The Bowyers Learn How To Use Caps Lock

Last week, Mom went back to work for the first time since her hand surgery. We know this because once again we’ve been getting random E-mails with links to news articles and one television is constantly reserved for Fox News turned all the way up to 11 each night.

I (Sara) would just like to point out that even though I’m the one who apparently bothers everyone else with E-mails all day, I receive a rather high number of fairly pointless E-mails myself. What’s that joke about the kettle and the pot again?

Anyways, here’s a meditation from our Mother about the usage of caps lock:

Mom: http://thehill.com/blogs/twitter-room/other-news/244765-romney-campaign-calls-out-obama-for-spelling-ohio-wrong

Sara: The world is really unfair, isn’t it?

Mom: No, the media are biased

Sara: Ooooh, and I’m sure it’s just an overwhelming liberal bias, keeping those poor unappreciated and disadvantaged conservatives down!

Mom:

Sara: Very mature.

I DON’T WANT TO BE AT WORK I JUST WANT TO GO TO PULLMAN AND BE DRINKING.

Mom:

Sara: I wrote a poem about going to Pullman. That's how checked out I am.

Mom: ARE YOU GOING THIS WEEKEND?

Sara: Are you trying to be funny?

Mom: NO, DID I MISS SOMETHING?

Sara: …yes. Yes you did. Dad and Lindsay know. How did you not?

Mom: SAME WAY YOU MISS THINGS ALL THE TIME, SO TELL ME

Sara: I’m leaving tomorrow night to go to Pullman for Margo’s 21^st birthday. Natty’s going with me. We were talking about it last night!

Mom: NOT IN FRONT OF ME. HOW LONG WILL YOU BE GONE?

Sara: Okay you can chill with all the caps…til Sunday.

Mom: CAPS ON BECAUSE ENTERING IN CAPS ON SPREADSHEET. TOO LAZY TO TAKE CAP LOCK OFF

Sara: Good god mother. It’s like you WANT us to post all of your ridiculous shenanigans on the blog.

Mom: How is typing in caps fodder for blog? You are pretty desperate for material. Maybe your family is more normal than you think.

Sara:

Because this is what everyone sees in their head when you do it.

Mom: What a whiner

Sara: OH MY GOD MOM YOU CAN’T JUST GO AROUND CALLING PEOPLE WHINERS IT’S NOT POLITE AND IT MAKES PEOPLE FEEL LIKE POOP.

See what I mean?

Mom: You are poop.

Later, Mom continued to harass Dad with her capital letters.

Dad: I did not sleep well, my neck is killing me..

Mom: GO TO THE DOCTOR, BUT STOP WHINING TO ME. I HAVE MY OWN PAIN ISSUES, THANK YOU*

Dad: This is the level of care and concern I get from my wife...

By the time Lindsay started E-mailing Sara demanding entertainment, Sara had decided to take Mom’s affinity for caps lock and put it to use.

Lindsay: I saw this on a pink sticky note in the kitchen at work the other day.
"Eat as many cherry's as you like! They're delicious!" (there was a bag of communal cherries)

- and then below that someone added on:

"You mean cherries?"
LOLZ

Sara: Grammar Nazis everywhere!

Lindsay: The chicken breasts you cook make me sad and so I'm going to start giving you recipes for them so you can stop eating boring, gray chicken.

Sara: Dude…the fuck…my chicken breasts aren’t that bad…

Lindsay: They're not bad. But they're sad.

Sara: YOU’RE SAD. WHAT THE FUCK DUDE, ALL I DO IS LIVE MY LIFE AND MAKE SOME GODDAMN CHICKEN. WHAT IF I LIKE IT GREY? WHAT IF I JUST DON’T HAVE THE ENERGY OR TIME TO PUT INTO A BIG FANCY RECIPE?? I’M TIRED AS ALL FUCK WHEN I GET HOME. JESUS JUMPED UP FUCKING CHRIST, DID I ASK YOU TO JUDGE MY CHICKEN?? DID I ASK YOU FOR A MORE EXCITING ALTERNATIVE? NO. FUCK NO. YOU KNOW WHAT, YOU CAN TAKE YOUR “FUN” CHICKEN AND SHOVE IT RIGHT UP YOUR FUCKING ASSHOLE, WHILE I KEEP EATING MY POOR NEGLECTED GREY CHICKEN. FUCK OFF.

