So it's Super Bowl back in 2005 (I think) and Zoe spent the better part of the day cooking in the kitchen making vast amounts of finger foods for Dad and I to eat. Super Bowl in the family house hold was like an undeclared holiday where we all sat on the couch for hours on end watching the big game. Me personally I didn't give two shits about which team was playing. I wanted food and to see how the half time show went. Of course, who couldn't watch the Super Bowl for commercials either.
Well, we're all sitting on the couch and for the better part of the first half, Zoe and I were getting really involved with the game. Then all of a sudden the line of scrimmage breaks and the ball barely makes it past the first completion for the team. She jumps out of the couch and yells at the TV,
"What!? Can't you see the yellow line!!!"
This is the moment, when Dad and I stopped half way through eating our finger food snacks and looked at her with the most serious face we could muster. For me, this was once again a perfect opportunity to mentally jot down and save in my head for future reference for retarded ass shit which falls out of her mouth at the most opportune moments.
So, she sits down and I looked at her. I didn't know where to begin because obviously, the yellow line.... The YELLOW line. For a football game has always and forever will be a digitally placed marker for viewers at home to understand where the ball is suppose to go. Conversely there's a blue line showing where the ball starts. And ever so conveniently an arrow with the team logo and a slide shot to tell you (the viewer) what inning we're observing. All of this is digital and to this day, I still get a kick from my sister. I'll watch a game once in a great while and this moment will pop in my head and I'll always think, "CAN'T YOU SEE THE YELLOW LINE!"
Another moment when Zoe has a nack for speaking and shit happens is when we once lived in Moore, Oklahoma. It was a dark and stormy day, I was use to this kind of weather on the West Coast and thought nothing of it till an old lady stepped out of her house and yelled at me of a possible tornado in the city. I booked it home. In the front room Dad had everything prepped for immediate danger. My sister at the time was literally one day out of the hospital from having her baby. So she's all kinds of drugged up. Picture the electricity out for a good portion of this time and the only thing working was the emergency radio on battery power. This small device unknowing kicks start the beginning of what would be an eventful night.
(Static) Tornado has touched down in Tuttle, Oklahoma. (Static)
My Dad repeats the message back to Zoe. And the brilliance here is the fact tornado's move in a North-Eastern movement. They don't have a "wild" path about it. I mean on small scale they move which ever way they want. But on the big picture they move North-Eastern. Usually along with this thing called a JET STREAM. Tuttle is a known fact South West from Moore. Direct line of attack from our town.
Well, Zoe is delirious and she says without a beat,
"Tuttle, who cares about Tuttle!" BOOM!
A tree from the next door neighbors yard falls and wind quickly stirs and all I heard was Dad saying "Get in the shelter." Hold up, our shelter was a small ass closet with board games over our heads. We would have to strap on bike helmets and brace for impact for anything this tornado was going to bring our way. Dad, took a mattress and made a man cave with the bathroom tub. And this was survival 101 in the good old Oklahoma planes at the ripe age of 15.
Anyway, the damage was done and our house was saved once again. However, NEVER EVER again will my sister speak of 'Who cares about Tuttle.' Apparently someone did, otherwise a tree wouldn't have fallen on Dad's truck and dead bunny's wouldn't be in the back yard.
These are two of many, many stories I have on Zoe which I find amazingly funny because of the amounts of irony involved. They show her character as a person and she'll be the first to admit they happened and probably ten to one laugh about them too.
I'd like to go out on a limb for people who don't get it.... I obviously wouldn't make fun of people I didn't care about. It's a lesson I learned back in College during improv class. You Never make fun of people you don't like. Obviously you only make fun of people you love. Apparently it's a theory which I and the majority get but some don't. Which is sad because they're so many things to talk about. I'll be blunt, I can talk about the good and the bad. Obviously the first story was a good one. The second one can seem a little dark because no one would want to be involved with a tornado. Either way, there's no holds bard on what I blog about. I keep it real and fictitious at best. I wouldn't want to name drop someone without permission. And I'm always good for creatively making up a pseudonym. So for all you people out there who don't get it. I love my family and I'm the only one who can make fun of these guys for the moments I find funny! Fictitious or otherwise.... So without further adieu:
DISCLAIMER!
