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Waiter: And our special tonight is a cut of wild boar, served with--
My Father: Wait, boar, like--what's his name, hangs out with the meerkat, tusks, with the song--
Me: You're thinking of Pumba.
Burro: What?
Burrito: Pumba, from the Lion King!
Burro: I thought he was an elephant.
My Mother: No, he was--an elephant? He was a boar, he was definitely a boar.
My Father: Right, so, are you serving Pumba? Is that what you're telling me?
Waiter: Uh, I don't think...it's specifically...Pumba...
My Father: Well, obviously, he is a cartoon character, don't be ridiculous.
Waiter ...
My Mother: I'm sorry about him.
Me: I think we're all sorry about him, really.
My Father: No, wait, you didn't answer my question, it's boar like Pumba, right?
Waiter: Uh. Yes?
My Father: Well, I can't eat that now that you've humanized it for me. I'd feel guilty. Do you have anything on the menu more Hakuna Matata friendly?
Waiter: I...recommend the trout?
Me: Seriously, we're really sorry, he's just like this.
My Father: Hey, but I bet I'm the first person to ask that question tonight, right?
Waiter: The first ever, sir. Rest assured.

ETA, via phonecall after false_alexis's comment:

Me: Dude, Pumba's a warthog.
My Father: SHIT, I WOULD HAVE ORDERED THE BOAR

I've switched my layout and my default icon again--even though the icon on this post isn't the default one, gdi--because ~I'm so changeable~ or whatever. But I'm pretty damn sure I'll be sticking with this layout for awhile; I've coveted it forever, but have been looking for the right background image to tweak it with. I've got some more tweaks to do (like figuring out how to make that bar at the bottom green instead of black, and actually how to get rid of a lot of the black because it's too harsh with the lighter background, ffffff), but, yes. New layout! Hooray.

You guys should really all just probably expect that my journal's going to look different every time you come back to the main page, but I swear to god I'm going to try to commit to this one, ugh.

The icon thing is because I discovered that tulabula exists, and actually bought myself an icon package in my sudden crazy need to have them all. And also because, as much as I loved those shoes, there's only so long you can look at the same pair of shoes before it starts to drive you mad, you know? Especially if they're a pair of shoes that you made into your icon because you DESPERATELY WANT THEM and then you looked everywhere and couldn't find a pair that was close enough and looking at the icon was just a bitter bitter reminder of the shoes you could not have...*cough* I mean, I'm not crazy. Um.

Moving on, I am actually here now to tell you the bijillipede story I mentioned the other day, which I don't think I've told y'all yet, because I'm taking a break from writing before my brain oozes out my ears it is amusing.

SO: my family makes up names for things that:

a) no one else on the planet need a name for
b) other people do need a name for, but somehow are without one anyway, or
c) already have names attached to them, but INFERIOR NAMES THAT DO NOT DO SAID THING JUSTICE.

The bijillipede thing falls into category C; a bijillipede is, in actual fact, a bug. And, to be honest with you, I don't know the real name of the bug--people around here call them silverfish, but the internet is showing me photos of an insect I don't mean when I google that, so I'm not sure. I tried to search for a picture to identify it, and then made terrible horrified faces at my computer at the results and had to stop, because "grey wall climbing bug legs" does not actually yield you very pretty results.

Suffice to say: a bijillipede is a long skinny silver-grey bug that scuttles along walls. It is so named because it has a bajillion legs.

I HATE THESE LITTLE FUCKERS, YOU GUYS. I HATE THEM MORE THAN BEES, I HATE THEM MORE THAN SPIDERS, I HATE THEM MORE THAN ANYTHING. Nothing should have that many legs, nothing, it is terrible, it is wrong, it fills me with a deep and arcane terror, and the way they move...their little bodies just...oh god, I can't even think about it, aughhhhh.

