When I was mentioning the Untitled Artist’s Group my mother corrected me on the time of their weekly meeting.
“Why don’t you just second guess me a little more, Mom!?!”
“Okay, I will. Umm…you’re not a girl,” my mom responds.
“I have a vagina!”
“Good point…maybe it’s just for storage, like a locker,” she suggested.
“So I can store my pinecones?” I ask.
“Yes.” Mom says.

About that whole pinecone thing…a while back I was in the car with my mom and we were approaching the driveway. My mom asks me, “Have you ever felt like you have a pinecone in your vagina?”
I haven’t…not exactly. I do understand her discomfort, however, I never let her forget about that pinecone comment.

Watching Wheel of Fortune:
I guess, “Howard Lizard!”
And again, “Horatio Lizard!”
Mom says, “Yeah, Horatio Lizard!”
Pat ruins it for us. “Horned Lizard.”
“Dammit!” I curse. My sister chuckles.
Mom asks, “Soo…what about Horatio Lizard?”

Talking about the Chicken Theme Park that the guy on Great American Dream Vote wants to make:
“Well..you know…most chickens are below the poverty line anyway…” says my sister.
My mom retorts, “Katy! We would sponsor them!” Like poor children going to Disney World

Another one while reading a review of my brother’s restaurant.
“…ultra upgrades of “haute” American fare,” I say clumsily.
“What?” My sister asks.
“You know…hot, oat, hoat, like oh couture,” I try to manage saying the word, my mom trying to help me out.
“Ooh. Okay,” My sister laughs, “You guys sound like a bunch of monkeys, oh oat ooh ahhh.”
My mom and I laugh, knowing this is the truth, our attempts at proper grammar are feeble.
“Your sister has had sex with a purple monkey,” My mom tells my sister my heartbreaking secret.