As a GenXer, it’s only natural to obsess over this show. This was the time when many of us were in our twenties, figuring out life after college. I also feel like that time was kind of a blur, so not only was I watching a very public love story play out, but I was also rekindling so many memories of that time. The nineties felt a bit more subtle than the 80’s … it was as if after a decade of neon and glam rock we just needed to chill out a bit, hence all the minimalism. I also feel like there’s been plenty of shows focused on the eighties (thank you, Stranger Things, especially the season with the mall) but it’s about time that the 90’s got some love too.

I’m not going to talk about the deceased nor the people and relationships and how they were portrayed; I am sure plenty of creative license was taken already. However, I do have some thoughts about the show in general:

1. First, the casting was fantastic. Paul Anthony Kelly as JFK, Jr., was strikingly good in particular; both his appearance and his voice seemed spot-on. I didn’t recognize Naomi Watts as Jackie Kennedy until I recently looked it up. Constance Zimmer broke my heart as Carolyn and Lauren’s mother, Ann. (By the way, she is very underrated; go watch her in the series Unreal. It is crazy.)

2. To this day, JFK Jr. is the only person I know who can pull off a suit with a backwards baseball hat and still look incredible. Anyone else just looks dopey.

3. Whoever was in charge of the music knew what they were doing. Five stars. I remember listening to Dido’s No Angel album on repeat in the 90’s (there are no skips on it!) and I was pleasantly surprised to hear “Here with Me” featured on the last episode (sob). Also worth mentioning … Portishead! Both are worth digging out of the archives.

4. Twenty-year-olds should just stop making TikToks about minimalist 90’s style. You weren’t alive, you weren’t there, just let the GenXers have their thing, okay?

5. I don’t even know if this is historically accurate - but did anyone else cringe during John and Carolyn’s first kiss? They had just spent hours smoking and eating garlic-y Indian food. That just can’t be good. And speaking of bad breath, same goes for the scene where Carolyn had literally been sitting at home chain-smoking all day, and in walks JFK Jr. for a big ol’ sloppy kiss after a long day at work. Is this normal?

6. John’s apartment. Sigh. That apartment was just ugly. There was nothing endearing about it, and honestly I was questioning his taste. It was dark, sterile, unwelcoming … and it had a terrible layout. I would be depressed too if I was cooped up in that place all day. Carolyn’s first order of business should have been finding new digs. There’s got to be something better in his price range, no?

7. The wedding stressed me out. Here all the guests were at the church practically having a cornhole tournament outside, and the bride was back at the house sitting in a bathtub fully clothed, smoking a cigarette, no hair and makeup done while some repairs were done to her dress. What. Was. That. That is a nightmare that ranks up there with “I haven’t attended a single class all semester”.

8. I was a little surprised that the writers and creators included a highly speculative “last minutes in the plane” scene. I didn’t want to see it. And I know it’s supposed to make us feel better, with Carolyn remaining calm and talking to John in a soothing tone … but I couldn’t help but think how unlikely that was. Everyone knows the plane went down … I would have preferred to have just seen the plane take off and disappear across the horizon.

Thoughts? What brought back memories of the 90’s for you?

Speaking of Valentines gifts, my Facebook feed recently featured some “curated” Valentines gift suggestions from Nordstrom. I expected tasteful jewelry, frilly lingerie, or perhaps some expensive perfume. What I got both frightened and confused me. Here is what “all the ladies are wanting for Valentines day” (???), in no particular order:

Gift #1:

So Nordstrom decides to lead off their “curated” Valentines gift selections with this. Any guesses? Old Annie wig that wasn’t quite curly enough for the job? A curled-up dog? Baby-sized Ewok costume? Nope. These are actually slippers, folks. Now I don’t know about you, but these don’t exactly scream “romantic” as much as they announce to the world you want to wear old lady wigs on your feet.

Gift #2:

This gift made me feel like I was on a couch at a psychologist, squinting at a Rorschach inkblot test. I had no idea what this was; was I out of the loop? Is there some sexy-time device I am supposed to be using nowadays? Well, it turns out I could put my fears to rest since this was a face massager, and a $175 one at that. (p.s. That shit most certainly does not work.)

