More Wire Hangers

It was my mother's birthday this week, so I thought it would be nice to commemorate that occasion with a little mommy blog...

The first time I saw "Mommie Dearest", I was hooked. It was inevitable. I immediately changed my mother's contact information in my phone from "the Dark One" to "Mommie Dearest", which it remains to this day.

Being an angsty teen, I naturally tried to draw parallels between my life and Christina Crawford, but failed for a number of reasons:

1. I didn't live in the most beautiful house in Brentwood, I lived in one the crappiest houses in Midland Park.
2. My Mommie wasn't a movie star, she was a waitress (which is still an acting gig as far as I'm concerned).
3. I did not have an endless parade of "uncles" and subsequently didn't have to fix drinks for them.
4. I wasn't forced to clean anything, except for the occasional dish and even then I would always leave one or two in the sink as a form of passive aggression.
5. We were encouraged to use wire hangers because they were free. The only hangers forbidden were the hangers that my Nanny had crocheted fancy sleeves around. They were reserved for Mommie Dearest alone and it was considered a capital offense to misappropriate one of them.

Christina and I did have a few things in common:

1. Both of our mothers made the scariest faces they could muster.
2. Both of our mothers liked to drink.
3. We both knew where to find the boys and the booze.

My favorite scene, and probably the most iconic one, is the wire hanger scene. Joan comes into the children's room looking a fright and discovers a wire hanger in Christina's closet. This naturally sends her into a savage rage, kicking off my favorite monologue of all time. For your enjoyment, this is what that scene would have looked like at my house:

[Mary enters the boys' room, Newport Light 100 in one hand, remnants of a bologna sandwich in the other. She finishes the sandwich and climbs over one of David's piles to the closet. She lovingly looks through their clothes. Heineken t-shirt. Budweiser t-shirt. She stops and glares, briskly sliding the clothes off to one side to reveal a Guinness St. Patrick's Day shirt on a crocheted hanger. She snatches it from the closet rod.]

"More...wire...HANGERS! What's fancy Nanny hangers doing in this closet when I told you no fancy nanny hangers EVER?! I work and work until I'm half dead and I hear people saying 'she's getting old'. And what do I get? A SON! Who cares as much about the Coors Light t-shirts I give him...as he cares about me! What's fancy Nanny Hangers doing in this closer? Answer me! I bring you beautiful beer t-shirts from the bar and you treat them like they were some dishrag. You threw a three dollar t-shirt on a fanny Nanny hanger! We'll see how many you got hidden in here, we'll see! All of this is coming out! Out! Out! Out! Out! We're gonna see how many fancy nanny hangers you've got in your closet!"

Now that I'm older, my mother and I are less like Joan and Christina Crawford and more like Big and Little Edie Beale. I imagine one day we'll be living in a dilapidated mansion infested with raccoons and cats. I'm already bald, so all I need now is a head scarf and revolutionary outfit of the day. Picture me standing next to a eight-foot pile of tin cans talking about the craftsmanship of the banister while my mother lays in bed in a sunhat, warbling to warped records as a cat urinates behind her portrait and the corn boils on the hotplate. A girl can dream.

Happy birthday, Mommie Dearest.

Toys "R" Bust

Beloved toy retailer, Toys "R" Us, is soon to be but a memory.

My brother Dane notified us in a group text message:

*Peenaponatuna is the name I selected for my brother, Dane, when my parents asked me what I wanted to name him. I was 2 and change at the time. The spelling is still disputed to this day.

We ended up going to the Wayne Hills Mall location that Sunday. I had a lot of grand ideas about the items I would purchase while we drove there, passing the brushed silver sign for Toys "R" Us headquarters in Wayne, NJ. I imagined board games and the family game nights that would follow. I imagined rolling around on my bed nude covered in Lego minifigures, like I was Demi Moore in Indecent Proposal (Indecent Legosal, if you will). My mind raced with visions of Mario Brothers plushies and Pop Vinyls. Ninja Turtles and Nerf guns.

The parking lot wasn't as packed as I thought it would be. Not surprising really since the Wayne Hills Mall is all but abandoned, a relic of a time before super stores and online shopping.

Wayne Hills Mall entrance. (Photo credit: goodrob13 on flickr)

Mom taking a picture of the storefront.

