Party Planning Meeting
Um, hi you guys. This is my first time running a meeting, so bear with me.
How do I call this to order? Do I just say, “I call this meeting to order” or something? Wait, before I do that, is everybody here? Where’s Jimmy? There he is. Hi, Jimmy, how’m I doing so far? Ha ha, just kidding.
Let me just look over Robert’s Rules of Order quick to see how I call a meeting to … Alright, now somebody is handing me a note. That’s exciting! I don’t know why I’m narrating everything that’s happening. I think I’m just a little nervous.
Okay, well according to this note, party planning committee meetings do not need to run by parliamentary procedure, which is good, because that was making my stomach turn over with anxiety.
Speaking of which, I brought in bags of potato chips for everybody. I hope you guys like salt and vinegar style. They’re the giant bags from Costco, and I didn’t remember plates, so just pass them around. Sorry if they’re a little crushed from my backpack.
Beth, you’re not taking any potato chips? That’s not very team-player of you. There you go. Really dig around in their for some chips.
Alright, the first order of business is team-building exercises. At first, I thought the party planning committee could maybe go through a ropes course together, but I priced it out, and that would eat up our entire cake budget for the year. So, then I thought we could maybe do a backrub circle instead.
Everybody scoot your chairs into a circle, and we’ll all give each other backrubs. Don’t worry; it’s a circle. Nobody’s gonna get stuck not getting a backrub.
Pardon me? Yes, I guess our hands are a little greasy from the chips. In my rush to plan this planning meeting, I forgot to bring napkins. That’s on me. I had some panicky stomach issues this morning, and I don’t want to get into specifics, but let me say three words---broken softserve machine. That’s all I’ll say.
Wait, fourth word---explosive.
But, I take your point. No backrubs today. Somebody write down that we’re tabling the backrub circle until next month. Who’s our committee secretary? No one? Somebody write down that we need to elect a secretary at the next meeting.
Um…
Alright, great meeting, you guys! Really looking forward to more of these. If anybody thinks of any party or cake-related ideas, you can find me in my cubicle.
I hereby call this meeting officially dismissed to be adjourned.
My Religion
For as long as I can remember, I've hopped around between different religions. I think it has something to do with my mother being a Catholic nun and my father being L. Ron Hubbard.
In my teens, I tried out Buddhism and Jewish Mysticism. Then, I got baptized a few times by both the Baptists and the Anabaptists. I handled some snakes. Standard stuff.
I tried Mormonism for awhile, because I thought the no drinking alcohol thing would help me lose weight. But, holy moley, those guys eat sooo much sherbet!
When I was twenty, I converted to Islam, which was great. They let me be a whirling dervish, because they said I was quote/unquote "super rad at spinning." That was probably my favorite up to that point. But, I get antsy, so I left.
I tried Baha’i, because I have never met a Baha’i follower who wasn't goddamn adorable. So friendly and smiley. And, that was awesome. Super happy as a Baha’i ... but…
When you get so close to perfection, it's like you can see the finish line up ahead. So, I decided to start my own religion.
It's only got a few guidelines, and they are as follows:
- We don't really have any dietary restrictions. Although, we do try to avoid olives and capers, just because they're gross. Also, if someone wants sun-dried tomatoes on a pizza, we insist on extra cheese.
- We only pray when we want a new iPad, or when we're late for a job interview.
- Our Sabbath falls on whichever day of the week is the sunniest. On that day, we hammock.
- We don’t believe in Heaven, but we do believe in Vietnamese sandwiches. So, close.
- We wear special magic underwear that makes our ass look great in these jeans.
- We do not believe in speaking aloud God’s real name, which is Henry F. Gunderson. OH NO!
- We believe in a strict separation of duties between the sexes. Only men shall perform card tricks; only women shall tie balloon animals.
- Reincarnation gets a solid “maybe” to “why not?”
- We do not believe in free will, as evidenced by this empty bag of potato chips.
- Our most sacred animal is the giraffe, because we thought we’d try to bolster its self confidence.
- We bury our dead in their most comfortable pajamas.
- We enjoy the occasional Agatha Christie novel.
Other than that, there aren’t many more rules to my religion---just another four hundred or so. But, most of those pertain to hammock etiquette. I’ll save that for a later post.