Gift #3:

I am trying to keep this post PG-13, but my mind went immediately to the gutter on this one, so I’ll just keep it at that. It could also be a new type of light bulb? I don’t know what this is, but it may be another massage tool that looks kind of painful. (Pro tip: Don’t get your partner a massage tool. Take her to a spa to get an actual massage. Or give her one yourself.)

Gift #4:

Another odd choice. Some kind of slim thermos? A tool for girly maintenance work? Answer: These are hand weights. (Pro tip: Unless your partner asked for workout equipment specifically, the message behind this gift may come off poorly. Stick with chocolates.)

Gift #5

Lastly, we have this device. Spoiler alert, it’s another face massager/roller. I had no idea that women were so invested in massaging their faces. However, I do know enough that IT. DOESN’T. DO. ANYTHING. Save your money, I beg you.

To those who celebrate, Happy Valentines Day! I for one will be doing the most Gen X thing ever: an afternoon screening of the classic Pretty in Pink, in theaters for its 40th anniversary. (!!!!!) Fantastic soundtrack, Andrew McCarthy, high school drama, and a deliciously evil James Spader. No Ewok slippers required.

I don’t really go through many drive-thrus, but it seems that lately whenever I do, the person taking my order did not listen to a Single. Word. I. Said. Zilch. Nada. No entiendo. That person may as well have stepped out back by the dumpsters for a smoke break, because it’s like I never even existed.

Here’s the confusing thing: the initial greeting starts off strong, so this gives me hope. And no, it’s not the recorded voice that asks me if I want to try their special new meal, or wonders if I’m using the app. (By the way, don’t get me started on the weirdness of answering those questions when I know it’s not a real person, followed by the awkward silence of wondering when the live person is going to actually come and take my order. I feel like a giant jackass sitting there wondering when the real voice is going to show up.) After that initial contact normal, pleasant contact, it’s as if they can’t quite muster the actual act of listening.

And here’s what pains me the most: it seems to happen at a very respectable chain that is near and dear to my Wisconsin-born heart. Yes, sadly we are talking about you, Culver’s.

I’m not sure what happened … maybe they save all their all-stars for the dining room registers? Because honestly for the most part, Culver’s has their shit together, and they know how to hire good people. But here is how my orders have gone recently:

C: Welcome to Culver’s, what can I make fresh for you today?

Me: Hi, could I have a Butterburger with cheese meal, with ketchup, mustard, and pickles please? (Note: sometimes I even use the official Culver’s language of “the works with no onions” because well … let’s just say I am Culver’s-experienced. Culver’s-forward?)

Another note: At this point she should really just be asking me what my drink order is, since fries are the default side. But that doesn’t happen.

C: Okay that Butterburger is automatically a double, is that okay?

Uh … no?? I said nothing about a double. And by the way I find that a bit sneaky, Culver’s. I expected better from you.

Me: No, just a single.

C: Okay and did you want cheese on that?

Me: (cringing more)Yes.

C: And ketchup, mustard, pickles, and onions?

Me: (Oh Lord she did not just ask me that). No, no onions.

C: Okay and did you want that in a meal?

At this point I find myself dangerously close to going all Larry David on her: irritated, incredulous, and on the verge of calling out the fact that I already told her ALL OF THESE THINGS when I initially ordered. What should my approach be here? Confusion? Asking her if something was wrong with the intercom earlier? Of course I remain polite through clenched teeth. It doesn’t help that I am a bit hangry.

Me: Yes, please.

C: Fries and a Coke okay? (p.s the only acceptable questions here)

Me: Yes.

I pull around to pay and wait for my meal, and the meal runner bounds out the side door all chipper as he hands me the bag, and asks me if he can do anything else for me.

Damnit, Culver’s, I can’t stay mad at you …

As you may recall, Rudolph featured the Island of Misfit Toys, a remote island where undesirable toys were banished, never to be enjoyed by any children. The toys kindly explained to us (during a song, of course) why each of them was a Misfit. And honestly, I think their “defects” - if you could even call them that - are a bit lame.

