Archive for the 'giggle guffaw snort' Category

It’s not like they’re endangered or anything…GOD

Have you ever been faced with the uncomfortable sensation that the person you’re talking to can’t seem to make eye-contact with anything but your boobies?  Cuz I sure get that all the time…



This does kinda explain the gentle yet powerful authority with which He speaks

I was going through the household mail the other day, separating out each of the roommates’ mail into their designated slots, and I came across the latest copy of Spin Magazine addressed to this guy (with one of my roommates’ last names) at OUR address:

Who knew one of my flatmates was the very embodiment and earthly manifestation of the son of God!?  And furthermore, that He is all up to speed on what Death Cab for Cutie and My Morning Jacket are up to these days!? (Rock on, Jesus!!)  Perhaps we shouldn’t move out of this blessed house after all!

The secret active ingredient: their innocence

Mamacusa called me the other morning to check in on how I’m recovering from having temporarily become one large booger.

“I’m beginning to resemble myself again,” I told her, “and I can breathe…somewhat.”

“Good, glad to hear it. Everyone at work’s been sick lately, so I’ve been trying to avoid it by taking that Newborn stuff.”


“OH! I mean the airborne stuff…THE AIRBORNE STUFF! HA HA!!”

“Ahhh…that makes better sense. Though, now that I think of it, I have heard that a healthy little newborn, when crushed with a mortar and pestle and pressed into tablet form, does wonders for cold prevention!”

We’re still trying to lick those shoes clean…the balls, not so much

Considering at least one random couple usually has raucously audible sex in the upstairs bathroom at some point during our holiday party, and the fact that there was no evidence of such activity having taken place this year, I’d say our holiday party this past Saturday was quite tame in comparison to years past. Which is to say that maybe all of our guests are just that much wiser and more mature. Which is to REALLY say they’re probably sneaking down to one of the four downstairs bedrooms for more discrete tomfoolery. (Which is probably for the best given the fecal atrocities that are perpetrated against the porcelain in that bathroom, what with four men in the house.) I just don’t want to know which room.

I’m also happy to report that the three solid days of baking leading up to the party went off with but one minor catastrophe. The Brit discovered, rather suddenly and inconveniently, that one of our oven mits is more than sufficiently worn down in all the important places. (Like where your fingers go.) So he had just enough time to take the honey caramel tart with apricots out of the oven before the synaptic signals made it from his exposed fingertips up to his grey matter and told him to drop the molten hot dish all over his shoes. This made for a few blisters and some rather delicious Skechers. I constructed a second honey caramel tart which landed better.

Lastly, it can’t conceivably go without documenting that this year, several of our friends took our suggestion to don their “Christmas Best” to mean that they should wear “Cliff Huxtable’s Christmas Finest”:


Charmingly enough, this meant there were Christmas balls on more than just our tree…


He took the words right out of my mouth

I slipped into bed and did the little under the sheets wiggly dance I do to warm up the bed when it’s cold. I’d just gotten settled in my cocoon of warmth when The Brit slid in, frigid enough to make me think for a moment he’d given himself a rub-down with ice cubes just to spite me. He scooched right up next to me, pushing me to the edge of the bed.

“Dude. You’re COLD!! And can you move over? You’re about to push me off!”

“Sheesh, you’re whiny tonight,” he said while laughing at me. And in a playful, nagging tone intended to suggest he was imitating me, he added, “Wah wah wah…You’re too cold!! You’re taking up too much space!! Your knob’s too big!!!

Yeah, so…it’s been a little confusing around here for the last few days

It’s been that kind of week. The kind where I’ve had my head stuck in a spreadsheet full of breast cancer research data…moving columns, deleting rows, comparing this against that, calculating things, computing stuff…and, every once in a while, shrieking “EUREKA!!!” from the top of my lungs. You know. Just to create a break in the monotony of it all.

All this computering has left me crosseyed and headachey and more than less than inspired to do anything recreational on a computer. Like write anything for this blog. Not that any of the five of you have been particularly distressed over my lack of blogging this week. Well, except for my mom. This morning I got a text message from Mamacusa that went something along the lines of: Dude! Are you alright? You haven’t been blogging! Are you trapped under a car somewhere? DO I NEED TO FLY DOWN THERE????

Thanks, Ma. I’m cool. Except for the whole being somewhat deaf in one ear on account of my perforated ear drum thing. That’s actually been kind of a bummer. And it’s certainly made communication a bit of a challenge…

Co-worker: Blah blah blah blah.
Me: What?
Co-worker: Blah blah BLAH blah!
Me: Huh?
Me: Here. Try my good ear.
Co-worker: WE GOT THE GRANT!!
Me: Lee got transplants? 1

1. While the caliber of my deafness may be somewhat exaggerated here, the getting-ness of the $500K research grant that I applied for (in concert with a few other investigators) is not at all exaggerated! Yay!

He should probably bring some lube too…it might be a tight squeeze

“Hi there! I’m Little B’s SCUBA diving buddy…she told me to call you so that I could give you sizing info for a wetsuit for this weekend’s dive?”1

“Ah yes!”

“Ok. What kind of info do you need? Height? Weight? That sort of thing?”

“Yes, that’s a good start.”

“Ok. Well, I’m 5’2” and roughly 125 lbs.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. That’s my goal weight.


“Is that all you need?”

“Well, no…”

“Ok. Hit me.”

“Well. How should I put this? [Long pause] Not to sound fresh or anything, but…[another long pause]…are we…uhh…busty?”

“Well. [Chuckle] At the risk of sounding fresh, no. We are most certainly not busty. We ARE, however, rather ASSY.”

[Long pause] “Ohhhhkayyyy. [Long pause.] Got it. I think I’ll just go ahead and…uhh…bring a few different types of wetsuits with us, then. Just in case.”

“Probably for the best.”

1. Little B and I are headed to the Channel Islands in southern CA for some diving this coming weekend. So if you feel the water level rise a bit, not to worry. That’s just us. (Or rather, it’s just me.)


The madness featured here is mine and mine alone. It does not, in any way, reflect the madness of my employers, colleagues, patients, nutty family, or my colorful friends. The privacy of my employers, colleagues, patients, nutty family and colorful friends is sacred & deeply respected, so no names. All words Copyright © la cubana gringa, no method, just madness 2006-2010. All comments © their authors. Don't steal; it's not nice. (And my Grandfather knows people.)

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