She Said What?

My mom is back at it again. We were walking through Lowe’s or Menard’s or some other home improvement store when she starts talking about these uber expensive toilets- like almost a thousand dollars for a toilet.

I asked aloud, “What in the hell does that toilet do for $1000?”

“Probably gives you orgasms,” my mother replies.

My son happened to be walking with us at that moment. I’m sure he probably knows what an orgasm is even if he hasn’t experienced one but I don’t think he needs his grandmother going around loudly proclaiming that the thousand dollar toilet gives you orgasms.

If that wasn’t bad enough we were out all day on Saturday. She complains about being bored if we’re not running around all weekend so I kept her busy. At one point she wanted to go check out a park and see what was going on there because she had heard there was some event going on.

Clearly there was some kind of race happening. She was insistent upon walking down the trail close to where the race station was set up.

“We can’t go down there! That’s where they’re racing.”

“Says who? They can’t stop me!” she declares.

Yep, she’s going to crash a race in order to get her leisurely walk in down by the river.

Perverted Shit My Mother Says

I was all set to write a cute story about my mom and her poncho while we were down in Florida.

We were shopping at the outlet mall when it began raining. Hard. Like raining cats and dogs. We were on our way out of the outlet anyway when the rain began pouring down, but our car, naturally, was outside in the monsoon.

My mom starts rummaging through her purse. “I have a poncho in here.”

“Of course you do,” I replied.

I felt like a petulant teenager as I tried to dodge this plastic poncho which she was steadfastly determined to get me to wear. “Just put it on your head!” she insisted. “At least your head will stay dry!”

Seriously! Who carries a poncho in her purse? She will vigorously defend herself until the end, saying she had heard on the news it was supposed to rain and she had this from some other event so decided to tuck it into her purse, and wasn’t I lucky that she had it with her?

That’s my mother, folks. Sweet little lady with a poncho in her purse, always ready for a storm. Also a sweet little lady with a gun and a concealed carry permit, but that’s a story for another day. Then came yesterday when IT happened.

I was telling her that Rock Star shared with me she thought her dad had gotten fat.

“Must be all of Harley’s great homemade cooking,” I snarked to my mom.

As you might recall I was grilled on the witness stand during our divorce trial about my shortcomings as a wife, and one of those shortcomings was my failure to provide a five course home-cooked meal every evening. Apparently, Harley is feeding him a little too well.

My mom looks me in the eye and says, I swear to God, “Must be all that pussy he’s been eating.”

My mouth fell open. I’m pretty sure I blushed. I was beyond shocked.

She then proceeds to take it one step further. “Or is that low cal?”

MOTHER! I had to walk away.

I have been traumatized, people. Traumatized, I tell you! I am not sure I have the wherewithal to go on. You may never hear the story of CF and graduation now. I am off to stuff my ears with cotton.

More Truths Are Revealed

August 2015

Well, my dear husband is off again.  Supposedly to Blockhead’s but The Saint tells me he’s going to Harley’s.  My mother is driving down to get proof for me.  As soon as I told her she jumped in the car and went.  She’s about 3 hours into the trip.  It should take him 6 hours, assuming he doesn’t stop, if he really ever does stop.  Maybe all this anxiety stuff is just a bunch of bullshit.

He’s withdrawn $300 out of savings and he’s done it 5 times since June 22nd.  The Saint also told me he bought her 2 new iPhone 6s.  So the Verizon bill that is supposedly for his mom and Pastor Fake is actually for the whore and her daughter.  He promised her kids a Great Dane puppy and to buy her daughter a car.  That was after he fixed her truck.  He’s so dead to me.  And he is going to be in for such a rude awakening when he’s left with $1600/month.  He has to pay rent, utilities, buy gas, buy alcohol and Kodiak, and buy food.  Wonder how much she’ll want him then.

A Brief Interruption

Pardon the interruption. I’ve got that whole five part series on my response to some comments going on. Truthfully, I’m having a hard time articulating the third part of my, “Am I Truly Happy?” post and I really don’t want to post Parts 1 & 2 until the third part is done.

