked at my brother, and said, "Look at this kid! What are those.. he's got linen shorts? Ann, this kid has linen shorts. Why didn't I think of that? God, I can't keep up with these three." I'm a really big fan of overreactions, just in general, and when they're sparked by something like linen shorts, that's just icing on the cake. When he visits in October, I may have to just walk him around H&M with a tape recorder and see what happens.<br />
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4. Ok, this was so long ago at this point and I'm just looking at the notes I took on my iPhone as reminders for blog material.. so now I don't remember where I was going with this conversation but here we go. I think it's still funny:<br />
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Me: "Ok, don't take this as an insult--"<br />
Dad: "I already am."<br />
Me: "--but did you bring..."<br />
Dad: "Rogaine?"<br />
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Both of my parents have aged really well, but since I can remember my dad has been convinced that his hairline is receding. I can't remember what I was trying to ask my dad in this instance but I can assure you, it had nothing to do with his hair. But he managed to go there. Yet again. He is also very concerned about having man boobs. I think this is because he learned the word "moobs" in the last year or so. But yeah, you can imagine how often that question came up on a beach vacation. At one point, he said that I get my boobs from him, managing to insult himself, myself, and my mother in one fell swoop. Irish charm. That's why we love him.<br />
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5. Here's another great conversation that went down that week:<br />
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Dad: "The man behind the counter looked like a sushi man maker. A man sushi maker. A sushi maker man?"<br />
Nick: "He looked Japanese."<br />
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It's not often that Nick gets to be the voice of reason. Way to step up.<br />
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6. I gave him my phone and asked him to take a picture of my mom and sister with me. He stands there making us shift a little bit left, a little bit right, etc. to supposedly get the perfect shot...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WWmSvqQPRJ4/UGJ9GVjB-JI/AAAAAAAAAXs/xQ-061rGqfI/s1600/mariel_tiki_torch_hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WWmSvqQPRJ4/UGJ9GVjB-JI/AAAAAAAAAXs/xQ-061rGqfI/s400/mariel_tiki_torch_hat.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Mariel's party hat."</td></tr>
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... when in reality, he was trying to get us to line up so that the tiki torch behind me would look like "Mariel's party hat." I can't tell you how long he laughed about that one. Just picture a grown man who needs glasses, holding an iPhone as far away from his face as he can, chuckling "Mariel's party hat" to himself. Incredible.<br />
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7. As I've <a href="http://mostlikelytohavebadhair.blogspot.com/2011/06/this-is-where-half-of-my-dna-came-from.html"><b>mentioned previously</b></a>, my dad is not the savviest when it comes to technology. He's really into taking photos with his iPhone now, though, and it's rather endearing when he tries to take artsy photos of ducks in Central Park. His one complaint, though, is the dual camera. I got to witness this frustration first hand and it sounds something like this: "Ughsdfhh, I hate when the camera flips around on you like that. I look like the biggest loser." Classic overreaction. Classic Synan.<br />
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8. This is him zip-lining into a pond:<br />
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Look at that form.</div>
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9. We were in Hawaii during the Olympics, and every time <a href="http://i2.mail.com/246/1481246,h=425,pd=1,w=620.jpg"><b>Mary Carillo</b></a> would show up on screen, he'd say, "Who's this guy?"<br />
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10. While one male gymnast gracefully made his way across the balance beam, he expressed his admiration by noting that he can't stand on one leg and take off his sandal at the same time. #Respect. Then when it came to one of the Irish gymnasts doing his floor routine, every time he'd do the splits, my dad would make a fart noise. #NotSoMuchRespect<br />
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11. And last but not least, his reaction to the Olympic sport of track cycling. As soon as I saw those helmets, I knew he was going to lose his mind. First to line up, the Australian team. "What the hell is this? What the hell? These guys look like a bunch of lemon pops!" Well, to be fair, <a href="http://resources2.news.com.au/images/2012/07/18/1226428/623134-australian-cyclones.jpg"><b>they kind of do.</b></a> Then the race begins and he is not impressed, directing most of his anger at the pace bicyclist, who he referred to as "the mailman." Well, to be fair:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes he really is spot on.</td></tr>
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My favorite comment of the evening, was, "You know what would be really cool? If they were really tiny people and they cut up your pizza pie." When it was all over, and I was wiping tears of laughter from my face, trying to catch my breath, he just said "There are literally millions of texts being sent around the world that just say 'WTF.'" Which, ironically, was my reaction to his 7 minute long commentary.<br />
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Well, that's all for now, friends. Bill comes to visit in a little over a week so if you have any suggestions for a Dad-inspired blog post, please send them to me! mariel.synan@gmail.com<br />
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G'night!</div>
Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-38000199548808774192012-09-24T20:32:00.002-07:002012-09-24T20:32:34.299-07:00My Hero<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Things I respect about this kid:<br />
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1) Her determination.<br />
2) Her costume choice.<br />
3) Her inability to somersault.<br />
4) Her thunder-stealing moves.<br />
5) Her costume choice. There's a hat. It was worth mentioning twice.<br />
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Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-40134949051495214792012-09-21T19:50:00.003-07:002012-09-25T21:03:36.161-07:00T.G.I.F. No but seriously.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On our morning walk to the subway today, I was telling Carolyn that I wished Full House and Boy Meets World were on Netflix.<br />
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And what do I find this evening but...</div>
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DINOSAURS.</div>
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DINOSAURS.</div>
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DINOSAURS.</div>
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<a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lutljmyt3s1qgvb05o1_250.gif"><b>DINOSAURS</b></a><b>.</b></div>
