came from a friend of ours who recently moved overseas, to a country which I will not name, but I will say that it is located in the Pacific Rim.

According to our friend:

“Stalking is an socially acceptable form of courtship here.”

Dutch man injures posterior in mooning accident

1. In its continuing dedication to reporting on “People Who Are Famous For Absolutely No Reason That Anyone Can See”, People.com brought us the breaking news that Carmen Electra is making sure to find time in her busy schedule to address the heretofore unmet need for “her own new line of portable stripper poles so ladies can get a work out Carmen style.”

FINALLY! At last I know what our living room has been missing for all these years!

2. I knit a wool hat, which I was then supposed to shrink, or “felt” down to the proper size in my washing machine. Unfortunately, it now resembles nothing so much as a soft, pink, Frisbee.

When I was describing this to my mom (who is also a knitter) and discussing my problems with shaping she replied, “Oh! If only I had a human head, I would give it to you!.”

The wedding festivities for my sister-in-law kicked off Friday morning with an event that can best be described as

Pre-Wedding Brunching With Engineers

It all started off innocently enough, with a brunch meant to welcome my husband’s uncle. He had recently arrived in town from Israel, which is the fourteenth country in which he’s lived.

He had called my sister-in-law earlier in the week to discuss his final travel arrangements, and she told him that at first she wasn’t sure she should take his call, since the number was so odd-looking on her caller ID.

Naturally this led right into a competition designed to see who could identify the most country codes, because if there is a better way to get into the mood for a wedding, I surely don’t know about it.

So different people (read: the three engineers) started calling out random questions for the rest of the group.

“What’s Israel’s country code?”

“What’s ours?”

“How about Italy’s?”

“Ah!” shouted The International Uncle, in the tone of someone who has just successfully squared the circle. “What’s Kosovo’s country code?!”

Shockingly, no one knew the answer to this question.

“Ha ha,” revealed The International Uncle, that trickster. “They don’t have one. They have to use Serbia’s. And, boy-are they miffed.”

(Yukking laughter from the three engineers, who frankly, could not possibly imagine anything more humorous than this.)

Me and the bride: (looking desperately at each other to communicate the urgent messages of “Please help me!”, and “How can we STOP THE INSANITY RIGHT NOW?!)

And so that pretty much set the tone for the rest of the weekend.

Eventually we did make it through the rest of that day, until finally it was time for

The Wedding Rehearsal

In the spirit of celebration, as well as the spirit of, “Well, I might have to wear a tux tomorrow, but tonight I can wear whatever I want, mwa ha ha ha ha!” my father-in-law, who plays the bagpipes, decided to adorn himself in full, bag piping attire. When I tell you that he is over six feet tall and was wearing a kilt the color of pumpkins, you will understand why that caused such a big stir.

As the rehearsal was winding down he came over to talk to me and my husband, which gave me the opportunity to ask him why he appeared to have a small purse strapped around his midsection.

“Is that where you keep your flask in case all of this wedding stuff gets to be too much?” I joked.

It turns out that it is something called a “sporran”, and while I suppose you could use it to store your flask, he was using his to store his wallet and his keys.

“Now there are some sporrans that are encrusted with gems, or that are covered in goat hair,” my father-in-law informed us. “So technically, mine is not actually an evening sporran.”

I’m pretty sure he was able to slide by on that one.

Recently I was informed by a person of my acquaintance that, in fact, they “did not believe” that I actually wake up 53 times an hour when I sleep unaided by my CPAP machine.

I was totally distracted for the rest of the day, because I was completely unable to comprehend how that person could have possibly interpreted this as an issue of belief.

Now, sure, if I had said something like, “Whenever I sleep I am awoken once a minute by tiny, winged elves who flutter down and tap me lightly on the forehead while simultaneously ringing The Golden Chime Of Enlightenment in order that I may uplink to the Mother Ship,” I can totally understand them not believing that. Because everyone knows that this process involves tiny, winged Cyborgs, not elves.

But seriously, there were electrodes, and wires, and highly calibrated pieces of Scientific Measuring Equipment, and a trained technician named Ken. It wasn’t like they just sat me down in a room with a random guy who looked at me, rubbed his temples, and then proclaimed, “I declare…that your number is…FIFTY THREE!”

Apparently this particular person doesn’t believe that sleep apnea is actually a true medical condition. “You know, that label was only created in like the last 20 years or so,” they said, in the condescending tone of someone who believes that I have just been unthinkingly caught up in the latest fad, like designer bottled waters or those hideous clogs called Crocs.

Right. Like I’m choosing to attire myself every night in enough contraptions to be assimilated by the Borg for fun-perhaps as a fashion statement or something.

Of course, if I were continuing to practice mindfulness and self-awareness, I might be inspired to ask why I immediately reacted with such defensiveness to this person’s opinion that doesn’t actually mean anything. But, um, I don’t want to, because sarcasm is just so much more fun.

Last night the writer’s strike forced us prime time viewers to watch a program featuring

-the man who holds the record for Most Watermelons Smashed With Head

-and the man who holds the record for Most Bubbles Blown With Live Tarantula In Mouth

Help.

This weekend my parents were down here for a visit, and I decided to introduce them to the magical world of the car show “Top Gear”, which airs on the BBC America network.

On this particular episode the three hosts were each required to acquire a car, saw it in half, and then transform it into their own, unique version of a limousine.

As we watched the men gleefully cut into their cars with varying degrees of success and the occasional electrical fire my dad said, “You know, my cousin and I did that once when we were growing up.”

My mom: “You sawed a car in half?”

My dad: “Yes. We did it to my grandfather’s old car after he died.”

My mom: “And how did you get permission to do something like that?”

My dad: “Well, he and I never really went the route of asking for permission.”

Me: “As in, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission?”

My dad: “Exactly. My grandmother was not pleased.”

China Regulates Buddhist Reincarnation

“In one of history’s more absurd acts of totalitarianism, China has banned Buddhist monks in Tibet from reincarnating without government permission.”

And how, exactly, are they planning on enforcing this?

The other day my husband and I were in Subway buying dinner. As we were placing our orders a couple of men joined the line, one of whom was wearing a shirt proclaiming, “Three Things You Should Never Say To Cops” (such as, “If I buy the donuts, will you let me off?”)

My husband struck up a conversation with the two men using the shirt as an icebreaker, and mentioned that we have a friend who is entering the police academy later this month.

As soon as he mentioned that this friend is a girl, one of the gentlemen piped up and asked, “Oh, is she hot? I’ll get her to pull me over!” I think he might possibly have had a mistaken perception of his own hotness, as he was sporting a wild and graying beard, a rather large belly, and might possibly have been wearing sandals with knee socks. (Important Side Note: And why is it always those people who think that the “hot people” would want to have anything to do with them?)

Yesterday we went out to dinner with the friend in question and one of her friends, who has been a police officer for the past two years. We recounted our little Subway adventure, which actually turned out to be quite tame compared to their stories (See: People Who Answer The Door Naked, People Who Attempt To Hit On Cops While In The Process Of Being Arrested, People Whose Gay Lover Wakes Them Up From A Sound Sleep By Biting Off And Eating One Of Their Fingers And Part Of Their Ear)

“You know, I’ve never been pulled over by a female police officer,” said my husband, “but if I were I don’t think my first thought would be, ‘Hm…sex’!”

“Well,” replied the veteran police officer, “that’s how you know they’re creepy.”

A man, his blender, and the eternal question: Will It Blend?