At least she's entertaining while she's driving me crazy

Things my mother says:

Mom: Please don’t marry an Englishman. You’ll break my heart.
Me: Um, I’m not dating an Englishman. I’m not dating anyone.
Mom: I have it from a reliable source that Englishmen have smaller penises.
Me: Um, I disagree. That’s not true!
Mom: It is true
Me: How many Englishmen have YOU slept with?
Mom: None.
Me: Well. I’m not going to say why I know this is not true. And besides, it’s not the size it’s how you use it.
Mom: No, size definitely matters.
Me, under my breath: I am not discussing my firsthand experiences with small penises with my mom.
Me: I’m putting my earplugs in now.

Checking out our cabin:
Mom: Squeeeeeeeeeelllllll!!!! I’m SO HAPPY to BE here. (orgasms)
Me: This place is huge. It’s a cabin. We have a television? Alright, it’s pretty cool. Plus there are agates in the fireplace and all the stones sparkle. But is there wifi? I bet there’s no wifi.
Me: Omigod!!! There’s wifi!!!! Ok, we can stay.

My mom spent two hours and forty bucks buying a plastic fish magnet, three peacock feathers, and a chunk of wood that you could find anywhere. My mother has no money to buy me food, but she can buy a useless chunk of wood for 10 dollars. Ok. Does anyone see logic to that?

Yesterday after breakfast, it was my mothers turn to drive. I stretched out in the backseat hoping to catch up on some zzzz. Zzzzs were non-forthcoming as my mother jerked the car around from left to right, zooming and breaking alternately. Going up to a 100 miles an hour and back to fifty in about 30 seconds. For no reason. She couldn’t adjust the sideview mirrors without driving onto the shoulder. I tried to relax. My aunt was awake and supervising. But the jerking and chaotic speeds were driving me nuts.
Me: See those lines mom? You are supposed to stay inside of them.
Mom: I am. (as we hit the shoulder again).

Luckily, there wasn’t too much traffic. My mom stopped responding to instructions. Not bitching and snapping back like she usually does.

Me: Mom, I’m not trying to whine here or criticize you, but right now your driving is making me really uncomfortable. I really want you to pull over and let one of us drive.

Mom: Silence. (swerves lane to lane)

Me: Mom, you’re making me really uncomfortable. Please pull over. Please.

Aunt Cathy: Jane! Pull over to the side of the road.

Mom: silence

Aunt Cathy: Jane! Slow down. Put you foot on the break Jane. PUT YOU’RE FOOT ON THE BREAK, jANE.
We start to drift towards a ditch. My aunt grabs the stearing wheel.

Aunt Cathy: Ok, we’re on the shoulder. STOP THE CAR, JANE!

She stops.

Aunt Cathy: Put the car in park, Jane. PUT THE CAR IN PARK JANE! Nevermind

She reaches over and does it herself. By now, we’ve figured out that my mom is totally blacked out and has no idea what’s going on. There are no cars behind us. I’m out of the car and rushing to the driver’s side. I open the door.

Aunt Cathy: OUT OF THE CAR, JANE!
Me: MOM, OUT OF THE CAR!

I see a semi-truck off in the distance. My mom starts to get out the car. Aunt Cathy grabs her arm. She tries to get back in, saying, No, no, no. We pull her out of the car. I place myself between the driver’s door and my mother. The semi-truck is rapidly approaching. My mother lunges for the driver’s side door. I give my mother a big hug, pick her off up her feet and carry her to the other side of the car, just as the whoosh of wind from the semi-truck hits us as it speeds by. You’re welcome, mom. She sits it the passenger seat. I whip out the blood testing supplies like a pro. Her blood sugar is 46. No unconscious low, but very worrisome. We feed her 2 boxes of juice. She starts to come around and talk.

Mom: The pedals are a lot harder to push. I just couldn’t make the car do what I wanted.

Me and Aunt Cathy: Mmmmhhhmmmm. We catch each other’s eyes in the mirror and decide to let her make up excuses not having to do with blacking out. There is also a silent agreement that my mother will not be doing anymore driving.

Mom: I guess I forgot to disconnect my pump. (She's a diabetic who has an insulin pump)
Me: (In my head) Yeah, and you nearly killed us. Thanks for that.

Just a shortie from Custer, SD...

I'm not blogging my adventures tonight (very much) because I can't sit up without being in excruciating pain. And no, the vicodin I begged off the doc is not cutting it. Why? Because my mother overpacked and this morning, when we repacked the car, we were unable to recreate the miracle of packing my uncle performed. So I got to spend the day in the back seat with less space then you get on an airline when you are in the middle seat squeezed in between two fatties.

