Happy Fucking New Year!

For the holidays Sara’s tiny little studio apartment played host to seven different people for different amounts of time and various reasons. It was a bit hectic to say the least. Mom and Dad’s house seemed small with seven people, so I’m sure you can imagine how claustrophobic a 500 sq. ft. studio where the only door is to the bathroom can be. At any rate, now I have my apartment back to myself and all of my friends are going back to school or leaving on world adventures…and…*sniff*…I promise I’m not crying it’s just allergies GOSH!

Lindsay and Jesse stayed in Auburn for New Year's Eve (where apparently fireworks are legal in their neighbor hood OR the police don't give a shit - either way it's awesome). They went out to dinner where Lindsay got crazy after a couple non-alcoholic beers. The main reason they stayed in the South End is because they got Lego Batman 2 for their Xbox for Christmas. Seriously, you guys. It's awesome.

For New Year's Eve, Sara and her little entourage (at that point in time Hoff, Connor, Kelly, and Luke) decided to go home to the parentals’ place for a party instead of going out in the city and throwing all of their money away on being cold/crowded/generally immersed in chaos. It was quiet, but there was enough ridiculousness to keep everyone happy and entertained.

Like when Luke tried to light a bottle rocket out of his hands, didn’t let go, and deafened his left ear when it blew the fuck up right next to his goddamn face.

Hang on. I’m still trying to stop laughing about it.

…

Whoo. Okay. I’m back.

So at one point, Connor was helping prepare a party game for later. It’s the one where you put a famous name on your back and other people give you hints until you guess who it is. You know, the one they played in Inglourious Basterds before Michael Fassbender and friends shot the everloving shit out of all the drunken Nazis/themselves? Anyways, Connor was suggesting some other celebrities that could possibly be used in the game.

Connor: George Clooney…Lady Gaga…Olivia Newton John…

Dad: Is Olivia Newton John big in the gay community?*

Hoff: You mean ONJ? If you don’t know ONJ, then you’re a bad gay.

Dad: Really? So she’s big like Cher?

Connor: Oh not at all. No one’s bigger with the gays than Cher.

* All of my dude friends present were gay. This was relevant, Dad wasn’t just randomly speculating.

Later, after I had begun taking notes for this very blog you see in front of you, Natasha (who had stopped by to wish us all a Happy New Year) wrote about her contribution in very curvy handwriting, which Dad then attempted to read…

Natasha: “Natasha would like to be included in the blog but has nothing relevant to say about anything. Narwhal. Bloop. Dr. Who. Angels. Wristwatch. Matt Damon. – That is all.”

Dad: What the hell kind of pornographic shit is this? “Natasha got laid by some big butt…”

At one point Dad was trying to remember the name of a song that was playing…and failing miserably. Mom gave him a confidence boost to help jog his memory:

Mom: You have a memory like a frog’s dick. It’s really good, but REALLY short.

I have no fucking clue what that means. All I know is that someone needs to keep Mom away from frogs.

After the New Year hit and Mom and Dad’s friends went home, we decided to teach them both how to play King’s Cup. We changed a few of the rules (such as 5 fingers. Like hell I’m playing the game where you list all of the ridiculously inappropriate things you’ve done with my parents), but kept the important ones, like making a rule. My rule was that you had to say some form of “fuck” in every sentence. Here’s a sampling of some of the resulting conversations:

Dad: Are you going to pick up a fucking card?

Sara: Hoff, why the fuck are you so fucking ridiculous all of the fucking time?

Hoff: Why are you such a fucking bitch?

Connor: Fuck you bitches.

Mom: I hate all of you.

Sara: Mom you need to fucking say fuck.

Mom: Fine. I hate all of you whores FUCK!

Luke: I can’t fucking handle this shit.

Connor: (whispered in Mom’s ear when a seven was drawn, meaning you need to point your finger to the ceiling and yell “heaven!” before the last person) Put your fucking hand in the fucking air.

Dad: (after flicking his lighter open for no goddamn reason whatsoever) Don’t stop! Believing! Fucking Journey was the SHIT!

Kelly: Happy fucking New Year!

