There's a jumble of handwriting on my hand with reminders of what to say in this blog post, but there's a few I feel I'll leave out, like my cousins treating me to birthday drinks, or how many cupcakes I ate. Not that interesting, really.
My cousin got married yesterday to his beautiful bride, and so now I have dozens of new cousins. Was chatting with one of the sons of the bride, and mentioned we are now cousins. As I walked away I heard his friend go
"Hey, you've got an american cousin now! Cool!"
Yes, honey, you do.
Met a lady who had taken a gap year for 18 months round southeast asia and then the oceanic countries. She spent six weeks in the boonies of australia cooking for rodeo guys and washing up. She told me this hilariously scary story about how in the mornings and evenings when it was dark she would go down to the canal/river to get water. Apparently you never go to the same spot twice, because the crocodiles in the canal will remember and be waiting. And then they would eat you.
Good motto for life. Gotta be mixing it up.
I got sung to by 300 people, which was very sweet. The whole evening I had people wishing me happy birthday. The funny thing about british accents is that I keep thinking they are faking it, and waiting for them to revert to their "real" accents.
Best story ever. So in my family runs a ginger-gene. Not a ginger-ish gene, but a flaming orange, knock you socks off ginger. I've got a two year old cousin who has this gift. Following convo.
Uncle: So what color is your shirt?
Cousin: Orange/owange (british lisp kid... yessss)
Uncle: What color is your hair?
Cousin: Ummmm, uhhhh, ginger?
Brainwashed from an early age.
Yesterday I had so many convos about why 19 was a good age to be. The best story was from the receptionist, who told me about how he had gone to Afghanistan for two months on the hippie trail, back before the Russians and Americans and the Taliban. He said it was the most beautiful place ever. I hope it goes back that way one day.
Went for a walk (british pronunciation) this morning and slipped on a boat dock. Huge butt bruise: sitting has never been this fun.
Had a profound (it felt pretty profound) thought last night. Education is similar to religion, in that in some religions you have an intermediary (such as a priest, or professor) who aids you in the attainment of whatever higher power you seek. In others it is a self-directed process, and thus the learning and spiritual power you find is found by yourself.
Elle me dit danse danse danse...
Showing posts with label drunk grandchildren. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drunk grandchildren. Show all posts
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
Busting a rib or two
Brace yourself, you may cry with laughter. Or maybe this is just my own brand of humor, but I busted a least one rib laughing over two of the stories I'm about to tell you.
But first, regular updates. After all, one takes the main meal before the dessert (and it is a whopper).
My swiss friend came from Tours for the weekend to visit before he goes to Bordeaux. He brought with him 99% chocolate which blew the roof of my mouth off. Apparently one needs to start with 75% and then 85% before progressing to what feels like pure cocoa... Oh wait... It is.
We also made jam and picked blackberries, hopped over farmer fences and generally got blonder and tanner. It was good to be blonde company, what with all these brunettes running around France. And fake blondes. All this dye cramps my natural style.
Swiss friend and I dabbled in a tango lesson on Sunday evening, but most of what I learned in that in the tango one must "fait la resistance." And the dude gets to choose which direction and what happens the whole time. It feels a little like a really romantic game of rugby. When we switched partners everytime it was difficult to adjust. This is partially because I am shorter than all the women who were there and not used to resisting quite that forcefully. I think I may prefer my salsa dancing for now. More room to move.
We also learned in our Island Paradises educational program that all the cows in Cuba are owned by the government and thusly you can only get a burger at a public restaurant. At least that's what I think they said.
And now for Les Grandes Histories
Story #1
So when my family was still staying chez Grandparents, my Granny bought a bunch of food and drinks for us, to suit our "American tastes." A particular drink, by the name of Passion Pattana, was Shporty's favorite, especially mixed with a bit of water, as it was very fruity. Flash forward a week when my swiss friend was staying with us. We are eating and generally enjoying the meal when he was offered some of said Passion drink. He then pointed out that it is 15% alcohol.
Which is more than beer and about the same as sherry.
<:-O
Granny's shocked reaction to her covert attempt at turning her 11 nearly 12 grandson into an alcoholic...
"I didn't have my glasses on."
She'd also tried to get the poor child to finish the bottle, encouraging him to "drink it all up."
