Tag Archives: mom

A momentary lapse of judgment and the long tittied tribal woman

I recently experienced a slight interruption in my normal thinking or should I say the way that I have been accustomed to thinking for the past 25 years. I had this crazy thought that I should try to be a little less anti now that I am going to be a Mother.

I started doing something as normal as planning a goddamn baby shower. I generally avoid celebrations of any sort especially those that revolve around me.

The last time I had any sort of celebration in my honor was when my Mother in law decided to throw me a surprise party the morning after my 21st birthday. Needless to say I was not in the best mood physically or mentally. I awoke to her knocking on my door and informing me that it would be a good idea if I cleaned up the house a bit because the guests would be arriving shortly. I struggled to comprehend not only what my Mother in law was doing there but why my cousin was naked in my living room and why there was barbecue sauce all over the television.

Being the ever gracious girl that I pretend to be, I got myself together quickly and acted as cordial as possible while drowning my hang over with a bottle of Bacardi. Before I had even finished scraping the sleep from my eyes or cleaning the vomit from the toilet, I had a house full of guests and birthday cake being shoved in my face. It truly was a lovely gesture that I was neither prepared for or felt in any way deserving.

I never wanted another such event to take place in my lifetime but like I said I have been feeling a slight inclination to try to be less anti everything. So, a baby shower, it makes sense, I am pregnant after all and that is probably the most appropriate time to have such an event. And there is the awesome bonus of free shit that you don’t want to buy anyways. Why would I want to spend money on baby blankets and pacifiers when there are shoes and tweed coats out there waiting for me? God, I am really fucking selfish and vain. At least I know it, I own it and I’m good at it.

After being hounded with everyone asking me, “when is the shower?” and not a single person offering to handle the event for me (not that I would allow such a thing again) I decided to give in and plan the bitch. At first I was actually enjoying the whole process; the lists, the location and ideas for outrageous invitations. My invite list quickly reached an incredible 75 guests, co-ed of course (there isn’t anything more frightening than a room full of women). I was dead set on an adorable building in Balboa Park that happened to be available the exact weekend that I had in mind. I had already started cutting up pictures of long tittied tribal women from my collection of National Geographic magazines for the perfectly Regina made invitations.

Then things got complicated, I realized how much everything was going to cost, especially the location that I wanted. I realized that I was going to need some help and I can ask for help once but never, ever twice. I started to really think things through as myself, not the glowing mommy to be that I was pretending to be and I came to a very easy conclusion, fuck it all.

I feel better now, relieved to be rid of yet another ill-fitting mask. I’m still into the long tittied tribal women art project though, maybe I will make a collage for the kids room.

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Filed under I am Pregnant, Something that happened

I want to feel like this forever

“When was your first drink?”

“God, two years old I guess”

“Two?! Ok, I will rephrase. When was the first time you got good and drunk?”

“Yeah, two. But I know what you mean. I was 13 the first time I willingly got drunk”

Ok, here are explanations of both….

Booze was never taboo in my family, it flowed freely at parties and my parents never kept track of what was in the house. In fact my first official drunk was when I was just a toddler. I obviously don’t remember this but I have heard my Mom tell the story over and over, laughing every time. I apparently stumbled over to the coffee table, grabbed a glass of red wine and downed the entire thing, a professional drinker at two! She told me that I screamed all night long, eyes rolling around in my head (I must have hated the spins as badly then as I did years later). She was too afraid to take me to the hospital for fear of persecution from Child Protective Services. I toughed it out that night, I survived to drink again one day. There is no stopping a determined toddler with DNA mapped out perfectly for addiction and substance abuse.

My next good drunk, New Years Eve, 1993. I swallowed my first glass quickly, my mood as sour as the champagne. I was struggling with bulimia, and by struggling I mean not having enough time to vomit between meals or enough hours in the day to obsessively run mile after mile. I hated school and everyone there. The only solace in my life was my new-found love affair with smoking.

My second glass, enjoyed a little more than the first but still gulped with purposeful intent. I feel the bubbles in my nose and this makes me gag a little as I am reminded of the sensation of vomit spraying out of my nostrils which unfortunately is a daily occurrence.

My third glass marks the end of the first bottle. I sneak out the back door for a smoke. I hold my glass of champagne in one hand and my Marlboro Light in the other. I feel like a fucking supermodel for about half a second. I am in love with that fleeting sensation of power, sex and maturity. I am no longer a child, if I ever was one at all. I stare at the night sky inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, luxuriantly.

The second bottle of champagne disappears in no time at all. My Mom is asleep in front of the television, Dick Clark counting the year down like pennies thrown in a fountain, meaningless wishes and a waste of time. I stumble into my room and collapse onto my bed. I have one loud continuous thought reverberating through my head, “I want to feel like this forever, I want to feel like this forever….”

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Filed under Alcoholism and other Assholes, I remember, Something that happened

Babies are terrible conversationalists

Now that I am pregnant I am finding that people think I am suddenly going to be a different person. That I will conform in some way to the ideals of proper motherhood or that I will suddenly care about interacting with other people’s children. Just because I am having a child of my own does not mean that I have to like children in general. It would be a wonderful thing for our over population crisis if every person who didn’t care much for children decided not to have any of their own but it just doesn’t work like that. I know I will adore my Son but fuck off if you think I care about your child enough to want to crawl around on the ground and act like an idiot for his enjoyment. I actually have never even held a baby or changed a diaper in my life. I never had the slightest desire to associate with babies, I mean what do they really have to offer? They are terrible conversationalist’s, they shit and puke all over everything, they are truly rude little bastards. Oh, they are cute, right? Well my dogs are pretty goddamned cute and I have never expected visitors to pay attention to them or say how adorable they are and I was never offended when people simply didn’t want to came into my house because of them.

All that being said I surprisingly enough always knew I would have kids of my own and that I would be a decent Mother, probably a really good fucking Mother. Not that I had anything to learn from but maybe because I had plenty of “what not to do” experiences with my own family. Maybe because of how passionately protective and devoted I have always been with the family that I have created in my life. Or maybe just because some shit, you just know.

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Filed under I am Pregnant