I was asked that question today at work. The only response I could come up with was “back in my day, that was all Queen Latifah was known for”. This punk ass 25 year old at work DID NOT KNOW that Queen Latifah started out as a rapper! I feel SO OLD.
Someone Asked the Darcy:
I’m on vacation – do you ever go on vacation and what do you do?
I do go on vacation, but I have not been on vacation in a really long time. My absolute favorite thing to do is go to New York City by myself and spend money as if I have it and stalk every theatrical production I can get to. You can read about that particular adventure here and here.
In the past six years I have been to Niagara Falls which was awesome because they have candy stores and Canadian candy is the best thing ever in the world.
Oh yes. Go here.
Canada (places other than Niagara Falls, which is like walking on to an Olde Tyme movie set) is one of my favorite places. People are just nice there. And I saw my first ever prostitute there. I was about 11 or 12 and my friend Deanna and I went with my parents. We walked past this lady who I thought nothing of, and Deanna said “THAT WAS A PROSTITUTE”. She was much more worldly than I was, so I just assumed she was right. I have not knowingly seen a real life prostitute since then. I must have passed some at some point, but I have no clue.
Canada is also where my family got kicked out of a bed and breakfast. I was 3 or 4 and my grandpa (great grandpa, actually) lived in Hamilton, where my mom grew up. So we’d visit once or twice a year. We usually stayed at this bed and breakfast, and this year that I was 3 or 4 was the year I decided it would be super cool to sleep in the bath tub. Like, really hella cool. So we asked the bed and breakfast owner, Clara, for some extra bedding and she yelled at us for letting a child sleep in a bath tub. My great grandpa drove his car into Lake Erie to wash it once and terrified the living daylights out of my mom and her brother. My great grandma was there, too, but for a shorter period of time because she died first. Grandpa lived to be 100. She used to sing “I’m a lonely little petunia in an onion patch. An onion patch. An onion patch. I’m a lonely little petunia in an onion patch and I cry and I cry all day”. It only just now occurred to me that maybe it was a joke because onions make you cry, but I’m not sure. I would think a petunia could make friends with onions.
On one visit my mom and I decided we really needed to stop and run through a cornfield. Hamilton is, or at least, was, very very rural. We stopped by a cornfield, got out of the car and ran. My grandpa sat in the car laughing, he couldn’t believe we actually did it.
I only knew my great grandparents on my mom’s side because her original mom and dad were jerks and left her and her brothers when they were itty bitty, and then someone in the family adopted all three kids, but only liked one of them, so that created a really odd situation. I’ll skip the crappy part that was my mom’s life and my uncle Mike’s life and make it all about me. Having a crappy adoptive mom (the dad was actually a good guy who my mom really loved) means that me and two of my cousins have vague memories of a mean lady, and tons of stories about how awful she was to our parents (their dad, my mom). But my other cousins have wonderful stories of “grandma” and their parents wonderful childhoods. It doesn’t actually come up often anymore, but in my youth, my mom had hard core PTSD and it was really sad and scary. And then I met the woman who did all this to her, and it just confirmed everything. I was about 10. We went to this woman’s husband’s funeral (the nice guy) and I met her for the first time. She asked my mom how she was, and my mom said “Fine, thanks, how are you?” and the woman started going on about gall bladder surgery. My mom said something sympathetic and said that she also had to have her gall bladder out, and that she is happy that the woman was better. My mom talked to someone else and the woman grabbed me by my arm and physically pulled me in a non-granparental way towards her and started telling me what a bad person my mom was. I don’t actually think she knew my name. I never told my mom this. I would never repeat what the woman told me, but the fact that she said it to a ten year old was absolutely unacceptable. First, you don’t say evil things to kids. Second, you don’t say evil things about the kid’s mother to the kid. And third, you don’t grab them hard enough that they remember the grab as being violent, rather than just a “come here, kid” type of tug. I never saw her before or after that. And we did not go to her funeral, the extent of any acknowledgement of her death was when my mom got the phone call, hung up and started singing “Ding dong the witch is dead” and then all new PTSD things started happening shortly thereafter. I should state for the record, we love the rest of my mom’s family, it’s just this one lady we do not have any love for.
My dad’s dad died before I was born and I really, really wish I knew him. My dad’s mom died when I was about 12, so it was before I understood how much you should hang out with and appreciate the old people in your life, so I never hung out and appreciated her.
Wait, I was talking about vacations.
My left eye is super itchy and you can’t really scratch an eyeball, that’s bad to do.
Have you checked out the Mystery Button? It’s a very talented lady doing that thing with the cup and singing. Go look.
Also, I want to do another contest with prizes, so you should submit ideas through my Customer Satisfaction Survey – or just fill it out if you haven’t yet – and tell me what a good contest would be. Or you could submit an idea through the Ask the Darcy button, that works, too.