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When you say "recently added," Netflix, how recent are we talking? Because if it was more than 34 minutes ago, I demand to know why I did not receive an emergency call/text/email/carrier pigeon, a broadcast from the Oval Office, as well as a visit from the ghost of Jim Henson himself to announce this beautiful, beautiful news. And what's even better is that other programs from the T.G.I.F. Hall of Fame can't be far behind. It's like the gods of instant watch heard my prayer this morning and were like, "Yeah, Mariel. We hear you. And we're working on Family Matters too. But it's time to unleash Dinosaurs as a reminder that YOU CAN THANK US IT'S FRIDAY, BITCH." Thank you, gods of Netflix, for sending us your only T.G.I.F. program (for now), leading us not into boredom, and delivering us from Qwikster. Amen.</div>
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Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-4696312015642641202012-08-21T20:20:00.001-07:002012-09-21T19:52:48.311-07:00Real or Wax?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was checking the Flixster app for new movie trailers (ps if you haven't seen the trailer for <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bgw394ZKsis&feature=youtube_gdata_player" target="_blank"><b>The Impossible</b></a> yet, go chug a gallon of water and then watch it. Hydrate first, though, because it will drain you via your tear ducts.) and noticed that this app features entertainment-related quizzes. There was one that obviously caught my eye and I just wanted to share this little screen grab:<br />
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Stories from Hawaii to come.. This week I promise.<br />
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />
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Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-7308545093844033712012-07-26T21:35:00.000-07:002012-07-26T21:37:55.465-07:00I Graduated from Notre Dame Two Years Ago and Just Watched Rudy for the First Time (Ever) Tonight...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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... and oh my god</div>
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and they're chanting his name</div>
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and Vince Vaughn goes rogue</div>
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and he makes a tackle</div>
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and his dad is there</div>
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and the grounds keeper guy is there</div>
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and Touchdown Jesus is there</div>
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and they carry him off the field</div>
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and since 1975, no other Notre Dame player has been carried off the field</div>
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***</div>
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i wasn't emotionally ready for this</div>
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that was spectacular</div>
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Jerry Goldsmith needs to write the original score for my life</div>
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</div>Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-14271322655521086492012-06-25T22:15:00.000-07:002012-06-25T22:24:57.075-07:00The Newsroom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When I found out Aaron Sorkin was writing a new TV show for HBO, I was <s>pumped</s> <b><a href="http://gifsoup.com/view2/2187564/kurt-1-o.gif">this excited</a></b>. Seasons 1-4 of <i>The West Wing</i> constitute <s>maybe</s> absolutely some of the most perfect television ever. I've re-watched the series more times than I can count. I have to buy a replacement disc for Season 2 because I wore out the disc with "Two Cathedrals" on it. I spent a year of my Notre Dame education writing a thesis about it. I'm a fan.<br />
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That being said, I went into <i>The Newsroom</i> with an open mind. I heard a few lukewarm reviews today, so I watched the premiere tonight without expecting to love it. I, however, thought it was fantastic and can't wait to see what they have in store for the rest of the season. Say what you will about Aaron Sorkin as a person, but as a writer, he is simply brilliant. Off to a good start on this one, Mr. Sorkin.</div>
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Here are a few of my thoughts in no particular order:</div>
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- The opening was a little preachy. I watched the trailer no less than 12 times in the weeks leading up to the premiere, and I was pretty psyched about Jeff Daniels's rant culminating in "When you ask what makes us the greatest country in the world, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Yosemite?" In the episode, though, this doesn't immediately cut to the <i>West</i>-<i>Wing</i>-esque opening credits. Instead, he slows his roll a little bit and continues on, saying we used to be the greatest country in the world and still could be if we had an informed electorate and so on and so forth. Ok, sure, this sets up the concept of the show: let's make the news great again. And yes, Sorkin totally sells that idealistic Capra-corn and I eat that shit up for breakfast, lunch, afternoon snack, and dinner. But Daniels/Sorkin definitely speak with a rose-colored lenses view of American history, nostalgic for the "good old days," whenever those were. Come on, Sorkin. I expect more from you (not from <b><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SIZU_NZRfjA">him</a></b>).</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jim Harper</td></tr>
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And he tells his audience of college students that we're the worst period generation period ever period. Rude. Also, wrong. Especially because his "senior producer" who saves his ass by the end of the episode is most definitely part of that generation. He looks like he's 26. And he's a senior producer. And he has an anonymous, exclusive source for every piece of breaking news. Not the worst. </div>
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- The aforementioned Doogie Howser senior producer is named Jim Harper, and I'm gonna love this guy. He's like Josh Lyman meets Jim Halpert meets Mark Lyons. I know what you're thinking. That's a lot of sexual heat. But what can I say, it's HBO.</div>
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- Sam Waterston dropping f-bombs makes great TV. Sam Waterston shouting at a grown man that he will kick the shit out of him, no matter how many protein bars he eats, makes excellent TV. Sam Waterston putting on his jacket <b><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NV2fXoYmELA">like this</a></b> would make the best TV. Take notes, Sorkin.</div>
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- Emily Mortimer is a B.O.S.S. CJ Cregg was arguably the strong female character on <i>The West Wing</i> (barring guest characters like Amy Gardner) and certainly the only one that ended up in a true position of authority. And even that was well after Sorkin had left the show, and she still wasn't the <i>boss </i>boss (she was promoted to Chief of Staff in the sixth season). Sorkin is making progress, though.. Because even though Mortimer's week-to-week contract is in Daniels' hands, as his EP, he has to do what she says for one hour every day. Baby steps, Sorkin. Now let's work on easing up on the ladies-love-shopping jokes.</div>
