Category Archives: We Think We’re Funny

Anatomy 101

The joy of being half white and half Filipino is in the combination of cultures. For example, we own a Mah Jong set, but play  without the gambling tiles, which we call “flower tiles” and don’t even know how to use. Seriously, I don’t even know if that’s their name. But it’s a tile with a flower on it, so there we go.

This basically means that we may or may not be playing the game correctly. But it’s how Dad taught us when he read the directions, so that’s what we go with.

Image via

Now, Mah Jong (as far as I know) is similar to playing Gin or Gin Rummy. It’s similar to a deck of cards in that it also has suits – but instead of Hearts, Clubs, Spades, and Diamonds, it has what in my family we call Balls, Sticks, and Cars (short for characters, apparently).

We taught the Boo to play Mah Jong, since along with a card game called Tent, it’s what our family game night consists of. The other night at dinner, when I had a few friends over (Meghan (FunSized) and Rob (the bf)), Boo declared that it was a Mah Jong night.

Game Night at the Hoyer household.

Game Night at the Hoyer household.

Boo’s really getting the hang of the game the older he gets (he’ll be 7 in September), to the point where he doesn’t need help playing, won the first game, and charmed us with this lovely anecdote.

Boo discards a tile. It’s a 1 Ball tile. Rob’s turn is next. He draws a tile, and discards it. It’s the same tile – the 1 Ball.

“Hey Rob,” declares the Boo. “Look! We both got balls!”

Cue Laugh Track.

We’re going to a Game Night with a collection of my oldest friends tomorrow – games to play include Guesstures and Heads Up! What do you like to do for Game Nights?


And now, I guess she’s on crack.

Sometimes, it’s just so hard to explain things to a little kid. Like the time that Mommy got presents every month, even when it wasn’t her birthday.

That one ended up with SpiderMan having new “Gentle Glide with the Best Leak Protection” pewers, if you can imagine that. If you can’t, here is an image I drew of it.

Spiderman and his Playtex Pew-er.

Spiderman and his Playtex Pew-er.

So, the Boo and I were hanging out with LEGO MIXELs, which is his latest craze, the book I’m reading, and Pitch Perfect. We have the soundtrack for Pitch Perfect, so Boo was basically singing along to everything. It’s awesome. I keep telling him that when he gets older, we’re totally going to bombard my choir director with THREE GENERATIONS OF HOYER in the same choir.

Off topic.

So, Anna Kendrick goes to sing the cup song…

…and Boo looks up at me with this inquisitive stare and is all:

Hey Mommy, why do girls wear shirts with that line?

And I look at Anna Kendrick, and I look at her gray shirt with no lines and I look at Boo, and I’m like…what line?

So he walks up to the TV and he points.

Right. To the cleavage.

Boo: Girls wear shirts like right there.

Me: Well.

Boo: See, the line? Girls’ shirts are right there, and they have boobs and there’s like a line.

Me: Well.

Boo: Boys don’t have it. Cuz I sing Agonyand I don’t have a line.

And then he started singing Agony, and got totally distracted, and I texted furiously to people that Boo had just questioned cleavage, and how do you explain cleavage to a six year old?!

Fast Forward to the next day.

We’re at the dinner table, and enjoying a nice dinner, and Boo looks at me, super serious.

Hey Mommy, you’re wearing a Pitch Perfect shirt today!

And I look down, because I i’m pretty sure I don’t OWN a Pitch Perfect shirt.

But yeah. He was totally right.

Fire burn, cauldron bubble, etc, etc.

I have two confessions to make.

One. This post contains spoilers circa 1993.

Two. I am terrible with horror movies. This isn’t normal level oh God I’m so freaked out and I might jump a little while watching scared. This is I didn’t sleep for two days after I saw The Ring and was positive that bitch was hanging out outside my window waiting for me to let my guard down scared.

Even previews for horror movies freak me out. I’ve forced myself to watch movies after seeing the preview because I needed to know that these fictional characters that I’ve encountered for 1 minute and 12 seconds survived.


The best part about all of this intense fear of a genre is why I have said intense fear of a genre. And to understand that, we must travel back in time – to a simpler time, when Sarah Jessica Parker hadn’t had sex in a city yet, when Bette Middler was the wind beneath my wings, and when I had a crush on one Omri Katz.

