And On that Same Note from Yesterday

Kudos to the Urban Dictionary (my new favorite source for hip information) for this definition that is oh, so relevant to yesterday's post:


Broccoli Fart:

A particularly hot, sulfurous fart that smells suspiciously like broccoli even though you haven't eaten broccoli for days, even weeks. Not to be confused with a "Sulfur Strut," a broccoli fart is usually an SBD special.

Broccoli & Glade

I took Sam to the pediatrician today for his big boy eleven year old check up. He hates these mostly because the doctor always wants to mess with his private parts (see post dated 5/27/08 - "Break a Testicle") I told him today he'd be seeing a woman doctor (gasp) and that she would probably make him wear a gown. Not only that, but the gowns usually have some gay pattern on them like a teddy bear playing various sports. Not so cool for an eleven year old.

Anyway, we get into the elevator at the doctor's office. Once the doors close, Sam lets this enormous and thunderous fart rip. Then he says, "Broccoli, 49 cents a pound." This sounded vaguely familiar (not the fart, but the broccoli part) and Sam reminded me it was from this YouTube video we watched last year. Seriously, this thing cracked me up. We were rolling with laughter in the elevator. Although I'll say it wasn't nice of Sam to rip one when we were confined in such a small space. Like mother, like son - anyone who knows me well knows I don't hesitate to let one fly on airplanes, hair salons or any other public place (Vanessa, I ripped on at Brownies once, didn't I? And Erika, how about that one last night when we were getting our hair cut?)

Well, crap. I wanted to find the video of the broccoli, but it's not out there anymore. But in my travels, I found another flatulence related video I like as much if not more. But first, here's the verbal on the broccoli so you'll know what Sam was referring to:

"An old woman is riding in an elevator in a very lavish New York City building when a young, beautiful woman gets into the elevator, smelling of expensive perfume. She turns to the old woman and says arrogantly, "Romance" by Ralph Lauren, $150 an ounce!"Then another young and beautiful woman gets on the elevator, and also very arrogantly turns to the old woman saying, "Chanel No. 5, $200 an ounce!"About three floors later, the old woman has reached her destination and is about to get off the elevator. Before she leaves, she looks both beautiful women in the eye, then bends over and farts and says, "Broccoli - 49 cents a pound!"

And now, one of my faves:



Regardless if you think farts are amusing, you have to love that one.

In conclusion, Sam did have to wear the bear gown, but the doc spared touching his genitals. She just took a quick look and then asked about his "toilet habits." Phew.

Let Us Pray

On my family-style blog (the "other" blog) where I refrain from cussing and being crass (http://www.risdonnews.blogspot.com/), I gave the following account of a conversation in our house today:

Sam (bouncing while he's talking): "Mom can I play some Playstation?"
Me: "Maybe after breakfast. But STOP bouncing."
Sam: "I only bounce when I'm asking a question and I want the answer to be yes."
Emma: "Oh, like when you ask 'am I a poop?'"
Sam: "What I meant is when I want the answer to be good. OK fartface?"

I wrote at the end: "Is fartface a bad word?"

Immediately the grandparents wrote back and said that, yes, fartface was in fact a bad word and that perhaps it was time for the kids to start going to Sunday School.

As if Sunday School is the answer to everything. Admittedly, we don't go to church and never have as a family. I grew up Unitarian with ultra liberal parents. We celebrated Christmas and Hanukkah. My parents taught a sex ed class in our living room to my brother and his 7th grade friends. I came down one night to see a slide of a big, hairy penis covering the entire living room wall. My friends and I stuffed the question box with queries like, "what is a fetish?" My brother and I travelled to Israel alone with a priest named Father Paul when I was 15 so we could do a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and learn about the three big religions that have created such unrest in that part of the world.

My point is - my parents were all about openness and deciding for yourself. I think that's wonderful. I also think that it can be confusing. When you are left up to your own devices to figure out the world because you are basically told it's yours to figure out without any guidebook (i.e., Bible) it can be overwhelming.

I've tried many churches - Catholic, Unity, Unitarian, Methodist, United Church of Christ to name a few. I've never taken communion. One time I went to the UC of Christ and was the only one there not taking communion. Someone actually came up to me and asked if I was physically unable to walk and needed help. I never went back.

I have tried for so long to figure it all out. That is, where I fit, what I believe. Every time I decide, I can do this, I can just be Christian because then I will know what to believe and I will belong somewhere, I just can't fully do it. Maybe I am trying too hard to want to believe every little part instead of just taking the ideas as a whole.

Don't get me wrong. I would consider myself a spiritual person. I believe in God in a less traditional way that might be a subject for a future blog. I meditate, I pray sometimes. I see goodness in the world and have gratitude for the gifts and blessings in my life.

So it's not like we want our kids to grow up immoral and messed up. Hopefully saying "fartface" isn't an indication that they'll go to hell. In fact, Emma said to me the other day that if she had three wishes, one of them would be that people would not start wars because they believe different things about God. Rock on sister!

Back to the idea that Sunday School/church is a panacea. Don't we all know many the messed up person who went to Sunday School? Certainly this may be a place to learn and to grow spiritually. But to say that without church you can't be a good person, cannot have the proper guidance, cannot live a solid life in which you are doing the right thing and espousing values of compassion, gratitude, civility, and kindness is just untrue.

Fartface, fartface, fartface, fartface, fartface, fartface.

Yoga Butt

I've got writer's block and I've just started this blog a couple of weeks ago. I thought I would constantly have material, but what I realize is that while hilarious/interesting things happen all the time, they don't happen to me personally all the time. And they surely don't happen that often if you don't leave the house.

About the most hilarious thing that's happened to me in the past two days as I've been sitting at my computer writing a report for work about two lesbians with tattoos who want to adopt one of the lesbian's younger sisters who is thirteen and a fire-setter (I'm also a social worker, remember?) is that I heard a comedian say:

"Yoga can be defined as one hour of trying not to fart." You'll get this if you've ever done yoga.

So when I went to yoga today (okay, I lied, I did leave the house for a short time), I was constantly thinking about this. I don't personally have to hold in gas at yoga, but I am wondering if everyone around me does. My God, I've been going to yoga for years and have not heard anyone fart. How can that be possible with all of the crazy poses you do including "happy baby" (lying on your back, legs spread and bent, holding the pads of your feet as if you're pushing out a baby - try not to crap the floor) or the "wind removing" pose (I am not kidding, this is a real name for a pose. You are lying on your back with one leg pulled to your chest the other extended straight, like you might do in the privacy of your own home when you have a cramp).



So today, my yoga instructor, who is SO freaking funny sometimes, has this non-yoga exercise she has us do that she calls "yoga butt." Basically, from standing, you lean over, put your hands on the floor, raise one leg (bent) in the air and pump your foot up to the ceiling. It's a good workout for the glutes. So today, Carol says "I smell some yoga butt coming on." The girl beside me, who has only been coming to yoga for a month or so says "Sorry, that was me." I wasn't sure if she meant that her butt smelled from doing yoga or if she had farted, but it was priceless.


So watch. Next Tuesday at yoga, I am going to shart or something. After all of my years of holding it in. I guess I deserve that.