Jumbo Card

My sister made a surprise visit on Saturday for Mother's Day.
I knew of my sister's trip since Wednesday, when she purchased her tickets on a whim. My job was to remain quiet and make up a lie for when it came time to pick her up at the airport Friday night at 11:30.
So... I was dying inside keeping this lie from everyone. It took me about a day to decide what I was going to do (say I was picking up Kelley from the airport... Sorry, Kelley! hahaha), and next thing I knew, it was Friday and I had to put my acting into play.
I decided I would spend time with a friend, so as to avoid both my parents, come home just in time to head out to the airport, then surprise the folks.
As I was making the trek out to my friend's house (about 45 minutes away), I received the frantic, furious texts from my sister-- her flight was cancelled. "Crew issues" was the reason given.
After calming the kid down, she purchased another flight for Saturday morning-- 8:15AM.
I had to lie for ANOTHER day. That shit was killing me!
So... I put on my best acting face and... my folks believed it.

Saturday morning came around, I hit the gym at 5:30 in the morning, came home, had some breakfast, then casually rolled out to the airport.
In the car I had a giant Mother's Day card my mom had thrown a tantrum over WEEKS ago, thinking I hadn't purchased it, and I made my sister sit in the back with it so she could sign it.
I came home, made Sister stand behind the giant card, and surprised the fucking SHIT out of my mom.

"How did you... you... you little jerk!" Mom said.
And she cried.
****

"Oh my god, how did AnoMALIE do that? Why did she do that?" asked my mother's employee. "Had it been one of my kids, they would have thrown the card at me the first moment I complained about them being bad kids by not gifting it to me."
"That's just who she is," said my mother.

You see, for the last MONTH my mother had been hounding me, taking digs at me, after a tantrum she threw at a Walmart when she saw giant Mother's Day cards for three dollars.
She wanted me to buy her a card, right then and there, but I thought it would be tacky... thought it would be a better idea to buy it when she wasn't around and surprise her with it on THE ACTUAL DAY we're supposed to celebrate mothers. I was very much pulling a Santa Claus on her.
This, for some reason that day, made her go into the pettiest of tantrums, where she verbally insulted me in front of the Walmart cashier and other patrons.
HOURS later, I returned to Walmart while she was at work, and I purchased the fucking card... and I hid it behind my blank canvases.
For the rest of the month, I would not hear the end of her rehashing of the goddamn CardGate... she told the fucking story to ANYONE who would listen. I would stand there, quietly listening to her berate me as she went on her dramatic spiel of "NO ONE HAS APPRECIATED ME! All you do is GIMME GIMME GIMME! NEVER EXPECT ME TO GIVE YOU A DIME EVER AGAIN (this was a famous phrase she used at Walmart, that woeful day I turned down her request to purchase the card)!"
Mom took the bitching up to this past Thursday, when she recounted her story of woe to her sister as we all sat at work, killing time. I had to sit there and listen to both my aunt and Mom rebuke me for being so cruel and heartless... as I took my eyes off my phone's screen only to roll them with each self-pitying comment from these women.

Now Mom is going around telling everyone the story of how I'm a sneaky jerk... who quietly listens to people trash-talk her in public, just to smile the moment she gets the chance to prove EVERYONE WRONG.
'Cause I'm a sneaky bitch who LOVES teaching mean motherfuckers a lesson... uh... not that I'm calling my mom a "motherfucker" or anything.

But yeah, watch yo mouf, muthafuckaaas... I'm actually a nice, thoughtful girl. Most of the time.

I'm terrible, but I already knew that

Damn it!
I think I just shed my first tears of the year.

It is no surprise that the ONE person able to fuck me up--regardless of how fucking great I might be doing-- is the one who did it again: my mom.

And you know what made it all snowball out of control? Me refusing to bring in the goddamn fucking CAKE she had brought home from the store.
I GAVE UP SUGAR FOR MOTHERFUCKING LENT-- SOMETHING I DO BECAUSE OF MY MOTHER... this whole Lent thing.
Am I the only one who sees the goddamn irony in all of this? The fucked up... absurdity of this?

The part of me refusing to help her with the cake made her get in a mood which led to her usual spewing hurtful shit out of spite... and one phrase really struck a fucking chord with me, because it's currently a sensitive subject... and I lost it (I'm ok now. And by "lost it" I mean "I quietly, indignantly walked to my room and cried, out of my mother's sight").

I can only hear people accuse me of being a bad person before I really... just... get confused... and the confusion makes me cry... because I have no clue how to fix it.
I mean... I try, I try so very, very, VERY hard to be nice to others... to the point where I get accused of being a brown-noser. I compliment, sincerely compliment others... and it's taken as insincere or with having strings attached... or... trying to self-aggrandize.
But... I honestly do it... because I... I'm a good person, dude.
I donate to causes that are close to my heart-- I donate money, clothes, time... hair-- and most of the time, I don't say a single WORD about it. I just fucking do it.

And now I find myself FEARING admitting to donating, or any other good deed, because I'll get accused of being a braggart.

If I've learned anything, it's that I will not win.
Don't donate: I'm a bitch.
Donate: I'm a bragging-ass bitch.
Hang out with someone: What the fuck does she want?
Don't hang out with someone: Who the fuck does this bitch think she is, anyway?
And so on.
I'm damned if I do it, damned if I don't.

It doesn't matter who I THINK I am... because apparently everyone else knows me better than I know myself.

But back to my mom.
I've learned, somewhat, to cope with the opinions of others.
But my parents? My MOM? I don't... I don't quite know... I never have.

It's maddening to know that I've done (and NOT DONE) so many things because of her... and yet, she still thinks I'm... a bad person. She's sick of me... she's sick of me, guys.

These fucking words uttered because I refused to bring in a cake SHE purchased... during Lent... when I gave up sugar.

Like... ?

And this is why I hate apologies, guys.
I struggle with... debilitating, soul-crushing depression... QUIETLY struggle, because god forbid I bother someone with my fucking emotionally-weak, attention-seeking bullshit ass "illness"... I FORCE myself out of the struggle... I FORCE myself to get better... and then I have to stand there and watch others painstakingly untie all the knots I've made in the ripped rope I used to climb out of the abyss. And then when the rope breaks and I'm fucking LOST, an "I'm sorry" is supposed to magically get it all patched up and A-OK.

