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>

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.