Now, to put this into perspective, I was six when I first saw this movie. Actually, I was six when I saw most of this movie. And let’s be honest: Winifred Sanderson is pretty effing scary when you’re six years old. For whatever reason, I was watching Hocus Pocus, for the first time, by myself, at age six. My parents weren’t home. My older sister was not watching with me. And I don’t know if you know the premise of Hocus Pocus, but these crazy fucking witches come back from the dead and suck the life out of little children – which is exactly what I was at age six.

Suck. The Life. Out of Children.

So, I’m watching this terrible movie where these witches are coming after these kids to suck their life out, and completely missing great moments like the bus driver because I was too young to understand…

Photo courtesy of Buzzfeed

…and I am bat shit terrified. Like watching the movie with one eye terrified, because apparently that made it less scary, to only allow fifty percent of my vision to see the movie.

Well, I’m struggle-bussing my way through this movie, just about positive that the witches were going to lose, because it was a Disney movie, and everyone knew that Disney movies have to have a happy ending except for Bambi’s Mom because what a terrible movie.

Photo from Buzzfeed.

And then this amazing moment happened where the kids forced the witches into a giant oven and fried them to death. Take that, Bette Middler. Everything is fine! The kids are dancing in the yard because they win, and the world is safe from life sucking creatures and –

YEAH. Omri just cooked the witches and they did not die.

Well, being the brave six year old that I was, that was about as much as I could handle. The witches did not die after being cooked, and therefore were not going to die, which meant that the good guys lost, and the bad guys won, and I was sleeping in my sister’s bed that night.

Except my sister wouldn’t let me in her bed. I huddled in my parents bed until they came home, absolutely terrified that the Sanderson sisters were going to come after me since I had watched half of Hocus Pocus. When my dad moved me back to my bed, I was sure that the shadows behind my Little Tykes kitchen were Winifred, waiting for me to fall asleep. I was the next Emily Binx, and was bound to be until 1999.

Six years later, when my family upgraded to cable from bunny ears antennas, I finally saw the end of Hocus Pocus when it aired on the Disney Channel.

Hot damn, I realized. The witches lose after all.

And that, my friends, is why Laura doesn’t do horror.

We’re the Cougars, obvi.

Dad: Where are you off to?

Me: Dinner with the ladies.

Dad: Which ladies?

Me: The ladies. CoSi and FunSized.

Dad: Oh. Those ladies. You have a lot of ladies.

Me: I don’t even. You know CoSi and FunSized. I’ve known them so long.

Dad: Yes, but that doesn’t mean I knew which ladies you were talking about.

Me: The ladies. The high school ladies. The CC ladies. The cougar ladies.

Sign outside of CoSi, FunSized, and my old high school.

Sign outside of CoSi, FunSized’s, and my old high school.

Dad: …

Me: That’s excellent. It’s going to be so great when we’re old because we’ll go out to dinner and I’ll be like. I’m going to dinner with the cougars.

Dad: That’s a good thing?

Me: It’s so multi-dimensional! High school mascot meets geriatric old women who talk about inappropriate topics in Panera Bread.

Dad: That’s a good thing?

Me: It’s an amazing thing.

Dad: I don’t think you’ll think it’s as funny in twenty years.

Me: I’ll tweet it because it’s that level of amazing and I won’t want to forget it. I have to go now because I’m late for dinner with the cougars.

Dad: I thought you weren’t going to use it until you were old.

Me: Practice.

Dad: Roar.


Last night, I was reading an old journal which had somehow found it’s way out into the open. It was from 2010, around the time that Poof and Captain were getting married.

Poof in all her bridal glory

Poof in all her bridal glory

GoldDust was the Maid of Honor, and thus had to give a speech, as Maid of Honors tend to do. She was pacing around the reception hall with her note cards, practicing, and I walked up to her to see how she was doing.

L.A.: Are you okay?

GoldDust: I just need to practice.

L.A.: Do you want to say it to me? See how it feels saying it out loud?

GoldDust: No, I’ll be fine. I just need to get it over with. UGH. I hate this. It’s a wedding. It’s fun. Speeches are not fun. When I get married, no speeches!

Needless to say, she was a little worried. Of course, the moment came around, and GoldDust performed in good fashion. I don’t think she thought speeches were not fun after she successfully got through it. However, rereading this conversation, I’ve concocted the perfect speech for her wedding.