But I'm ok. Seriously.
I understand what she said was said out of some... fucked up anger she probably built up throughout the day... and like always, took out on me... I'm the only one around.
This is just a blip. A painful little blip, that--as always-- I just have to get over... I mean, I HAVE been doing this for the last 25 years. I'll be fine.

Karate chopping

Dad has been in Nicaragua for the last week, he actually flies in later today.

My mother, while incredibly aggressive, physically tough, violent, and tyrannical as she is, has one gigantic flaw: she is ridiculously afraid of the dark... I'm talking straight phobia status.
Mom can't listen to scary stories without panicking... and when she panics, it's not a girly panic, it's a violent "SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH AND GET OUT OF HERE! I'M NOT PLAYING" type panic. It does not matter how much we try to rationalize with her over how fucking ridiculous some of the things we're discussing might be... she will have nothing to do with it.
She will strangle a fucking intruder with her bare hands... but god forbid anyone mentions a ghost having some unfinished business in the living realm.

So, I have a scaredy-cat mom.
In Mexico, she never allowed us to sleep in our own room. Instead, Mom would scoot together both beds in the "kid's bedroom" and would have Sister, Brother, her, and me sleep in the same giant bed... with a nightlight plugged in the entire night, every night of our Mexico stay.
This was possible up until Rafa reached puberty... at around 13. By the time Rafa felt he was an adult, he moved out of the room and left Sister and I to deal with Mom's fear of the darkness.
Sister was around 13 when she decided she wanted to sleep in her own bed, so while we were still in the same room, sister got her own bed, and I shared my bed with Mom.
I STILL do that in Mexico... well, not the two final year's of my grandma's life... those summers Mom slept in the same bed as her mom... that sad sight... but we picked it right back up in 2010, and 2012.

In the states, Sister and I would sleep in Mom's bed whenever Dad left on trips with his church... this is from 2000 and on.
We did it because she is such a sad little panda when she has to go to bed, often waiting until three in the morning to finally knock out... lighting every single damn light in the house until she reaches her room.
Also, because her bed is huge and comfortable as fuck... and it's Mom... c'mon, that's just some comforting shit.

So... guess what I've been doing all week... Yep, I've moved in to Mom's room.
I've been watching the lady go to sleep each night... kind of easy, considering she snores and it drives me too fucking insane to go to sleep at a godly hour.
I think the stress of dealing with her snoring was finally pent up long enough for me to lash out last night... well, I guess technically yesterday.
I was sleeping, and it was some time between 3-4 in the morning, when I woke up as I felt my left hand raising in the air. I know I was having some sort of aggressive dream, and that I woke up when I felt my arm in the air and thought "HOLD UP... this is happening for real!" I saw my mother was in the fetal positing, her back to me, and my arm was already half way down into the karate chop. I was fully awake when my karate chop hit the little lady smack dab in the middle of her left rib.
That's right, I karate chopped my sleeping mother.
I saw Mom flail upon my hand making contact... and I immediately closed my eyes.
I'll just act asleep and make her think she dreamt the physical contact...

Guys, I felt terrible.
But I did laugh uncontrollably when my mind randomly decided to remind me of the night's activity as I was driving home from the gym.

When my mother returned from work, I couldn't stand the guilt, and I finally told her what happened. My mother asked me to reenact the scene, since she had no recollection of it ever happening. When I landed my hand on her ribs, she immediately felt the pain where I had karate chopped her.
Mom: Oh my god... you could have killed me!
Me: Don't be dramatic... it was an accident. I did it all the time to D.
Mom: You need to stop watching all that stupid ID channel, murder garbage.
Me: No, you just need to quit being so lame about the dark.
Mom: I think you're better off single...

She might be right... I may be able to karate chop my mother in my sleep without any repercussions... but a man? I'd get my own 20/20 episode.

Just so happy

During this vacation, we had a very limited number of hours to spend as a complete family.
My parents showed up Friday morning, the wedding took place all of Saturday, and Sunday we had to drive D to the airport at 10 in the morning.

Friday the 27th was the best day we've had in a very long time.
We spent a good five hours in the car (total), and for the first time--possibly EVER-- we did not fight. We laughed... and laughed... and cried.
We reminisced about our toddler days... we talked about the future... and then, finally, once Mom was too overcome with a weird combination of joy and sorrow, she started to cry. Rafa was driving, Dad was co-pilot, and Mom was sitting between D and I in the back of the MitsubishiWhatever that my folks rented.
"You're crying?" Rafa asked, mimicking a toddler's voice.
"Yes..." Mom said.
"Aww... don't cry... this is a great moment... we're all together having a laugh... in Mexico!" I said.
"I'm just... so happy," said Mom.
And so, there we were, driving down a quiet Mexican road... all five of us shedding some tears.

I don't know if this is normal... I don't know if every family is this... close... but mine is.
We have INTENSE fights... we're always screaming... we're always threatening one another... and did I mention we're ALWAYS screaming?
But good God, separate us, and we turn into sad motherfuckers. What's worse is that we don't notice just how SAD we are until we are once again reunited.
"Savor the moment. Savor THIS moment!" was all I could think, it was all that was in my mind.

I'll always have that car ride burned in my memory... it has become one of my favorites.

Teddy Osita

Guess what this girl is doing right now...

I'm sleeping in my momma's bed, right next to the little lady.
She's such a little chicken, she always makes me do this when Dad leaves... not that I can complain... well, kinda, sometimes... when she smothers me-- yes, I'm smothered by a woman who stands no taller than 5'3" on a good day.
It's an activity I've always done, and when we go to Mexico, I always sleep next to my mother.
I guess that's something I can do without much problem since I've slept next to someone since I was about three, and D came into my life. I've learned to squeeze anywhere in order to get some shuteye-- I can sleep standing up.
I definitely don't need to feel someone with me in order to sleep peacefully, but it seems the people in my life DO. I oblige... since I'm into comforting others.
D and I still share a bed when we travel anywhere... We ended up sharing her bed when I visited her in Chicago. Before leaving the house, D still had moments where she'd walk into my room at night and ask if she could sleep in my bed (of course I'd let her... after making fun of her for a couple of minutes).

