Shit From My Mom

It's Been a While, But...

2009-05-05T16:18:00.003-04:00

This was worth it.

I recently passed the bar exam, which, naturally, prompted the following response from my mom:

***

Dear Pumpkin -

CONGRATULATIONS! Now you can concentrate on planning your future family life. I want you, which is also my wish for your siblings, to have a life companion which marriage brings. You need someone to dream with, be happy and sad with,to fight and reconcile with, to go to the theater, church, travel destinations, etc., with. God said: “it is not good for man to be alone.” And so He created Eve. You may not understand the value and benefit of having someone to grow old with because you are young, independent and having a good time. But when you are older, you will understand the wisdom of what I am saying. If your marriage is blessed with children, then you will have everything, and you want to have everything, don’t you? Children are great to grow old for and with. As the cycle of life demands, parents need younger children to take care of them, to remember them, to love them. You need someone to at least call you or email you when you are already old. And if you have grandchildren, then you will be really so blessed like Abraham to whom God promised the blessing of descendants as many as the stars and the grains of sand.

God said: “Go and multiply.” Now that I am old, I know what it means. That command is for our own good. Your aunt is so blessed because her family line did not stop with her or her children. She now has grandchildren and great-grandchildren who will produce her great-great-grandchildren. She has seen three generations come from her. This continuation of the family is awesome. If you don’t get married and have children, the family line stops with you. We will all just wait to die one by one and there won’t be any legacy, no continuation. We will all disappear and be forgotten by the world. If your uncle had died without children, he would have just disappeared from the face of the earth. But we see him in his three children he left behind. He lives in them and by so doing, he lives with us up to now. CONGRATULATIONS! again. We are very proud of you.

Love,
Mom

***

I have nothing to add. This woman is FOCUSED!

Who Taught Mom How to Email???: A Drama in Three Acts

2008-03-16T13:25:00.004-04:00

I have only one word: Oy.

1.

January 3, 2008
Subject: Suze Orman

Hi -

Do you know that Suze Orman is gay? I have been listening to her financial advice on her regular show. However, last night on the Larry King Live, she said she wanted a Democrat to win the presidency because he/she will change the present law that she cannot give her money to her partner when she dies. And she used the female pronoun to refer to her. Holy smokes. She dresses so stylishly that I never thought she was one.

Love,
Mom

2.

February 11, 2008
Subject: URGENT: YOUR BRA SIZE

Hi -

Macy's at Randall Mall is closing, and this is their last week. Everything is 80% their lowest ticket price. Pumpkin - what's your panty and bra size? I could get some for you on your birthday. Pa - you may want to check it out -- they have a huge selection of men's underwear too. We can't miss this great opportunity.

Love,
Mom

3.

March 15, 2008
Subject: Testicle Fruit

Hi -

I forgot to tell you that in his show, Dr. Rozier of the Cleveland Clinic showed a picture of avocados hanging from a tree. The avocados he showed, which are what we find in supermakets here, are from South America. He gave its native South American name, which translated into English is testicle fruit. The avocado really is actually shaped like a testicle, especially when hanging from a tree. I wonder if the So. American natives who named it knew that it was beneficial to the male prostate. Avocados in the Philippines are at least 3 times bigger.

BTW, I already bought Pa his testicle fruit at Heinen's. We had half each, but I will start eating only one tablespoon a day from now on because it is high in fats, albeit good. It cost $2.00 each but it was not rotten - very good. I have compared Heinen's and Giant Eagle prices, and the latter is more expensive, but their cosmetics and feminine napkins are cheaper than Walgreen's. I had to buy feminine napkins for our Turkey trip so I don't have to wash panties everyday and they are 80 cents cheaper. We won't have the time to wash panties because we will be transferring hotels practically everyday.

Love,
Mom

November, 2007: Mom As Flip-Flopper? Fat is Gooooooood!

2007-11-21T18:34:00.000-05:00

In a stunning reversal, pregnant women everywhere, and their limbs, will be overjoyed by my mom's latest:

***

Hi Pumpkin -

Just a few minutes ago, Ann Curry of the Today Show announced the newest scientific discovery: that fat around the hips and thighs are full of Omega-3 fat acid and is great for the brain. Finally! And I started walking again today! That's why seniors are smarter than their younger counterparts. No wonder I feel smarter now than when I was young and thin as a rail.

Love,
Momsy

***

Dangnabbit, I just *knew* there was a reason I subsisted entirely on pizza and Combos during finals.

August 2, 2007: More Deep Thoughts From Mom.

2007-08-03T12:45:00.000-04:00

Oh, mother. Be careful who you say this to, or you might be accosted by hordes of irritable pregnant women, wielding their own gargantuan extremities with fearsome precision.

