My Mom Is Having An Identity Crisis

This is a picture of my Mom on her 60th Birthday. She is 3 years older now, but she looks pretty much the same. She is 5'2", blond hair, blue eyes, big boobs and a bubble butt.

She came over one day, as it was a spa day for our dogs.  I have a Cocker Spaniel and a pug; she has a Jack Russell Terrier.  We dropped "The Girls" off at the spa, stopped @ Starbucks to get coffee and croissants, and then went back to my house.  My mom doesn't smoke anymore, except when she is at my house, and then she "borrows" a cigarette and smokes it with her mocha.  We sit on the couch and catch up.  She updates me on family issues, dog issues and what she has done for the past few days.  It is usually pretty boring and she usually repeats at least one story she told me over the phone a couple of days before. Every once in a while, my mom tells me a GEM. This is one of them.

She had been at the dollar store in Vallejo.  She had been in the store for a few minutes when a young woman yells out; "Woo wee!  We got a white bitch in the store today!" My mom said she looked around the store and couldn't see the "white bitch".  She kept looking, but couldn't figure out who that lady was talking about.  She said she finished her shopping, checked out and as she was walking out the door ...  She realized that "white bitch" was her.  She started to laugh as she walked out to her car.

Not A Skeleton In Her Closet: Goodbye Nana Part 3

This is me, my Mom and my Nana.We knew Nana didn't have much time left when we visited her in Florida, so we wanted to get our portrait taken. Unfortunately, the only place available was Glamour Shots. They gave me a 'That Girl' flip, they had no idea what to do with my mom's frog fur hair, but Nana looked beautiful.Just like the way she lived her life, the events surrounding her dying, death and mourning were filled with humor. This is the third installment, enjoy!



The Duties of Mourning, September 2000


When Nana had come back out to California in the spring of 2000, it was supposed to be just a visit. She had planned on returning to Tampa. She left most of her stuff there. Her nephew Larry owned a shipping company, so he went back to Tampa, threw all of her stuff into a crate and shipped it to MY house. And there it sat, for weeks. I just couldn't get myself to go through it. Finally, one day my mom came over and we opened the crate.


We made 3 piles: go in the garbage, go to charity and keep. At first it was pretty easy, we just went through and started doing a quick sort. Most of her clothes went to charity, most of her toiletries/medications went into the garbage. You know how your mom always told you to wear clean underwear when you leave the house in case you get into an accident? I am telling you now, clean up your shit in your house.....you might die and your family will have to go through it. I spent hours going through all of Nana's prayer cards, little notebooks with the beginning of a joke written down and the punchline written in bold (she was never good at remembering jokes). She had tons of Kleenex. She had about 3 dozen sets of Rosary Beads and about 20 little pamphlets on how to pray the Rosary. She owned 3 shoe boxes full of hankies, and 2 shoe boxes of scarves. She had every kind of angel lapel pin and heart shaped earring known to man. I found her thong underwear. She had Mardi Gras beads with little penises on them. She had over 15 decks of cards. She had a lipstick in the shape of a penis. She had 5 shoe boxes full of stationary and greeting cards. She had about eight lists with everyone's birthday, wedding anniversary, date of divorce, date of death....I think she was afraid of sending a dead person a birthday card or a divorced couple an anniversary card. I had sorted through almost everything when found a white box about 2 inches wide and 10 inches tall. Inside was another box and in that box, some sort of plastic mold. I couldn't tell what the mold was, because it was filled with over 15 sets of glow in the dark plastic Rosary beads.









After removing all of the beads, this is what I found 

Apparently, she was using this to make ice for her Catholic Daughter's Bridge Club!

Pump It!

So, It was like 1988 or something and my aunt was getting married.  My mom and I went down to Southern California to help with the pre-wedding prep and of course, attend the wedding.  The pre-wedding stuff went as expected for the most part.  My aunt's friends took her to Chippendale's for her bachelorette party.  She got really drunk and barfed in Denny's.  She then got locked out of the house and woke my Nana (her mother) up by trying to climb the stone fence in her mini skirt at 3am.  For the day of the wedding, I had been assigned to the guest book.  I was pissed, because it is my opinion that you assign the guest book to the relative your mother wants you to have in the wedding, but you can't stand them, so you give them guest book duty. I refused guest book duty. This made my aunt a bit pissed at me.  I knew she had given me that assignment because she didn't like my pink streaks in my hair, my multiple ear piercings, my completely black wardrobe or my combat boots. She found some other annoying relative to do it. By the rehearsal dinner, she wasn't mad at me anymore.