I'm my family's living, breathing teddy bear. This empty shell of a human manages to comfort her loved ones with just her presence.
... maybe it's because they think I'll be the first one taken out in case something bad goes down? They'll have a chance to run once they hear me getting killed...

... Eh, whatevs. I'd probably be cool with that anyway. 

Living Room Concerto

Let's act like I posted this on the 22nd, like it says I did.

Today I almost dropped the bomb on Facebook... but instead of pressing "post," I copied and pasted the text into a safer place, my other journal.
I told myself that if I felt the same rage after three hours of not looking at the computer, then I'd go ahead and post it on a more public forum.

I proceeded to work out, listen to music, and paint.
I didn't pull out my phone, and my computer was busy playing music for me, so I pretty much disconnected from the world.
It felt great.
And my rage subsided.

I swear I was going to suffer a heart-attack at noon... that burning sensation in my chest and esophagus... and then an all-consuming desire to pound my fists against a certain person's fat fucking head.
By three in the afternoon, I was chirpy and dancing around the house.

While I've been busy being an angry, frustrated chick, Mom has been a depressed little lady.
The 20th of this month would have been grandma's 93rd birthday, so Mom spent the entire weekend crying and thinking about her Mom.
I did what I hadn't done in ages: I was a clown.

I'm not too fanatical about physical comedy... I'm a little uptight for it... however, my mother loves it.
As a kid, I was a huge clown. I know I've mentioned how I loved performing impersonations, but aside from that, I would be a playful girl and act a fool in order to make sad people smile.
The older I became, the less inclined I was to resort to physical comedy... I think it's something that comes with depression-- it becomes difficult to be playful, so you just exercise your wit.

Anyway, seeing how Momma had been crying... even sobbing a few times, I knew it was times for drastic measures. I don't like having a sad Mommy... especially when I know her stance on crying ("WHY ARE YOU CRYING?! It's for pussies! IS IT SOLVING ANYTHING?! NO! NOW PULL THOSE FUCKING PANTS UP!")... so I was her jester.
I busted out my laptop and started playing some VERY OLD-SCHOOL Mexican Banda songs.
Julio Preciado jams, to be exact.
This man is... was, very big. His voice proves it.
I pulled up this big man's repertoire, pressed play, and began singing and dancing to his music, right in the middle of my living room.
In a matter of thirty seconds, my mom went from sobbing to giggling to joining me.
We turned the clowning around into a competition-- Who is the most dramatic songstress?
My mother won... with her compelling rendition of a classic, where she shook so hard it looked like she was going to spontaneously combust.
I was done after that shit... laughing so hard I was crying.

I like making people smile... I simply adore making them laugh.
Laughter is the best gift anyone can give me. And that's the cold hard truth.

Un Animal

Good day, guys... such a good fucking day... I've been smiling and laughing so much, I fear those around me are going to have me committed to a mental institution.
But... she was so depressed not too long ago... now this? She probably has her suicide plotted out and we need to stop it before she goes ahead and does whatever crazy shit she has planned!
I hear that's what happens with people before they commit suicide... they're really happy and lovable the day before they go off and do the crazy thing...
But I swear to you that's not the case. I'm just so happy, and on a total upswing right now... I'm kind of fearful that the world IS ending... hence this strange string of blissful days-- the Universe's way to even the score.

Or maybe I'm just really amused when I make my poor, mega-Catholic, little Mexican mom listen to my favorite songs that may not be all too innocent.

I was driving her around town and my itunes shuffled to NIN's "Closer." Instead of changing the song, I increased the volume... as an experiment.
Me: GUESS why I love this song.
She's gonna kill me...
Mom: It sounds scary.
Me: It's awesome... and dirty... but fucking awesome!
Mom: AnoMALIE! Quit talking like a trucker! (she has this new thing where she accuses me of being a "trucker" whenever I get too vulgar or whatever)

The lyrics begin.
You let me violate you. You let me desecrate you.
Mom: Valgame Dios! (equivalent of "Oh my God")
Me: Shhh!
You let me penetrate you
Mom: OH MY GOD!
Me: NOT YET!
You let me complicate you.

I turn up the sound, my cheeks hurting from smiling so hard. Mom was staring at me in disbelief, shaking her head in disapproval. This--naturally-- only made me giggle a little louder.
Help me, I broke apart my insides.
Help me, I've got no soul to sell.
Mom: Muy bonito... ("very nice," obviously said sarcastically)
Shakes her head again, a bit more intensely.
Me: Shhhh!
Help me, the only thing that works for me. 
Me: Get ready, get ready!
It feels like Christmas Eve!
Help me get away from myself.

I join in on the singing... emphasizing the obvious word.
I wanna fuck you like an animal.
Mom: ... of course.
I wanna feel you from the inside
Mom: Ave Maria Purisma, niña! ("Blessed Virgin Mary, girl!")
I wanna fuck you like an animal
Mom: That vulgar bastard... THAT'S what he is!
Me: The voice mom! The voice! It's sexy! ... and the lyrics are hot. It's some good shit, Mom, gotta admit it.
Mom: Que me van a gustar estas vulgaridades! ("Like hell I'd like these vulgarities!")

I like to torture my poor saint of a mother... so we listened to the entire song.
I know she ended up liking it... I mean, she was bobbing her head to it after maybe a minute.
I'll just let her keep denying the fact. I got you, Mom. No worries.

Midnight thing

Now that D's gone, Mom has really taken a liking to hanging out with me.
I don't mind... I actually volunteer to do shit with her because I feel sad seeing her little body sitting by herself in the living-room, completely zombified by the numerous, insipid Novelas.

All right, Mah, I need to go to Target and get myself some toothpaste, wanna join me?
Yo, we're running low on baby spinach, I'm hittin' up the grocery store... wanna join me, Little Lady?

I'm fine doing shit by myself, considering I'm such a fucking misanthrope by nature... but not Mi Mami.
Just like D, Mom is used to being in crowds... being looked up to... being popular, social... you know, participating in daily life. Now that she no longer has the outgoing, social kids to hang with, she has become a little... sad.
So, I try and include her in my activities.
Activity Mom enjoys most? Going to the movies.
Too bad I'm not too fanatical about this one.

