All last weekend, my mom and sister kept saying, “Where do you come up with this crap?” and “I know I didn’t raise you to say that!” All while having to pull over to the side of the road for laughing.

Really, y’all? YOU didn’t teach me to say these things? YOU didn’t raise me to speak like this? LIARS–all of you.

Ma once faked an epileptic seizure to get out of doing a survey at the mall. She also got us kicked out of an Anthony’s after she was mouthy to the checker who was mouthy to her first. She grabbed Grace and I by the arm and quite literally skipped away saying, “MY AREN’T WE ALL HAPPY AND CHIPPER TODAY.” I was 11.

Grace and Lana were once asked to do an interpretive dance at Church Camp, and when everyone else was looking at themselves lovingly in the mirror and dancing with scarves and Jesus, my family mimed showering. At Church Camp.


I recall my cousin Lana telling me, when I moved in with Ma for college, that I should hide pictures of dicks all over the house. Cut them all out of PlayGirl, and then hide them in obviously hidden places. Her suggestions were: under tupperware lids, inside drawers, in the dryer, and hundreds of miniature ones on the blades of the ceiling fan, so that when she turned it on, it would be a shower of dicks. A shower. Of Dicks.

Lana was also there the night I began drunkenly shouting at Fast Eddie’s waitresses, “MA’AM, YOUR VAGINA. MA’AM! YOUR VAGINA IS OUT,” and kept feeding me drinks to encourage this behavior. She also pointed it out in the first place, and said, “Hey Noa, you should say something to her.”

I have heard my Grandmother shout to various NFL players, “You couldn’t kick a shitball 3 feet,” and, “I’ll shove a hot poker up your ass.” I have also seen her whip off her shoe, lean over the back of a couch and beat the ever living shit out of a Junebug who thought it’d be an awesome idea to dive bomb her–in the span of 4 seconds. I’ll be honest with y’all–I’m not funnier than my grandma, and I would also never want to meet her in a dark alley.

Leo once caught an armadillo, painted it white, and threw it into a bar because he could. He also rigged a Volkswagen Beetle to sit on railroad tracks and a pole to jam down the gas pedal so he and his buddies could cruise and drink in style.

Last Christmas, my aunt bit Grace on the hand hard enough to draw blood and bent a large metal spoon with her bare hands during a card game. She’s also broken a chair and tackled a large man in the course of the same game.

The apple doesn’t fall real far, y’all.

Any crazy family stories that you love to tell?

Lianne Marie Binks April 11, 2011 at 4:27 am

Your family sounds about as crazy as mine, I love it!
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Noa April 11, 2011 at 12:47 pm

I don’t know that the world can handle this many crazies.

Grace April 11, 2011 at 5:38 am

For the record…I am offended. And also for the record, you missed the part in the interpretative dance when Lana missed her mark with the scarf and yelled “oh, shit” loudly enough for all the worshipers to hear, that was the real kicker.

Noa April 11, 2011 at 12:47 pm

AH! How could I forget.

And you’re not in the least offended.

elizabeth- flourish in progress April 11, 2011 at 12:51 pm

there better be some VHS of this. i need to see this.
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Brandi April 11, 2011 at 5:55 am

I think we might be related, because those sound oddly like stories from MY family.

One of my favorite family stories was from the party after my grandmother’s funeral (Yes, a party. After a funeral). My sister has these enormous fake, foam boobs that were part of a Halloween costume. Somehow, at the party after the funeral, these fake boobs got pulled out of the closet. And I have a picture of every member of my immediate AND extended family, including my elderly grandfather who had just buried his wife hours before, wearing these boobs. Most of the pictures also involve a second family member fondling the boobs. And them my MOTHER suggested I put them on for a picture, and then said to my sister, “Go grab Brandi’s tits for the picture.” And my sister who does things 110%, LICKED the nipples of the fake boobs I was wearing. At the after party for my grandmother’s funeral. And I have that proud moment captured on film.
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Noa April 11, 2011 at 12:48 pm

That sounds like the most fun funeral ever. I have to say, being a part of your family, I’m sure your Grandmother wanted it that way.

