The whole series of Andrea's amazing
"Lessons from My Mother" embroideries got me wondering if you are related to someone superstitious or know someone that has any of these batty theories!
So, I'm holding a contest!
Post any of your hilarious or interesting wives' tales, superstitions, and general hilarity right here - the winner will get a (tasteful) ad promoting their website on the front page of this blog (which receives over 15,000 hits a month now, thank you readers!) for one whole month and a MYSTERY PRIZE mailed to your house!
Classic Example of a Superstition: My Nagymama always told me that a man lived in the Big Potty that wanted to suck me into the sewer because she was afraid that I would drown in the toilet. This causes me to fear The Big Potty for years.
I'll be posting mini-superstitions up all week, so, start posting, people! Can you do WORSE than Nagymama? You have until MARCH 6th to tell me about it...unless you think it's bad luck to enter contests.
Photo by Mike Wadestoru
Last Monday, I had a revelation. I was standing in the middle of the gallery at the Kelly's Writers House, nervously anticipating my XPN interview for “American Goulash” (podcast coming soon!) The cold from the winter storm was seeping into the front lobby, so everyone in the building gathered started to gather around a large table with food, drink, and most importantly, no drafty doors. I didn't know anyone in the room except for my business partner, who I always drag to these things so he can network and with the cool artist-types in the neighborhood. He was off somewhere, grabbing a soda, so I decided to look at the wall of artwork rather than just stare awkwardly at a table full of half-empty pizza boxes. I always think that crap strewn all over the wall makes a perfect ice breaker when trying to make small talk, which is probably why all those Fridays/Applebees-type chain restaurants throw so many boat paddles and hockey masks permanently nailed to everything.
A square, neatly stitched embroidery hung in a simple frame. I did a double-take. This was no ordinary "crap on the wall":
![]( "Lessons From My Mother: Kidney Cold")
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Over the next week, we will be updating the Wiccan Chicken and American Goulash blogs to reflect a newer, more efficient, prettier Word Press template.
Eat it Blogger. That's what you get for not allowing people with FTP publishing to use newer templates or the "Older Posts" function. For shame, Google! You've got everything else down!
In the meantime, please let us know if funny stuff is happening to your RSS feed. You should still be able to read using
http://feeds2.feedburner.com/americangoulash
February 18th,2009
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Funny,
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3 Comments
What is American Goulash?
This is an autobiographical comedy series about growing up as a first-generation American in a 425-square foot shack in the middle of small town Piscataway, New Jersey and eventually moving to Philadelphia to peruse a career in film.
I named the series "American Goulash" because my life feels like a mixture of Hungarian and American influences....served up with a little bit of paprika. Some of these stories are told in the form of writing, some are animated, some are film. It's like a big bowl of stew. The stories are in no particular order.
Okay, so
technically, it’s a dish that kinda resembles hamburger helper, but I was trying to be a little poetic about it, dammit!
If you are a Googler looking for the recipe for “real” American Goulash, it’s here.
Warning: Some of these stories may be “TMI” (too much information), so if you are offended by blunt, uncensored honesty, please do not read forward.
Are these stories actually true?
My lawyer says I'm supposed to say "no". So I'm going to say "no" (wink wink wink!) Obviously, names have been changed to protect the...
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I am a ridiculously fast typist, so I have transcribed this conversation word-for-word. Enjoy."Hallo?"
"Hey, Anyu-"
"Vhat dah story?"
"Great news, the Leeway Foundation gave me a grant to write some our family stories to encourage young people to talk to their grandparents and parents!"
"You know, I saw Cheryl de odder day, she got so fat. She's like 200 pounds."
"Mom, listen. I'm going into the radio station to read some of my writing, isn't that great? It tapes Monday."
"How do you know dat dis is a real radio station? Vhat if someone made it up so they could kill you?"
"Wow. I call to tell you happy news, and you jump to the worst thing ever. Quit worrying."
"So vhat are you telling the public?"
"Well, I was going to read a couple stories, you know, something funny about us. Maybe the cat story."
"Don't tell our bank account information."
"Okay."
"So a boyfriend is coming with you, right?"
"Well, uh, I-"
"How are you going to handle parking?"
"I was gonna-"
"You need to park at the garage where Stu used to park, he knew the cheapest places in town."
"Yeah, mom, that garage is across town."
