(New Posts added all this week. If you've already read the following, scroll to the asterisks to see newer stuff. And buy my ebook... you know I always have to get that in) If you've been following this Laughing IS Conceivable blog (and if you haven't... where ya been?... and welcome) you know that I love Memorial Day Weekend. If you're not from the U.S. and don't know what Memorial Day weekend is all about, it's just what it sounds like: Brave men and women fought and died for our freedom in wars throughout the ages so that generations to come could buy bras on sale and eat with plastic utensils as we get 3rd degree sunburns and watch our neighbor drive around the cul-de-sac on his lawn mower with a beer in each hand and a toddler on his lap.
So the reason why I love the long weekend is because the annual tradition at this blog is to focus on grilling of a different kind. All year, good, hard-working, honest infertile individuals and couples are trying to have a baby. As if it weren't enough to go through the physical aspect of it all and the emotional aspect of it all...staring at calendars, going through tests, being probed, being referred to a specialist, then a different specialist, being told everything looks fine and nobody knows why you're not pregnant or everything doesn't look fine, and needles, surgery, financial ruin....As if all that weren't enough...NOW you have to deal with people!
People close to you. People almost close to you. People who used to be close to you. People who wish they were close to you. People you couldn't pick out of a three person line-up.
All of a sudden you're a Kardashian. Everyone feels entitled to know every minute detail of your most personal business.
"Don't you want kids?" "Aren't you trying?" "Do you have enough sex?" "Did you go to the doctor's appointment?" "What did she say?" "Are you taking those supplements I gave you?" "Your sister has three kids, why don't you have any?" "Have you called Dr. Oz like I told you? How about Dr. Phil?" "Is it because you're too fat?" "Is it because you're too skinny?" "Why, why why?!"
This whole week coming up, as we do every year around here, we'll use this wonderful American tradition of barbecuing to turn the paper tableclothed tables on those who have grilled us all year long. How sweet revenge is especially with grill marks, slathered in barbecue sauce with a side of slaw. So stack up those styrofoam plates and get ready to do some serious grilling. And who knows? Maybe this year, we'll even singe some eyebrows.
And if you get over your own BBQ guests in a hot minute, please do step away & take a look at my eBook. A free chapter is available at the book cover to the right (http://licthebook.com). The whole damn eBook is free at the Kindle Library.
So Here Comes the First Victim/Dinner Guest.... Marietta Besides the usual BBQ fare: Hotdogs, hamburgers, and ribs... I think it would be a good idea to throw some neighbors on the barbie. Afterall, a lot of them have no problem grilling us all year long. ("When are you going to have kids? Are you trying to get pregnant? Did I tell you my sister's pregnant with her third?")
So, maybe on Memorial Day Weekend, we should invite our nosiest neighbor over for a barbecue, scrape a spatula under his or her ass and flip 'em onto the grill.
"Hey look! Here comes Marietta! Hi Marietta! Come on up!... So, Marietta. It's really great to see you. There's been something I've been meaning to ask you...
I noticed the other day that you had your boobs done. I mean, they look nice and everything but they don't really go with your body.
I mean your body moves in all directions and your boobs only look forward. Like, look right now. You're sitting down and your boobs are still standing up.
And I don't mean to be the one to bring the whole thing up, but I figure you want everyone to look at them because you wore a bikini top to my barbecue and we don't have a pool and you can see my backyard from your backyard so I'm thinking you totally know that we don't have a pool and you can't be coming from your pool because, look, there's your backyard right there...No pool.
Unless you're planning to go somewhere afterwards to swim, but you don't really look like you're planning to budge from my adirondack chair any time soon.... Pass me some hotdog buns, would you please?...
Speaking of buns, you didn't have a boob job to keep people from looking at your ass did you? I mean if you're going to have plastic surgery, you probably shouldn't leave your ass behind...sorry for the pun... I mean, just look... there's like a twenty year age difference between your boobs and your ass.
I hope you're planning to rectify...I mean take care of that. I mean, it's just not fair to the rest of us. We have to see you every day. Could you at least wrap a sweater or something around it until you can get it taken care of?
My husband's really near-sighted and he looked out the window the other morning and said: 'Hey look at this. Marietta's walking her dog. I didn't know she had a dog.'
And I said 'what dog? She doesn't have a dog. And I ran over to the window and sure enough it was your ass you were dragging along the driveway." ******************************************* And Here Comes Neighbor Joan
"Hey, look, it's Joan from down the block! Hi Joan. Glad you could make it.... So, Joan, I've been meaning to ask...:
How much are you selling your house for? Is it really $440,000 like it's listed online? I mean, I'm sure all the other neighbors looked it up also.
I mean you can't really expect everyone to drive by that sign every day for six years and not go onto the realtor's website and search your address. I mean, it's not like we don't know the address.
So are you really asking $440,000 or is that some sort of a bargaining sales ploy? I mean you're not really expecting to get that are you? And it's been the same price for six years. I mean I know the housing market's in the toilet...But six years? And $440,000? It's kind of a pipedream...you know...maybe even a hallucination.
I mean, it's not that we're all nosy, Joan, it's just that we're all curious to know what houses in this neighborhood would be going for.
I mean, most of us are comparing your house to our own, and figure if you could get $440,000 for your little shed, which by the way, did you realize it's listed as three thousand square feet?
I mean, even if you count the garage, the deck, the hammock out back, and the mailbox, it couldn't possibly be three thousand square feet.
So do you really want to sell or are you just listing it to further piss off your ex-husband who built the house with his own two hands and lost it in the settlement when he ran off with that hula instructor?
Like I said, I know it's not really my place, but I just figured while we're standing around in this relaxed friendly atmosphere on this holiday weekend just chatting... and grilling...
***************** So, what were we talking about? Oh right. Every holiday get-together whether it's with coworkers, family... or neighbors, it seems infertile couples always get grilled like a cheese sandwich on their parenting status.
"When are you going to have a baby?"
"Why aren't you trying?"
"What are you doing to try to get pregnant?"
This holiday weekend and beyond, we've put all that infertile-couple grilling on the back burner with the baked beans and made some neighbors the main entree.
We figured: Let the long weekend be interminable for someone else for a change. Here comes an unsuspecting candidate now.
"Hi BJ! Glad you could come to our barbecue! Come on up! There's something I've been meaning to ask you...
So, BJ, how did you get that name? I mean I always assumed it was short for something like Betty Jean or Barbara Jane, but then your sister came to visit that time and she called you 'Marion' like five times.
So I really didn't think much of it but then I noticed that boyfriend you had. I remember thinking I knew him from somewhere but I didn't know where and then it came to me but I didn't mention it to you because I didn't want to embarrass you so I thought I'd wait for the appropriate time...
And what could be a more appropriate time than at a Memorial Day weekend barbecue with a mile's-worth of neighbors within eavesdropping distance?
So anyway, I'm pretty sure that boyfriend is the neighborhood's Domino's delivery boy. Which is okay, but apparently he's delivering more to you than he is to the rest of us.
I mean one time he didn't even give me pizza. Apparently he had stopped short en route and didn't notice that my pie had slid out of the box and onto his carpet. So he actually delivered an empty box to us. I'm not kidding. It had nothing in it but that little white plastic table that's supposed to keep the pizza from sticking to the cardboard cover. Well it kept it from sticking alright.
It's probably not my business, he can do whatever he wants with his two dollar tip, I'm just a little pissed that there's already a two dollar delivery charge...I just don't think he should be taking my delivery charge plus my tip to deliver something to you that's not even on the menu.
Apparently you're tipping him exceedingly better than we are...whether or not your pizza touched his car floor.
I mean I feel like I should eat my pizza, and then, say, an hour later, walk over to your house and get my four dollars back.
Just promise me one thing, BJ: Please don't be creative and get amorous in his Corolla. I understand what an aphrodisiac it can be to know that only a few feet above you is the Domino's sign clipped to the roof...but please, I just could never eat another pizza out of that car.
Not to judge, but don't you find it a little low-life to be fooling around with a Domino's guy? A Papa John delivery guy I could see. But Dominos... Please BJ...Show some class.
And, by the way, don't you find the whole older woman customer/pizza delivery boy thing such a porno movie cliche?
I just hope he's a better lover than he is a delivery boy.
Grilled neighbor: It should be a new food item at this year's state fair. ******** If for some reason, you still want more of my comedic shenanigans, please click on my ebook icon to the right. Also available at Kindle Library.