Lindsay: Angry Sara is angry.

Sara: I get very maternal about my chicken.

Lindsay: I was just trying to improve the quality of your life by being a caring sister.

Sara: GODDAMNIT I WANT TO BE DRUNK NOW.

*These issues will be addressed further in the next guest post, courtesy of The House Dragon.

"No Stabbing Anyone Until After I Have My Guests Over"

Lindsay and Sara can sometimes get a little…violent. We are sisters, after all. And as such, we couldn't have gotten through childhood without a few attempts at sibling homicide. Like the time Lindsay rolled the car window up on Sara’s neck.* Or when she chased Sara into oncoming traffic.** Or when she choked a 3-year-old Sara.***

…The murder attempts appear to be pretty one-sided, don’t they?

Well I (Sara) subconsciously decided it was time for some good old fashioned revenge last night. I was chopping cucumbers for a salad while Lindsay was sautéing, when Lindsay attempted to poke me in the side, as she is wont to do. I swung out to block her, completely forgetting that I had a six inch knife in my fist.

It’s worth noting that had this gone differently, we probably wouldn’t be laughing about it or posting it in the blog.  Well…we might wait a bit longer to post it at least. You know, after we confirmed Lindsay was going to live and her stab wound healed.

<Edit by Lindsay> Thank god for Sara's lack of motor coordination, otherwise you would be stuck with her memories of our childhood. 
<Edit by Sara> For the last time, I wasn't ACTUALLY trying to stab you. In this case, my awesome motor skills saved your life, you paranoid, nitpicky old bat! Maybe you shouldn't harass me while I'm wielding cutlery?>

Lindsay: You almost just stabbed me! Like, legitimately!

Sara: Fuck! That was close!

Lindsay: Mom, did you see Sara almost FUCKING stab me?

Mom: What?

Jesse: Dude, that was actually kind of scary.

Mom: You can’t stab her today. Wait until tomorrow.

Sara: Why?

Mom: I’m having work friends over tomorrow afternoon. No stabbing anyone until after I have my guests over.

Lindsay: MOM!

Mom: What?

Lindsay: You care more about your work party than whether or not I get stabbed?!

*silence*

Lindsay: MOM!

Mom: What? I’m doing my puzzle, leave me alone.

<Edits by Lindsay>
* The car window had already been rolled up. The car was turned off so Sara couldn't roll the window down to yell at us some asinine piece of trivia that popped into her head (She was like a cross between a 6 year old Hermione Granger and Sheldon Cooper). So she squeezed her head out the small crack in the window and got stuck. I just happened to be standing there.
 ** Sara was, like, 3 years old and ran into the street in our neighborhood in front of a car. Luckily I was there to yell for Mom (which would have been totally useless if the driver hadn't seen Sara anyways).
*** Do not remember this. Although one time I pushed Sara because she was annoying me like all little sisters do, and she fell and bit through her tongue. I was in big trouble for that one.

I'm a Force of Nature!

One day, Sara was wearing a (adorable - addition by Sara) George Takei t-shirt and Dad asked about it and then they got into a discussion about his sexuality (George Takei's, not Dad's).

Dad: He's gay?! He was on the USS Enterprise on Star Trek!
Sara: Yeah.
Dad: Well I would have looked at Star Trek differently if I had known there were a bunch of homosexuals flying around in space. I mean, our tax dollars pay for that.
Sara: What?
Dad: Being on the Enterprise must have been so much more fun than I thought. Some of the best bars I've been to are gay bars.
Lindsay: What are you talking about?
Sara: You're an idiot.
Dad: I'm a force of nature!
Sara:...so is a fart.
(Do not try to make sense of this conversation. Unfortunately, quite a few of our daily conversations resemble word salads conversations you would expect between a disorganized schizophrenic and someone with dementia.)

Later, Sara was telling Dad about her friend's boyfriend who is of multiple ethnicities and speaks more than one language. Here is Dad's incredibly articulate response.
Dad: Wow! So he's, like, multicultural and shit.

At another point in the night, Dad was trying to describe the width of his shoulders.
Dad: I've got like 54 inch shoulders.
Lindsay: Dad, I think our TV is 54 inches.
Mom: There is no way you have 54 inch shoulders. They would go out to here <gestures how big they would be>
Dad: Yeah! they go all the way out to there!
Mom: Your bullshit meter goes all the way out to there.

