My Sister Rules Or, Let Me Tell You About My Better Half

My Sister: Oh my God! It’s Predator!
Mom and Paps: No, it’s not! That’s the Goddess Kali!

Yeah, I don’t think my sister’s wrong here. See?


Religion is fun, y’all!

I Will Never Be Cool Or, In Which I Make The Internet Hate Me

I spent entirely too much time watching this:

I knew it was Star Wars related but never having seen the movies (I. KNOW.), I had no clue what it was.

So, I texted my buddy who happens to be a pretty big Star Wars fan.

Me: Yo! Star Wars Fanboy! What is a Bantha?
X: Large furry elephant-like creatures found on your favorite planet.
Me: Hoth? Tattooine? That shitty planet with those little fucking teddy bears on it?
X: Ewoks live on Endor. That’s a moon, Jaime. Not a planet.

iPhone has a ‘derision’ feature.

Who knew?

Texting With Paps Or, I Would Rather Arm A Bear.

Paps has been sending me really weird text messages lately.

Well, weirder than usual.

He sent me the local weather report a couple of times and when I asked why he thought I would care that it was 80 degrees and rainy in West Palm, he responded with, “Just trying to make conversation…”

You know, like I’m some stranger on the bus.

I shouldn’t complain, though because compared to the utterly insane messages he sent to me today, I kinda miss the weather updates.

Paps: I’m going to get me a concealed weapons permit.
Me: Oh dear God. That is a terrible idea. A truly wretched notion. Why? Why?
Paps: Well, only if your mom lets me.
Me: Oh. I have a greater chance of being prima ballerina for the Moscow Ballet than you do of getting a gun.
Paps: Who said anything about owning a gun?
Me: Why the hell would you get a concealed weapons permit if you’re not planning on getting a gun?!
Paps: Just for target practice.
Me: That is a terrible idea. What would you even use for targets?
Paps: Idiot. You go to a police gun range. I know quite a few cops who would teach me.
Me: No. No. No. Veto. You are not allowed to carry a loaded firearm.

Look – the Second Amendment is an important part of the fabric of this country and I’m not trying to get lured into a debate about gun rights.

But, I don’t allow Paps to use the remote control when I’m at home. Oh, what? It’s a complicated device and he watches just really terrible things sometimes and OH MY GOD, what is the point of having HD if you don’t use it!?

So listen up gun aficionados of South Florida:

If a smaller version of Erik Estrada tries to purchase, borrow or use a loaded firearm in your presence — wrestle him down to the ground, grab his phone and use it to call his child.

I’ll be listed under: “Mouthy Jerk Kid Who Yells At Me All The Time.”

Million Dollar Idea: Please Stop. Please, Please Stop Doing That.

My relationship with Dana can be summed up in seven words: Shit, piss….

Wrong words.

Those are the seven words you can’t say on television.

The seven words that crystallize our friendship are: “I’ll do it if you do it.”

This applies to pretty much anything from ordering the cheese plate to public dance lessons to creative endeavors.

As a result of this,  not only am I lucky enough to have an amazing friendship with someone I love and respect, but I also have a partner for my next million dollar idea. Allow me to present it to you via the magic of the actual conversation we had today:

Me: I have this awesome idea that is going to make us MILLIONS of dollars. I debuted it to Biffle last night and once he stopped hating his life because I’m in it, I think he decided to be on board.

Dana: What is it?

Me: So, I can’t dance for shit, right? Like, I am a legit awful, terrible dancer. But that doesn’t matter because we’re gonna start a strip club.

[Calm down. It’s not what you think]

But before you can get in to the club itself, you have to walk through the foyer. And that’s where I’ll be – dancing away, totally un-rhythmically to music that no-one should ever dance to – like the Day-O  song.

“Oh, what’s that? You wanna get in to see the smoking hot girls we have in our club? You’re gonna have to pay me to stop dancing.”

I’m like Gandalf — “YOU. SHALL. NOT. PASS…Unless you give me $20 to stop flailing around like a muppet having a seizure.”