***

Dear Pumpkin,

Beth Hasselbeck on The View is pregnant again and has gained lots of weight. Why do their arms (also Nancy Grace), legs and faces get fat when they are pregnant? In all my three pregnancies, only my stomach got big. My limbs and face stayed the same.

Love,
Mom

June 14, 2007: A year closer to death, but otherwise, uneventful

2007-06-19T23:05:00.001-04:00

I turned twenty-eight recently, and I promised some of you out there prompt posting of the surely wondrously odd birthday package that I would receive from Dear Mom. Sure enough, a box arrived on my doorstep. I dutifully put it away until my birthday. Then I opened it, and...

Eh!

It really wasn't so bad. Sure, there were some questionable fashion items, but others were almost...but not quite, of course...wearable. A couple of random books, but not that random. Some promising envelopes of ethnic food mix, but I actually ended up keeping them all, and in fact prepared one for dinner tonight. Don't get me wrong - the Salvation Army did get a healthy donation last weekend - but for once, I didn't think that the thrift store volunteers would be 1) laughing their asses off, or 2) exclaiming, "we couldn't pay people to take this crap off our hands!" as they went through my stuff.

So, sorry to disappoint. By way of mollification, here's a little Mom-ly tip that I received this morning:

***

Pumpkin, for colds and congestions and sinus, get a small tea pot that has a small spout that will fit in your nostril. You can buy a special one called None (spelling?) pot and put warm, salted water in it. Then, pour it inside your nose. It really works.

***

Seriously, imagine your mom doing this. You can thank me later.

Sports, Political Science, and Mom

2007-06-19T22:58:00.000-04:00

My mother has truly adopted her new city of residence, and cheered valiantly, although of course fruitlessly, for her beloved Cleveland Cavaliers in the NBA finals. Along the way, she offered this little nugget for me to ruminate on:

***

Dear Pumpkin,

Tomorrow starts the NBA finals. It is me and Pa in Cleveland vs. you in Texas. James LeBron is now considered the greatest basketball player in the free world. I wonder why "the free world." Is there anyone greater in the communist and socialist worlds?

Love,
Momsey

***

Come to think of it, my mom did get a Master's in political science. There's a dissertation in this.

Wedding Season: Dum Dum Da Dum....

2007-06-19T21:30:00.000-04:00

Reader, you may remember that my mother's acquaintance with my boyfriend did not get off to a spectactular start (see, e.g., bizarre dwarf episode). Sadly, it hasn't improved much with time; I get periodic emails on the topic, ranging from interventionist ("Your Father and I Thought We Should Express Our Concerns About Your Boyfriend") to wistfully fatalistic ("ay, I just hope that you do not shortchange yourself, you are so talented and beautiful") to flat-out suspicious ("he probably knows that you are a gold mine and that you will be very successful and wealthy"). It's all kind of unfortunate, of course, but we seem to have come to an unspoken resolution - basically, Mom don't ask, Pumpkin don't tell.

All of this serves as background to explain why I found this package of materials so befuddling:

ummm...marriage pamphlets? really? but...why? and why now, when the only single, ergo vulnerable male in my life within possible striking distance is a godless dwarf? I tell you one thing, though, that second one is freaking me out a little - the groom is kind of leering and Ronald Reagan-esque, and the bride is actually rather mannish and looks a bit pissed off, possibly because she didn't know that JESUS HIMSELF would be performing the ceremony and making her swear to stay faithful to this secretly-gay-waiter-why-else-would-he-be-wearing-a-white-dinner-jacket-to-his-wedding until death does them part.

Well, I flipped through them, and they weren't too outrageous, if predictably outdated - the second one is literally from 1952, after all. There were various not-very-cheery chapter headings, like:

Oh, and this unrelated but also very upbeat little number fluttered out while I was reading, having apparently been inserted:

Actually, maybe it's not unrelated...since I'd most likely be doing some pretty good time in purgatory if I ever married my wildly inappropriate and vertically challenged paramour, I guess I should know what to expect for the next, oh, 10,000 years or so. Purgatory - it's a good thing!

Overall, though, the Catholic repression and guilt aside, it was mostly pretty standard pre-matrimonial advice. So, you know, not bad reading for any of you out there who are thinking of taking the leap yourselves. You can even order your own freaky time warp marriage pamphlets, along with helpful lessons on a wide variety of other topics:

Order now for this amazing deal! There is no charge for this course! No one will call on you! Just take it from Archbishop John F. Whealon himself: "This Catholic home study course really changed my life! I was able to receive all kinds of Catholic answers in the privacy of my home. I never even have to go to church anymore. MWA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA."

March 5, 2007: Always Planning Ahead

2007-03-05T20:56:00.000-05:00

Below is an email that my mother recently sent to my brother. Have you ever met anyone so undefatigably cheerful?

***

Hi!

I know this may sound morbid, but I believe in being always prepared. Now that we have some extra money, I am thinking of buying cemetery plots and a funeral plan with a funeral parlor. However, these questions need to be answered first before we can do that.

1. Do you plan to stay permanently in Cleveland even after your retirement? You know that my wish and dream is for you three children to be buried together in the same city so you can be a family. That is very important.

2. If you plan to stay here permanently, we can buy three plots, one for me, Pa, and you.

3. If you plan to move to where one of your sisters is (preferably Pumpkin because she plans to get married and have children), then perhaps we can buy a small niche in a columbary and have us both cremated so you can transport our ashes whereever you will move. I want to be on your mantle.

4. Having said that, Pa, me, you, and your sisters could all be in the same family plot.

Once we have reasonably decided what to do, I will put it in writing so that what happened to Anna Nicole Smith will not happen to us. Thanks!

Love,
Mom

Emergent situation: Looking a little preggy

2007-01-06T11:44:00.001-05:00

I've never felt like I photograph really well, so if someone takes a picture of me that I actually look halfway decent in, I tend to be inordinately pleased. Thanks to my recent make-up experiments and my new co-worker's extremely useful Photoshop acumen, I recently sent an unusually palatable picture of myself to my parents. It's not just vanity - my new theory with my mom is that it helps her to see me as an adult if I wear lipstick and nice clothes, as opposed to how she generally sees me when I visit home, in sweatpants with dirty hair. Here's the relevant part of the photo:

Pretty sharp, right? New suit, lip gloss, etc. etc. Well, here's what my mom thought:

***
Dear Pumpkin,

How come you look like a little preggy in this picture?

Love,
Mom

***

My first question is: is "preggy" a noun or an adjective? At first blush it seems like an adjective, but is she really asking me why I look like a little *piggy*? Soon the linguistic curiosity gives way to indignance, as I wonder what in the world she's talking about - preggy? I don't look preggy, I look good! How dare she? But soon, the paranoia sets in, and I squint my eyes and look closer...

Damn it, I DO look a little preggy! Note to self: abandon all empire-waist garments immediately, go back to gym ASAP, do many crunches...

Wait, I'm being ridiculous. I don't look pregnant! I marshall my pluck and type what I hope will be a sassy response, which will simultaneously amuse, humble, and slightly worry my mother:

****

Hi Mom,

wow, is it that obvious?

****

I feel good. I've shaken off my insecurities, and my boyfriend says approvingly that he loves the spunk.

Then I get:

****

Dear Pumpkin,

Yes, and I can't believe that I will be a grandma pretty soon.

****

Damn! Unquestionably, I've been bested. She turns the joke around on me *and* suggests again, with diabolically subliminal skill, that I do, in fact, look like a little porker.

Well played, mother, well played.

Christmas: A Time for Blogging

2007-01-05T21:05:00.000-05:00

Another Christmas - or, as my boss calls it, "the season of unwanted trinkets and blatantly false sentiment" - has passed, and with it, another round of completely baffling parental gifts. Long gone are the childhood days when I would make a list (Cabbage Patch Kids! That bouncy Nerf pogo-ball thingy! Texas Instruments graphing calculator!) and, delightedly, actually receive things that I wanted. For some reason, the process goes more like this now:

1) late October-early November: I start lacing my emails with subtle messages demonstrating my enthusiasm for the holiday season, like "Mom, please don't get me anything for Christmas this year."
2) Thanksgiving dinner at home: Over the turkey, Mom launches into a breathless speech about all the great costume jewelry she's been bidding on, now that some sadistic maniac has taught her how to use eBay. I freeze mid-chew and throw a frantic look at my brother.
3) Post-Thanksgiving: "Pumpkin, it was so nice to see you. Don't you think you would like some of those pins and brooches for Christmas? They are collectibles. You can pass them on to your children. If you buy them in stores, they will be very expensive, but they are very cheap on eBay. That's how you beat the system." I write back hurriedly: "Thanks for thinking of me, Mom, but really, don't worry about getting me anything. Especially clothes. Please don't get me clothes. Plus, those eBay brooches are mostly fake, they really are. How about a gift certificate? I like gift certificates."
4) Early-mid December: radio silence from Mom. Worrying. Very worrying.
5) Pre-Christmas: "Pumpkin, I sent you a box with your Christmas gifts. I think you will love them." Me: sound of hand smacking forehead.
6) Christmas:

The card does in fact read, "Daughter, the wonder of CHRISTMAS that shone from your face as a child continues to shine through your life today!" It's a sweet thought, although I would have to say that the dominant emotion I'm feeling right now is abject terror at the prospect of what's inside this box. First, a little more in the warm fuzzy department:

"It means so much to know that because of Jesus, your light will never fade...your glow will never dull...your radiance will never dim!"