On Sunday, Lindsay and Mom made bloody mary mix from scratch (no, you cannot have the recipe, fuck off). Two of Lindsay's friends came over that afternoon to lay in the sun and they all tried the bloody marys, which were out-of-this-fucking-world-delicious. Jesse had been in Portland that day. Even if Jesse had been in town on Sunday, he still wouldn't have been invited, because Lanae, Suzanne, and I were busy pretending we were Real Housewives or on Sex and the City (or whoever else just sits around and drinks all day). This is what he had to say when he asked me about how the bloody marys turned out.

Jesse: Well thanks for inviting me!
Lindsay: Do you have a vagina?
Jesse: Obviously not!
Sara (half paying attention, being a troll): Lenslay, you're a rapist.
Lindsay:...a what?
Sara: Oh, rapist? I meant to say racist.
Lindsay: That still doesn't work.
Jesse: I like bloody marys too, you know.

Emails From Sara While She Is "Working": Episode 2 - Junior's Revenge

Sara went out last night with her friend, Haley, who’s visiting Seattle for a couple of days from WSU. She informed Mom and Dad of this plan earlier that day. The details of what transpired with the oh-so-rambunctiously fun Haley aren't important, but Sara’s feeling pretty slow at work at the moment. Slow enough, apparently, to type in third person. What a tool-kit.

At 8:30 AM, Sara got a call from Mom.

Mom: Where are you?

Sara: …at work. Where are you?

Mom: Oh. What did you do last night?

Sara: I went out with Haley. Do you not remember me telling you about this?

Mom: Oh, I guess you did say something about that. You didn’t answer my call last night, so I assumed you were hooking up with some guy*.

Sara:...so you decided to call and check up on that?

Mom: Were you?

Sara: Was I what?

Mom: Doing the nasty with a boy?

Sara: Oh for the love of god…NO!

Mom: Are you sure?

Sara: I cannot believe we are having this conversation right now. It’s too early for me to deal with this.

Mom: I just wanted to make sure you had fun!

*She was assuming Sara was battening down the hatches.(Click on the link if you're confused by the nautical zinger)

After being harassed about her sex life by her mother, Sara decided it was time to touch base with Lindsay via E-mail:

8:42 AM

I forgot an undershirt and you can totally see my bra through my blouse. And I’ve been walking around with my pants mostly and very visibly unbuttoned for a good half an hour. I am such a clusterfuck. I don’t know how I get through life in one piece. I am legitimately baffled.

9:51 AM

Flip flop flippity boop!

The little flap of skin on my thumb came off. I can’t tell if it’s more gross now or less. But I fully intend on showing it to a statistically significant sample size to find out. I want results I can RELY on, damnit!

9:54 AM

Never will I ever get tired of almonds.

Going to lunch today sounds like fun.

To infinity, and beyond!

Give me something to do.

You know, I think I prefer briefs to boxers. In some cases. On men of course. Not on me.

Up yours, you judgmental butthole!

TROLOLOLLLOLOLOLLLLLOLOOOOOLLOLOOOOL

(Lindsay didn’t get this. I hope SOMEONE reading does and shames her appropriately.)
<Addition by Lindsay> Why the fuck is it called a rickroll? I've included a Wikipedia reference for certain people (read: my husband) who aren't hip to the internetz. I at least know what Reddit is. 
<Addition by Sara> Because the song's by Rick Astley, numbnuts.

10:08 AM

Why didn’t you reply to me on Facebook? Or to any of these emails? Do you not love me anymore????????

My head kind of hurts. I wonder if I have a tumor. I guess that would explain a lot.

Ouch.

Poking the spot that hurts was not the best idea.

I have a total fast food craving right now. I just want McDonalds in and around my mouf.

IN and AROUND! Do you HEAR ME???

My nails are kind of gross. I think I need to take a shower. Or a bath. A bath sounds better.

When and why do you think people starting using rubber duckies? They don’t serve any purpose other than bobbing there like some pretentious bathtub nymph.

“Oooooh, look at me. I’m yellow and buoyant!”

Fuck you, rubber duckie.

I guess that will forever be one of life’s greatest mysteries.