The elephant? He had spots. And??? What’s the problem here? If being a little extra is a crime, then handcuff me.

The train: Okay, so he had square wheels. But that can be fixed, right? Simple. Hand him over to a pit crew.

Water gun: Now this one is ridiculous; it shoots jelly. So empty it out and fill it with water, folks. Easy peasy.

Charlie-in-the-Box: Come on now. Bring that guy down to the courthouse, get some proper paperwork filed, and change his name to Jack! Done.

Honestly, the only toy that even has a legit case is the plane. It’s a bit wonky, and it doesn’t fly. But most toy planes don’t fly anyway, so again I don’t see an issue. Kids can use their hands.

So now this brings us to Dolly.

Didn’t you always wonder what was wrong with Dolly, the red-haired rag doll? She seemed perfectly fine, right? No visible defects, at least.

Of course my wondering mind had to consult Google, who told me that she’s a misfit because she suffers from clinical depression and abandonment trauma after being left behind by her owner.

What? That is some pretty dark stuff, Mr. Arthur Rankin, Jr.

Frankly, I’m not buying this. I feel like there is something more sinister there. Dolly probably had some other controversial past that caused her to be banished to the island. In fact, I think there could be many reasons. Ten, in fact.

Top Ten Reasons Why Dolly Was Banished to the Island of Misfit Toys

10 - Was #TeamJeremiah

9 - Had three nipples

8 - Was the only Android user in her friend group chat

7 - Was framed by that bitch Holly Hobby

6 - Shared too many attention-seeking ambiguous Facebook posts

5 - Didn’t turn her phone to airplane mode on that one flight

4 - Ate all the “good” Jelly Beans

3 - Refused to watch any of her friends’ Netflix suggestions

2 - Wore iconic 80’s band t-shirts but couldn’t name any of their songs

And the number one reason why Dolly was banished to the Island of Misfit Toys?

She was a Chicago Bears Fan.

Well there you have it folks … and while I’m here, let me just add:

p.s. Go Pack Go this weekend! Beat the Bears!

November and early December is a bit tough for me because that is the time of year that my mom and I would do our annual Christmas shopping trip. Every year we would look forward to planning a long weekend of shopping at a different destination. Sometimes it was close (Appleton, Wisconsin), but most of the time it was in Milwaukee, Chicago, or The Mall of America. Our biggest shopping trips were to New York City and Florida. Sometimes we (laughingly) planned these trips in April. We made a good team.

The last time my mom was physically able to go shopping was a special year. We stayed at a hotel on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, and I got a room that overlooked the street so that we could watch the Christmas parade. Although truth be told, it wasn’t that perfect … our room also had awnings below it, so much of our view was blocked. Plus, we had to hoist ourselves up to kind of a “loft area” in our room in order to see out the windows. But we did it, and we peeked out the corners of the windows and caught glimpses where we could. Mom always loved a parade.

But perhaps the best part was getting a last minute lunch reservation at the Ralph Lauren restaurant. We had a little round cozy table in front of our own personal fireplace, and as you could imagine, the room was quintessential Ralph Lauren: “rich study-ish”, dark wood, equestrian chic vibes. We drank wine and relaxed and felt oh so fancy.

Oh – and I forgot to mention – no matter where our shopping road trip took us, we always cranked our number one favorite shopping album: Kenny and Dolly: Once Upon a Christmas. I’m not much of a country music person, but give me some Kenny and Dolly Christmas any day!

Now here’s where the hankies come in … although who am I kidding, I’ve already needed them.

Usually when I write about my husband on here, I’m poking fun at him or talking about how much he annoys me. I do this in good fun, and I know he can handle it. But at the same time I want everyone to know that he is one of the most sentimental and kind people I know. Because he did this:

The month after my mom passed, we went to Disney World for a few days as a little getaway. (More accurately, I told him we were going to Disney World, and he didn’t argue because I was grieving and I needed a little joy.) He told me had a surprise for me, which went a little something like this:

“So I know how much you miss Christmas shopping with your mom, and I know how special that was to you. So I thought it would be nice if you started your own tradition with Karissa (my stepdaughter). I’m flying her down next weekend for you two to go Christmas shopping together.”

