Zing, part deux

Summer is sucking my soul. Luckily my kids are still amusing me. Here are some more zings for your enjoyment.

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At dinner last night:

#4: Daddy! Daddy! I want to go surfing!

CC: Get a job. Buy a surfboard.

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Speaking of surfing. . .

#5: You know that movie Soul Surfer, where the girl gets her arm eaten by a shark?

#2: Yeah?

#5: How does that girl put on a bra?

Clearly, he’s folded way too much of his sisters’ laundry than can possibly be healthy.

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#3: I kind of have a photographical memory.

#2: If that were true, you’d know it wasn’t photographical.

#3: Wait, what?

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#5, on having to sit in the back seat on a cold winter day while #4 got the front seat and the accompanying seat warmer: This car doesn’t care at all about the butts of the people sitting in the back seat.

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#4, on tutoring: Getting taught one-on-one is better, because there’s no one there to steal your thunder.

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My kids are all picky eaters. #5 hates, hates fish. Sadly for him, I cook a lot of it. When #4 was taking guitar lessons, I would often bring #5 with me, and we would hit the grocery store for dinner while #4 was in her lesson.

One day I had a different idea. Right next to the grocery store is a Carvel’s ice cream store. I thought it would be cool to sneak him an ice cream cone without anyone else there. I pulled into the parking lot and turned the car off.

Me: C’mon, buddy, let’s go ruin your dinner!

#5: Aw, does that mean we’re having fish again?

ice_cream_cone-2230 — image from free-extras.com

What’s your favorite way to ruin your dinner?

Second Cousins and Redheaded Stepmothers

Okay, I’m not redheaded. I’m an enhanced blond. But “enhanced blond” didn’t have the same rhythm to it.

I’m thinking about words today. More precisely, the right words. One of my favorite Mark Twain quotes is, “Use the right word, not its second cousin.”

I love expanding my vocabulary, but I totally suck at crossword puzzles and have a hard time remembering exactly what it was that caused me to walk into the kitchen and open the pantry door. New words slip out of memory like a greased weasel if I don’t use them repeatedly to an annoying level.

I think that’s why I love made-up words so much. Here are a few:

Franzenfreude: frustration with literary critics’ apparent preference for works by white male authors, such as Jonathan Franzen.

Sheening: to behave like Charlie Sheen.

Caranoid: Paranoid, but correct.

Gargonzola: the cheese that is simply too hard to carve and too ugly to eat.

Lately I’ve been thinking to myself, in regards to certain situations, there ought to be a word for that! If I’ve learned anything during my short time blogging, it is that there are some fantastically witty people lurking about. I’d love to see your take on words for any of the following definitions:

The drips of condensation from apartment window air conditioning units that land on you as you walk on the city sidewalks under them.
The act of scalding someone in the shower because you flushed the toilet.
The attempt of a child to answer a question without moving his lips, in erroneous belief that if his lips don’t move, he won’t get in trouble, no matter what he says.
The lure of the silent late night hours that keep you up way past when you should be sleeping, simply because no one is bothering you.

If you don’t have a word for one of these, tell me, what’s your favorite made-up word?

This sandwich will change your life.

#5 was complaining of a tummy ache this afternoon. He also had a boo-boo, but he wasn’t complaining about that, because he had this:

A bacon bandaid, sent to him by loyal reader and fan of #5, my friend Genny. As we all know, bacon makes everything better. It’s a logical choice for a bandaid. We have found the bacon bandaids to be more effective on boo-boos than kisses.

CC set him on the couch and brought him a glass of water and went back to making lunch.

That? Oh, that’s fifteen pounds of bacon. Minus lunch already in progress.

(If you’re lucky enough to live near an Original Pancake House, you may be interested to know that you can now buy their bacon by the case for four dollars per pound. Around here, that’s way cheap for bacon, and it’s damn tasty.)

#5: (yells from the couch) I smell bacon!

CC: You are correct. Would you like a piece?

#5: BACON!!!!

CC: What about your tummy ache?

#5: BACON!!!! BACON!!!!

CC: Have you eaten anything today?

#5: Um, no.

CC: Anything at all?

#5: No.

CC: Remember yesterday when I told you that you were going to starve to death playing video games because you wouldn’t stop to eat anything?

#5: Yes.

CC: That’s what’s happening right now.

#5: Oh.

CC: That’s why you have a tummy ache.

#5: Oh. (waits quietly for a minute) So. . . can I have some bacon?

CC’s plan was to make everyone BLT’s for lunch:

Isn’t it lovely? I saw a blurb on TV once about food photographers and all the creepy things they have to do to their food to make it photogenic. I think of that every time I see pretty food in advertising. It makes me want to take a shower. This here is undoctored bacon, folks.

CC asked #5 if he wanted a BLT.

#5: I don’t really like lettuce. I also don’t like tomatoes.

Of course you don’t.

I loves me a good BLT. But something else was speaking to my soul today:

Peanut Butter & Bacon. I make it a point to try to turn everyone that I meet on to the PB&B (unless they have a peanut allergy or don’t eat pork, in which case? More for me). Most people initially put up a lot of resistance. Those people are merely unenlightened, and as a PB&B disciple, it’s up to me to show them the path to true happiness and peace of mind.

CC: What about peanut butter and bacon?

#5: I don’t like peanut butter.

Me: Commie!

#5: (sticks tongue out at me)

CC: Stop that. Both of you. Here, eat your sandwich.