Witz Pickz: Maine Vacation

My apologies for the far and few between; I simply haven't been embarrassing myself the way I used to. Having said that...

...Every summer since I was born, my family has taken a vacation to Maine. I think it began as a pleasant thought, turned into a family routine, evolved into a yearly disaster, and has since become simply, "What we do." Growing up, I have, allegedly, ruined upwards of eleven (a vacationer's dozen) of these so called vacations, but if you ask me, my parents were the ones who ruined the vacations by choosing Maine in the first place, especially after they went so poorly.

I mean, Maine calls itself "Vacationland." How desperate is that? You know what Hawaii calls itself? "The Aloha State," because they're like, "What up!", "See you later!" "Whatever!" You're arriving, you're leaving, it doesn't matter to them-- they're always gonna be in Hawaii. I don't even know how Maine became "Vacationland." Just because you were the last state draft dodgers entered before slipping into Canada, doesn't mean they were on vacation. That's like if Harriet Tubman was on The Underground Cruise Ship.*



The point is, last month I found myself once again lying on the hot sandy beaches and penguin dick freezing waters of Maine with my family. This time, however, I was there for three days, had my own car, and my sister was mixing daiquiries. Which is where the fun started:



My Grandma is a four-foot-ten, golf winnin', tennis playin', fully functional, eighty-two year old woman. She has "idears," and eats "begels." She'll play you in paddle ball, shame you for hitting one too low, and then promptly laugh gleefully as she slams the ball down on your side of the sand court, sending you running across the beach to go retrieve the ball as she cries, "My point!"



GRANDMA: Whattya makin'?
SWITZ (my sister): Daiquiries.
GRANDMA: Whaaat?
SWITZ: Daiquiris, you'll like them.
GRANDMA: I never heard of them...what's in 'em?
SWITZ: Strawberries, coconut rum, pinapple juice, ice...
GRANDMA: Ohhhhh, DYKE-ERIES!
SWITZ: Ummm...no.
GRANDMA: Yeah, dyke-eries. Rini and I have those in Mexico.
SWITZ: Grandma, they're called daiquiries.
GRANDMA: Whaaat? Dyke-eries!
MOM: Maybe if you're drinking them in a lesbian bar, Ma-- otherwise, she's right.
GRANDMA: And how do you say it??
SWITZ: Daiquiris!
GRANDMA:.....
SWITZ:......
GRANDMA: Nah, that doesn't sound right.



Earlier, my Grandma had been reading a terrible romance/thriller that she found lying around the house. She was disgusted, not by the content, but by the stupidity of the characters. Each of us sat listening for a solid ten minutes as she went through the plot so far. There was a politician and his wife, she met a guy, but she didn't want to cheat on the husband, but: "Get this-- he's a homosexual!" and then finally she goes out on a boat with the other guy, which is when my grandma came the closest she's ever come to saying the word "sex" in front of me.

GRANDMA: Then she goes on the boat with him and THEN-- Ha! Then, they have fun.
ME: Uh-huh.
GRANDMA: Like FUN fun, know what I mean??
ME: I do. I do know what you mean.
GRANDMA: But she loves this guy and her husband's been ignoring her, and she doesn't love him, but get this-- she doesn't know if she wants a divooorce. What a dummy!

Laughing, I turned on the TV, revealing a show I had never actually laughed at: Two and a Half Men. Who the hell is watching Two and A Half Men? Turns out, it's folks like my Grandma:

CHARLIE SHEEN(answering phone): Hello? Oh, hi mom. One second—- Get the door!
GRANDMA: Hehe, she’s at the door. Hehehe.
Someone opens the door and his mom is there.
GRANDMA: Hehehe.

Oh boy. Finally, thanks to daiquiries and a little game called Catch Phrase, I managed to embarrass myself:

For those of you not familiar with the game, Catch Phrase is a game where you give a partner clues and they have to guess what the word or phrase is before time runs out. I knew I was in trouble when my sister was my partner and I had to get her to say the phrase, "Go Whole Hog." My giggling wasted what little precious time we had left, leaving me with no other option than to give the clue, "If I appeared to be only attempting to eat half of a pig, but you wanted me to eat the entire pig, you would shout....." Shockingly, she didn't get it in time.

One round and another drink later, I was partners with my mom. Before I tell you what I shouted, it's important you know the clues I was given.

MOM: Two words.
WITZ: Ok.
MOM: Not shallow.
WITZ: Deep.
MOM: You have two of these in your pants!
WITZ: BALLS! BALLS DEEP!

Yep. I shouted "Balls deep!" at my mom.

WITZ: Er-- deep...balls. Deep Balls?? (BUZZER)
MOM: Noooo! (laughing) Pockets! Deep pockets!

Laughing and blushing, I tried to blame my mom:

WITZ: What?? Those aren't IN my pants, those are ON my pants! AND I have four of them!

But let's be honest, there's not really any coming back from that. Yet, despite it all, Vacationland was not a bust, I didn't ruin the trip, and we all agreed, like a group of Jews on Passover, knowing full well they'd be right where they were again, "Next year in Hawaii..."

More Like VacationBLAND,
Witz

*Yep, I went from Maine to an Underground Railroad joke in one step-- I'm getting really good at this...

P.S. On my drive up to Maine, I hit this AWESOME ODOMETER READING! Did I pull my car dangerously off the highway so I could take a picture of it without the speedometer needle blocking the shot, while my sister looked at me with a mixture of pity and understanding? You bet I did.