Indeed, Kelly. From the Bowyers to you, happy fucking New Year! May you stick to all of your resolutions and, when that doesn’t work, have a fantastic 2013!

A Very Appley Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve, we stuffed ourselves with lobster and booze while Lindsay watched everyone drinking their beer/wine longingly. Mom wore a Christmas sweater while Jesse and Dad forgot about the zipper on their pants after about their 2nd trip to pee. They button, they just forget to zip. After dinner, we decided to play a game of Apples to Apples, which is generally not a disappointing game at the Bowyer household. Apples to Apples, for those who may not be familiar with it, is a game where one person draws a card with an adjective on it, and everyone else has to submit a person, place, or thing (Sara: I believe the word you're thinking of is "noun") they think best matches the adjective, and then the person who drew the card decides.

At our house, it's pretty typical for the most offensive card to win. For example, one year the adjective was "boisterous," and the card that won was "Helen Keller." Who played that fantastic card, you ask? Grandma, of course. She's also come up with pairs like "Alfred Hitchcock" for "cuddly" and "Adolf Hitler" for "charming."

Throughout the entire game, after the winning card was picked and everyone had to draw a new card, Dad would say, "Oh! I've got the perfect card!" Or, "I needed this one for the last round!" Basically every single new card he picked up was a "perfect" match for the previous round.
Dad also took to justifying every single card that was submitted as a match for the adjective card, even if it wasn't his card.

Adjective: Old
Two of the submitted cards were "Saturn" and "Flipper."
Dad: Saturn's old!
(It wasn't his card)
Jesse: Flipper. I don't think anyone understood Flipper.

Adjective: Naive
One of the submitted cards was "shark"
Dad: Dude! Sharks are totally naive.
Lindsay: Dad, sharks are prehistoric, highly-skilled killing machines that also happen to be masters of evolution.
Dad: Totally! They're so naive that they just kill indiscriminately. They naively want to kill everything. They're naive in the fact that they think they have to kill anything they see.
(It wasn't his card)
Sara: I say we throw you to the sharks and test out that ridiculous hypothesis.


Adjective: Charistmatic
Dad: Where's the Brock card?
One of the submitted cards was "pond scum"
Dad: Pond scum is SUPER charismatic!
Another card gets picked.
Dad: You should have picked mine!
Lindsay: What was it?
Dad: I don't remember

Adjective: Creative
One of the submitted cards was "Canadians"
Dad: Canadians are super creative! They're the most creative people on Earth!
(Not his card)

At one point, someone submitted the card "nuclear power plants" and Dad picked up the card and said "nuclear power pants...what are those?"

Adjective: Bright
Someone selected "chorus girls"
Lindsay: "Slutty" would work!
Sara (almost high fives Lindsay then stops):...We were chorus girls
Lindsay: I know!
Sara: ...<high fives Lindsay anyways>

Adjective: Annoying
Mom: Where's the Brock card?

Lindsay had brought some cookies from the bakery on the bottom floor of her building where she works for dessert. There were more than enough cookies for everyone, but she had to spend every spare second fighting Mom off because she was sitting next to Lindsay and kept trying to sneak pieces of her cookie instead of, you know, just getting her own.

Lindsay: Mom! Get your own fucking cookie!
Mom: No. Quit being a bitch and just give me like, half.
Lindsay: Fuck off! Get your own cookie and break it in half!
Mom: Is there a bitchy card? Because Lindsay should get that one. Let's hope your baby is more like Jesse.

It's also worth noting that in situations like this, Jesse willingly throws Lindsay under the bus if it means he gets praised or shown favoritism over her.

At the end of the game, everyone began to split up. Sara started texting someone furiously, Dad went to find some war show on TV so he could fall asleep in his chair and then wake up and go "Hey, I'm watching that!" when you try to change the channel, and Jesse and Mom grabbed more booze.

Grandma: Well, I'm going up
(To her house)
Lindsay: What? That's it?
Grandma: Yah. Dinner's over. Game's over. Is someone going to do card tricks? Dance? Sing?
Lindsay: Sara, invite some of your gay boyfriends over and play some Cher so they can sing and dance to entertain Grandma.
Sara: <death glare>

Virtual Dinner With The Bowyers

As many of you now know. Sara, Lindsay, Jesse, and Tucker moved out. We're grown-ups for reals now. Not really.