SOB. I mean, literally, I couldn’t stop sobbing.

This was one of the nicest and most thoughtful things anyone ever did for me, and I am forever thankful. This will be year 3 of the new tradition.

Even though it may not be evident, every time I go Christmas shopping, or every time I look at some kind of home décor for my house, I am imagining my mom right next to me. Do you like this, Mom? What do you think about this, Mom? Would this look good? I wish you were here. You would have loved this store. If you were here, I think you would have bought this. I need your advice.

I miss you every single day. I’m thankful I had you in my life.

If you grew up in the Midwest, you are familiar with Shopko. Headquartered in Green Bay, Wisconsin, Shopko was at a tier between Kohl’s and Wal-Mart. Long story short, it became a bit too boring and mediocre, and it couldn’t adapt to deep discounts and the ever-evolving retail environment, and it shuttered its doors.

In its 1980’s heyday, Shopko was bustling. So, when I learned that my co-worker used to be a check-out person there in his early twenties, I saddled up to hear some stories.

I was not disappointed.

First, I must tell you that this is the guy who has the best stories. They are usually ridiculous, silly, and hard to believe, but they are 100% true. They are also best told in the original voice of the storyteller, but I will do my best to relate the story here:

It’s the early eighties, and my friend is a Shopko checker. He’s a simple guy, not into anything too fancy. He may have been an assistant coach for his high school’s football team at the time.

A woman comes through his line, and wouldn’t you know it, he needs to do a price check on a bra. He figures okay I’ve got this; I know the department name, I’ll simply get on my walkie talkie and ask for a price.

He puts the walkie talkie up to his mouth and confidently says, “Price check, lingerie. Price check, lingerie.”

And then he proceeds to hear buckets of laughter reverberating throughout the store’s walkie talkies.

He was perplexed. That was the right department. Geesh, why are people so immature?

It was true, he got the department right. What he did not get right was the pronunciation.

What he actually said was, “Price check, LING-EREE, price check, LING-EREE.”

Yes, with a hard G. Rhymes with ring.

This was the reaction from the Shopko lady. (IYKYK)

I judge. You judge. We all judge. You might think you don’t judge, but you probably do. It’s hard not to, right? You sit on a bench and people-watch long enough, and you’re bound to form some opinions about people you’ve never even met. You may be right in most cases … but isn’t it wonderful when you are very wrong?

There have been a few situations lately where I clearly misjudged, and I’m here to tell you all about them.

Case #1: Donut Man, Winter Haven, Florida

Whenever we make the road trip up the middle of Florida on our way to Walt Disney World, we pass through several small towns that can only be described as, “How the hell did people end up here?” And every time we pass through Winter Haven, Florida, there is a small concrete building next to a gas station with the words '“DONUT MAN” spraypainted on it. It looks shady AF. My husband has countlessly pestered and joked (?) that we are going to stop for a donut sometime, to which I always answer, “Sure, if I want my donut sprinkled with meth!”

Alas, a few Sundays ago his dream came true. He took matters into his own hands and made a quick swerve into Donut Man’s parking lot before I could even protest. I locked the car doors, looked around for things I could use as a weapon, and waited.

 Bonus footage: My friends and I approaching the Donut Man building. (Oh wait - I may have mixed that up with the Brazilian place in Bridesmaids. But you get the gist.)

And here is where I issue my deepest, most sincere apology to Donut Man.

Because that donut was positively exquisite.

As my husband pulled the Bear Claw out of its paper bag, the first thing I noticed was its perfect shape. It truly looked like a bear claw, right down to its perfectly shaped toes … er … claws. It was pillowy and doughy and stuffed with a delightful apple filling that left us both speechless. And I now know why I am not a food critic, because I cannot adequately express in words just how delicious this donut was. My husband and I looked at each other and said, “Two toes up for Donut Man!”

I misjudged.

Case #2: The Jersey Shore/Long Island Couple

No surprise here, my second example also has a Disney connection. Here it is:

Maybe against our better judgement, my husband and I got in line for a very popular bar at Epcot. It’s actually a bar inside a restaurant, but the bar only has 10 seats. You never really know how long your wait will be; it could be 30 minutes; it could be more.