Maybe I’ll solve it and win a Nobel Prize?

Do you think rubber duckie research is a category?

Fuck it. I’ll make it one.

First I’ve got to somehow get control of whatever organization makes decisions about the Nobel Prize.

Hmmmm…

Finally, after more than 2 hours of heartbreak and nail-biting while waiting for a scrap of validation from the only sister Sara has ever had, Lindsay replied:

Lindsay: Wow. So the Pathfinder tune-up is going to end up being around $1500. Looks like I’m selling my body this weekend.

Sara: Ouch. That sucks. Well, hike your boobs up, slip on some heels, and find a corner.

Lindsay: I don’t understand anything you are saying to me.

Sara: I was encouraging you to get ready to sell yourself.

Lindsay: I thought you were telling me to get dressed up and pee in a corner.

Who Bought The Steel Reserve?

As you all can tell, since we’ve been neglecting this blog like an illegitimate child, our lives have been fairly unremarkable since Lindsay and Jesse were out doing their own thing. So before we tell you all about how the compound has filled up again, here’s a quick recap of what’s happened in the last month:

• Lindsay and Jesse bought a house.
• Mom had hand surgery (Though she had to wait a week, since her doctor was hung over and throwing her guts up the first time they tried).
• Sara cleaned her room (Trust us. This is a big deal).
• Dad shot a bunch of arrows.
• We redecorated the living room.
• Managed the gather 6 of the Dragon Balls. 
• Disregarded females and acquired currency.

About a week ago, Dad’s mom, Dolores, a.k.a Grandma D, came into town for a visit. She lives in Arizona with her ancient pug/pig, Mr. Bigglesworth, where she spends most of her time pwning bitches at golf, kicking ass, and taking names.

Since Lindsay and Jesse moved back on Friday, our lives have once again returned to a clusterfuck of profanity, booze, and delicious food. Okay. That may be an exaggeration. But considering how wasted everyone got Saturday night for no other reason than “hey look, another beer! I haven’t had one of those in five minutes. Better throw it down the hatch,” it’s not too far off base.

You might be thinking that since Grandma D’s been in town, we’ve dialed down the drinking a bit. After all, grandmothers are frail little creatures, right?

Wrong.

The other day, Lindsay was perusing the fridge for something delicious, when a sixer of Steel Reserve tall boys caught her eye.

Lindsay: Who bought the Steel Reserve?

Grandma D: They're for me.

Lindsay: You drink Steel Reserve?!

Grandma D: Yeah. It's a hell of a lot better than that Bud Light crap my son always drinks.

Uhhhh...touche, I guess.

It’s worth noting that Lindsay wasn’t surprised that Grandma D was drinking hardcore malt liquor because it’s alcoholic…she was surprised because normally Grandma D’s drink of choice is scotch on the rocks. But whatever she’s drinking, it’s a fair bet that she’s going to make you look and feel like a pussy while she does it. She might as well walk around the house double fisting a glass of Scoresby's scotch and a tall boy of Steel Reserve just so everyone knows who the real badass is. I bet Dolores could bully a Hell's Angel for his lunch money.

But Grandma D isn’t the only grandma in town who can get a bit saucy. Here’s a conversation regarding Grandma F:

Mom: Well my mother was a renaissance woman. Instead of getting married and settling down, she travelled across the country sleeping in strange men’s houses.*
Lindsay: And with them. Bazinga!
Sara: Ha! What’s up?! <high fives Lindsay>
Dad: For sure. Fran was totally a freak.
Sara: You just had to make it weird, didn’t you?
*Fran actually did this in her mid 20's with her best friend. They quit their jobs and drove from Connecticut to California because they were bored with life.

Sunday, Sara went to the Sounders game with an old "friend" (quotations added by Lindsay) on leave from the Navy, Sean. She thought she had gotten away with doing so without much harassment, until last night that is…

Lindsay: So, you and Sean, huh? Did you hit that?

Sara: No. I don't think the people sitting around us at the game would have appreciated that.

Jesse: Liar! You know what they say about those Navy guys.

Lindsay: All hands on deck!

Jesse: Hoist the mast!

Lindsay: Salute your captain!

Jesse: Load the big guns!

Sara: You both can kiss my ass.

Lindsay: Swab the poop deck!
<Lindsay and Jesse high five>