I ask my Dad: “What is the best practical joke you’ve played on someone?” 

He snorts. “Oh. There are so many!” Then he starts chuckling. “I think the best one was when I was driving your sister down to Olds College. We stopped in Fort McMurray to see my relatives. I phoned up my niece and told her she’d just won a truck. A brand-spanking-new truck. She was to come down to the mall in front of the Orange Julius and claim her prize.”

So they  sat and waited in front of the Orange Julius for his niece. Redd was concerned about not knowing who they were. Dad said to watch out for the flustered woman with a red face. And sure enough. Two women came charging into the food court. One of them looked frantically from side to side and spied the Orange Julius. She walked directly up to the counter and demanded her truck!

By this time, my Dad was in stitches. He was beside himself. My sister was laughing too. The second woman (who happened to be my Dad’s sister) saw them and nudged her daughter, quietly pointing them out. Penny (my cousin) wasn’t having any of it. She’d won a truck! God damn it! She was here to claim it. It took a few moments to settle in–the realization that my Dad had pranked her. When she realized what had happened, she just walked out. 

My Dad, my sister, and my Dad’s sister all followed her–howling with laughter.

I have been occupied lately. Trying to make big life changes. Can’t really write about them yet, but I will. In the meantime, I’ll tell you a joke my mother told me the other day. I think my dad called me up to see how I was doing and then put Mum on the line so we could have our girlie chat. Which we did. But I could hear my dad clucking in the background.

“What did he say?”

My mum was snickering.

“What? WHAT? What did he say?” I’m insistent.

More snickering.

“He said: Why did the Easter Rabbit hide his eggs?”

Oh. I thought. “I don’t know. Why?”

She’s giggling now. “Because he didn’t want anybody to know…”

She can’t finish.

“Because he didn’t want anybody to know…ha ha ha….”

I wait. I don’t know what to expect.

“He was f@#$in’ a chicken!”

MO-THER!!!!!

Sarah Palin running for VP? Come on. Does this remind anybody in Canada about Kim Campbell?

Remember Brian Mulroney running not only the country but also the Conservative party into the ground? Campbell won the party leadership, but party lost the entire election (two seats in Parliament that election). When was that??? 1993?

It’s not that I’m not for women in positions of power. My great aunt is Irene Parlby (one of the Famous Five Women of Alberta). She’s one of the five historical women who fought for the right for women to hold public office (Person’s case 1928). In 1921, she was appointed a Minister without Portfolio—the first female Cabinet Minister in Alberta history and only the second in the British Empire. In 1935, she also served as Canadian representative to the League of Nations (now the United Nations).

Palin is the first Republican woman to run on her party’s presidential ticket–let alone any presidential ballot in the ENTIRE HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES! I OBJECT that it’s the first time a woman is on the presidential ballot and THEY KNOW they’re going to fail.

A joke. The Republican Party is a joke and now they’re making women a joke.

Come on America. Get with the international program.

He was laughing his head off. He and Mum had been traveling in New Brunswick. The went to the Canadian Senior Olympic Games. (Dad won a silver in lawn bowling–Congrats Dad!).

Anyway. He calls. He can barely speak he’s laughing his head off. And I’m expecting another rude joke.

But he says:

“Last night we stayed at a fancy-schmancy hotel by the airport. There was one of those–what do you call it–bidets in the bathroom. Your mother didn’t know what it was and she asked how did it work. So–I stepped in and showed her.

AND I GOT A FACE FULL OF WATER.”

Yuck.

I’ve just started texting with my mobile. I’ve never done it much before, but now, I have a few people I exchange messages with. It’s a bit like twitter, but I know the person I’m talking to somewhat cares what I’m saying.

Today, I am on my way to the library (for the air conditioning and to get some work done), but I’m not there yet. I’ve been answering emails and updating websites while trying to eat some breakfast at Costeaux.

Regardless, my friend texted me about being on Yukon time. Frankly, because I’m in Healdsburg, I was a bit surprised he’d even know about Yukon time. Maybe he does. Maybe he was just making a joke, but I texted back:

How do you know about Yukon time??? Which is semantically defined as somewhere between late and never…

I must be on Yukon time if I take the time to text the word “semantically”.

Am missing the Yukon big time right now. I should have made the time and money to come home this summer.

He used to lean over conspiratorially at the dinner table: Psstt…Psst. Want to hear a dirty joke? And our friends (no matter who they were, he named Charlie Brown) would look up eagerly and say: Yeah. And nod their head.

No grown-up had ever told them dirty jokes.

My Dad would motion them closer and he would lean in, and in a whisper: A white pig rolled in the mud.

And then he would laugh his head off at the expressions on their face. And they would try to figure it out.

A white pig rolled in the mud.

