“Highly entertaining,” you say?

My brother forwarded this e-mail with a comment: “This has to be the stupidest contest I’ve ever seen. I really hope this is fake and really doesn’t have any connection to Disney.”

Guess what, Pete? I did extensive research (okay, I went to http://www.disneyfamily.com) and it’s completely legit. Well, as legit as a contest including toilet stories can be.

The best part? You can read people’s submissions. My personal favorite:

“We have 7 indoor cats and one of their favorite places to visit with us is in the bathroom. Several of them often surprise us by popping onto our laps as we relax on the toilet. Two of our babies like stealing toilet paper and attacking them like mad. One of them likes to surprise Dad as he stands over the toilet in a VERY unpleasant way. Either way everyday is highly entertaining with our cats in our bathroom.”

Where do I even start? With the statement “as we relax on the toilet”? Perhaps the fact that she calls her husband Dad and her cats babies?

Those are both concerning, but I think we’d better focus on one key point here: “One of them likes to surprise Dad as he stands over the toilet in a VERY unpleasant way.”

You have to watch out for those dangling participles. And let’s not forget the old saying, “Claw my testicles once, shame on you. Claw my testicles twice, shame on me.”

Thank you very much! I’ll be here all week! Please tip your waitresses!

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A Scarcity of Cialis

A man walked into the pharmacy at 8:30 tonight. No, this isn’t going to be one of those rants about people coming in at the last minute. Sorry to disappoint you. It was a really slow night, and 8:30 isn’t that late anyway. See how nice I am?

His prescription was for the latest ED innovation – a daily regimen of low-dose Cialis. This is supposed to return the spontaneity that was lost when men had to plan their sex one whole hour in advance. Since it’s a fairly recent development, we don’t have it perpetually in stock.

I did not enjoy sharing this news. Or telling him to enjoy his weekend.

Okay, I might have enjoyed that last part just a little.

What I enjoyed the most? The part where I pulled the double strength pills out to see if we could cut them in half and then, without thinking, asked, “Wait–is it extended release?”

*snort*

Admit it. I wouldn’t be nearly as funny if I had a mature sense of humor.

Requiscat in Pace

I went to a funeral today. My great-uncle DeVere, died on Tuesday. He was 94. Those of you about to make a joke about Utah Mormon names? He was born in Kansas and raised Southern Baptist. Go ahead and mock the Southern Baptists. They will mess you up.

DeVere was the last of that generation in my family, which makes me sad. At the same time, I know he’s been reunited with his sweetheart.You know the cute little old couples you see who still hold hands and dote on each other? They were that couple, and now they’re holding hands again, which makes me a little teary and sentimental and very happy for them.

Funerals with this side of the family are fantastic. They’re more like wakes, but without the liquor. (Unless something happened after I left…anyone going to ‘fess up?) Today was all about stories, laughter, and memories. It was a celebration of DeVere’s life rather than a mourning of his passing. The overwhelming sentiment (which I wholeheartedly agree with) was that DeVere was a true gentleman, and the sweetest man you could ever meet.

Take note, people: when I die, I want stories and lots of laughing.

Whenever I attend a funeral, I start to wonder what people will say at mine. That’s pretty normal, right? I’m not just being morbid. This time. As I listened to people talk about the positive attitude and kindness that DeVere displayed on a daily basis, I thought about how I really need to be nicer so people will say good things about me when I die.

What? That’s totally a good reason.

Let’s be honest: that’s never going to happen. The me being nicer part, that is. People should still say good things about me, because it’s not nice to belittle the deceased. So I’ve come up with an alternative that I’m comfortable with. Start memorizing it now, because I expect you all to say it at my funeral:

“She was funny as hell.”

That works, right? You have to do the swearing part, too. I demand it.

And now, because I am who I am, I have to tell you about how I almost had to leave the service because I’m just like Mary Tyler Moore.

After the opening remarks, there was a beautiful bassoon solo (Seriously, that’s not a paradox. Who knew?) which started off sounding dangerously like “Send in the Clowns.” I know! I was very concerned! (It wasn’t “Send in the Clowns.” Or anything else by Sondheim, thank goodness.) I leaned over to my mother and whispered, “The bassoonist is quite good.” My mother whispered back, “I know. His father played the xylophone at my wedding.”

…

“You had a xylophone at your wedding?”

Is there any way to not laugh at that? Even if it’s in the middle of a very touching bassoon solo? I think not.

Great-Uncle DeVere, you were a kind, gentle, loving man. You made everyone around you feel special and important. And I’m really sorry I giggled at your funeral, but I’m pretty sure you would’ve been okay with that. Especially since Dennis used the phrase “rolled dick” at the pulpit.

Seriously. You had to be there.

And This Is Why I Don’t Remember My Dreams

First item of business: All is well with my heart. It will, in fact, go on. And on. Thanks for your concern and well-wishes.

Last night I had a very vivid dream. I’ll spare you the boring details–in a nutshell, Car and I were on a road trip with the boys, Car’s brother, and a few nephews. They all drove off and left me stranded at a gas station for several hours. When they finally came back for me, Car opened his door and I started kicking him. Really, really hard.

You see where this is going, right?

I woke up kicking Car. Really, really hard.

Car: Jenny, are you awake?
Me: Yes.
Car: You were kicking me.
Me: I was still mad at you.
Car: So…you woke up before you started kicking me?
Me: You left me behind!

In the end? We giggled like little kids.

I love this man.