When the day of the wedding finally arrived, everyone was wound up.  As my aunt was stepping into her wedding gown, my mom, queen of the inappropriate comments, said "Gee, you have been eating a lot this week.  I hope you still fit in your dress."  I heard one of the bridesmaids saying, "She says she is still a virgin.  I don't believe her.  I think she is pregnant." The person I was most shocked by was my Nana.  She was really nervous.   I made her a mimosa and she seemed to calm down.


The wedding seemed to be going smooth. Everyone made it down the aisle, the music went off without a hitch, and it seemed fine.  But it was a Catholic wedding so it was long.  While kneeling during part of the ceremony, my aunt fainted. It wasn't that dramatic, she just slumped over on the groom.  The priest had the altar boys get her some water and a chair and the wedding went on.  Unfortunately, Nana thought the fainting spell was HYSTERICAL.  She started giggling.  She kept on giggling.  She was trying to be quiet about it, but it wasn't working.  Her giggling made my mom start to giggle. The two of them were shaking and crying, they were giggling so hard.  I started to worry.  Both of them had a history of getting the giggles and then peeing their pants.  I was really concerned that both of them would pee in their "wedding outfits" and end up at the reception in their housecoats.  While I was worrying about potential urinary incontinence, other people started to notice the two of them cracking up.  An old lady sitting behind me kept hitting me on the shoulder and telling me to get my mother and grandmother to control herself.  Just then, the ring bearer started to turn green.  He went running up the isle and puked in the vestibule of the church.  That was all it took. My mother and my grandmother lost it.  What were quiet giggles turned into loud laughter that echoed through the church.  The wedding stopped while someone went to tend to the ring bearer.  Someone got a mop and bucket and cleaned up the barf.  All the time, my Nana and mom were laughing hysterically.  My aunt shot me a dirty look. Apparently, it was my fault that someone had drugged and liquored up her mother.  I tried to get the two of them to be quiet, but the more I told them to behave the harder they laughed.  They eventually shut up and the wedding went on.


At the reception, things seemed okay.  But Nana kept drinking and she kept getting louder and LOUDER.  At one point she started yelling out requests to the DJ.  Most of them seemed appropriate for a woman of her age.  "Glenn Miller!" she yelled to the DJ.  He played "In the Mood".  "Rock Around The Clock!" she hollered. The DJ played Bill Haley and the Comets.  She was up and dancing with any man, woman or child who would join her.  It was quite entertaining and the DJ was really sweet to my Nana.  I knew it was time to take Nana home when I walked by and heard her say to the DJ; "Play that Pump it song" The DJ had no idea what she was talking about.  She said you know, that 'Oh, baby baby, pump it real good' song!" He looked like he was ready to die.  Here was this 70-something woman, gyrating her hips and yelling, "pump it!" over and over and getting progressively louder.  I figured I would help the guy out.  I went up to him and said; " I think she means Push It by Salt n Pepa". The DJ was shocked that Nana was a hip-hop fan, but he played her song anyway.


Nana danced the whole afternoon and then finally passed out next to the cake table.  I took her home and tucked her in.  The next day we figured out what had happened.  My mom had slipped Nana a Valium that morning and everyone kept filling up her mimosa glass.  We really should have talked to each other before doping up the mother of the bride!

Personally, I would prefer Chris Garver

My mom went to a Shriner fundraiser on Palm Sunday.  She was sitting at a table visiting with some  Shiriners and a little boy approached her.  He pointed to her leg and said, "You have a tattoo! Did your daddy get you that tattoo?"  My mom, who is not a fan of wearable art, looked down where the boy was pointing and said, "No, my Daddy didn’t get me that tattoo.  Jesus did." The little boy took off and preceded to exclaim,"That lady over there has a tattoo from Jesus!"

Eventually, people started to come over and ask to see my mom’s "Jesus Tattoo".  I can only imagine how disappointed they were when my mom lifted her pant leg ever so slightly and revealed...her varicose veins.

Misha Comes With Standard Safety Equipment

On Mother's Day, I decided not to take my "daytime" muscle relaxer and only take Motrin.  Mr. Misha and I were going to have lunch with his mom to celebrate Mother's day. I love my mother in law, but she tends to worry a lot. I didn't want to show up to her house all doped up and give her cause to fret.  I felt pretty good after heat, ice and Motrin.