We decided to take our chances, and we got in line behind another couple. Well, long story short … our wait to get into the bar ended up being 90 minutes. I know, I know. Ridiculous. But it was one of those things where you say well, we came this far … may as well wait it out. The whole sunken cost argument, blah blah blah.

But honestly the wait didn’t even seem that bad because we totally hit it off with another couple in line. Now at first glance they looked like 50-something versions of the Jersey Shore cast, only more tasteful. The husband was clearly hitting the weights hard every single day, and he sported the obligatory tank top which could best highlight his massive biceps and neck. I was vaguely reminded of that one time Samantha Jones took home the beefy but dumb-as-a-bag-of-hair firefighter from Staten Island. (By the way, this couple was from Long Island.)

His wife … well, she looked like the kind of gal this guy would be attracted to. Long dark hair, very tan, some tattoos, lots of jewelry, cleavage, long acrylic nails … kind of Real Housewives of New Jersey vibes, but prettier and more natural. (Well, not all of her was natural, but she wasn’t too done.)

I chuckled to myself when he mentioned something about an NYPD fundraiser … I wondered if he was a cop or a firefighter? Nope. Neither. This guy was a criminal psychologist. He dealt with some dark, intense stuff from his patients every single day. At one point he started telling us about some spat he and the wife had, and then added, “Hey, our problems are absolutely nothing. These things are ridiculous in comparison to the things I hear every day, and the horrific things people have gone through. Our life is good.”

My husband and I had shot each other a knowing look. Was this the universe in action? Because eerily enough, the night before our trip my husband and I had gotten into a rare fight, and the first 30 minutes of our ride to Disney was spent in silence before we talked it out. Beefy Long Island guy (or should I say Doctor Beefy Long Island) guy was incredible right of course.

And then … we find out that his wife was a school psychologist, so you know what kind of hell she must deal with every week. These people were angels in our eyes.

The more we spoke with them, the more we had in common, and the more it sounded like they had built a fantastic, lovely family together. Sure, there may have been plenty of gym, tan, laundry going on … but here they were doing these incredibly hard jobs (that require some hefty degrees and countless hours of practice, I might add), and the husband even found time to do some community acting gigs with his super talented son. He was the least likely Renaissance Man you ever did see.

So, here’s to you, Long Island couple … cheers. I was so wrong about you. I misjudged you based on your appearances alone, and I hope we meet up again at Disney soon. We’d love to be your friends.

Oingo Boingo: Michael Jackson and Prince both died before I could see them in concert, but I am holding out hope for seeing Danny Elfman and/or Oingo Boingo. Bonus fun: Featured in two eighties classics: Sixteen Candles and Back to School, so naturally an epic band.

Far Behind, Candlebox - As my college roommate put it, they probably were a “dirtbag” band, and weren’t nearly as popular nor as hip as other Seattle bands, but I don’t care. I still like this song.

Tesla, Mau P - Yup, I’m one of those people who has Diplo’s Revolution as a pre-set station.

My Fun, Suki Waterhouse: Ugh. Yet another beautiful model/actress who declared herself a “singer/songwriter”. But then I heard this song, and damnit it’s good. She’s good. And I want to hear more. I take back all my eye rolling and scoffing.

Colorblind, Counting Crows: My go-to jukebox song at my college dive bar was Anna Begins by the Counting Crows … but that was before they came out with this 1999 song featured in Cruel Intentions. And there’s this:

And furthermore …

Candy, Mandy Moore: This. All day long.

There are a handful of movies that will suck me in (even if they are on regular TV and I have to sit through commercials), and Center Stage is one of them. The opening chords of Candy make me want to thrust my hips and warm up for dance class like Jody Sawyer. I love it when her little ballet boy crush bolts in at the last minute and joins class, and they kick ass together in a high energy routine to RHCP’s Higher Ground. Well it just doesn’t get any better.