This has, obviously, significantly decreased the frequency of hilarious everyday conversations we have. However, in recent days, we have taken to emailing each other at once in one single email thread, and not surprisingly, some funny shit has been said/written. Except Jesse. He has a sooper important job being a teacher and he actually has to work at work, so he doesn't have down time to check his email.

Here is a smattering of emails from this week.


Sara: Has anyone else realized that we’ve just shifted our conversations from in-person to virtual?

Mom:  That’s because you never visit!

 

Sara: I didn’t come home this last weekend because I had a weepy friend to take care of. Your guilt trip has no effect on me!


Lindsay: I noticed this the other day. Our blog is going to have to become "Emailing with the Bowyers."

Mom: That is a great idea, actually.  Especially with how much Sara complains, you will have tons and tons and tons of stuff.

Sara: I DO NOT COMPLAIN THAT MUCH! You are a terrible mother.
So my building is showing the lotr* trilogy on xmas in the theater. So…sorry about not coming to Xmas in advance…
*For all you non-members of the Dork Patrol, lotr stands for Lord of The Rings. Example 1 of Sara being the President of Dork Patrol. 

Mom:  What are you saying about Xmas?

Lindsay: Sara is going to spend Xmas watching the Lord of The Rings Trilogy showing at her apartments with a bunch of dweebs instead of hanging out with us.

Mom: I was thinking one less lobster to buy. 
*It's Christmas Eve tradition at our house to fly-in Maine lobsters for dinner. 

Lindsay: HAHA! I'll eat Sara's lobster.

Sara: WHAT? This was supposed to be a joke because I thought it was a given that I would come home for xmas! Da fuq, family? I’m having people over for xmas eve morning! Do you want me to come over on xmas eve instead? Or just not at all?

I want a new family.

Lindsay: Mom thought you were saying you weren't coming over Xmas Eve. And she wasn't expecting you to hang out ALL day on Xmas anyways. She didn't get it.  

Sara: YOU DON’T GET IT

And don’t you touch my fuckin’ lobstah

A little while later... 

Lindsay: DUDE DUDE DOOOD. We just witnessed D&D or WoW themed wedding photos being taken outside. So bad. But so awesome. 

Sara: OH MY GAWD THAT’S AWESOME! I’m reading the thread on reddit about people that have actually seen someone object at a wedding.
Did you get any pictures for yourself?

Dad: What are D &D or WoW Weddings?

Lindsay: Dad, D&D stands for Dungeons and Dragons, and WoW stands for World of Warcraft. D&D started out as a magic card game I think, and now it is one of those fantasy online games. World of Warcraft is a fantasy online game. They were both chubby, really frumpy, and dressed like medieval fairies. It was hilarious. 

Sara*: Dad should know what D&D is. And for the record they’re both role-playing games…one that’s dice-based, and one that’s a massive multiplayer online RPG (MMO RPG).

Duh.
*President of the dork patrol, Example 2

The next day, Sara made fun of Lindsay and Jesse for living near all the hillbillies


Mom: The temp has dropped 9 degrees since the AM and is expected to continue to drop as this cold front moves in.  Hopefully, the cold front will keep the precipitation down.  Could be a  non event, but sounds like a fire night to me

Lindsay: We would love to make a fire, but we don't have any firewood. Maybe we'll act like city-slickers and just go buy some wood at the store.

Sara: You can’t monitor the height of the river and then go buy the wood at the store.
Get your shit together. Don’t be a walking contradiction.

Jeez.

Lindsay: Damnit you're right

Dad: Monitor the height of the River? ??

Sara: The Green River. Lindsay’s noticed when it goes up and down like a true hick.

Mom: Sara!  Lindsay is not a hick.  On a better note, I ordered lobsters today.


THEN, Mom made the mistake of making fun of our lack of blog posts

Dad (in response to me informing them I was attending Jesse's staff Xmas party and he STILL hadn't told anyone he worked with that he's having a baby): It would be really hilarious to have someone ask you if your pregnant and say: No, Why do you ask?

Sara: Best idea. You must do it now.