Mr. Misha and I stopped on the way to her house to pick up Chinese take out.  As we were walking through the parking lot, I think I slipped on a small rock.  I went tumbling forward and fell right in the middle of the lot.  As I lay sprawled out on the asphalt, Mr. Misha and I had a conversation that went like this:

Mr. Misha: "Baby, what happened?"

Me: "I fell down"

Mr. Misha: "Are you okay?"

Me: "No, I fell down"

Mr. Misha: "What can I do?"

Me: "Help me up?"

Just then, another man came up and he and Mr. Misha helped me up to my feet.  I did a quick assessment of myself and found no bones protruding or any blood.  Mr. Misha wanted to take me back to the car, but I said no.  We went in and got the Chinese food.  All I could think of as the lady packed up our food was that if it weren't for my boobs, I would probably have whacked my head against the asphalt.

The rest of the day was injury free.  I woke up Monday morning and re-assessed the damage. My right wrist was sore.  Both forearms were sore.  Both knees were sore.  On my left shin, I had a bruise shaped like Florida and a bump the size of a softball.  Being the dorky nurse that I am, I drew an outline around the bump in sharpie, so I could monitor if the lump was getting any bigger.  So far, so good.  I now spend my days with ice on my shoulder/neck and my left knee.

First thing my mom said to me when I told her about my tumble, "Good thing you have such big tits or you'd have a closed head injury for sure!"

My Birthday Turned Into An Episode of Maury

I turned 41 today. I woke up with a bunch of awesome messages via Facebook and Twitter wishing me a very happy birthday. It was lovely.

Then Mr. Misha woke up. Nothing. No hug. No handmade card. No 'Happy Birthday to my wife', nothing. I was pretty sure he forgot it. I never thought he would ever forget my birthday. You see, Paul Stanley from KISS and I share the same birthday. Since Mr. Misha is such a KISS fan, I didn't think it was possible he'd forget.

I made breakfast. Nothing. I vented on Facebook and Twitter. I got lots of sympathy. I'm pretty sure someone tipped him off, because a few hours later he came in my room and wished me a happy birthday. I felt much better.

During our conversation, my mom left me a voicemail. "I'm calling to wish you a happy birthday daughter. I woke up at 3:30am this morning and couldn't fall back asleep for an hour and a half. I'm blaming you." (I was born at 4:06am) I called her back and apologized for waking her up and thanked her for giving birth to me. My mom proudly declared that she had ordered my birthday present online (this is a big deal for her) and half of it should arrive today. It did. She got me a heated mattress pad (it came today) and she pre-ordered the new Sookie Stackhouse book for me, which will arrive in May. I thanked her again; we finished up our talk and hung up.

I played around on the Internet, watched some TV and then decided a nap was in order. My nap was lovely and I woke up to Mr. Misha holding a big, black box. "I think it's flowers, the box says FTD" he exclaimed. I opened the box and sure enough, it was two-dozen roses. They are quite pretty- peach, yellow, reds, dark pinks. The pug was very interested in them, so I let her sniff the flowers while I read the card. The note was signed, "Love, Dad". I started laughing. Mr. Misha was confused, and then it hit him. "You don't know who sent these, do you?" "Nope." I replied. I had no freaking idea which Dad sent me the flowers. I thought it was one dad, he thought it was the other.

Since it was ingrained in my head from infancy, the first thought I had was, "I don't know who to send the thank you note to!" I couldn't call one of them up and say thank you. If he wasn't the one who sent them, it would hurt his feelings/make him feel guilty. I decided to call FTD. Here is how the conversation went:

FTD: Thank you for calling FTD. How can I help you?


Me: I have a problem. I just had flowers delivered and the note was signed, 'Love, Dad'. I know this sounds like an episode of Maury, but I don't know which Dad sent them. Could you help me?


FTD: (stifling a laugh) Yes, ma'am.


She asked me for a bunch of info and found the order.


FTD: I'm not allowed to give out the information without the sender's approval, so I am going to put you on hold while I call your Dad.


Me: Oh no! I don't want him to know that I didn't know which one it was!


FTD: I'll phrase it so he will never know.


Me: Okay.


I was on hold for a few moments and then she came back on and told me which Dad had sent them.


