Introspective Valentine's Day Post

I need to write this quickly before my feelings evaporate (I have them so rarely, you see).

Say what you will about Valentine's Day -- it's a made-up holiday, just commercialism, etc. -- I will agree with you.  I also agree that it can be fun if not taken too seriously.  I am also not used to celebrating it.

10.5 years with my former partner, and there were several reasons for the lack of celebrating:

1. Her birthday is also at the end of February
2. Her anniversary with her ex was apparently on Valentine's Day (poor planning, people!)
3. Our anniversary was in mid-December, and we usually didn't get to celebrate it until January or February (if then) due to her work.
4. We were often broke (according to her)

But we mostly said stuff like, "We're adults!  We don't need this stupid holiday!" or "Why spend money we don't have?" after giving each cards the first year or two of being together.  And that was it.  And, like our actual anniversary, it just fell by the wayside, not celebrated, not taking any extra time to appreciate each other, etc.

And that, friends, should always be a sign that things are not going that well.  It's not that Valentine's Day is a super important holiday; it's that if your partner isn't willing to take the time to think about you (on any given holiday or anniversary or at any time), that's problematic.  And it's possible to think about and appreciate your partner without spending a dime.

And that little bit of introspection (as the boytoy is, by all accounts, preparing to go overboard for our first V-Day together), sent me down a bit of a rabbit hole where I am amazed at the crap I put up with for 10.5 years.  Because it wasn't just Valentine's Day.  Or our anniversary.  Or Christmas.

Here's a story for you:

In 2015 I got a job outside of academia, a "real" office job, with a salary and benefits and vacation days.  And it paid about double (annually) what I had ever made as adjunct faculty.  So that was exciting.  So I decided, for my birthday that year, I wanted a tea party.  I had started a Silmarillion read along group, and hobbits love tea (and snacks), so I figured I would just invite those people and some others, not a big thing.

And this was a tea party at a specific place: a tea room here in the city which required a deposit for the party (because they provide tea and all the foods and the room, etc.).  So at first I inquired to see if there was any interest among my reading group and my nerdy friends because not everyone wants to (or can) pay around $20 a person for someone else's birthday.  I get that.  And I think I needed at least a dozen people (minimum reservation).

At any rate, it was going to cost me a couple hundred dollars for the deposit.  And my ex was pretty livid at the idea.  She saw it as a waste of money.  Even though we had extra money now because of my job and it was my birthday dammit; I wanted an actual party, something fun.  She eventually, begrudgingly, "allowed" me to spend the money and plan the tea party, all by myself.

And you know who didn't go to said tea party?  Her.  Because "she had to work."  It was on a Saturday afternoon, and while her job could schedule her to work on almost any day of the week, it's not like it was a last minute work day  Nor was it a last minute tea party; it was planned about a month in advance.

She could have asked off.

She could have said "I have to be done by noon" (or 2 p.m. or whatever fucking time the party was).

She could have made an effort.

But she didn't.  So I had my tea party (complete with fancy hats) and had a lovely time, despite everyone asking where my partner was and me saying, "Oh, she had to work."  No, she didn't have to; she chose to.  

And I put up with bullshit like that for the better part of ten and a half years.  Where I don't think I was ever a priority.  And I went along with it because I was trying to be an adult, because spending money and commercial things don't matter, because "it's just stuff," and "there will be other birthdays" or "other holidays" or what the fuck ever.

In my effort to be mature and to "not be a nag" I let myself also not be made to feel special or important or that someone was randomly thinking of me.  Don't let that happen to you, friends.  And definitely don't let it happen to you for a decade or more.

Brown Bag, Indeed

When I was still teaching, I used to insist on having some kind of adorable lunch box to take with me.  And when my Unit was home, she would sometimes put together a lunch for me while I got ready for the day.

"Hey, I put some snacks together for you for today."
"Thank you!"
"But I had to throw away that kiwi you had in there."
"...kiwi?"
"Yeah." 

Eyes widening with realization.

"That wasn't a kiwi.  That was," {gulp} "the artist formerly known as an orange."

Unit immediately throws everything -- snacks, lunchbox, everything -- into the trash can.

"You need to buy a new lunch box."

Halls of Terror

My Unit and I were having an ongoing conversation regarding closing doors.  She had mentioned the other night that the closet door was continually ajar when she'd use the bathroom in the morning; meaning, that I had not quite closed the door the entire way (which is entirely possible).  I made a mental note of it, but apparently was still not completely closing the door because yesterday evening she mentioned it again.  I didn't even remember using the bathroom closet, let alone not quite closing the door.