Story #2
The next meal we heard that Grunkle had received a letter from his rather extravagant cousin. This cousin has been married more times than my very-good-at-counting-grandparents can remember. He frequently plans expensive parties on the bankroll of his current wife. So it is natural for him to think that he might need some help... And thus he sent a letter hereby appointing Sir Grunkle as his chief of staff.
We spent the rest of the day coming up with the appropriate way to refuse such an honor. And finding ways to poke fun at said Chief of Staff.
Me: You have some crumbs in your beard Grunkle.
Grunkle: Do I?
Granny: The chief of staff cannot be looking scruffy!
And so forth. I wish someone would appoint me their chief of staff, if only so I could write a pompous letter in return kindly refusing such a grand offer.
Please vote on the left whether he should take this job or not.
Life is more exciting when you live with your grandparents (or at least those like mine).
Nantes has been taken by storm.
I met my host family today, but under the Foster Secrecy Treaty enacted this morning I will refrain from taking the mickey out of them. Besides, they are WONDERFUL and FUN and WELCOMING. Honestly, there is not another family I would be more happy to live with in Nantes right now. I am very lucky and grateful to those who set it up!
I hope you found these stories as funny as I did.
But first, regular updates. After all, one takes the main meal before the dessert (and it is a whopper).
My swiss friend came from Tours for the weekend to visit before he goes to Bordeaux. He brought with him 99% chocolate which blew the roof of my mouth off. Apparently one needs to start with 75% and then 85% before progressing to what feels like pure cocoa... Oh wait... It is.
We also made jam and picked blackberries, hopped over farmer fences and generally got blonder and tanner. It was good to be blonde company, what with all these brunettes running around France. And fake blondes. All this dye cramps my natural style.
Swiss friend and I dabbled in a tango lesson on Sunday evening, but most of what I learned in that in the tango one must "fait la resistance." And the dude gets to choose which direction and what happens the whole time. It feels a little like a really romantic game of rugby. When we switched partners everytime it was difficult to adjust. This is partially because I am shorter than all the women who were there and not used to resisting quite that forcefully. I think I may prefer my salsa dancing for now. More room to move.
We also learned in our Island Paradises educational program that all the cows in Cuba are owned by the government and thusly you can only get a burger at a public restaurant. At least that's what I think they said.
And now for Les Grandes Histories
Story #1
So when my family was still staying chez Grandparents, my Granny bought a bunch of food and drinks for us, to suit our "American tastes." A particular drink, by the name of Passion Pattana, was Shporty's favorite, especially mixed with a bit of water, as it was very fruity. Flash forward a week when my swiss friend was staying with us. We are eating and generally enjoying the meal when he was offered some of said Passion drink. He then pointed out that it is 15% alcohol.
Which is more than beer and about the same as sherry.
<:-O
Granny's shocked reaction to her covert attempt at turning her 11 nearly 12 grandson into an alcoholic...
"I didn't have my glasses on."
She'd also tried to get the poor child to finish the bottle, encouraging him to "drink it all up."
Story #2
The next meal we heard that Grunkle had received a letter from his rather extravagant cousin. This cousin has been married more times than my very-good-at-counting-grandparents can remember. He frequently plans expensive parties on the bankroll of his current wife. So it is natural for him to think that he might need some help... And thus he sent a letter hereby appointing Sir Grunkle as his chief of staff.
We spent the rest of the day coming up with the appropriate way to refuse such an honor. And finding ways to poke fun at said Chief of Staff.
Me: You have some crumbs in your beard Grunkle.
Grunkle: Do I?
Granny: The chief of staff cannot be looking scruffy!
And so forth. I wish someone would appoint me their chief of staff, if only so I could write a pompous letter in return kindly refusing such a grand offer.
Please vote on the left whether he should take this job or not.
Life is more exciting when you live with your grandparents (or at least those like mine).
Nantes has been taken by storm.
I met my host family today, but under the Foster Secrecy Treaty enacted this morning I will refrain from taking the mickey out of them. Besides, they are WONDERFUL and FUN and WELCOMING. Honestly, there is not another family I would be more happy to live with in Nantes right now. I am very lucky and grateful to those who set it up!
I hope you found these stories as funny as I did.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)