Bonus First!

Because you've all been so patient waiting for the stories of my days as a Greek-letter wearing hottie and my sweet dance moves in fifth grade, here's a little bonus first story.

Bonus First: My first bra.

By the time I was in fifth grade, someone (my mom? me?) decided that I should get my first bra. I have no idea why this is so. Because I distinctly remember Heidi Nichols making fun of me in sixth grade (a full year later) about barely having a "fingerful," let alone a "handful." Then again, people also made fun of my nose in middle school, and I seem to have grown into that!

So. Mom and I are at the mall for a bra. I'm sure we shopped at JCPenney or Sears. I remember nothing about the whole experience except what my dad said when he picked us up. I guess he wanted to show that he had some relevance to the world of his 12-year-old daughter. Instead, he made me want to die of embarrassment.

Dad smiled encouragingly at me and said lightly, "Feels just like wearing a small undershirt, doesn't it?"

The question in my mind now, 19 years later, is: How would he know?

I swear to you: My father is not a creepy guy. He's just a guy. And a McGuiggan. Which means that weirdly inappropriate things come out of his mouth with the best and most innocent of intentions. I may not be a guy, but I'm most definitely a McGuiggan. And if I ever have kids I'm sure I will horrify them with my words. I'm sure I've horrified friends and family my own age. I once said the following to a girl in college, not realizing that it might sound insulting: "Did you say something as stupid as I think you just said?" The weird part is that she didn't even seem to get mad.

But back to the bra. If only my dad had had this resource to consult when I was young: http://www.myfirstbra.us/. (Apparently http://www.myfirstbra.net/ was already taken.) Then he would have known that, "For a young girl, a bra is more than an article of clothing, more than a necessity; her bra is her symbol of maturity and growth, an item of fantasy." Yes, an item of fantasy. Exactly. It's not a small undershirt, it's an item of fantasy! In comparison, I'd say that my dad was considerably less creepy than that website.

Go ahead -- Tell me about your first little undershirt in the comments!

Or if you're desperate for more of my firsts, go read the other four.

It's a bird, it's a plane...

Overheard today in Jen and Eddie's UFO (Used Furniture Outlet):

"Engelbert Humperdinck -- it's not a what. It's a person! You've never heard of him?"

"No!"

"How about Mahalia Jackson? I've never heard of her."

At least it's curable

According to this wacky Dr. Unheimlich's Disease Registry, I suffer from the following: Jennifer's Syndrome.

Cause: drug abuse

Symptoms: bad poetry, indigestion, occasional phantom pregnancy

Cure: psychiatry

This freaked me out a bit, because it's all true. Except for the drug abuse. Which makes the symptoms even more disturbing if I don't have a mind-altering substance to blame.

What's your disease? Tell me in the comments.

Phone Fun with Dave

Phone conversations with my brother are usually hilarious, at least for the other person in the room listening to my end of the conversation. He invariably calls me when I'm hanging out with my friend Jess, and I can see the anticipation on her face when I say, "It's my brother." Because she knows that a bizarre encounter is about to take place. My husband gets the same kick out of these phone calls, which usually consist of me saying the same few phrases over and over: "What? Wait, what? What are you talking about? Um, okay."

Today I had the pleasure of listening to my mom's side of a phone call with her son. I'm not sure if it's funnier when you hear just her side of it or the whole thing. You decide:

Version 1
Mom: Hello. ...What?... No, it was a goat!!

Version 2:
Mom: Hello.

Bro: When you were a kid at Aunt Mid's, what chased you?

Mom: What?

Bro: Was it a turkey or a peacock?

Mom: No, it was a goat!!

He's got a million of 'em, folks

What I overheard in Times Square on Sunday:

Guy to two girls: Hey, watch out -- dog shit!

[Girls jump aside, but there is no shit.]

Guy: What are you doing tonight? I mean what are we doing tonight?

[Girls giggle and keep walking.]

Guy: Hey, do you like skinny white guys?

For more snippets of New York conversation, visit Overheard in New York.