Swear Jar=I am FUCKED.

It's finally happened people.

My sister (she of the FIVE children), has implemented a Swear Jar.

This, in and of itself will bankrupt me, OBVIOUSLY.

But on top of having to contribute to the Swear Jar for your standard (and I use this term loosely) "swear" words, such as: fuck, asshole, shit, dammit, turd etc....my sister has also implemented an "inappropriate things" clause that applies ONLY to me and me alone. 

Meaning that anything she deems "inappropriate" that I mention within her earshot in front of her children ALSO warrants a contribution to the "swear jar".

Obviously I object as this means that virtually EVERYTHING I say EVER will result in a financial contribution to the aforementioned socially restrictive and free-speech-oppressing "swear jar".

Particularly as "inappropriate" basically means anything that my sister has not, thus far, mentioned to her children which includes a WIDE variety of topics including EVERYTHING.

Just the other day, for example, the subject of vibrators came about which, apparently, my sister had never mentioned in front of her children.

I got blamed for the introduction of this topic, as per USUAL.

And, if I may add, just because my sister hasn't mentioned something to her kids does not automatically mean that they first heard it from ME.

These kids are in PUBLIC school, after all.

They may very well be retaining information from other sources that are NOT me.  So how does my sister know for sure that when I mention something, her children are hearing it from me for the first time? 

Thirdly, I would argue that an impartial judge should be appointed to determine objectively what IS or IS NOT "appropriate" because by my sister's definition everything on EARTH is inappropriate.

How can I take responsibility for all of the topics on the whole of Earth?

Case in point...tonight the following occurred:

Meg: Oh!  I bought you an early Valentines present!
Me: *crossing all of the fingers on both hands and saying OUT LOUD* Oh please let it be a naked man. Oh please let it be a naked man.
Meg: (outraged) That is NOT what it is!
Me:  *crossing all of the fingers on both hands and saying OUT LOUD* Oh please let it be a WELL ENDOWED naked man.  Oh please let it be a WELL ENDOWED naked man.
Meg:(even more outraged)  THAT IS NOT WHAT IT IS!  STOP IT!
*spoiler alert.....it was a wine bottle shaped magnet that said "Wine time is Any time" and was NOT a naked man at all*
Me: What?
Mia (my 10 y/o neice): What does that mean?
Me: It means-
Meg: NO!!  Stop.
At this point my very helpful 13 y/o nephew appeared at my right hand with said "Swear Jar/Inappropriate Things Jar" in hand.
Joe (my 13 y/o nephew): Here. 
Me: *outraged* What?!  How is that "inappropriate"?
Joe: (patting my hand sympathetically) Here's a few nickles to get you started.
Me: *still outraged* What? NO. I do NOT need charity nickles.  How is that inappropriate!?

Apparently using the words "well endowed" warranted an "inappropriate thing" contribution.

WTF.

Then later, when discussing Justin Bieber's recent DUI/DWI/dragracing/resisting law enforcement officers arrest, it came up that Bieber himself is the result of a TEENAGE pregnancy.

To which I--being the RESPONSIBLE Aunt that I am--pointed out how to PREVENT pregnancy.

I suggested condoms & spermicide.

And you can guess what happened next. 

I'll be broke by Easter for sure.

Monsters/Spiders/Bats etc.

I just dropped something under the bed, but since I'm pretty sure there are monsters or spiders or bats under there I'm probably going to just leave it.

Like, FOREVER.

I Must Be Ovulating...or something.

At work today...

Me (to supervisor): Hey.
Supervisor: What's up.
Me: Nothing.
Supervisor: Okay....you sure?
Me: Yup.  I thought I'd just pop in to say, "hi" and see how YOU are doing for no real reason except that I care.
Supervisor: *staring blankly*
Me: What?
Supervisor: Are you ok?
Me: Yea.  I guess I must be ovulating or something because I'm feeling slightly nurturing for some weird reason.
Supervisor: Wow, really? Nurturing.  Huh. That's weird.
Me: I know.
*crickets chirping*
Me: You're plant looks like it needs water. 
Supervisor: Yeah, that's because I don't water it.
Me: *no response*
Supervisor: You wanna water it for me?
Me: *rolling eyes and sighing LOUDLY* Oh for crying out loud, I'm not feeling THAT nurturing...Jesus *leaves dramatically*

Happy Easter. Here's a rabbit's ASS in cake form.

