Million Dollar Idea: HOSPITAL BAR

Lindsay's birthday was last weekend and she and Jesse went up to Kathy and Brock's to have her birthday dinner. Grandma came downstairs and this was the exchange they had mid-embrace:

Grandma: Hey fatty! *giggle*

Lindsay: You're lucky you're so old and small that even when you're a bitch it's cute.



Here are some typical Dad comments. And for the record, everything Sara and I say about Dad here is true. Seriously.  

Sara: So we played trivia last night at The Beer Authority...the trivia was fucking ridiculously hard. One of the questions was “what do you smelt with steel to make it stainless?” WTF KIND OF A BAR TRIVIA QUESTION IS THAT???!?!?!?!

Mom: So what do you marry with steel to make it stainless? Carbon?

Sara: Chromium, apparently. We put nickel.

Dad: Chromium, duh…

Sara: Nice Google search

Dad: That’s not hard. Have you ever heard of “Chrome” same thing. Guy stuff, bitches just don’t know this stuff. 

Sara: Dad, you are an honorary bitch. You wear nail polish and sarongs and go to Zumba. You’re on the same level of “dude” as Hoff* at this point.

Lindsay: I'm so happy I woke up to this conversation

Dad: Just for the record, I haven’t even worn my sarong this year, I haven’t had nail polish since Sun Lakes 12 years ago, and I am a total “Bro”.

Lindsay: Don't forget that he was also a girl scout and took Home Economics by choice in high school. 

*Hoff is fabulous. Fabulously gay.



Lindsay sent out an email to Sara and Mom wondering if they had everything they needed in their hospital bags and if they wanted Lindsay to pick anything up at the store to have at the house for them.
Mom: I have tea and my fake sugar in my go bag along with an un-opened bottle of wine. I will remind Daddy to get beer and anything else he will need at the house. Like his mixed nuts and stuff. Daddy can go to the store to get food. We could even eat out if needed. So don’t worry about us.

Sara: Shit. I should probably have my shit together to leave. I know I won’t be down there as long as you guys or anything but still…

Lindsay: You might want to have a few things. Or at least a list/mental list of things to buy at the grocery store on your way down. Larabars, water, etc. 

Mom: And you are not drinking my wine. So get your own. O.K., you can share.

Sara: Wait so…I need to bring my own or not? Can we drink it at the hospital?

Mom: Probably not at the hospital, although if we bring twist top, I don’t see why not.

Lindsay: Oh my god. You two are not drinking wine at the hospital. 

Mom: Why not? You and Jesse will have champagne.

Sara: That's true. You and Jesse have champagne. We have wine. 

Lindsay: THAT'S DIFFERENT. I will have just given birth. I dare someone to tell me I can't have a glass of champagne after childbirth and 9 months of sobriety. I FUCKING DARE THEM.

Sara: WOOOOOOO GETTIN’ DRUNK IN THE WAITING ROOM!!! YEEEEAAAAHHH

Just kidding. I’d feel pretty dirty drinking in a hospital. Unless there’s a bar. In which case…LET’S HIT THE BAR

Mom: Who's driving?

Sara: Ummm...Tucker can drive us.

Mom: Tucker would be a killer driver. I mean...literally!

Lindsay: BAZINGA!

Sara: Ha! Nice one Mom. See? Without wine you won’t have all of this witty banter to keep you entertained while you give birth.

Lindsay: I have this really disturbing mental picture of you two sitting outside the delivery room on the floor sharing a bottle of wine out of a brown paper bag like two bums and offering pulls to the nurses.

Mom: You may have started drinking already, but I haven't.

Sara: Yah, but you're still drunk from last night, probably.

Mom: That could be.

Jesse's Solutions to Lindsay's Mobility Limitations

When having a conversation about how awesome Macklemore is, Dad told us that he went to Meadowdale High School and he knows this because he...

Dad: ...just saw it on the interweb.

Sara: You’re right. That’s why all of Macklemore’s songs are about loving his hometown, Edmonds. Oh wait…

Mom: Don’t ever believe anything a salesman says.

He went to Garfield and Nathan Hale
"Haggerty was born and raised in Seattle, Washington. He attended Garfield High School andNathan Hale High School, going on to earn a bachelor's degree at The Evergreen State College. Interested in reaching a younger generation through his music, he was a part of a program focusing on education and cultural identity called "Gateways for Incarcerated Youth" where he facilitated music workshops.[3][4]"

Dad: Who is Haggerty? And what does it have to do with Macklemore?*

*Another shining example of Dad's listening skills. He asks shit like this all. the. time.