Don't get me wrong, I fucking LOVE movies... LOVE them. But I'm a movie SNOB. Big time.
I'll often suffer through movies with people just so... they can be happy, but trust that internally, I'm fucking dying... writhing in pain... especially if my companion is loving the film... that just feels like I'm getting shanked in the neck.
You seriously like this shit?! Look at the fucking poor editing! And how the FUCK am I supposed to believe these people like each other? I doubt that bitch has ANY sort of personality in real life... so I'm not shocked that she can't act for SHIT! I'd get out of this chair... but that'd be ten dollars wasted... do you know what ten dollars can get me?! FUCK THIS SHIT, man! (Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm frugal as fuck. Get over it)

For the most part, I don't have too many of these episodes, since I tend to choose movie companions quite carefully.
HOWEVER... when it comes to family... well, I can't really say no when they invite me.
Luckily, the majority of my family has bomb taste in movies, so I don't suffer too much (my favorite is when we both choose the same movie, and end up terribly disappointed within five minutes... so we shoot each other a "FUUUUUCK! How did we not see this one coming? Bamboozled again! Here we go, 90 minutes of torture" look-- yeah, we express that much in one glance. We're special like that... explains why I'm so silent in person, since my eyes do all the talking).
There are just THREE people in my family with HORRENDOUS taste in movies... HORRENDOUS.
One is my mother's sister... my dear auntie who continuously tries hooking me up with dudes (Homie, if your taste in movies is indicative of your taste in dudes, I'll just walk myself to the convent now... thanks). She loves movies about vampires... very... Hollywood shit.
The second is THAT auntie's middle son. The thing that sucks here is that while I manage to dodge his invites to the movie theater, I get suckered into watching SHIT movies each time I visit him at home. He's into sci-fi... and lord knows I LOATHE sci-fi... like... with a motherfucking passion. I'm overly critical of that genre since I tend to gauge just how likely certain scenarios are to happen-- blame the scientist in me for this. The moment something is TOO much on my "bullshit!" radar, is the moment I kick that fucking movie to the curb and check the fuck out. Yes, there are certain sci-fi movies that have managed to captivate me... but it's usually due to the writing... and trust me, my cousin's taste in film is just... no, no, no! Total disregard for writing, editing... I frankly don't know what captivates HIM... but it sure as fuck SUCKS. Sorry, 'cuhz!
The third and final family member with wretched movie taste is MOM.
Dear ol' Mom...
My predicament here is that since she's so lonely and sad, I let her choose the movie each time we go to the theater... and... how she bases her choices drives me bananas!
GIRL IN PROGRESS, because it has MEXICAN actors!
Fuck my ass, man... ughhhhhh!
Yes, she only watches Mexican movies, or movies with legit Mexican actors...
This is a hit or miss... mostly misses... MAJORLY misses.

BUT... I love my mom... and she's a sad little panda right now... so I put up with it... even if all I do for the duration of the movie is ponder what different modes of suicide would feel like.
Plus, I get cute little anecdotes from her each time we hit the theater.

I mention this now because the woman has once again suckered me into watching a movie with her.
I forget the name... something about "For the Glory" or something like that. Has a ton of Mexican actors AND it's about the Holy War that took place in Mexico... so... it's like... THE movie for the Little Lady.
A couple of minutes ago, as I was pondering what to write about and she worked on the monthly statements, she lowered her glasses and stared at me from above their brim.
Mom: Mija... so... can we go to the movies NOW?
Me: Like... right NOW, now? Like... what's coming out or what? I'm not aware of anything.
Mom: They're not going to do that thing like I see on TV that they do with all those movies when they open at midnight? Like with those movies about the vampires... that Potter kid... where people go at midnight of opening day to watch the movie?
Me: That midnight showing nerd shit? HELL NO, Mom! They do that shit with like... hella popular movies... not a movie about the Mexican Holy War. Calm down.
Mom: Can you check on your phone right now?
Me: NO, Mom. We'll just go when D gets here on Wednesday.
Mom: NO! Tomorrow! I want them to get good ratings. Get credit for opening weekend.
Me: Yeah. Me and you, Mom. Good one. Two people. Making the difference.

She's so cute sometimes...

Stare Down

Recently, I've been getting weird looks from my mom.

She has this stare... that bugs me... because it's weird.

AnoMALIE's Mom's various Stares:

"Don't you fucking do it!" Stare.

This shit has been working since I was a toddler. I swear to God her eyes change color when she shoots me this look. Stops anyone in his/her tracks. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Stare.

Few things make me feel like an idiot as much as this stare does. It's in the way she raises one eyebrow... I'm the one who gets this stare the most.

"I saw that! Try that again, I dare you!" Stare.

Defy this stare and I assure you, you're getting a belt whip to the ass... regardless of age. Rafa got this look a lot when we were kids.

"DO. IT." Stare.

This one's scarier than being held at gunpoint... or having an AK pointed at your face. I will spring into motherfucking action the moment she shoots this look.

"Don't you dare open your fucking mouth!" Stare.

I am STILL subjected to this stare. Seems like she has this one reserved just for me.

"Shut the fuck up, already" Stare.

This is the least threatening of her threatening stares... mainly because she shoots it in front of others and she tries to be discreet about it. Yeah, I'm sure people don't catch on to you threatening us especially since we suddenly go silent mid-sentence, MOM.

"Not. Funny." Stare.

Her top lip pretty much disappears. I know to shut the fuck up once that happens. I get a sweet backhand to the mouth if I dare crack a smile.

"GET. OVER HERE." Stare.

I will trample bunnies to get to Mom the moment she stares at me this way. Bad things happen when we don't heed this warning.

"Say NO!" Stare.

Ah, my favorite. She shoots this look mainly when someone offers us some sort of food. I don't know why, but she's not a fan of us accepting the food offerings of others... she's like the human version of a guard-dog who doesn't accept food from anyone other than their master. 

This stare also makes an appearance when someone invites us somewhere... and she is NOT down with the idea, but doesn't want to look like the party pooper.

"Just wait 'til we get home..." Stare.

Piss your pants, AnoMALIE, you're pretty much dead. This one always gave me a stomach ache the moment I saw it.

"Please act like an asshole so I can use you as an excuse to end this visit" Stare.