My dreams of board games and Legos were immediately dashed upon entering the building. People were rummaging through the aisles which were stocked haphazardly. Obviously, the plan was to get every item out on the shelves as quickly as possible. We approached the board game area which was desolate. But there were plenty of these:

Fig. 1.1 the dreaded Silly Sausage

Fig. 1.2 #pokeme

I can only assume that the Silly Sausage's predecessor was the Bop It. I'm not sure exactly why they made it into a sausage. In fact, I find the transformation rather perverse. See for yourself...

Truly edifying. And horrifying.

We hurried around the corner to the Lego section and the wind was knocked out of me.

Not a single item remained. They must have been among the first things to go. Suddenly we were filled with dread. We all came to the same panicked thought next. Nerf guns!

We dashed through the store and were lucky enough to find Star Wars themed Nerf dart blasters and several packs of 100 darts. These blasters also made the signature Star Wars blaster sound when you pulled the trigger. We had lucked out. This was not good news for my mother, however, as she bore the brunt of most of our Nerf gun attacks.

Moving through each remaining aisle, dodging our fellow vultures picking the bones clean from this once great toy behemoth, I couldn't help but feel sad. It was sad.

We didn't have a lot of money growing up, so when we got to go to Toys "R" Us, it was usually for our birthdays or as a special treat. There was a sense of awe walking through the aisles, seeing all the games and toys, making a Christmas list in your head. Our family made an art out of window shopping. Sometimes we would go to stores just to look at things. People think that's sad when I tell them that, but really it was fun for us. The fantasy of having everything you wanted was better than not having it.

As an adult the feeling was very different, especially given the circumstances.

I am, by nature, overly sentimental - I'll save a scrap of ribbon or a ticket stub if it reminds me of something lovely. In that sense, I'm glad we took our last trip to Toys "R" Us together, and I'm sad to see it go not because of the company itself but because of the wonder that it will take with it. Maybe kids now and in the future will get the same feeling wandering the limited toy aisles of Target and Walmart. Maybe it's being a kid that brings magic to places and not the other way around. Dane was right, it was a funeral, but not for our generation's toy store - it was a funeral for our childhood.

What now?

Armed with their Nerf blasters, the three brothers stared off into the sunset not sure of where to head next. What adventures awaited them in adulthood?

"Are we ready?" David said, plucking the solitary white hair from his beard.

Dane stuck the shovel into the ground having just buried Geoffrey.

They looked at him, slightly younger but already feeling the sharp pain of growing up. They smiled.

"Locked and loaded, bro." said Dylan.

"Cowabunga." said Dane.

Science Fairs and Underwire

I attended my first 3rd grade science fair today. You're probably thinking, "But you don't have children. Isn't it a little creepy to be going to a 3rd grade science fair?" Yes. But, I do know a 3rd grader.

That sounds creepy too; allow me to clarify.

I helped my boss's daughter, Bennie, with her science project. She made nebula jars and painted a picture of a NGC 3132. Naturally, I was delighted to be invited to the science fair to see her in action. I also met an interesting young man that used lemons to conduct electricity. So there's that.

Fig 1.1 Nebula Jar. Thanks, Pinterest!

Fig 1.2 NCG 3132. Thanks, Hubble Telescope!

* * * 

Interesting fact: When Bennie was 6, she told me she was going to wait until I was asleep and shave me without shaving cream.

Once, I absentmindedly said something was "fugly" in front of her because, being in jewelry design, that's a word we throw around a lot. If you are unfamiliar, it is a portmanteau of f*ck and ugly. Fugly. It's an industry term.

She smiled at me like a child of the corn and said, "What does that mean? Fun and ugly?" She was clearly toying with me because after a beat, she said, "The F word?"

"You didn't hear that from me. I was never here." I said, before fleeing.

Some kids are too smart.

* * *

Back to the Science Fair!

As I toured the auditorium, there were a number of impressive displays, none of which were made by these children. I appreciate a sloppy project that was clearly done by an actual child. What I cannot abide is a project that was obviously done by a parent. As a child that always did his own projects, I take issue.

That's a pristine space shuttle made of milk cartons, Megan. Too bad you don't have the motor skills necessary for the construction of such a vehicle.

