Another Episode of:
My Mother Says...

My mother and I are talking and she is telling me that her friends' daughter is "loose".
We are talking about this and somehow we fall into the comparison between "sluts" and "whores"
My mother announces:
Mom: "Slats are vors den hoors"
Me: "Why?"
Mom: "Dey are bot bed an no good, bat at leazt da hoors, dey get da money. Ma anyvay, dey
all gonna hell, so hoo cares?
Vy yu alvays vanna takka about dis tings?
Me?

Example
Many years ago, I was working my way through college, bartending on weekends (much to my mother's chagrin).
One Saturday night after closing, I tripped over the brown bar that locks the beer fridges behind the bar. I was holding about 12 tulip glasses between my fingers in order to "rack" them over the bar.
When I fell forward, I put my hands forward in a natural reaction to break my fall.
It took over 3 hours in Emergency to stitch up my palms and I still have no feeling in the tip of my ring finger on my right hand.
Nevertheless....
I got home at approximately 4:30am, to find that the elevators in our apartment building weren't working. This may not sound like a big deal, but we lived on the twentieth floor.
I was nervous about walking up 20 flights of stairs by myself at 4:30am so,
I buzzed my mother on the intercom and told her that the elevators were not working and asked her to start walking down the west stairwell as I walked up and we'd meet somewhere in the middle.
Now, picture this:
I am wearing:

the obligatory black pants and white shirt and black tie of bartenders. Only my white shirt looks like a butcher's apron from the blood I splattered all over myself when I almost severed my hands.

Both of my hands are wrapped in gauze, so they resembled boxing gloves.

When I meet my mother (somewhere around the 15th floor), she takes one look at me, and says:

"Tanks Got it vazen't your face. You're not maarried yet."

Ya Know?

I have just spent the past 1/2 hour reading random blogs from the scrolling choices on the left hand side of the Blogger main page.
I must say....
There's a hell of a lot of uninteresting stuff out there.
Well, uninteresting to me, anyway.
Here are some of the kinds of things I've read about.
Some woman (young girl's) countdown to her wedding day.
Now, I know that this is endless enjoyment for her, but as far as I'm concerned, she should be stationed next a patient in an operating room somewhere in place of the anaesthetist.
I'm just a party pooper I guess.
I have never had those "princess" wedding fantasies and I don't really understand the women that do.
Just me.
I know it's just me because most other women don't believe me when I tell them.
Our parents weren't even at our ceremony.

A woman who is documenting every breathing moment of her pregnancy.
I guess it's because I'm not pregnant.

The hundreds of teenagers who like totally are giving props and shout outs to their peeps and are documenting school interactions.
I'm old.
It's another language, and I wouldn't go back to high school if you gave me money to do it.
Blah.
I totally agree with my homeySour Bob in his Open Letter to Blogdom.
So right.
Thanks again, Mark for finding this for us a while ago.
It's really worth "a read" (pretentious, yuppie urban phrase)

Let's Go Back in Time....Shall We?

circa 1970
Coming over the American border at Thousand Islands after a fishing trip with family members.
The following exchange transpired between my Uncle Velemir and a Customs Officer:

Customs Officer: "Did you purchase anything?"
Uncle Velemir: "No Perch, no Bass....No NOTHING!"