Ladies and Gentleman, a few years ago, when the third member of our trifecta was married, GoldDust turned to me, and she said, “It’s a wedding. It’s fun. Speeches are not fun. When I get married, no speeches!”

Pause for effect.

To the Bride and Groom!

I am available to give such sentimental speeches at your next event.

it’s a massacre, guys.

Post Edited – scroll down, friends and lovers.

I took Boo to a hockey game a few weeks ago, because we like hockey and that’s what we do sometimes.

Here we are, hockey gaming.

Here we are, hockey gaming.

It turns out that the game is the annual teddy bear toss, so we stop by the store to get Boo a teddy bear to throw. He’s excited, guys.

And then the bears start flying.

Boo: Is it time?

Me: Yeah, you can throw the bear now.

Boo: We’re too high, it won’t go that far.

Me: We can go closer so you can throw it.

Now, we’re sitting in the upper bowl…

This is KINDA high up.

This is KINDA high up. That’s Boo’s head.

…and the kid has a point, so we start moving closer so he’ll have an easier time of getting the bear onto the rink.

Boo: Where do I throw it?

Me: On the ice, see all the other bears?

Boo: Throw him on the ice?

Me: Yeah, see how everyone else is?

Boo: …

Boo: …

Boo: …he’ll get cold.

Me: I think they’ll warm him up.

Boo: …

Boo: …

Boo: …he’ll get wet.

Me: I think they’ll dry him off.

At this point, volunteers are on the ice to start boxing up all these flying teddy bears. The players start helping gather the bears. That’s when it gets really fun.


Me: Just throw the bear, bud.


Me: No, they’re just helping to gather the bears up.

Boo’s face is a cross between Puss in Boots and the Screamer. This isn’t a good cause. This is not for the childrenlike Mommy told him. This is a mother-effing massacre.


Me: Baby, just throw the bear. It’s not hurting the bears.


Me: They’re not hurting the-


And that’s how Dash the polar bear joined our family.

Boo and our new friend Dash and his hockey bell.

Boo and our new friend Dash and his hockey bell.


I’m mildly amazed at the amount of popularity this post has gotten…

[Almost] FAME. I'm gonna live forever.

That’s the blog. [Almost] FAME. I’m gonna live forever.

…and the various tweets and facebook posts from people who have enjoyed this post (all the good karma to you people) — amazed to the point where I read the whole thing out loud to Boo, as I sometimes do when it involves cute things he says, minus the swears Mommy adds when she writes it.

Mommy: “…and that’s how Dash the polar bear joined our family.”

Boo: He’s a pretty good bear.

Mommy: He taught Mommy that we will probably not be going to the teddy bear game next year.

Boo: He taught me that the only thing we throw at hockey games is the octopus.

Mawwiage: what bwings us togetha today.

A few years ago, on another blog, Poof and I wrote about how our friends MC Hammer and Judy Jetson would one day find a way to be together and be in love. Apparently, we’re ESP(N), because on Saturday, they did it.

Mr. and Mrs. theArena!

Mr. and Mrs. theArena!

As with all other weddings I’ve ever been to, or been in, or stalked on facebook later, I’ve come out on the other side of things with a few things:

1. The Hangover.

…which is really okay, because it meant in the great battle of Go Big or Go Home, we did good.

You can't even hardly tell because we're classy.

You can’t even hardly tell how ridiculous we were because we’re classy.

2. Another gem to add to my 27 Dresses collection. 

Poof and I in our Wedding Best.

Poof and I in our Wedding Best.

The short bridesmaid dress was the best thing ever invented for weddings. Similar to when I head out for a random night out on the town, I’m all gonna dance all night.

This is a hell of a lot easier when you can wiggle around a little bit.

SoccerGirl and I strike my favorite pose: the Koala. This was made possible by the knee length b-maid dress.

SoccerGirl and I strike my favorite pose: the Koala.
This was made possible by the knee length b-maid dress.

3. Preparation is the key to success.

Poof and I headed out to Target on a mission a few days before the wedding. We’d learned from prior experiences that you should always be prepared, like the boy scouts say, lest you end up in a situation like this one:

November 2k10 — Poof and Captain’s Wedding

We’d forgotten about making mimosas for the morning of, as we got hair and make up and such done. Therefore, I ended up in a sketchy area of town, in a sketchy party store, dressed up in UGG boots and a guava bridesmaid dress with a flower in my hair.

