The Tragic Comedy Which Is My Life

I emailed the following list to my ‘best’ friend since the 7th grade.  She’s Yugoslavian, although I’m not sure what that means politically now.  I just don’t know enough about her country.  Anyway, she was the person who always said that she’d never get married (Check!) and never have kids (Uh, she has TWO!) because she always thought she’d never meet anyone who’d love her.  Ugh! But when she asked me for an update on my life, I really had to sit down for a minute to think.  When I look back at my life, it seems to be a series of personal triumphs and tribulations that read much like a dime-store novel.  Rather than get all nostalgic (as I’m prone to do) or paint myself in some ridiculously positive light (as I’m not prone to do) I went toward the easier route: humor.  I guess that’s always easier than breaking down and crying your eyes out, rolled into a ball on the bathroom floor, right?  Right.

So here was my very clever comical response:

Not much to report.  Here’s the skinny–

1) I’m making a lot of moolah but can’t spend it on
anything yet because of the huge debt I have courtesy
of credit cards. 

2) Carol insists on emailing me those corny jokes
that pass around a billion times and were funny, like
ONCE (if ever). 

3) Carlos is still getting weaker and sicker but
probably won’t die just to spite God. 

4) Bear sheds like a beast.  I could make a mountain
out of his dog hair…a la Close Encounters of the
Third Kind.

5) Lady’s new name is “Old Lady” because she’s not
only older, but crankier and slower. 

6) I tired of Sara’s typical bouts of teen angst and
the occasional overwhelming stupidity that only
teenagers with ADD can command. So I threw her out of
the house (again)…it’s a little game we play.

7) Last week, my Boss asked me to obey the company
“dress code”, which I thought I’d never hear again
after Academic.  

I ordered Chinese and the fortune cookie made more
sense than most people when it read: “Enjoy Life!  It
is better to be happy than wise.”  Why oh why didn’t I
listen to the fortune cookie sooner?  I’d of never
gone to hs, been rich and living as a Queen in
Patagonia by now.

9) Ming still won’t ring the thing.

10) Who the hell is Obba Bubbatunde anyway?

11) Jennifer Hudson still won an Oscar.

12) Brittany Spears is doing it for publicity. (See #
6, “teen angst”)

13) Anna Nicole is better off dead what with all the
vultures swirling around her life!

14) Mom, Eli and I went shopping and actually had fun.

15) My Dad made me laugh on the phone with his “new”
job: telling people to obey the “No Smoking” sign at a
rest station.  He especially loves to throw the
intimidating fine rates.  Oooh…$250 dollars…scary!

16) The repair shop I sent my now defunct car to has
been holding my license plates hostage.

But whatever.  It’s still fun getting up in the
morning…you?

Lotta love,

MeMa

And oh, god, it’s TRUE.  All of it. So spark up another owl, take a deep breath and mull over your Soduku puzzle.  It can’t get any better and it can’t get any worse people.  IT JUST CAN’T.

The Kids In America: Or, How Life Is Not A Stridex Commercial

This morning, I went about my daily routine.  I stopped at one of my favorite morning delis to grab a large coffee and just as I was reaching the doorknob to head out, a large team of teenage boys practically ran me over to beat me to the door. I said, “It is customary to let the lady out first.” To which one rather bold youngster replied, “Yeah, but we in da hood!”  With the blood boiling and rising to my throat I shouted back, “That’s why you’ll stay there!”  Ah, a typical Jersey morning.

What is it kids want these days?  It’s a shame, but the list is long.  What used to be a Lone Ranger bb gun, is now a laundry list of wants, needs and interests.  They want video games and computers and cell phones (with text messaging).  They want candy and toys and CD players and cable televisions (plasma, thankyouverymuch!).  They can barely keep still in their chairs without the distraction of some glowing false-light from some electronic device.  In fact, they don’t respect their elders and mouth off as soon as they learn that infamous F-word and other colorful, flavorful language. 

Anyone who’s watched the movie, Clueless remembers the character, Cher going all out of her way to impress, to dress and obsess over her friends.  The cool part it that it only took her two hours to become mature (like?) and realize what a butthead she was being and she gets the boy in the end.  Awwww….Fade to black.  See that’s cool that characters can come to that conclusion fairly quickly, but that just isn’t real.  Not anymore. 