[I really do. There’s a lot of flailing and uncoordinated movements and surprised face happening. Elaine Benes dances better than I do. Seriously. I look like this:]

Dana: I can help with the bad dancing.

[See? Already. My girl is there for me]

Dana: My favorite move is the pelvic thrust.

Me: YES! Do you make grunting noises?

Dana: Yes.

Me: “Ughhhh….”

[This noise is especially attractive when I make it in person]

Dana: I’m also very handsy.

Me: Jazz hands and spirit fingers!

Dana: Yes!

Me: I was dancing last night on Skype with Biffle and he literally looked like someone was serving him a shit pie. Like, “Why? Which God did I anger to have this happen in my life? Please stop doing that….”

Dana: Hahaha. If I drink a little bit, I can move better. It looks less like a seizure. We can be the lobby dancers in the strip club. It’s like a step lower than the weekday-afternoon crew.

[Weekday. Afternoon. Crew. I just wanted to point that out because it’s hilarious and so true. Oh, what? I’ve seen Showgirls on VH1. I know how this works]

Me: Yeah, I’m gonna be fully clothed while doing this. Thus making the experience EVEN WORSE for all those watching – “Why is she doing that while wearing a parka?”

Dana: YEAH! I’m gonna wear like, rain boots or something. Galoshes. There’s nothing less sexy than galoshes.

Me: YES! Best usage of the term ‘galoshes’ ever! No make-up, hair up in a greasy bun, spaghetti stain on my cardigan. So hot, dude. So hot.

I think this could be a big success. Especially considering most of our Google+ conversations usually end up with us looking like this:

I was going to post a video of my dancing just to prove how truly awful I am but yeah…I still have some tiny semblance of dignity and knowing my luck, it would become a thing, so instead — I decided to throw a little happiness out into the world. Well, for straight women and gay men, anyway.

Ladies and gentlemen – Channing Tatum dancing to Ginuwine’s The Pony in Magic Mike.

I KNOW, DUDES. I KNOW. Yeah. You’re welcome.

Happy Father’s Day 2012

“You need to be nicer to your dad.”

I hear this all the time from people who don’t really know Paps. Primarily because a majority of my stories about him involve me yelling at him.

For example: yesterday, we got into an argument about classic rock. I’m talking about how I prefer the Stones to the Beatles and he asks if I like David Bowie:

Me: Oh yeah. Bowie’s cool.
Paps: You know his real name isn’t David Bowie, right?
Me: Yeah. It’s David Jones. He changed it because he didn’t want to be conflated with Davey Jones from The Monkees.
Paps: He named himself after the knife.
Me: Yeah. A Bowie knife. I know.
Paps: He did it to impress Mick Jagger. Jagger…dagger.
Me: No, he didn’t!
Paps: Yes, he did, Jemmy.
Me (physically biting off the words in anger): No, Paps. He. Didn’t.
Paps: Jemmy! I used to read music magazines in the 1970’s. I would know!
Me: Paps! I read music BOOKS NOW! I would know!

These are the stories people hear and as a result, they wind up wanting to buy Paps a pint and thinking I’m a jerk who needs to stop yelling at her father.

Fair play. I’m the one telling the stories. I have no problem painting myself as the mustache-twirling villain in these scenarios and honestly, they’re a lot more interesting and a lot less glurgey than the way I really feel about the guy.

However since it’s Father’s Day and I’m over a thousand miles away, I figure a little glurge wouldn’t be a bad idea.

I don’t look anything like this anymore. Like, 15% of me has a very genuine concern that this isn’t really me at all.

Paps is my hero and I am so damn proud to be my father’s daughter – dark-skinned, bullheaded, schmoozy and loud. I just hope I’ve inherited his other traits too. His loyalty, his generosity, his kindness and his selfless devotion to the people he loves. I have never met a man who does more for his family than Paps and I am so damn lucky to be his kid.

So, to my hero on Father’s Day – I hope you have a wonderful one and I really wish I was at home with you. This is the one day you get to be better than Superman, so live it up. Because tomorrow — Man of Steel’s back on top again.

I love you, Paps.

Your foul-mouthed, nakami oldest kid xx