Lana April 11, 2011 at 6:11 am

You also forgot the part where I elbowed a poor girl in the face. This is actually captured on tape in a church library somewhere!! Wish I could see it.

Noa April 11, 2011 at 12:49 pm


elizabeth- flourish in progress April 11, 2011 at 12:52 pm

god does answer prayers. i asked for HS 3 seconds ago, and he delivereth. send me a copy.
elizabeth- flourish in progress recently posted..crafty motherfucker

elizabeth- flourish in progress April 11, 2011 at 12:53 pm

i meant VHS. god may have granted a wish for video, but not for smarts.
elizabeth- flourish in progress recently posted..crafty motherfucker

Noa April 11, 2011 at 12:54 pm

I’m baffled by this string of comments, but share your enthusiasm for seeing this lost video.

Lana April 11, 2011 at 6:13 am

I also recall several others being involved in the infamous girls night.

Noa April 11, 2011 at 12:49 pm

Names have been omitted to protect the innocent.

hoodyhoo April 11, 2011 at 6:34 am

Dear Sweet Mama’s Mama (my Dear Sweet Grandmother, who is now deceased and cannot beat my ass for telling this story) in her wild, misspent youth, was once riding in the car with my Dear Sweet Grandpa and a couple of their friends, and they had been to the farmers’ market and also — surprise surprise — had been drinking. And they pulled over by the State Po-lice (that’s how it’s pronounced in these here parts) and while the trooper was leaning over talking to my drunken grandfather, my drunken grandmother winged a tomato at him. And when he spun around to see where it had come from, she shouted, all innocent, “Who flung that matie, Officer?” and presumably fell over laughing. ‘Cause that’s how we roll, yo. So now, “Who flung that matie?” is pretty much our family’s code for “Damn, we’re probably too drunk to be out in public.”
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Noa April 11, 2011 at 12:53 pm

Your grandmother is awesome. I have a story oddly similar to this involving Lana’s husband JD and OJ Simpson and my Ma, but she would absolutely have my ass for telling it.

elizabeth- flourish in progress April 11, 2011 at 12:59 pm

crazy family stories? can’t say that i have any. i’m very normal and so is my family.

HAHAHAHAHA. Now that we have that bullhonky out of the way.

When I was growing up, there was another Asian family that lived down the street from us. They were keeping a pig as a pet in the backyard. What the neighbors didn’t know was that they were raising the pig so they could call over the rest of their family and have a family night chasing the pig around the backyard, kill it and then have a backyard roast. The other kids on the street got me and the kid from the pig-killing family mixed up so for the rest of the time I went to that elementary school, I was known as pig killer. So, I guess this wasn’t a story about my crazy family but someone else’s. Shit.
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Noa April 12, 2011 at 5:03 pm

It’s almost cool enough to be a rap name. “Yo yo yo–PIG KILLER IN THE HIZZOUSE.”

It’s pretty clear now that I know nothing about rap. See–both off topic.

Mom Of Wild Ones April 12, 2011 at 9:36 am

I come from a long line of FOOD FIGHTERS. yes food fighters. Every damn one of us. Every time we all reunite the menu is specifically planned around if it is good to throw. Potato salad, mashed potatos and pies with lots of whip cream are usually always on the menu and made in abundance. It is always girls against boys.

This particular food war was also the first one my husband (#2 -the first husband was too much a prude to ever participate) had ever attended. It all began innocent enough, once most everyone is done eating, one of us casually starts stock piling the mashed potatoes and makes a break for the door. We don’t food fight indoors, that would be trashy. Tthe fight was on and everything was going as planned until all of us girls realized we were losing big, so of course I decide to climb the roof with 3 dozen raw eggs. You bitches are mine now until I slipped and nearly fell off the roof. Everyone screamed, my eggs plummeted into the hands of my husband (I would like to think he was trying to catch me) and I grabbed onto a rain gutter and hoisted myself back to the roof. All good until my husband opened fire on me with the damn eggs. Little did I realized that not all the eggs were raw, some were hard boiled and let me tell you – HARD BOILED EGGS TRAVELING AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT HURT LIKE HELL. I had bruises for at least 2 weeks. needless to say the BOYS won that year but at least I did not die.
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Noa April 12, 2011 at 5:02 pm

WOW. That sounds like a hell of a fun family. Except for the part where you almost die and your awesome husband borderline abuses you with rocketeggs only moments after your near-death experience. Now I know what my Thanksgiving is going to look like.

