Here we go again...

Oh friends and faithful boog readers, all 3 of you, I must apologize yet again for neglecting my boog writing. I know it's not an excuse, but I've been writing March Madness basketball recaps for the NCAA Tournament pool that I run, and have completely abandoned any and all other writing. I'm a bitch like that. But not to worry, the tournament will be over soon, so if you'll have me, I'd like to come back and write about the ridonkulous thoughts that cross my brainscape. I know it's a lot to ask, but please keep coming back to my boog and I promise you that I will have some new stuff soon-ish.

I was going to write something last night, but "The Rock" was on for the second Sunday in a row and god forbid I miss a showing of "The Rock", I mean, I've only seen it 874 times. Seriously, what is it about that movie that hooks me like a meth-head? I used to tell myself it was the hotness of Vanessa Marcil, but let's be serious people, she's in the friggin movie for like 10 minutes. She's sho 'nuff hot though. Dag. Anyhotbod, I hate Nick Cage, and I mean hate him...so I know it's not him. The dude from Candyman scares the sh*t right outta me, and I'm only a semi Ed Harris fan. So it must be Sean Connery. I guess Sean Connery is what keeps me coming back for more "Rock".

Although now that I think of it, I have a similar addiction to "Con Air", which is another Nick Cage joint. I watch it every time it's on, but I've always told myself that I love it despite Nick Cage being in it. Perhaps I'm denying something deep inside me, an undying love for Nick Cage. Oh my. This is not how I wanted my Monday to go at all...

Carrots...

This poem is dedicated to the pile of carrots I discovered in my street yesterday...

Oh pretty pile of carrots,
How did you end up there?
Perhaps tossed from a car
By a jerk, who did not care

Oh pretty pile of carrots,
Are those peppers among your ranks?
Thank God you're not alone
For that I will give thanks

Oh pretty pile of carrots,
Had I not seen you, I'd have slipped
But I did, so I stepped over
And wondered how you'd be w/ dip

Oh pretty pile of carrots,
You may have tasted nice
Now you're smooshed down flat
Under a sheet of snow and ice

Oh pretty pile of carrots,
Your sad story makes me cry
Soon the street sweeper will come
And we will say "goodbye"



Adios, pile of carrots. You're the most random thing I've ever stepped over.

When in doubt, blame God...

I was over at my parents house this morning...I know what you're thinking, you're thinking "it's not Friday, what in the hell was Meta doing at her parents house?". Well let me tell ya, if you're thinking that...then you obviously read everything I write and are potentially stalking me if you remember every little detail. And if you're thinking "I already knew that Meta was at her parents house today", then you are absolutely stalking me and you followed me there(One question: why didn't you clean my car off when I was in having coffee?). I'm not complaining, if anyone loves a stalker, it's this girl. Stalk away, my friends, stalk away! Only don't judge me when you're stalking me and you see me pull into the gym parking lot, pretend like the lot is too full and turn right back around and head to Tasty Dog.

Anycreepy, my parents and I got on the subject of concerts this morning, probably because my dad was reading an article in the paper and dared to ask me if Lady Gaga was any good. By the way, it took a full 5 minutes of me sneering at him before I responded with "Are you f*cking kidding me?" After my disgust, I went on a rant about how she writes her own stuff, plays a kick ass piano and actually sings live unlike a lot of today's pop tarts(sorry Brit Brit. I love ya, but ya cain't sing, girl!). My dad then said "It's like that Milli Vanilli thing. Why aren't people more upset about this?"...I explained to him that it's not exactly the same since Milli Vanilli never actually sang on their tracks at all. PS...hearing your dad talk about Milli Vanilli? Is hilarious. Anybraids, my mom then asked me if I still had fun at the Milli Vanilli concert even though they were lip-syncing. I looked around to make sure no cool people were around to hear me admit to going to the Milli Vanilli concert, and once that was confirmed I said that yes, I did have a really good time.

