Deanna: Blaze and Jonathan have picked out a name for the baby.
Me: Really? What did they decide on and please don't tell me it's another stripper name, you know I will make fun and then you will just get mad.
Deanna: Oh no, and my daughter does not have a stripper name, I got it from a movie.
Me: Yes I know, but it was a movie about a stripper named Blaze. So it's a stripper name.
Deanna: Whatever(cause she is very mature)! Anyway it's a little girl and they are going to name her Calliente LaFlor(she says this with her English accent and then she spells it out for me). I think it's beautiful.
Me: You would. But your right it's not a stripper name. It's a damn good drag queen name though, isn't it? You do realize your spelling caliente wrong, don't you?
Deanna: No, I didn't, that is the way they are going to spell it, to make it more feminine.
Me: More feminine than what, "hot flower"?
Deanna: You're not being nice.
Me: You don't call me because I am "nice", if people called me only when I am nice then I wouldn't have to pay a cell phone bill every month because I wouldn't get any phone calls therefor I wouldn't need a phone.
Deanna: Can't you just be happy for me?
Me: I am happy for you, and Blaze too, it's the baby I'm not so happy for. What do Jonathan's parents think of the name?
Deanna: Well, they say they don't like it but Blaze thinks they will change their mind once they get use to it.
Me: You think? It's been 22 years and I'm still not use to Blaze's name. Every time I think of her I see her name on a marquee with flashing lights around it. I will now always see little Calliente LaFlor with a pink feather boa around her neck and manly hands. Is there going to be a baby shower?
Deanna: Yes, but you can't be nice so your probably not going to be invited.
Me: Damn and I had my ticket to London already! I'm sure going to miss the stripper dance.
*click* Well, I warned her she would get mad.
Because it's Wednesday and I have a ton of things that need to be done and I'm always up for a good excuse not to do them, I did a little research on names. This is the very first post I came across on Yahoo! Answers:
i have a slightly ugly but kinda cute baby! i want an ugly cute name like Pudgy or Dooly any suggestions? Thanks...
I don't know if I laughed harder at the question or some of the answers. I also decided nothing could top this post, it pretty much says it all, so I stopped my search and will have to be content with making fun of Blaze and Calliente LaFlor. I will also pray to the fertility gods that she not be allowed to procreate again until she develops better naming skills. I am pretty sure this post is going to get me kicked off the Christmas list this year too, so any gifts you want to send me will be appreciated.
You see I am still on probation for the less than stellar performance my sister and I put on at my uncles's funeral a couple years ago. It's not that I don't appreciate the seriousness of a funeral I just don't happen to believe in all the ceremony. But if you do have to engage in that type of nonsense for God's sake at least get it right and don't chose a funeral home that looks like a bordello or a Las Vegas casino. If you do I am just going to make fun and most likely giggle all the way through the service. What greeted us as soon as we pulled into the parking lot set us both off into a fit of giggles that I was sure we would not recover from and once inside it only got worse. My Mother is still in denial about this tacky funeral and will declare to anyone listening how beautiful it was. She made us throw the pictures we took to share with our friends away.
Two full sized stuffed or fiberglass(not sure but they had hair) horses pulling a horse drawn hearse that was sealed inside this giant glass case was prominently displayed at the front of the funeral home. I was praying that God would just let us get inside away from the giant hermetically sealed horses so we could get ourselves under control before we had to play nice to whatever buffoon chose this place. We were was not so lucky.
We were assaulted by a red and gold flocked wallpaper as soon as we walked in the door. I contained myself as well as could be expected until I did a 360 of the room. Red and gold floral carpet. Red velvet Louis XIV style furniture with matching marble topped tables. Gilded wall sconces, table lamps, tissue box holders and in the center of the room hanging from the ceiling a huge crystal chandelier, trimmed in gilded ropes and ruby drop downs. I was by now grinning from ear to ear. My sister, knowing what is coming, stifles a giggle behind a hand covering her mouth and tells me to behave. I tried, I tried very hard. It was the magazine selection so carefully laid out on the tacky Loius XIV coffee table that destroyed that very tiny grasp I still had on my laughter. For our reading enjoyment while mourning the dead they provided the latest copies of People Magazine, Golf Digest, National Enquirer, Good Housekeeping and my personal favorite Dog World. By now my sister has lost control too and my Mother is mortified. Probably telling all the relatives that we were suffering from brain damage brought on by a virus we contracted while doing charity work in Africa, not true of course, but the desire to explain away her heathen children had to have been strong. During the funeral the minister gives this long, very long, glowing account of my uncle's life and what good friends they had been for years, the only problem with that was he called my uncle by the wrong name throughout the entire eulogy. The darts from my Mother's eyes quickly got us back under control. I was very proud of us until at the end of the service while walking outside to get in the limo's for the ride to the cemetary, my sister who had gone out first rushed back in, yelling in total amazement and disbelief: "You are not going to believe this but they have a fucking swimming pool out back and I think I see a convertible hearse in the carport!"
The only thing missing from that funeral was the Elvis impersonator.