I take a stand for laughter and love

Some conversations stop me in my tracks. I had one of these conversations on Saturday. My mom called me to wish me a happy birthday. During our phone call, she asked me what I wanted the most over this next year.

A heritage of dunces

I got a card in the mail from my mom on Friday, which frankly, scared the bejesus out of me. Just the sight of her purposefully illegible handwriting – it’s her homemade identify-theft protection – makes me break into a cold sweat. But then I remembered she doesn’t send rage mail via Hallmark, so I was safe. For Friday.

The safe word is “post-coital”

Today I have the supremely enjoyable task of picking up Tom’s semen analysis from the doctor. I figure it’s going to be way easier than when I had to take the actual sperm into the lab for the test, though. I remember it was during the winter and the lab told me to get it there within 30 minutes and to keep the sample at body temperature. What the fuck? All I was thinking was wouldn’t it be easier at that point if they just took it out of me? I mean, you don’t exactly want to be RUSHING while driving with a cup full of sperm under your ARMPIT. It was pretty much the most awkward sperm-related experience I had ever had, and I’ll be honest with you, I’ve had that stuff in my HAIR.

Total Pimp

My dad casually announced at the dinner table last night that he had picked up the recent issue of Women’s Day magazine for his flight to Oregon. OMG. I barely swallowed my mouthful of wine before asking him if this was a ploy to start conversations with pretty ladies on the plane. My dad loves talking to pretty ladies, and yes, that’s what he refers to them as. Could be worse. He could be saying “hot chicks with nice racks” and then I’d need to vomit.