Mom: Only you would think that is funny, Brock

Dad:  On the contrary, Sara thinks it is Hilarious.. 

Mom: Then Sara needs to work on her sense of humor. You spend too much time with your father.

Sara: False. The blog is hilarious and I make people laugh all the time.

Mom: What blog?  That is yesterday’s news

Sara: Luke and Ila already make fun of me for sounding too much like dad. And don’t get all comfortable just because we’re not updating the blog as often.

Mom:  What blog?

Lindsay: Good joke, Mom. NOT.

Mom: __________ posts way more often than you hammerheads do
*We all know someone who has a blog, a terribly bad/hilarious blog, and we've left the name out to protect the innocent. 

Lindsay: I don't even feel like we need to explain why our blog is so much more awesome than____________'s blog.

Mom:  A blog would have to be written to be awesome.

Sara: Careful now. We could dedicate one to all of the ridiculous things you do.
Like your hair clip. And the hot house.
*If you've been to our house on a weeknight when our Mom is around, then you know what the hair clip is. The hot house is a reference to yet another time when Mom managed to fuck up a simple expression.

Mom:  You are still my daughter.

Sara: That isn’t going to stop us.

Mom:  I think it is you that ought to be careful

Sara: Why? Are you not going to buy me a lobster if we post something comical?

Mom: I have all kinds of cards I could play.  It would be foolish of me to show my hand.

Lindsay: I think Mom basically just declared war on us.

Sara: I think that war is indeed being declared.

Mom: That is below the belt and uncalled for.

Sara: You said last week that you wouldn’t buy me a lobster as a joke! Once again! Joking! THESE ARE ALL JOKES

Dad: I know…. I have to go to the store after work Kathy.

Mom: Why do I care?  I will be at a party

Sara: What did you have for breakfast? Fried eggs and snark?

Lindsay: WAR, mother. 
(Sara: In the original email, this GIF didn't work. I had to find the proper source for it so you all wouldn't be confused at Lindsay's complete lack of technical ability. You're welcome)

   












Mom:




Lindsay: Mom, I just Sparta'd your ass into a pit of darkness. Your crappy clip art tug-of-war is invalid. 
  
Sara: 

Coming Soon: Baby McClelland

Good gravy you people made it difficult to hide this for 3 months. Jesse and I will be welcoming our very own offspring into the world in June. See?

Now you've also seen my ovaries and the inside of my uterus.

Consider this my obligatory "announcement." I've decided that the best way to sum up my experiences for the last 3 months is to make a list that breaks down the joy that is the first trimester.

Sara: Hey, you know what sucks? The Wellesley Effect. A phenomenon where women who live in close quarters experience synchronized menstrual cycles. Specifically, it sucks when only one of you gets pregnant. The other one gets to have ghosted symptoms for a good couple of weeks, regardless of the fact they're not even getting a little alien mutant thing out of it. What in the actual fuck, biology?

