This is what happens when your parents are hippies

Bry and I grew up without a lot of the modern amenities simply because my hippy parents didn't believe in  them or because for one reason or another they were, as my parents perceived them, bad. I realize, it could be worse. We could have been raised in Beaumont and been banned from dancing until Kevin Bacon came along and had a bitch fit. (Really Kevin Bacon? You dance when you're angry?)


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsCO-YkDgnY


Kevin Bacon, it is all your fault that this:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J3OnmelGuPQ&feature=related


Or THIS ever happened:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4dSG3aFXBQ


While I was looking for that last one I found this:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0LEs6c-9EI


 But no, we had parents that didn't believe in owning a microwave. Here's a list of just a few things they didn't believe in:


*Microwaves


*Mac N Cheese


*Name Brand Sunscreen


*Braces


*Dish Washers


*Christmas Trees

Now, you're probably thinking to yourself, "But Twinz, those are all such ordinary, everyday things. What on earth could your parents find wrong with them?" Let us tell you:

I'm going to pick some random scrabble tiles from this bag. Let fate decide for us. We've got a "V" and an "A" and a "G" Okay, let's start over.

My mother believes microwaves are the devil. Okay, not really. But I still never used one until middle school at a friend's house. Even after she showed us how to use it we still made her do it for us. I didn't own my first one until I was 19 and renting my own apartment and damn are they convenient! Why couldn't I have had one all these years??? I could have saved precious minutes heating up my soup for lunch! But no, our parents didn't even want one in our house. They give out radiation or something. Apparently, nobody else cares but of course OUR parents do. Hell, our parents don't even own a toaster. Process that one. No, we didn't have one of these when I was growing up:

Normal toaster

No, we had one of these:

Only ours was a reject from the early 1980's. Our little sister is still afraid to use it. She's 16.

*************

Wait, you mean mac n cheese come in other colors than white?!

The blue box is the cheesiest! It just so happens that as I write this, we are preparing a Kraft Mac'n'Cheese dinner. I imagine most adults would be embarrassed to announce that this simple meal is a staple of their diet, as it does sound rather childish, but not us. We were raised on a diet free of most foods made with artificial dyes. Kudos to my parents for keeping a stern eye on our artificial-ingredients intake, nonetheless as little children we felt deprived from such things as Kraft Mac'n'Cheese, sodas, candies, popular cereals and other such things.

The result of this was that whenever we went over to friends' houses we would absolutely pig out on ANYTHING that wasn't allowed in this Dye Free Diet. Entire sleep overs would consist of Chef Boyardee, marshmallows and Dr. Pepper. Friend's parents would think we were nuts because we would be bouncing off the walls. Our parents had good intentions but it really just led to us getting sugar-high and making regrettable choices.

Oops. This was after we'd already moved out of our parent's house. My bad.

*************

Oh, what I wouldn't have given to use one of these.

Our mom never let us use name brand sunscreen. She wasn't a fan of one of the ingredients that could also be found on a period it table. (I only got a C in high school chemistry, so I can't remember if it's Aluminum, Antimony, Aragorn or whatever.) Instead of using Coppertone or Banana Boat or something normal people use that rubs in, we got to use natural sunscreen from Trader Joes that left us forever looking like this:

Obviously, his mom shops at Trader Joes, too.

At one point that purple sunscreen was pretty popular. It went on purple and when you'd rubbed it in well enough it went away. I'd have gladly been temporarily purple. It's not that I have anything against being ghost white, it's just that I have a theory that goth make-up is actually the sunscreen my mom used to make me use:

Her mom made her use all-natural sunscreen so she became goth to stay hip at school.

*************

Everyone who's ever had these is going to think we're crazy for being jealous.

We have teeth like a chimney sweep wth a cockney accent. It's true. My bottom jaw is riddled with canines and molars that appear to be engaged in a shoving war, and while my top jaw isn't SO bad altogether there is ONE tooth that has taken it upon himself to tailgate my front incisor. It's a real party up in here.

This is equally due to poor genetics and my stupidity. My jaw is crooked. It sticks out a wee bit too far and a wee bit to the right- almost as if I were slightly drunk and forgot how to close my mouth. I wish. Having silly mouths runs in my family along my mother's side. Chiropractors and dentists alike mention this fact to me during every visit and tell me my "options." 

We politely declined.