My Unit brought up the fact that I don't quite close the bathroom door (completely) either (also true).  It's often ajar because otherwise our animals will bang on the outside of it, desperately trying to save me from the shower, the bathtub, or the need to poop.  Please keep in mind that all of these conversations were light-hearted on my Unit's end and really no big deal, but suddenly it all came rushing back:  the hallway in the house on Tompkins Drive.

Apparently I've always had an issue closing doors "properly," as I informed my Unit.  I demonstrated on our bathroom door, pulling it closed until it clicked.  "This way is apparently 'too loud,'" I explained.  Because my psychotic step-mother once punished me by making me close all the doors up and down that hallway by turning the handle, then gently pulling the doors closed (still making sure they [quietly] clicked) because I just pulled them closed.  And that was wrong.  And "too loud."

Once I had closed all of the doors "properly" I had to go open them all again in order to repeat the process until I "got it right."  That hallway had doors to:

• the bathroom
• the linen closet
• the master bedroom
• my bedroom
• my brother's bedroom
• my sister's bedroom

That's six doors.   Approximately 20 feet, one-way. Six doors closed and opened and closed and opened and closed ("the right way"), lather rinse repeat, I don't know how many times.  Three?  Ten?  40 feet "round-trip." And I was probably all of 8 or 9 at the time.

And then there was the time I ran down that same hallway to my bedroom at the end, desperately hoping to outrun said psychotic stepmonster who was coming to spank me.  I got to my room, slammed the door, and looked around, panicked, wishing I was big enough and strong enough to push furniture in front of the door.  She found me anyway and spanked me so hard I peed on myself, while crying.  Age 10?  11?

Or the time -- maybe it was the same time? -- she chased me up the same hallway, calling me "a little bitch."

So yeah, I often don't close doors all the way.

(Not our actual hallway)

Logan (A Review)

I know, I know.  Leonard is sorely behind the times in that we only just watched Logan two weeks ago.  I think many of my thoughts can be summed up by this Unit conversation:

Me: "Professor Xavier said 'fuck'!"
My Unit: "So? He's a grown man."
Me: "Yeah, but usually he's the one who's all 'we like everybody, let's give you a family,'..."
Her: "That's how you know things are fucked up."
Me: "Exactly."
Her (referring to its R rating): "And then they had sex and smoked cigarettes."
Me: "Professor X and Wolverine did not have sex. In that scene. That I'm aware of. But if they do --"
Her: "You'll let me know."
Me: "Of course! I'll be like, 'What the fuck is this?? Triple-X-Men??!?'"

While I did enjoy the movie, I also felt a little bit lost in the first 10 minutes or so.  Looking at other reviews and commentary after I finished it, it turns out I was not alone. (X-Men:  Days of Future WTF has also seriously screwed up my entire timeline/understanding of this franchise.) It also turns out that was entirely intentional.    For instance, "the Westchester incident."  Even as some of the details were dribbled out to us, I didn't fully understand the weight of what they (and Professor X) were saying.  I immediately recognized "Westchester" as "home base" for Xavier's school, but it didn't dawn on me that the "incident" and Professor X "hurting people" truly meant wiping out mutants.

Reading that SlashFilm.com article filled some holes and brought even more gravity to an already heavy film.  I really feel like Logan is a contemporary Western, and not just because Johnny Cash is featured on the soundtrack.  (Sidenote:  the use of his cover of Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt" in the first trailer was fucking brilliant.)  Perhaps I've not watched enough Westerns (original or contemporary or remakes) but "Old Man Logan," world-weary and still struggling with "doing the right thing" or being left alone, a fiesty young girl character, zero love interest, and yes, of course, all of the desert landscape featured all said "Western" to me, in the same vein as True Grit and 3:10 to Yuma.

Laura's first fight scene (even her name screams "Western!") was insanely cool.  I did gasp"Jesus!" at the screen when her toe-claw first flipped out.  I was trying to explain to my Unit the intensity of the scene, but could only squeak out, "She's practically feral!"

In fact, let's talk about Laura for just a moment.  Well, let's talk about Dafne Keen Fernandez:  she's under 13 and can do more (and better) acting with zero words than some adult actors I know, even with whole monologues at their disposal.  And how awesome is it that she's:

• a girl
• Spanish
• kicks major ass in this film

I don't have much else to say on this topic except representation matters.