I’ve also been a little busy. I apologize for the infrequency of my posts anymore. I used to be very consistent. A post a day, or a post almost every day. Now I’m good if I have a three or four day run. Honestly, I spend a lot of time talking to the mobster. I spend a good 8-9 hours at work Monday-Friday. I’m taking Picasso to school in the mornings because Rock Star is taking CTE classes for nursing at the high school right up the road from us in the morning. She returns to her regular high school around 10 am so that leaves Picasso with the option of a bus that arrives at 6:45 am and takes almost an hour to get him to his school, or me taking him.

I figured since I gave her a ride I could do the same for my son.

I don’t remember if I mentioned it or not but Rock Star is one of the captains on the cheerleading team. They just had Senior Night so I got to walk my daughter across the field before the game.

She was a little sad because her bio was so short. She couldn’t list her accomplishments at her previous high school so she only had what she did last year. But aside from that she was pretty happy. The senior cheerleaders all got to wear cute little tiaras and sashes and the rest of the cheerleaders had a little pom pom bridge for us to go under. It was cute and I very much enjoyed being able to be there with her. She asked my mom if she wanted to walk with her as well and then the day of, her cousin, Queen B, showed up and she said she could walk with us as well. So she had three strong, beautiful, confident women walking across the field with her. She wasn’t alone.

There was a bit of drama surrounding that and I was freaking out. Basically, my job as a float means that I can be called in last minute to close for someone. I had originally asked her if there were any dates she needed me to take off and was told no. When she told me about Senior Night I was a little nervous, hoping I didn’t get scheduled to work somewhere until 7:15. I calmed down once I realized I already had my schedule and I was working until 5:15. Yes!

No! I get a text the day before letting me know that I was going to have to close. Since it was a Friday I would be there until 6:15. Shit! The text Rock Star had forwarded to me said that parents were to meet by 6:30 and she told me they were walking out at 6:40. Shit! Shit!

I was bummed. It was going to be very tight and I didn’t want this to turn into another Prom Night where I missed everything. She couldn’t come see me beforehand this time.

The mobster told me to text my boss back and tell her I couldn’t do it. I told him that wasn’t a possibility; this was part of my job. He thought I was crazy and asked me what I had to lose?

The following morning I have my clothes in my bag, make-up in my purse, ready to roll. I knew who I was closing with and was prepared to tell her we needed to hustle that night. As I walked in my manager asked me if I had received her text. I told her that I had and then told her I was going to be hustling to get out of there because it was Senior Night and I was supposed to walk my daughter across the field. She was like, “Oh no!” and preceded to tell me I was closing with C and she was really good. A minute or two later she tells me, “I can see if B will close. He doesn’t come in until 1. He’s got a short day today.” Hallelujah!

B agreed to close for me and I even got to shut down 5 minutes early. I left to go to the game by 6 and was there with 10-15 minutes to spare! I’m sure Rock Star couldn’t believe it because I am notoriously late for everything.

I later texted the mobster and told him he was the smartest man alive. My mood lifted considerably once I knew I was going to be able to make it to walk with Rock Star. She would have been devastated if I was a no show, no matter the cause. Honestly? I didn’t even tell her that I was scheduled to close.

Speaking of cheerleading, she received an email from the competitive cheer team that is close by. Her high school does cheer camps with them in the summer so that’s how they came to know her. They had asked her to join back in August and I really thought she was going to do it but at the last minute she decided not to. She wanted to do track in the spring and she said the spot they had open was for a back and she didn’t want to be a back. She likes to base. Fast forward to last week.

They once again send her an email letting her know there is a spot available for her and this time it’s for a base. Her high school cheer coach is good friends with the coaches and her son goes there. I think she’s been encouraging Rock Star to do it as well. Rock Star reluctantly went to a practice and watched. The up side was she got to hold the coach’s absolutely adorable Yorkie/Pomeranian mix. OMG! I need one of those little dogs!

Anyway, long story short she decided to do it. She’s now in competitive cheer as a freaking senior. It’s expensive but I figure that just pads my expenses when it comes time for spousal support. Plus, it gives her a better shot at making the cheerleading team when she goes to college.

Speaking of college… my baby got her first acceptance letter! Her dream school is back in XX state, 1500 miles away. I am so happy for her because this is what she wants so much. I’m not going to lie. It’s going to be tough not seeing her every day. I will only see her a few times a year- Thanksgiving, Christmas, Spring Break and summer. Like a friend of mine said, I’m more excited and focused on her future than I am on my own sadness.