I hate them, and I also didn't know they weren't...actually called bijillipedes...until I was, I swear to god, sixteen years old and at a house party with my friends. Here's how that went (names of characters are in relation to what these folks were to me at the time, not what they are now):

Bijillipede: *Scuttles along wall*
Me: *Shrieks* (look, okay, I am normally tough, I am, I really am, BUT THESE LITTLE BASTARDS FREAK ME OUT)
Boyfriend: What? What is it? Are you okay?
Me: It's a BIJILLIPEDE!!
Entire Party: ...Sorry, what?
Me: That, right there! Don't you see it! The bijillipede.
Best Friend: Oh, we see it, alright.
Boyfriend: What did you call it?
Me: A bijillipede! That's what they're called!
Best Friend: Noooo, no it's not.
Me: Come on, yes it is. You know, because they've got...a bajillion...legs...oh god, bijillipede isn't a real word, is it.
Boyfriend: *Helpless laughter*
Best Friend: *Helpless laughter*
Entire Party: *Laughter that probably could have been helped*
Bijillipede: *Exits stage left*

My parents maintain that this incident is my fault; Burro and I (he went through the same experience shortly thereafter) maintain that it is theirs. "You knew bijillipede wasn't a real thing!" my father said, when I told him. "....didn't you?"

No, no, I didn't. So teach your children well, you guys, lest they embarrass themselves at parties.

Me: I had this incredibly bizarre dream last night where I was dating Andy Samberg's doppelganger--
My grandmother: Samberg, there's a nice Jewish name. You should ask this boy out! Better him then the goyim you're always bringing around.
Me: ...Andy Samberg is an actor on Saturday Night Live, Grandma.
My mother: She's kind of got a point though--no, I mean, date whoever you want, but Andy Samberg's got that New York Jew look, maybe you're attracted to that now! That'd be so nice for everyone.
My father: Says the convert.
Everyone: Hey!
My father: What? Oh, come on, don't look at me like that, I married her, I don't mean it as a bad thing. I'm just saying that you could meet a nice boy and turn him Jewish, that's all I meant.
Me: Oh my god, you guys, I'm not even dating anyone--what the hell is a "New York Jew look," Mom, do you have any idea how that--and that isn't even the weird part of the dream, how did this become--
My grandmother: We just want you to be happy, is that so wrong?
My grandfather: And a Jewish boy would make you happy.
My father: Okay, okay, let's not pile on. What was the weird part of the dream?
Me: Okay, so, this guy--who just looked like Andy Samberg, he wasn't actually Andy Samberg, and we were mostly "dating" by playing board games in his apartment--
My mother: What board games?
My father: How is that relevant?
Burrito: You didn't want to play a board game with me when you were babysitting last week!
Me: Little dude, Mario Party is not a board game, it's a video game, you'd been playing video games all day, I took you to a movie--
Burrito: I'm just saying.
My mother: Okay, sorry I asked, continue.
Me: Okay, no, so the weird part was that he was living in this college dorm, right, and he had this roommate he kept talking about who was never around, and then when I met him it was--
My grandfather: Rudy Giuliani?
Me: No--wait, Papa, why would it be--
My grandfather: Well, he shows up in my dreams a lot.
My father: Doing what?
My grandfather: Running for President, mostly.
My father: You have dreams about Rudy Giuliani running for President? He's a Republican! Don't tell me you're thinking about voting Republican again--
My grandfather: It's not an election year, I can think about voting for whoever I want--
My mother: Oh my god, okay, not going there. Who was Andy Samberg's roommate?
Me: Morgan Freeman.
My mother: No kidding?
Me: Yeah, he kicked my ass at Boggle like six times and then I woke up. This really didn't have to be that long of a story, you guys.
My father: You know what I think?
Me: I'm not sure I want to.
My father: I think--well, you know I think of Morgan Freeman as God--
Me: How many times do I have to tell you that you can't base a theological viewpoint on the movie Bruce Almighty--
My father: So I think that dream was God telling you to settle down with a nice Jewish boy.
My grandfather: I agree.
My grandmother: It's a sign.
My mother: Date whoever you want, sweetie. It would just be nice if he was Jewish, that's all we're saying.
My father: And try to make sure he likes sports this time. I never know what to talk to the artsy ones about.
Me: ....
Burrito: You gonna eat your hash browns?

HOW ARE THEY REAL, YOU GUYS, HOW IS THIS MY LIFE

Changed my layout and my default icon (SORRY CATHY I GOT REALLY SICK OF THAT RED HOUSE ALL THE FUCKING TIME DON'T HATE ME I KNOW IT IS CONFUSING BUT YOU WILL ADAPT SOMEHOW). Also changed my journal title for the first time since HAVING this journal, largely because... er, well. Because while "angelheaded hipsters" was and is one of my favorite Ginsbergian turns-of-phrase, I am not actually a hipster? At least not according the the current definition. I'd be more accurately described as "hippie," and I've wanted to screw around with my journal title for ages. It will probably change again shortly, once I scroll through the Inspiration Meme for the umpteenth time, but for right now it's a line from the e.e. cummings poem here's to opening and upward.

