transcribed discussions

I post little too-small-for-blog stories and snippets of funny discussions on Facebook. Have a few recent ones. (Yes, have some.)

My Mom: “Can I use your hairbrush?”
Me: “No. You already stole the other one.”
My Mom: “But…”
Me: “NO. I’m weird about hairbrushes.”
My Mom: “….”
Me: “I know, I use the same comb to get burrs out of Logan’s coat as I do to untangle my hair after a shower.”
My Mom: “Yep. You’re weird about hairbrushes.”
Me: “THE DOG IS AN EXTENSION OF THE SELF!”

TV: bwa bwaaa bwa BWAAAAA bwa bwee bbwoo da dooo ba bwoo BWAAA BWOOO BWA DA DAAAAAA
Me: “MA, YOU WATCHING DALLAS?”
My Mom: “IT JUST CAME ON, I’M NOT *WATCHING* IT.”
Me: “YOU KNOW, THERE IS SOMETHING VITALLY IMPORTANT THAT I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO REMEMBER BECAUSE I HAVE THAT DAMN THEME SONG MEMORIZED.”

I have what is called a “galley kitchen” with what I consider to have an ass capacity of one point five, the point five being a dog under 70lbs.

I went to put a dish in the sink, Logan following like the good little separation-anxiety shadow that he is, and found my mom standing in the middle of the kitchen pouring some coffee. I scooted her to the side, slightly, and put a hand on her back.

“STAAAAY. STAAAAAAAAAY.” Skootched in behind her, put the dish in the sink, rinsed it, “STAAAAAY,” skootched back, saw that both she and Logan had stopped still and were watching me.

“GOOD STAY! BOTH OF YOU! SO GOOD!” Pats on the head for everybody!

Fargo, the Irritatingly Helpful Android: “OMG THERE ARE LIKE 75 WEATHER ALERTS TODAY.”

Me: Hush, you’ll make the Northerners laugh at us.

Last night, at Downtown Disney, after having inhaled the best damn vegan cupcakes this side of Katya’s kitchen:

Me: “Do you hear that?”
Katie: “Is that….”
Me: “Pachelbel?”
Katie: “It is!”
Me: “URGH!”
Katie: “I played this on violin in school!”
Me: “Me too! Second violin! And you only had eight–”
Me & Katie: “NOTES!
Katie: “AGH!”
Me: “For half a fucking HOUR!”

And before that some teenager gave us the stink-eye when I shoved a penny into Katie’s cleavage. (She then did a little dance until it fell out onto the floor, snatched it, and put it in her pocket.)

Monday at the beach…

Me: “Look at that cloud. See what it looks like?”
Amber: “No.”
Me: “C’mon. A spaceship…”
Amber: “Don’t see it.”
Me: “A star destroyer! The big triangular pointy ones! That take like five minutes to fly past the camera. SEE IT?”
Amber: “Nope.”
Me: “I’m right and I know it. HEY KATIE.”
Katie: “WHAAAAAAT?”
Me: “LOOK AT THAT CLOUD, WHAT’S IT LOOK LIKE?”
Katie: “I’UNNO!”
Me: “THINK SCIFI!”
Katie: LOOKS LIKE A DEATH STAR. NOT A DEATH STAR. A…DUH..STUHHH….STAR DESTROYER. JESUS CHRIST.”
Me: “Hah! See? See? SEE?”
Amber: [says nothing, gives me the Look which implies, Girl, You Are Dragging Someone Else Into Your Crazy Again]

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