Separation

Lindsay: The reason we’ve been slacking on posting stuff up here is because Jesse and I haven’t been around. Apparently, everything hilarious that happens in the house is a direct result of us, because nothing cool has happened since we’ve been gone. (Or Sara is just too lazy to keep track of it, which is equally as likely). We’re house-sitting for a co-worker of Jesse’s in Snohomish, and having our own house with just the two of us (plus an extra dog and cat who have both run away but come back on separate occasions… so we’re the worst house-sitters ever) has been nothing short of phenomenal. We have a bed – a fucking BED! For some of you, that is a given…and fuck you guys who don’t understand how awesome it is to have the privilege to sleep on a comfortable bed.

So we’re not sure how everyone else at the compound is doing, but it sounds like it’s been pretty quiet. But for us, it’s been great, so we really don’t care.

Sara: Yeah. Mostly just laziness. I’d try to play cool and pretend like we’ve been too busy having mind-blowing adventures with Mr. Tumnus in Narnia and shit…but who am I kidding?

So Lindsay and Jesse left…some amount of time ago. It could have been two weeks, a month, seven years…I don’t know. I don’t believe in days anymore. The point is: they left to stay in someone else’s house for a month.

I should really finish my morning coffee before writing these.

Anyways. Initially, Mom, Dad, and I were absolutely ecstatic to have less people inhabiting the compound, even temporarily. It meant that I didn’t have to concede the TV to Jesse so he could subject himself to a slow, painful, pointless death (read: watch baseball). It meant that I didn’t have to share my wardrobe with Lindsay. It meant that I could let my room get as messy as I want, and have another empty room to expand into when necessary.

There was one factor I didn’t anticipate: Dad. Mom and I relax at the end of the day similarly; we get alcohol of some form in our system and avoid interacting with people. Being a social human being stresses me out over the course of the day, and without at least an hour to myself, I become an absolutely terrible person.

Yes. I know. I’m an old, cantankerous lady. Let’s stop chuckling, pretend we’re mature, and move on, shall we?

Dad doesn't de-stress in this way. He’s an extrovert in every sense of the word. He unwinds with good conversation. And with two less people to hang out with at the end of the day, who do you think he’s turning to for that conversation?

Me. Never mind the fact that we work in the same office all day, or that his wife is in the next room, OR that I’m in the middle of aligning my chi with my spirit guide, Lemon, when he decides to step in front of the television and strike up a conversation. No. Each day after work he proceeds to talk my face off while I try to find my happy place where no one tries to talk to me while I eat string cheese and get drunk. Oh, and it doesn’t matter if I’m in the kitchen or in my room sitting on the Internet...he’ll find me to tell me that he thinks what’s-her-name’s post on Facebook is stupid.

It’s not his fault. Dad’s just bored. He got used to having people in all areas of the house at any given time for him to hang out with, and now he’s just got cranky versions of Mom and me. I try to remind myself of this whenever I start to fantasize about going full Kill Bill and poking him until his heart explodes.

So the moral of the story is…moving in with your parents after college will get you into a job faster than anything, if just to acquire the monetary ability to move as far away from them as you possibly can. And Lindsay and Jesse need to move back in. Quickly.

Oh. And drugs are bad, mkay?

We just got pwned.

Sara and Lindsay are huge Harry Potter dweebs. Sara more so (exemplified by the fact that she just signed up for Pottermore and giggled through her first hour of deliciously sweet browsing. What? You don’t know what Pottermore is? Fuck dude, Google it. Don’t you realize you’re on the Internet; a resource of almost unlimited information?), but they’re both totally qualified to serve as the head of the Harry Potter dork patrol.

Jesse, on the other hand, has never read the books or seen the movies. Don’t ask us why, we assume it’s because he’s a complete cultural desert. But he promised Lindsay that he would read them to their children since it could be a bonding moment for them. He’s refused to watch any of the movies because he wants to start fresh. Blah blah, Jesse’s sweet and probably going to be a good father and Lindsay’s all sorts of lucky…WE KNOW! Not the point.