Man at the counter: …are you in the right place?

Me: Do you have champagne and orange juice?

Man at the counter: …yes.

Me: then this is the right place.

Therefore. Outdoor photos in November in a strapless dress?

Be prepared

Five inch heels and dancing all night?

Be Prepared 2

4. Knowledge is Power.

After theAsian’s wedding a few summers ago, I learned that you should always bring flats to dance in, because you do not want to be the barefoot girl that goes home with black bottomed feet. Either you’re drunk in your sink, washing your feet off at 2 am, or you’re waking up the next morning hating yourself because you have to change your sheets with a hangover. You don’t like fitted sheets? Try them with the hangover on. This marriage was no exception to the new knowledge rule.

Bartender: Didn’t you just get a drink?

Me: I finished it.

Bartender: That fast?

Me: Some spilled.

Bartender: How much of it?

Me: It was an exciting song. I need a lid for my next drink.

Bartender: I can get you a sippy cup.

Me: …

Bartender: …

Me: …

Bartender: I’m totally kidding.

Me: …but could you really?

Bartender: Why not?

I switched to beer after that, because I didn’t want to be the girl on the dance floor with the kiddie cup.


You know what was in my wedding present from SoccerGirl?

This was drink 3 of the day. Weddings mean day drinking and love.

This was drink 3 of the day, in my big girl sippy cup. Weddings mean day drinking and love.

Lesson taken from this wedding. Grown up sippy cups mean fun for everyone.

5. What you don’t remember, the camera will.

83 photos from Poof. 91 from me. 15 from my actual camera which I forgot to use after I recruited my groomsman to carry it for me at the reception.

Love, Marriage, Glowsticks.

Love, Marriage, Glowsticks.

Photographic Memory, basically.

MAWWIAGE, guys. MAWWIAGE IS WHAT BWINGS US TOGETHA TODAY. Technically, it brought us together Saturday, but y’know.

All the best, friends.

Rules of Fashion and Humor

“I haven’t blogged lately,” I lament to Poof over my Benedict Timothy from Brandywine’s. It’s corned beef hash covered with eggs covered with Hollandaise sauce and it’s 200% delicious.

Poof is noshing on an omelette, which she’s affectionately named “n-omlette.”

“Blog about today,” she tells me. We’re dressed up to do photos for her fashion blog, which is our Tuesday/Thursday Mommy day routine. Sometimes it feels good to get out of the yoga pants. “Blog about wearing white after Labor Day.”

“But wearing white after Labor Day isn’t funny!” I argue. “White pants aren’t funny, unless you know the unlucky person who looks like Moses parted the red sea in her pants. And with my luck, it would be me, which means it wouldn’t be funny to me, so I wouldn’t want to blog it.”

We pause for a moment of silence – to all those women who don’t know when their TOM is and have ruined a good pair of white pants.

Balancing Act

Balancing with my bike thighs.

Post breakfast, Poof takes a photo of me trying to balance on a curb.

I’m failing, for one thing, for another, I realize my pants aren’t even white-white. The tank top I’m wearing is definitely white, but the jeans are just a shade or two off. They’re cream. Or ecru. Or off-white. Or…

“I’d call them more of a winter white,” Poof tells me.

White/White vs Winter White/White

White/White vs Winter White/White

“So they’d could be funny. If you happened to lose me in the snow,” I sigh.

“That’s why you should probably wear them after Labor Day.” Poof tells me.

Well. I’m silent. I have no response.

Touche, Poof. Touche.

Fashion by the Soon to be Invisible Woman, come winter. Sweater from Rachel by Rachel Roy at Macy's. Tank Top from Express. Jeans from Old Navy. Boots from Macy's.

Fashion by the Soon to be Invisible Woman, come winter.
Sweater from Rachel by Rachel Roy at Macy’s. Tank Top from Express. Jeans from Old Navy. Boots from Macy’s.

Would you like me to take your gum?

I have been too sentimental my last few blog posts. Getting back to random and funny parts of life.

My dating life…

Serious relationships are not my style at the moment, but it doesn’t mean I stop myself from enjoying the company of the opposite sex. And dating always has funny moments.