That’s what we’re supposed to do as parents, right? Raise them up and then let them spread their wings and fly? I don’t think about it often but just now, writing that, I thought about how I should be celebrating this milestone with her father. We should be celebrating her accomplishments together. I’m fairly certain he would have shown up for that at least.

Then I quickly think, “Nothing to mourn really. He wasn’t there that much. I raised these kids on my own. He financially supported us but that’s about all.” And then I think to June when she graduates and the fact that it won’t be her dad there, but the mobster. Because he’s awesome like that.

In a similar vein, had our trial not been delayed I would be getting a divorce in two days. If my lawyer hadn’t had to ask for a continuance I’d be long divorced by now. Well, okay, I would have been divorced for a few months now.

My mom is off to spend a few weeks with friends. It’s just me, the kids, and the dogs now. I’m sure she’ll have a great time.

Speaking of my mother, she was engaged in a pissing match with some very nice band booster parents from another local high school. She was outraged, outraged I tell you, at the idea of having to pay two whole dollars for parking in the lots closest to the school! I thought she was going to call them cocksuckers to their faces!

“I’ve never heard of such a thing as paying to park at a high school game!”


“Well, I haven’t! This is outrageous! Damn #### people. Think they’re better than all of us!”

“Mother!” Turning to the booster club parent. “I am so sorry!”

“I’m just saying….”

“Don’t you even say it!”

As we drive away….



More Shit My Mom Says

My mom is my rock. She does my laundry. She cooks dinner. She chauffeurs my kids around when I can’t. She irons and sews. I truly don’t know what I would do without her. Oh, it’s not all about her helping me out. We have a lot of laughs most days.

With that in mind, it is time for more “Shit My Mom Says”! This will be much shorter. I don’t have as much material to work with this time around, but she does have a few doozies.

Let’s begin with the fruit cup/drainers commercial. You know the one, right? Two couples are sitting around a picnic table, opening their fruit cups, when one part of one of the couples says to their better half, “Oh, they’re drainers.”

The drainers are befuddled. What? You mean you don’t drain the juice/syrup out of your fruit cup?

No, we are civilized people. We drink our juice!

My mother’s commentary?  Well la-dee-da! Aren’t they fucking special?

We’ve got a nice little rotation of ID TV, Wheel of Fortune, and Jeopardy going on here. She’s also a big fan of Dancing With the Stars and watches religiously, but that’s neither here nor there. Currently, she’s a little upset that the grand prize on Wheel of Fortune always seems to be $34k. That’s what she said just the other day. “$34k?  It’s always $34k!” Last night we watched and the guy won $45k. I thought she was going to shit herself.

And tonight during Jeopardy, when the man won, she said, “Oh good. I didn’t like either of the women. They both annoyed me. The one talked so slowly I thought she was on drugs and the other one smiled the entire time.”

For a woman who frequently tells me that this divorce has given me a really bad attitude she is quite the bitter bunny herself when it comes to my STBX. Just the other day she referred to him as Fuck Face and then diagnosed him with what she called pussy-itis.

I think my favorite, however, is her fascination with the mail. I personally can go weeks without checking the mailbox. It wouldn’t bother me to never get another letter again in the mailbox. I’ll bring it in and dump it on the table and then go through it at a later date. Not my mom. Oh good God no! Just the other day she put a letter from my attorney right on top of all my mail. I do not wish to deal with divorce related crap as of late so I buried it under some of my other mail. I swear to God- I turned my back for a millisecond and that letter was right back on top!

And the poor mailman. I swear she knows his route by heart. She can identify the whirl of his postal truck’s engine. She knows when he’s supposed to stop by her house. She’s waiting for that postal carrier like a territorial dog. I’m pretty sure she paces by the window until he pulls up. Then she darts out to go grab it AND immediately sorts it. She gets offended if I don’t immediately open my mail that she has sorted for me. See above example regarding the letter from the lawyer. I *still* don’t know what she sent.

Finally, my mother constantly accuses me of being a food hoarder. She tells people all the time that she did not starve me as a child so she has no idea why I am so insistent on jamming my cabinets and refrigerator with food.

As many of you may know she was in Florida for 3 months so all the cooking fell on me. I did my best to clean out the refrigerator before she got back but I obviously fell a little short because one day she was rummaging through the fridge.

“Why on earth are there two boxes of chicken broth in here?” she asked.