Dear Sweet Mama April 12, 2011 at 6:53 pm

Since I have recently returned from my sister’s near death bed in Oregon, I can share the story of her daughter drunkenly deciding the malamute puppy needed to be rocked to sleep in the recliner so as to stop his barking and waking his poor sick grandma. Needless to say, when she went over backwards and all we could see were her little feet and a fluffy dog’s tail, and all we could hear was a little voice saying “Hep me Hep me, I beg of you, hep me” we all rolled in the floor in hysterical laughter. Until my sister yelled at us from her sickroom to shut up because we were interrupting her dying in peace. We just hit her narcotics button on the pump and all partied on.

Noa April 13, 2011 at 1:42 am

I hope she’s getting better–but at least your peals of laughter alerted her to the joyous time you were having out there. Laughter is the best medicine. Except maybe actual medicine. That’s good too. I don’t remember where I was going with this.

hoodyhoo April 13, 2011 at 6:22 am

My drunken cousin’s new name is now “Hep.” And, “I beg of you” is fucking hilarious in ANY situation!
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Noa April 13, 2011 at 2:43 pm

My God. Our families need to meet.

momiss April 13, 2011 at 1:37 pm

Your family sounds perfectly normal to me. But then my dad has been married 8 times. …….
LOVE your blog!
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Noa April 13, 2011 at 2:46 pm

I’m realizing now that I have a relatively normal family based off the feedback. Glad you like the blog!

LynneLynne May 17, 2011 at 9:22 am

I think the first time I really realized my mom is completely full of shit and has the sense of humor I can only hope to attain, combined the best poker face *ever* is when she was fucking with a teenaged cashier at the Sunflower supermarket (now defunct and you will soon read probably why) when I was about 10. The older lady in line in front of us had two carts loaded down to the point of needing sideboards since shit was falling off. She also had a stack of coupons pretty much as equally impressive. Whatever day of the week that was, Sunflower offered double coupon day *and* you could use more than one coupon per item. It took for-fucking-ever to get through the line and the store ended up giving the old lady back a little money on her purchase (something trivial, like a dime or something) because of the coupon-to-item ratio. When she walked away from the checkout stand, the kid rolled his eyes, sighed, dramtically wiped his face and said, to my mother, “GODDDDDDDDD I HAAAAAATE IT WHEN SHE COMES IN HERE!!!! And she always always always comes to MY LINE.” My mother looked straight at him and said, in a small voice, “That was my mother.” All the color drained right out of the kid’s face and he started tripping over apologies. Truth is, we’d never seen the old lady. Mother let him sweat for a bit, then she said, “I just thought I’d do that to let you know to be careful what you say because you never know who you’re talking to.” Little life lesson, but still funny as hell. I could go on and on with some of the shit she’s come up with.

Lynne May 17, 2011 at 9:25 am

…………I forgot to mention my schizophrenic grandmother. Diagnosed. Oh well, for another day.

Noa May 17, 2011 at 8:11 pm

Oh, see, your mom taught that kid a lesson. My mom would have been the one saying shitty things about the lady and it turned out it was that kid’s grandmother. And I learned it from her.

Goose May 27, 2011 at 10:46 am

I think that I need to own up here. Lana’s behavior these days clearly stems from her youth when I tripped her with a jump rope, while trying to sling-shot her across the side yard. The last attempt went very…very wrong and she ended up smacking her head on the ground…voila…Dain Bramage.

But hey, what can I say? I come from a father that can wreck an electric scooter Formula One style.

Noa May 27, 2011 at 5:05 pm

I almost forgot about him wrecking that scooter. He was all scuffed up…good times.

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