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- Allison Pill is a gem. On <i>TWW</i>, it took seven years for Donna Moss to get a promotion. Pill got promoted twice in the first episode and Jeff Daniels learned her name. Get it, girl. Let Emily Mortimer take you shopping. You've earned it.</div>
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- Dev Patel aka Neil aka Punjab aka the IT guy: Also a gem. I hope he starts dating the President's daughter. </div>
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- Can we make sure Oliver Platt gets a recurring guest role on this show?</div>
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- A big huzzah for the lack of clown music during the closing credits. #TheWestWing'sOnlyFlaw. But seriously, <b><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=judNGaUl8ks">go to 0:39</a></b>. It's the boner killer of television scores.</div>
</div>Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-90226268724620752302012-06-21T19:09:00.003-07:002012-11-30T02:43:24.862-08:00This Little Piggy Wore Tracksuits<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today at work, I was arguing that no other state fair could possibly be more impressive than the Iowa State Fair. Full disclosure, I haven't been to the Iowa State Fair since I was about 8 years old and suffered from a minor case of heat stroke BUT I do like to defend my home state with fervor and this seemed like an argument I could get unnecessarily defensive about so I went for it. My co-worker, who was also keen to participate in this useless debate, said that the New Jersey State Fair would have a pig show (or something like that). Uhh... I did say "Iowa" right? Chris said, though, that pigs at the Jersey State Fair would be wearing tracksuits. This elicited one of my deafening cackles, followed by me immediately Googling "pig + tracksuit," "pigs wearing clothes," etc.<br />
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Ok so that picture is awesome BUT I found something even more important. <br />
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I discovered that the following Tumblr exists:<br />
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<b><a href="http://babypigswearingclothes.tumblr.com/">Baby Pigs Wearing People Clothes</a></b><br />
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You're welcome.<br />
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2 days until the Global Guts Pub Crawl. D-d-d-do you have it? Guts.</div>Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-66151998369290334982012-06-16T07:33:00.002-07:002013-03-10T21:30:57.560-07:00Drawsomely Bad<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
While I am still an avid Words With Friends enthusiast, I've let most of those other games fall by the wayside. Hanging with Friends was sort of boring (translation: I was really bad at it and was sick of losing) and Scramble gave me panic attacks (I don't like timed games.. my palms would sweat. No seriously, I would open the app and would dread seeing that it was my turn to scramble. Then I remembered that I did this by choice. App deleted). <br />
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When Draw Something came out, though, I was instantly hooked. I was on a shoot for work, and as the evening was coming to an end, a few of my co-workers and I decided to pass the time by downloading this Draw Something app that everyone was talking about. ZOMG. Insta-fun. This was the night I would discover that apparently I think Eskimos look like characters from <i>South Park</i>. #ShelteredLife #Iowa</div>
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As my range of colors and drawing skills expanded, so did my number of games. Over one fateful brunch, I was telling Kelly McKenna about this new obsession. She downloaded it immediately and ever since then, Kelly has been, hands down, my favorite competitor on Draw Something. I work for a design/visual effects studio so my friends from work tend to be on the artistic side. Here are a couple of drawings from my co-worker, Fionna:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ypBrkR70Sd4/T9qqVwUXWlI/AAAAAAAAARo/3BeloJ4tVNw/s1600/TinTin_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ypBrkR70Sd4/T9qqVwUXWlI/AAAAAAAAARo/3BeloJ4tVNw/s400/TinTin_Draw_Something.PNG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No big deal.<br />
<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_iHBMl5b5BU/T9qquAHZ4BI/AAAAAAAAAR4/HnNaZoZeWcI/s1600/Blade_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_iHBMl5b5BU/T9qquAHZ4BI/AAAAAAAAAR4/HnNaZoZeWcI/s400/Blade_Draw_Something.PNG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skillz</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
We can't all have Fionna's artistic talents. Though I must say, I excel when I draw what I know:</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-emD0Sd9ZZP0/T9quDflTeyI/AAAAAAAAASE/-_mFDRNm-Pg/s1600/Pub_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-emD0Sd9ZZP0/T9quDflTeyI/AAAAAAAAASE/-_mFDRNm-Pg/s400/Pub_Draw_Something.PNG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Percy's.. my ultimate muse.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Enough of tooting my own horn, though. Back to the artist formerly known as omgpop81714284. Kelly's drawings are simply amazing. I only started saving screenshots recently because it took awhile to realize this would make a good blog post. I have uploaded these in chronological order so you can experience them the way I did. So, Kelly, as a faithful follower of Most Likely to Have Bad Hair, I dedicate this post to you (and your creative process):</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v234VBTW9PU/T9qxZ_BiHyI/AAAAAAAAAT0/Y7PSmN9_Xdw/s1600/64_Raincoat_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v234VBTW9PU/T9qxZ_BiHyI/AAAAAAAAAT0/Y7PSmN9_Xdw/s400/64_Raincoat_Draw_Something.PNG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RAINCOAT</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As you can see, after 64 turns, Kelly still does not care to buy new colors even though she must have at least 249 coins in her Draw Something bank by now. Minimalist. Respect. As you will see, that is a common theme in her art. I also enjoy how after 64 turns, she still refuses to switch to any other brush weight. There are 4 different brush weights you can use but the fact that Kelly always uses weight #2, always makes these drawings look like finger paint art. Again, Kelly.. I am not making fun of you. I love this (and you) so much. Please remember this as I proceed to caption these comical Somethings you have Drawn.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1PX225JMys8/T9qxchsurEI/AAAAAAAAAT8/uodslGWLA9c/s1600/66_Harry_Potter_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1PX225JMys8/T9qxchsurEI/AAAAAAAAAT8/uodslGWLA9c/s400/66_Harry_Potter_Draw_Something.PNG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HARRY</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I haven't read Harry Potter in years so I had totally forgotten that his wand was 4x as long as his T-Rex arms... and that he was distantly related to <b><a href="http://tvrecappersanonymous.files.wordpress.com/2010/02/mr-bill.jpg">Mr. Bill</a>.</b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6uOguIuVu6I/T9qxgVKeewI/AAAAAAAAAUE/FpFAn9dcFtA/s1600/70_Pinata_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6uOguIuVu6I/T9qxgVKeewI/AAAAAAAAAUE/FpFAn9dcFtA/s400/70_Pinata_Draw_Something.PNG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PINATA</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is the first time I have ever seen a hairy pinata. I hope it won't be the last.<br />