Me: Thank you so much! I'm going to call my mom right now and tell her what a floozy she is.


FTD: (giggles) Alright. You have a good day. Is there anything else I can do for you?


Me: No, thank you. I appreciate your help and discretion.

I immediately called my mother and called her a floozy. She didn't deny her floozieness; she just wanted to know why I was calling her one this time.

Ugh. 

In Memoriam: We Don't Look Anything Alike

One morning I stopped by my mom's house. We chatted for a little while and then she walked me out to the Mishamobile. Bonnie was at her usual post, right next to my mother's left leg. All of a sudden, Bonnie saw a cat and took off. She ran halfway down the block and disappeared in between two houses.

Of course, my mother became hysterical, shrieking and fretting. She was having a panic attack, in the middle of the street while still in her nightgown. I told her I would go fetch the dog. The last thing I needed was to bail Bonnie out of the pound only to have to go spring Joanie from the loony bin.

I found Bonnie sitting at the neighbors back gate staring down a stray cat. I called her name and she obediently came right to me. I told her she was naughty and that she better get back home immediately. She gave me an arrogant snort and galloped back to my mom's front porch. When I reached the foot of the driveway, I found my mom cooing and petting the wayward pooch.

I noticed when my mom's hand came away from Bonnie's head, it was bloody. Since my mom has a serious bleeding disorder, I became alarmed. I asked my mom where she was bleeding from and she looked down and hollered, "Oh my God! It's Bonnie's ear! She cut her ear! Oh no, her beautiful ear! Oh my God! What am I going to do! Oh no!"

I told my mom to call the vet and tell them I was on my way. I got Bonnie into my car and took off. Bonnie has huge ears. Ginormous, gray flapping ears. As I got on the freeway entrance, she shook her head, flapping those elephant ears of hers. Blood went flying everywhere, on the windshield, on the rear view mirror, on the windows, on the roof and all over me. I looked like I had just murdered someone.

When I pulled up to the vet's office, half of the office staff was out in front waiting for me. I figured my mom had made it seem like Bonnie was on death's door and they were out to give emergency aid in the parking lot. Until I noticed the look on their faces. They were all grinning.

I got Bonnie out of the jeep and said, "I guess you got the call we were coming in?" One of the vet techs replied, "Yes, Joan called and said Bonnie had cut her ear. We are all ready for her." I made some comment about my mom over exaggerating the extent of her injuries and the tech replied, "No, she said it was just a cut ear. But she said that Bonnie's SISTER was driving her to the office and we wanted to see a Weimaraner that drove a car!"

You can pick your friends, you can’t pick your family...

So, yesterday I shared Mark's funeral story.  I bragged about how great my co-workers were and how wonderful my friends were.  Absent from that story....my family.  Don't get me wrong, my family is hysterical and loving too.  But they are not so helpful in a crisis.  Here are the comments made to me after Mark died:

From my Step-father (a Marine):

"Well, now that the funeral is over, you should get back to work. Be tough and strong and get back to your life."

From my Father (a Marine):

"Be strong.  You need to get back to work and on with your life. "

They must have had some sort of "what to say to your daughter when her boyfriend dies" class in the USMC Officer's Training School.
From my Mother:

"I know you are upset, but think how upset I am!  You are my daughter and seeing you so sad is very hard on me.  I wish you would understand that my pain is even worse than yours!"

and her other gem...

"Well, given your age and the fact that Mark is dead.  You are probably never going to get married and have children. You should go to midwifery school and get your Master's degree."

Someone please tell me that I am not the only one with parents like this! What completely insensitive or thoughtless things have your family ever said to you?

Broken

I have been working a weird schedule lately. I usually am more kind to myself when scheduling my nights, but not this time around. I worked 2 on, 2 off, 2 on, 3 off, 2 on. It was brutal. Add to that the pollen and wind and I am broken.


I have no voice. I can whisper, but that is about it. I am trying not to talk at all. I tried fingerspelling with Mr. Misha, but he doesn't know any ASL. So I send him texts and emails. He seems to be enjoying the silence. Hopefully, I will have my voice back soon.

My feet are swollen. HUGE. So huge that on my last night at work, I could not fit them all the way into my work clogs. I have been taking diuretic medication and elevating my feet. The swelling has gone down tremendously, but I still have pitting edema in one foot.