"Old Man Logan" is kinda hot.  There.  I said it.  Just as we get used to Hugh Jackman as "Old Man Logan," though, the movie smacks us in the face.  Old Man Logan makes sense: he's older (well, closer to looking his own age, I guess); he's a little more mellow (for Wolverine) with age; he needs reading glasses; he's used to hard work put you don't wanna poke the bear (see:  Munson family scenes).  We don't even realize how accustomed we've grown to him until BAM!  Other Wolverine (X-24) shows up and reminds us what we're really used to seeing.  It's a great visual comparison to show us exactly just how far he's come/how much he's changed.  Plus, how often do you get watch Hugh Jackman fight himself?

I love Patrick Stewart's Xavier in this film because he's quite a bit different from previous Charles Xavier's, even the James McAvoy Xavier's.  Everything from saying "fuck" to the funny (but still sad and pathetic) "I need to pee" -- all of it.  He runs the emotional gamut in this film in ways that we're not used to Professor X (or really Patrick Stewart, for that matter).  Like the Unit conversation above said, it showcases how desperate things have gotten.

As a whole the movie had only one false note for me, and unfortunately, it was a large (loud?) one.  The ending fight scene, as Logan is impaled by the tree branch and Laura is crying over him, she cries "Daddy."  Not "Dad," not "Father," not even the (infinitely more plausible) "Logan," but "Daddy."  And then she repeats it, like, two more times.  Those three words felt entirely forced to me; they did not ring true at all.

Yes, we know Logan's DNA was used, so he is technically her father; chances are she knows that, too.  And even though they formed a fast and strange but slightly paternal relationship, it didn't make sense (to me) that she would cry out "Daddy" while crying over his dying/dead body.  If anything a "Nooo!" (though not Luke Skywalker style dramatic) would make more sense; best would probably just be the crying/ wailing/keening that doesn't require any words at all.  Maybe it's because Leonard is dead inside, but that part struck me as entirely forced; I can't seem to find another word to describe it.

Now that I've purchased, watched, and finished the movie comes the really tough question:  do I file it under "L" for "Logan" or under "X" alongside X-Men, X-Men 2, X3, X-Men:  First Class, and Wolverine?

Text Message Interlude

Ridiculous Role Play Edition:

Me: "Coming home [from the gym]. Would like a red pepper, please."
My Unit: "Excuse me...this is not a restaurant. Today's special is chicken & dumplings $7.99 all you can eat."
Me: "If it's not a restaurant, why are you charging me for chicken & dumplings? :-) And can I get a side of red pepper with that?"
Her: "No substitutions or sides are offered."
Me: "Can I use a coupon?"
Her: "NO COUPONS!!!! ONLY CASH!!"
Me: "Hmmm,...I think I'd like to speak with a manager."
Her: "I own this joint!"
Me: "That's not what the guy who gave me this coupon said. The coupon also includes a free glass of wine."
Her: "WELL IT'S FAKE AND WE DON'T HAVE A LIQUOR LICENSE. NO MEN WORK HERE, JUST LESBIANS."
Me: "Why are you yelling at me? And tell that to Poe-Poe [one of our cats]."

End scene.

3:30 a.m. Thoughts: Karmic Credit Plan

My Unit and I often disagree about the workings of the Universe or "fate" or whatever you'd like to call it (neither of us are "God" or religious people).  She tends to believe that things happen for a reason -- all things -- often in ways we don't realize or that aren't immediately apparent. (I did write up a story of when I saw this philosophy in action, but I can't find it at the moment). I tend to be a "Sometimes shit just happens" person, especially when I cannot see a reason in what has transpired.

My favorite recent example is #lightningcar.  There is no good reason for lightning to strike one's car.  In the almost month that followed, trying to get my car fixed, I could find no "good" thing to come of it.  It did not lead to any new opportunities (as weird things often can).  It just happened.   It happened, and it sucked.  (Yes, I'm fine; I was not in the car when lightning hit, but nearby in my house.)

This morning around 3:30 a.m., unable to fall asleep, I had an astounding (and horrifying) thought:  what if, when bad shit does happen, the reason is on the other side of the world?  Somewhere, far away from me, is a person to whom good things are happening -- things over which they have no control or maybe even things they don't appear to deserve.  In order to keep balance in the Universe, the payment has to come from somewhere, so BAM!  Lightning strikes my car.  Or a person gets rear-ended at a stoplight.  Or you spill your morning coffee all over your new outfit.  Your mileage may vary, but you get my point.