I replied, with a straight face, “Because three would have been too many.”

A Tale of Two Sams

Catchy title, huh? My ode to Dickens. A tale of two Sams, you say? Tell me more!

This is the way I feel most days. There are two different sides waging battle inside of me. There is the happy-go-lucky Sam that does her best to forge ahead, be positive, and have faith. This Sam chirps cheerfully, “No use in crying about the things you can’t change. Just put your head down and plow through it!” I sometimes hate her. She’s way too cheerful for me and she’s going to end up on her ass because nothing ever goes according to plan. Then there’s the pessimistic, defeated Sam who is still convinced she will live in poverty forever and that life isn’t really worth living anymore. “Dear Lord, just kill me now!” she begs through her tears. Honestly, I can get behind this Sam. She’s very comfortable, like a warm sweater. She doesn’t ask anything of me except possibly a Kleenex so she can blow her nose. Occasionally I have a third Sam. Let’s call her psychotic Sam. She spends her days weighing the pros and cons of life in prison and taking careful notes while watching ID TV. I’m just saying… if I can get him to Corsica somehow it’s possible I’ll only serve about 7 years if they catch me. Yeah, Psychotic Sam is also weighing the pros and cons of trying to get away with any shenanigans versus just taking the prison time. Usually Psychotic Sam is kept waaaaaay in the back but sometimes she manages to fight her way up front, knocking Happy-go-lucky Sam down onto the ground, stepping on her back and grinding her face right into a big ol’ patch of mud and grabbing Defeated Sam and telling her, “Wipe away those tears and watch this!”

Truthfully it’s difficult to believe anything good is ever going to come of this. It often feels like he set up his whole new life and then abandoned all of us and I’ll never get a chance to make a new life because I’m always ten steps behind. Then there are the days I feel like Monica on Friends. Do you remember the episode where her identity was stolen and she eventually befriends her identity thief? She loved hanging out with her because she took all of these crazy risks and lived life to its fullest (until she went to prison, of course). At the end of the episode she’s in a tap dancing class and the instructor yells out, “You’re doing it wrong!” and Monica replies, “Yeah, but I’m doing it!” Or maybe it was, “Yeah, but I’m here.” Either way, Monica showed up, she put herself out there, and even if she wasn’t doing it as well as everyone else she was there and she was trying. That’s how I feel some days.

I’m barely hanging on most days but I’m here. I show up. I’m doing it. I’m tired. I get my ass up on a good day around 3:20 in the morning so that I can go in at 4. On other days I go in anywhere from midnight to 2 am. Right now I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m only functioning because my dear mother is helping to pick up my daughter, do my laundry, cook most evenings, and wash dishes. I have no idea what I’m going to do when January rolls around and she’s no longer here and I’m working TWO jobs.

Yes, folks, I managed to get hired at Kohl’s for the holidays. I interviewed on Monday, found out I got the job on Tuesday and I should be starting sometime next week. So, this means that my job at Target generally covers my monthly bills and the job at Kohl’s will allow me and my kids to eat! I was excited about that. Plus- employee discount!

I’ve also interviewed for a full-time job. I’ve had interviews with three different people and just sent off my pre-employment stuff so they can interview references and do a background check. I applied for the same position at 3 different places and apparently they are considering me for 2 of them. I am hoping for one position over another just because the hours are better and the pay is more since you’re not at a sole location. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll take it if they offer me the permanent location. It’s only $10/hour and the hours are terrible for trying to work a second job. Unfortunately, I will still need to work a second job because neither position pays me enough to only work 40 hours a week.

I’ve also taken an exam to work at the post office. I haven’t been called in for anything yet but I took the exam and I passed. Plus, my sweet J has a long-term boyfriend who has an aunt that works there so hopefully something will pan out with that.

The other job at Aldi’s didn’t pan out. They advertised for a big job hiring event and it was basically going in and filling out an application.  Apparently I was not Aldi’s material because I didn’t even get called in for an interview. Normally, Defeated Sam would be moaning, “I can’t even get hired as a stupid cashier!” and, “You went out of your comfort zone and took a chance at applying for a manager trainee position when you clearly had no business trying for anything like that! You’re a cashier and nothing more! You got your hopes up and then they were shot down! This is why we don’t try things!” but here is where Happy-go-lucky Sam took over. For some reason I didn’t dissolve into a heap of tears at being passed over as a cashier or a relief supervisor or a manager trainee. I just kind of shrugged and said, “Oh well. I guess I need to apply for more stuff,” and then went on my way. I’m surprised by my attitude, too, because a cashier at Aldi’s makes $12 an hour! A relief supervisor makes $16! Those in the manager trainee position make around $22.50 an hour. That’s nowhere close to what I was living on but it would make a world of difference to Broke-Ass Sam.