I am giving myself until Monday to be cured. If not, I will call the doctor. I don't expect him to be able to do anything, but it will get my mother off my ass.

Today is her 65th Birthday. I am going to try and get Mr. Misha to sing happy birthday to her for me while I whistle along. She is mad at me right now because I told her to "get off the cross" during our conversation the other day. Maybe we will luck out and she won't answer the phone.

Happy Weekend everyone!

Too Tired To Blog

I spent all day with my mother again. Unfortunately, Barry the plumber was there most of the day too. He was his usual unpleasant self. As he watched me make a bank deposit online, he said, "Don't yer bank charge you extra to do that?" My reply was, "No Barry, the bank would prefer that it's customers do all of their banking online. In fact, given your charming demeanor, I think they would probably pay you to exclusively bank via computer."

Much like my friend, Bellesouth, I had to explain the ridiculousness of yesterday's events to my mother. She laughed at their moniker, but overall felt that their protest was a guise. "They're just pissed their guy lost."

Other than my shining moment of wit, bathing and dressing my mom and being her lady in waiting while she offered political commentary---all I did was take some pictures of her two dogs.

Lola, the Parson Russell Terrier and Bonnie, the Weimaraner.
Lola is very nosey. She likes to play with her toys.

She guards the front porch diligently. Bonnie is a handsome old lady. She is also very stuck up.


Have a great weekend everyone!

My Day In Mostly Pictures

My mom called me early this morning and asked me to come pick her up. She told me they wanted her out of the hosptial by 11am. This picture was taken at 1pm. We were still waiting for her discharge papers.

This is what your arms look like when you: a) have a bleeding disorder

b) have been taking Prednisone for a long time and

c) have a dumb ass trying to start your IV.

My mom has great veins. She offers herself up to nursing students when she is in the infusion clinic because she knows they will be able to get her IV in on the first stick. She also lets phlebotomy students practice on her in the lab. They never miss. They stuck her SIX times to find an IV before surgery. That IV didn't even last through the surgery and she was stuck THREE more times. Both arms are covered with bruises, above are the lightest ones.

She lost 12 pounds in 5 days in the hospital. All she wanted was a milkshake when we finally left the hospital.

She got a coconut shake. She loved it. Drank every drop.

Storm coming in from the east.

It looks scary on the right side of the freeway.

But so gorgeous on the left side.

I'm tired. Going to bed.

Back to Mom's house tomorrow for nurse duty.

Woo Hoo!

Vibes

My mom is having surgery on her back today.

She is scheduled to go under the knife around 7:30am PST.

Send some good vibes or juju or prayers or whatever her way if you are so inclined, will ya?

Thanks.

I Had A Couple Of Babies Sunday Night-I'm Exhausted.

I am getting this one in just by the skin of my teeth. I am only getting this post in because all but one of the pregnant ladies in town delivered their baby in the last 24 hours. The last one is here and I am slowly trying to coax the baby out. I am watching her baby's fetal heart rate and her contractions on a flat screen TV here at the nurse's station while she sleeps. I am waiting for the next busload of pregnant ladies to drop in. Last night was fun, but I would have appreciated time to pee and 15 minutes to shove some food in my gullet. Tonight, I get to eat my lunch AND write this-such luxury!



One of the ServPro dudes came by this morning before I went to sleep. The only places that are still damp are Mr. Misha's bathroom and the kitchen. So he was able to remove 6 fans and a dehumidifier. I am hoping that my eyeball juice will regenerate itself when this is all over- until then, I encourage you all to buy stock in Carmex and Visine. Mr. Misha and I are going through it like it's crack. I wonder how the dogs have not seemed to be bothered by the drop in humidity. I keep checking their noses and eyes- they seem fine.



I have the next 10 days off. Goals for my days off:

• Get my mom safely through her hospital stay. She is having spine surgery on Thursday. If she survives the hospital stay without getting an infection or a bad bleed, I will be happy. Surgery scares her-recovery scares me. It's all about perspective.

• Get a floor installed in my house. This is complicated by the fact that my landlord was just seated on a jury Monday. I hope the case is short and they don't deliberate long. I need her to be out of the courthouse so we can get the ball rolling with the reconstruction. I WANT THIS OVER WITH.

• Get re-certified for Neonatal resuscitation. I have to do it every two years. It's relatively easy, it's just time consuming.

• Get the dogs to the vet and get their shots up to date.

