The Best Sibling Group Text Ever

My siblings and are pretty close despite our age differences and even though one of us lives in Texas, we still keep in good contact.  As is most of my conversations these days, we text each other a lot.  I actually really like texting because it is less intrusive in people’s lives.  You don’t have to stop what you are doing to take a text message and if you are busy (or sleeping like I do during the day) it does not interrupt you.  Our text messages to each other can be quite funny but when you put us in a group text?  Good lord.  The best things happen.

This particular text message started out because Seester was reading The Fabulist by Dawn Chiletz and in the first chapter she mentions a character with the same name as Bubby.  And in not a nice way but a hysterical one.  So Seester sends Bubby and I a pic of the pages of her kindle where Bubby’s name is used and I immediately start laughing.  Seriously it is that funny.  Especially since the main character of the book begins to describe the dick pic she received from Bubby’s namesake and then she makes fun of his name.  I immediately start laughing but the text message that follows those pictures?  Classic. Pretty sure not every sibling group can have a text message about ball sacks and testicles, but we did.  Only my siblings.

Bubby (after reading the pages Seester sent us):  What the hell?  Wait…that might be something I would do (referring to sending a dick pic)

Me:  I don’t want dick pics from my brother. Like ever.

Seester:  Me neither.  But reading that shit right away was pretty f***ing hilarious.

Bubby:  I’m gonna send pics of my balls to everyone!

Seester:  Oh dear Lord.

Me:  Only our brother would say that #fuckingweirdo.  This is the best group text ever.

Bubby (proceeds to insert a pic of a fake ballsack here.  I think it was one made of chocolate):  Don’t worry.  I only send real dick pics to BIL.

Seester:  So does that mean BIL sent you one he took the other night?

Me:  OMG.  I am dying.

Bubby:  He does have a weird thing about getting the proper angle and always wants my opinion on how it looks. Usually it is just of the twig and not the berries.

Me:  Omg.  I am crying.  Who names a kid your name anyways? (I now proceed to say a little rhyme with Bubby’s name in it that he hates).

Bubby:  I hate you.  Dude seriously.  It rhymes with dance and pants.  Thanks Mom.

Me:  I can’t even

Bubby (then proceeds to send the following pic with this caption): ‘Murica

Yes.  My Bubby sent us this.

At this point, I am laughing out loud in my house all by myself because I can just hear him saying “‘Murica” knowing how much we all hate that phrase.  This patriotic pic also came with a warning from our Bubby not to do a Google image search for the word ballsack. I decided to take his word on that one as I did nt need to be traumatized.  But then of course, I did anyways.  I should have heeded his warning.  Don’t do it.  I know you want to badly right now, but I am urging you not to…unless you too want to be traumatized with those weird pictures.   I might have shared one of those scary pics with my siblings in which I said it was the thing nightmares are made of.  Seester then proceeds to tell us about how a guy in college whipped out his grossly enlarged testicle for her to see and all I could wonder was whether or not other siblings had these type of text messages or if it was just us.  Also, my stomach hurt from laughing.  Oh but it didn’t stop there.

Seester:  He just whipped it out right there to show us his enlarged restive. Just randomly showed it to us.  *testicle…apparently my phone does not like that word.

Bubby:  Hahaha.  Enlarged restive. What the hell is that anyways?  Testicle.  My phone seems to have no such compunction, odd…

Me:  Testicle, testicle, testicle.  Mine either.

Seester:  Restive, restive, restive.  My autocorrect is a picky bitch.  Also, why is ballsack backpack the number one Google search for ball? (obviously she did not heed Bubby’s warning either)

Bubby:  WTF is that?  I don’t wanna know.  I told you not to Google that shit.

Seester:  Scrote N Tote.  I know what Bubby is getting for Christmas.

Me:  This is so happening.

Bubby:  I will kill you.  I hate you both.  Go away.

