So, the competition’s over. This is officially THE BEST POST that will ever grace my humble little blog. As a pre-Thanksgiving treat (posted early, ’cause who actually surfs the net on T-day?), MY MOTHER agreed to write me a little guest post. While, judging by her stellar comments on this blog, I knew it would be pretty fabulous, I didn’t really what a doozy it would be. What follows is, she claims, the Really Quite True story of my conception. I — I don’t even know what to say, except: 1) I can 100% vouch for her story in re: The Ex last Thanksgiving, and 2) can you just imagine how friggin’ wonderful and hilarious my family’s Thanksgiving table talk is?! ENJOY!
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The holidays are upon us, and as an empty nester I’ve become extremely sentimental: longing for the days one could zip off to Walmart and buy a carload of plastic Christmas toys, wrap them and that was that. The simplicity of construction paper turkeys, baking cookies, trimming a tree, writing cards and hanging stockings was all so fun and the nostalgia makes me cry. I will not bore you with stories of the “Unfair Christmas” etc. Let me pop another Zoloft and make it a 200 mg day. On a more personal note, Christmas and Immaculate Conception make me think of Sister (Sister does not like to discuss XES, so we told her she was conceived just like Baby Jesus), and Thanksgiving and the turkey baster reminds me of TKOG.
With Dad in the Amazon (Manaus to be exact) with no Internet connection, I can freely tell the story of TKOG’s conception. Oh, yes, for years I told TKOG that she was conceived on the eve of Sister’s christening in England. That, however, was a lie and a big one at that! (A sidebar: guessing that Sister was bound to be an atheist, we insisted that she be christened Church of England. Now, to my delight, the guys in Rome say that she can be a Catholic to boot.) But I digress and so the NTKOG conception story continues.
For years I’ve read the tabloids and tacky women’s magazines with storylines of “how to lose 40 pounds in two weeks,” “bright ideas” (use higher wattage light bulbs!), “how to de-clutter your house,” and my favorite: “cupcakes for every holiday.” There was one story that always stood out in my mind. There were two sisters: one had a child and the other could not get pregnant. In-vitro fertilization was way too expensive, so the simple solution was to use the brother-in-law’s sperm in a turkey baster. This involved a magazine, a turkey baster and brother-in-law. Insert turkey baster in sister who is without child and viola: sister magically becomes pregnant without the hassle and expense of fertility doctors.
Since Dad was on the road most of the time, and Sister needed a playmate, one thing lead to another. Occasionally I would go out to a club that featured comedians and variety acts. On one occasion I came across this act who actually played music on a turkey baster. No kidding. He fascinated me and I thought if I could just have one more child, let it be from the sperm of a musical turkey baster man. I guess I had drunk too much wine — in fact, I know I did. My limit is two glasses; the third is a mistake and the fourth is like sodium pentathol (ask TKOG’s ex about last Thanksgiving Eve when at a deli in L.A. I asked him what his intentions were towards TKOG and then proceeded to chide him as to why he would order spaghetti in a world-famous deli).
My real father shows off his instruments...
Anyway, the Turkey Baster Musician and I hatched out a plan that he would send me a sample of his manliness via United States Express Mail (more cost effective than Federal Express)and that together we would create a NTKOG or NTKOB. He was excited because no one would date him–ever–and I was excited because I was going to surprise TKOG’s “dad” with the news of my pregnancy, which was timed with his homecoming. But, it was not to be. When the postman delivered the specimen from TBM the little rat dogs (there were three at the time) grabbed the unsuspecting postman by the legs, jumped up, tackled him and ate most of the package: thus foiling our plan.
Foreplay?!
I was in despair, frantic, not on antidepressants and very, very angry. I shouted at the postman, gave him a new turkey baster that I had bought for Thanksgiving and asked him to go to the side of the house and fill the thing up. He did, and without giving further intimate details, TKOG was conceived. We never told her “dad” the entire truth, but he always wondered why TKOG anxiously awaited the mailman, and commented that she looked a little bit Hawaiian and not much like Sister, who resembled BJ complete with halo.
This is a true story (although Sister may have her doubts about looking like BJ) and I wish all the readers of NTKOG and my dear family a very Happy Thanksgiving. Rest assured that the little beastie rat dogs will be feasting on non-basted turkey drumsticks.
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Amazing, right?! Also, dude: turkey basters, illegitimate children, sperm-eating dogs — ohhh you better believe this is TMI Thursday bound. Check out Livit, Luvit for more amazing TMI Thursday goodness! Although probably not written by people’s mothers…
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Hahahahaha. Wow, this really transports me back to the TKOG household. I mean, she wrote “XES” backwards! She is so, so, TKOM.
Oh, man, that dinner last Thanksgiving eve. You know, I was so fixated on being chided for being noncommittal about getting married, I totally forgot about being chided for ordering spaghetti and meatballs! I love spaghetti and meatballs! Who’s this famous deli anyway? I never heard of ‘em. You know what I have heard of? Spaghetti. Yum. The first question is still very much up for debate, but I stand firm on the second.
Firstly, I’m just not sure on how I should respond to this post. Secondly, I feel that NTKOG should post her baby turkey photo, errr, I mean that picture of Mom holding her in the hospital when she was born…The one that is proof she was switched at birth.
Oh, dear Ex, do you remember the lovely Thanksgiving you spent at our house? Y’know – the one when I walked into the bathroom and you were naked? (Oh, well, technically you grabbed a washcloth in time.) Yea, I’m reminded of that every Thanksgiving. LoL
Oh Sister, you’re just like BJ (minus the forgiveness). HE WAS WEARING A WASHCLOTH!
