Archive for the ‘Funny Dialog’ Category

Kate, upon killing a spider in our bedroom

Kate: ::kills spider with slipper::

Jaime: Ew. Did you get it?

Kate: I’m just checking for other ones before I get it

It’s still on the wall.

Jaime: what if you came back and I was stuck wrapped up in a spider web?

Kate: I’d just sleep in the other room.


This photo requires context

When we moved in, we discovered a sun-bleached pair of boxers on the roof. How they got there – we don’t know. But – they have remained – sunrise to sunset – rain and shine and some potential hail – for going on eight weeks.

In addition, during our second week in town and after 4 full days of rain, we discovered our gutters were clogged. We requested that be addressed – but it was not.

Segue to last night

Jaime and I were walking up to the house when we heard an odd creaking sound. Looking up, we discovered that a branch from the giant tree out front was digging into the roof. This made us frown.

We entered the house and carried on with our responsibilities – feeding the pets, doing the laundry and hanging a curtain rod in the guest bedroom so we could stop accidentally flashing the neighbors every single day. Once that was complete, I can’t remember how, but we decided that we would cut that branch digging into the roof. Well – not we – Jaime – I’m too clumsy and would surely fall into the shrubs below.

“I’m not letting you go out there without a rope tied around your waist.”

“We can use the extension cord”


Jaime went downstairs to get her clippers and I prepared the bright orange, three-pronged, belay.

Jaime returned and I fastened the belay around her waist and around myself. If she was going down – I was going with her.

I gave her sufficient lead and out she went.

“Don’t dilly-dally”

She got down on her knees, leaned over and began to cut the branches

“Not too close”

She cut more branches. Then moved to the gutter

“Oh don’t clean the gutter. You should have gloves on.”

She cleaned the gutters – tossing the needles and dirt onto the sidewalk below. “We’ll need to sweep” she said, assuring the neighbors who were most likely witnessing the nonsense.

“You’re too close to the edge”

She continued

“Be careful. That’s enough”

She did the lobster walk backwards and hoisted herself to her feet. She smiled at me.

“Okay come in”

She eyed the boxers. “I should pick those up.” She picks them up with the very edge nail of her pointer and thumb.

“Hand them to me – I’ll throw them out.”

She moves to the edge

“Hand them to me. Oh – be careful. No – don’t throw them off the roof.”

She throws them off the roof – attempting to get them into the basket for Yard Waste. “Ugh! Just missed it. We’ll have to sweep.”

There’s a Pig Fetus in Her Bedroom

I get my hair done in the “pink building.”

for your reference

My hair dresser, who is now in nursing school, is a bird lady. She tells me today about how the humming birds hang by her window and beg, the squirrels stand up and wave, her parrots shit on the carpet… you know, girl talk. She tells me she’s scored 100% on her finals, that she’s better at writing essays than math – but, of course, she’s acing algebra – and there’s a pig fetus in her bedroom.

A pig fetus. In her bedroom.

She says it like she’s reading me her grocery list: milk, eggs, Kashi cereal, quinoa, chickpeas, fetus, dried apricots… And I’m sitting at the other end of a pair of scissors, blind without my glasses and smiling because that’s what you do in these situations. I ask why she didn’t leave it in school.

“Because they only let us keep it in the fridge if it’s been opened.”

I’m thinking, “Open fetus container. Insert into fridge.”

“But it’s not like it smells or anything. It’s in a tub.” Then goes on to make hints that the other ladies in class are married, have dates and so on. She’s wondering, not saying, why not her.

Bird lady. Crap on rug. Fetus in bedroom.

In any case, she does a fabulous job on my hair. We’ll catch up on her in a few months.

Side note: We women get so attached to our stylists. Changing to someone new is like breaking up an ex without letting them know. It’s just wrong. And while sometimes this must be done, in this case it’s worth the do and the entertainment.

Jane Finch

Kate: I’m gonna tell everyone I’m Jane Finch.
Jaime: What?
Kate: I’m gonna tell everyone I’m Jane Finch and wear track suits.
Jaime: Um, you mean Jane Lynch?
Kate: What? Oh, yea.
Jaime: Please don’t tell anyone you’re Jane Finch.
Kate: Who’s Jane Finch?

a Gas

*huff puff


*huff “Don’t laugh” *puff “don’t laugh at my pain.”

*giggle *cough “I’m not laughing at your pain”

*huff puff

“I’m laughing because you’re doing Lamaze at your desk!”

Tomato TomAHto Obstetrician

Jaime: … it’s just, he has a mushy body.

Kate: Oh, ew.

Jaime: … and his knees are too close together…

Kate: Well, remember our obstetrician?

Jaime: Our what?

Kate: Obstetrician.

Jaime: Ostrich? …Onomatopoeia? …Oakland A’s? …Otorhinolaryngologist?


Jaime: Kate, we don’t have kids.


Kate Puts Palmolive in the Dishwasher

You see where this is going. So did I.

Kate comes home for lunch every day since she works one block away. I consider this bonus time. We have lunch, we catch up, we b&c, we do easy choirs. Kate decides to run the dishwasher for the first time.  How exciting for a couple of New Yorkers who are used to a foot-long counter top and a drying rack from the cheapy store. She proceeds to tell me this wacky story about how when she was younger, she put laundry detergent into the dishwasher and that there was foam everywhere. That wacky, crazy girl…

Then, she tells me she has just used the Palmolive dish soap in our dishwasher.

Me: WHAT! There’s going to be foam all over the floor when you leave and I’ll have to clean it up!

Kate: No no. It’s fine. We use it to wash the dishes. It’s the same thing. You have to trust me.

Me: Great.

There are few times when a woman can blatantly claim to be right and actually be right. And not just because the other person gave up.


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