I feel like I never see my kids anymore. The week of Thanksgiving I was going in at 1:30 in the morning, so I’d go to bed around 6 so that I could wake up around 12:45. I guess they’ll live but I find it sad that their father isn’t worth a shit and now their mom isn’t around much to participate in their lives either.

Let’s see, where else does Happy-go-lucky Sam pop up? Well, I was briefly filled with hope when I read someone’s status on FB. Eight years ago she was going through a divorce and believed she would be alone forever. But, she met someone and she’s been married for 3 or 4 years now. Good for her. Bonus points for the fact that she isn’t some lithe size 2 either and yet she still found someone who loved her. That gave me hope for a millisecond, not that I’m looking for love or that I ever want to remarry; then I realized she was about 30 when she went through her divorce. I’m 47. I’m fairly certain my dating years are over and honestly CF has damaged me way too badly for me to put myself out there any time soon. But for a millisecond, Happy-go-lucky Sam was in charge. She pokes her head around occasionally, pointing out various people that have found love later in life. Hey, look at that one! He’s remarried. Look at her! She’s fat and she’s married. Hey, don’t mean to rub salt in the wound but Jezebel got married for a third freaking time at age 47 and Cousinfucker managed to find someone at his age and with all his problems! But then Defeated Sam stops bawling in the corner long enough to pipe up, “Yeah, but Jezebel is very pretty and she always loses weight before she cheats on her husband so she’s thin when she snags the next one! Cousinfucker found someone else because his gold digging whore of a cousin latched onto him, thinking she had found a sugar daddy. All these people you see around you who have someone new in their life are younger and thinner. Men always have it easier when it comes to remarrying so don’t look to them for examples.” Then Happy-go-lucky Sam pops her head up and cheerfully chirps, “If you think you need to be thin in order to ever date again you can always start going to the gym. Eat better. Lose weight.” Then Psychotic Sam clocks that bitch and laughs.

I do feel a small sense of accomplishment seeing as how I am indeed taking care of all that needs to be done, albeit with help from my mother. I mean, if I had to live on my own we would be in a homeless shelter because I just couldn’t make enough to make a mortgage payment or pay rent. I readily admit that living with my mom has been a lifesaver. But I am doing what needs to be done in order to pay my bills, buy a few Christmas gifts for my kids, and purchase food and essentials for the three of us. I probably still won’t make enough to be able to go to the movies or out to eat with them, but we’ll have food. Maybe if everything works out I can work a third job for some extras. But here’s the thing. As much as it sucks (and it does indeed suck so much!) I’m doing it without Cousinfucker’s help. I am so much stronger than he is. Yes, he made good money but he also had a wife that was his biggest cheerleader and who made numerous sacrifices so that he could climb the corporate ladder. I’m sure he wouldn’t like it put this way but he wouldn’t be anything more than possibly a first shift superintendent if he weren’t married to me. I always agreed to move whenever he got an offer. I was the one who left behind friends and community and activities; he didn’t make friends or socialize much. It was no big deal for him to leave an area. I was the one who always got involved and made the new location a home. He went to work and once a week he would mow the lawn. Sometimes there would be a household project. He had me to take care of everything else. I made dinner, I did the grocery shopping, I washed and put away his clothes, I made his doctor’s appointments and picked up his prescriptions, I fed and watered the animals and cleaned out the cat boxes. Most importantly, I was the one responsible for our children. I bathed them, I got them ready for bed, I fed them. I took them to school and I picked them up. I took them to and picked them up from their extracurriculars. I volunteered at their schools and went to parent-teacher conferences and helped out with the PTA. I signed permission slips, gave them lunch money, made them breakfast, and took them out to get school supplies for projects. He didn’t have to lift a finger. He went to work and that was pretty much it. Hell, he even outright stated that if I got a job it couldn’t interfere with his job and he wouldn’t be helping out around the house or with the kids.

