fiddy

Today, the little lady best known for giving birth to me turned 50.
It's weird for me to say, but not for her.
For the last two years, Mom has been going around telling everyone she's 50 when they ask for her age.
You were not born before Michael Jackson, Mom, chill!

She does that to stress the supposed fact that she does not feel old at all.
"I feel like I'm 25! I'm more active than you are, AnoMALIE."
Whoa... slow down there, cowgirl, you might hurt yourself. I wouldn't take it that far, short lady.
While she doesn't run fast, I do give her the fact that she's built like an ant. She can lift about twice her weight without much of a problem... and she definitely works just as hard as an ant... and when you piss her off, she can inflict similar pain.

It's hard to believe she's my mom sometimes, because she's quite cerebral as opposed to my very... emotional demeanor. Clear examples in these short scenarios:

(I'm crying in the pantry as I'm looking for some cereal to eat for dinner. I had just gone through the whole MGH sort-of-break-up that night. Mom intercepts me, and my tears appear to enrage her)
Mom: WHY ARE YOU CRYING?!
Me: Because I loved him, Mom!! It hurts that he did me dirty like that.
Mom: DON'T YOU FUCKING CRY! IT'S JUST A BOY!
Me: ... ?? But... I really liked him... my heart hurts ::sob::
Mom: That is stupid! So stupid! Shut up. Don't cry. Let him go to hell. Have you seen how many men there are in this world? That is no reason to cry.
Me:... I feel stupid.
Mom: If you're crying over a guy, guess what? You kind of ARE.
Me: ... ... ... (walk away with my cereal and cry some more, out of her sight)

(She finds me crying in my room after coming home from school freshman year of high school. School sucked BALLS this year. I was new to a SUPER predominantly white school and had ZERO friends)
Mom: WHY ARE YOU CRYING?!
Me: Because I hate school... I have no friends! It sucks!
Mom: What do you go to school for?
Me: Because I can't drop out yet without you going to jail...
Mom: No. You go to school TO LEARN!
Me: But I need to talk to people sometimes! ::sob:: They're so mean to me!
Mom: WHO CARES!! You go to school to STUDY! NOT MAKE FRIENDS! FUCK FRIENDS!
Me: Oh my God... ::bury my head in my pillow and scream::

(Mexico 2008, the summer of my epic fight with Pacemaker and the gang. It's the second day Pacemaker, Lau, Alo, and Jaz have publicly ignored Sis and I at the park. We're driving by our usual hangout spot after a long afternoon of volleyball, and see all of them standing there. They turn their back to us when they realized it's our truck. Sister and I want to jump out of the truck and kick all of their asses)
Mom: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING?!
Me: I'M GOING TO KICK THEIR MOTHERFUCKING ASS!
Mom: (locks doors automatically) You stay in here, damn it!
Sister: But Mom!! Look at them! They're fucking laughing at us.
Me: I'm going to beat their motherfucking ass right now... I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!
(I pull at the door handle violently)
Mom: Look at me, look at me, damn it! They are NOT going to see they have this much power over you! You're going to sit right there and SMILE when we drive by! You be fucking civilized.
Me: ::tears streaming down my face:: FUCK THOSE BITCHES, MAN! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!!

Maybe I should have called her a robot, because this woman can control her feelings like... the Terminator.
Sometimes I wish I was that imperturbable, but... nah. I like having some kind of emotion and showcasing it occasionally. Plus, it gives me the opportunity to try and make the woman a little more humane.
She never really wanted to be married or have children... which she appears to have passed on to me... she wanted to study and be a doctor (ta-da! and so you now know why I was supposed to be a doctor) or a writer (this surprised me. Because my Mom is the WORST story-teller EVER. She gets lost in detail, gives a shitload of useless dialogue-- beginning to sound familiar?-- to the point where I'd rather stub my toe than listen to her recap an episode of a soap opera). Grandpa was a hard-core machista, and although Mom would win first place in any state competition she entered, he told her she had to learn her real place. Learn to cook, clean, and be a wife. That's all women are good for. 
She never wanted to do any of that, until she met my dad and thought Fuck it. I give up. Let's have babies and maybe I can turn them into little machines.
She (illegally) migrated to the U.S., didn't know a lick of English or any person in Vegas, so she just spent most of her time playing with her babies.
She bought us toys with her enjoyment in mind... case and point being all of the gaming systems she ever purchased starting with the NES, back in '89.
She'd have all the kids in the neighborhood coming to her and asking for tips.
Look... I'm only going to say this ONE MORE TIME: It's the WHITE rectangle near the end of the level. You CROUCH DOWN UNTIL YOU FALL BEHIND IT. STAY CROUCHED until it happens. Then you fly and get the flute that will SKIP YOU AHEAD.
I had the fucking Wizard living at my house, so Ruffles and I were forced to sit there and watch Mom get worked up with Super Mario Brothers 1, 2, and 3 (she fucking recorded the end of SMB 2!) while speaking on the phone to one of the neighborkids or her partner in crime-- Ruffle's BFF's mom.
She's kind of... more of a friend you want to hit the gym with, instead of the nurturing BFF you wanna go to Starbucks with and have a nice cry-session after a breakup.

Ok, it appears I'm clowning on her instead of praising her on her birthday.
I'm sorry mom. You're actually really, really cool.
I love that you're so witty, and smart, and your common sense surpasses that of any person I know. You're quite resourceful, especially considering you only went to 6th grade.
You know how to clean any gun... and you can shoot an apple off the top of my head any day, ma'am...
I love how you passed on the love of sports to me... especially since the dudes who participate in them tend to be quite stunning young men.
And yeah, I like video games thanks to you. I can even sit there and watch people play games for hours... as long as it has jackshit to do with sports... unless it's on the Wii (because in that case, I LOVE it. I love watching the loser get worked up because they're getting schooled at tennis).
I also excelled at school because you helped me focus my angst and depression over not having friends into kicking ass at math and science... so I could later laugh at jerky dumb asses in their basic math and environmental science classes.

So, thank you Mami.
I'm glad you dealt with life's unfair nature and agreed to procreate and give me life.
I hope you live another 50 years...
but pleeeease, please, please understand your strict self gave birth to a Pisces... don't get too exasperated with our dreamy nature... or the fact that I cry over dumb shit. Yes, it bugs me too, but having you scream how stupid it is doesn't help much in the "Stop Tears" department.
Go scream at the dick who caused my tears... that will probably be more productive.

I love my mom.