• Get the house put back together and arrange a charity pick-up of all the stuff I am purging.

• Get the backyard cleaned up and ready for the summer.

• Get some sleep.

• Get a pedicure.

I think that is a reasonable list? Isn't it? I will be enlisting the help of my nephew, Joseph, do all of the heavy lifting and manual labor. I think I can do it. Stay tuned.

I Need Some Sort Of Sedative

I spent all day Monday with my mother. In a hospital. (Hospital, on my day off.) Around the sick and injured. (I don't do sick and injured.) All day. (I certainly don't do sick and injured and hospital IN THE DAY TIME.) Gah! With a crappy signal on my iPhone. (NO INTERWEB?) This was not looking good.

My mom is having spinal surgery next month. Today, we drove to Oakland Kaiser Hospital for her preoperative consultations. I seriously considered smothering myself with one of those plastic, patient belongings bags on several occasions during the day.

The first meeting was with her surgeon. He was, like most surgeons tend to be, an arrogant ass. When I discussed some concerns that had arisen during her previous surgery, he became a bit pissy. Rather than address our concerns, he blew us off. One thing he did do that I liked, he lowered my mother's expectations for the surgery. She had been thinking that this surgery would SOLVE ALL HER PROBLEMS. He made it clear that it might NOT solve ANY of her problems. I just want her to be prepared.

Then we met with anesthesia. The dude was nice. He seemed to understand my mom's long history and complex medical problems. Then we met the education nurse. Her accent was so thick, my mom could not understand her, and I had to translate. I could have done that meeting at home, in my pajamas, sans bra, all comfy like. One hour I will never get back. Then we went for lunch.

Since it took us 40 minutes to find a handicapped parking space that morning, there was no way we were going to forfeit it. I wanted to eat in the hospital cafeteria. My mom wanted to walk. This is the woman that falls down all of the time. She wanted to walk. She is having surgery primarily to improve her gate. She wanted to walk. JUST FUCKING KILL ME NOW. You know how parents walk with their hands encircling their just walking toddler as they stumble along like a drunk? I did that through the streets of Piedmont with my mother.

After lunch, back to the hospital. Met with the general medicine doctor. He had no grasp of my mom's cardiac history or bleeding disorder history. He freaked out about her low blood pressure, even though it has been that low for four decades. He also had an accent my mother could not understand and I had to translate for my mom. Great. Back to the waiting room.

The waiting room was so full that we had to go sit in the children's area. All I could think of while we were sitting there was that it was probably covered in snot, poo and puke cooties. Sitting in there was seriously creeping me out. All we were waiting for was labs and pre admissions. I offered to draw her labs myself if I could please get out of the germ-infested waiting room. They wouldn't let me.

Finally just as rush hour traffic was about to start, we finished. Then I got to spend an hour in bumper-to-bumper traffic with my neurotic mother. I just kept breathing deeply. I started to plan my evening: change into my jammies, pet the dogs, hug the spouse, watch RuPaul's Drag Race, then Dancing With The Stars, play on the internets, maybe have some dinner at some point, take some allergy medication and get into my comfy bed. It worked. I got home in one piece.

But after Drag Queens, Dancing Queens, etc. I am still wound up. I can feel the day sitting right where the shoulder and neck meet. And cooties. I still feel the cooties.

My Mom Has A Reputation In The Cast Room

For some reason, my Mom liked to marry US Marines. My Father (biological), her first husband, was an USMC helicopter pilot. There was never a woman who was less appropriate for the role as an USMC Officer's Wife. My mom was constantly getting my Father in trouble when they were married. She didn't like to follow the rules and he paid the price. If you met my father, you would wonder how the two of them ever thought it was a good idea to get married.

My Dad (Step-father), her second husband, was...you guessed it, an USMC helicopter pilot! Luckily, when they married, he went from active duty to the USMC reserves. There was no more living on base, no more day to day duties of the Marine Corps wife, all my mom had to do was behave herself once a year at the Marine Corps ball. Every year, around the "Birthday" of the USMC (November 10th), US Marines around the world hold a formal "Birthday Ball". If you have never heard of the Marine Corps Ball, think of it as the Senior Prom for Marines, except you have to behave like an adult. The behaving part was never my mother's strong suit.