Because we know that everyone reading has been following this blog regularly, we’re sure you remember that we planned to give Jesse another potentially hilarious HP trivia quiz this last weekend. We came up with a list of open-ended questions sure to stump a HP novice, but nothing particularly obscure.

Jesse got them all right. All of them. He knew what an Acromantula is, the fate of Norbert, why Sirius Black is a fugitive, AND why Gilderoy Lockhart is a total douche.

We suspected foul play. We did, after all, write all of the questions down beforehand. So we checked his internet history to see if he Googled the answers. He didn’t.

So after we sat there gaping like retarded fish for a few minutes, Jesse told us to look in his bag. We found The Goblet of Fire with a bookmark sticking out.

For the past three months, Jesse’s been reading the books in secret…which isn’t easy, considering how nosy Lindsay is. Why? Oh, we're so glad you asked. He’s been secretly reading them for three months just so he could ace a Harry Potter quiz and totally blow our minds. That, my friends, is serious dedication to some high quality pwnage. We ain’t even mad.


Some husbands go to strip clubs or watch lots of porn or lie so they can hang out with their buddies or go fishing. Jesse read books in secret so he could make his wife and sister look like assholes during Sunday dinner. 

Oh, and we guess Mom was totally in on it as well…meaning that she managed to keep her mouth shut. You wouldn't believe how excited she was to be involved in a joke for once. It was precious.

And now for something completely different; hilarious conversations from dinner!

Telling a story...

Dad: So your mother was pregnant with Sara and she asked me to go to the store because she needed tampons.

Lindsay:...while she was pregnant?...

Dad: Shit. Let me start over.


Mom: Sara, hand me that towel.

Sara: You’re a towel!

Mom: You’re a butthole!

Lindsay: You’re a dementor! (Trying to make fun of Jesse's dementor comments from last week which aren't as funny now because he totally knew what a fucking dementor was and was just pretending).

Mom: <While mixing a martini> If I keep drinking vodka I will be.


Dad: Hey! Look at me, I'm in junior high again! <snaps Lindsay's bra>
Lindsay: Did that make you feel younger or just like a creepy Dad?
Dad: Eh... a little bit of both. 


Mom: So...guess what horrible, terrible thing Sara did in OUR house last night?
Lindsay: Drop acid? 
Mom: No, worse. She had a boy spend the night in her bed with her. 
Lindsay: That's worse than dropping acid?
Sara: It was Luke.*
Jesse: Well he doesn't count!


* Luke is gayer than Lady Gaga riding a unicorn shitting rainbows.

When My Husband is Sick

There are Harry Potter references in here. Mind you, my (Lindsay) husband (Jesse) knows absolutely nothing about Harry Potter. He's never read the books or seen the movies and the only information he has about the stories are what he has heard from us and his students at school.

Right now, Jesse has a very mild cold. He will tell you he is knocking at death's door.

Jesse: I think I have a fever.
Me: Well then why are you taking Benadryl if you're sick? You should be taking a fever reducer like IBprofen.
Jesse: I don't know! It feels like Dementors are flying around my head!
(Jesse doesn't know what Dementors are other than they are bad. If you know what a Dementor is, you know what a gross exaggeration this statement is.)
Me: Oh yah? Dementors? How would you survive without me? You forget to eat, you take antihistamine allergy medicine when you have a cold...
Jesse: I don't know! Someone probably would have just taken me out back and shot me by now.

Later, when the subject of his ex-girlfriend came up.
Jesse: Yah, she was lame. SHE is a Dementor.
Me: Somehow I doubt that.
Jesse: Well...they sound mean, so there.

Jesse: You know, I was feeling good today. I was working next door and I was doing fine...
Me: It's funny how as soon as I show up, you start feeling TERRIBLE, but when I'm not around, you somehow feel just fine when there is no one to complain to or act sick around.
Jesse: Stooooop! I said I was feeling, a little bit better earlier.
Me: No, you said you were feeling good.
Jesse: You're like a Dementor.

