The Great Yogurt Incident of 1988

Last week I wrote about my bizarre OCD tendencies and generally uptight nature as a child. My dear friend and fellow blogger Cece requested the Yogurt Story as another illustration of how nutburgers I was. Cheaper than therapy, right?

This story is really proof Dave's patience and good influence in my life, although at the time I thought it was child abuse.

As mentioned last week, I was partial to (read: completely obsessed with) one specific type of yogurt: Dannon Fruit-at-the-Bottom Mixed Berry. No other flavor (say an individual berry, as opposed to the mixed) was acceptable. As you can imagine, grocery shopping and menu planning was an absolute joy for my parents what with me being so easy-going. Really, they should get some sort of prize for not putting me up for adoption when I was 9.

I'm not entirely sure how it came about, but I think at some point Dave ate one of "my" yogurts and when I pitched a fit, he suggested I eat another one, or find some other snack. So what did I do? Retire to my room and pout. Sure, of course.

Fast forward to a week or so later, the yogurt supply has been replenished, along with other flavors since my parents are not freaks and eat more than two things. I head to the refigerator for the yogurt portion of my breakfast, grab one, open the lid, and begin stirring. Stirring was essential because the fruit was at the bottom (hence the name) and I needed an even distribution of berries. (Has the OCD thing become obvious enough at this point? Because it really should.)

As I'm stirring I notice that the color of what should be the berries is NOT RIGHT and begin freaking out, thinking it's a bad batch or spoiled or something gross. But then I smell it and it's...apple. This is where tiny CKD loses her mind and her tone of voice could only be described as HYSTERICAL AND CURRENTLY DYING.

"THIS IS NOT MY YOGURT!!!! WHEEEERRREEEE IS MYYYYY YOGUUUUURT???" I begin wailing as Dave laughs hysterically on the couch. It's apparent to me that he is evil and must be thrown out immediately. Never mind that this is the man who taught me to swim and watches "Pee-Wee's Playhouse" with me every Saturday. I am despondent and want him arrested.

My mom is trying to get ready for work and I burst into the bathroom where she is drying her hair. I remember this clearly because she didn't even need to turn off the hair dryer to hear me shrieking. She finally turns it off, tells me to calm down, and comes into the living room to ask Dave what happened. He explains the innocent prank: he thought it would be funny to switch the yogurts out. Why? Oh, because his stepdaughter is clearly out of her mind and needs to snap out of it. Also, he grew up in a family of five boys; pranks were part of daily life. No big deal. My explanation? Because he is Satan and clearly was trying to give me a heart attack or get me to starve to death.

My mom tells me to grab another yogurt and continue getting ready for school. But can I let it go? Oh no no no no NO! I proceed to sulk, and open EVERY SINGLE YOGURT AND INSPECT THEM to make sure this won't happen again. In retrospect, I think my mom probably stayed late at work just to avoid us.

At some point I started eating other foods and laughing and even playing my own pranks. But at that moment? High drama.

Goals

If there's one thing I regret about my teens, it's the complete absence of a wild-and-crazy-out-of-control-biker-gang-shows-up-there's-a-car-in-the-pool-type of party. I'm talking about a cross between the party scenes in Sixteen Candles and Weird Science, people, but for reals. But now that I'm living at home maybe I can convince my parents to head out of town and realize this dream.

I'm not really sure what part of all of this is the most concerning: that I've spent some time today reflecting on my adolescent regrets, or that I am living with my parents.

Oh Shut Up, Election Day Isn't Over Yet

So, um, yeah...we have a new president and I don't feel like crying. Well, I do, but not tears of pain and frustration. How freaking cool is this? No, all of our problems will not be solved on January 21, 2009, but people are more hopeful now than they have been in a long, long time and that is a fantastic start.

We did not go out for our traditional pie this evening. After voting we were all hungry for a real meal and opted for our favorite sushi joint - which also serves up some of the best cheesecake ever. We walked in and said we were ready to order "sushi for change" which then sparked several "for change" jokes. "I'll have the plum wine for change." "The pumpkin cheesecake for change sounds yummy!"

And then we went from silly to flat-out idiotic.