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2dKzAIb3RmQ/T9qxl1gRRiI/AAAAAAAAAUM/K2D3QaiH5OQ/s1600/72_Stroller_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2dKzAIb3RmQ/T9qxl1gRRiI/AAAAAAAAAUM/K2D3QaiH5OQ/s400/72_Stroller_Draw_Something.PNG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">STROLLER</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I appreciate a few things about this drawing. 1) Kelly gave the pregnant mom a short "mom haircut." #Practical 2) The "stroller" in question looks like a blue Pac Man with a tongue. 3) The Pregnant Mom is walking on ground level but pushing the Stroller on some sort of elevated surface that starts about mid-calf. Where is she taking that baby?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UE8eqre97w0/T9qxnPiz9LI/AAAAAAAAAUU/oGNoEWDsw5c/s1600/74_Snow_White_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UE8eqre97w0/T9qxnPiz9LI/AAAAAAAAAUU/oGNoEWDsw5c/s400/74_Snow_White_Draw_Something.PNG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WHITE</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Here's what I see here.. "Snow White Minus Plus MINUS" <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NoPTPeqj4ek/T9qxouHeI4I/AAAAAAAAAUc/XZvz8dB1Tkk/s1600/76_Armpit_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NoPTPeqj4ek/T9qxouHeI4I/AAAAAAAAAUc/XZvz8dB1Tkk/s400/76_Armpit_Draw_Something.PNG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ARMPIT</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That is some <i>gnarly</i> armpit hair.</div>
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rovPPNKdA04/T9qxqN_MCLI/AAAAAAAAAUk/vTM37UtXEPI/s1600/78_Twist_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rovPPNKdA04/T9qxqN_MCLI/AAAAAAAAAUk/vTM37UtXEPI/s400/78_Twist_Draw_Something.PNG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TWIST</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When I managed to decipher that the above drawing was a towel and then two hands twisting a towel, I knew Kelly and I were BFFs.. for realz.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fjsi1z9le_U/T9qxsOCHNOI/AAAAAAAAAUs/PEvKisQTAU4/s1600/80_Six_Pack_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fjsi1z9le_U/T9qxsOCHNOI/AAAAAAAAAUs/PEvKisQTAU4/s400/80_Six_Pack_Draw_Something.PNG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SIXPACK</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Before she wrote "Bud," I thought the picture on the left was a case of hot sauce bottles. I really like to think of Kelly McKenna saying/thinking/drinking "BUD." Preferably on a rickety porch with a piece of straw in her mouth and a shotgun at her side.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MLpp_HfZrMk/T9qxxfgBi3I/AAAAAAAAAU0/q-Aw-xJ_Krc/s1600/90_Scotland_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MLpp_HfZrMk/T9qxxfgBi3I/AAAAAAAAAU0/q-Aw-xJ_Krc/s400/90_Scotland_Draw_Something.PNG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SCOTLAND</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So glad you drew bagpipes. This one was a winner.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xNHdf0ewZKA/T9qxyUVLvuI/AAAAAAAAAU8/BLhc0t7loXg/s1600/94_Scarlett_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xNHdf0ewZKA/T9qxyUVLvuI/AAAAAAAAAU8/BLhc0t7loXg/s400/94_Scarlett_Draw_Something.PNG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SCARLETT</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After 94 turns, this is where our streak met its bitter end. <br />
<br />
In my defense, "Scarlett" with 2 t's, as Draw Something offers it, refers to Scarlett O'Hara from <i>Gone With the Wind</i>. <i>The Scarlet Letter</i> (which is what I'm assuming Kelly was going for), spells "scarlet" with 1 t. Also, Hester Prynne had to wear a scarlet "A" to indicate the sin of adultery, not an "L." Come on, McKenna. <b><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4WhzluqVnUI&feature=related">ENCARTA IT</a></b>.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5MjFIZzI6vI/T9qxzh-67cI/AAAAAAAAAVE/RDTRdtr4bno/s1600/2_Skiing_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5MjFIZzI6vI/T9qxzh-67cI/AAAAAAAAAVE/RDTRdtr4bno/s400/2_Skiing_Draw_Something.PNG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SKIING</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Skiing, I get it. But what is the Mickey-Mouse-Sasquatch-creature on the right. Seems like an important part of the scene.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v8DbsuSTHdE/T9qx2q2HwvI/AAAAAAAAAVM/LDfm8nntZDc/s1600/6_Pipe_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v8DbsuSTHdE/T9qx2q2HwvI/AAAAAAAAAVM/LDfm8nntZDc/s400/6_Pipe_Draw_Something.PNG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PIPE</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not drawn to scale.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OWLsITFfF0o/T9qx33oz4GI/AAAAAAAAAVU/qYaKiZSTUnE/s1600/8_Goggles_Draw_Something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OWLsITFfF0o/T9qx33oz4GI/AAAAAAAAAVU/qYaKiZSTUnE/s400/8_Goggles_Draw_Something.PNG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GOGGLES</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This guy is legless and has two torsos and still manages to scuba dive. That's perseverance. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XT-0aYTgqdI/T9yYumnIXAI/AAAAAAAAAVk/PoUSnxDMinA/s1600/16_meat_draw_something.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XT-0aYTgqdI/T9yYumnIXAI/AAAAAAAAAVk/PoUSnxDMinA/s400/16_meat_draw_something.PNG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MEAT</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
Eating meat off a floating plate is totally normal. But the dalmatian-reindeer cross-breed that it came from... Classic McKenna.<br />
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Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-63142957888581201272012-06-09T08:29:00.001-07:002012-06-09T08:32:07.218-07:00Mouse Hunt Part III: Continued<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Spoke too soon. I woke up this morning, and as I was tweeting my victory, I thought I heard something in the kitchen. That's right, there was a second <s>shooter</s> mouse.<br />
<br />
Time for another burial at sea.<br />
<br />
This one was stuck in the sticky trap under the fridge. It was an even sadder sight than the night before because he was also still alive but was lying on his side with his head resting on the peanut-butter-covered oatmeal square bait like it was a pillow. Can't talk about it anymore.<br />
<br />
Carolyn, once again, I'll replace your Tupperware containers.<br />
<br />
