The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘Weekly Wacko’

Weekly Wacko (28)

So, A Bear and a Kid Walk Into a Bar

When I was in kindergarten, first and second grades my family lived in Alaska. This provided us with a lot of unique memories, and one of them came on a particular camping trip.

Before you were allowed to find your site and get set up, you had to stop by a park ranger type area to do some things. In at least one of these information/check-in areas, they had a TV on with a video playing about ‘bear safety,’ among other things. What do you do if you run into a bear, especially a female brown bear with kids? Find religion. The videos had some other suggestions, but I think my suggestion is as good as any.

When we went camping it was a lot of fun. The cold weather in the mornings, sleeping on the ground, the constant thought of bears – I loved it. I loved it so much that I opted to sleep in the car.

I actually did really enjoy camping. But I’m nobody’s fool (a car is far more comfortable).

One night, located in my luxurious backseat of Margerie the Mini-Van (other Stanley family cars have been Nancy the Volvo and Yoda the Toyota), I realized I needed to use the bathroom. I tried to see if I could hold off, but no, I couldn’t.

I snuck out of the car and closed the door as quietly as possible.

I started sneaking toward my parents tent – not wanting to wake up everyone, just my Mother (who else would I expect to be my personal bathroom expedition leader?).

Finally I made it to my parents tent, where my Mom was inside.

She was awake.

Completely awake.

Very alert.

And pretty sure that the smartest bear ever was slowly unzipping the flap for the tent she and my father were in.

Man I love camping!

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Weekly Wacko (27)

Punch-Me-in-the-Face-Adorable

When I was in high school I often played with neighborhood kids (it was actually a neighbor mom’s mother who made me realize why – she was asking about my favorite neighborhood growing up and I said Alaska, because even though I was only K – 2nd grade when we lived there, even the ‘big kids’ (ie high school) played sports and stuff with my friends and I. She pointed out that I was now the big kid. Very perceptive and obvious, and it made me feel pretty good to carry on something I thought was so amazing).

One of the kids was a little girl in elementary school. She had apparently developed a crush on me – I would guess it’s because I was a senior in high school, a boy, played with the neighborhood kids, and tall (it was more fun that way when I picked up kids and spun them around or such).

One day she was running around the neighborhood and she decided to come around. She rang the doorbell and I answered. She had, watch out for the oozing amounts of adorable, brought over a juice box for herself and I.

We went outside and drank juice (substitute wine and add forty years and that’s the kind of scene). It was getting dark out so I told her I’d walk her home.

She wanted a piggy back ride so I obliged. Walking across the circular field in the middle of the neighborhood she admitted to me very plainly, “I wish I was a teenager so we could date.”

I mean, come on. I challenge you to out-cute that.

One day, her younger brother walked up to my house as I was sitting outside. It was my senior year of high school. The weather was perfect, and so I walked outside and laid down on the driveway, watching the clouds roll by. The young stud walked up, said “hi” (he was maybe four at the time?) and sat down beside me. He looked over, then laid down like me. Looked over again, so I had my arms behind my head – using them like a pillow, and mimicked that.

I felt like the coolest older brother ever. It’s no wonder I’m a huge fan of that family.

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Weekly Wacko (26)

Talkin’ Bout That BoomBoom, Pierre

I felt bad because I posted a lovely little story about the sister and I yesterday, and I’ve got nothing on the bro-in-law, Pierre.

Well, except for that so-stupid-I-love-it joke: that he’s my brotha-in-law, because he’s a black dude (clearly I love this joke because I’m using it twice).

I haven’t known Pierre for very long, and I haven’t spent much time with him (I only see him when I go home, or when he and E$ come to visit).

BUT – here are a few Pierre moments.

*

When I visit home (home meaning the Phoenix area, so I can see my immediate family and relatives) I usually sleep at my parents house a few times, and my sister’s house. One day I stayed at E$ and Pierre’s.

I think it was a weekend day, so we were taking our time getting dressed and ready for the day.

I was sitting in the family room and Pierre began walking downstairs. He was yelling about something or other (possibly, though I doubt it, ‘where’s my pants?’). He came off the stairway and was wearing a nice t-shirt and boxer-briefs. Yowzers.

I gave him a look and he realized it was probably ‘too soon’ for me to see him roaming around in boxer-briefs (I brought this memory up last time I was home and he remembered it, and told me that yes, he realized too late that was ‘too soon’). In his defense he was going to the dryer or spare closet to get pants.

*

My mom, dad, E$ and Pierre and I (plus the dog!) were at our family cabin in Northern Arizona one weekend. It was summertime and that’s a favorite escape – leave the desert and head north.

Before dinner I suggested that Pierre, Erin and I only respond to my mother in rhyme. Meaning whatever she says, the last word of what she said had to rhyme with the last word of what we said.

Awesome.

I pretty much immediately forgot about this gem of an idea (as I tend to do with ‘gems’ like this one) but Pierre had not.

We sat down to eat and my mom made some comment.

Pierre responded, then gave me a look. I thought it over and … wait a minute! … YES! … Pierre rhymed it!

My mom said another thing and I rhyme-answered. This was good.

At that point (maybe Pierre got one more in) E$ intervened with a dirty look for both of us. The game stopped. It was probably for the best as I was doing a bad job keeping a straight face and my mom would’ve figure it out sooner rather than later.

*

One day I got a call from Pierre, which is rare (that rhymes!). About one or two rings in, the call ended. I happened to have my phone on me and was about to answer when the call stopped.

All right, I thought. No biggie.

Shortly after that I got another call from Pierre. This time I answered before he hung up.

“Hey Brad,” Pierre greeted me in that musical voice of his. He went on to explain that he was trying to call his friend Brian but had accidentally called me. He hung up, then felt bad, and so he called back to explain all this.

I pretty much just laughed at him during the explanation.

*

I’m not sure why we found this very funny and worth repeating so often, but Pierre said “it’s made of jewelry” about some item (which was apparently made of jewelry). At the time I think E$ and I had no idea what he was talking about, so ‘it’s made of jewelry’ became a go-to phrase for everything and anything.

*

Lastly, Pierre is a Haitian fella, and a guy who digs good causes, so he and a cousin of his have been working hard to put this together. Check it out, eh mon ami? (If I knew Creole, I’d write some Creole at this point.)

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