A Little Bit of This, A little Bit of That

Today’s post is as ADD as I am. If you bear with me, I’ll reward you with an awesome photo at the end. Pinky swear.

Point the first: I guest posted at Erin’s blog yesterday. Even though you’ve read my courtship story, you should head over there and read my story with bonus wisdom tossed in at the end!

Point the second: Sorry there wasn’t a brand-spanking new post waiting for you this morning. I know y’all felt the gaping hole in your lives. I worked an almost full day yesterday and between that and dealing with the kids (with Car still off on his little man adventure), I was plumb tuckered out last night. My mother was convinced I was dead because I didn’t answer the phone last night (at 10:30) and then there was no blog this morning.

Point the third: Hey, single moms? I worship you. You are incredible, and deserve to be sainted or something.

Point the fourth: For one of my tasks in 31 Days to Build a Better Blog, I’m supposed to e-mail a new reader/commenter personally. I plan on doing that (sorry, old-timers), but it got me thinking–what do my loyal readers think of my blog? Obviously you’re somewhat fond because you keep coming back for more abuse, but are there things you’d change? Is there something lacking that you really want to see? Tell me! I’m not fishing for compliments here (although I certainly won’t delete them). You can post a comment here, or you can e-mail me: likeswimming@gmail.com. Inquiring minds want to know (I want to know!) *Bonus points if you remember that commercial, because if you remember it you’re probably at least as old as I am.

Point the fifth: Kave is a stupid thing to name your son. Seriously. It is not, however, as stupid as naming your daughter Chevy (insert dirty joke here). What is wrong with people?

And now your payoff! Don’t you want to buy one of these for your daughter/son/niece/nephew?

*The WordPress Proofreader agrees that Kave is stupid (or at least nonexistent). However, any bonus points it earned for that are negated by this:

“full”

You shouldn’t use a comparison with an absolute word. An absolute is or isn’t.

Actually, WordPress Proofreader, it really was an “almost full day.” It was 7 hours. I refuse to say “partial day” when it was only short by one hour, so stop judging me. Jerk.

I Won’t Be Your Neighbor

I pay far too much attention to billboards. You probably noticed this back when I talked about the Sizzler billboard. (It remains one of my favorite posts so if you haven’t yet read it, you now have a homework assignment.)

In the last few years I’ve seen a lot of billboards from the Foundation for a Better Life. This is a great non-profit organization that, according to their website, “creates public service campaigns to communicate the values that make a difference in our communities – values such as honesty, caring, optimism, hard work, and helping others.” I’m sure you’ve seen their billboards as well.

They have a somewhat new billboard up. I’m almost afraid to talk about it, because I don’t want to receive hate mail from people who think I’m belittling a national icon. I’m just going to put it out there right now–I’m not mocking him. I’m not even really mocking the ad. I’m mostly mocking myself, and the fact that the average person looking at this billboard doesn’t have the same thoughts that run through my head.

Here’s the billboard (from the Foundation for a Better Life website):

Nice billboard, right? It has a good message and features a well-loved public figure. (Unless you’re my friend Janice, who claims she doesn’t like Mr. Rogers. I think she might be a communist.)

Now I’m going to walk you through my thought process when I see this billboard. “Oh, look. Mr. Rogers. How nice. Won’t you be my neighbor? Friendship! Hey, wait a minute. Mr. Rogers is dead. How can I be his neighbor if he’s dead? Is Mr. Rogers saying he wants me dead, too? What the crap, Mr. Rogers? What did I ever do to you? Okay, now he looks kind of creepy. Like he’s trying to steal my soul. YOU CAN’T HAVE MY SOUL, MR. ROGERS! I WILL NOT BE YOUR NEIGHBOR MINION! Oh, hey–Wendy’s billboard. I’m kind of hungry. Maybe I should get a burger.”

That, my friends, is what goes on in my fully-medicated brain. Explains a lot, doesn’t it?

Hope There’s No Emergency

On Friday we went to Kangaroo Zoo to celebrate my niece’s 3rd birthday. (Warning: the website kind of made my eyeballs hurt. Maybe that’s just me.) A few points of interest from that trip:

• My children are big pansies. I’ll give Little G a pass, but Big G? The kid who thinks jumping on my bed is the most awesome thing ever? No. I guess I should be glad he’s not a daredevil, but it’s sad when the girl cousin a year younger than him is 50 times more adventurous.
• Little G is a kleptomaniac. He kept grabbing bags of chips, cups, balls, etc. and trying to make a break for it. I love him, but I’m not about to buy him a $3 bouncy ball. I did break down and buy a $1 bag of chips, because they don’t allow outside food and my children were starving to death. I felt very Britney Spears when I ended up with a cheeto trail on my clothes.
• Kangaroo Zoo is the last place I want to be if there’s an emergency. Behold:

Really, Kangaroo Zoo?

I’m tempted to report them. It’s a place that gets packed with kids who run and jump and scream. Can you imagine what would happen if they had a fire?

I feel like a crabby old lady party-pooper. Am I a crabby old lady party-pooper if I report them to the city?

Just so you know, Car is going out of town tomorrow. For a week. Hopefully that doesn’t mean you’ll have to read a bunch of mopey posts again, but I make no guarantees.

Also coming up: I’m participating in a challenge to improve my blog. I know you’re wondering how my blog could possibly be better, right? Right?!

You’re all a bunch of jerks. I’ll see you tomorrow: Same bat-time, same bat-channel.