Our mom has refused any of the three of her children to get braces or retainers because, based on her professional opinion, we're all perfect just the way we are.

Omnomnom

Rach and I knocked each other's front teeth out when we were two. The story goes something like:

As a two year old, Mom refused to buy me candy at a grocery store so I took out my anger the best way a two year old knows how- by punching Rach in the face. Later that week, when she was in obvious amounts of pain I allowed her to retaliate by taking a swing at me with a plastic bowling pin. Bye-bye teeth. This was the first time we had surgery together.

The final blow to my smile- literally- came about perhaps in 6th grade. Rach and I were in constant threat of being attacked by unleashed dogs in our neighborhood. Fences weren't all that common, but for some reason angry animals were. Thanks to the bountiful supply of ignored and untrained dogs in our area, we were forced to carry a walking stick every time we left the house just in case some rogue beast felt the need to prowl. I would like to say that I adjusted the final alignment of my teeth in a victorious battle against these creatures, however, it was actually due to my practice for such a fight. Put simply, I hit myself in the face with a stick while pretending to do karate. Now I smile like this:

Pfft, don't judge me. My mom says I'm perfect.

*************

Computer, on! Wait, how does this thing work again?

I don't think I know anyone that still washes dishes by hand. Oh, I mean outside of my family. Don't get me wrong, we owned a dishwasher when I was growing up we just never used it. To this day I'm still not really sure why. I think my parents didn't use it to conserve water or electricity or something. No idea. 


A family friend came over once and thought it was ridiculous that we had a dishwasher and didn't use it. So, to help my mom out while she was visiting, she loaded the dishwasher up and turned it on. Oh, but the thing is since we never used it we didn't own the right kind of soap... and my mom's friend really wasn't bright enough to think it through when she loaded the soap spot full of dish detergent. Our kitchen looked like this:

Except without the Barbie doll...

*************

This Christmas Tree has been inspected and approved by Jesus.

My family isn't Christian or Catholic but like so many people in America we celebrate Christmas every year because who doesn't want presents? Pshaw. I grew up knowing about normal Christmas traditions but I also knew what we got to do was way better. We never went out and picked a Christmas tree. Never. We would put up decorations over our entire house. It always looked a little like this:

Also, for every five relevant holiday decorations up there is one or two for upcoming or past holidays. I don't know why we don't just display all of our decorations at once. People would be confused every time they came inside. What month is it?! Also, since my parents don't advocate chopping down trees just for a holiday we always put presents on a couch. That is, of course, until we moved into our new house. We started an even better tradition that looked a little like this:

Little sister wonders where to put the one last present.

Yes, that is a huge bathtub full of presents. It costs a hell of a lot of money to fill that tub with hot water so this is the biggest use it goes to all year. And it's so satisfying seeing it full of presents.

Did I mention that we decorate everything in the house?

Eviction Notice

3 Day Notice to Leave by Choice or be Removed by Force Kicking and Screaming



Date: (09/12/2010)


Tenant's Name: Evelyn Oliver Hylton


Address of Rental Unit: 3025 Sarah Oliver Jones' Uterus 


This notice is to inform you that your actions have violated the following rules according to the terms of your rental agreement OR endangered the health and safety of another:


*As of Sept. 1st, 2010 you became full term and are a squatter as you have failed to pay your rent since January


* You have maliciously ignored your landlady's complaints multiple times of assault and battery


*You have gorged yourself fat and yet have not paid your fair share of grocery bills 


*You have endangered your landlady's health and well-being by making it impossible for her to get her precious beauty sleep 


*You have made your landlady's ability to go out into public without being attacked by hordes of screaming teenagers trying to touch her stomach impossible


You are hereby required to cease your violations and take any necessary corrective action within 3 THREE days.


If you fail to do so, legal proceedings will be instituted against you to recover the premises and any relevant damages and costs as allowed by the law.


Warning: 


Once the doctor begins the eviction, any rights the tenant thought she had are considered abandoned. The tenant does not have any right to re-enter the uterus or re-claim any property after the eviction begins. Any abandoned property may be disposed of by the landlady at any time after the eviction begins. The landlady is at liberty to spend the next 18 years of the tenant's life taking out her grievances for the past 9 months. These actions may consist of, but are not limited to: taking pictures of the tenant in silly outfits or no clothes at all; holding the tenant up in the air and singing "The Circle of Life"; blowing raspberries on the tenant's belly at a moments notice; refusing to speak to the tenant in an adult voice; and keeping a book of memorable quotes and pictures of awkward first dates to whip out in public. 