1. If you suspect your friend might be pregnant – DON’T ASK FOR THE SAKE OF FUCK. Everyone knows that it's common practice to wait until you’re out of your first trimester to tell everyone because your risk of miscarriage or the baby not having a heartbeat are actually fairly high. It’s, um, awkward to tell everyone you’re pregnant, and then have to tell everyone you’re, uh, not anymore. So if you notice your friend is looking a little bloated, or eating really bland foods, or isn’t drinking beer when she normally would – keep it the fuck to yourself! It’s terrifying when someone asks you in that accusatory tone (like you didn’t do your homework or something), “Are you pregnant?” Holy shit! NO! I’m just REALLY into being the designated driver! Keep. That shit. To yourself.  Stop interrogating me.
2. Trying to keep it a secret is really hard if you’re a booze-hound like me. As soon as I order a water when I’m at the Diamond Knot – EVERYONE AND THEIR MOM WILL KNOW I’M KNOCKED UP.
3. Sore boobs. Oh my god. The sore boobs. They have grown 2 cup sizes, and I have suffered. Walking hurts, putting on a bra hurts, moving hurts, looking at and thinking about them hurts.
4. The fatigue. Here is an example of a typical day - 9am: Why am I so tired? I went to bed at 9pm. That's 12 hours. 2pm: If I don't take a nap, I am going to collapse or puke. 4pm: Wake up from nap, feel slightly rested. And why the fuck did I lay on my stomach because my boobs feel like someone used them as a punching bag while I was alseep. 8pm: Can I go to bed yet? Why do I want to go to bed? 8:45pm: Fuck it, I'm going to sleep. 9am: Wake up and repeat. 
5. There is no such thing as morning sickness. It’s all day sickness. I spent a lot of time asking myself, “Am I hungry or do I want to barf?” Luckily I never got THAT nauseous. I just felt queasy all the time. It’s like being hung-over; only it lasts for 3 months, and you didn't even get to have any fun the night before.
6. Pooping. You would miss it, too.
7. Peeing. I have to every half hour. 
8. That pregnancy “glow?” It’s caused by excess progesterone, which makes your skin produce more natural oils. Another name for my pregnancy glow is acne. People who lie to you about the joys of pregnancy decided to use the misleading word “glow” instead of “you'll look like you're going through puberty again.”
9. My Mayo Clinic book keeps telling me that I’ll occasionally feel “light cramping.” What they really mean I’ll feel are growing pains. I can literally feel my uterus stretching and migrating. It's as weird as it sounds.
10. Bloating. Oh, look at my cute little baby bump! Nope, it’s gas, in and around my uterus. Can I fit into these pants today? Probably not because I had broccoli and cabbage with my dinner last night. Right now, at 13 weeks, it's definitely a baby bump - but still subject to gas extension. Awesome, right?
11. The stuff you're not supposed to eat is ridiculous. - Only one cup of coffee per day. One day, I had a cup of coffee then had a latte later in the afternoon. I know, I'm a monster! -  No deli meat unless you heat it in the microwave until steaming. Gross.  - No smoked or cured meats (smoked salmon, prosciutto, salami, basically anything delicious).  - No soft cheese. I totally ate some brie one night and have put goat cheese in my eggs. Call CPS!  - No more medium rare steaks, make it well done. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to bastardize a beautiful piece of red meat by cooking the pink out of it because ehrmagerd teh baby might not like it!   - No runny egg yolks. What? No fried eggs over-easy? This is offensive and unacceptable. I will NOT be subjected to cooked egg yolks and I WILL have runny egg yolk over my breakfast hash.

So that's it. The first 3 months in all their glory. If you end up having/had a fantastic time during your first trimester, then screw you. 

The Annual Turkey Shoot Letter

Dear Turkey Shoot coaches and parents,

            It is our distinct pleasure to thank you all for registering for this year’s Turkey Shoot soccer tournament! We are very excited to host one of the largest recreational youth soccer tournaments in the state this year, and we hope you are just as excited to take part. We have been in charge of this tournament for a long time (15+ years!) and we have loved being a part of it each and every year. But before the first games start on the 16^th, however, we’d like to call your attention to a few guidelines that will help to keep this tournament running smoothly and efficiently, both this year and in the future.

            You may have noticed during the registration process that your team’s age and gender bracket were missing from the website. That indicates that the bracket is already full and is no longer accepting any more teams’ registrations. That way we can begin scheduling games as quickly as possible. However, many teams signed up for another age or gender bracket instead, thinking that as long as their registration was received, we would schedule accordingly. That is fucking retarded. Seriously. All that does is fuck everything up. We are not goddamn psychics, people. If you sign up your U-15 boys’ team in the U-12 girls’ bracket, we are going to assume that you’re a bunch of 11-year-old girls, because that’s the fucking logical conclusion. Then, when you show up to play a bunch of little girls, we’re going to have you cited for juicing them with steroids until they resemble 14-year-old boys. Then point and laugh at your stupid ass while you walk off the field in shame. Jesus…get your shit together people.

            Don’t bring your dog to the fields. There are no dogs allowed on any of our facilities. We don’t give a single fuck about how well-behaved he is. Leave Fido at home. He’ll be fine for a few hours. Promise.