My dad then said "So they weren't the ones that cancelled their concert? There was a band you were going to see, and they cancelled their concert. Who was that? Rose something?". My mom said "Oh, Axl Rose" and I said "Yeah, Guns 'N Roses, I forgot about that. I'm bummed I didn't get to see them!" Then my mom said "Personally, I think God was responsible for cancelling that concert because you were such an asshole, Meta." I busted out laughing, but my dad(bless his heart) said "Why was she an asshole?" and my mom said "Because she was a teenager!" at the same exact time as I said "Because I was a teenager!"

So, what's the point of all this? Well, I'm not sure. I think just to say that teenagers can be assholes. And La Ga is the shit. And that yes, I did go to see Milli Vanilli. And that no, I was not alone, I did have friends with me. They may not admit to it, but they know who they are!

Rock on!

Reason #144...

...why I love The Joyous One. Last night, we were at a Fenwick alumni fundraiser that our good friend was the ringleader of. A lot of people had name tags on, and on the the name tags, they had their graduating class from Fenwick. Now, The Joyous One and I are not Fenwick alums, but decided to put on name tags anyways. As I finished putting mine on, I looked over at The Joyous One and saw that she did, in fact, include a graduating class..."Joy, Class of Awesome".

Ain't no party like a Kroker party...

I loved Thanksgiving this year. I mean, I love it every year, but I really loved Thanksgiving this year. I loved the turkey, and the turkey skin. I loved the mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables, and butternut squash soup. I loved the french silk pie, and pumpkin pie, and sweet potato pie, and whip cream. I loved the wine with dinner, and the funny conversations, and being able to burp at the table when I needed to burp. I loved using bad words, and swearing at each other in a hilarious manner.

I loved that my dad started things off by calling one of us a mother
f#%@&!, a phrase that turns me right into a pile of giggles, especially when a grown-up says it.

I loved The Joyous One, who when her coffee cup was filled up too much said "Babe, suck on this so it goes down." I loved the raucous laughter that followed.

I loved my mom, pretending not to know what a dutch oven was. I loved my sister for calling her out on it, saying "Do not act like you don't know what a dutch oven is!" I loved my mom's response, "Well I call that 'Do it again you f#%@!*& son of a bitch, and I'll kill you!". I love that I laughed about that for days after, repeating it to anyone who would listen.

I love that I'm still laughing about all that now.

I loved Thanksgiving.

Funny things seem to happen while having barfmeal...

So this Friday, like every Friday, I was at my parents house having coffee and barfmeal with my dad. Today, we mixed it up a little though, I had a tomato sandwich ala Harriet The Spy instead of my usual english muffin, and my dad decided to invite Mr. Apple to accompany his barfmeal. This meant there was lots of extra crunching along with the regular barfmeal consumption and I was glad to have eaten my sammie before I lost my appetite...no small feat, let me tell you. But barfmeal is not the point of this story, there was another knee slapping moment this morning, only this time, my mom got involved...my dad was the co-star and villain, and moms was definitely the hero.

My dad and I were sitting at the breakfast table, reading the paper...chatting...the ushe, and my mom came into the kitchen to prepare her lunch. As she was prepping, she was telling me how she maybe found a dress for my sister's wedding. So I was asking good daughter questions like "Where did you find it?" and "What color is it?" and "Who's the designer?"(yeah, right...I may watch Project Runway but I don't have a fashionable bone in my body). She was saying how she had been online looking for something and wasn't finding anything good, then by chance was at Carson's the night before, and then right in the middle of the story my mom was telling, I saw my dad lean all the way over and...BRRUUMMmmmbbBOMMMMPPPfffFFTTT...trumpet fart. I immediately began yelling at him, calling him disgusting, asking what was wrong with him. He claimed he didn't know it would be that loud, which...I call bullshit, Phil, a full lean means you know it's gonna be loud and powerful and you want to let it escape so you don't get blown into the air like Old Faithful. Anytoot, after my scolding he put the paper over his face, which at first I thought was him being ashamed. Then, I saw the paper shaking..."Dad, you scum, are you behind the paper laughing at yourself? Of course you are." He said "No, I'm reading the paper!" But he couldn't keep the paper upright, and sure enough, red-faced squinty Phil was there, laughing his head off at his own fart. He tried to cover again, saying he didn't mean to, it was an accident, I kept saying it was on purpose and then my mom chimed in..."Obviously he couldn't stand the fact that he wasn't getting any attention." One look at my mom and I nearly fell on the ground laughing. I actually was bent over double, trying to hold the belly jiggle to a minimum because that's how hard I was laughing. My dad laughed too, even though I had to repeat what my mom said twice, which kind of took away from the hilarity, but still...