I might add here he sent us a cartoon pic of a ballsack with smiley faces on them with the caption “Sweet dreams”.  I can’t even begin to tell you how bad my stomach hurt from laughing or how many tears were running down my face at this point.  Leave it to my Bubby to end a text conversation with a happy cartoon drawing of a ballsack.

Go ahead.  I know you want to Google image search ballsack.  But don’t say we didn’t warn you. Oh and the Scrote N Tote?  Totally a real thing.

Oh yeah.  I didn’t die today.  I did have one of the funniest text conversations ever with my siblings that was entirely about dick pics and ballsacks but I didn’t die.  I am Fat Girl who still might buy that Scrote N Tote for Bubby for Christmas Running.  The experiment continues…



Family Road Trip

This summer, my Seester and BIL came for a visit and we planned on doing some fun things, including a road trip up to Monument Valley.  It is only a short 3 hour drive from here, yet I had never been there.  Both Bubby and BIL are really into photography and are amazing so they wanted to go to get some good pictures.  The girls in the family?  Well, we were just along for the ride.  And the company.  The group of us had never taken a road trip together so I had a feeling it would be a crazy trip.  I was not wrong.  Ever wonder what my family is like crammed into a van at 5 am?  Well, you are about to find out.  Buckle up.  This is MY family we are talking about.

We collectively decided to get up at the butt crack of dawn because we knew that Monument Valley would be upwards of 90-100 degrees by afternoon. Plus we needed to get the minivan we rented back by 6pm. So at 5:30 am, there we were….all of us sleepily climbing into the van with pillows and snacks. We had to have snacks. Any road trip requires them. For reals. Since I was on Wilder Way, I packed healthy snacks like fruit, nuts, popcorn and yogurt. The rest of us? Lots of junk food for sure. We might have been ensconced in powdered sugar and sprinkles as we pulled out of town.  

The van ride was pretty quiet for awhile as us girls slept a bit and the boys chatted up front. Once we all were more awake, the topic of conversation that only my family could have began: what exactly constituted weird butt stuff. I cannot make this stuff up. This is my family. You see a couple of nights earlier, we had game night and of course we played Cards Against Humanity and that was the card we decided to talk about. I have no idea how it came up, but soon a full on discussion of what was weird versus normal (is there such a thing?) sexual butt stuff was occurring. What constitutes “weird” in this topic? I mean isnt the whole topic weird and why are we discussing it? And not just for a few minutes either but for quite awhile. Who does that? Who has a discussion for like an hour on weird butt stuff?  My family. I don’t even think we ever came to a conclusion on this topic but I am sure we will revisit it. Because my family is weird and curious like that.

We arrived at Monument Valley and we’re blown away by the beauty and majesty of it all. The drive through it involves a long dirt road but it is so worth it. Take a look for your self.



Aren’t we so cute?
As we drove through, we kept running into this same car who we soon called the Douchecanoe Car. This guy would pull over randomly on this narrow dirt road to take pictures from his car instead of pulling into the designated areas created for people to do this. He also would pass us on this as we obviously were going to slow for him even though you needed to do so. This guy was a real peach. As we went to go back up to the visitors center to eat fry bread, who should be stuck on that dirt road going up the hill? Douchecanoe Car of course. He was spinning his wheels of his sports car (Not the wisest choice in vehicles for this trip btw) causing a line of cars to sit at the bottom because nobody wanted to be behind Mr Douchecanoe. We decided that maybe someone needed to do scary butt stuff to him.  Seriously. He was stopping us from our fry bread lunch. He needed to be destroyed. Ugh. Some people. We finally got up and ate fry bread no thanks to that guy. 

I shall leave you with one last picture that acurrately describes my family in three words: weird butt stuff.

Yes. This was in public. Yes. Other people not our family were around.