When I was a kid, every year the Jaycee's in town would have a big fundraiser. One year, they chose to hold their event in October and have an Oktoberfest theme. My mom, being the good German girl that she was, looked forward to going. She got her two German immigrant friends, Ingrid and Trixie, to buy tickets as well. The night of the party came and I remember my mom getting ready. She was very excited, especially since she just got new shoes and planned to wear them that evening. It was the 70's, so of course the shoes were platforms. I remember waving good-bye as my mom and dad, along with their friends, drove off that night. The next morning, I went into my mom's bedroom to see how the night went. She didn't look good. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin had a greenish pallor and she had a bunch of scratches on her arms. I asked her what happened.

My mom and her German friends got really drunk. They had a great time. The whole place was decorated like a German beer garden during the fall. The centerpieces for the tables were pumpkins and other gourds. My mom and her friends decided to take the pumpkins home with them when they left. As they were walking down the hill to their car, someone dropped a pumpkin. My mom saw the pumpkin roll by and yelled; "It's the Great Pumpkin, we have to save the Great Pumpkin!' She then started to run down the hill after said pumpkin. On her way, one of her platform shoes landed in a pothole, she fell off her shoes and BROKE BOTH HER FEET. She had a plaster cast up to the knee on one leg and a removable brace on the other foot. This would suck under any circumstances, but it was especially bad because the Marine Corps Ball was in 3 weeks.

My mom had a long steel blue dress especially made for the ball. It had shiny gold buttons on the bodice. To match the buttons, she bought a gold purse and gold sandals. There was no way she was going to be able to wear the sandals. So what did my mom do? She spray-painted the "shoe" that went over the plaster cast and the brace that went on the other foot, Gold. If her feet poked out from under the dress, she would still match.

The night of ball came and off they went; my dad in his dress blues and my mom, in her steel blue gown, gold purse and gold "shoes". Once again, my mom imbibed a little too much. My dad found her; drunk, with a bunch of wives in the corner of the ballroom, dress up around her waist showing off her gold "shoes". The Colonel's wife, who was from Alabama, was hollering; " Does anybody here have a writin' stick?" Another drunken southern belle hollered back; " I don't have a writin' stick, but I gots me a lipstick!" The Colonel's wife decided that was good enough and the whole group proceeded to sign my mom's plaster cast with hot pink lipstick. After they were done signing her cast, my dad poured my mom into the car and took her home. Despite being drunk off her ass, my mom was cognizant enough to know that lipstick smears. So, she wrapped her cast in saran wrap before she went to bed.

The next morning, my mom's cast was a hot pink soggy mess. After a Bloody Mary and a few aspirin, off we went to Kaiser to get my mom a new cast. Since my mom was really good at drinking, but not so well at walking, this was not our first trip to the cast room. The cast tech, named Thermador, was very familiar with my mom. The look on his face when he saw my mom's soggy lipstick covered cast and her gold spray-painted shoes, was priceless. Thermador still works at Kaiser. Every time he sees my mom in the halls, his eyes light up, a big smile stretches across his face, he winks at her and says; "Now you be careful, Miz Joanie", I hear him chuckle as he walks away.

She Put In Her Five Years, Then I Was On My Own.

My mom read to me EVERY day for the first 3 years of my life. After that, I had memorized most of the words and would "read" to her for the next two years. By the time I started elementary school, I was a pretty advanced reader and I loved doing it. I would bankrupt my mother with the monthly Scholastic Book orders. She eventually restricted my book orders at school, but would take me to yard sales and book sales once a month and let me pick out as many books as I wanted for $15.00. She never monitored what I was reading, she was just glad that I enjoyed it.

In 5th grade, we had a special time in class called SSR (sustained silent reading). We could read anything we wanted. I brought my books from home. I was reading my latest garage sale book and came upon a word I did not know. I went up to my teacher and asked to use the dictionary. He asked why and I said I didn't know what a word meant in my book and I wanted to look it up. He asked my what the word was.

I replied "Phallus".

All the color drained from his face and he calmly asked, "What are you reading?"

I replied, "The Exorcist".

He said, "Does your Mom know you are reading that?"

I replied, "Yes, she bought this book for me on Saturday."

He gave me the dictionary. Later he gave my Mom a phone call.