Many of you may not think it's funny, laughing about farts. But if you know my family at all, then you know that laughing about farts is what we do...usually at the dinner table...and you love us for doing it. God knows I do.

Table for two...

There's that age-old question "If you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would you pick?". I've heard lots of different answers to this question, but most people will pick someone famous to sit down and break bread with. I've heard people say Jesus, Martin Luther King Jr., Bono(that would be The Joyous One's choice), Abraham Lincoln, Oprah(why doesn't anyone ever pick Gayle? She's the funny one! Don't tell Oprah I said that), Mother Teresa, Captain Kangaroo, and on and on and you get my drift. I just do not know what the hell I would say to any of those people..."uh, thanks...for...all that you've done for this world. Could you pass the butter?" Seriously, I would probably just sit there, jaw dropped to double chin level, and say nothing. Or even worse, say horribly dorky things(I do NOT do well with trying to act cool around anyone famous. Just ask...oh nevermind). I mean, I wouldn't even know where to begin with someone like Martin Luther King Jr. And Jesus? I would totally ask for the truth about Mary Magdalene and dinner would take a right turn down Awkward Avenue. But really, who would I want to eat dinner with, dead or alive?

There are 2 people whom I always seem to come back to when I REALLY think about this question. My cousin Sarah died November 22nd, the day before Thanksgiving, right before I turned 2 years old. She was 10, and died of Cystic Fibrosis. I was too young to remember her for myself, but my mom implanted a memory of her which I go back to occasionally. My parents took me to see Sarah at the hospital, but I was too young to go in, so they stood with me outside of her window, so she could see me, so we could wave to each other. I can picture myself doing this, and it makes me deeply sad to think about it. That seems silly to me, since I don't remember her, I feel like maybe I don't get to be sad about her. Not that there are rules to this kind of thing, I just don't want to step on the toes of the people who do remember. Maybe I should just stop trying to be polite and let myself feel however I want. I wish I could meet her again, I'd like to get to know her, I'd like to have dinner with her. She made me a tooth fairy pillow out of washcloths and safety pins when she was in the hospital. I've asked my mom about it several times throughout my life, she's always told me she knew exactly where it was, but she's never given it to me. This weekend I asked for it again, she asked what it was worth to me...without thinking I said "A million dollars. No, it's worth more than that." Looks like I'm finally getting my tooth fairy pillow. And maybe someday, I'll get that dinner with my cousin.

My Grandpa Kroker died before I was born. He was young, 62 I believe. When I look at pictures of him, I can see where I get my penchant for pulling a funny face every time a camera is pointed at me. Stories about my grandpa and his brother Leo are legendary, I could listen to those stories for hours...and I have. He just seemed so so fun, I'd like to get a chance to laugh with him for awhile. I think about how different our childhood trips to Auburn would have been if he were alive. I can see him pretending to sleep in a lawn chair, then jumping up and scaring Emily and I as we crept closer to investigate. I can picture myself trying to impress him from way up in the backyard tree. I see Emily on his shoulders, and me being jealous. I imagine both of us in footie pajamas, curled up on the couch with him, Emily with her cugger and doll, me being pissed that my pj's were pink. I can almost feel the sheer joy of being able to wake up with him and my grandma being in the same house as us. Man, what a strange feeling, missing something I've never had.

Don't get me wrong, I am a very lucky person. I LOVE all of the crazy, hilarious, lovely, talented people I'm blessed to know. I'm not trying to dwell on what I've missed in my life, it's just the last time I was faced with that question, I started to think about what I really want. And as much as I'd love to meet Oprah, I would blow her off in a second if it meant even a moment in time with Sarah, or a splash of a day with my Grandpa Kroker.