–snort–

My Dad gets on the phone tonight: Jennie. Jennie. I have to tell you this joke. He’s laughing but gasps out: Bertrand told it at the dinner table the other day. And if there is anything my Dad likes (besides my Mum and KFC), he likes Bertrand’s jokes. He gets the added enjoyment of hearing Bertrand tell these jokes adding his Quebecois accent, his hand animations, and his very, very Bertrand expressions. I can’t even begin to describe them here. (Note to self: get out that audio equipment).

Meme, voila! Sans l’accent Quebecois. Sans les mains animee. Sans Bertrand. But none-the-less. Here goes:

A new teacher starts her grade three class: Good morning class. My name is Ms. Prussy. I’m your new teacher. She writes it on the board and underlines the “r”. Remember that. Prussy. Ms. Prussy. Let’s start by learning everybody’s name.

She goes through every student on the list one by one and learns each student’s name.

The next day she says: Good morning class. Do we remember everybody’s name from yesterday?

The class is silent. Some students nod their head. But most remain silent. Well. She says. Can you remember my name?

More silence.

She prompts. Remember I told you to remember the “R”?

She waits. And a boy at the back of the class pipes up: Ms. Crunt?

That story of being a good woman reminded me of one time when I worked at Turin Networks. It was a Friday afternoon and I was visiting the Customer Service guys in their area and we were all sitting around talking (and probably having that end-of-the-week drink of somebody’s wine). A phone rang and the owner answered it. It was his wife. She needed him to come home and help hang curtains.

He got up and said: Gotta go guys–or my Honey Do list will get longer.

I heard: honeydew…and I asked: What’s a honeydew list? And the five guys in the lounge turned and looked at me a bit dumbfounded. And as I said honeydew, I realized it was: Honey Do.

Oh. I laughed. I get it.

Maybe, I joked. Maybe that was my problem. Maybe I don’t have Honey Do lists and that’s why my husband and I were having so many problems. I told them. Hmph. I’m from the Yukon. If something needs done. I do it. Not only that. If I need curtains hung, first I make the curtains. Then I hang them.

I got five simultaneous proposals for marriage.

A questionaire from Cyndi Targosz (of Starglow Productions) arrived in my email this morning. She’s asking me (and all of my eligible friends) to fill out a questionnaire about being in a relationship where the woman is older than the man.

I’m going to do it. Not that I have any interesting stories about dating younger men–but I do have an opinion about the entire concept. I think that’s question 10: Additional comments.

I guess I would say to the women in the relationship is: Beware. (I guess you could say that to anybody in any relationship). But here is my warning: Beware that you aren’t his mother figure. That you are taking care of him–and he gets sex to boot–which reminds me of a completely off topic and random ribald joke my Dad told me the other day: Jane and Tarazan meet in the jungle. They are attracted to each other immediately but–Jane has to discuss it all first. “Well, what do you think about it? Where do you think this is coming from? How did you do it before me? How many of them were there?

Most of Tarazan’s answers were simple grunts. Except the one: How did you do it before me? To which he replied: I used a tree. Jane sort of snickered and repeated: A tree? She decides she can definitely teach Tarazan a thing or two about this attraction thing and proceeds to explain how things work in the real (albeit-heterosexual-world). She gets to a point and then lies down on the jungle floor. She motions between her legs and asks: Well? What do you think?

At which point, Tarazan hauls off and kicks her directly in her privates with all the force he can muster. After rolling around on the ground and gaining her breath back, she screeches at him: What the F*** was that for?

Tarazan as calm as ever replies: Checkin for squirrels.

Did you laugh? I’ve now made my Dad promise to tell me a joke a week. I’m going to post them here.

Segue back into the real blogging topic which is about relationships where the woman is older than the man. Women, if you are the older person in this relationship, make sure you are not his mother–well–that warning still applies to women in any relationship. Regardless, if you become his mother–any semblance of flame just flickers and dies and disappears without even a Voldemort potential because–just think about it–who wants to have sex with their mother?

That’s it. That’s all I have to say about that. For all of you folks who might be able to add some insight for Cyndi’s research, click here for her full questionnaire. Help her out. Send her your input. I’m sure she’d be happy to hear from you.

It’s my Dad’s birthday today. I would just like to take this moment to tell the world I love my Dad. He’s taught me a lot and –it’s never too late to say: You were right, Dad–most of the time.

My Dad is a funny man. He has the best sense of humour of anybody I’ve ever met. He’s always laughing–mainly at himself–and playing practical jokes. He’s definitely a joker. This Christmas, I think we started a new tradition in our family–to see who can play the best practical joke. I think Dad is the reigning champion for giving his son-in-law (my brother-in-law) a universal remote for a Digital Wife. That was funny–and–it was fun making it.

We initially scanned a real remote control. I photoshopped the text to make it more applicable. We printed it out again and Dad cut out the buttons and glued the printout back on the original remote–so it wasn’t a virtual present–it was an actual remote.

In honour of my Dad, here is a link to all the stories on my blog where I talk about him or describe him: All about my Dad. Pay attention to the entry: Dad-isms. That one best describes my Dad–by far.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD. I do love you.