Mom joins facebook

My mom joined facebook this summer. My family thought it would be a nice communication solution since she lives in a small town in Mexico where it can sometimes be difficult to reach her by phone.

Then the comments started rolling in:

It’s in Spanish. Just trust me, it says nice things.

At first it was sweet, but eventually I was clearing my wall about twice a day.  Fortunately, as she became more familiar with facebook, she learned about private messaging. The downside: She became more familiar with facebook.

Here are a few of her most popular posts (with translations in captions):



She wrote: QUE SORPREDIDA!  Translation: How surprised! *Note: this one got a few likes.

She wrote: QUIEN ES ESE OMBLIGON MIJA.   Translation: Honey, who is this big-belly-button man?

I’m beginning to think she is in on the joke. Either way,I might start a twitter account.



Last night, I was talking to Nick as I fell asleep and said, “I have to get my chickadees in order.”  I was drifting into a dream involving a conveyer belt of hurried chicks in need of organizing.  Nick didn’t stop to question this statement. Apparently, I spew so much nonsense on a regular basis that this statement just seemed par for the course. And I suppose it is.

Speaking of nonsense, I have become a regular viewer of the Mexican soap-opera, Un Refugio para el Amor. I think the title image says it all:

“Your down sweater vest– Is it Northface? Or is it love?”

The plot follows a common trope: Rich guy falls in love with poor girl, whirlwind romance ensues. Guy’s mom is crazy conspirator in plot to foil marriage and hide that the girl is actually the daughter of a rich lawyer (she knows because she’s the one who stole the baby, gave it away, and faked the death in the first place).  You know, the usual.

The main character’s stupid head band upsets me on a very visceral level. I’m not sure if I want to yank it off, or wear it and experience the warm forehead feel myself. This might be the sole reason I keep watching the show.

Ye Olde Bathing Chones

For the past few years, every time I put on a bathing suit I have had to give myself the pep talk where I tell myself it’s not underwear and nobody cares. By the end, I convince myself that by European standards my swim attire is prudish at best, and that I am the Martha Graham of swimwear.


A woman who understands coverage.

Whatever the case, I seem to blend in pretty easily at most swimming functions – so I guess the pep talk works. The thing is, I’m not over it by a long shot.  Modesty issues aside, the casual use of bathing suits in social situations brings up the question of sanitation. One would not allow people to casually attend a dinner party in their unmentionables; the close proximity of under bits to food is just too icky.  But it is absolutely ok to invite multiple people to stand around a barbeque in bathing suits –suits that are presumably soaked in urine (very likely if more than 5 people are swimming, and a mathematical certainty if children are swimming).

Patient Zero

“I’m peeing right now!Everyone else

“Mother of God.”

Conversely, I wonder why it is not socially acceptable to wear swimwear as underwear.   I got to test this out once while on a beach vacation where I got violently ill to my stomach (Wait- How is that different from other vacations? – Nick). Long story short, I had to throw my underwear away and purchase bathing suit bottoms to wear under my dress for the shameful walk back to hotel. Maybe because I was still weak and dehydrated or maybe because I was still unsure of my bowels, but I recall actually enjoying the snug sense of security offered by the Nylon/Spandex refuge.

I guess what I’m trying to say is if we are going to make swim wear that looks like underwear, we should be allowed to wear it as underwear. Then we can be like super heroes all the time, ready for underwater adventures at a moment’s notice! Awesome, as long as people keep their underpants the hell away from my food.

Puzzled by my Hulu

Every time I see the Vyvanse ad on Hulu, I can’t help but wonder what type of accent that blonde actress is suppressing. It bothers me so much, that I generally miss about 15 seconds of whatever show I am watching. Anyway, I am convinced that the accent is somewhere between Welsh and Alabama. Unfortunately, after scouring the internet I was unable to find the Vyvanse video. It’s not even on their website- which I might add is poorly design considering their target demographic.

Funny Gifs - Owl Dance

^^I know you did not  just link me to a PDF file right now, Vyvanse!! ^^

I did, however, find accent tag videos for Wales and Alabama, so I’m basically an expert at this internet thing.

Warning: The videos are only not annoying for about the first minute. Once you get used to the accents, you realize you’re willingly watching people yammer on about whether they prefer to say “pop” or “soda.” 

I doubt it, muchly.

Given that a huge chunk of my formative years were spent trying to emulate Gwen Stefani, I feel it would be remiss not to acknowledge the new No Doubt single. That said, I have to agree with YouTube commenters, where the consensus seems to be, “Daaamn she hasn’t aged,” and “Daaamn that song is awful.”

What is really nagging at my mind when I watch that video, however, is the smoothness of Gwen Stefani’s armpits (jump to the 2:30 mark, if you’re impatient or allergic to bad music). Not that I expect stubble from someone with that kind of money, but gee-whiz they look almost supernatural! Seeing them gives me the same phantom tactile urge  I experience when seeing dolphins- you know, the sense that you know exactly what a dolphin would feel like, despite never having touched one. –No? Am I the only one? — Well, excuse me! Some of us never went to Sea World and had to use our imaginations instead, ok? Geez.

Texts from the Border

I’m finally back in Athens after a rather tumultuous week visiting family in El Paso, TX. I went home to meet my new nephew, and was granted a twofer when my best friend Megan also delivered her baby.  Hers was a home birth (my brain will not allow me to venture further beyond that detail).  But, congrats to baby Noah and Micah, each, for being born. Huzzah!

In other news:  I was stung by a honey bee whilst feeding my father’s pet Macaw, which made the rest of my stay in El Paso rather itchy.