When Misha Became A Potty-Mouth

It was Christmas Eve, 1974 and I was one month away from my 6th birthday. My Mom, Step-Dad and I were making sugar cookies to leave out for Santa. We were getting near the end of the batch and the dough was starting to stick to the cookie cutters. I was getting very annoyed. I was shaking and shaking the cookie cutter, but the cookie wouldn't fall out.
That is when I said "Fucking cookie!"
My dad said "What?"
I said, "Fucking cookie won't come out of the cookie cutter"
My mom said "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"
At this point, my dad is turning bright red; shaking and starting to sweat, he was doing everything in his power not to laugh.
I said "Fucking cookie."
She interrupted me and said "Michele Marie! Where did you hear that?"
I replied "Anatoly."
She mutters "Oh that little commie bastard!"
Now, here is the back-story:
I was going to Kindergarten at a very "hoity toity" private school. My mom and Step Dad were paying big bucks for me to get my basic kindergarten education along with the "hoity toity" additions of: Art class, Ballet class, Swimming class, Acting class, Foreign Languages, Etiquette classes, Cooking classes...the whole "hoity toity" package.
I wore a plaid skirt, blue blazer and saddle shoes to class every day. My family wasn't rich, my mom worked extra to pay for my tuition. But the children I went to school with...Well, their folks were rolling in the bucks. Anatoly, the aforementioned "little commie bastard", was the son of the Soviet Consulate General, or something important like that. My mom and Step Dad, being ULTRA conservative, were not pleased that he was my classmate. This was just the ammunition my mom needed to try and get this kid out of the school.
She stewed all Christmas, she started to boil around New Year's, by the time school started again...She was white hot. We arrived at school early; my mom met the Headmaster at the door. She started off well, talking calmly, telling him how our Christmas was scarred by the education I received by Anatoly. Apparently, she did not get the response she liked from the Headmaster. Because what I heard from behind that closed door was my mom, screaming;
"I BUST MY ASS TO PAY FOR THIS PRESTIGIOUS SCHOOL. I WANT MY DAUGHTER TO COME OUT OF THIS PLACE EDUCATED. I DIDN'T SEND HER HERE TO LEARN GUTTER LANGUAGE FROM SOME LITTLE COMMIE BASTARD. YOU BETTER FIND A WAY TO FIX THIS. I WANT THAT LITTLE COMMIE BASTARD...GONE!"
The meeting didn't go the way my mom planned. I finished the year at the school and the next year I was put in Parochial School. It was there, in first grade, where I learned what a "BONER" was.
My mom just couldn't win.

The Gout

My mother has "The Gout". She has it in both legs and in all places, her thumbs. To prove to me that it was not her flip-flops that caused her tangle in the rose bushes this past Monday, she went gardening barefoot yesterday and ONCE AGAIN fell into the rosebush. She has bruises and scratches all over her back and butt. I sent her home with a bunch of my shirts with stains on them I couldn't get out. She is a miracle worker at getting stains out and I figured if she was busy handing out trick or treat candy and fighting stains, she probably won't fall into the rosebushes for a few days.

Safety First

My phone conversation with my mother on Monday.

Joanie: Hello

Misha: Hi mom, how are you doing?

J: Great (sounding pathetic)

M: You don't sound great. What happened?

J: I fell in the rose bush again.

M: Are you bleeding? (she has a rare and deadly bleeding disorder)

J: No, I don't think so.

M: Why did you fall in the bushes AGAIN?

J: I don't know. The ground is soft and level and..

M: What shoes were you wearing?

J: Flip flops.

M: Mom, you need to wear better shoes when you are gardening.

J: I know. I think I just need to be put in a box to keep me out of trouble.

M: A box? Like a dog crate?

J: No, a big cage. I could dance in it.

M: You want me to put you in a cage to keep you safe?

J: Yeah, I could just dance around.

M: That doesn't sound too safe.

J: Well, nothing will happen to me unless someone tries to get into the cage and dance with me.

M: So let me get this right. You want to become a Go-Go dancer?

J: Yes.

M: For Safety?

J: Yes.

Close Encounters Of The Joan Kind

I know that most of you have enjoyed reading stories about my mother, Joan. Well, there is one story I would like to tell you, but it would lose something if I just typed it out here on the interwebs. So, I asked my mom if she would like to start making little videos that I can post on my blog. She agreed. I decided to start with her stories about her theory on how she contracted Acquired Type 2B Von Willebrand's Disease.

Check out this video: Joanie and the Aliens

Now tell me, do you think she is joking or is she serious? I am not sure. She tells it so seriously.