Later this week, we're going to have a very special post. Jesse is going to watch his very first Harry Potter movie, but before he does, we are going to give him a Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone trivia quiz. We did this when we were all 4 beers deep at the Diamond Knot Brewery and the results were all kinds of hilarious. So, we're going to do it again and actually write everything down.

Bowyer Family Talent

We Bowyers like to think of ourselves as contributing members of society. We pay our taxes, recycle, and volunteer months of our time to organize a youth soccer tournament for the community. We’re kind of like Jesus, except we can’t turn water into wine. Which is pretty disappointing.

But most of all, we know how to party. Whether it's a family vacation to Sun Lakes, a New Year’s party at our house, or an infamous Jam Session, we love to have a good time. When our parents threw Lindsay a party for graduating college, Dad got enough beer to put an elephant on its ass.

Lindsay: Dad, you got a lot of beer.

Dad: I know! This party is going to be off. The. HOOK!

Lindsay: Yes, but there are going to be kids here. Little kids.

Dad: So?

Lindsay: Well what are they going to drink?

Dad: I got a couple of packs of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. 

One time, at Sara's 7th or 8th birthday party, Dad was wearing a shirt that said "I'll give up beer when I give up breathing." Lindsay pointed out that maybe that shirt wasn't the best choice for a little kid's birthday party, so instead of changing his shirt, he just turned it inside out. 

 

Even Grandma can hold her own. Though she usually sticks to wine nowadays, that woman could throw back a shot of vodka and be ready for another while you were still cringing in anticipation.

Grandma: You’re lucky you’re drinking beer and I’m drinking wine.

Sara: Why is that?

Grandma: If it was vodka, I’d be drinking you under the table.

This last weekend, we had a jam at our friend’s house up the street. For those who have never been to a Bowyer jam session, it consists of us attempting to play music with our Uncle Mark on guitar, but everyone else is drinking so they think we sound awesome regardless. But on this particular occasion, we put a lot of time and effort into producing a quality show for the guests. For the last month we practiced in the kitchen a few times a week while Dad gave us insightful feedback such as “Bazinga!” or “That song was titties!”

Dad: That was TITTIES!

Sara: Dad, can you refer to our songs as something other than titties?

Dad: Why? Who doesn't love titties?! Why do you think I am attracted to your mother?

Sara: Wow, Dad. That is something I never needed to think about. Ever.

We tried as hard as we could to be professional while performing. Sara even refrained from saying anything profane over the microphone, which is a fucking miracle. But, inevitably, Lindsay made up for Sara’s lack of vulgarity. Lindsay does a lot of the singing in our little band (we're really reluctant to call it a band because that signifies a certain level of talent/competence/committment/pressure), but she doesn't play an instrument like everyone else. She plays the tambourine sometimes when the song calls for it. 

During a particular song, Lindsay took a break from singing and played the tambourine in one of Sara's songs. She looked up and noticed her Grandmother giving her a thumbs up, hitting the person next to her in the arm, and pointing and laughing at Lindsay. 

Lindsay at the end of the song into the microphone: I'd just like everyone to take note of the fact that my 90 year old Grandmother is making fun of me for playing the tambourine. 

Grandma: <still laughing>

Lindsay: You know, support services are an important component of all properly functioning groups.

Grandma: <laughs more>

Lindsay: <flips her Grandma off>

Grandma: <continues laughing>

At the end of the night, we walked home along with some friends from the party who were crashing at our house rather than trying to drive home. Good work, friends. Responsible partying is the best kind of partying.

Soon we decided we hadn’t gotten into enough shenanigans for the night, so we ran over to our neighbor’s yard and went on their zipline a few times. We tried to be quiet, but I’m sure you can imagine how quiet a group of drunken young adults trespassing in order to play on a device designed for young children could possibly be. (Sorry Scott and Jill!)

What? Our neighbors told us we could use the zipline when we wanted! And besides, we all stepped in dog crap anyways so…karma got to us in the end.

The Father's Day Post

It’s the blog’s Father’s Day edition!!!

Yes, we know that most holiday-themed things come before the holiday in question, but we ran out of fucks to give. Our apologies.