Our cue to act hungry, or angry, or tired... pretty much throw a tantrum in public, just so we could leave an uncomfortable situation. It seems like it'd be fun, but there comes a time when you grow tired of being considered a whiny bitch... or a hungry hippo... or a kid with bladder issues.

"Don't tell your Dad" Stare.

Oh, my father... in the dark about so many things...

"Don't come in!" Stare.

You best find some other form of entertainment elsewhere... pronto.

"Tell me the truth" Stare.

Somewhat menacing, somewhat sad. It's a strange combo... and I crack.

"Oh my God... you're growing up!" Stare.

Grosses me out because it makes me feel like a total weirdo. Ewww, Mom, what the hell is wrong with you? Don't look at me that way! I prefer the "Just wait 'til we get home..." stare over this one.

"You're making me feel so old... why, it was just yesterday that I was popping you out of my vagina!" Stare.

Her eyes get watery and she gets this creeper-like smile on her face... the smile is what gets me... it freaks me the fuck out.

"My widdle baby is becoming a woman! Awwww! Let's talk about our menstrual cycles!" Stare.

No! STOP IT! Peace, I'm out!

The stare is a very irritating combination of the last three.

I don't know what her problem is... but she's trying to get something out of me... or she's experiencing menopause.

...

....

Sorry guys, I'm coming off the high... almost normal but not quite. I'll be good tomorrow. Promise.

Y el chile?

Hey!! So there IS hope!
Just kidding!! Everyone knows I'll NEVER publicize my shit that scandalously (ok, ok, I'll 'fess up to THINKING about that whole ebay thing... not that I'd actually go through with it... but it's always interesting to ponder WHY anyone would pay so fucking much for a chick's virginity. That's just... weird. I'd probably give mine up for a nice smile and a good joke-- that's how much I value that shit). And why would I want to fuck at the age of 70? Imagine the disappointment! Train done passed you by, homie.

Talkin' about fuckin', today is Mexican Mother's Day.
In my house, it translates to:
Roses. 
Carne Asada and Lobster. 
Mangos con limon y chile.
And last, but not least,
Alejandro Fernandez full blast, surround-sound, in the living room.

Tears... there are also a couple of tears... all shed by my mother. My poor mother.
This marks her third year celebrating the day without her mom. Third year I wake up to her bawling her ass off with Alejandro Fernandez songs that remind her of Grandma.
I accidentally triggered a sob-fest when I asked her if there was any chile for my chopped mango.
Mom: Do you remember... that day we shared with your grandma as we ate mangos that one day?
Ah fuck... what did I just cause...
Next thing I know, Mom's sobbing as she starts looking for some red chile in the fridge.

I say Mexican moms have it great in this country, because they get to be celebrated twice...
I never really stopped to think how much it must suck once your mom's no longer around...
turns to two days where you're constantly reminded she's gone.

:(
(this is the part where I'd go around bear-hugging everyone who no longer has a Mommy)

The Watch

Mom was VERY interested in shopping yesterday.
She had gotten into an argument with Dad because he went off and bought a house and only listed it as his.
SO, Mom was fuming.

I found it understandable that she'd want to do some retail therapy to get over the rage she was feeling, but she was getting a little out of control.
I knew something was wrong the moment this went down:
I'm staring at the Michael Kors watches, and stop to admire this one.
(I've been in need of a watch since... umm... sophomore year of college? I spent all of grade school rocking a watch, and suddenly, I was 20 and watch-less. It felt as if I were naked. Somehow, I never got down to actually buying one. I always left it for tomorrow, when I'd go look for a decent--not Kandy Kid-style-- watch. Now, I don't really miss it)

Mom: Get the watch, AnoMALIE.
Me: Nah. They don't have the one I want.
Mom: But I thought you said this one was pretty... ? You stare at it all the time.
Me: Yes. It's pretty... but it's not my style. It's too glitzy. I don't like bling.
Mom: GET. THE WATCH.
Me: Mom, it's not an emergency. I can live without it.
Mom: GET. THE WATCH!
Me: What is wrong with you? It's 500 dollars. I DON'T NEED IT!
Mom: C'mon, sweetheart... get the watch. I see it in your eyes that you really want it...

I pause and look at her.
What has gotten into this woman??
Me: Mom...
Mom: I owe you a watch... and I'll get you this one...

She almost has me reeled in, here (yeah, leave it to ME to have to be persuaded and sweet-talked into being gifted a 500 dollar watch). She's giving me that friendly little smile she gives me... the one with a twinkle in her eye 'n shit... the same look she gave me when I HAD to tell her I needed a pad because I had my first period. It reassures me... but creeps me out at the same time... like... if she were telling me to trust her and put my hand on a mouse trap, she'll be holding it so no harm comes my way... but I KNOW that shit's gonna snap all over my knuckles.

Mom: I'll buy you what EVER you want... (whispers in my ear) just don't ever tell me you hate going to church...

And THAT made me frown and feel like shit.

I walked away from the watches, with nothing but a huge knot in my throat.

La Little Lady

In honor of Mother's Day, I hugged my mom as tightly as possible (only to be outdone by her, since I'm currently so fucking feeble. She squeezed me like a tube of toothpaste. Her "bear hugs" are no joke), bit her cheek while she was smiling (obviously had it coming, since we're a family of cannibals. I defended myself from her grasp as best I could... with my teeth! jk), then smacked a huge kiss on her forehead.

I know I often talk shit. She drives me crazy with her unreal expectations and religious... fervor. She hurts my feelings with her brash, blunt comments (she has the will power and self-esteem of a lion, whereas a poorly chosen adjective can send me down a self-loathing-spiral)... as well as with her actions (I will NEVER forget how heavy her hands are... and how fucking hard she can swing a belt... that's just shit I'll remember until the day I die).
But I LOVE my mom. With all my heart.

We went through some of her old albums, where I got to see Mom from the time she was 14 until the time she married Dad, at 22.
What did I get out of it?
Mom was a vivacious girl (who looked A LOT like me).

Mawmaw in 6th grade!
It's like I'm looking at myself in the mirror!

She was adventurous.
She loved to laugh.
She was a LEADER.
She was popular.

That guy's fucking ugly.
Ok, I say that about ALL her ex-boyfriends.