In short...

GET OUT!!!!!!

To read more about the Landlady kindly click HERE.

The Deflation of a Weekend

What drives your weekend plans?

It's interesting to realize what drives your weekend plans. All these different elements come together or fall apart and all of a sudden you've got two full days of nothing to do (to your pleasure or annoyance) or perhaps even a ton of homework. But why? What happened during this specific week to lead to such an end of your week? Our collective week went like this: 



Monday: We marched in the Ft. Bragg Paul Bunyan Day Parade. Our "SoCal" Bestie was still visiting with us, so we were living in the moment and not really making plans for the weekend- also, completely ignoring homework assigned from last week. We weren't even considering the upcoming weekend yet.

This is the Marching Lumberjacks after the Paul Bunyan Days parade in 2006.  Can you spot us?

Rach playing the only instrument she knew during the 2007 Paul Bunyan Days parade in Fort Bragg.

Tuesday: Rach- I showed up to class only to be reminded that for my constitution test I needed to be in a group of 3-5. (I'm already a citizen, why do I have to pass this test?!) Professor gave us a few minutes before class started to make groups. SHIT. There was one person two seats to my left and one person six or seven seats to my right. Bah! After about four minutes I turned to the guy on my left and asked if he was in a group. No? Sweet! Now we were each doing half the work. Less work this weekend. 


Bry- A group of us played Quelf- not Queef, which was what I kept mistakenly referring to it as- and I debated pouring myself a drink to make the silly humiliation of the game easier to bear... but thought better of it because of the lure of the promised weekend-drinking. The fact that it was a Tuesday had yet to really cross my mind. Weird.

If I tell you to buy this game, will Quelf give me money?

Wednesday: We said Goodbye to "SoCal" Bestie, and finally started checking our e-mails to see what was going on this weekend. 

Bry and So-Cal Bestie, naturally fabulous.

It seemed like a whole bunch was going on: Drag Softball game, Pride Parade, Boyfriend planning a guy's night out, "NorCal" Bestie potentially going into labor. 

Nor-Cal Bestie rocking as hard as a... rock.

Also! Fiancé's new Birth Certificate came in the mail. (Am I incorrectly capitalizing things because I think it makes Them look more Important? Yes.)

Thursday: Rach- When I showed up to class I reminded my partner that we had to find a third member to help us on our constitution test. At the end of class we found a girl without a group and at the same time saved ourselves more work this weekend. Woohoo!


Bry- Fiancé and I headed down to CVS to get his Passport photo taken. (He's never had a Passport before, so I felt thuper thpethcial for getting to tag along on this bureaucratic adventure.) I forgot to bring a comb for his unruly hair, and he hadn't shaved in... a while... so in order to make the picture look less "molesty" (Spell check says this isn't a word. 
Whatever.) 

This is what popped up when I googled "molesty".

I jumped up and down behind the CVS employee to make him smile. With the photos in hand we mosied (WHAT? That's not a word either??) on down to the Post Office. After ten minutes in line, the balding, elderly man behind the counter told us that it's the Post Office's official policy to require appointments for all Passport applications- which is not mentioned anywhere on all the billions of informative fliers around the room. Fine. Friday at 3:15 PM it is.

Friday: Rach- Weekend plans were suddenly pulled to a halt when we got dressed in the morning and realized we were out of clean underwear. SHIT. Looks like our weekend is going to look a little like this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFhDCmABYmQ


Bry- That was where the fun and eventful weekend began to fall apart. Fiancé checked his e-mail at the crack of... 10 AM or so, and discovered that the unlimited free beer supply promised at the Drag Softball game has for some reason dwindled to two free beer coupons per person, charging $5 per cup from there on out. Needless to say, walking across town seemed drastically longer after reading that. No worry, still plenty of things in store for us, right? Realizing we were running late, Fiancé and I hopped into the car and sped off to the Post Office with all the necessary paperwork. As we exited the car, I questioned out loud if we'd gathered all the papers and photos needed for the appointment. {Insert his facial expression of dismay, rage, and disappointment.  D: } No.  No we did not. The photos were sitting at home all safe-like and abandoned . Oops. We march into the Post Office all the same to reschedule for later in the day if possible, and are informed that appointments do not occur after 3:30 PM. On the verge of pulling his hair out, Fiance sets up another appointment for the following Monday. 