Sara: Macklemore isn’t his real name, dad. His name is Ben Haggerty. That’s why there’s a line in Irish Celebration that says “Proud to be a Haggerty.” Duh

Dad: God if I had a shitty name like that I’d change it too..


Dad gave Lindsay a call the other day to ask about something and this was what he said when he hung up:

Dad: Ok honey, uh, love you, and...try not to get anymore pregnant.

Sara sent out an email bitching about a co-worker and how he was acting like an ass at work, and here were our incredibly useful suggestions for how Sara should handle her situation. Names have been changed to protect Sara's reputation. 

Sara: I somehow pissed off co-worker for asking he and superior the same question, and using superior's answer first. And he’s being a huge wang and refusing to help me. Is he like…actually emotional or something? I assume he’s on his period at the least.

Dad: Tell co-worker to quit being a girl and do some work...

Sara: I would but it would probably just dislodge his tampon even more. Jesus.

Lindsay: Well, judging by how Sara is kicking ass at her job and how much co-worker is sucking, maybe he should actually consider growing a vagina because his balls aren't doing him any favors.

Sara: Good point. Betty White agrees.




Sara made a comment to Lindsay about how when she was younger, she didn't think Snoop Dog was a real person.

Lindsay: You didn't? How did you think he wasn't real? Snoop Dog is so ridiculous he HAS to be real. 

Sara: No, I thought dad made him up for his stupid jokes about his new album “Sniff my booty…”*And then I saw a music video on TV when I was like 12 and my whole world turned the fuck upside down.

Lindsay: WOW. I'm dying right now.

Sara: Dood this is MY LIFE and you're LAUGHING at it.
*One of Dad's overused jokes when we were little was to ask us, "Have you heard Snoop dog's new album? It's called sniff my booty!" I honestly have no idea if Snoop Dog, did in fact, come out with an album titled "Sniff My Booty," but Dad somehow decided that was hilarious and would say that to us at least 3 times a day for several years. 


Finally, Lindsay is very pregnant. Like, 2 weeks away from delivery pregnant. Obviously, she's not as quick, or agile, or nimble as she used to be. She's been doing a lot of scooting to get out of sitting positions and rolling over in bed is like making an 8-point turn.

Jesse made these comments about her mobility:

When getting out of the car:
"We need to get you a little seat ejector that just propels you upright."

When trying to maneuver around a tight space:
"You need a truck beeper. Beep. Beep. Beep."

When trying to get off the couch:
"I think we need a crane to lift you up off the couch."

Rage Emails at Work

Sara sent Lindsay an email whining about work being boring or harder now that she's been given a promotion. Actually, I don't remember what the context was for this email, I'm just speculating. I'd say 75% of the email exchanges between Lindsay and Sara begin as rage emails because what we want to say in real life is supposedly "socially unacceptable."

Lindsay: Well go home and have a whiskey. Jesse just finished his paleo challenge and turned in report cards so he is having one tonight!

Sara: I will. I might just get kind of silly by myself and be pathetic.

Lindsay: It's not pathetic. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I WOULD GIVE TO GET DRUNK AT HOME ALONE RIGHT NOW. 

For Christmas, Lindsay got Dad the Girl With The Dragon Tattoo Trilogy. Naturally, she read them first. Seriously though. Read those books. 

Lindsay: Dad is going to give you the 3rd Girl With The Dragon Tattoo book so you can bring it down on Sunday. If you forget it I will CUT you. 

Sara: Not going to happen. I will intentionally leave it on my balcony.

Now that I actually have to interact with people at work on a regular basis…I really need to not be such a raging cunt in the morning. I don’t say anything, but any time anyone says pretty much anything to me before 10 all I can think in my head is “I want to fucking stab you right in your stupid goddamn fucking face.” Regardless of whether or not they’re actually bothering me. It’s a problem.

Lindsay: Meh. As long as you don't ACTUALLY say it. People might figure out that you're not a morning person and leave you alone until 10am though. So maybe you should keep this up. 

Sara: That’s true. And it would be nice if I could somehow get that to be an unspoken policy with people. Maybe I’ll try operant conditioning? I should get some chocolate.

Lindsay: OOOOOOH. I like that. Psychological experimenting on unsuspecting co-workers. It's like we're real life super villains.

I got an email yesterday from Sara raging about some asshat she had to deal with who clearly is an expert in passive-aggressive-beat-around-the-bush communication techniques.

Sara: So one of the accounts I took over for is ______ and the account manager is down in ______. Last week he asked me to get a quote for a computer (which isn’t something we normally get quotes for). I got one from the distributor that sells laptops. Sent it over to him.