And I was bored, bored, bored the whole day. I have a feeling the theme of this trip is going to be waiting. Waiting for my mother. She is slow. Slower than leatherback sea turtles that can't make up there mind where to nest. OR a snail. Whatever you can relate to.

This is my mother. She is to blame for all those bags. And my pain. Well, not the original injury (I have a dislocated disc). But sitting in that position all day didn't help. She likes to commune with nature. I don't have a picture of her banging her drum, but I will. Oh, I WILL.

This is more my kind of photo op. Snogging hookers and all. Even if they're fiberglass. Wall Drug

More laters. Trust me. I haven't even skimmed the craziness yet. Goodnight.

Gone crackers. I blame my mother.

I'm staying with my mother in Indiana this week. She lives with my grandpa in a small house. I flew out here, instead of home to Seattle because it was about $450 cheaper. Plus, do a good deed and visit with the fam.

Before we went to bed, I sat down and tried to explain MSN messanger and Facebook to her. I was showing her my homepage on Facebook and how you can see updates from other people. One of the people who had posted an update recently was a nice man who I "went out with" in the 7th grade. I pointed him out, thinking maybe she would remember him. I said, "That's Christian, the first guy I properly snogged." And that's when she called me a slut. Thanks, mom. Actually, her exact word was "loose," but it's the same thing really.

It was either sleep in her bed with her or the uncomfortable couch. I chose the bed. So we go to bed and we start to talk. And talk. Until 3 am. Since she already thinks I'm slutty, my ambien fogged mind decided that it would be a great idea to talk about sex with my mother. Which of course led to the disclosure of TMI. Like the fact that none of her lovers had ever been considerate and made a good effort to please her. At that point, I replied,

"Oh no! You poor thing. You should sleep with ******* !!!" And then I nearly died of shame for having recommended my ex-lover to my mother. I wasn't serious. I just wasn't thinking. But the woman does need to get laid.

Then we talked about my issues, her issues, and my dad's issues. We stopped talking at 3am. Well, I did anyway. Apparently my mother talks in her sleep. And moans. And grunts. And breaths funny. And she took up most of the bed. And she twitched and rolled around.

Yeah, I didn't sleep much.

Today I played chauffeur for my Grandpa, who has Parkinson's. Then my mom and I went running errands. I drove. I insisted. Like hell I was going to spend the whole day having a panic attack from the passenger seat and screaming all afternoon. Definitely easier if I drive. So I drove. We went to the bank, and the vet, back home to drop off the dog, to her Rhumetologist (however you spells it), and then grocery shopping.

Grocery shopping from HELL.

My mom? On foodstamps. Plus some money from my uncle for groceries. Oooohhh. How to explain. My mom? Such a queen. You think I am bad. You should meet my mother. Instead of buying food staples for her daughter and her father, she bought 4 cans of whipped cream. 4. For her coffee on her road trip. With such a limited buget, you think she would drop some of the fancy stuff. Like Hagen Das. And mangos (which are $1.50ea). And flaxseed. And wheatgrass. And Starbuck's coffee from Rawanda, even though she already has some, but it's from the wrong effing country. And to select all these goodies, while removing the more basic staples to free up more cash, took 2.5 hrs. AAAAHHHHHHH!

Took her 1/2 hr in the checkout line to figure out how to pay for everything. It was painful.

Also saw her rock out to Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger." If I hadn't been driving, I would have crawled under my seat and hid.

I mentioned we went to her doctor's this afternoon. Turns out, she's gained another 5 lbs. She complained all afternoon about how fat she is. We're the same height and I weigh 15 lbs more than her right now. During our all night gab session, I did mention how I was feeling insecure about my weight, even though I had lost some weight in Central America. And if she thinks she's fat at this weight? Than what am I? Thanks mom.

This isn't my wittiest blog by far, but I needed to vent. Thanks for listening.

Clearly I am just rehashing the Stranger, but who cares?

Get your pocketbooks out. Edward's sparkly penis available September 1st.


To buy direct, go here:
http://tantusinc.com/mm5/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&Store_Code=TD&Product_Code=VAMP

And then never talk to me again, freak. Just kidding. I can't hold it against you if you want a sparkly dildo. I like sparkles too.

Also available:

"a life-size silhouette of Robert Pattinson as Edward Cullen! Yes, you too can imagine a 100-year-old teenager romantically breaking into your house to stare at you while you sleep! What could be more soothing than knowing a strange man who wants to drink your blood has total access to you when you're utterly unaware and most vulnerable? I can't even imagine! "

http://www.toplessrobot.com/2009/08/battle_of_the_insanely_awful_twilight_merchandise.php

I hope you didn't just read this, mom. I know giving you my blog address was a bad idea. But if you do buy it? Please, please don't tell me. Yeah, I know you like sparkles.