People who we think are "lucky"  or people to whom good things happens, especially if/when they don't appear to have "earned" them, are perhaps just on the plus column of Karma's checks and balances.  People who seem to have bad luck, those of us who just can't catch a break -- we're paying the price for the people above.  The payment (or energy) has to come from somewhere, right?

There's a tiny bit of comfort in knowing that my (or your) bad day, bad luck, random shit that happens, could be because someone out there is finally getting the break deserve; there's (teeny) comfort in having a reason why things happen.
There's a terror and horror in the realization that we have no control over this system of checks and balances; that there may be no rhyme or reason why who gets what, so long as it all balances in the end.

And that, kids, is why I've been awake since the wee hours of the morning.

Kill Da Wabbit

Well, I can finally say that I've tasted rabbit meat.  Not that it was on my "To Do" list or anything, but now I've done it.

Perhaps I should back up, though, and explain how we buy meat in this household.

We buy meat in bulk -- but not from Sam's Club or any such nonsense.  Being the hippies we are -- well, they are (my Unit and in-laws; I consider myself "half-hippie" at best) -- we buy our delicious, organic, grassfed beef from local farmers half a cow at a time.  Let me repeat:  half a cow.  That's a lot of meat.  (Make your own jokes.)  We split that "half beef," as it's called, between our three families (during a process I like to call "meat poker"); each family ends up with approximately 60-80 pounds of red meat deliciousness.  That is roughly one regular freezer full of meat.  My Unit has to play "meat Tetris" in order to put it into our freezer.

We order chickens this way, our Thanksgiving turkeys, and now most recently, rabbit.

I should add that I did not order the rabbit; I had no interest in eating rabbit.  My Unit ordered it.

After making a certain number of jokes about bunnies in our freezer, she roasted the rabbit in the oven with carrots and potatoes.  While it did smell good (not unlike roasting a turkey), I could not bring myself to try any when it was done.  Just couldn't do it.

The next day, she took the leftover rabbit meat and made rabbit and dumplings.  Now I love her chicken and dumplings -- LOVE IT.  Hell, I just love dumplings!  A wad of delicious carbohydrate goodness dripping in gravy?!?  What's not to like??

This, too, smelled delicious from the stove top.  I finally called up enough courage to taste a spoonful, with a large dumpling right on top.  It was warm, and the initial flavor was what I remembered from chicken and dumplings.
But then...

Then there was this taste, clinging to the roof of my mouth.  A kind of tangy burnt-ness I didn't like.  I described it to my Unit, even saying, "It almost tastes like it's burnt," and she said the taste I was describing was probably the "gaminess" of rabbit.
Eww.

I said, "But I still like dumplings!"
She said, "So just eat a bowl of dumplings!"

I took another spoonful of broth and just dumplings, but no go.  It still had that weird, "gamey," rabbit-y flavor on the roof of my mouth.  All those dumplings that I couldn't eat -- it still makes me sad (and hungry) thinking about it.

So there ya go.  I've tasted rabbit, and I didn't care for it.  I guess it goes to show that not everything tastes like chicken.

Throwback Thursday: A History Lesson

From the blog annals comes one of my favorite pieces, "The True Story Behind the Pyramids."

(Tiny ugly baby kitty picture courtesy of Wikipedia)

From the people who brought you "Smutty Kitchen Talk" and "Suggestive Non-Sequitor Day*," we present "The True History of the Egyptian Pyramids."

The Unit and I were lying in bed one evening when she started "angry humping" my leg. "Angry humping" devolved out of a completely different conversation, but involves fast ("angry") pelvic thrusts against an object one would not normally "hump," such as my leg or a chair, unless one were a dog. She then put a very cold hand under my shirt on my bare skin, at which point I complained: "I don't recall ordering any angry humping, let alone cold angry humping."

Unit: "That's what my receipt says."

Me: "Really."

Unit: "Yes. 'Please deliver one angry humping. P.S. Please add cold.'"

Me: "And who signed this alleged receipt?"

Unit: "Jack-Jack and Poe."

Me: "And may I see this alleged receipt signed by the cats?"

Unit: "Well, you could, but you wouldn't be able to read it. They wrote it in their old language, a combination of pawprints and symbols."

Me: "Like hieroglyphics?"

Unit: "Well, cat-a-glyphics, yes. Because you know that the Egyptian pyramids weren't built by humans."

Me: "Of course not. They were built by aliens. Everyone knows that. Didn't you watch Stargate?"