This is MY work of autobiographical fiction. Names (except for yours), characters (including you), places and incidents either are products of MY imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events (like this one) or locales and persons, living or six feet under, is entirely coincidental. AKA, don't sue me… I have nothing.
Well, we're all sitting on the couch and for the better part of the first half, Zoe and I were getting really involved with the game. Then all of a sudden the line of scrimmage breaks and the ball barely makes it past the first completion for the team. She jumps out of the couch and yells at the TV,
"What!? Can't you see the yellow line!!!"
This is the moment, when Dad and I stopped half way through eating our finger food snacks and looked at her with the most serious face we could muster. For me, this was once again a perfect opportunity to mentally jot down and save in my head for future reference for retarded ass shit which falls out of her mouth at the most opportune moments.
So, she sits down and I looked at her. I didn't know where to begin because obviously, the yellow line.... The YELLOW line. For a football game has always and forever will be a digitally placed marker for viewers at home to understand where the ball is suppose to go. Conversely there's a blue line showing where the ball starts. And ever so conveniently an arrow with the team logo and a slide shot to tell you (the viewer) what inning we're observing. All of this is digital and to this day, I still get a kick from my sister. I'll watch a game once in a great while and this moment will pop in my head and I'll always think, "CAN'T YOU SEE THE YELLOW LINE!"
Another moment when Zoe has a nack for speaking and shit happens is when we once lived in Moore, Oklahoma. It was a dark and stormy day, I was use to this kind of weather on the West Coast and thought nothing of it till an old lady stepped out of her house and yelled at me of a possible tornado in the city. I booked it home. In the front room Dad had everything prepped for immediate danger. My sister at the time was literally one day out of the hospital from having her baby. So she's all kinds of drugged up. Picture the electricity out for a good portion of this time and the only thing working was the emergency radio on battery power. This small device unknowing kicks start the beginning of what would be an eventful night.
(Static) Tornado has touched down in Tuttle, Oklahoma. (Static)
My Dad repeats the message back to Zoe. And the brilliance here is the fact tornado's move in a North-Eastern movement. They don't have a "wild" path about it. I mean on small scale they move which ever way they want. But on the big picture they move North-Eastern. Usually along with this thing called a JET STREAM. Tuttle is a known fact South West from Moore. Direct line of attack from our town.
Well, Zoe is delirious and she says without a beat,
"Tuttle, who cares about Tuttle!" BOOM!
A tree from the next door neighbors yard falls and wind quickly stirs and all I heard was Dad saying "Get in the shelter." Hold up, our shelter was a small ass closet with board games over our heads. We would have to strap on bike helmets and brace for impact for anything this tornado was going to bring our way. Dad, took a mattress and made a man cave with the bathroom tub. And this was survival 101 in the good old Oklahoma planes at the ripe age of 15.
Anyway, the damage was done and our house was saved once again. However, NEVER EVER again will my sister speak of 'Who cares about Tuttle.' Apparently someone did, otherwise a tree wouldn't have fallen on Dad's truck and dead bunny's wouldn't be in the back yard.
These are two of many, many stories I have on Zoe which I find amazingly funny because of the amounts of irony involved. They show her character as a person and she'll be the first to admit they happened and probably ten to one laugh about them too.
I'd like to go out on a limb for people who don't get it.... I obviously wouldn't make fun of people I didn't care about. It's a lesson I learned back in College during improv class. You Never make fun of people you don't like. Obviously you only make fun of people you love. Apparently it's a theory which I and the majority get but some don't. Which is sad because they're so many things to talk about. I'll be blunt, I can talk about the good and the bad. Obviously the first story was a good one. The second one can seem a little dark because no one would want to be involved with a tornado. Either way, there's no holds bard on what I blog about. I keep it real and fictitious at best. I wouldn't want to name drop someone without permission. And I'm always good for creatively making up a pseudonym. So for all you people out there who don't get it. I love my family and I'm the only one who can make fun of these guys for the moments I find funny! Fictitious or otherwise.... So without further adieu:
DISCLAIMER!
This is MY work of autobiographical fiction. Names (except for yours), characters (including you), places and incidents either are products of MY imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events (like this one) or locales and persons, living or six feet under, is entirely coincidental. AKA, don't sue me… I have nothing.
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