We thought the best way to honor and respect our father was to share his words of wisdom with the world. His parenting has taught us many important life lessons (not including things like class, grace, or femininity) and we are forever grateful to him for that. For example, here was his take on the true meaning of Father’s Day a couple years ago, when all 3 women in the household were ganging up and teasing him, and he got pissed at us.

“It’s Father’s Day, which means I have total and complete pussy control up in this bitch!”

Both of our parents were extremely involved in our lives when we were younger. Whether it was taking us to a soccer game at 8 a.m. in the pouring rain, attending our choir concerts, or just helping us with homework, mom and dad were all over it. Dad even coached both of our soccer teams, teaching us how to use our width to outrun the other team and to knock other players over without getting penalized. Over the combined 15 years, he became notorious for his sayings, such as:

 “You’re aiming for the big metal thing with the net. Can’t miss it.”

"Ok...who did I  miss...oh, I almost forgot about you. You're playing left-out. Ha!" 

“How’d they miss you for that World Cup, ref?”

“Who am I missing? Forwards? Hell, we’re so good we don’t need them.”

“Woooeee! Smell that cow manure! We’s gonna beat up on some farm girls today!”

“I’m sick of all this whining. I’m coaching boys next year.”

“They’re running through us like grain through a goose.”

"I'm the all knowing Ayatollah, so you will play whatever position I tell you to play."

“Let’s go out there and beat them like red-headed step children.”

“We sucked so hard there was a breeze in China.”

Dad is a complete troll*. When Sara was 6 years old, he told her that he and mom didn’t want her when she was born, so they put an ad for her in the newspaper. Only when no one else wanted her did they decide to keep her. Oh, and he didn’t bother to tell her it was a joke until she was old enough to figure that out for herself (okay, so I figured that out last year. So what? I bet there’s plenty of common sense shit that you don’t know).

Or there’s his Sunday morning routine. Mom wakes up early to make everyone a nice breakfast…and then dad walks into the kitchen. 

Dad: Hey, are you whipping something up for breakfast? Do you want to go on a walk today? Are you okay?

Mom: I’m fine, why do you ask?

*five minutes later*

Dad: What's wrong? Why are you so cranky?

Mom: I’m not cranky Brock. I’m fine.

*after Lindsay walks in *

Dad: Lindsay, don’t talk to your mother. She’s in a foul mood.

Lindsay: Why?

Mom: I’m not in a bad mood. I’m perfectly fine.

*right before mom actually serves the food*

Dad: Let’s see if your mother can calm down enough to not break the cabinets off the hinges when she slams them shut.

Mom: YOU KNOW WHAT BROCK? FUCK YOU! YOU ARE THE REASON I’M UPSET, YOU ASSHOLE!

Dad: Jeez, I told you she was cranky, didn’t I? Your mother’s just a total mental case sometimes…

But all of his oddities and trolling aside, we do love our dad. He’s always been supportive, loving, and encouraging, and we’d like to thank him for everything he’s done. You’re a great father, Dad; so great that we might just consider keeping you around for a bit longer.

*For those of you who are lucky enough to not have discovered the Internet by now, a troll is someone who deliberately pisses you off just to laugh at your anger and frustration. They’re also known as common assholes.

Bona Fide Occupational Hazards

Dad and I (Sara) work together.

…

Go ahead. Take a moment to mull that one over. Really consider the implications of that statement. I willingly work alongside the man who constantly asks me if I’m a lesbian and eats popcorn out of the trash. In a professional environment. 40 hours a week. To answer your question: no, I am not a masochist. Nor am I trying to muster up the courage to commit suicide.

Well, I suppose technically we don’t work together. He works on the enterprise team and I’m on the federal team. But his office is just a stone’s throw away from my cubicle. And even with his office door closed, that notorious Bowyer voice can still be heard by the majority of the office.

I wonder if we could get a patent on our vocal chords?

Anyways, this situation has made me witness to all of dad’s ridiculousness, whether it happens at home or on the job. For instance, a few weeks ago he was checking his voicemail in the morning.