I’m working and I’m still taking care of my kids. When my mom goes to Florida it’s going to be tough but I’m going to figure it out. I’m going to figure out how to get my daughter to school, whether it’s coordinating rides to school, putting her in charge of getting rides, or just relying on the bus. I’m going to drag my tired ass over to her place of employment at 10:00 at night when I need to get up at 3:20 in the morning to go to work seeing as how she still doesn’t have her license. Because I’m her mother and she’s my child and it’s my responsibility. I don’t have the luxury of walking away and pretending like I have no obligations. As much as it pisses me off that I have to do this instead of her being able to drive herself, thanks to him forcing us out of our home and out of the state, I’m not going to bitch and moan; I’m just going to do what needs to be done. As always. I’m going to figure out how to feed them when I’m working 2 or 3 jobs. I’ll probably resort to doing a bunch of cooking one day and then relying on the crockpot for the rest of the week. Laundry will get done. The house will be picked up. The dogs will be fed and watered. There may be cleaning charts involved. Who knows? What I do know is that it will all get done. And Cousinfucker can’t lay claim to any of it. I’m doing it without his help just like I always knew I could. I’ve always been the stronger of the two of us. I’ve always had it more together. I’ve always been the one to take charge and take care of things. I can do this! I might not want to but I can, and that’s the important part. I might be poor. I might be barely hanging on. But I’m not relying on him for anything. I never will again. I don’t care if he starts paying child support and spousal support. I will continue to work whatever I need to work to cover my bills and take care of my expenses because he has shown beyond a shadow of a doubt that he cannot be trusted to do what needs to be done. That’s not Happy-go-lucky, look to the positive, always cheerful Sam. That’s Kick-Ass Sam. She’s wearing her sassy little kick ass boots, too.

I’m also trying more to adopt ifonlymommy’s philosophy. She’s always so sweet and positive. She tends to believe that things will get better and that it won’t always be like this. Happy-go-lucky Sam is doing her best to get me to look at life that way. Yeah, I’m not making great money right now but maybe one day it will be better. What I have now isn’t necessarily what I will have in a year. Things could get better. This full-time job I’m interviewing for doesn’t pay all that great but there are advancement possibilities and more money in the future. I try to remind myself that my mom has helped me out a tremendous amount since I had to move back home so maybe even if I can’t do much for my kids right now when they’re older I might be able to help them. Maybe if I have grandchildren one day I can spoil them like I used to be able to spoil my own kids. Maybe if my son or daughter finds their lives upended by a cheating spouse I’ll be able to give them refuge.

That’s where I am today. I no longer cry every day. And most days when I do cry it’s for a short period of time. I’m at kinda-sorta okay most of the time. The days when I’m praying for an aneurysm or a massive coronary are getting fewer and farther between. I still don’t have hope, nor do I think I’ll ever have much of anything, but I’m learning to live in poverty without crying all the time. I feel small bursts of pride when I realize that shit eating chimp I married isn’t supporting me or my kids- I am (with a great deal of help from my mom). I doubt that life will ever be good or that Happy-go-lucky Sam will ever be the dominant personality, but I’m alive. For better or for worse, I’m alive.

Shit My Mom Says (& Does)

I feel quite safe writing this because she is currently on vacation with several of her friends so she can’t hurt me. By the time she gets back she will have forgotten about it.

I haven’t lived with my mom in over twenty years. To say the last few weeks have been interesting would be an understatement. I don’t know if I have forgotten what she was like, or if she’s simply changed a lot in the ensuing years. She’s a feisty little thing. It’s an interesting juxtaposition. She could easily pass for 50 but she has the mouth and attitude of an 85 year old. It seems to me that the older you get the more you just let whatever you’re thinking fly out of your mouth. So yeah, 85 sounds about right. Life is never dull, I’ll give her that. And yes, this is a blatant rip-off of Shit My Dad Says.

Cocksuckers. This is a favorite word of hers. I don’t even remember who the cocksucker was at this point. I have to say I’m really beginning to like the word. It’s very multipurpose. Someone cuts you off in traffic? Cocksucker! Someone writes something stupid on Facebook? Cocksucker! Someone drinks the last of the iced tea or doesn’t put their dishes in the dishwasher? Cocksucker! My sweet little 70 year old mother calls everyone a cocksucker.