I think I’ve mentioned this before in some previous post about brats, but kids are just not appreciative of their youth.  They seem to strive to make their lives increasingly difficult and progressive to the point of being adult while still in young, immature bodies.  They have no sense of responsibility or comprehension to get your meaning when you talk to them about what that means.  I am often met with a sharp glance, a disapproving roll of the eyes, or a whine.  That’s Sara’s favorite defense mechanisms that set me to over-drive.  Which brings me along to the hidden meaning behind this post.

Consider it a cut from the team, a letting go phase, or tough-love.  Whatever name you call it, Sara has had to go.  Oh, sure she’s seventeen and doing all the typical seventeen-year-old stuff trying to cover her tracks and put one over on me and her dad, but it just went overboard.  It involved liberties that she hadn’t been given.  It involved lies that affected other people outside of our home, and it affected me.  And I am not ashamed to say that I beat that child like she were mine.  Of course, this was probably not the most mature thing that I’ve done, but with a child this cruel, I took it upon myself to take the low road.  And she deserved it.  Needless to say, we both were bruised from our scuffle.  Only my bruises weren’t just the ones you could see.  Imagine that you had made a pact with someone.  Imagine that you considered it to be a solemn vow after investing 5 years into helping raise a child.  Then, imagine your guts being ripped out when you discover that the person you were helping was just helping themselves to whatever they could get from you.  Sara is reckless, heartless, and completely clueless as to how much damage she has managed to cause.  So I threw her out for the second time.  She’s gone.  Sara’s gone (again).

However….

I know that she’ll be back when she runs out of options.  Part of me knows that I’ll have to take her back because she can’t live on the street.  The other half wants her to stay away.  Naturally, the rules would change when and if she returns.  She will be given a strict deadline on pushing her out the door.  She may not know it now, but that’s the best thing that we can do for her.  She needs to learn what life is like by herself and on her own terms.  Life is full of all the difficult choices; I pray that she and I make the right ones. 

The Long Ride Home

I decided to ride the bus home because my feet had already led me halfway there.  I hadn’t expected to take the route through good old Jersey City and sometimes I talk myself out of it because it can have some rather unsavory characters in it.  But every now and again I’m reminded of the certainty behind change.  No sooner did I walk down the Avenue I used to live on, did I see the impact that change has made.  No longer were the roots under-developed.  It seemed as though the changing world has caught up with itself and the passage of time has made quite an impression.  There was construction everywhere where there used to be emptiness.  There were monuments where there used to be concrete or grass growing.  I felt like a stranger all over again, familiarizing myself with the new look of things.  Perhaps I would be forever unaware of the way that time really does manage to keep on a steady pace without your knowledge. 

I guess what I’m really worried about all of the time is the disorientation that comes when one is aware that time never stays still.  Fully aware, my past seemed to edge itself against the confines of my brain.  I began to realize that the world I knew is slowly disippating.  The things that I used to know have been replaced by new things that I don’t.  It seems like such a minor understanding in the cosmic universe.  Now I think I know what it must have felt like to the elderly citizens who would always talk about this store and that building that used to be on that corner…just there.  “Oh, my gosh things have changed,” they’d say.  They have no idea how much.

 

Rehab - THE NEW BLACK!

Alienated by your peers for calling someone the “N-Word”?

Confused by your parents with their “Rules”?

Hooked on Phonics? 

Well, look no further ’cause we’ve got a solution for you….it’s called Rehab!  That’s right.  Rehab’s no longer for junkies or hookers anymore.  Nosiree! 

1. Diarrhea of the Mouth?  Go to Rehab!
2. Ashamed of your Penis Size?  Go to Rehab!
3. Post-pardum shaving of your head?  Go to Rehab!
4. Afraid of food?  Go to Rehab!
5. Afraid of large crowds?  Go to Rehab!

There’s nothing that Rehab can’t cure.  It is the new catch-all for any ailment, misgiving, or shortcoming.  Rehab can’t get you a job, it can’t get you a diamond ring, but it can get you help.  Why, you may ask?  Because everything is marketable, excusable and tolerable.  We’ve got the cure for teen angst, alcoholism, sexual addiction, paranoia, schizophrenia, confusion and random acts of insanity!  But wait, there’s more…

Can’t afford to spend too many long hours in conventional therapy?  No problem.  We can grant you the right to leave the premises unsupervised for extended periods of time!  Annoyed by paparazzi? Not a problem there. We can provide personal drivers to chaffeur you in and out of our facilities.  Pesky friends calling you incessantly on your blackberry?  We can provide closed-off locations where you won’t be hounded all the time.  Our staff is happy to be of service.  In some special cases, we can be your enabler! We’ll maintain your secrets and, so long as we get paid, we can even do your laundry (all while you are undergoing frivolous and absolutely useless therapy).  But wait, there’s more…

For repeat offenders: very affordable semi-permanent housing can be arranged.  No more wondering “where to crash” after a night of underaged alcohol and drug binges–that’s for sure! We take the work-weary, the spoiled, the just plain nuts! NO JUDGEMENT, NO LECTURES, NO SENSE.