I'm very impressed by your expertly crafted polymer clay scale model of the solar system, Chastity. But I highly doubt you have a steady enough hand to paint Jupiter with such accuracy.

Oh, Blake. You aren't fooling anyone with your perfectly aligned phases of the moon poster. Look how straight these lines are! I know grown men who can't draw a straight line! I know grown men who can't pronounce the word "gibbous"! 

I'll take a shoebox full of  badly painted foam balls and scotch tape any day of the week. I don't want stenciled, perfectly spaced, letters and battery powered water features! I want chicken-scratch and potato lamps!

The adorable Lemon Boy obviously had help from his Dad, which he mentioned during his absolutely heart-melting presentation. But it was messy and clearly he did it with his father. And it worked! He flicked a switch and a light went on! WITH LEMONS! Thanks, citric acid!

I used to want to have kids. Then I didn't. Now? The jury is still out. Because it can go a few different ways. Village of the Damned seems like the most likely scenario, but you never know. Might get lucky and get a lemon kid. Or a kid that will wait until I'm asleep and shave me without shaving cream.

* * *

Later today, on our way to lunch, I found a lonely piece of underwire on the floor of my co-worker's car. I didn't realize that's what it was at the time, but still I picked it up and positioned it under my boob and said, "What's this?"

Lucky guess.

She wasn't sure how it ended up there. #mysteryoftheday

How did a solitary piece of underwire manage to free itself from it's bra prison? Naturally, we all assumed it was some kind of sordid nude encounter that took place in the car, but she assured us that was not the case. Some kind of struggle? Surely not. Perhaps we will never know.

* * *

For one reason or another, I refer to a naked breast as a "raw breast". I didn't realize this was wrong until it was pointed out to me. I persist in my terminology unhindered.

"G, do you have to try bras on?" I asked innocently.

"Yeah, you have to." She replied patiently.

I immediately panicked, imagining hundreds of women trying on the same bra.

"You mean you put your raw breasts in it?"

"My raw breasts? First of all, who calls it a raw breast? I'm not a chicken. It's the same thing as you trying on a shirt."

I relaxed, "Ok, I see your point."

* * *

Today, I got very cold and wet in a hideous slop storm. I went to an elementary school that smelled like all elementary schools smell - industrial cleaner and tempera paint. I danced around my office with a hank of beads on my head like a wig. I watched an Egyptian themed stripper video with a coworker recovering from ass-augmentation surgery. I designed some bracelets. I ate a hamburger.

What is the moral of today's story? All that glitters isn't gold? A stitch in time saves nine? A closed mouth catches no feet?

I'm not sure. Lemon Boy probably knows.

Food for thought, mostly poison

Voodoo Cake

It is said that when a cake is cut, sugarcane fields can be heard crying in the warm Barbados breeze.

* * *

Define “Testicle”

More than a quiz, but a little less than a test.

* * *

After Canada conquered the US in the early 21st century, the Maple Doctrine was adopted. This document overwrote the American Constitution and many of the US's unwritten rules.

Perhaps the most memorable revision was Article 7, clause 32; the 5-second rule does not apply to shag carpeting.

* * *

"I can't believe that boat is named Wet Dream," I said to Nanny.

She turned to Poppa to clarify.

"It's the name of the boat in Margaret's yard," she said to him in a hushed tone.

"Did Margaret name it?" I asked.

"Probably. She's a drunk," she said matter-of-factly.

* * *

Georgina on Hitler:

"Anyone who uses their oven for anything other than storage is a complete wanker."

* * *

A Postcard from Aunt Mary:

Dear David,

         Since you are our family's Hemingway, I thought it most appropriate to send you this postcard from Key West where Hemingway lived and did a lot of his writing. I visited his home today and thought of you - the next Ernest Hemingway!

          I love you <3 <3 <3

          Aunt Mary

PS - Hemingway had four wives and sixty-two cats!

* * *

Getting Laid at the MET

I tried that once. It didn't really work out.

* * *

Mary Meets God

               Human life, and all life for that matter, concluded in a single rainy afternoon at the Porchlight Grill in Midland Park, New Jersey.  Mary was sitting at the bar on her break after waiting tables for six hours.  She was about to ravage a nice juicy hamburger, when from the corner of her eye she spotted something moving on the floor.  She hopped off her bar-stool and put her glasses on.

