So I was on the phone with my parents yesterday and they’re all, “What have you been up to lately?” and I’m like, “I talk to you guys like every single day” and they’re all, “But tell us more things!” so I struggle for a minute to come up with something that’s even mildly appropriate and not related to all the sex toys I’ve been reviewing and suddenly I’m all, “Ooo! Ooo! I’ve been going to concerts” because both my parents used to work in the music industry and they like when I do music things and they got all excited and my dad goes, “Which concerts??” and I’m like, “Well, I saw Lupe Fiasco last month” and my dad’s all, “Lupe Fiasco sounds like a disease you’d contract in Central America” and I’m like, “And I saw Damien Marley and Nas this week” and my mom goes, “What’s a Nas?” and I’m all, “And, AND! I’m going to see 50 Cent next Thursday!” and they’re all, “You mean that horribly offensive man you and the girls used to listen to in high school?” and I’m like, “YES!” and they’re both quiet for a few seconds and then my mom goes, “You have incredibly bad taste in music” and my dad’s all, “And apparently you don’t go see live music performed by white artists” and I’m thinking, “Fuck, I should have just told them about the sex swing instead.”
And then this morning I called my mom on her cell phone to tell her about this insane thing that I read and after a few rings my dad picks up and yells, “It’s not mommy! It’s me! It’s me!” and I’m all, “Dad, I can differentiate between your voice and Mom’s voice, please stop yelling” and he goes, “I’m sitting at the table having a jelly doughnut and a coffee and don’t lecture me about the doughnut because I’m going to be 74 years old next month and I deserve doughnuts but your mother still lectures me” and I’m all, “Are we even having the same conversation?” and he’s all, “I’M JUST SAYING” and I’m like, “Father, I don’t care what you have for breakfast, can I talk to Mom?” and he’s all, “Well, like I was saying, I’m sitting at the table having a doughnut and guess who’s not here? Your mother. But guess what is here? Her cell phone. And her wallet. And her ID. And her money. I wonder how long it’s going to take her to realize that she left the house without any of the items she needs for the day. Not that she can call me once she does realize it. Oh well. Hehehe. What do you need?” and I was all, “Well, I called to tell Mom about a thing I learned” and he’s all, “What thing?” and I’m like, “Okay, so, did you know that there’s a contest in Japan where sumo wrestlers compete to make babies cry?” and he’s like, “Excuse me?” and I’m all, “No seriously, I’ll send you the link later and the photos are hilarious and it’s some festival they do every year and each sumo wrestler holds a baby and whichever baby cries first wins. Or the sumo guy wins. Or they both win. I don’t know the details but supposedly it’s all because they believe that tears are good for the health of the baby.” And my dad’s all, “This is a ridiculous story. Why are you telling me about this?” and I’m like, “YOU ASKED” and he goes, “I shouldn’t have” and I’m all, “THIS IS WHY I CALLED MOM AND NOT YOU” and he’s all, “Time for another doughnut, bye bye.”
And then he hung up. So, you know, you should probably keep things like this in mind the next time you’re wondering how I got to be so fucking weird. IT’S NOT MY FAULT. I SWEAR. FINGER CROSSIE PROMISES.
{ 26 comments… read them below or add one }
LOL, your Dad sounds hilarious. And I’m dying at the Sumo competition!
When you go to see 50 Cent, is he going to be all tiny and skeletor like those pictures that have been taken of him? Because if so, I’d bring a defibrillator. I think he might need it.
I. Love. This. I enjoy the randomness of his statements. Your mom sounds pretty good too. So pray tell, if they find 50 Cent and friends un-listenable, who can they possibly enjoy?
This is why I never talk to my father on the phone. And why I let my mom call me if she wants to chat.
How is this the first time I’m reading your sex toy reviews? I’m in love with this sex swing piece.
Ummm…so yeah, this is totally a conversation that could have existed in my house. Lol. My dad would totally be like “I’m having doughnuts, don’t yell at me!” And my mom WOULD leave all of her stuff at home. But it would be like alterna-world if my dad answered my mom’s cell phone since they got divorced when I was 3. I won’t hold genetic weirdness against you (in fact, I say embrace it!). My dad tells me I’m weird and I always tell him it’s his fault since he is the only parent all five of us have in common.
haha.. your parents are awesome. I never talk to my dad either on the phone, but mostly because he’ll talk for hours about nothing and I’m all “yeah, I just wanted to call and say I wanted ___ for dinner when I come home.”
i want a jelly donut.
and i didn’t know that there was an actual JOB involved in making babies cry but honestly it sounds like a racket, i mean, those things seem to cry at the drop of a hat.
yes i just called babies “those things” and you should be scared because at some point i’m supposed to try and have one.
I still like the story of your dad and “the facebook” and his momentous day best ever, but this jelly donut deal is pretty adorable. Also, I want to get paid to make babies cry. That sounds badass.
One thing to say:
*_____ hand*
WHAT THE FUCK DAMIEN & NAS AND NO PICTURES IN MY GRILL?
Try and tell me this song doesn’t make you want to tear your clothes off: http://songsthataregood.tumblr.com/post/622677000/nas-get-down-gods-son-gimlet-eyed-urban
Then tell me swearing in this comment wasn’t worth it.
Also, I went to write a comment that JUST said, “*_____ hand*” and fucking WORDPRESS SCOLDED ME AND WAS ALL, “COMMENT IS A BIT TOO SHORT.”
And I was all, “YOUR TONE IS A BIT TOO SHORT, WORDPRESS, IF THAT’S YOUR REAL NAME.”
And, well, it didn’t talk back because, you know, it’s the fucking internet.
BUT STILL. WORDPRESS DO NOT TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CANNOT WRITE AS A COMMENT. YOU DON’T KNOW ME. NICOLE KNOWS ME.
Wait.
I’m confused. What happened?
I have a history of making babies cry when I sing, but this is way better. No more singing unless I’m rocking my mawashi. Just as soon as I bedazzle that mother.
Ok, how can I make my family more like this? Brilliant. Love it.
What the hell…I think I love Japan. And I think I love your family. Or maybe it’s just all the ecstasy … er no wait. Not that.
That sumo thing had me in tears. Good shit, yo.
I don’t know who I feel worse for. You or your parents.
But this definitely explains why tigers eat their young.
And why tigers are assholes.
Or not.
It’s 50/50 really.
Hahahaha, I laughed hard throughout this post. Amazing.
I love it!
I love the way you write! I laughed out loud many times.
At least we know where you get it
Any other characters in your life? Brothers, sisters, dogs, funny neighbors? I’m thinking it’s time to branch out and introduce some of the minor players and develop their stories. Your family is a sh0e in for a sitcom…I would watch for sure
All I really got out of this is that I could totally go for a fucking jelly donut right now.
I so understand. My parents bought me a birthday card a few years ago. On the front it said “I hope you get whatever you wish for on your birthday” On the inside, it said “Except for a normal childhood. That ship has already sailed.” Too True.
I would rather have my wisdom teeth removed then talk to my dad on the phone – yes – it’s that painful.
After work today, I popped by my parent’s place. My mom had half a martini and laughed until she cried and spilled the rest all over the hardwood. She then shrieked between gasps for breath, “DON’T BLOG THIS!” and then, with incredible focus said, “OOH! I HAVE A STORY YOU CAN BLOG!” and it ended up being a strange fart joke.
You and I? We’re total pedigree, baby.
Your parents are the stuff of David Sedaris essays. I’m kinda jeal.