Making a Fuchi Face

TFB is one of those people so blessed as to be bilingual. Early on in our relationship, I embraced this multicultural aspect of my significant other, and asked him for help with my Spanish homework. His utter lack of usefulness in completing my por y para excercises should have been a clue as to the linguisitic challenges we would later face, but, alas, I did not heed this warning. Instead I persisted in adding to my high school Spanish by picking up on key phrases uttered by my beloved. What happened next, I blame entirely on TFB, and on the fact that the only other Spanish speaker around was his mother. I had no chance to try out my new language skills with anyone other than TFB, so when the chance came to show off to my then potential future mother-in-law, I leapt at it.
We sat together in the living room, watching something on television. The particular show has been expunged from my memory, blotted out by the shame of later events. The volume of the show was either too loud or soft (also blotted out) and I casually looked over at TPFMIL, and said, "Could you please pass the chingadera?"
I'll pause not while those of you who do speak Spanish gain enlightenment from this helpful source. Those of you who speak Spanish can wait here, already appropriately horrified.

Yes, folks, it never occurred to me TFB would use an, ahem, blue word in place of the correct noun. How little I knew then! Needless to say, this episode quickly added to my wisdom, and I learned to check any new vocabulary with a more reputable source than TFB before debuting it in public.
Recently, I came across another common TFB word, this time in a children's book. The word? Fuchi. TFB is fond of accusing me of making a "fuchi face" when I dislike something. Scarred as I was by the chingadera incident, I was hesitant to use this one in public until now. Surely, if a word is included in a book for children, it's acceptable for public use. Just in case, though, I think I'll keep fuchi for use only in the privacy of my home. Or, I suppose, I could always ask my mother-in-law.

Baby, You Can Buy My Car

I have long coveted the Volvo Cross Country wagon. There's something about it that appeals to my New England sensibilities. If I had a Volvo XC, I just know I'd spend my weekends taking picturesque drives to view fall foliage and buy cider from kindly old women at roadside stands. My hypothetical children would ride comfortably, safe in their built-in child seats. TFB could tie the Christmas tree to the convenient roof racks, and I could tie a red ribboned wreath to the grill, offering holiday greetings to one and all.
There's one tiny drawback to the Volvo XC. It's the kind of nagging detail that causes TFB to laugh loudly whenever I mention my urgent need for this lovely car. The starting price for my beloved chariot is $35,385. When I hasten to reassure TFB that I would be quite content with a new-to-me XC, he hastens to point out that the used price for an XC is close to $30,000. Details, details.
So, today, while walking through a parking lot, I happened to notice a station wagon that, while not as evocative of LLBean as the XC, seemed as though it might be a reasonable alternative. I happily noted the VW symbol, and thought how pleased TFB would be when I told him that not only had I found a possible substitute for my beloved XC, I had even noticed what kind it was. (Some of us, you see, don't have the ability to note a car's make, model, year, and door dings within 30 seconds of seeing it.)

GTS: Guess what, honey? I found a new station wagon for you to buy me!
TFB: I'll get right on that.
GTS: I even know what kind it is! It's a Volkswagen!
TFB: Golf, Jetta, or Passat?
GTS: Ummm...

After quite some time on the VW website, I decided that the car had been a Jetta of some extraction. (Note to VW: Your website stinks. Seriously. All I wanted to compare among the models of the station wagons was the size of the cargo space. I never did find it.)

GTS: Look! The Jetta wagon is only $18,680! That's way less than the Volvo!
TFB: That's nice.
GTS: I bet a used one is even cheaper. Of course, it doesn't have the swell built-in child seats like the XC. Those are so convenient.
TFB: We don't have children.
GTS: We'd never have to worry about moving car seats, or taking our kids' friends home from playdates! We'd have safe seats for everyone!
TFB: We don't have children.
GTS: The Jetta does have the LATCH system, which makes it easier to put car seats in properly. And we can always go to the fire station and have them do it. I wonder if you have to go during one of the clinics, or if you can just go anytime.
TFB: We don't have... oh, the hell with it.

So we don't have kids. Big deal. Doesn't he care that we are currently completely unprepared for any emergency in which a built-in child seat might come in handy? Doesn't he realize how difficult it is to install carseats properly? Barring that, doesn't he realize that there is simply no way for me to attatch a Christmas wreath to the grill of my Saturn? TFB has no holiday spirit.

And yes, I know it's June. Don't any of you people plan ahead?

We Shall Come Rejoicing

My mother played records constantly when I was growing up, and while it was often of what my sister and I called the "whiny women" genre (Carly Simon, Anne Murray, Karen Carpenter) she had one album that didn't fit the mold. It was a collection of hymns sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, including the classic Bringing in the Sheaves.
TFB and I don't have a whole lot in common, but we discovered a while back that each of us had our own (incorrect) version of the lyrics. As sung by the MTC, the correct lyrics go thusly:

Bringing in the sheaves
Bringing in the sheaves
We shall come rejoicing
Bringing in the sheaves

Seems simple enough, right? It's a lovely hymn using the harvest as a metaphor for leading a godly life. You'd think that TFB and I, as then regular churchgoers, would have understood. Not quite. What TFB heard was:

Bringing in the sheep
Bringing in the sheep
We shall come rejoicing
Bringing in the sheep

It was his opinion that sheep must not be very smart if the people had to go and get them all the time. He was wasn't quite sure why anyone would be happy about having to fetch stupid sheep.
My version of the song went a little differently, and to me, it made perfect sense.

Bringing in the cheese
Bringing in the cheese
We shall come rejoicing
Bringing in the cheese.

I had visions of people carrying large wheels of cheese high above their heads, as a sort of offering. It was my firm belief then, as now, that cheese was the best food on earth. Who wouldn't rejoice when such a bounty was placed before them? Even now I yearn to own a wheel of cheese, however impractical a purchase it would be. I wonder if Cabot sells wheels of their Extra Sharp Cheddar?

Long Tails, Ears For Hats

I work with a group of Gen Xers, and from time to time, we indulge in a little pop culture nostalgia. During a discussion of Archie Comics (which I read exclusively in the waiting room of my orthodontist) someone brought up Josie and the Pussycats.
"Remind me, what did they do again?" asked my coworker.
I sighed. "They were a rock band who traveled through space and solved mysteries. Duh." What's so hard to remember about that? I mean, wouldn't you expect a rock band to cruise the galaxy in a rocket and solve interplanetary crimes? (They also hung out on Earth and solved mysteries, but the space episodes were much cooler.)
When I recounted this to TFB, we wondered what else we could add to the rock band/space traveling/mystery solving combo. What if they were a vampire rock band who traveled through space and solved mysteries? Better yet, what if they were a vegetarian vampire rock band? They'd still wear the cat costumes, but they'd add goth makeup and fangs. And, of course, they'd have to keep the spaceship.