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Random, late Thanksgiving musings

14 Dec

Random, late Thanksgiving musings

First of all, I can’t figure out why there’s that ?> at the top of the page. Sorry. I think it’s a PHP typo. Not the first, not the last.

Secondly, my mother came to visit for Thanksgiving. I don’t think it would have been possible to please her more than I did this time, as I was afflicted with a brutal sinus infection. (Has since been downgraded to one that is merely debilitating.) She wasn’t exactly overjoyed to have a sick child, but she did seem to find great happiness in spooning Delsym into my mouth. I think it reminds her that I need her. To please her, I gave in and finally started using a neti pot as she’s been requesting for years. This is probably the sign that California has weakened my Midwestern practicality, making me now begin my days pouring salty water up my nose. Sexy.

The Southern Gentleman’s parents flew to SF, too. Our parents, bless their hearts, held off for one full day before the talk of wanting grandchildren began. Grandchildren, our parents agreed in between bites of turkey, would be nice. “You might want to get some orange juice from the store,” Betty advised me at one point. “You need to make sure you’re getting enough folic acid.” And when SG drove we Lady Tomlins home one night, my mother hopped out of the car and crowed, “I’ll leave you two lovebirds in the car so you can have KISSYFACE.” As you can imagine, that night’s goodbye kiss was the chastest in history.

The news

7 Aug

The news

I called Betty last week. “Mom,” I interrupted. “I have news.”

“Oh, let me guess,” she squealed. “You and the Southern Gentleman went to CITY HALL!”

The older I get, the more it pains me to disappoint my mother by being a childless singleton. I can tell how happy she would be if I were married. Which I’m not. “No, Mom,” I said. “We did not go to City Hall and get married.”

Betty backpedaled. “Well, who’s talking about MARRIAGE? People go to City Hall for lots of reasons!”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“Well, maybe you and the Southern Gentleman were getting a permit for a yard sale,” Betty argued. “I didn’t say anything about marrrrrrriage.”

Technically, this is true, but no mother becomes breathless over her daughter potentially having a yard sale. Besides, the idea of a City Hall wedding was probably more exciting to my mom than an actual engagement announcement would have been. Why? A rushed, shotgun wedding would mean that I was pregnant with SG’s offspring, which would make my mother extremely happy. (On the subject of babies that don’t exist: SG and I both have prominent noses, which means that any child we had would probably be 80% schnoz.)

Hunks and homophobia

16 Dec

Hunks and homophobia

As longtime readers know, my mom is a fountain of notable quotables. There should be an entire Jeopardy category for them. “What are… things Betty has said about cat hair, Alex?” My mother mistakenly assumes that I am mocking her when I write these things down. I just think they are too good not to share. Besides, everyone who meets my mom is charmed by her. So now, some choice Betty quotations from recent conversations. (more…)

The verbal urban dictionary

22 Jul

The verbal urban dictionary

As you know, Betty is a pretty hip mom. The last time I went home, we were in the basement when she let out an excited gasp. “Annie, I have something to show you,” she crowed. She then rifled through a small stack of CDs and plucked out a best-of compilation. “I bought an album by Joy Division,” she proudly announced. I find this endearing, especially because this is a logical musical progression for her. It comes on the heels of her Ramones fandom. (She still doesn’t get “hey ho, let’s go” in the proper order. Instead, it’s a variant on the phrase, like “Ha! Hey! Ho go!”)

Reality check: My mom probably has more scene points than I do, and she qualifies for AARP discounts.

Anyway, a while ago, we had this conversation: (more…)

The price of salt

10 Jan

The price of salt

When I was almost a teenager, my mother had an office buddy named J. I was grateful for J before I met her, because it seemed like she absorbed some of the bitch sessions that the 40-hour week brought out of my mom. When you’re 11 or 12, office drama is baffling. I remember thinking, “It’s just a job, not your whole life.” (Still good advice that I now give myself when prone to grousing.) (more…)