She was inventive (she made the CRAZIEST Halloween costume once. She was a devil. How fitting, right? I'M JOKING).
She was bold, brave, strong... and could kick a guy's ass.

Strongest personality trait caught on camera.
This is when you know YOU'RE FUCKIN' UP! RUN!

My mom was one of the most awesome girls in town. A total firecracker.


My outgoing, athletic (homegirl had muscles before they were popular! And she didn't even try. SO jealous), intelligent mother... being a happy teen/early 20-year-old... and then she had to get married and call it a day.
Later, she produced me.
How the fuck?
I'm weaksauce, timid... above all, quiet to the point where I'd pay others to speak for me. I'd be frustrated with a kid like me as well.
I get you, Mom. I get you.

So... that being said, I'm glad I was given such an awesome woman for a mother. I can learn A LOT from her.
Mi Madre, Mi Ma, Mami, Enanilla, Shorty, Ko-beh (not to be mispronounced as "kobe"), La Little Lady, Mom, Mommy, Mother.
I love, love, love her! (even if I always look so dead-serious in photos with her)

I could probably do this to her now, if I tried...

That little lady is hella legit.
Super gangsta'.

(somehow, this feels like I've posted this in the past...)

The Internets

I've been spending the last couple of weeks trying to teach Mom and Dad how to use the internet.
Rafa suggested I get them started on Google Chrome, so I did.

The first few weeks were exasperating beyond belief. Not because of Mom, no, the little lady uses her noggin and remembers things we say. But Dad... holy moly... that man... he thinks we're in Jetson time.

Dad: Ivan (real estate agent) needs a bank statement. Send it to him.
Me: What?
Dad: SEND HIM THE STATEMENT!
Me: ... how... wha... D!

Dad: I want to see the earthquakes.
Me: What?
Dad: THE EARTHQUAKES!!
Me: Well... uh... ok. I'll try.
(I find the site and then I have to sit there and be accused of not believing in Jesus because I tell him he's wrong in assuming Jesus is coming because of all the marks on the map denoting the 600+ recorded tremors the site has marked. Dad... this area with all the "earthquakes" is the "Ring of Fire." The place is known for high activity... it has a ton of volcanos too... so uh... Jesus is NOT coming, plates are just shifting. Of course, this all went over his head and he nearly forced me to get exorcised for "not believing in Jesus")

Dad: I want to read El Heraldo de Durango (supposed Mexican newspaper).
Me: Umm... what's the website?
(I do this to try and test him. Seriously. The man just invents things and if he really does think it exists, I want to put it in his head that he should probably google things when he gets these urges)
Dad: EL HERALDO DE DURANGO!
I make him type it in the browser. It doesn't exist. I then, very irritated, google the stupid name.
Me: There. It's not "El Heraldo," it's "El Siglo." Mexico City uses "El Heraldo." Quit inventing things and then getting mean because I can't find them.
Dad: I knew I had heard the name somewhere. I just wanted a damn Durango newspaper.
::I point an imaginary gun to my temple and pull the trigger::

Things have sort of eased up since then. Dad can now check his e-mail, send e-mail, and check out a few sites. That's it. If he clicks on a wrong spot, that's when I usually hear him calling out for help.

Mom's a star, though. The lady is the one usually bailing out Dad whenever he clicks the wrong spot (we kids very stupidly gave Dad a mouse-less laptop which is driving him bonkers 'cause he can't get the hang of tapping his finger. He actually had an easier time with my MacBook than he does with his PC. It's baffling). She also understands how to open new tabs as opposed to opening new windows. Dad just clicks like a bewildered animal, but Mom has her act together, that little trooper.
Mom also turns on and turns off the computer.
Last night she spend SEVEN HOURS checking out Hometown's website before I FORCED her to get off-line.

This leads me to a conversation we had yesterday.
My sister was complaining about having to go to Volkswagen to have her Jetta's headlight fixed.
D: I HATE being one of those nacas driving around with a burnt-out headlight! But I don't want to dish out the 90 bucks!
Me: Umm... yeah... that sucks. I don't know how those fools sleep at night knowing they're charging a poor girl nearly a hundred dollars to change a damn light bulb.
Mom: I've been thinking... is there... couldn't you just... google how to do it? I mean... everything's on Google!

I've never been prouder.
My mom's a genius!

P.S. D googled it, found exact how-to direction, and saved herself some money. An overall feel-good day.

Shotgun Wedding

My soon to be godson (that sounds so weird, and it makes me feel even more... weird) has been asking me for my paperwork since last week. He needs my church records like baptism certificate and all that stuff so that he can hand it to... the... bishop? I dunno... I'm terrible at this. Point is, my paperwork needs to be processed so that they can give me the green light to be his Godmom.

This said paperwork, is not in my possession, but my mother's... for obvious reasons (all my Catholic-related business was handled and completed by the time I was nine... that kind of paperwork can't be entrusted to a nine year old).
I asked Mom to hand me the documents my friend needs, and after a few hours, she found them and surrendered them.

Mom stashes shit away as if at any second the Gestapo are going to storm into our house.
Problem is, she forgets where she stores shit.

Me: What's so hard about putting it in one place and just... leaving it there until one of us needs it to get married or something?
Mom: It's because I always carry them with me whenever we leave the country.
Me: ... Why, you weirdo?
Mom: It's 'cause... (she laughs) I've always heard these crazy stories. You know! So many people complaining that their daughters met some crazy idiot and then give their parents the ultimatum that they either let them marry the guy, or they'll just run off with him!
Me: ... so... ?
Mom: Well, it always happens in Mexico! So each time we go, I take all your stuff (siblings included here, obviously) just in case one of you meet a guy down there and decide to marry the crazy idiot right then and there.
Me: MOM! I'd NEVER do that shit! Are you kidding me? That's crazy bullshit! ... And you'd let me marry a "crazy idiot?!" What's wrong with you?
Mom: You never know!
Me: No, no... I DO know! I would NEVER do that. NEVER.... EVER! If I were that desperately in "love," the last thing on my mind would be a church wedding. I'd just fuck the guy and get it over with. No wedding needed. Shotgun wedding... get outta here!
Mom: AnoMALIE!
Me: Hey, I'm just letting you know. That dumb fear of yours will never come to be. I'll live with the guy... but to do the whole secret quickie wedding... not my style. It's fucking retarded. Just fuck and move on with your lives.
Mom: AnoMALIE!
Me: I'm sorry! I've just never heard something so stupid.