Don’t even get her started on weddings. We were watching Four Weddings (taking a break from murder and mayhem) and one of the brides had her dog dressed up in a little tutu as part of the bridal party.  My mother said, and I quote, “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.  I hope that dog shits down the aisle!” I’m pretty sure that has been my favorite Mom quote so far. Or it could be a tie with, “I’ve got a gun. I’m old and I’m not afraid of prison.” That one was pretty good, too.

Apparently she has very strong feelings about animals as members of the bridal party. She’s also not a fan of strapless wedding gowns (It’s a church, not a strip club!) or brides who change dresses at the reception (That’s just ridiculous; you spend all that money on a dress and then you go and change into something different!). Cash bar at a wedding? OMG! Tacky, tacky, tacky. Mon Dieu, it just isn’t done! You don’t invite people to a wedding and then ask them to pay for their own booze. I teased her and asked if she would prefer if we just went back to cake and punch; she is not opposed to that. She is also having a hard time grasping this concept of the cocktail hour, especially when, as she puts it, “Their cocktail hour is like another goddamn dinner! How can they eat another meal right after that?” When I told her I had seen an episode where they ended up not having dinner until 11 at night you should have seen her head spin. “That is just ridiculous!” Well, they had a pretty heavy cocktail hour, Mom. We are both on board with the idea that if you are going to spend a ton of money on your wedding then by all means make it look like you’ve spent a ton of money.

If you’re spending $100,000+ on your big day I’m expecting to see fire breathers and dancers and fireworks. I’m expecting an amazing venue with jaw dropping decorations. I want to see a cocktail hour that includes signature cocktails and tons of food. I want lobster and caviar and champagne fountains. Ice sculptures with alcohol shooting out of them! I want a big cake that tastes delicious and maybe a dessert bar with a chocolate fountain. Plus, anytime you put food in a cute container that’s always a win for me. Tiny grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup in shooters? Awesome! A mashed potato bar with the potatoes served in a martini glass? Yes! I want to see expensive bottles of wine or champagne, or silver plated picture frames or hundred dollar bills as wedding favors.  Maybe a horse drawn carriage or the pastor dropped in by parachute with the groom arriving by elephant. You can top it off with late night snacks, like mini cheeseburgers and tiny shakes, or a waffle bar! Don’t tell me you’ve spent $50,000 having roses flown in from Argentina! Who cares? Unless your guests are all horticulturists no one gives a shit where you got the roses from. Are they alive? Awesome! I also don’t want to hear that your huge budget went to pay for your $20,000 wedding dress that you wore for an hour and then you spent another $10,000 on the reception dress, or that you paid $5000 for your engraved wedding invitations. I want to see the bling, baby! Impress me with your awesome reception opulence! Oops, sorry! That was my own little mini rant. Back to my mom…

I saw a commercial for TLC’s Love At First Kiss and I was asking her about it.

Me: So I don’t understand the concept. Is it that they kiss at first sight and hope they fall in love and that’s the end of it, or is there some debate about whether or not to kiss each other?

Her: I don’t know. I don’t watch that bullshit!

We have a cousin who just had a baby with his fiancee. Cutest baby in the world. Absolutely adorable. However, he is rarely photographed with any actual clothes. I mean, I know it’s summer but come on! My mother was looking at a recent picture and asks, “Do they ever put clothes on that baby? I swear, all I ever see him in is a diaper and maybe a blanket!” It’s outrageous, I tell you!

She told me she was reading Chump Lady the other day and read about a woman who had moved to be closer to her husband’s family. She had to commute two hours to work each day and she was the main breadwinner. My mom says to me, “I was thinking, ‘Wow, lady, you’re even crazier than my daughter.’” Thanks, Mom!

Then we have all of her words of wisdom. Things like: You can’t beat that with a stick. It’s six of one and half dozen of another. My favorite, I think, is: Everything after that is gravy. As in, “Well, I want to get at least $100 for that item. Anything over that is just gravy.” Or, “All you need is a roof over your head and food in your belly.  Anything beyond that is just gravy.” Then there is: She’s as worthless as tits on a boar hog. That could be used for either sex in case you were wondering; it’s not gender specific. I think we’ve all heard, “You can’t have your cake and eat it, too,” and “Don’t bite off your nose to spite your face.” That one threw my niece; she had never heard that phrase. She also likes to get “fluffed and puffed”. No, that’s not a sex term. It’s her way of saying she’s getting ready. “Well Sam, I’m going to go get fluffed and puffed and then we can head on out to Kohl’s.” I think it involves taking a shower but I’m not sure if that’s always a requirement. I know it involves doing your hair and putting on makeup.