               Before her, on the tiled floor, was a large cockroach.  As not to cause a stir, she crushed the enormous bug under her black tennis shoe.

               And so, the very fabric of the Universe unraveled.

♫ Pointy boots for your birthday ♫

Typical visits with my father consist mostly of youtube videos, him singing small songs that he just made up, and bickering about one conspiracy or another.

"Did you hear that Michelle Obama is a man?" he will inevitably say. I will roll my eyes, he will show me the youtube video, and then I will at least have doubts about Michelle Obama's gender.

My friend from England was visiting me and he came over Dad's for dinner one night. Before the dinner, I warned him that my father would most likely talk to him about Queen Elizabeth drinking babies' blood in the basement of Buckingham Palace. That is precisely what happened.

The earth is flat. And hollow. The planet is ruled by an elite class of lizard people. Hilary Clinton is a clone. Pretty standard fare at Charlie's house.

This visit, we watched some fail videos with Dane and Bobbi Jo. After they left to go have dinner, he put on this video:

You should watch the whole thing, or at least until they start dancing. Somewhere during this nine minute exploration of Mexican pointy boots, it begins...

"What size you take?" he asks while peering into his phone.
"What are you doing?" I ask, fully knowing that he is online shopping for Mexican pointy boots.

Then the song begins:

♫ Pointy boots for your birthday, pointy boots ♫
[key change]
♫ Pointy boots for your birthday, pointy boots ♫

And so on.

Then he shows me this picture:

Fig. 1.1 Cobra head pointy boots

♫ Cobra head pointy boots for your birthday ♫

"Oh, there's a sale on now!" he says, exuberantly.

Fig. 1.2 Mexican Pointy Boots, chillin

"Come on, I'll buy a pair for Nelson, too." As if offering to buy a pair of Mexican pointy boots for my boyfriend will somehow convince me to accept a pair for myself.

♫ Fabuloso pointy boots for your birthday, pointy boots ♫

As we watch them do a strange pointy boot shuffle dance, he gives me the hard sell.

"Look at them dance. Takes a lot of skill. I want to get you a pair of pointy boots because I think you'd really excel at this."

Fig 1.3 Ultimate Challenge: Mexican Pointy Boot Cycling

♫ Pointy boots for your birthday, pointy boots

Cobra head pointy boots for your birthday, pointy boots

Fabuloso pointy boots for your birthday, pointy boots ♫

My birthday is only a few months away, plenty of time to have some custom Mexican pointy boots ordered and shipped. You may be thinking, he won't actually order them. You'd be wrong.

Mostly Drivel

Do you ever wake up and wish life was more like a Zoobilee Zoo rerun? I do sometimes. Who wouldn't want Ben Vereen dressed as a leopard narrating their life?

I think about stuff like that all the time. My mind is a virtual wasteland of nostalgia and mottled memories.

* * *

I've been reading through some of my old composition notebooks to see if there is anything worth while. In the middle of a short Resident Evil fanfic, I wrote this: "Sometimes I catch myself pretending I'm a real teenager."

* * *

Did you know:
As a child, I had a one-legged lesbian neighbor that moved to Budapest? True story.

 * * *

Me: Mom?

Mom: [from the living room] What?!

Me: The microwave popcorn didn't work.

Mom: Good! We'll mail it to Orville Redenbacher so he can shove it up his ass!

* * *

Uptown Jackie Red + Midtown Jackie Green = Downtown Jackie Brown

* * *

Can you, in good taste, use a white lighter after Labor Day?

* * *

Put a little lift in your day. Try new caffeinated Kotex.

* * *

Me: Amy, can you pass the salt?

Amy: Uh, Pokémon, what's the magic word?

Me: [pause] Vagina?

Amy: [passes me the salt]

* * *

"There are no more oil-based concealers to conquer." - Alexander the Great

* * *

"In works of labor or of skill,
I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do."
-from "Divine Songs in Easy Language for the Use of Children", Issac Watts

"Fluff and Chow"

For the dozen or so of you reading this blog, my apologies for no entries the past few days; I was busy and didn't much feel like it. I also knew I had a family engagement to celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday coming up, so I figured I would hold off as that was sure to yield some gems.