He said they needed some things changed. So I requested the change. Didn’t hear from the distributor for a few follow ups. Just now he calls me (a good 3 hours after I sent him the quote) and says that it needs to be changed yet again and gets all in my business about how he needs it today and blah blah blah. Keep in mind, our distributor is in Colorado so by the time he called me they are done for the day. 

DUDE JUST TELL ME WHAT THE HELL YOU WANT. I CANNOT READ MINDS NOR AM I AN ENGINEER. AND ON TOP OF THAT, I NEVER FUCKING QUOTE COMPUTERS SO I REALLY DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING. GAH. 

Lindsay: 



Sara: Not so much that…but just TELL me what you want! I’ve now sent you 3 quotes based on EXACTLY what you told me you wanted, and each time you send it back for some sort of change and are getting irritated with me as if I should a) know what you want without you telling me or b) have done this before and be able to talk RAM and hard drive space with a fucking distributor. Please don’t get irritated with me because you can’t ask a question correctly. 

Lindsay: I know. I just thought a donkey wearing a hard hat was funny. You're dealing with the government remember. Most government employees are about as efficient and competent at their jobs as sacks of poop.

Sara: No, I’m dealing with a coworker. That’s who I’m dealing with. 

Lindsay: Well in that case, tell him to say what he means, get to the point, and quit talking to you like a Dandy.

Sara: Another guy came in here to give me a hard time over something, and I turned around (joking, btw) and said “I am SO done with you people not telling me what you want and then storming into my cube to tell me I did it wrong. It’s Monday! I cannot deal with you being incompetent!” Except I think he thought I was serious and was all like “We don’t know what we’re doing either, it’s fine!” 

Lindsay: See? Donkey with a hard hat. 

Sara: You're a donkey with a hard hat. 

Lindsay: False. My job is so easy I know exactly what I am doing at all times. 

From Sara to Mom, Dad, and Lindsay. Sara and Mom have been trying for a really long time to get my Dad to try pho, and he's just never shown any interest. Keep in mind that my mother kept my Dad CC'd in this conversation. 

Sara: Apparently Dad likes pho now that EVERYONE else at work got him to go and try it. I'm so mad at him.

Mom: You can’t be serious? I love Pho and I always want to make it, and he always turns his nose up at it. What a little bitch

Who wants some pickled green beans?

Last weekend, Jesse and Lindsay made the trek up to Mukilteo from Auburn to come for a visit, and Sara also dropped in on the afternoon as well. We had a nice, wholesome afternoon of beer drinking, cussing, and our Uncle M. even came over to play some music before dinner. 

Every summer, Mom and Dad visit Dad's Uncle Ed up on the Tulalip reservation and they can a shitload of pickles and pickled green beans. Mom had just had hand surgery when they did this last year, and she fucked up the recipe so everything came out saltier than the Dead Sea. When you open a new can, you have to pour out half the brine and fill it back up with water to make everything taste right.
Lindsay: *eating green beans* 
Dad: Yeah, eat those pickled green beans up. They're super salty and I don't like them. This last batch Kathy made was shitty.
Mom: Well, when we made the last batch, I had just had hand surgery and I think my mind was still kind of fucked up on painkillers.
Dad:  Your mind is always fucked up.
Mom: You're just...all fucked up.
Lindsay: That escalated quickly.
Dad: Gee, what a nice house.

Lindsay and Sara began bickering about something, and Jesse, always the instigator...
Jesse: Take it into the backyard!
Sara: I bet I could take Lindsay now...eh...well...maybe not.
Dad: Yah, I'm still putting $20 on Lenslay during a knuckle rodeo - even pregnant.
Sara: I don't even get an advantage when Lindsay is pregnant?!
Jesse: Maybe in like, 2 months when she's really huge and waddling like this. *sticks out his arms and waddles like a penguin*
Mom: Yeah, and her balance will be off so you could just push her over with your finger.
Jesse: Yah! she'll be like a turtle on it's back!
Sara: *Looks at Lindsay like "see how it feels?"*

A little later, our favorite Uncle came over to jam with us. He and Jesse play guitar and Sara and Lindsay sing.
M: Don't you think Jesse and I play well together?
Sara: No, I think you guys sound like shit.
M: I'm going to hit you and I'm going to hit you hard.
Sara: *Cackles*
M: You know, my blood pressure is high and you're not helping!
Dad from across the room: How's your dick pressure?!
Lindsay: What the fuck does that even mean?
(Sara: Lindsay...pretty sure we all know what that means. I'm sure Jesse can explain it to you)

I had been awhile since we had all jammed together for shits and giggles and we were talking about how nice it was to do it again, and how we should really try to make more of an effort to get music into our lives on a semi-regular basis.
M: You'll be calling me up to play music from now on, I know. You'll be calling me up yelling "fuck! I need my fix!"
Sara: You make us sound like crack heads.
Lindsay: Well, Sara has a drinking problem.
Sara: *while sipping a beer* It's true.
M: And Brock can't hear.
Dad: *from the other room* What?