Oh yeah.  I didn’t die today. I did take a family road trip full of odd conversation and discover some beauty near me but I didn’t die. I am Fat Girl whose family discusses weird butt stuff Running. The experiment continues…

That One Time Bubby Went to Jazzercise to Try and Prove His Sisters Wrong

Have I ever mentioned what a great Bubby I have?  I am pretty sure nobody else has such a great Bubby of their own.  This is a guy who will do anything for his sisters.  And I mean just about anything.  Once, we even convinced him to go to a Jazzercise class with us after he ribbed us that it could not be THAT hard and what was the big deal anyways.  Bubby used to call it our “little workout class” and make feminine dancy moves to go along with it.  Seester and I looked at each other and challenged him to go with us to a class and so he did.  We had been taking classes for quite some time and knew what a great workout it was, but he was convinced it was not hard.  So we bet him that we were right about it being a hard workout and he accepted the challenge. I can hear my inner laugh bubbling up even now thinking about it.  It was one of the best family adventures ever.  Epic even.

First off, we made him get up early to go work out with us and my Bubby is not a morning person.  Actually, none of us are to be honest, but we wanted to get our workout done for the day so we made him get up early and go with us.  Plus, BFF wanted to join us to see Bubby take a class so there we were bright and early.  Our instructor was excited to have a boy in class besides her hubby, so we took our places to start class.  He was a little intimidated by having to sign the waiver stating the center was not responsible if he died but he didn’t let it phase him.  There is my Bubby, tall skinny white boy, in a class filled with women and taking it all in stride.  We start warming up and Bubby hangs on just fine even sticking his tongue out at the 3 of us as if to prove that it isn’t that hard.  Then the aerobic dancing starts.  Oh my poor Bubby really had no idea what he was in for when we started truly Jazzercising.

A few songs in and I snuck a peek at my Bubby.  Poor guy was keeping up pretty decent but was soaked with sweat and red-faced as we all get in my family.  He was not doing too bad with the dance steps though cuz we all seem to have rhythm in my family but his gangly tall nature did make it seem a little like Spazzercize.  Bubby might have made up his own moves at one point which made us start giggling.  At times, he might have resembled Chandler Bing from Friends dancing but God love him, he never gave up.  He was covered in sweat and by this I mean he looked like he had been dipped in the pool of his own bodily secretions, that is how much he was sweating.  I felt so bad for him as it was obvious that his smoking habit was catching up with him by the way he was heavy breathing.  Then we started the leg/butt/abs portion of class.  He literally started swearing under his breath as we did leg lift after leg lift.  Seester, BFF and I were cracking up now as we knew the pain that we were getting into and listening to him constantly swearing was the best.  At one point, he gave up and collapsed onto his mat, breathing hard and swearing softly about his butt being on fire.  He bravely got up and continued after a few minutes, muttering under his breath and groaning with pain.  The look on his face a bit later when we were doing arms with weights was just as priceless and I believe he said to me “Is she trying to fucking kill us?” as we went into the third arm routine.  I don’t think he believed me when I said it was harder than it looks.  His choice of an 8 lb weight was probably also not the wisest as he grunted and groaned through the rest of the routine.

After cooling down, my poor bright red-faced soaked in his own sweat Bubby turned to us and said “You guys actually pay her to torture you like this?  This is fucking insanity!”.  He freely admitted that it was harder than he thought and we all smiled smugly.  Actually, I think BFF might have done what could only be described as a type of end-zone dance about winning that bet.  Bubby even said he almost felt like throwing up at one point when it got hard and was grateful he was under a fan.  His hat he had worn was drenched in sweat…you could have wrung it out.  It truly was the best experience ever watching him Spazzercise.  He never again ribbed us about our “little workout class” ever again.  In fact, if I remember correctly, he complained about his arms and butt hurting for several days afterwards.

Oh yeah.  I didn’t die today.  I did however have respect for my Bubby for actually going to a Jazzercise class even if it was to try to prove his sisters wrong but I didn’t die.  I am Fat Girl with quite possibly is the best Bubby in the whole world even when he does look like he is drenched in his own secretions Running.  The experiment continues…