Unit: "No, they were built by cats. Well, by slave-cats. The royal cats (from whom Jack-Jack is descended) ordered the slave-cats to build the pyramids. Slave-cats were the hairless cats; they were hairless because they were out in the sun in the desert all the time."

Me: "Slave-cats...?"

Unit: "And all the mice were slaves, too. Of course."

Me: "Of course. So there were some royal cats, and some slave-cats, and some slave-mice. And the slave-cats and slave-mice dragged the blocks out in the desert to build the pyramids. Were there any free mice?"

Unit: "No, but that does bring up the subject of the Micesons."

Me: "The (snicker) Free Micesons?"

Unit: "Exactly. But most cats don't believe in them."

Me: "It's just a cat-spiracy theory."

What you have to know is about the time we got to "the Free Micesons," we were both laughing so hard (in bed) that we were crying. After that we started coming up with definitions for words, along the lines of "cat-spiracy." I can't remember what the definitions were, but I believe we had "catapult," "catalogue," and "catastrophe."

So there you have it. The TRUE history of the Egyptian pyramids. The recent unrest in Egypt has, of course, been very upsetting for Jack-Jack since it's her country of origin, being descended from royal cats as she is. She's very grateful that Mubarak has stepped down. Poe-Poe, being the black cat of the family, does believe in the Free Micesons (did you know you can find evidence of them in the hundred dollar bill??), much to the shame of his mother. It's a very sore subject, so please don't bring it up.

*SN-S Day went something like this: "Dammit, a spice jar just broke! There's cumin all over the counter."
"That's what you get for putting on underwear!"

Follow up:  The original "History" was posted in February of 2011, and sadly, the facts about Egyptian unrest, riots, and political problems are still relevant over two years later.

Who Needs a Will?

Plans for the future...

My Unit:  "You still have a headache?"
Me:  "Yeah."
Her:  "Why?"
Me:  "Sometimes my glasses give me a headache.  And I did smack my head on the freezer the other day."  (putting my hand towards the lump on my head)
Her:  "STOP TOUCHING IT!  But even before that, you were having headaches.  I'm started to get worried.  Maybe it's a brain tumor."
Me:  "I might have a brain tumor.  I might die from a brain tumor.  You always said you were going to outlive me."¹
Her:  "So you're just going to die and leave me because of a brain tumor?  Who does that??  So rude."
Me:  "I know."
Her:  "So here's what will happen after you die.  I'll get a roommate and live in this house like a nun.  They'll move in here."  (gesturing to my office)  "Wait, no, I'll move back here.  I don't always like being up front because of potential gunshots.  I'll move back here."
Me:  "Are you going to repaint it?"²
Her:  "No, I'll leave it exactly as it is.  Like a shrine."
Me:  "With all my Barbies and everything?"
Her:  "Of course!  And who'd sell a DVD collection like that?  That's a woman-trap if I ever saw one."
Me:  "What about the animals?"
Her:  "Oh, they can stay and hang out.  Well, Doogie will have to go.  And you'll just die and leave me with nothing but books and Barbies and DVD's."
Me:  "And yarn."

¹: It's funny because my Unit is eleven years older than I am.
²: My office is Pepto Bismol pink.

Cloud Vaginas and Elvis: Key West Adventures Part 2

The first flight was 2.5 hours long and very crowded; lots of small children.  I am thankful for things like iPods and sitting at the back of the plane.  We both slept most of the flight.  The flight from Orlando to Key West was much shorter (approximately 45 minutes) and much smaller.

A friend had asked me to "wave to Harry Potter" when we flew over Orlando (Universal Studios' "Wizarding World").  I did better than that!  I took a picture in the Orlando airport:

It was pouring down rain in Orlando, which didn't bode well for our week-long Florida vacation.

My Unit and I eventually each took window seats (me in front of her) where we could communicate through a series of ridiculous hand signals, including one that simply means "SPRING BREAK!  2013!  WOOHOO!" screamed like a frat boy.

The pilot warned us that the runways in Key West "are kind of short," so basically not to expect a soft landing.  With my forehead pressed against the window, I started watching the clouds streaming by.

Then the turbulence starts.  I have to sit back lest I forcibly knock my head against said window, and I really don't want to start the vacation off with a concussion (no concussions in 2013!).  It gets bad enough that I grip the armrests and practice some deep breathing.

Finally, it passes.  I start to let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding when a hand reaches around the seat and grabs my arms, scaring the crap out of me.  At which point I press my face into the crack between the seats and say (over the airplane engines) "You scared the crap out of me!"
And my Unit snickers.  And then she flashes our "gang sign" -- SPRING BREAK!  2013!  WOOHOO!