This is fairly accurate, however I’m pretty sure I didn’t ask for a set of creepy twins in matching striped outfits who I’ll probably see in my nightmares tonight. If you zoom in on the left twin, you’ll see that her face is a bit … off.

If anything, this picture is a bit tame. While it’s true that our falls and blows were “softened” by a rock hard dirt surface, a few more things could have made this more realistic:

1. One of the boys on the spinny thing falling over in dizziness, or perhaps puking off the side

2. A game of “king of the hill” on the jungle gym, injuries be damned

3. A tire swing! Who doesn’t love a good tire swing?

What do you think? How did AI do? What did it miss?

These first two signs could be entitled “Tell me you live in a retirement community without telling me you live in a retirement community.” These are actual signs in the bathroom of my doctor’s office in Naples, Florida. There is one small bathroom right off the lobby, and apparently people were so confused between the storage closet and the door they just walked into, that the office staff needed to label the doors.

Next up is …

Finally, a gynecologist who gets it. You had me at “gentle”. Kudos to you, Dr. Amanda Kane, for using straightforward, simple marketing that actually works. Sign me up!

And lastly (courtesy of my friend Lisa):

I had to look these up because I wasn’t sure they were a real thing or just a marketing gimmick, but I can assure you they real. However, I am fairly certain you have to say, “Move bitch, get out the way …” every time you pick these.

On that note, I’m just going to roll out …

When a stranger’s long hair touches me. More specifically, let’s say I’m standing in line at the grocery store, and a girl (it’s usually a teenage girl, to be honest) with very long hair is standing a bit too close to me. She then does a big dramatic sweeping hair toss, and those long locks brush right Over. My. Bare. Arm. (Insert image of someone cringing here.)

The same goes for someone’s hair falling over the back of their airplane seat and into my personal space. It’s usually never nice, clean, well-kempt hair. It’s usually this:

(I realize this is an aggressively large photo, but I wanted to put you in my shoes as this was my view for most of my flight. It wasn’t pleasant.)

People putting onions on my sandwich/taco/salad.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

      p.s. I am very pleased with myself because I made this meme all by myself. 
      p.p.s. Don't you just love Jason Bateman? I wish he was my friend.

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Personally, I think we nailed it.

Anyway, even if you can’t identify us from our distinctive accent, there is another surefire way: summer produce.

I recently discovered that sharing of summer produce isn’t quite a “thing” in larger metropolitan areas. For example: When I went into my neighborhood bar in my hometown, not only did I not pay for a single drink (the patrons found out who my dad was, and that was that), but I also walked out with a huge bag of cherry tomatoes. When our Midwest gardens produce too much, we just share. For free.

When I mentioned this story to a co-worker, he mentioned something similar. If you’re from the Midwest, you know that it’s normal to bring in surplus produce to work. On any given summer day, you might find a variety of zucchini, a bag of radishes, or various cucumbers just sitting on a table or on display in the cafeteria. It’s an understood rule that they are free for the taking.

Well I guess this is a Midwest thing, since my co-worker recently had some consultants in-house who were thoroughly confused by the entire situation. Upon seeing the zucchini, they became quite puzzled.

“What’s up with the vegetables?” they asked.

When my friend explained how people just had extras and brought them to work to share, he was met by blank looks and more confusion. It was kind of like that old Saturday Night Live sketch, “White Like Me” with Eddie Murphy: “When white people are alone, they like to give things to each other … for free.” Only with Midwest folks, it doesn’t matter what color we are … we just share … for free.

Forgot your handwarmers for the Packers game at Lambeau? Here are some extras.

Just bring yourself to the potluck - we’ve got plenty of casseroles.

And the classic favorite: Grab yourself a beer out of the cooler.

We’re just Midwest Nice. That’s how it works.

“I’m not saying I have a one track mind. But I am saying that there’s probably only two tracks, maybe three, tops.”

“I will keep ordering the 7 layer burrito at Taco Bell. I realize it was discontinued several years ago, but I am going to keep ordering it.”

“You may disagree, but I should have been a gangsta rap lyricist.”

“Is that Hugh Grant?” (Wrongly identifying actor Rami Malek in the stands in Wimbledon as we watched on TV. Clearly his brain stayed frozen in 1984, since Hugh Grant is now 64 years old.)