Mom was making cioppino for dinner, and she tends to talk out loud to no one in particular when she cooks. She dropped this sophisticated culinary phrase on us.
Mom: OK, I'm going to start seasoning and shit.

During dinner...
Mom: You know what I want for my birthday?
Dad: A new husband?
Mom: <thinks about it> No! All men are the same, they just come in different packages.
Dad: *raises his hand* But I'm a good vacuumer!
Jesse: It's true Kathy, I've vacuumed with Brock before. 


Dad: Just let Taco** lick your hands and your pants. You'll feel all sorts of better.
*everyone snickers*
Dad: I know I always feel better when Taco licks my pants.
**Taco is Dad's nickname for Tucker. In case you don't get the licking pants reference, go here. If you've met Tucker, you know about this.


After dinner, while cleaning up...
Dad *toot*
Sara: Did you just fart on me?
Dad: I didn't hit you with it!
Lindsay: Jesse farts in Tucker's face all the time.
Jesse: I do.
Mom: Thank you for sharing.
Lindsay: He does!
Dad: I used to do it to Mika all the time. She loved it.
Jesse: So does Tucker!
*all of the women exchange looks*

Just for you Darren...

Darren: Damn, I always miss out on a chance to be part of an upcoming Brower's blog...


DARREN, IF YOU WANT TO BE FEATURED ON OUR BLOG, YOU HAVE TO LEARN HOW TO SPELL OUR FUCKING NAME RIGHT.


ASSHOLE.

Trolling The Parents

We assume that it's fairly evident to anyone reading that Dad likes to fuck with us. Really...he likes to fuck with anyone in general. He's the original troll. But we have our moments of revenge, like this email thread from last week:

Sara: So I went to hot yoga with Margo from work yesterday. Margo almost danced professionally so…that was a bit intimidating. But I did it. And holy mother of god am I hurting today. I’m sore in places I didn’t know existed.

I was, however, able to tuck my fingers under my toes by the end of class. Awesome.

Dad: None of you ever had any flexibility at all. It would be good to work on that.

Lindsay: I think I will start yoga. Probably after el bebe comes.

Dad, the reason we're not very flexible is because we're so muscular. People with lots of muscles have trouble with flexibility. I can still put my palms on the ground though!

Dad: Muscular has nuttin to do with it. That’s not true NFL football players are very flexible.

Lindsay: Did you learn that during all your years as an NFL physical therapist?

 Mom:

Dad: They had a big special on it and all of them work very hard on it. The results were pretty dramatic from an injury standpoint. I know that my flexibility is better than all of you combined. Not a good result for women who should inherently have much better flexibility than any man…

Sara: Maybe it’s because you’re just not much of a man then?

Lindsay: BAZINGA!

While Dad likes to troll, Mom likes to instigate. A few days ago, she sent us all an email in the morning titled “If the Gov’t buys up all the ammunition, can you shoot your gun?” I (Sara) will usually get into what I assume will be a discussion (but always turns into an argument. Hm, unintended arguments over politics...I wonder if anyone else has had this problem?) with Mom any time she sends something over like this. You know, because I’m a brat. And because most of the stuff she sends us is typically about how Obama’s ruining the country and conservatives are being unfairly bullied. Anyways, this particular day I wasn’t in the mood for a mature argument:

Mom: http://www.infowars.com/dhs-purchases-21-6-million-more-rounds-of-ammunition/

(The article’s about how the DHS has started buying tons more ammunition and goes on to speculate that it’s a move to disarm Americans without legislation)

Sara: Wait, are you telling me that the U.S. Government stockpiles more ammunition and weapons than they could ever possibly use and far more than anyone else has?

Mom: I don’t understand how your mind works. The Gov’t hasn’t been buying ammo and all of a sudden they are buying millions of rounds?

Sara: You’re right. They’re obviously trying to disarm every American citizen in an effort to start the 4^th Reich and fascist rule. Obviously.

Mom: The third Reich started because of complacent people like you.

Sara: And I feel just terrible about it. When Obama starts gassing people I will do the honorable thing and shoot myself. Because that’s obviously his game plan.

Mom: I think he wants to be king. And be careful what you put in an e-mail. You could trigger an investigation by Big Sis.*

Sara: Oh of course. Any day now he’s going to seize power and because of the poor complacent idiots like me, there will be no one to stop him. This is how the world ends, not with a bang but with a black guy.