My mom is trying to sell some items that belonged to my stepdad and she has listed some of them online. As I mentioned above my mom is on vacation with her friends this week. Someone contacted her and they were very interested in this item. She calls and leaves me a message, which I admit, I didn’t listen to right away. She texts me and tells me someone wants to buy the item and that he works here in town so please contact him.  Okay. I get another call around 11.

“I know you haven’t contacted the guy yet because he just contacted me to say he hadn’t heard from you.”

“I don’t even know this guy and he’s already irritating me!”

I told her she had said he wanted to meet after work so I figured I had a little bit of time before I needed to make arrangements but nonetheless I copy down his number and text him. We make arrangements for the meet up. Not at our house, mind you.

I get another text from her.

Mom: Did you contact that guy?

Me: Yes. I’m giving him the stuff and then we’re going out for drinks. If that goes well we’ll make plans for dinner. Thanks for sending him my way!

Immediately after that:

Me: What do you think I should wear?

Mom: Saran wrap.

Me: For a first date? Maybe afterwards…

Saran wrap, folks! That’s what my mother advises me to wear on a date! I told you she was feisty. She also told me I was a smart ass, which I did cop to.

Finally, I get this:

Don’t forget to take out the trash and recycle tonight. Let me know when you get this message.

Shhh! Don’t tell anyone, my faithful readers, but while she’s gone I’m throwing a big party and my friends and I are going to get into her alcohol! I might even have my fictitious boyfriend come over and spend the night!

Then we having the driving. I have long called my mother Mario Andretti. She has got quite the lead foot. My niece and daughter often talk about her penchant for braking hard all the time and my brother says, “Mom is either stepping on the gas pedal or the brake. There is no coasting in her vocabulary. Why slow down gradually when you can just slam on the brakes?” The sad part is I’ve been driving with her quite a bit and it’s true. I never noticed it until recently but she really doesn’t coast. She will be pushing down hard on that gas pedal until she gets up on the bumper of the car in front of her, and then BAM- she punches down hard on the brake. Stop. Go. Gas. Brake. There is no coast. She told me she doesn’t believe in it; she’s got a perfectly good working brake pedal.

We practically played Bumper Cars at the bank the other day. She was going for the ATM and I swear we hit the curb twice in the short distance. Those concrete poles were right up in my face. Tire hits once. Car bounces off the curb and looks like it’s ready to collide with the concrete poles and bounce off. Just like bumper cars at the amusement park. Oops. Not done! Tire hits twice. Car bounces off the curb again. Again, looks like it’s going to use the concrete poles as extra padding and just bounce off of them into the ATM.

“Mom, this isn’t bumper cars.”

“Today it is.”

A day later she’s making a right hand turn on red while traffic from the opposite direction is turning left on a green arrow. I’m closing my eyes because while it’s perfectly legal sometimes people don’t stay in their own lane.

“What? He has his own lane! It’s turn into your lane from your lane. Where did he take Driver’s Ed?”

Strangely enough years ago some guy yelled that same thing to my mom at a McDonald’s drive-thru. I won’t tell the rest of this story so that my mother may maintain her dignity but suffice to say the one time she had a ready comeback she forgot the window wasn’t down.

The day before she flat out refused to let another car into her lane. We were at a stoplight where they were working on one side of the road so that side, obviously, was closed and everyone needed to merge left. I’m sure you’re probably familiar with the people who get in the soon to be closed lane and try to sneak on in. This truck was determined he was coming on over, trying to slide into my mom’s lane smooth as silk. Nothing to see here, ladies; just making my way into your lane.  Oh no! She was not having it. She refused to slow down and make room for him and honked her horn when he tried to edge in.

“Mom! I can’t believe you didn’t let him in!”

“Hell no I’m not letting him in! He is not getting over into my lane! He should have known better! That lane was closed and he didn’t get over. He thinks he’s too good to wait in line like the rest of us.”