“Hey, when you’re all done being stung, can I bite you? I mean, I was planning on doing it anyway, so…”

Anyway, to color in some of the details of the trip, here are some of the most absurd text messages that were exchanged between me and Nick (mostly out of context, of course):

  • Cass: I sent you a photo of my fat finger.
  • Nick: Bending is overrated.
  •     C: Alone with baby and need to poopy! {Insert dramatic squirrel}

                 N: Looks like baby is going to witness someone poop.

                 C:  No, mom just showed up. Thank the squirrel gods!

  • Cass:  I just walked into a place with Purell and pumped like three times. I missed it so much! *weeps*
  • Cass:  My mom says excitedly to baby, “I’m going to buy you a bicycle so you can learn about Spiderman!” –Wtf?
  • Nick: Have you put his feet in your mouth yet?
  • Cass: Dreamt that I was communicating with a woman in Sweden through a glass of wine.
  •       C: Finally got the baby settled…then dad rushes in to take shower. NOOO. Cass will never poopy.

                   N: I would have responded to that, but I was pooping.

  • Regarding Tom Green – Cass: Maybe he’s podcasting from the toilet these day.

—–  And that pretty much sums up my trip. With the exception of the unbearably long flight next to a woman whose perfume can only be described as reminiscent of cherry cough syrup. “Noxious,” would work too.  Seriously, it was like Avon and Icy Hot had a baby.


In celebration of my sloth, I have decided to post a short story I wrote for a creative writing class last year. The assignment was to  pick a place and time then set a story there.  Basically, I’m guilt-posting in order to make myself feel terrible about not writing. Hooray for guilt!


Ines sat quietly in the Mossehaus lobby, trying hard not to squirm or swing her legs. She knew that Papa’s meetings with Herr Mosse were very important and that she must behave if she wanted to continue to ride with Papa during his day trips to the city.

Normally, Ines enjoyed waiting in the big marble lobby. She liked watching the people rush in from the cold sidewalk through the revolving doors and into the warmth of the lobby. Her favorite were the grown up ladies with their pretty curls, red glossy lips, and clicking heels. They were always in a hurry and rushed past leaving behind scents that reminded Ines of department store counters.  She liked to think that one day she could rush by others and haunt them with her perfume.

Today though, it was impossible to pretend she was a grown up lady because she had forgotten to potty before leaving the house. Papa did not like to stop on the way to work, so she hadn’t told him. She twisted her legs and gripped the sides of her new dress with her sweaty palms. She looked longingly across the lobby at a golden door that she knew led to a public toilet and recalled her father’s stern instructions, “Do not get out of this chair for any reason. You understand?” She had nodded even though she was already feeling the first inklings of pressure in her tummy.  Pretty ladies never look like they need to potty, and she had wanted to be like a grown up.

Ines remembered the last time she had an accident: Papa had struck her, and mama had to clean all of the bed sheets in the middle of the night.  There was still a stain on the mattress beneath the clean white sheets. Whenever she remembered, she would try to roll over to the other side of the bed to avoid it.

She thought of what Papa would say if she stained the upholstered lobby chair. Would Herr Mosse strike her?  The thought terrified Ines, and she began to cry just as the warm liquid spread beneath her tiny body and down the chair leg onto the floor.


Sears& Roebuck Theater

While sightseeing in Fairfax yesterday, we ended up at the lovely Fair Oaks shopping mall –It’s considered, “one of the region’s largest premier shopping destinations.”

Though perhaps not the most historical of destinations, I’m pretty sure we witnessed a golden moment in retail history as we stood in line at Sears. A woman sidled up to the counter with a brown paper bag containing a set of well-used cast iron skillets.  There was no box, tags, receipt or any indication that this set had recently hob-knobbed with other cookery on the  shelf of any store. So, as anyone who has worked retail may have already guessed, this lady was intent on making a return.  Translation: Time to grab a seat, and watch the show.

The insistent woman clamored things like, “These pans made me sick!” and  “I purchased these only a couple of months ago, just  look it up on my card!” and “If you value your job, why are you just standing there,” as the cashiers all exchanged knowing looks that said, “This bitch here is why I will not miss your fat faces when I quit.” To complicate matters, the lady had a very heavy accent. So heavy, it seemed to burden the cashier and render her unable to explain how UPC numbers work, or why she couldn’t track a transaction by simply wishing it into existence. But the real coup de grace, was when the manager informed the client that she had never seen this item, and was certain they did not carry skillets at her store.   The nerve!  I wanted to stand up and applaud, but instead I just stood there with mouth agape at a relatively safe distance .

Needless to say, for this show I will be recommending the Fair Oaks Mall to any wayfaring soul traveling in the DC metro area.

Oh, and Sears totally carries skillets. .

On the Road

I’m currently in Virginia and have been off the internet for nearly 30 hours (equal to 5 reddit years)!  I drove up with a friend who was nice enough to invite me along so I could see my sister. So far I’ve learned:

I hadn’t noticed this before, because whenever I drive up here with Nick we stop once (if at all). This time around it was a car full of girls, so we literally stopped once every hour.

  • Also learned, tweens say the darndest things: “What if giant people just picked us to pet us, like we do to animals?”
  • My sister is far cooler than I give her credit for ( I kind of just tell everyone she’s crazy….and she is, just not any more than the average individual).
  • Nick’s productivity level soars when I’m out of the house.  Here’s a pic of the huge hand-sewn bear he completed in my absence:
    Beary Cute

    Boom! Bear!

    Seriously,  the bear is huge. Anywho,  I’m here until Friday so post will be sporadic (as usual).  But here’s a fun link  to assuage my guilt in case I can’t post later: