Sock Thief

Everyone knows of the grouchy dryer that steals socks. I'm not sure his theme song is as cool, ("I love socks!") but everyone has had a run in with him sometime in their life, and it's never cool to find one of your favorite socks has been eaten by the big, grumpy, laundry machine.

Well, this past weekend I have discovered that it might not be the dryer stealing my socks after all! Instead it's a bigger (well, taller), meaner, leaner, sock eating human. Ahh! Who could it be you ask? Well, let me explain...

I grew up in a household of five people, three of whom are men. That means LOTS of socks. For a short period of time, we all wore the same type of socks, the typical mid calf, white, everyday sock. I quickly ran away from that fashion faux pas, but not before the dot system was introduced to our family. In order to be able to tell whose socks were whose, my mother came up with a system in which she sewed small dots on the ends of each sock, the color of the dot corresponded to the person it belonged to. The breakdown was as follows:

Dad: Gold (not yellow!)
Mom: Pink
Rob: Red
Stephen: Green
Theresa: Blue

This system seemed clever enough, and helped us to keep track of our socks even when the dryer decided to devour them.

Well, it's been some years now, all the children have moved away, and the dots are slowly fading out of our wardrobes. That is everyone's except for my brother Stephen's. He still owns many of his old socks from high school, and he has even been witnessed stealing other people's socks!Notice the color is NOT green. Sorry Mom, you child is the grouchy sock stealer, and he has gone after YOUR socks. Who knew he ever looked so pretty in pink?!

So, I apologize to my dryer for any accusations, and I will always be sure to check with my brother before I blame him again.

Ice Cream and cake

For the past month I have been driving my car with a broken back window. Well, the window itself is not broken, just the motor that keeps it up. My car has been nicknamed "Ghetto Mark" until the problem is fixed. To temporarily fix the problem, I invested in some duct tape, you know, that thing that people says solves all of life's problems? I wouldn't say it solved the problem, but it did give me a temporary solution until I was willing to spend the money to get it fixed. Yet another adult responsibility. Everyday I understand more and more why your parents tell you to enjoy your childhood as long as you can. Don't get me wrong, I'm loving this adult thing, but there are just so many more things to do, and you HAVE to do them.
Well, this weekend my wonderful brother (wow, record this moment, I don't know how often I say that) helped to actually solve my window dilemma!

I visited the lovely New Market this weekend to help Stephen and Caroline move to their new home and Stephen offered to look at my window and see what he could do. He finally got my door apart and after about thirty minutes my window was up, ALL THE WAY, without duct tape! He even worked diligently through the rain and all he needed was a few feet of copper wire which he just happened to have lying around his house.

Yes, my window will no longer go down, but it's in the back, and as my Dad pointed out, it only means no drunk people allowed in the back! Maybe I should have blogged about my brother's Macgyver skills too, must be something in the name...

So, no more Ghetto Mark. No more stopping off at rest stops to pull my window back up. No more replacing duct tape as it shrivels in the sun. No more annoying load noises on the highway. So, thanks Stephen! You saved me time and money, and I would say we even had a little fun fixing it too!

Yes, the title has nothing to do with the post. Well, actually, it does. My brother is random, so it only fits that the title to this post would be too. And this title was sung throughout the house all weekend long.

Uncle MacGyver

There is no doubt that MacGyver was awesome, I mean, who doesn’t think disarming a missile with a paperclip or making a jet ski out of a casket is cool and very resourceful? But the question is, are there REAL MacGyvers out there? This past week I learned the answer to that question, and it is, undoubtedly, yes.

My uncle Steve, better known to my friends as “Uncle Nestle,” can be considered a jack of all trades. Not only does he know how to fix cars (or crash them in demolition derbies) and renovate houses, he is one of the best cooks I have ever met. He is always willing to help out with the odd tasks of fixing your transmission leak in a Wal-Mart parking lot or retrieve meatballs from your neighbor’s boat while his niece lets the whole world know what he is doing. And he will never turn down the opportunity to make you something tasty to eat, no matter the time of day.

Well, this past week, I had the unique opportunity to witness yet another unique talent of my uncle: MacGyvering a keg. It is no question that my family loves to drink. On our yearly vacations to Myrtle Beach, we have a merry time almost every night drinking, telling stories, and having family time with one another. Since it’s almost EVERY night, you can imagine how much alcohol is involved. A LOT. This year, we tried something new. My brother had a great idea and bought a keg for our vacation. What a perfect way to have copious amounts of alcohol and fun at hand at all times. No more need for trips to the grocery store for more booze!

Unfortunately, the keg had a slight problem that prevented the tap from sealing. I don’t know the details, I only watched in utter amazement while my uncle, determined by the need for beer, fixed a broken keg with some women’s razors and some sort of insulation/carpet/odd material that he found.

Needless to say, it was a success, and my uncle saved the day yet again! I only hope next year I can uncover yet another great talent of his!

Meyers Dictionary

There is no question that my family has somewhat of its own language. I’m not sure how it starts, but common words or phrases somehow adapt from inside jokes to be included in common conversation, many times repeatedly. My friends have sat in awe, probably more like utter confusion, watching my brother (punk) and I go back and forth just saying simple words like pizza or boo boo toe. You can’t forget, “You smell. Like roses. That have been pooped on.”

The worst part is, after about twenty minutes, my friends start doing it too. It’s pretty hilarious until your friends start calling you poop face and banana phone is used to break awkward silence.

Well, during my recent trip to Disney World a new phrase was added to the Meyers vocabulary, and surprisingly it was not added by my brother! What’s the phrase you ask?

NO DANCING ALLOWED

My cousin and I thought the above picture was funny and looked like people were trying to dance. So, everywhere we saw the sign, we had to say it. Now we just say it, well, because.

Only in my family would poop face be and endearing term and pizza be a common greeting. The sad thing is, I always get a good laugh, no matter how old it gets.