Also, how perfect is it that Mom referred to Jesus as BJ? Sooooo TKOM.
In related news: she emailed me first thing this morning to let me know she liked the pictures I added to the post. Her verbatim response: “Foreplay? You bet.”
Amazing.
I am deeply frustrated because I think I dated that turkey baster ( or perhaps one of his relatives )……
OK, this definitely is my favorite post so far. I wish my mom was this hilarious. :)
And I thought my family had some oddball stories and inappropriate conversation. Nothing compared to the TKOG family!
Truth, madam. When my mom met The Ex for the first time, the first thing she said to him was: “Take off your pants!”
She then gave him a pair of pajamas and explained that the TKOG house is pajama-only (also truth), but I’ll never forget the look on his face right after she said it…
I must ask: why is your house pajama-only??
Crimson, I answer your question with three more questions:
Have you ever not worn pajamas?
Have you ever worn pajamas?
CAN YOU FEEL THE DIFFERENCE?!
We are very comfort-oriented, at the TKOG Manse. We are also not especially fond of venturing into the outside world (unless there is food or a good movie playing out there), and more prone than the average person to spontaneous couch naps. Pajamas help us stay prepared to be all that we can be!
(Plus they’re comfy, a new set every year is a no-brainer Christmas present, and they allow TKOM to most easily assemble the most retina-burning clashing ensembles possible.)
I don’t even know what to say. This is all kinds of amazing.. I seriously thought that my family could top anyone else’s in oddball stories… but wow! You’re mom is wonderful for telling this.. in fact, I’m kind of in love with your whole family right now!
WOW TKOM. Just Wow. I’m in wonder and awe.
I actually have a similar story about my mother telling Army Boy on one of his first visits to take his pants off… We’d been at a college football game and were all soaked and muddy. I had joked that “I’ll finally be able to go down there and tell him to take his pants off!”
(i wussed out. royally. handed him said pants and said something like “bathroom over there”)
Mom came into the room and totally blew my cover. “Did she say it!? She SAID she was going to tell you to TAKE YOUR PANTS OFF.”
(then i died.)
Dear TKOG Mom,
You had me at Zoloft.
p.s. It’s obvious where TKOG gets her knack for the written word. Bravo!
p.p.s. I think you need your own blog. Straight up.
Thank you Sandy B. for your kind comments. It’s easy to write when it’s true and from the heart. Happy Thanksgiving dear.
TKOM: sandyb is dead on – you definitely need a blog of your own.
also: HOT DAMN, do i ever want to come spend thanksgiving with you guys..!!
Oh our families should meet. My conception story was short and sweet. Up the mountain with Dad, down the mountain with Mom. My sisters? A Bob Dylan concert. During family dinners we often break into song…and none of us can sing.
I’ll have you know that Turkey Baster Musician Man is not some undateable loser! He’s my dad! And quite the ladies’ man, I’ll have you know. When he plays “Moon River” on the baster, the women swoon and become putty in his hands.
Damn. Now I’m all upset, because if it weren’t for those stupid rat dogs, TKOG and I could have been brother and sister! Then I could say fun stuff like, “Hey Sis! It’s me, your big brother!” Oh, what fun that would be! But . . . I guess it’s not so bad it didn’t work out, because if we were brother and sister, then I would need to temper my impure thoughts about her.
But seriously.
WHO orders spaghetti in a world-famous deli?!?!
Bravo, Mama TKOG!
Thank you dear, that is exactly what I said to the EX as he poured over the menu. Jerry’s Deli in Studio City is world famous (except to the EX) and there is not a writer worth their grain of kosher salt who has not eaten there. He had all day to think about his dinner: I know I did. Let’s be candid–it’s a no brainer–corn beef or pastrami on rye.
Although to be perfectly fair, it wasn’t the greatest corned beef sandwich I’d ever eaten. Although I’ll admit that’s mostly only because my mom makes a better corned beef sandwich.
Next time take him to Art’s Deli down the street. The corn beef is better and if you even think about ordering spaghetti, the waitress will slap you upside the head.
Wow. I can’t even believe this is real!? Its like a Thanksgiving miracle!
I should have known your mom would be this awesome considering all your posts. Best relative post ever.
Your mom rocks.
wow, now that is some kind of conception story!!
{TKOM}, you totally rock! :D
And I don’t get what’s wrong with ordering spaghetti and meatballs in a deli either Ex. If I’m in a “World famous deli”, I expect all the food to be “of a standard”, not just one or two dishes or sandwiches I’m maybe not in the mood for right now (or just plain don’t like [I mean if "the thing" was pasta a la oglio I'd just not order it because I don't like the taste of raw olive oil]).
Ken, dear, as NTKOG’s friend Riff Dog suggested you are the perfect customer for Art’s deli. Perhaps you and the EX can dine together. May I suggest corn beef with cheese on sour dough bread with mayo, or if you’re feeling brave spaghetti.
First, I love that your house is pajama only. I would fit in quite well. Second, I do not even know what to say. I am speechless. Hahahaha. Bravo TKOM!
… best. post. ever.
my mom will still give me the evil eye when i drink or say suck, even thought i’m 33, yet send me really inappropriate jokes by email.
ah, family.
This post is hilarious. I’ve come back to it multiple times and reread it because it’s fabulous. Please convince your mom or sister to write another guest post. PLEASE!
Its so totally true.,,,,,,,,,,the mom is the coolest!