            If for some reason Lindsay, our beloved tournament director, has decided to make an exception such as…say…opening up registration especially for your team to sign up late because of extenuating circumstances, don’t forget to do it. And if she opens it up a second time…don’t forget to do it then, either. Or the third time. Or even the fourth. And if you have gotten to this point, don’t leave an apologetic voice mail blaming the World Series for your Alzheimer’s symptoms. We’re running a soccer tournament. At least blame the MLS playoffs or something we can relate to. Not something boring like baseball. And you should probably bribe us with beer or something too. Happy tournament officials make a happy tournament.

            Our tournament headquarters are in a trailer behind Kasch field 3 (and now it sounds like we're some sketchy dude with FREE CANDY plastered across his van...we assure you we're not). The trailer is there to house our hardworking administrators, field marshals, and referees. If you would like to report your score directly to headquarters, you may. But that had better be the only reason you open the door of our trailer to let all of the heat out. We don’t want to hear you complain about one of our hard-working, highly trained, and overworked referees. We don’t want to hear all about how the other team is totally a select team (I don’t understand where the fuck this comes from. There’s a conspiracy among select teams to ruin the tournaments of rec players? The Joker’s coaching a select team and just wants to watch Turkey Shoot burn? Seriously. Think before you open your food-hole and vomit words all over our goddamn trailer). We don’t want to hear you complain about your early game. Twenty other teams had to play that morning and they’re not whining like spoiled little brats. Don’t ask if you can have some food. You can’t. Get in, give us your score, compliment the tournament or us (yes, we accept compliments as bribes for more time in the heated trailer. Deal with it), and get the fuck out.

            Seriously, if you bring your mangy mutt to the fields we’re going to dognap it and turn it into a goddamn muff. Well…maybe not. But we’re going to boo you and throw dog shit at you. See how we turned that one around? Don’t fuck with us.

            If you park in an area that is coned off as a no parking area, don’t get your panties in a bunch if our referee assigner Victoria calls you a douchebag. You are one. Deal with it.

            We are always a bit saddened when we have to address this point, but it always seems to be necessary…for the love of God, don’t say something racist to the kids on the other team. You are a parent and a role model for fuck’s sake. What in the actual fuck is so wrong with your brain that you think this is okay? They’re fucking kids, you sick fuck! Be the bigger person, literally and figuratively, and leave your idiotic bigotry at home. We have no need for it.

          We are also generally saddened by grown men who harass 13-year-old referees. Are you fucking kidding me? You're a big man, telling that 13-year-old off. The real reason your team lost the game is not because your referee let the other team push you. For fuck's sake, are you coaching a team of nancys? Soccer is a contact sport, and the reason your team lost is because they have a coach who's more interested in bitching and moaning about how everything is SO unfair - instead of sacking up and actually coaching. They somehow think Lindsay (who is all-knowing and all-powerful during this weekend - basically a demi-god) won't find out. They also think Lindsay won't rip them a new asshole in front of their entire team, citing examples XYZ as to why you're an ass-hat, and then she tells you to get the fuck out of her face - and you DO it, because all you really are is a little bitch. Seriously though, this has happened a few times, and it was as awesome and entertaining to watch as it sounds.

            The tournament’s rules are not the same as seasonal play. Please read your rulebook and note the differences. That's um, why we distribute rule books. If a rule is not to your liking, such as 5 players a side for U-8 games instead of the seasonal 4, shut the fuck up about it. This isn’t the fucking World Cup. We are not attempting to revolutionize the entire game of soccer in order to ruin your child’s youth. We are trying to run a fun and efficient tournament for the community. Before you complain about something as miniscule as this, ask yourself this question: “Is my 7-year-old going to worry more about an extra player on the field, or what mud puddle she’s going to jump into next?” Perspective, people. Get some.

            DO. NOT. BRING. YOUR. DOG. TO. THE. FIELD. YOU. FUCKING. TWAT.

            If you simply pay attention to these guidelines, we should have a fun-filled, smooth, and exciting tournament in a few weeks’ time. We hope you have as much fun participating in the tournament as we have running it. Thank you and we look forward to seeing you all very soon!

I bet Mr. T is also an ass-man

For some reason, the last few conversations we've chosen for the blog are themed around asses. As usual, Dad graced us with yet another over share from the inner workings of his brain, and Sara found out way more about her brother-in-law's preferences than she wanted to know.