Let's hope this is the last casualty. This time the disposal involved less tears - I've been hardened by war.</div>Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-52918416643688791162012-06-08T22:11:00.002-07:002012-06-08T22:22:14.440-07:00Mouse Hunt: Part III<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pic.blackberryseeker.com/bb/wallpapers/upPics/200910/Cute-Mouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://pic.blackberryseeker.com/bb/wallpapers/upPics/200910/Cute-Mouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Busted.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The mouse is dead. Before I could even post my "help us name the mouse" poll. Name candidates included The Earl of Snackington, Herman Muenster (spelling intentional), William Jennings Bryan (three-time candidate for President and opponent of the gold standard.. how fun would it be to say things like "William Jennings Bryan chewed a hole in the Triscuit box" or "I just saw William Jennings Bryan behind the fridge"), and Heisenberg. I'm post-humously naming him <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0Mqb-5BYpg"><b>Heisenberg</b></a>. Respect.<br />
<br />
I walked home tonight after getting dinner with my cousin Katie. I called my parents to chat as I made my way home. I was still on the phone with my mom when I walked into my apartment, and immediately saw the trap that had made its way a foot and a half out from under the kitchen counter. Stuck to it was Heisenberg himself.<br />
<br />
Not. Dead. Yet.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ar4WlU4oQPM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Heisenberg, ya dead? No, man.</div>
<br />
After some incoherent squealing coupled with the poor cell reception in my apartment, my mom insisted I slow down and tell her what was happening. I told her the mouse was caught in one of the sticky traps but wasn't dead. The lower half of his body was caught in the trap but he was using his face and/or hands to scoot his way forward. He was sporadically flailing his head about as I talked my way through this which only led me to question how long it had taken him to move a foot and a half. How long had I been torturing this furry little creature? Suddenly, I was no longer out for blood, determined to eliminate this pest that had settled in my apartment without an invitation. Maybe it was because I had a long conversation with my co-workers today about the death of our family pets. Maybe it was because he seemed a lot smaller and cartoonish up close. Maybe it was because he didn't even get to eat any of the peanut butter out of the trap. But suddenly I felt very sorry for the mouse. And suddenly I was crying. Like really <i>really</i> crying.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Tnne-SWtxE/TyfQHVOseBI/AAAAAAAAB6c/QY7B9G0q0kM/s1600/Cute+Mouse3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Tnne-SWtxE/TyfQHVOseBI/AAAAAAAAB6c/QY7B9G0q0kM/s640/Cute+Mouse3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I shall remember you as the adorable mouse that you never were.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My mom put me on the phone with my dad who proceeded to talk me through the rest of this situation. (Sidenote: Carolyn, hope you're having fun at Bonaroo. This weekend has been eventful. We'll catch up over some Seamless web in a few days.) Dad was not really having any of this crying business, so he told me my best option was to.. wait for it.. drown the mouse in the toilet.<br />
<br />
Hang on a second..<br />
<br />
Yes, I heard that right. Drown the mouse. In the toilet. That seems like it would calm my nerves, right? How am I supposed to get the trap out of the toilet then? What if the mouse comes out of the sticky trap in the toilet and then I have to pick up the DEAD, TOILET-WATER-SOAKED MOUSE out of the toilet WITH MY BARE HANDS?<br />
<br />
Dad: Ok, do you have any other traps? Yes, obviously I have 9 of them. Ok, take one of those and put it on top of the mouse and then put the whole thing in a bag and take it out to the trash. <br />
<br />
Somehow this mouse trap sandwich idea seemed a little undignified. Can't explain it, but it wasn't sitting right with me. I asked my dad if maybe I could put some of the mouse poison pellets in front of Heisenberg so that he could inch his way toward them, eat them, and then die in his sleep. That idea was.. well.. we'll say it was "scoffed at." Back to the drowning plan...<br />
<br />
I took a tall piece of Tupperware (sorry, Carolyn. I'll replace it before you get home) and filled it with water. Bear in mind, my dad was on the phone with me for this whole process. Bear in mind, the mouse was still squirming around during this whole process. Simply horrifying. Nevermind the fact that as I was narrating this, my dad said, "Of course he's moving around, he's fighting for his life." Oh my GOD, not helping. Now I had to work up the nerve to pick up the trap, with the live mouse still wriggling around on it, and stick it in the Tupperware container.<br />
<br />
It was one thing to set a shitload of traps in the hopes of "catching" the mouse. I knew catching the mouse meant killing it but, you know, out of sight, out of mind. Now I wasn't just catching the apartment mouse anymore. I was putting Heisenberg to death. There's an episode of <i>The West Wing</i> that deals with the morality of capital punishment. I don't remember the exact crime committed but there is a man who is on death row who is about to be executed and there is a chance the President might spare his life. Whatever the crime was, it is clear that is was something really horrible but even as basically everyone is agreeing that he should be put to death, C.J. Cregg, the Press Secretary, says, "I just wish I didn't know his mother's name, that's all." Well, I wish I hadn't looked Heisenberg in the eyes or known he likes peanut butter or mentally associated him with those dogs with wheels instead of hind legs.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://doggon.com/images/digicam_169.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://doggon.com/images/digicam_169.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BRB, just have to go drown this adorable, handicapped puppy in my toilet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I was very upset at this point and told my dad how small Heisenberg was. "Yeah, of course he's small. There's millions of them. You want them to give you diseases?" This was said in the you-know-who-else-cut-corners?-Janis-Joplin Mr. Weir tone. Amazing. <br />
<br />
His best line, however, was when he was trying to convince me that the most humane thing to do would be to drown Heisenberg:<br />
<br />
"Remember how the people died on the Titanic? It's a peaceful way to go."<br />
<br />
I could hear my mom laughing from the other room.<br />
<br />
Anyway, shaking and wincing and crying my way through it, I picked up the mouse trap and quickly lowered Heisenberg, head first, into the water-filled Tupperware container. It all went so fast. My parents simultaneously launched into rapid-fire questioning:<br />
<br />
Do you have the lid on it?<br />
Do you have a plastic bag to put it in?<br />
Is the lid on yet?<br />
Do you have your keys? <br />
Are you headed downstairs to the garbage?<br />
Do you have your keys?<br />
Is he dead?<br />
Ugh, yes, I just looked him in the eyes.<br />
Why did you look him in the eyes??<br />
I KILLED HIM. I HAVE TO LOOK HIM IN THE EYES.<br />
Is he dead?<br />