Back story…

El and I met while I was on vacation in Grand Rapids earlier this summer. We met in one of my favorite bars, The Meanwhile. He was hard not to notice. Very tall and handsome with his dark hair and piercing brown eyes.  He kept smiling and winking at me. He did this combo one last time as I walked out of the bar. I was smitten. I got a block away from the bar, and realized I was going to be bold. I told my friend that we were going back. I was going to talk to Tall and Handsome . She rolled her eyes at my grand plan, but agreed he was too hot to ignore. Making my way back into the bar, I sprinted up to him with my hand out to shake his, introducing myself. We chatted for few minutes and exchanged numbers. Feeling accomplished, I left the bar for the second time.


Ladies, that’s how it is done. You want to know someone and you want their number. Just go for it. 

After flirty texting and two dates, we had realistic expectations about our courtship. I was going back to Detroit and he lived in Grand Rapids. But, it didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy each other’s company when being in the same city. Physical attraction was too hard to ignore, too.

Two months, and countless text messages later…

El texted me to say he was coming to the D for the night. He and his buddy wanted to hit the casinos and wanted me to join. I was elated… a date with no expectations for a relationship. My style of a prince charming!

We had dinner and hit the casino. It started to get late, but El’s buddy didn’t want to leave the poker tables. So El and I left him behind and headed to hotel. Clearly, we wanted one on one time too.

Driving back to hotel, I pulled out gum. (You want fresh breath if you’re going to kiss your hot, out of town fling.)

Being polite I offered him gum too.  Not really thinking, I just handed him my pack of Trident White Duel Pack. I expected he would just take a piece and hand it back to me.

NOPE! This did not happen.

Instead, he took a piece of gum for his mouth, and then ripped the dual pack apart. He handed me half and placed the other half in the middle cubby of his Audi.

I was dumb founded. Mouth opened, I looked down at my pitiful half pack of gum and then at the other half siting in the middle cubby. El stole my tartar fighting gum. I didn’t know what to say…

33% more for you to share or steal...

33% more for you to share or steal…

We made our way back to his hotel. I didn’t want to ruin the awesome evening by pointing out that he had stole my gum so I brushed it off. We finished out our evening.

The next morning, we said our see-you-soons and he drove back to Grand Rapids.

I can’t shake the thought that El is a gum snatcher. Like at least, he could’ve asked or offered to get me a pack gum when he saw me next. Any type of gesture would have been polite.

Ladies, beware you never know where a gum snatcher could be lurking. Keep your purses closed and keep an emergency gum pack for safe keeping.

Keep it secret, keep it safe.

Run like Forrest Gump

So at the beginning of the summer I started training for The Crim 10 Mile race. Well, this past Saturday was race day. I’m happy to say I completed it!!!

Such an amazing feeling to add this to my list of accomplishments.


Some funny things happened while I ran my little heart off.

The race started off fine, but I had to pee 3 miles in…

Peeing during a race is the worst thing. You never know where the next restroom is located. Also, you’re not the only person who has to pee.

I was in line for 15 minutes to use the facility. While I was waited I got to see some oddly dressed runners. We had two mermaids which I didn’t know mermaids could run. We had Wonder Woman. Why didn’t she just fly to the finish line? Also, several ballerina with their tutus. I would think the tutu would weigh a runner down.

After catching my breath and relieving myself, I started to peddle away. The miles started to blur together.

My thoughts,

I’m actually doing this. I’m running and I’m getting closer to the finish line.

About the 7 mile marker I noticed something a strange about a runner … she had no shoes on!!! 10 miles no shoes!!! Her feet were black. I don’t know how she did it. I would cry after the first mile.

I finally reached the last mile. Exhausted. Sweating. Sore. We ran passed the last water station. A woman in front me grabbed a drink. When she finished she did not toss the cup to the side like proper cup tossing when running. Instead she whipped it behind her, right into my face. Yes, I got hit in the face with an empty cup. I was more stocked than upset. Who whips a cup during a race?

Finally, we rounded the corner and the finish line was insight. The excitement took over my body and I began to sprint. In a blink of an eye, I crossed the finish line. 10 miles behind me.

I’m still glowing with accomplishment. I had some amazing people waiting at the finish line for me. My brother and my co-workers competed in the race also.



When is the next race?