My Mom Can Burp The Alphabet And Other Fun Stuff

Hello, 2013!

So, I know it will sound weird, but my favorite numbers are 3 and 7. Not that it’s weird that I have favorite numbers, many people have “lucky” or “unlucky” numbers. Perhaps the reason is weird. I love them because for one thing, they are ODD numbers, so I can totally identify with that moniker, and also, they’re prime, which for some unknown reason, I adore.

My liking of 3 and 7 is not limited to only those. I will happily accept anything with 3 and 7 in it, like 13, 17, 23, and so on.

Except if they are repeating. I don’t like 33 or 77. That’s just weird.

Also, I don’t like the number 6. Not sure why, but I have always thought of it as a “bastardized 9.” Again, there is no explanation or reasoning for this. It just IS.

So, this year is going to be awesome. It is 2013, which I adore because it has 13 built right in, ANDDDD this is the year I turn 27! I just know 27 is going to be an awesome year! Why wouldn’t it be? I’ve got my favorite numbers with me, my guy who doesn’t question my weirdness about numbers, who is ALSO 27, and lots of adventures left before me in life.

Adventurin'!

And I do so adore getting older. I mean, I get to have new adventures and learn new things and travel to new places and read new books. Dude. BOOKS.

I mean, if I had to think about it, I would say we go about this whole ‘life’ thing backwards. There was some joke about this awhile back, but I don’t remember the punchline, I only remember the stuff I liked, which was the theory that we should start out as an old person, wise and with many experiences, move slowly backward, work for 40 years, party rock it out in college, then move back in with our parents, go nuts in high school, and eventually play with childhood again, ending with a few years of playing and people taking care of you. :) Sounds fun, right? Exactly

Not looking forward to the end in this version, either.

I wouldn’t trade where I am for anything. Though I don’t really do New Years Resolutions (I feel like it's a recipe for failure that only serves to make you feel guilty for a few days, around the 2nd week of January. I feel like you should be improving yourself and being happy ALL the time! However, perhaps this year, my NY Resolution will be to be able to properly spell "Hors d'oeuvres" whenever the need occurs. That’s a super hard word to spell, yo.), I do like to take stock around the beginning of the year. Look over the past year and what’s happened or didn’t happen, and what I have learned from the experiences of living another year.

This year, I get to be thankful for my family, whom I love dearly even when they irritate me beyond all human capacity for irritation, my friends, whom I will always love, and who took the time to come visit me in NYC this year!, my guy, who thinks I am great just the way I am and who being around reminds me every day how lucky we are, my travels, the place I’ve made my home, and more.

Now don’t think this is some sappy rah-rah ‘I love my life’ post. OH NO. We are talking NUMBERS and stuff here. Mostly stuff. The numbers topic has been somewhat exhausted.

Why is 6 afraid of 7? Because 7 is a rock-awesome zombie! BRAAAAINS!

Also, bite me. If I wanted to do some maudlin and serious post about how much I appreciate what I have in life and the work it took and continues to take, ya’ll would read it just the same. And it’s MY BLOG. I do what I want!

Crap. I noticed that I just wrote “ya’ll” above. I am from the South (yes, capital S), and have been living in NY for over 2.5 years. I have attempted to eradicate it from my vocabulary, and though I occasionally slip and SAY it, I think this is the first time I’ve written it since my teenage years. My mother should be so proud. I can see her now, just sitting there, claiming she is a Southern Belle (she’s not, she is from Miami), saying “I told you so!”

But she is also an English and reading teacher, so she might object to me using the written word “ya’ll,” since it isn’t exactly fancy proper English, now is it?

So, things I like, other than numbers, that I spend time thinking about on a fairly regular basis: penguins, drawing comic strips (not actually drawing them, I’m not very good), getting a puppy, how koala bears are false advertising (this is never far from my mind), airplanes, jogging (thinking about it more than actually doing it), Italy, whether or not I should take another stab at learning a foreign language, wondering what I’m going to be when I grow up, why I can’t hula hoop, and

Wait. How ridiculous is that? I can’t hula hoop, I can’t properly whistle, ANDDD I can’t even make myself burp. What kind of kid was I, anyway??

My almost-63-year-old mother can burp the alphabet. It is both super impressive and mildly gross. Though never embarrassing (for me, my brothers, or my stepdad). First of all, my mom is awesome and don’t you forget it. And secondly, if YOUR mother could burp the alphabet on command, wouldn’t YOU want to impress your friends with that kind of trick pony? Damn right. She finds it kind of embarrassing, but does it anyway, as long as we aren’t in public. It’s so frickin’ awesome. I can’t make myself burp at all, a constant source of disappointment in my otherwise high esteem from my family. Maybe “high esteem” is pushing it... 

I can't stress enough that I WISH I had a picture of my mom burping. Even though she would probably kill me for putting it up, you know, if she ever read this blog. :)

I also cannot hula hoop. It stays up for maybe one swing around my hips before despondently crashing to the ground as if to say “WHY do you keep doing this to me??” I can do it around my neck and arms, though! Unfortunately, even my 5 year old niece knows that is not impressive. I wonder if Mom can hula hoop. I have already determined that my sister can’t. Not really, though she’ll tell you differently. And, I can only whistle by sucking air IN to my mouth, not blowing air out of puckered lips. And so, I can’t hit the different fun notes, or whistle a song or anything. My failings continue to haunt me in this, the dawn of a new year

McKayla Maroney and 5 year olds everywhere are not impressed. 

In this vein, I find it incredibly annoying when other people just tunelessly whistle, like on a crowded train or walking RIGHT NEXT TO ME on the sidewalk. Or in the office. It seems like I can’t ever pinpoint exactly where it’s coming from, so I just want to poke random people in the bellybutton with a large stick until I find out which one is doing it, and then step on that person’s pinky toe, and then stick a straw through the hole they have in their lips for the whistling, because it will stop the whistle-y sound and they’ll also look funny, which is always nice.

This picture is nice and epic. And I've always adored the word "scoundrel." Also, "shenanigans."