“I’d say my top candies are Lemonheads, Boston Baked Beans, Red Hots, and Chuckles.” (p.s. Okay, Boomer.)

And as I’ve gotten older, there are just some situations I simply have no patience for anymore.

That’s right. I’m talking about people who incorrectly quote a pop culture reference.

As someone who prides herself on knowing every single line to Caddyshack, it gives me great pain whenever someone misquotes it. Ditto for song lyrics. There’s a reason why my trivia team calls me “Shaz-Annie” during the music round. I usually know my stuff. (Unless it’s new country. I don’t do country unless your name is Loretta or Kenny or Dolly.)

Unfortunately, since we spend a lot of time together – and because he is just so bad at it – my husband is most often the target of my pop culture corrections. But in my defense, some of his references are just are so far off, I simply can’t help myself. I mean, this is a man who only recently discovered that Paul Simon’s song is actually called “Call me Al” and not “Call me Out”. (Inexcusable! MTV played that video with Chevy Chase 24/7! What the hell was he doing?)

I’ll let you be the judge, as I have gone through the process of compiling his most cringe-worthy pop culture offenses. I give you his quotes, followed by the actual, correct quotes:

Bring It On (the original movie with Kirsten Dunst, which I will absolutely watch every time it’s broadcast on E! or BravoTV):

Husband quote: “That’s ok, that’s all right, you’re gonna wash my car tonight.”

Well I suppose he gets points for this one because it actually does rhyme, just like a real cheer. However, it’s definitely not the right line. If you recall, during the first home football game, the opposing team’s cheerleaders start to throw shade at the Rancho Cucamonga Toros cheerleaders. Their cheer even ends with a very unclassy move: The words “You suck” spelled out on the bottoms of their spanky pants. The Toros have a very quick-witted reply though, with this cheer:

That’s all right

That’s okay

You’re gonna pump our gas someday

I am not sure if my husband has actually seen Bring it On? I think he may have heard me use this line, but then didn’t remember it right. But in any case: wrong, wrong, wrong.

Caddyshack

Husband quote (in Judge Smails voice): “You want to come over and wash my boat?”

So wrong. We know the background, right? Judge Smails asks his caddy Danny Noonan what he’s doing on Saturday. Danny replies that he has no plans, to which Judge Smails tells him that he’s christening his new sleuth at the yacht club that day. Danny thinks he’s going to get an invite, but instead Smails says: “How’d you like to mow my lawn?”

Well Danny does eventually get that yacht club invite, and things go pretty well for him … for a bit. (Related note: my husband also asks me if I want to loofah his stretch marks. While he uses this Caddyshack line correctly, it does still irritate me since he has no stretch marks.)

Sixteen Candles:

Husband quote: “Smooth move, Clifford.”

I don’t even know if he knows who/what he is quoting. However, if I had to guess, he is quoting John Cusack, nerd friend of Anthony Michael Hall, aka The Geek aka Farmer Ted. Farmer Ted and his two nerdy friends have crashed the party at Jake Ryan’s house. As they start to settle in, Ted leans back onto a table, subsequently knocking over an impressively large beer can pyramid. Three extremely large men (one of whom is sporting some pretty sweet denim overalls) get up and start grunting, about to kick some serious nerd ass. Ted immediately deflects on his buddy Bryce (played by Cusack) and walks away. Bryce then uses the same tactic and turns to his last remaining helpless friend: “Real smooth, Cliff.”

And last and definitely LEAST:

Laverne and Shirley:

Husband quote: “Hello Lenny. Hello Squiggy”.

Now, this one truly makes no sense. Lenny and Squiggy were known for a lot of things, but their signature move was their epic entrance into a room, always with exceptional comedic timing. You know the drill: The door to Laverne and Shirley’s apartment flies open, and Squiggy calls out, “Hell-o! ” At no point in time does Squiggy say hello to himself. Or to Lenny. Messing with a classic like Laverne and Shirley is simply just criminal.

All of these offenses need to end immediately. However, who are we kidding? He’ll continue to poke the bear.