Yes. His eyes were definitely dead.<br />
Dad: This is a big step for you. I'm proud.<br />
<br />
Post-humous texts from my parents include the following:<br />
<br />
Texts from Mom:<br />
<br />
Text 1: Glad the mouse hunt is over. Good job!<br />
Text 2: Mariel caught the mouse and got rid of him... She's somewhat traumatized.<br />
Text 3: I meant to send to Nick and sent to you ;)<br />
Text 4: Hope you got a glass of wine! I did!<br />
<br />
Texts from Dad:<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5Ru3gUK09Lw/T9LZo-5IVYI/AAAAAAAAARc/go2Nngcu8CE/s1600/safari_mouse_hunt.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5Ru3gUK09Lw/T9LZo-5IVYI/AAAAAAAAARc/go2Nngcu8CE/s400/safari_mouse_hunt.png" width="266" /></a></div>
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In conclusion, here is my dedication to Heisenberg. Hope you're eating peanut butter in a better place now.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/WPPlGFh6OpQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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</div>Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-85268959516474697972012-06-04T21:38:00.002-07:002012-06-08T22:12:00.900-07:00Mouse Hunt: Part II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Just know that there will be a Part III.<br />
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<div>
I thought this was going to be a 24-hour-turnaround kind of deal but apparently that is not the case. Good to know. Glad I brought home dinner just in case. I kid, I kid. All joking aside, as gross/psychopathic as this sounds, I was 30% excited about finding a body. Not in an I-can't-wait-to-perform-experiments-on-it kind of way. I was just looking forward to the sense of accomplishment I would feel having brought the intruder to justice. But alas, the suspect remains at large.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a1Ec3XedRFk/T82KRvFTr0I/AAAAAAAAARQ/y3pPXnAHWiU/s1600/mouse_wanted_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a1Ec3XedRFk/T82KRvFTr0I/AAAAAAAAARQ/y3pPXnAHWiU/s640/mouse_wanted_poster.jpg" width="490" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See you in hell.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
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<div>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nIrOOunc-xA/T82ELReWriI/AAAAAAAAARE/5WJz7p9uBSY/s1600/gloves_chopsticks.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nIrOOunc-xA/T82ELReWriI/AAAAAAAAARE/5WJz7p9uBSY/s200/gloves_chopsticks.JPG" width="200" /></a>Expecting to have caught the little varmint by this evening, I brought home a couple of items from work to aid me in disposing of the body: latex gloves and chopsticks. And no, I don't work at a P.F. Changs. I used the chopsticks to slide the sticky mouse traps out from under the oven. The gloves were obviously to protect myself from mouse diseases in case I'd been successful. I added peanut butter to one of the sticky traps since both my mom and Mark Lyons told me peanut butter is the way to go. And now.. we wait.</div>
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<div>
I would like to include an email I received from Wrecking Crew member Greg in response to <b><a href="http://mostlikelytohavebadhair.blogspot.com/2012/06/mouse-hunt-part-i.html">Mouse Hunt: Part I</a></b>. Thanks for sharing, Greg. This little monster sounds like a pro. Rest assured, one day you'll get him on tax evasion. </div>
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<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d;">Here’s some advice. </span><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d; font-size: 18pt;">MOVE!</span><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d;"> That might sound like an exaggeration… but not if you were like us, and happened to have the smartest lil bastard of a mouse ever to squeak in this fine city. While Ben viciously hunted and killed many of his brethren – super mouse just came and went as he pleased. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">[ed. note: Ben was Greg's roommate apparently and was cc'ed on this email. Ben, nice to meet you. I'm still waiting for your reply-all but I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. Welcome to the Wrecking Crew]</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d;">Examples? </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d; font-family: Symbol;"><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none;">·<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d;">He ate the peanut butter out of the mouse trap we set and then left us a turd on top of the trap - just to send us a message. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">[ed. note: my first LOL of this email. I like where this is headed]</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d; font-family: Symbol;"><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none;">·<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d;">He ate the cheese out of Ben’s ‘orange cracker and cheese with red spreading stick’ snack pack – but just left the crackers! (why does a grown man still have cheese and cracker snack packs? That question is for another day – this is about the mouse)</span><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d; font-family: Symbol;"><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none;">·<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d;">He made a shoe-nest out of my fly ass pair high top Nike dunks </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d; font-family: Symbol;"><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none;">·<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d;">We cornered him in the garbage can dozens of times – smashing the can and its contents to bits – only to investigate the bag and find no mouse remains.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d; font-family: Symbol;"><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none;">·<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d;">Ben once caught him in his Burton back pack eating some potato chips. He quickly hustled the bag outside to find not a mouse, but a little hole nibble in the corner of the bag where the super mouse ejected to safety in the nick of time.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: #1f497d;">His favorite food was sour cream n onion potato chips. Ironically that’s Ben’s favorite food too – so you can imagine the epic rivalry created and ensuing battle. How did it all end? How did you finally defeat super mouse and his reign of terror? Ben and I surrendered and moved out of the apartment. I can only speculate that super mouse is still living on N7th and Bedford – doing whatever the f*** he wants to do. </span></div>
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</div>Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-38980244819271997342012-06-03T21:37:00.000-07:002012-06-08T22:12:12.422-07:00Mouse Hunt: Part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MN86WWPR32E/T8w62e_impI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/prlSBRKqGmM/s1600/mouse_with_teddy_bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="307" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MN86WWPR32E/T8w62e_impI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/prlSBRKqGmM/s400/mouse_with_teddy_bear.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only cute when voiced by Michael J. Fox and/or holding tiny teddy bears</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was standing in my bedroom (the only place I get consistent cell reception in my apartment) chatting with my mother on the phone this evening when I spied with my little eye something grey scurrying across our kitchen floor and running under the oven. Mouse in the hizzouse, ladies and gentlemen. <br />