10 Great Places to Find True America-My Version

The USA TODAY posted this earlier in the week: http://www.usatoday.com/travel/destinations/10great/2009-08-20-americana_N.htm

10 Great Places to find True America.

I have my own list.

1) Supermarkets like Fred Myer and Safeway. Fred Myer has everything. Safeway is bright and shiny and open 24 hrs. Where I live, anyway. Plus, the clerks are nice.

2) Gas Stations. Specifically AMPM. Free toilets, chewing gum, potato chips, motor oil, gas, and Red Bull. What's not to love? And nowhere can you find as great of selection of candy as your local gas station. Seriously. I go there just for the bubblegum selection. I always hit up the gas station for the snacking if I have to pull an allnighter.

3) New York City Subway

4) Seattle Metro

5) Bathrooms at the airport, where everything is automated and scares the shit out of foreigners.

6) Starbuck's. Because nothing says American capitalism like a Starbuck's on every street corner. And no one is more syrupy sweet and friendly than your local Starbuck's staff. To the point where it makes me vomit. But I missed it anyhow. I like to have the option to be offended that you are asking me how my day was when I would really not be reminded of how shitty it was and can I please just get my fucking cup of coffee already?

7) Mcdonald's

9) Whole Foods. Because we are rich enough to have a grocery store like #1 and have it be morally superior too. Yeah, I know the owner's a big capitalist. That's my point. You think we have enough money to shop at Whole Foods by being socialists? C'mon. Own up.

10) Your local psychiatrists office. Because no one medicates like the US. Why? See #1-9. All the options make me have a panic attack. Supermarkets are scary.

I know America is bigger than that. We have pretty places and nice people. But this is the stuff you notice first upon arriving in civilization.

I'm all lost in the supermarket. I can no longer shop happily. I came here for that special offer. Gauranteed Personality-the Clash

I can't remember where I found this...

...but it's funny.

This is the sound of NOT settling

I know there is likely one person out there who will love you for who you are, just as you are. Dirty, dark secrets and embarassing habits and all. Like blowing your nose all the time and being vain, vain, vain. And that I _____________ because I was ______. Someone who thinks you are sexy, even after they've heard you fart.

I've been lucky enough to find that person. He loves me, he puts up with me. I treat him badly and he still doesn't go away. We have fun together and we talk about everything. We are cool. He's seen me at my worst, he didn't run away screaming, though maybe he should have. What's even more scary is that he has met my family and didn't run away screaming. Totally should have. I would have understood. He just gets me, crazy psycho bitch that I am, somehow he understands the things I say, even when I know I didn't make any sense. Plus, he treats me like a princess and spoils me. What more can a girl want, right?

Only, I don't know, love?

Not friendly love. Not even your my bestfriend and we fuck love. I want to be buttfuckin head over heals in love. Although not actually anal-ly in love, just, you know, REALLY in love. Like highschool. Like Jane Austen. Like I was with the first love of my life as an adult.

Sure, that ended badly, but it felt nice until my heart was crushed to pieces and I wanted to die. Up till then it was pretty enjoyable. And of course, that wasn't IT. IT didn't work out. But it was really nice to have all these yummy dummy cupcake feelings for someone, as well as that hope, that chance that he could be the ONE. Not that I believe in the ONE, but it's nice to feel like someone could be the person you've been dreaming of your whole life.

The first time I kissed this person, my knees buckled and I felt the proverbial fireworks. It is true. It is like fireworks. My eyes were closed but the waves of emotion-hope, love, and lust exploding from my heart- rose from my chest and danced behind my eyes in sparkling colors of pink and gold. Like a scream that's trapped in your throat and finally gets out, but it's not a shout it's a glimering display of twinkling colors. Fireworks? They do exist.

I'm only 26. I'm not ready to settle. I want fireworks. I may never find them again, except on the forth of july. I won't look forever, but I deserve to have a good look and see. Because if I settle, I want to be damn sure that what I am looking for aint out there. I know I am likely to come back defeated. But I will chase after the chance.

In these early days of the hunt, I look back and see the perfect man for me who I am not in love with, who loves me just as I am. And I worry. Because I already found one man who loves me just as I am. With all my quirks, baggage and bundle of medical issues, HOW COULD THERE POSSIBLY BE ANOTHER PERSON WHO WILL PUT UP WITH ME? AND LOVE ME? AFTER THEY KNOW ME? (besides chandi and the rest of my girlfriends).

On second thought, after reflexting on the existance of countless friends who could fit that profile, it should read like this:

HOW COULD THERE POSSIBLY BE ANOTHER Penis WHO WILL PUT UP WITH ME? AND LOVE ME? AFTER THEY KNOW ME?

And if I find this penis?

Will there be fireworks?