Happy Easter internets...

My mom bought this cake.

My dad made approximately 4 inappropriate jokes about this cake.

My sister replied to each one of his jokes, "I don't get it."

*sigh*

 

 



Upper Holes...your best guess.

The following may make NO sense to you whatsoever.

Rest assured, it makes no sense to me either, and I was THERE, soooo....clearly YOU have a problem.

No.  Just kidding.

Not really. 

Aaaanyways....here's the scenario:

If a 7 year old child came to you and advised that you should use the term "upper hole" (whilst you were drinking gin at your sisters house and therefore couldn't really remember what you had said just immediately prior to this declaration)....what would you think he meant?

YES!  Me too. 

And then my sister was all, like, "um NO...weirdo.  That's NOT what that means."

Which, naturally, prompted me to ask said 7 year old what exactly did they mean by  "upper hole"...which prompted renewed protests from my sister (who is a GIANT prude ).

See, I had assumed they meant "mouth" or, perhaps "ears"-as the ears are parallel to the mouth and I was interpreting "upper" in the most literal sense of the word.

Turns out the kid meant butthole. (which FYI is actually the LOWER most hole, but what the f*ck do I know I've only been sticking things in my holes for, like, 20 more years than this dumb kid...LOSER)

BUTThole. 

Turns out the kid meant BUTThole.

Which made me wonder that the f*ck I said to prompt this dialogue to begin with I immediately pointed out is NOT the upper most orifice on his person at which point I proceeded to name all of the orifices on said child's person beginning with the nethermost hole.

My prudish sister objected immediately.

Well, says I...what else would you like me to call it, a "wee wee"?

Meg: I don't want you calling it ANYTHING.

Me: just out of curiosity, does he know that he has two OUT holes down there?  I mean, provided he's not-

Meg: NO.

Me: I'm just saying that while most people consider those both an OUT only, there are some-

Meg: NO.

I swear.  Sometimes I think my sister was put on Earth to spoil all my fun.

Conversations on the Job: Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire.

Recently I met with my client, Joe, and his mom.  Mom really, really, really wants her son, my client, Joe, to find gainful employment and get the HELL outta her house.

My client?

Not so much.

He's failed out of  quit three job programs so far (or maybe four, whose counting taxpayer dollars at this point...NOT ME).

So here we are...again.  Another year, another failed program. 

Mom was mad.  I mean, real mad. 

Joe was cool as a cucumber. 

I asked him about each program he's quit failed so far.  For one program (culinary school) he said that he developed an allergy to flames.  For another (janitorial work) he said he got bursitis.  For another, (loss prevention at a department store) it was straight up discrimination yo.

This whole time mom is shaking her head and making disbelieving noises (impossible to adequately describe here so use your imagination).  Finally, Mom had enough.

Mom: This is BULLSHIT.  He needs to get a job.
Me: Well Joe, what do you want to do?
Joe: I was thinking I'd like to be a CIA agent.
Me: That's very noble.
Joe: Thank you.
Me: You know what the number one skill you need to have to be a CIA agent is, right?
Joe: What?
Me: You need to be a good liar.
Joe: Oh I can lie.
Me: Oh, I know you can lie.  You done lied to me about four times so far this last half hour, but that's not what I said.  I said you need to be a good liar.
Joe: What?
Me: That means you need to lie & get away with it.  You're not so good at that Joe.
Joe: Oh.
Me: Soo...
*uncomfortable silence*
Joe: Well, I guess I'll be a massage therapist then.
Me: Good plan.