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I don't consider myself a stereotypical girl when it comes to most things. I don't know how to walk in heels (I look like a baby deer standing for the first time). I don't enjoy shopping. Etc. This mouse, though. I freaked out <b><a href="http://gifsoup.com/view3/2284203/scared-boy-o.gif">a little bit</a></b>.<br />
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Dealing with a mouse seems like one of those things that comes with growing up. You have your first apartment, you're paying rent, you're dealing with leaky bathroom ceilings... and you have to figure out how to kill your first mouse. Fortunately, I have my wonderful mother who knows everything about everything and tells me what to do in all of these first-time situations. So after I screamed and asked her who I call to kill the mouse, she assured me that this is something I can handle myself. Oh right, mouse traps. I don't know why my first instinct was that I had to call an exterminator. Probably because 0% of me wanted to walk past the oven to get to the front door. WHY DOES HE KEEP POKING HIS HEAD OUT TO LOOK AT ME? WHAT IS YOUR ANGLE, MOUSE? DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT EATING MY FACE.<br />
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When I told her that I didn't know where any hardware stores were around my neighborhood, my mom assured me that I could find what I needed at the grocery store or a Duane Reade. She spent a few more minutes calming me down and then asked me how close the nearest drug store was. <br />
<br />
Me: Oh, I'm already there.<br />
Mom: [laughing] That was fast. Did you run there?<br />
Me: I've got my reasons.<br />
Mom: Alright, did you find the mouse traps?<br />
Me: No, I got distracted by some scented candles.<br />
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Pound cake scented candles. I've got my reasons.<br />
<br />
Still on the phone with my mom (and candle in tow), I find a Rite Aid employee and ask the mustachioed woman where the mouse traps are. <br />
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Mustachioed Rite Aid lady: [quizzical look]<br />
Me: Mouse traps.<br />
Mustachioed Rite Aid lady: [still looking quizzical, still mustachioed] Mouse traps?<br />
Me: Yes. Traps. For catching mice.<br />
Mustachioed Rite Aid lady: Oh, sure [points to aisle 14]<br />
Mom: Seriously?<br />
Me: Yes, I just <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=waCF81HdKAA"><b>explained to a grown woman what a mouse trap is</b></a><b>.</b><br />
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I sorted through their selection but there were no sticky mouse traps which is what my mom was telling me to buy. My poor mother was still on the phone with me, the saint that she is, as I talked through my options. Ok, not getting the old school wooden snappy things. I was trying to explain this one big trap that seemed pretty sturdy..<br />
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Me: Ok, there's this one.. I can't tell how it works. It looks like the mouse walks in and then the door closes behind it. But I think that means the mouse is going just hang out in there? Alive? I can't tell what this is.<br />
Mom: [pause] It sounds like you're describing a mouse hotel.<br />
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Anyway, after much deliberation I bought the mouse hotel and mouse poison pellets to go with it. That's right, mouse. You can check out anytime you like <b><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUbTW928sMU">but you can never leave</a></b>.<br />
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$18.26 later, I walked a couple blocks further to the Duane Reade. Surely they must have sticky mouse traps and employees that know what mouse traps are. Nope, no sticky mouse traps. I decided to buy a set of 4 Tomcat traps (mini hotels) for good measure and, a set of two Rid Rite pest control systems. You plug these bad boys into your wall outlets, and they send out ultrasonic signals through the walls so mice won't want to come inside. Let's end the bloodshed here, my furry brethren.<br />
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$34.82 ($53.08 total), I headed home. Eh, I was passing the grocery store anyway.. might as well take a look inside. Yup, sticky mouse traps. Bingo. And it was only $2.17 for the CatchMaster set of 4!! <br />
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I set 5 of the 9 traps just to be safe. I <b><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLrrBs8JBQo">will consume this mouse with fireballs from my eyes and bolts of lightning from my ass</a></b>. FREEEEEEEEDOMMMMMMM.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uOBtAkILcHw/T8wyRN0D1GI/AAAAAAAAAQs/KK2ZTxXBwCw/s1600/mouse_traps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uOBtAkILcHw/T8wyRN0D1GI/AAAAAAAAAQs/KK2ZTxXBwCw/s640/mouse_traps.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Take no prisoners.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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To be continued.</div>Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-73794177967382730212012-05-31T21:40:00.001-07:002012-05-31T21:40:36.689-07:00Things That Go Nom Nom Nom in the Night<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jfcj8nj92MA/T8hFmBOh3PI/AAAAAAAAAQY/-SrM9bokPnA/s1600/fear_of_birds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jfcj8nj92MA/T8hFmBOh3PI/AAAAAAAAAQY/-SrM9bokPnA/s320/fear_of_birds.jpg" width="256" /></a>Here are some things I'm afraid of:<br />
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Heights<br />
Small spaces<br />
Guns<br />
Birds<br />
Falling off the subway platform<br />
Being buried alive<br />
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I never thought I'd see the day where I'd be adding "someone eating my face off" to this list.<br />
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What the <i>fuck</i>, world.<br />
<br />
Today on the subway, a crazy got on the same car as me. He stood by the doors and casually poured a bottle of water on the floor of the train. Ok. He started yelling, and I had my headphones in so I don't know what he was yelling about. But then he started pointing at me while he was yelling. If this had happened 2 days ago, I probably would have just felt the normal amount of uncomfortable. But today all I could think was, please don't lunge at me and try to eat my face. Never imagined I would think that thought. No longer walking past Otto's Tiki Bar after sundown. At least not with my face exposed.<br />