My mom... that lady... so... interesting.

Carry my baptismal records "in case" I meet a guy I'm desperate to marry... pffffffffft! That woman does NOT know me.

Cuss-free Spain?

So, with my birthday less than two months away (I made the mistake of saying my birthday was three months away a couple of days ago. Goes to show how much of my brain I'm really using during this time of the year), I've really been thinking hard about what I want to do to celebrate the aging of my cells.
I don't usually ask for anything (adding weight to Pacemaker's theory that my family and I are actually Jehovah's Witnesses) because I feel shitty doing so. I usually just wait for Mom to bring up my birthday and what I would like to do in order to celebrate. That's when I usually throw out ideas, if I'm ever in the mood for anything (which I'm usually not).

Well... that being said, this year I'm kind of feeling like actually celebrating... out of this continent... for a month or two. I've been hinting at it to my parents, but they don't bite. They haven't asked me shit.
How the fuck can I make this work?

***

In case you haven't noticed, or I haven't said it enough times, I'm kind of a potty mouth. Kind of.
I go through phases where I don't say more than a few "fucks" and the occasional "shit," every other day... but then I have these spells where I will drop a curse word every other word, in various languages, every other second.
I know I'm at my dirtiest when I continuously say "Goddamn" and the Spanish word "verga." I never say "goddamn" unless I'm FURIOUS, or going through my "vulgar prostitute slang" phase (that's what my mom calls it) because it honestly makes me feel bad. I always cower, expecting to get struck by lightening, as I apologize to the sky when I drop that big word. "Verga" is said out of habit, usually after hanging out with dudes for prolonged periods of time. That word's just fun... it sounds funny, and it REALLY irritates my mom.

This leads me to what happened last night as I sat in the living room with Mom and Sister.
Sister wanted to watch me play Donkey Kong Country (I curse the day we purchased that game, because now I swear I hear monkeys everywhere... even in my sleep), so I obliged.
We were all huddled on the couch, watching me try to pass the stupid game (I have no feeling on either thumb, and my right index finger feels broken, all thanks to the death-grip I place on the controller... because I'm Steinbeck's Lennie Small).
Anyone who has had the pleasure to watch me play video games... or any sort of game, really, can see how competitive I get... and when I get competitive... I turn into the vulgar prostitute/catinera alter ego. I will cuss... and cuss... and cuss.
I come up with strange swear-word combinations (my favorite so far, which I have adopted to use in regular conversation, is "Puto hijo de perra" [comparable to "asshole, son of a bitch"] which I one day yelled at a taxi for cutting me off. I was supposed to say "perro, hijo de puta!" [comparable to "bitch, son of a whore!"] but my brain jumbled it all up, and what came out was so poetic, I damn near patted my own back) which no one is safe from, not even Donkey Kong is not safe from this... especially when I keep dying because the fuckface doesn't jump high enough.
Mom was sitting next to me, and she finally spoke up after about half an hour of my cussing crusade.
Mom: Oye, AnoMALIE, estaria bueno si dejaras de usar esas palabrotas para el año nuevo. (Yo, AnoMALIE, it'd be great if you would stop using those words for this new year)
Me: That? My resolution? Hell no!
Mom: It will make you a better person. You just need to take that initial step of stopping.
Me: I love cussing. Don't try and make me change that!
Mom: Let's start a challenge. All three of us get into it. See who can last without cussing the longest.
Me: Now why would I do that? There's no incentive. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not much into challenges. I'll just admit defeat and continue to cuss within minutes. I don't care. Will I get anything out of it?
Mom: ... you name it.
(Oh no... here comes the competitive monster in both of us, rearing its ugly head. It's like watching two rams scoot back and aim their horns at each other. We're bad)
Me: Eurotrip part two.
Mom: That's what not cussing for a year is worth to you?
Me: Yeah. But I'd have to go around my birthday, I'm not about to wait a year to go out there. I'll already be too old to get into museums at the discounted student price (I was informed of this back when I was in Bilbao. 26 is the age limit. I was 23 back then, and my response was "Y yo paresco de 26 o que puta madre?" This made me pay full price, obviously. The chick was not too happy)
Mom: No. You'd have to not cuss for a year, then head out there. It'll be good for you. Because recently, you've been saying some "palabrotas" that I never taught you (verga).
Me: Fuck that shit. No.

And that is how my mom nearly got me to quit cussing, and I nearly got my wish for Barcelona part two.
Me not cuss? Pfffffft!

PB and Cookies

We have an inside joke in the family where we exclaim "PEANUT BUTTER?!" (actually pronounced "Pea-nah BAH-D'O") whenever someone asks a question we don't want to answer.

Back when I was five, one of my cousins of the same age was over at my house, but refused to play with any one of us. She was fresh from Mexico, and all awkward and shy.
She kept bugging her Mom to take her home. My sister and I were playing with her younger sister, and WhinyCousin would only sit next to her mom and whisper something in her ear.
This girl cousin is from my Mom's side, so when my Dad's uncle came over, he met these little girls for the first time.
Uncle: And who's this lovely lady?
WhinyCousin'sLittleSister: Vanessa! ::Smile:: ::looks in his hands for candy::
He then turned to WhinyCousin.
Uncle: And what is your name, sweetie?
She looked up with watery eyes.
WhinyCousin: PEANUT BUTTER?! (actually pronounced "Pea-nah BAH-D'O")

This makes us laugh... every time.
But today, I do believe I found a new favorite interjection.

I walked into the kitchen to wash the dishes, when I heard Mom and Dad talking about religion.
Dad: We talked about that one movie... how it shouldn't be watched if you're a Christian because it's about a magician and monsters and witchcraft. But there you have it... breaking records at the box office. Sign of the times... the end is near!
Mom: Huh?
Dad: You know... that movie that came out the other day. Those little kids... one is a magician... they're into witchcraft... it's really popular right now... what's it called... it's a little boy.
Me: What the hell are you talking about?!
Dad: That damn movie about the little boy magician!
Mom: COOKIE MONSTER?! (actually pronounced "Koo-key Muster")

The correct answer we were looking for was: Harry Potter.
But I was too busy trying to catch my breath after laughing so hard... as was my Dad... and we totally forgot to argue over how STUPID Fundamentalists really are.