I assume Big Sis is Hillary. What, do you think homegirl and I aren’t already in kahootz? I sell to the government, Mom. Me and Hillary are both crazy liberal bitches. I get to be her pet when she and Obama take over.

Mom: Why did you bring race into this discussion? It is about the content of his character, not the color of his skin. 

Sara: Because it was funnier that way.

Because I’m mocking you, mother.

Mom: I’m appalled that you think racism is funny.

Sara: I’m appalled that you’re still attempting to have a serious conversation with me.

Mom: I’m appalled that you don’t recognize our country is going to hell in a handbasket.

Sara: A handbasket would burn up long before we got to Hell.

Be serious, mother.

Mom:

Dad: Enough! This is 25 emails to me from you clowns. Leave me off please...

Sara: No. I'm a honey badger, and you know what?



Lindsay: Honey badger don't give a shit. 


Mom:   

Dad: LEAVE ME OFF THIS SHIT!!

Poor Dad. We love him. We really do. But sometimes we just can't resist. 

*We think she actually means Big Brother. Another example of Mom's ability to fuck up common terms and English in general. (Sara: No, she means Janet Napolitano, Secretary of Homeland Security. That's why her picture is there. Duh)

Here's some weird shit Dad has said lately

We've got nothing. I mean, there are funny things all the time, but we've gotten kind of sucky at writing everything down. So, here's some weird shit we've said lately (mostly Dad) and a mix-up by Jesse that could have gone horribly wrong for him if Lindsay wasn't so totally awesome.

Email thread from last week.

Lindsay: I don't know what kind of bus karma I have, but I always seem  to get stuck in front of or next to someone with a disgusting cough who lacks the decency to cover their mouth. Yuck.

Mom: That sucks.  I sometimes had to sit next to a guy who didn’t wear underwear and wouldn’t zip his fly.

Lindsay:  Ew, Mom. When and where was this?

Mom:  When I first moved to Seattle, I lived in Colombia City right off Rainier Ave.  The bus stop was in front of my apartment, so I took the bus to and from work every day.  The bus ride was fine until we got to 3^rd and Pine and the “free” zone.  I always tried to sit with someone that I thought was going to continue to ride and then I was safe.  If I picked wrong and they got off at the Post Office, then I was screwed.

Dad: Sorry, it was me…

Sara: This. This right fucking here. I’m dying.

Mom: That is disgusting!!  

Dad: But very funny...

Sara: One night I was riding home late, and sat up front. This one bum who, for whatever reason, I have run into several times over the last few years, was sitting near me (he’s fairly recognizable. Black. Dreds. In a wheelchair with one leg. Very nice, albeit crazy dude). He started talking to me and soon his other bum friends joined in and after a few minutes we were all laughing and chatting.

Then I realized that all of the normal people were sitting in the back looking terrified while this little white girl and 4 big black homeless men laughed their faces off in the front. I get along better with bums than I do normal people. 

Lindsay: Were you high?

Sara: It was pretty HIGHlarious


Remember a couple months ago when Sara got her words mixed up and called Lindsay a rapist when she meant to say racist? Well, Jesse took a page out of Sara's book the other day. Lindsay was getting ready to take a shower and they were joking around. Jesse sometimes will call Lindsay a "scamp" when they're being playful. I don't know what it means either, but it's an endearing name. Instead, Jesse got his words mixed up and said, while giving her a pat on the butt:

"Now get in there ya little skank."

He didn't catch his mix-up until Lindsay turned around asked incredulously:
"Did you really just call your pregnant wife a skank?"  

See what I mean? That could have ended really badly for him.

Although while Jesse mixes up his words intentionally, Dad prefers to go straight for male suicide. Sara overheard him say this to his inside sales rep, Celeste, at work the other day...

Dad: Celeste, when are you going to jump on the stick and start making some babies? 

Celeste: Shut up, Brock!

Dad: And I mean that literally. 

Or there was this one he pulled at dinner:

Sara: I work out in the morning now and it's turning me into a morning person. Put that on the list of things I never thought I'd say seriously. 

Dad: Yeah, I noticed. Look at how skinny you are! Lindsay...not so much.

Lindsay: Because I'm fucking pregnant, dad. I'm supposed to have a jolly round belly. 

Dad: Sure, if that's your excuse. 

Also, Lindsay has been asked about her "birth plan" a few times. For those inquiring minds, yes, she does have a very specific, well thought-out birth plan. Ready?
It's called "EVERYBODY GETS OUT ALIVE."