Dad: So _______ used to have a perfect  JLo ass and now it's the size of an axe handle. (We PROMISE it's not anyone you know or who would read this. )
Sara: What does that have to do with anything?

Dad: Well it's true. 

Lindsay: Dad's an ass man, Sara. It's what he looks at.

Dad: See? Lindsay gets me.

Lindsay: Jesse's an ass man, too. If I leave him alone with a camera and stop paying attention there will be half a dozen shots of my ass on there that I'll find later when I go through the pictures. 

Jesse: Well, I can't help myself! It's there, and the camera's in my hand!

Sara: I think we may have another blog post.

Dad: DON'T include me in this!

Sara: Why? You started it!

Dad: I did no such thing.

Sara: You started talking about how you find ______ less attractive because her ass doesn't look like JLo's anymore.

Dad: I forgot about that.

The next day, Mom was walking around the house, saying things like, "are you using MY stove? Are you eating MY anchovies? Are you drinking MY wine?" She also likes to troll people when she's in a mood like this. 

Mom: Lindsay, your butt's getting big. 

Lindsay: If you mean it's getting more awesome because I can squat for days, than thank you. 

Mom: I'm just kidding. It doesn't look any different. I just wanted to see what you'd say. 

Lindsay: Feel my butt! It's like a rock! Feel it!

Mom: <Pokes her butt> Yah, that's ok. Feel mine. 

Lindsay: <Pokes Mom's butt> Ok, that's pretty hard. 

Mom: I know.

Sara: Feel mine!

Mom: <Lindsay and Mom poke Sara's butt> Not as hard as mine.

Last night we went out to a fancy bistro for Mom's birthday dinner. At some point during the night, Mr. T was mentioned. 

Mom: Who?

Dad: Mr. T. You know, the black guy from the 80's with all the gold chains. "I pitty da fool!"

Mom: Oh yeah, the guy who's on Law & Order: SVU.

Lindsay: <laughs> Mom, that's Ice T, the rapper, not Mr. T.

An Ungrateful Brat's Rant on Fox News

Dad thinks that I (Sara) swear excessively. He claims that it dumbs down my vernacular and maintains that I should speak “more intelligently,” considering he spent thousands of his own dollars on my college education. Mom, on the other hand, always bristles when I criticize Fox News for being a misleading and unethical news source. So, I’ve decided to piss both of them off simultaneously by writing an essay on exactly why Fox is misleading. As an early graduate, cum laude, of the Edward R. Murrow College of Communications, one of the best colleges in the nation for ethics in reporting, I am actually ridiculously qualified to speak on this subject. And I’m going to swear like a goddamn fucking sailor the entire time. Why? Because it's my goddamn right as a red-blooded, beer drinking, tax paying American.

I’d also like to point out that I’m not doing this with a political agenda. I’m not showing my support for any other news networks (like the astonishingly dysfunctional and unreliable fucktards at CNN or the bleeding-heart puff-piece pussies at MSNBC), nor a political candidate, nor any point of view. Fox News would be equally jaw-droppingly awful if they instead portrayed liberals as ball-crushing super mega-awesome champions of the universe and conservatives as piss-poor excuses for human beings. I am simply trying to piss off my parents, like any other well-adjusted little brat would do.

Let’s start with something simple: framing. Framing, as a communicative tool, is a linguistics-based process that selects certain aspects of a subject to present which then influence our understanding of the subject. Think of it like someone’s Facebook profile picture. The picture may indeed be of a human being with goals, ambition, and opinions; but the sucked-in cheeks, puffed-out lips, oompa-loompa colored skin, obscene amounts of make-up, and caption that passively and irritatingly begs for the validation that daddy never gave her (OMG I’m so ugly lol, ready to go out with my bestiezzz! #YOLO) predisposes you to think of her as a tragic genetic accident between a rejected barbie and a duck. You can do the same thing with news stories. You select a frame through which to present the information, and your audience’s understanding will be affected by that.