Mom: "I hate the word 'poo.'"
Me: "Me too. I prefer 'poop.'"
*Pause and look at Dave*
Dave: "I'm on the fence."

*While coloring on the tablecloth with crayons*
Dave: "I love coloring!"

So, while our nation's leadership is changing my family is still as ridiculous as ever. Comforting.

Stay Classy, San Diego: The Photos

Here's some evidence of Juno's supreme beauty and sweet nature, as well as our last-minute Halloween costumes.

Oddly enough, the shot of Daddy in a half-shirt and skirt did not make it over to me...Hmmm....

Sadly, this beautiful girl fell asleep before the official Halloween festivities got going, but we had a fashion show on the bed while she was still perky. Please note her bright eyes, smile and my ass in the background.

Prom Queen CKD, Goddess/MILF Lili and Kitty Kat Katie before hitting the party across the street.

(Alternate captions for this photo: Juno Has Two Mommies and Shnoowich)

Hey, guess who is too old to stay up all night and then look semi-human the next day? Mommy had the good sense to come home and go to sleep. Auntie? Not so much. I hope Juno doesn't associate me with the smell of vodka and exhaustion. Everyone knows my signature scent is whiskey and regret.

After Today You Won't Have to Read About the Election, OK?

So, I received a few emails from friends asking about the "Election Day Pie Tradition" in our family, and was kind of shocked to discover so many of you thought we threw pies at each other or something. I can kind of see how you might think Dave would be into that, but my mom? No. Francine "Please Use a Coaster" Carreira would not be down with pie throwing within a five mile radius of herself or her home.

The family pie tradition dates back to when I was a kid living in Fremont, and our polling place* was around the corner from a Marie Callender's, which was the pie place of choice in our family. Oh man, I could write an entire post about getting pies from there with my grandpa, and how he NEVER forgot to bring back the pie tin so we could save $.10 or whatever. That guy loved a good bargain...

Oh, sorry, back to the pie. Anyway, the local Marie Callender's gave out "free slice of pie" coupons at our polling place: you just had to present your little voting receipt or whatever. Pretty sweet deal: participate in the democratic process, eat some food. Very American, really. And very true to my family's nature. If there's anything that defines us, it's eating and then feeling superior to others.

*Did I mention the polling place in question was a FIRE STATION? With real live FIREFIGHTERS? Voting has never felt like a chore to this girl.

On Rocking the Vote and Such

Who has two thumbs and loves Election Day? *Points to Self* THIS GIRL!

I am giddy like a kid on Christmas Eve. Seriously. Still single!

I encourage all of you to establish some sort of fun Election Day tradition with friends or family if you don't have one already. Ours involves pie. You are welcome to adopt that one as it is fun and delicious. Kind of like Democracy.

Stay Classy, San Diego

You know that comforting feeling of being around family and lifelong friends where all pretenses of politeness and such are abandoned, but in a good way? That's what it's like for me to be around Lili and her family. We have our own relationship shorthand and can communicate in facial expressions, movie quotes and sound effects. It's great.

We were pretty lame about photos, but once they get settled in the new place Lili will send some my way and I will share with you, Interweb. You're welcome.

In the meantime, a quick rundown of my trip:

-Minutes after my arrival before someone who shall remain me uttered the phrase "cock block": Two, maybe three.

-Minutes after my arrival before someone who shall remain Lili said the word "mount," then paused, looked at me and said, "Huh huh, I said 'mount'" before finishing her sentence: Three, maybe four.

-Times I decided to show my appreciation for something by declaring my desire to hump it: Oh Jesus, a bunch. But it was for stuff like a carne asada taco and their kick-ass clawfoot bathtub so it was totally justified. Sure, judge me. But you didn't eat those tacos, nor did you see the tub.

-Times I had to resist the urge to eat Juno's fingers: Lost count at 87,000.

-Weeks until I see these lovely peeps again: Six-ish.

Oh, and if a guy dressed as a cowboy offers you a swig from his flask, maybe get more details on what is in it BEFORE accepting his gracious offer. Luckily it wasn't a roofie colada, but 100 proof vodka? Maybe not the best call of my life.