You don't want to see him when he's really mad.

He's pissed, and I am hiding my laughter at the misfortune of our day so far. 'What else can go wrong?' I muse. To simplify things, I'll just tell you that the car died on the way home. Don't worry! We GOT home, but the electronic equipment in the car shut down system by system on the way.  (Hahahahahahahaha.)  CD player?  Down.  AC? Down.  Blinker? Down.  Speedometer?  Down.   Lame.

So, as you can see, our weekend went from FULL of fun band events to sitting around the house, unable to change clothes because none are clean. Sweet! So, how does our real Friday night begin? Well, I sat around writing this and watching things on Netflix.

It means that I love it but not all of it but I am NOT being indecisive!

Fiancé and I played Lego Nazi Harry Potter- don't judge me until you see the picture of the ACTUAL board just as the ACTUAL instructions showed us to set it up. Well, that, and make awesome homemade chicken chili, cornbread from Trader Joe's, and a wicked Sunkist and vodka creation while watching Man of the Year. Less exciting than watching Drag Softball? Likely. More exciting than watching golf on TV? Your decision.  Also-

Totally NOT joking around about the Lego Nazi Harry Potter game. D:

Criminal Profiling

I lie to myself. So do you. You, just like me, hate to admit that you stereotype people. I'm right, aren't I? Don't worry about it, we all do. And, if you want, you can do what I do. Instead of stereotyping, which sounds mean and terrible, I pretend I'm a criminal profiler. See how much better that sounds? Fun too. Let me give you an example:

 I got on the bus a few days ago and I immediately knew that I had made the mistake of sitting across from THOSE girls. You know the ones. 

Not as innocent as they look.

I tried my hardest not to stare but you can only avert your gaze for so long, like when you're driving past someone who's been pulled over. Your eyes are drawn to them and to make matters worse they are talking far too loudly for you to ignore. It's obvious to you that there is no good reason for them to be having such a loud and obtrusive conversation as not a single other person on the bus is talking. Not one! In fact, if you look closely, almost all the other passengers are trying and failing to avert their gaze and hide the shame they're feeling for being so engrossed in their conversation, too. At this point, in between quick glances, I began "profiling" them. Both girls looked rather young. (A relative thing, I suppose, since I'm only going on 22.) I would have pegged them as high schoolers but they had gotten on at the university same as me, I believe. The one on the left had on very subtle make-up. Silver eyeshadow. Blush. Her face and hair looked well maintained but her shirt was hiked up just far enough to show a saggy or chubby stomach. I wasn't sure which. It looked like, to me, that she had had a baby. But she looked so young, I figured she hadn't. She was probably just chubby. Ah, but I could still hear their conversation. Wait, did she just mention her daughter? This girl that looked no more than seventeen had in fact mentioned her daughter. So, I was right! Aha! See, not stereotyping. Not being creepy. Being an accurate profiler. Win.

But, really, they were annoying. I wanted to say they were stereotypical high schoolers that don't just think they're better than everyone else they KNOW. I caught the girl on the right staring at me. I knew for a fact I'd had more attractive days. I hadn't showered, I had left-over make-up on, and I was wearing an old sweater.

Honestly, I didn't look this bad that day. This was my witch-dressed-like-a-muggle costume for the last  HP midnight premier. I looked this bad at the premier.

But even still, I didn't deserve THAT look. I know you know that look.

Honestly, it was this or a picture of John McCain.

 Maybe you've given it, maybe you've received it. It's a horrible look. The one that makes you feel like the dirtiest, ugliest person in the onlookers vicinity. If I'd tried to look nice, I'd have been more offended, but I really hadn't tried that morning so it didn't bug me too much. THEY were probably stereotyping me. I could see the judgment in her eyes as she looked me over. Apparently, she had no problem with stereotyping but I will continue to "profile".


That isn't too big of a deal though, I mean, it's in public!  To an extent you can say just about anything you want in public, which is exactly how these people get away with opening their mouths and drooling out all the pointless thoughts that come to mind.  Once upon a time, for example, whilst sitting in the central eatery on  campus I was witness- nay- part of an amazing conversation with someone who never should have sat down with us in the first place.  For some godsawful reason we were discussing the way in which he "lost" his virginity.  Our new acquaintance seemed to be confused as to what constituted as actually losing your virginity, and in my humble opinion he hadn't come close enough to be as nervous and proud as he seemed to be.  The shocking. teary-eyed confession came from his lips like words spoken from a 15th century friar:

We're not sure what century this friar is from, but I think the cell phone is a fair indicator...