In other news, onthecount and I had a conversation last night about a Wizard of Oz AU and she...she drew DOROTHY COBB, oh, it is so glorious, and several other EQUALLY GLORIOUS THINGS (Tin Man Arthur! Scarecrow Eames! oh god really just click that link).

Furthermore, if anyone still needs proof that I am apparently Larry David, here is an actual conversation from the Chanukah brunch my family did this morning to make up for the one that got canceled due to blizzard:

My Aunt: Here, have some fruit.
My Father: Thanks.
My Aunt: Why aren't you taking any mango? Take some mango.
My Father: No, I don't like mango.
My Aunt: Of course you like mango. Everyone likes mango. Have you ever even tried mango?
My Father: Yes, I've tried it. I don't like it.
My Aunt: YES YOU DO, EVERYONE LIKES MANGO. EAT THE GODDAMN MANGO.
My Father: I DON'T LIKE MANGO.
My Aunt: You're probably mixing it up with something else. Where did you have it--in a smoothie? On a salad? Because you have to just try it plain to--
My Father: I've had it in smoothies and in salads and plain, I don't like it, I feel like I'm in Green Eggs & motherfucking Ham, I AM NOT EATING THE MANGO.
My Aunt: YOU MUST HAVE BEEN EATING SOMETHING ELSE, MANGO IS GOOD NO MATTER HOW YOU PREPARE IT.
My Father: The only time I've ever liked it was when I had some of those dried slices.
My Aunt: Oh. I don't like it like that.
Everyone: DSJFDSJFSDHJFKHDSFJKDSFHKDSJ.

Okay AND NOW I AM WRITING THINGS, BECAUSE I KNOW ALL I DO LATELY IS POST ABOUT HOW MY CRAZY FAMILY IS CRAZY, BUT IN MY DEFENSE...THEY ARE CRAZY. But my writing mojo is baaaaaaaaack, THERE WILL BE FIC OF SOME KIND BY THE END OF THE WEEKEND I SWEAR. My holiday_heist thinger went up yesterday but it was, let's be honest, largely an excuse to make it widely known that my people, the Jews, eat Chinese food on Christmas. BUT I COULD HAVE JUST LINKED YOU TO THIS VIDEO:



:DDD

ETA: OH ALSO, in an attempt to aid in the fake-naming of my brothers, I asked the 19 year old what he would pick as a superhero name. He considered deeply and then, dnfjsdfndsf oh my god, said MUTATION, and when I asked him why he said, very seriously, "Because it's a name of ambiguous morality. I could be caught in the epic internal struggle of good and evil! THINK OF HOW MANY COMIC BOOKS THAT WOULD SELL."

I reminded him that it was a theoretical exercise, but he would not be swayed. What even is my life.

DEAR EVERYONE:

I know there are several of you in need of a good laugh lately, and you are in luck, because after the afternoon I've had, I feel compelled to tell the tale of Possibly The Most Ridiculously Hilarious Thing My Family Has Ever Done. And it has some pretty steep competition--there was The Time We Convinced A Hapless Floridian Waiter We Were Drew Carey's Next Door Neighbors, and who could forget The Time My Father Paid Me Twenty Dollars To Take A Bite of a Raw Turnip In The Middle of The Grocery Store And Then Insist To Random Strangers That It Was The Best Apple I'd Ever Had, and then of course The Time My Then-Six-Year-Old Brother Introduced Himself To His New Camp Counselor As Kipper Millennium Von Trapp. But I honestly...I think this one takes the cake.

However, none of it will make any sense of you have not seen the "More Cowbell" SNL sketch. Also, if you have not seen the "More Cowbell" SNL sketch, YOU ARE MISSING OUT ON ONE OF LIFE'S GREATEST JOYS. Thus:


( I'VE GOT A FEVER, YOU GUYS, LET US DISCUSS THE CURE )

In conclusion, my family is crazy, awesome, and crazy awesome, and now I am off to take my very happy baby brother (who knows not of the cowbell sketch and is just thrilled to add to his drum set) to a delicious dinner :D