Amen.
Nothing in the Rulebook…
I hereby call to order this emergency meeting of the National Collegiate Athletic Association. We will be amending procedure in order to expedite this meeting.
It has come to this board's attention that there are serious gaps in the rulebooks covering organized sports at the collegiate level. Apparently, there is nothing in the rules that says a golden retriever can't play football.
This loophole has seriously undermined the integrity and sanctity of college sport. Not only are the opposing players made to look like fools as they bumble into each other chasing said golden retrievers, but our referees, too, can do nothing but throw their hands in the air, befuddled.
Therefore, as our first order of business, I call for a vote on an amendment of rule 12.113C calling for specific language banning golden retrievers or any breed of dog larger than 30 lbs. from membership on a football team. Further, no such dog shall be allowed to participate in competitive gameplay during any sanctioned pre-season or bowl games.
This ban covers the following positions: kicker, running back, tailback, lineman, wide receiver, quarterback. Mascot and waterboy positions are not covered under this ban. Thus, dogs can serve in these capacities. I would suggest using a St. Bernard, because that would be adorable.
Should this ban pass, it would apply retroactively to the beginning of the season. This would call into question Michigan State’s victory over Notre Dame on September 18th along with the Pitsburgh Panther’s win over Rutgers on October 23rd. Players “Rex” and “Buffy the Wonder Pooch” on their respective teams would be asked to step down pending review.
A vote has been called and seconded. All those in favor of the amendment to rule 12.113C, please say aye. Those opposed? The amendment passes.
Moving on to item two: The situation with orangutans playing hockey…
Rogue Cop
Yes, I am a rogue cop who does whatever it takes to bring scumbags to justice. Yes, I play by my own rules. But, at least I have rules. Nobody acknowledges that part.
Here are my rules:
- I will never punch a baby. No matter what information it might know.
- I will only plant evidence on the guilty.
- I will always avenge the mob-related deaths of my informants within one week of said death.
- I will never own a car built after 1985.
- I will keep my stubble healthy through weekly conditioning treatments.
- I will hand in my badge and firearm at least once during every case.
- I will own only timeless, never trendy leather jackets.
- I will only sometimes plant evidence on my ex-wife's jerk boyfriend.
- I will grunt grudging acceptance of my new black and/or female partner.
- I will shroud my past in lonesome secret.
- I will refer to everyone by his or her last name.
- I will keep a photo of my estranged children next to my bed to provide some small point of empathy.
- I will drink all the time. That's a promise.
- I will use the c-word in front of priests but never nuns.
- I will roll my own cigarettes, which is not at all a silly affectation reserved for men who lacked a strong male presence in their teens.
- I will never play frisbee.
- I will strut. Again, that's a promise.
Delicious Popsicles
Listen, if it were up to me, everybody would have popsicles.
But, it’s not up to me; it’s up to your mother. I was given strict instructions as your babysitter—no popsicles for the kids. But, that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy my popsicle.
Don’t look at me that way. Rules are rules. Without rules, it’s chaos. You’re too young to understand, being ages 3 and 5, but one day you will. Whoops, my popsicle is dripping! Let me just get that … mmm, delicious.
I wish I could give you popsicles. I do. Especially because there are tons in the freezer. Seriously, your mom must have gone to Costco. But, she gave explicit instructions. “Do not give Madden or Quinn any popsicles. It will ruin their dinner.” And, I refuse to ruin dinner by giving you yummy grape popsicles like the one I am eating right now.
Pouting isn’t going to get you anywhere, Quinn. In fact, it makes me less likely to sneak you a popsicle against your mother’s wishes. Which I could totally do. But, I won’t. Even though I could. Because I’m the adult.
As an adult, I am not bound by the “no popsicle” rule. See? That’s why I can break open this second popsicle for myself. But, you guys are children—children who aren’t allowed to have popsicles. It’s a fine but important distinction, and I am truly sorry that it exists.
One day, you’ll thank me. Some day in the distant future. Maybe a swelteringly hot day, like today. You’ll say, “Andy, thank you for refusing to give us popsicles—no matter how hard we begged. It taught us an important lesson.” I’m not sure what that lesson is, but then again, I’m not the one in charge. Your mom is.
