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Not Your Grandmother’s Anal Beads

November 2, 2009

You know how sometimes as you’re reading a story or article with a particularly funny or interesting title you get to a point of having to admit to yourself that the title is by far the best part of the article and the rest of it is comparatively pretty uncompelling, which causes you to suspect that the author came up with the title first and then threw the rest of the piece together hemipygeally (look up the Greek roots, it’s worth it) just in order to have an excuse to use the title? This is going to be one of those times. You can stop reading now if you like. I’ll be pretty damn surprised if I write anything better than “not your grandmother’s anal beads” in the next hour. If I do, I’ll bold it to make your skimming experience faster and more convenient. Life is short.

I’m going to try to keep a straight(er) face today. I keep finding out that people are taking my parody posts seriously and that’s making me self-conscious. I’m not trying to be dishonest or eff with anyone’s head; I think I’m just a lot more protean and untrustworthily playful in writing than I realize. When I started this blog, I didn’t have a clue what it would turn into. I figured I’d write whatever I felt like writing and let it evolve in its own probably really g.d. weird way. The one decision I did make was that I was going to keep it relatively impersonal so that it would be about humour and philosophy and creative writing and etymology and the overwhelming gluteal calcitration of language, not about my private life, which, in my opinion, is my own business and doesn’t belong on the internet. If I wanted to keep a journal, I’d keep a journal, and where I’d keep it would be under my bed. It would make a lot of the people in my life – including me – uncomfortable if I was constantly blogging about my conversations and relationships. It would be damn boring most of the time, too. Everyone’s life is pretty much the same. Good times, bad times.

Anyway, today’s post title showed up in my head yesterday evening thanks to an e-mail from my brother that I’ve been thinking about off and on since it showed up in my inbox last week. Last time I saw him was at my cousin’s beyond-incredible wedding in May, during which time I was busy with bridesmaidenly activities and he was busy with golf and beer, so we didn’t have a chance to hang out and we hadn’t talked or written to each other since. We were good friends when we were younger: we did a lot together when we happened to be living in the same place, and when we were in different provinces we talked (or at least MSN Messenged) at least once a week, but then some shit went down in ’06. Our reactions to the shit started out similar but soon forked off in totally different directions, and we’ve both changed a lot since the shit occurred, as a result of which we’re not as close as we used to be, as a result of which we can apparently go five months without talking to each other. When I read his e-mail I was kind of weirded out because he didn’t sound anything like himself, or at least didn’t sound like the version of him that I remember. At one point he used the expression “not your grandmother’s _____ ,” which is enjoying huge popularity these days, and since I read it I’ve been thinking about strange expressions like that and where they come from and how they evolve into everyday vocabulary, and it was only a matter of time before I decided to try to come up with the #1 most inappropriate thing to put in the blank. And I think I succeeded.

And I think I’ll try to reconnect with my brother before we get any further apart. Because it sucks to lose touch with a sibling. It really, really fucking sucks. I’ve got a sister I’ve never met, and I think about her every day. Some days she’s the only thing I think about. I guess I could blog about that, but I’d rather not. I’d rather blog about the obnoxiousness of using “blog” as a verb.

Anything I post on a Sunday is a parody.

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4 Comments leave one →
  1. cockrocker69 permalink
    November 2, 2009 3:14 pm

    The only time I take you seriously is when you’re drunk.

  2. Kate permalink*
    November 2, 2009 11:45 pm

    I think that’s reasonable.

  3. gilflove permalink
    November 3, 2009 11:17 am

    Sir,

    I was disappointed to find this blog contained almost nothing concerning grandmothers, anal beads, or skimming. Shame on you. Shame.

    • Kate permalink*
      November 5, 2009 10:36 am

      I wish I could give you the name and phone number of the person who searched “skim those anal beads, grandma, you fuck.” You guys could text each other, or maybe even co-host a GILF conference.

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