For one reason or another, they have an unhealthy fixation with Chinese buffets, so we tried one we hadn't been to before. The previous buffet was visibly higher quality, but my brother was leery to return there due to a confrontation between my aunt and a man she felt was hogging all the raw oysters.

The attendees were as follows:

Mom: Road-rage legend. No filter.
Dad: Conspiracy theorist. Chinese chicken-wing aficionado.
Gail: Dads's girlfriend. Talented artist. Dog enthusiast.
Dane:  Middle brother. Wild Card.
Bobbi Jo: AKA Slubbybubbercans. Sister-in-Law. Birthday girl.
Dylan: Baby brother. Favorite past time - shooting mom in the face with nerf darts.
Justine: Dylan's girlfriend. Strong silent type. Ate pizza at a Chinese buffet.
Me: Epicurean in a lilac polo shirt.

We wasted no time taking our coats off and bee-lining for the expansive selection of food. I was fairly put off by a majority of the offerings at the Flaming Grill & Supreme Buffet ("The Flaming Asshole Grill" - Mom) on Route 23. There were a number of unidentifiable and/or unappetizing dishes, most notably a whole grey-skinned fish that had taken on a glossy gelatinous sheen. Oh, and calamari which my mother looked at and said "That's pig rectum" matter-of-factly.

After fixing a conservative plate of green beans, fried shrimp, and chicken variations, I sat down with my family. The green beans were delicious. The chicken was rubbery, if it was in fact chicken.

* * *

"I thought this was shrimp!" my mother said, referring to an amorphous fried nugget.
"It's sweet and sour chicken, mommy," I said.
"But I didn't get any sauce!"

* * *

I quit smoking cigarettes about a month ago:

Mom: I'm going out for a cigarette, you're coming with me.
Me: No I'm not. I quit and it's cold outside.
Mom: David! Come with me. What if I get robbed or raped?
Me: [Shrug]
Mom: It's ok - I wore my rape pants.

* * *

[Upon her return]
Me: How was the raping?

* * *

After discussing the pros and cons of DNA ancestry tests (particularly the possibility of getting cloned), government spooks, and chem-trails, Dane looked around to the now vacant area of the restaurant we occupied and said, "We cleared that out pretty fast."

Gail told us about a tutorial she'd seen using old Tic Tac containers for spice storage when camping. Dane insisted that you could just bring your spices with you rather than go to all the trouble of filling Tic Tac containers with spices that you probably wouldn't need anyway since you were camping. Gail clarified that they would be glamping, which I understand is a portmanteau of glamor and camping, two words that should never be used together or combined to form a new word.

Fig. 1.1 Tic Tac Spice Storage

While it's a cute idea, I have a number of issues:

1. Why would you need nutmeg or garam masala on a camping trip, glamorous or otherwise?
2. Other than salt and pepper, please name one other spice of any use for food you'd be preparing on a camping trip.
3. Why would you take the time to do this when this exists:

Fig 1.2 "Multi Spice" Jar

According to my sources, she already has a number of these Tic Tac containers saved and ready to go. I predict that despite our well-meant criticisms of this project, she will continue unhindered.

Back to the buffet.

Dylan sustained a small oral injury from the sharp edge of a fried wonton. I mocked him all evening like a good big brother.

Upon returning to Bobbi Jo's (Slubbybubbercans if you're nasty) and Dane's place, my mother had some gifts for us. Lego mini-figures and shell magnets for all. Then I was shown what she made Bobbi Jo for her birthday:

This is a hot-glue project made from driftwood, sharks teeth, and seashells. It is also a magnet. After requesting one for myself, I suggested she sell these on the side of the road during the Summer. Dane suggested that it was actually a prehistoric bread knife.

We also each received a small ziplock of fresh basil, two large cans of crushed tomatoes, and a large bag of rice, pictured below:

Fluff and chow

Apparently, concerned the world was going to end via North Korea, she purchased a 20lb bag of rice; like ya do. She then sat on her bed and divided the bag up between her three children and in permanent marker wrote the instructions for how to prepare the rice. She insisted that it was "the good stuff", to which I countered "Nothing good comes in a twenty pound bag." I also let her know that I would never be eating this rice as I now considered it a family heirloom.

"Fluff and chow. Love, Mommy"

FIN