"And after a merry evening, just when I fancied that the night was drawing to a close, the maiden let me drink of her chalice."  Chalice.  It took a moment before we recognized that he was politely announcing his first time going down on a girl- followed by our silent, palpable horror.


Again, though, this is not too terribly offensive.  As soon as one hears an approaching disaster- "Last night my level 60 Paladin-" or "The milk went SO sour that by the time I found it in the back of the fridge it smelled like my grandma's c-" or "I'm more of a grower than a show-er, if ya catch my drift..."- one can simply leave the affected area.  Having said that, the worst time to face this type of person(s) is when sitting in class.
Here we are at the first day back to school at my university.  I have bright hopes and high expectations of myself this semester, and luckily my Monday schedule goes by with a breeze.  Tuesday rolls around and it's the last class of the day now, I sit in the middle of the room in the T Zone like a good girl and await the start of class.  Everyone files in and amidst the shuffle the teacher enters. Not only does That Guy correct the teacher on what name he would actually like to go by, but he proceeds to take up valuable class time by explaining why he is going to spend the entire semester going by a totally different name than the first, middle, and last name that are on the roll sheet.


This is only one way in which That Guy can be  identified.  Other ways include:


*Telling Professor which books he should read. During class. While he's lecturing.


*Sitting in the back so they can People Watch, though clearly squinting because they are just now refusing to wear glasses.


*Taking out a computer on the first day- when the only thing that will happen for sure is going to be roll and handing out the reading list and syllabus.


*Assuming that since class starts at eleven, it's totally cool to take out their snacks- sandwich, apple, unopened soda, chips, cold spaghetti from last night...


*Raising their hand first to answer any question- and even if the  question is answered correctly by someone else- continuing to hold their hand up; they have a specific way of holding their hand which is either only the pointer finger up (in a manner of silently saying that this will take but a moment of your time, but you will inevitably regret it) or (for anyone who has seen Inglorious Basterds) the correct way to display the number three in German until Professor (who is clearly hiding his displeasure and has resumed lecturing) acknowledges them and listens to what they have to say despite the fact that since the question was answered and all That Guy has to say now is his opinion of the first dudes answer.


If this person doesn't sound familiar, just wait.  Someday you will be in line at the Post Office and wonder why the line is so long.  Looking forward to the person at the counter you will witness an oddly dressed old man saying something that's close to but not necessarily: 

Words fail me.

"But of course when I was a youngin' the stamps cost a nickel and you had to lick 'em yerself.  The worse bit was that during the war we had to give up all our scrap metal, and someone thought it would be helpful to turn in a certain metal box that was painted blue- get it?- the town mail box!  Now, we had ourselves a pickle, ya see, since we had no way of telling anyone that we needed a new mail box because the very same wise guy-" 


"Sir, was there anything else I can help you with today?"


"I am a woman, Miss, and I'd like to make a withdrawal."


"Sorry, Ma'am... the mustache was misleading. And, sorry again, this isn't a bank."


"I waited in line for twenty minutes, and I still won't get my cash?  Where am I?"


That Guy is the sort to think that even though YOU have a Doctorate in German, they still knows more about the 3rd Reich than you because That Guy has the History Channel.

If you laughed at this you are a douche.
I laughed.

That Guy is the one who stands at the counter at the grocery store and pays for his 9 items with a check.

I have just been informed that this is a woman.  Again, misleading mustache.

That Guy is the person who opens his mouth and the sound of his know-it-all, disparaging voice makes you want to fall into a dumpster full of shredded paper in the hopes that with enough paper cuts, perhaps your ears will fall off.

Make sure you watch out for Oscar the Grouch; he's known to carry a shiv.

See? There is no need to stereotype. We all know who these people are but it is so much more entertaining to profile them. Annoying voice: check! Unwashed hair: check! Squinting at professor: check! Practice and soon you'll be a "better" person for not stereotyping people. *wink*

We can't justifiably judge anyone, though, because THIS is what we do on the weekends for fun.
Well, THAT or: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tDk9n18NCR8&feature=sub