Probably the best example of framing is Fox’s slogan: “Fair and Balanced.” Before you even hear the fucking story, they’ve shoved it in your head that what they’re saying is truthful, unbiased, and well-thought out. That’s the biggest fucking crock of bullshit on the goddamned planet. The first rule of reporting without being a manipulative douche nozzle is that, because we’re fucking human, everything we say is biased. The best way to deal with that is to not ignore it;  but to grow a fucking pair, accept, understand, and try to mitigate our own biases.

Basically, by not even acknowledging the possibility that what their reporters have to say may be affected by their personal opinions (Pfft, who lets their feelings affect their work? Goddamn communists, that’s who), Fox effectively frees their information from any sort of accountability. If someone says “that’s an opinion” Fox can point to their truth and legitimacy frame, using such phrases as “It’s a fact,” “You can’t deny that,” or “Fuck you, I’m an anteater!” in order to discredit the accusing party as a stupid asshole and reinforce the audience’s misguided trust in themselves.

Okay. I don’t think anyone on Fox has ever said that last one, but to be honest sometimes that’s what I hear in my head when Hannity starts yelling about the Founding Fathers’ opinions or something else equally irrelevant in a conversation about modern-day issues.

Another totally lame-ass technique Fox employs is priming selected concepts. Priming is the process by which you strengthen the connections between two concepts through repeated

activation. This is an observable physical process, called neuroplasticity, that mainly takes place in the Hippocampus and other areas involved in memory consolidation. As the pre-terminal neuron fires more and more action potentials, the axons grow and the terminal buttons release more neurotransmitters with each action potential (Bet you thought a Com major couldn’t talk biology, didn't ya fuckers?). For example, if I say “Bitches ain’t shit,” you may find yourself thinking “But hoes and tricks.” Those two items have a very strong primed connection, strengthened through repetitive activation, because no one listens to that song just once. However, if I give you some time to list all of the things that come to mind, you may come up with some weaker primed connections, such as Ben Folds or even the place you were when you first heard the song.

Fox News primes concepts like bros roofie girls’ drinks: constantly. Concepts like the mainstream media and liberalism (I especially like the part where they don’t self-identify as

mainstream media. It’s like when that guy at the bar in the Ed Hardy shirt and spiked hair says he’s just trying to be friendly. We both know it’s bullshit, and it makes him an even bigger sleazebag), letting the Bush tax cuts expire and class warfare (a complete fucking misappropriation of Marxist theory, but I digress...) Christianity and morality, Islam and radicalism, or even unions and corruption. The more they bring up these connections, the more available they are in the audience’s minds...and therefore more likely to be interpreted as trustworthy and accurate.

So. Fox reports on a story...say Romney’s statement about his proposed foreign policy in the Middle East* (which includes arming the Syrian rebels. Yeah. That strategy has TOTALLY

worked out for us in the past. Just LOOK at how much fucking fun Afghanistan is having), the audience is predisposed to form the exact opinion Fox wants them to. They read the story and activate primed concepts, such as the Middle East and a fundamental difference in values, or Obama and naivety. Because those concepts come so readily to mind, they don’t bother saying “Hold up, why in the Hell do I think that we have an obligation to fuck with Syria and Iran and, by extension, mother fucking Russia?”, but instead accept the legitimacy frame as an explanation for the activation of the previously primed connections, thinking “Goddamn right we should intervene. Everyone knows the Middle East is completely tribal and fundamentally fucked. That’s just a fact.” And that’s how perfectly rational people turn into fucking shitheads.

So...there’s my rant about a corrupt butthole of a news organization that is slowly chipping away at the little bit of integrity left in broadcasting or journalism. You don’t have to agree with anything I’ve said; I’m not arguing semantics, but rather pragmatics, and I invite anyone who would like to challenge that I have been inaccurate in that respect. But I could give a fuck either way, as I accomplished my goal: I just wrote with more substance than most Fox correspondents can muster, and I cussed up a goddamn storm while I did it. This is the part where, if this was a rap battle, I would throw the microphone down and walk away, just fucking dripping swag. But it’s a blog so...I’ll just sit here smugly and quietly and pretend I didn’t waste an enormous amount of my time just to be a little shit to my loving parents.

*If you would like to see exactly what I’m talking about, here’s a link to that story: http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2012/10/08/romney-hope-is-not-strategy-in-middle-east/