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I read that the face-eater's mom is pissed that people are calling her son a zombie (which is actually a pretty generous label given the circumstances). She has defended his honor by citing the fact that he gave her a Mother's Day card (doesn't excuse face-eating) and has argued that the cops didn't need to shoot him when they could have just used a taser. When someone is eating the face off of a living person there is no such thing as excessive force for the individuals putting a stop to the face-eating. This is coming from someone who hates guns. Super anti-guns over here. See the above list. But one face eaten is one face too many. Use all the guns to shoot all the face-eaters. <br />
<br /></div>Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-3421645629400884242012-05-29T20:57:00.000-07:002012-05-29T20:57:17.403-07:00The More You Know<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here are a couple of interesting facts I learned about coconuts today:<br />
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On average, 150 people are killed every year by coconuts falling on their heads.<br />
Coconuts can be classified as either a fruit or a nut or a seed. If you care for specifics, they are a one-seeded drupe.<br />
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<a href="http://www.myspace.com/video/family-guy/the-more-you-know/54998638"><b>The more you know</b></a><b>.</b><br />
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I am very lucky to have had the opportunity to benefit from a top quality education. My parents put me through private school first grade through high school, and then I got my bachelor's degree from the greatest university of all time (do not question it), Notre Dame.<br />
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I learned a great deal through my formal education and now I continue that tradition of learning with my Google devices (aka my iPhone/iPad/MacBook - the holy trinity of knowledge). <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IkWlhNIsirw/T8WRi-jbe_I/AAAAAAAAAP4/G5--HGvlgJ0/s1600/Willow_Smith_ugly_outfit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IkWlhNIsirw/T8WRi-jbe_I/AAAAAAAAAP4/G5--HGvlgJ0/s320/Willow_Smith_ugly_outfit.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where is the "back" button on this phone.<br />I'd rather be looking at the Braveheart leper</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Here are a handful of things I have searched on the Google in the past four days:<br />
<br />
- How many people are killed by coconuts on a yearly basis? (obviously)<br />
- Is a coconut a fruit? (obviously)<br />
- Leper from Braveheart (because sometimes you need to make sure someone else will never be able to unsee <a href="http://www.skinema.com/leprous.jpeg"><b>that face</b></a>)<br />
- Can you do a strikethrough in an iMessage? (finding new ways to <s>use</s> champion the strikethrough. Someone please make an app for this)<br />
- Willow Smith (to prove to someone that not all of Will Smith's kids are cute)<br />
- Aaron Paul + fiance (FYI <b><a href="http://www.eonline.com/news/breaking_bads_aaron_paul_engaged/285091">"activist"</a></b> is not a real job description. I'm not impressed.)<br />
- Watch [insert name of TV show] free online (duh)<br />
- Alphabet Cafe + milkshakes (the answer is "yes")<br />
- Jennifer Nettles (making sure I spelled her name right so I could lambast her on the Twitter #Duets)<br />
- pedicure east village (time to accept that it's summer and do something about my goblin feet)<br />
- Family guy + the more you know (this was recent)<br />
<br />
This is not the first of these lists I've been involved in putting together. In college, my roommates and I loved McSweeney's lists. Junior year we submitted our own: Actual Questions That Appear in our Roommate's Search History. For those of you that haven't seen this, prepare to be amazed by Mikaela Droz's thirst for knowledge. For those of you that have already seen this, read it anyway. I promise, it's still funny.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-usNf8WvaMW4/T8WWgTUygFI/AAAAAAAAAQM/9r7kEn-SKUk/s1600/who_is_on_the_dime.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-usNf8WvaMW4/T8WWgTUygFI/AAAAAAAAAQM/9r7kEn-SKUk/s200/who_is_on_the_dime.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This guy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Who won the vice presidential debate?<br />
Who won A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila II?<br />
Who is on the dime?<br />
Who does the voice of Brian on Family Guy?<br />
What is the rate of return of the S&P 500?<br />
What are electric costs for a 1,000 square foot apartment?<br />
What kind of dog was the one in Old School?<br />
What is the highest MCAT score?<br />
What is in P.F. Chang's lettuce wraps?<br />
Why does Padma from Top Chef have a scar?<br />
How much does an insulin pump cost?<br />
How much does Tyra Banks weigh?<br />
How much do cruise liners weigh?<br />
How many words are in a 5 minute speech?<br />
How to perform an exorcism in an apartment?<br />
How do you clean non-athletic shoes?<br />
How long can a baby with two faces live?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0n-3BC1mFc8/T8WV2xKxR4I/AAAAAAAAAQE/2LmgVbTDcYE/s1600/Mikaela_google_questions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0n-3BC1mFc8/T8WV2xKxR4I/AAAAAAAAAQE/2LmgVbTDcYE/s320/Mikaela_google_questions.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Won't stop until the truth is uncovered.</td></tr>
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Here's a list for you, McSweeney's.. Most devastating, dream-crushing e-mail I've ever received. Oh wait.. there's just one:</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Hi, Mikaela, Andrea, and Mariel -<br /><br />I'm afraid we're not going to use this one, but thanks for considering us for it. Hope you guys will keep trying.<br /><br />Best,<br />Chris</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-size: small;">Umm..</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-size: small;">Dear Chris,</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-size: small;">In case you were still regretting this decision three years after the fact, I just wanted to update you on the goings on in my life. I haven't checked McSweeney's lists in at least eighteen months. Hope you'll keep being terrible.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-size: small;">Worst,</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-size: small;">Mariel</span></span></span></span><br />
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</div>Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367053517219201889.post-68714422241592126972012-05-27T10:37:00.001-07:002012-05-29T19:18:48.530-07:00Voicemails from Dad"Hi, I'm so glad I've reached Mariel [referring to my voicemail greeting]. Thanks for wishing me happy birthday. I'm so glad you remembered all on your own."
Here is the first minute of the conversation that occurred when I called him back.
Dad: Hello, Bluebird Diner.
Me: Oh sorry are you at breakfast?
Dad: Yes, we serve breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Me: Do you serve turds?
Dad: [no reaction to the previous statement] Are you on a train?
<br /><br />Happy birthday to <a target="_blank" href="http://www.mostlikelytohavebadhair.blogspot.com/2012/05/jumping-megalodon.html?m=1">The Utmost Righteous Dad</a>. <br /> <br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br /><br />Most Likely to Have Bad Hairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03406790686845292402noreply@blogger.com0