So, take a break from life and come down to Rehab.  You’re home away from home…

Dream #1

I’m on the roof of some high-rise building.  I’m speaking to myself in voiceover format, talking about my relationship with my family (especially my grandparents in PR).  We’re all eating and having a good time: myself, my cousin Janet, my mom, my sister.  Suddenly, we hear a radio broadcasting the fact that a small-engine plane carrying two elderly people in it is about to crash.  It’s then that I see that the report is actually taking place right in front of my eyes.  The small plane flies over my head and I see an old woman dangling out of the plane.  I think this is residual from The Simpsons episode I saw last night.

Either way, I yell out in Spanish: “Ay, Bendito!”

 ~The End~

The Irrational Rationale & Why I Love My Crazy Mom:

Whenever I did something wrong and my mom caught me, she’d ask: “Why would you do that, daughter, when I told you 50 million times not to?”  Or, if she’d called you more than once and you didn’t answer she’d say: “Why didn’t you answer?!  I called you 50 million times!”  Or, if she’d had an argument with her sibling she’d say: “My sister’s being unreasonable!  I told her 50 million times not to listen to her friends.”  Oddly enough, my mom was just trying to get her point across that she’d tried.  A lot.  At least, 50 million times.  Although the number was a slight exaggeration, you gotta hand it to my mom.  If she ran a company called, Guilt-Trips-R-Us, she could take a little guilt, package it, and sell it by the 50 million. 

In truth, my mom is an exaggeration.  She overdoes it.  So much so, that you often wonder why you even bothered to get mad in the first place. For example, I once made the mistake of telling my mom that she was boring me with her daily chatter.  Yet, to know my mom is to be informed on what’s happening on CSI this week or what she did today.  My mom is an embodiment of all of the routine parts of anyone’s regular day.  So when I said that I was bored hearing about it, she overreacted by tying a handkerchief around her mouth.  Literally.  Before I knew it, I was half-laughing and half-apologizing for being so rude.  You just gotta love my mom.  Or. Else.

This past weekend, I decided to visit my sister, who I haven’t seen in a while.  Since my mom and she live around the corner from each other, I thought that I’d be able to see my mom, too.  Wrong!  Turns out my mom had a prior engagement.  What could be so important you may ask?  What could make my mom choose over me?  A turtle.  That’s right, a little critter who travels with his home on his back…tur-tle.  Not to be mistaken for a tortoise.  Not. At. All.

But, that is so my mom.  She’s a little bit crazy and I’m a little bit of Rock-and-Roll.

Unpredictable moms, when you’re little, can be eye-opening at best, or terrifying at worst.  It’s not really a blast until you’re older and you can weather these surprises, nay, even welcome them because it spices up the doldrums.  It adds the sazon, so to speak.  You go, ma!

Umm…Soapy….

So the other night I had this dream that I was doing my laundry.  I’m in this dank, dark basement and I keep grabbing these large bags filled with clothes and transferring them to those laundrymat canvas carts.  But, I keep losing my laundry and I can’t track all of my articles of clothing which keep getting mixed up with other people’s.  I see other family members trying to help me hang up the laundry, but they can’t keep track of it all either.  So I feel agitated and annoyed and I even begin competing with a Mexican lady who’s beating me at hanging her laundry faster than me.  For some reason, I feel like I have to beat her at hanging laundry faster or something.

If anyone knows what the heck this means, then let me know.  And no…NOT A EUPHEMISM.