Cisco 7941 IP Phone: Please enter your PIN, followed by the pound key.

Dad: Fuck. You.

It’s fairly common to hear dad make a phone call to McGonagall*, his supporting inside sales rep. With his door open, he dials her on speakerphone and they proceed to discuss whatever he’s called her about. Except McGonagall’s office is one door away from Dad’s, so everyone can hear the conversation as well as the echo from their phones.

Sara: You both know that instead of making a call, you could just talk, right?

McGonagall: Mind your own business, Junior**.

Dad: Yeah, Sawa. Get back to work.

Another day, my boss and I were sitting in dad’s office, discussing my future financial plans.

Lupin: So when you buy a condo, are you going to live alone or get a roommate?

Sara: I’ll get at least one roommate. I’ve already got one person in mind.

Lupin: Have you talked about it with her already?

Sara: Yes…but it’s a he. A gay he, though, so there’s not much of a difference.

Dad: I swear, she’s got more gay friends than straight. I’m a little concerned.

Sara: Why is that concerning?

Dad: Well eventually it’s going to rub off on you. I’m pretty sure it already has.

One Friday, at about 4:30, I was sitting in my cubicle trying to keep myself busy until 5:00, when my day ends. The company’s president walked by and gave me permission to knock off early. Later that evening I made the rookie mistake of telling dad…

Dad: Dumbledore told you that you could leave early?

Sara: Yep! I guess that means I’m doing well, right?

Dad: I don’t know why, but he seems to like you.

Sara: Maybe it’s because I do a good job?

Dad: No, that can’t be it…

Sara: I’m pretty sure that’s the reason.

Dad: Quit being snotty, I’m trying to think.

*I’ve used Harry Potter characters in place of actual people’s names…not sure why. I guess there could be some sort of liability issue, but I doubt it. I just really want to believe that I work at Hogwarts.

**This is the nickname everyone at work has decided on for me. It’s a combination of me being new AND the daughter of an outside sales rep. I do not condone its use, and as a result I strongly identify with Rabbit from Super Troopers. If you don’t get that reference, watch the movie. You’ll thank me later. 

You Would Bang 20-Something Joseph Stalin, Too

Saturday morning, grandma was complaining about feeling faint. Mom took her to the hospital, and she was released later that afternoon. The rest of us were fairly anxious until we heard she was all right and on her way home. She may be teeny and 90, but she's a tough old broad. Sara, being a very politically correct and sensitive young lady, brought it up Sunday night over dinner.


Sara: So...you’re still here, grandma!

Grandma: Am I?

Dad: Duh, Fran. You’re eating our food.

Grandma: Oh, right. I guess you just can’t get rid of me.

Mom: Watch what you say, because Sara will put this all up on the blog later.

Dad: Just like the elderly abuse.

Grandma: But I am abused!

Mom: I just made you Chicken Parmesan!

Grandma: Eh…it’s all right.

The other day at work, I (Lindsay) found this article* on the internet that had pictures of famous people depicting them in ways that don't generally come to mind when you think of them. 

I showed the family this picture of a 20-something Joseph Stalin**, and they were as surprised as I was by his handsomeness. 

Lindsay: Look at him! He's beautiful!

Jesse: WOW. Look at that scruffy, masculine beard and that full head of wavy hair. And those dark, brown eyes. I'd do him.

Lindsay: Are you done...? 

That's right. My husband told me he would bang one of the world's most notorious and evil dictators.  

Other reactions to this photo: 

Sara: Holy. Fucking. Shit. Young Stalin could do whatever the hell he wanted to me. Even if I knew what would happen when he rose to power.

Mom: He kind of looks a little like one of the Property Brothers. The one that does construction...and he was a biscuit.

Sara: Aren't they twins?

Mom: Yeah, but they don't look exactly the same.

Lindsay: I'm sure Joseph Stalin would have loved to be compared to some douche on HGTV.

* The word "article," is being used loosely, referring to information that any jack-off can figure out how to post on the internet.
**In case you for some inexcusable reason don't know who this guy is (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Stalin)...shame on you.