Things heard, said, or done in the deep dark middle of nowhere or on the surrounding highways and bi-ways:
“They were having a fire sale, so I got a bunch of brand new bras and underpants! Everything that was going south just got a huge HUGE lift!” (65-year-old woman friend making my FIL’s eyes pop out.)
***
“What are you watching?”
“America’s Next Top Model.”
“Oh. That sounds stupid.”
***
“Is she going to be OKAY???”
(Little girl’s voice piping up from the dark theatre during the movie “Enchanted”)
***
“What is this obsession that women of a certain age have with jewel tones??”
“I don’t know.”
“If I ever start wearing nothing but jewel tones, I want you to kick me in the anus.”
***
“I’m annoyed with Jesus right now.”
“Just now? You just decided this?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Why?”
“Well, think of how easily he made friends. I mean, you go up to some dudes — while they’re busy working even — and say, ‘Come with me and I’ll make you fishers of men’ and that actually works?? Everyone just drops what they’re doing and goes with you??
“So you’re mad because you think he must have used some divine mojo or something?”
“Yes. I mean, I couldn’t go up to a group of women and use that same line. I could, but they’d think I’m nutso. Rightly so. I believe he was God incarnate, and clearly, in this situation, he was using a little extra somethin’ that I don’t have. So, yeah, I’m annoyed.”
“Because you think he took a shortcut? Cheated by the power of the Holy Spirit??”
“I kinda do. I mean, did he say, ‘Uhm, hi. I’m Jesus. Would you like to hang out, go for a bowl of olives?’ Did he join a book club? A bowling league? A carpenter’s union? Do any of the other things we non-God-incarnate people have to do? No. He’s a total stranger and he uses that line and it works and it’s weird!!”
After this, I think the conversation just devolved into devising other ridiculous ways Jesus could have made friends. What can I say? It’s a 7-hour drive. The mind wanders and degrades.
For instance, I started this game ……
~ “Okay. Howie Mandel has a case with a million bucks in it. We can have it, but you have a decision to make and it’s this: For a million bucks, would you decide to have my boobs become magically smaller? For A MILLION BUCKS now.”
“No.”
“You’re not even asking me what size?”
“Okay. What size?”
“Uhm, okay. A B-cup.” (I have large boobins, people. I think B-cups are lovely. I do. I actually never understand women who want theirs bigger.)
“No.”
“For a million bucks??”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“All right. My question: For a million bucks, would you decide to have me become magically shorter?”
“How short?”
“6-1” (He’s 6-4.)
“Well, okay. For a million bucks. I mean, you’re tall; you’ve got some wiggle room. 6-1 isn’t short. ”
“It is to me.”
“Oh, boo hoo. Okay. Same deal. Million bucks. You HAVE to choose. B-cup or brown eyes?” (My eyes are blue, so I just picked brown eyes. I love brown eyes. This game isn’t about that. It’s about something else. I have no idea what.)
“Okay. B-cup. Your eyes are too much of who you are to me. It would be weird. You would seem completely different. Would you change my eye color for a million bucks?”
“No.”
“All right. Million bucks. But I will have a HUGE afro for the rest of our natural lives.”
“Can you shave it and grow back your real hair?
“NO! That will be my real hair.”
“Uhm, no. Okay. A million bucks but I have size 11 feet.”
“What size is that in men’s shoes?”
“What difference does that make? It’s big.”
“It will help me to gauge it.”
“Uhm, I think it’s 13 in men’s? I don’t know.”
“Oh. No. No way. I don’t want my wife to have flipper feet.”
This went on for a long long while …. with each of us transforming ourselves, mutilating ourselves for a million bucks … or not …. giving ourselves Tourette’s or the inability to ever stop picking our nose …. even in public ….. or when we’re asleep … you know ……
Try the “For a Million Bucks” game next time you’re trapped in a car for an eternity!! S’fun!!
Alternatively, play, “What is Wrong with your Mother?”
I’d stick with the million bucks game, tho’, if I were you.
Hilarious. Ok, for starters – I think you should totally start trying “the Jesus method” of meeting people. Walk up to gaggles of strange women and say , “Hey! Come with me!” Of course… you would then have to figure out what the heck to do with them if they actually followed you. I think that was one of Jesus’ strong points when it came to meeting strange people and getting them to hang out with him. He could turn some water into wine, whip up some extra loaves and fishes and you know – have a big impromtu happening. He had some serious resources in that department. ๐
I play the million dollar game when traveling alone – not in exactly the same way. I start going through in my head what I would get for everyone I know if I suddely had a million dollars. Like, what gift would be best for them? What do they need most? What would they be willing to accept?
Of course, NOW The Guy and I are going to have to play that.
I love how Howie Mandell is now permanently associated with getting a case full o’ money. I used to just associate him with Bobby’s World. And his cartoon mom having that adorable accent.
I love the million bucks game! That is priceless. My hubby and I must be who*res though, because I think I could live with his afro, and he could live with my B-cups.
‘Course I haven’t asked him. He may have a different take on this.
Maybe I am the who*re. Food for thought.
Oh, and we have played the “What is Wrong with your Mother?รขโฌย game. You are so right. The million bucks game is much, MUCH safer.
What a crack up! I love the random talk – and I believe that my favorite so far was the divine mojo.
I am going to get FIRED if you keep being this brilliant at lunchtime! I’m going to pop something from stifling the laughter… and then where will I be? Hurt, fired, no million dollars, no computer to read blogs – that’s where. :::sadness:::
Picturing your beloved with Miss Jay’s afro right now and practically dying.
[chuckling] Loving the Million Bucks Game! And I would love to have B-cups. Chicks who can only wear tiny sports bras are not generally considered surxy. But I can run without injury, so I got THAT goin’ for me…
But the Million Bucks Game took me to a strange place: The part in “Kingpin” where Chris What’s-His-Name offers Woody Harrelson a mil to sleep with Randy Quaid. It flashed before I could even stop it. And then I was all awash with Bill Murray’s comb-over and *POOF!* Gone.
Marisa — Yeah, you know, nobody can legitimately say that Jesus wasn’t fun at parties. He had some mad skillz.
I remember seeing Howie Mandel years ago, back when he had hair. He was damn funny. He seems less funny to me now.
MM — Well, obviously, you’re both whores. ๐ And the What is Wrong with Your Mother game always seems like it might be fun when, in acutality, it is a minefield of domestic doom.
NF — Miz Jay’s afro is seriously bugging me. I can’t decide which I hate more — the ever-growing ruffle he used to wear or this season’s burgeoning ‘fro. I don’t understand his purpose. And I don’t mean the purpose of the ruff or the ‘fro. No. I mean, I don’t understand his purpose. In life.
WG — But what about the pregnancy boobins?? You must be getting those. ๐
Yes and no: Yes, I’m getting them, but no, um, not up a cup-size yet — still straight A’s.
I’m enjoying shakin’ ’em in Tef’s face an’ all, but I’m a little sad because I know as soon as baby Bean gets here they’re pretty much history. *SIGH*
TMI? You asked… ๐