God bless my mommy and her... mentality.

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.

You weren't happy?!

Dad is still in Mexico... he's getting some wack ideas while over there, and I think it's about time he comes back. Take for example, this conversation he had over the phone with Mom:

Dad: So I was looking through our wedding album today...
Mom: Yeah?
Dad: You don't look happy. WHY don't you look happy?!
Mom: Because I wasn't.
Dad: How can you say that?!
Mom: I don't know. I mean, I was losing my freedom. How can anyone be happy about losing their freedom?
Dad: You weren't happy to be marrying me?!
Mom: I wasn't happy about losing my freedom, that's all.
Dad: (silence)
Mom: Man, you're gonna bring this shit up after 27 years of marriage? Come the fuck on!
Dad: Well, it's only now that I noticed how upset you looked!
Mom: You think I'd stay with someone I hated for 27 years?? Oh, shut up!

Mom was laughing about the conversation at first... then it quickly progressed to anger... then she just rolled her eyes and said what we all were thinking:

Ridiculous! Get your self away from those losers and back home, jackass!!

Starstruck mom

My mom met Kevin from the Backstreet Boys while she was in Cancun this past week.

She told me this when I picked her up at the airport at 8 PM... and I still can't stop laughing.

MY Mom

I've never been as attached to Mom as, say, TravelinDin.
Yes, I love Mom dearly, but our personalities tend to clash... especially in my teen years... and once in a while now.
She's more on the strict side... she's umm... controlling and hardheaded to say the least.
There's no way in hell you'll be able to change my mother's mind once she's made it.

Of course, as a kid, I hated everyone BUT Mom.
I'd cry whenever anyone would approach me. I'm sure I've mentioned how the first word I learned to utter was "NO!!" only because I'd say that whenever anyone would try and approach me as I sat in Mom's arms (and I'd bury my head into her shoulder and continue to whisper "No... no... no!" until the person went away).
I had this freak attachment to her probably up until I was 6.
It was such a freak attachment, that I'd take to crying so hard that I'd pass out whenever I'd be out of Mom's sight.
I remember two instances of this happening:

When Mom's brother died, the Perfect Dad, I remember a ton of things... even if I was only 4 years old at the time.
I remember Mom receiving the news and how she reacted... how we all reacted.
I remember the truck ride to Oakland and how mom would periodically burst into tears and sobs.
I remember when we got off the truck and entered my aunt's home late at night.
I remember my cousin (the one who was in the plane with me in that one "Strap Yourself" entry) letting me play with her white Barbie Horse on the front lawn as the adults stayed inside and went through the whole mourning process.
I also remember what it was like inside that house.
Crowded... everyone crying... the kids all in my boy cousin's (the one in the same plane as my bro in Strap Yourself) room playing "Punch Out" while that boy cousin just sat there... with the saddest eyes I've ever seen... drawing "Duck Tales"... often with tears streaking down his face and wetting the paper he was using.
This scene, from all of them, would captivate me most.
I'd walk into the room and see what was going on... then walk over to my cousin as he drew... until Mom would come to check in and I'd leave with her.
Well, one time, she didn't come in... and the boys were getting rowdy ("Ooooooo!! I'm kicking your ass!!!" "No you're not!!" "You're cheating!!!" etc), which scared me, so I walked out of the room alone.
Next thing I know, I'm confused... I have no clue where I am... and all these adults are doing the whole "Aww!! Come here, cutie in the booties!!" "What big eyes you have!!" "And who are you, little one?" then trying to grab me.
Of course, this bewildered the shit out of me, so I broke into loud "Where's MY Mom?!" sobs and bawled.
Then everything's black.
I wake up slung over my Godfather's (Mom's little bro) left shoulder, and he's petting my back.
He cheers me up by playing around with me, then he hands me to Mom... from whom I don't ever part... for that day, of course.

The second instance of me crying until I pass out came up in kindergarten, and I told Mom about this one, since she wasn't aware.
It was a Friday, and we were waiting to be dismissed for the day. I don't know which day exactly was going to be mother's day, just that it was that weekend.
We each had our little hand-made gift we were going to give our Mom's:
A rose made of tissue paper and pipe cleaners, with the "vase" being a cardboard circle rolled into a cone.
I clearly remember my "vase" being very decorative... with a white and red motif... and the rose, of course, was red.
I have no clue why I did this, but, I guess I got a little nostalgic... or I just wanted to leave right then... but point is, I started missing my mom like crazy, so I started to cry.
I remember the teacher asking the kids around me what was wrong, and them just shrugging.
"She just started to cry... I think she misses her mom...?"
I remember this embarrassed me... so I cried some more (lame, I know).
"I want my Mommmmmmmmm!!!"
I cried... and cried... and cried...
Until, once again, everything went pitch black.
I woke up lying on the floor, with the kids making a circle around me and staring.
I remember thinking "What's their problem??" grabbing my fake flower and vase, dusting myself off... and looking around, asking "What???"
I made line at the classroom door, and waited patiently for Mom.

Yep.
So, here's my entry dedicated to
MY Mom on American Mother's Day (You see, Mexican Mother's Day was yesterday)
The lady that unknowingly turned me into a narcoleptic as a child...
The lady whose kids seem to be so possessive of... they constantly confuse their friends when they refer to her as "MY Mom"
(TravelinDin made me laugh when she told the story of how the kids in her study abroad program were confused when they heard her and Older Brother talk about our parents.
Bro: How's my dad doing?
TravelinDin: I haven't talked to my dad, but AnoMALIE said he's doing OK.
Bro: How about my mom?
TravelinDin: I talked to my mom yesterday, and she said she's doing alright.
Some chick: Wait, wait, wait! You guys have the same parent's, right?
TravelinDin: Yeah...
Some other chick: Ok... we just thought it was confusing how you guys each referred to your folks as "MY Mom" and "MY Dad." We first thought you guys had different dads... but then you did the same thing with your mom... so we were confused.
I never noticed we did that until Chase brought it up a couple years back)