Bad Habits

Picture this: a million degrees below zero and I’m shivering at the bus stop.  I am standing next to a young girl about half my age (I can’t believe that I’m at an age that I can now say that) and two boys.  Sipping my coffee, the two boys get a sudden urge to spit.  That’s right, you heard correct.  S-P-I-T.  A lot.  The girl turns to me after one particularly disgusting display and says, “Maybe we should do that…to keep warm.”  Then, she and I laughed and rolled our eyes.  But wait!  This story isn’t over.  Not by a longshot (pardon the pun).  You see, whilst coming home on the bus (on the same day, no less) I was met with a particularly rambunctious group of three young men swapping war stories.  Typical fare.  And while they were a bit on the boisterous side, their banter was okay.  UNTIL IT CAME TO THE PARTY BOY BACK-IN-THE-OLE COLLEGE-DAYS STORIES.  Oh yes, I was going to bear silent witness to the colorful conversation about every body function known to man, all without my consent.  Every bowel movement, vomit tale, and embarrassing moment all for my amusement.  But, rather than give up my seat and bear standing on an already crowded train, I endured the onslaught even though my chagrin must’ve been easy to detect.  Y’know…straight frown, large glaring eyes, pout.  But apparently, these idiots were enjoying themselves so much, they didn’t even notice.  Ugh!

Now, I’m not a prude.  I’ve experienced some really gross things in my day.  Most of the time, though, the offense is so small.  Usually it’s the lady on the train who’s trimming her nails or applying makeup, contorting her face into all of these grossly unpleasant ways.  But those are the tamer moments.  Truthfully, we’ve all caught people when they thought no one was looking doing some pretty ill things.  Remember: “Hey look!  A Mets fan!” as man is digging into his nostril.  Haha!  Good times. 

But seriously, people need to stop involving innocents in their potty conversations.  No one really wants to hear that.  Unless you’re among friends and you’re all so drunk it won’t matter because you won’t remember half of what you guys said anyway.  It kinda reminds me of MTV’s The Real World.  In the beginning of the show, each cast member reads the rules and one section says, “…when people stop being polite and start getting real.” What the hell does that mean?  In order to be real you have to be impolite???  I don’t get it.  Realness should not force anyone into a situation where their forced to see your worst.  There’s a reason why bathrooms are often marked “Private”, why spit is in your mouth and not oozing from  your pores.  It’s intended not to be shared.  So, please keep those private moments, well, private. OK? OK.

At Home With The Dorks & Geeks

I’m a nerd.  It’s not like I need help or anything.  I even like proclaiming my nerdiness and it’s getting easier and easier for more people to shout it from the rooftops, too.  There is something so soothing about this warm computer screen glow, not to mention the countless types of brilliant websites, clever downloads, and yes…blogs.  A whole community that I am now a part of.  Wholeheartedly. 

The other day I was speaking to someone who was not a computer nerd…and it showed.  I took for granted that this person had no working knowledge of tech-speak (not even the basics).   It made me wonder–do people still live under rocks?!  LOL! I mean, ROFLMA!!!! But seriously…For a non-techie, it can be a hard world to live in.  Even the simple instructions: “Double-click on the icon” can sound like a foreign language and often does to people not born in the Technology Age.  Don’t worry–I wasn’t born then either.  I’m one of those nerdy people that assimilated to a demanding world where technology was a must. 

EEK!  A MOUSE!

Years ago, when I was an aspiring geek, I went to an interview in NYC.  And yes, my mom was like, “Oh, be careful not to wear your jewelry because people get mugged in the BIG CITY” and stuff like that there.  But I knew that I needed to try out for a position where I literally had to copy resumes.  I mean, that’s it.  Sounds simple as a pimple, right?  Wrong.  I flubbed this opportunity BIG TIME.  Picture this: Having just aced my sit-down interview, my confidence was overflowing.  The gentleman, who I just interviewed with, directed me to a set of computers.  He told me that this would be a simple exam just to test my computer skills.  Little did the man know, I had had no prior experience working with computers.  I didn’t even know how to turn one on, let alone work on it.  The interviewer led me to a chair, turned on the screen, and the only thing on the desktop (at the time) was a toolbar of icons.  I didn’t know what to do.  My palms began to sweat and I started to worry as he said something like, “I’ll just leave you here to copy this document.”  He handed me a resume. I panicked and never ever had one of those Mentos-commercial endings.  Nope.  I choked.  Badly.  But life-lesson was learned…albeit the hard way.  From then on, I worked really, really hard to understand that unblinking eye called ”monitor” with all those small “icons” on a surface called ”desktop”. 

And when I remember that experience, I’ll admit that I still shudder.  So there.