We attempt to "whisper" to each other -- which is really stylized shouting over the airplane engines.
Her:  "Did you like the turbulence?"
Me:  "It scared me.  I may have peed on myself a little."
Her:  "What?"
Me:  "I PEED ON MYSELF!"
More snickering.

I pointed out to her that I was watching the cloud shapes roll by.  "That cloud looks like a vagina."
"What?"
"That CLOUD is a VAGINA!"
"You mean a 'clagina'?"
"Eww.  Sounds like a disease."
"Yeah.  'I'm sorry.  It looks like you have clagina.'"
"Feels like burning!!!"

We flew over the Keys, and it took a moment for me to realize that I wasn't watching more sky, but blue-green ocean.  I have never flown over ocean before.  We could see boats below, and my Unit pointed out that "you can ride on those boats around the islands."
Me:  "...."
Her:  "They usually serve cocktails."
Me:  "Let's go on a boat!!"

As promised, the landing was short and abrupt; my seat belt served its purpose excellently, keeping me from flying into the seat in front of me (no concussions in 2013!).  And then we stopped.  And they opened the door.

There was no "tunnel" or walkway leading into the airport proper.  In Key West, one deplanes directly on the tarmac, just like Elvis or the President!  I had never done that before.  It was a novel experience; I felt like a celebrity, just as the other hundred people felt, too, I'm sure.  And then we were smacked in the face with Key West's humidity, and I started to strip off as many layers (having just left 30 degree weather) as I could while not getting arrested.

We stood in line for a taxi, and got a PINK ONE!  I was so excited that we got the PINK TAXI that I shouted, "Woohoo!"  The cop in charge of assigning people to taxis said it made his day that I was so excited.  So I gave another "Woohoo!" just for him.

(In Key West, many taxis are pink, but only special people get to ride in them.)

We got to our adorable hotel room, and it came complete with a painting that looks like exactly one of my Unit's niece's pieces!

We felt very much at home.  We unpacked, changed into cooler clothes, and made our way to Duval Street.  It was 11 a.m. Key West time, and I was starving.

This is how we do lunch Spring Break-style.

Coming up:  dolphins, manatees, and Kermit the Frog!

Girl Problems

Me:  "Sonofabitch!"
My Unit:  "What?"
Me:  "All of my make-up is at the theatre!"
Her:  "Oh noes!  You don't have any here?"
Me:  "Some powder and a lipstick."

Five minutes later, after applying said powder and lipstick...
Me:  "Wow.  That looks weird.  There's nothing on my eyes."
Her:  "You're sure you don't have anything here?"
Me:  "Yes!"
Her:  "Not in any of your bags?"
Me:  "I already looked.  I found one other lipstick."
Her:  "I don't believe you."

Two minutes later, after rifling through the bathroom cabinet...
Her:  "I can't believe you don't have any back-up make-up."
Me:  "It's all in that tackle box at the theatre."
Her:  "You're not very good at being a girl, are you?"

I Flunked Geography

Whilst having sushi with my Unit, she mentioned a protest she had read about -- somewhere, in another country, people protesting over the building of a shopping mall in the ONE remaining park the place had.  "It's in Istanbul, I think," she said.

Fast-forward to the next morning, she shouts from the next room:  "Yep, it's Istanbul!  Where is Istanbul?"
Me:  "I don't know, but it was once Constantinople."
Her:  "Very funny."
Me:  "I've been waiting since last night to use that joke."

FYI, Istanbul is in Turkey.  And on a more serious note, here is the protest that is happening. You should read it.

Needs More Cowbell

Car Conversations:

Me: (joking)  "Woman, I will throw you out of this car!"
My Unit:  "Say it again, but more intense."
Me:  "I will throw you out of this car!"
My Unit:  "No, louder."
Me:  "Y'know, 'intense' doesn't always mean 'louder.'"
My Unit:  "I'm the one giving direction.  Louder AND more intense."
Me:  "I will throw you out of this car!"
My Unit:  "More Joan Crawford!"
Me:  "I will throw you out of this car!"
My Unit:  "I have no idea how you made your eyebrows that pointy.  MORE Joan Crawford plus loud and intense!"
Me:  "I will throw you out of this car!"
My Unit:  "You need more shoulder pads."
Me:  "Wardrobe!"
My Unit: "Make-up!"

So if you see us at a stoplight, screaming and laughing so hard we're crying, this is why.