Ouch, this second popsicle is giving me a cold headache. Do you kids ever get those? They’re the worst. I’m gonna have to throw away the rest of this sweet, tasty popsicle. You probably shouldn’t watch while I … open up the trashcan … and done. No more popsicle. It’s a shame. So delicious.
Anyway, who up for starting dinner? Let’s see what’s in the cabinet. Ooh, I hope you guys like lentil and barley soup!
Summer Rental Rules
Welcome to Bill and Wendy's summer cottage! This little "cheat sheet" is to help our guests (you) enjoy their (your) stay. If you have any questions, call us at the phone number on the envelope.
- The rental agency probably gave you the keys, or you wouldn't be in here reading this. Unless you're a burglar, in which case STOP BURGLING US!
- Recycle bins are labeled under the sink. We're self-admitted crazies about recycling, so recycle everything. Or else.
- The pilot light in the stove can be tricky. If you singe off your eyebrows, there are eyebrow toupees and spirit gum in the right-hand cabinet.
- There's a tennis racket behind the couch for when bats get inside.
- The plumbing is old, so please no flushing sanitary products or paper towels down the toilet. Also, no number twos.
- There is a canoe in the shed you are welcome to use. As long as you don't mind spiders. Hundreds of spiders.
- The thing that looks like a camera lens and blinking light in the bedroom ceiling is part of the heating system. Please ignore it and continue undressing.
- There’s not really much TV reception out here, but we do have Patch Adams and Teen Wolf Too on VHS. Be kind, rewind!
- If you get cold at night, there are some quilts Bill’s mother made in the chest. You’re welcome to use them. Again, as long as you don’t mind spiders.
- We highly recommend a trip to nearby Lake Patawawawachakikta. It’s name is Native American for “Birthplace of the Leach Plague.” Interesting factoid, don’t you think?
- If anything breaks, Mr. Trufter down the road is the neighborhood “handy man.” He’ll come over and give you a handy.
- The linen closet door sticks. Just hit the handle three times with the wrench, then lift up and to the left, and put your foot against the doorframe where the footprints are. Then, simply twist the knob to the right and jiggle it vertically as you yank back with your full weight. It’s simple.
- If you don’t like the smell of mothballs, you’ve come to the wrong rental cabin.
- The heater in the attic makes some weird noises at night. It is definitely not Bill and I hiding in the attic watching you sleep.
- Please turn over the porch chairs if it rains.
Those are all the rental rules. Enjoy your stay at Casa de Gunderson! And, again, if you have any questions, call the number on the envelope. It may sound like a cell phone is ringing in the attic, but again that’s just the heater.
Cheers,
Wendy & Bill
Jumble Ball
The rules of Jumble Ball are simple:
The person with the ball is called the Jumbler. He or she approaches the Jumble Line and calls for a Jumble Quorum. This means that each Jumble team votes five of its members into play. (Jumble Teams can be anywhere between 12 and 43 Jumble Players depending on the season and continent.)
When ten players have been voted upon and confirmed into Jumble Play by the Grand Ref Jumble Judge, play is almost ready to begin. Before that can happen though, the Jumble Field must be raked by the official Jumble Raker. He or she uses a regulation Jumble Rake, at least four feet long but never longer than six feet. Jumble Raking is an honor bestowed upon retired Jumble Players who have shown years of sportsmanship in their Jumbling. The Grand Ref Jumble Judge okays the Jumble Raking, and play is ready to begin--just as soon as the Jumble Paint is applied.
Each Jumble Team chooses two colors to paint their faces. If both teams choose the same colors, each team must re-vote. Spirit animals are chosen to represent that particular day's Jumble Teams' unique group attitude. Those animals' faces are then painted over the players' faces.
The Jumble Ball is blessed.
Names of fallen Jumble Players are read aloud by the Jumble Raker. Each name is inscribed into the handle of his or her rake. Then, there is the ceremonial Jumble Dance representing the Great Jumble of life. All Jumble Team members are included.
The Grand Ref Jumble Judge asks permission of the spectators to start the game. Paper ballots are used and counted. If given permission the GRJJ calls the game into play. The Jumble Clock is set at one twelfth of a Jumble Day. Play begins.
After that, it's pretty much just Smear the Queer.