Wait...is this a SKIN CARE CHRISTMAS CARD??? It sounds an awful lot like one. I'm surprised my mother didn't tape a tube of anti-blackhead cream to it. Although I guess the point of the card is that Jesus is the best skin care regimen of all? Okay, I might be overreacting. Time to move on, take a deep breath, and plunge into the wads of tissue paper to see what's inside this darn box. Maybe Mom actually listened this time? Perhaps she looked at me, saw that I am a vibrant, fashionable, twenty-something woman out in the working world, and tried to actually figure out what I might like, or even just find useful? Maybe something for the kitchen, or maybe a good book, or maybe...

...maybe she reached into her curio cabinet, plucked out the three nearest tchotchkes, and sent them to me?

looks like it. hm. well...

on the bright side, they'll be right at home in the second-hand shop.

seriously, these little...I'm not sure what to call them. Objets? They've been gathering dust in my mom's "collection" for as long as I can remember. I don't really know what to say, except to admire the rather ballsy simplicity of my mom's gift-giving process. Next year, I think I'll select three socks at random from my underwear drawer and give them to my boyfriend.

But I shouldn't imply that my mom put no effort into my Christmas present at all; far from it. There were other things in that box. The inevitable, I-know-you-said-you-didn't-want-these-and-that-they-were-probably-fake-but-lalalalalala-I-can't-hear-you! eBay jewelry, for example:

Sigh. Maybe it's really my problem, not hers - why do I even resist anymore? I should just relax, stop fighting it, let the holiday-themed tackiness wash over me, and admit that I have no control whatsoever. But passivity has its price too - after my studiedly silent response to my mother's many inquires about how I liked my new christmas tree pin (I mean, really - when it comes right down to it, how many among us can tell our mothers to their faces that they hate their gifts???), she apparently decided to quit while she was ahead and simply assume that I loved my new eBay treasure. and hence this email, received only today:

****

Dear Pumpkin,

Sometimes, when I am bidding on eBay, I wonder if you are bidding, too, and if it is not you I am bidding against. A few brooches and necklaces have arrived and I am so happy with them except one. Today, a big, very sparkly, gorgeous clear rhinestone brooch came which I think will look very beautiful on your wedding dress. I want you to sparkle a bit on your wedding.

Love,
Mom

****

I have to admit, the image of my mother at the computer, tensely watching the price on the giant rhinestone brooch go higher and higher, then realizing with a start that against all reason it actually could be HER OWN FLESH AND BLOOD striving against her, bidding furiously because she will be damned if she will allow herself to be beaten at her own game - and by "game", of course, I mean paying good money to transfer other people's crap from their home to her home - is irrational, delusional, but also hilarious. I should also mention that I don't have a wedding planned anytime soon, so why my mother is using my non-existent nuptials as an excuse to engage in an imaginary jewelry bidding war - and against me, no less - really passes all reasonable human understanding.

Here's our regularly scheduled pit stop at "random":

It's a photo mouse pad, accompanied, of course, by helpful usage instructions. I don't know, am I the only one who sees a photo mouse pad and ISN'T seized by the Christmas spirit?

Don't worry, it gets juicy again:

My mother says she got this blouse at some upscale boutique somewhere, but given its whole "shiny/slashed" aesthetic, it seems to me that it would fit quite well into Siegfried and Roy's inaugural collection for J.C. Penney: "The Glamour of Sin City Meets the Claws of the White Tiger." The necklace is also courtesy of my mom, and in retrospect, although it kind of looks like orbiting space debris around my neck, it would probably have made a surprisingly chic and sophisticated christmas tree garland.

To be honest, I think the blouse/necklace combo was meant for my sister, and when she tried it on it actually almost looked halfway decent, but I thought it just went so well with this that it would be a shame to split them up:

in case you can't tell, this skirt is actually knit out of tweedy brown wool yarn, adorned of course with velvet flounces and floppy knit flowers. the moment I put it on, my thighs began to sweat, which is probably what attracted my sister's dog to the scene. Lovely.

But really, don't they make a smashing combination?

Interestingly, the outfit made me feel slutty and frumpy at the same time. Flutty? Strumpy? Strumpy.

What I don't understand is that, Siegfried and Roy aside, my sister actually got kind of okay gifts. For example:

Cute, right? Definitely usable. Even my brother-in-law got a decent gift. Well, practical, at least:

But I guess at this point, getting truly bizarre Christmas gifts is kind of part of the season for me, like egg nog and horribly awkward office parties. So, happy holidays to all...and cross your fingers for a Valentine's Day package.

September 17, 2006: Mom, the Crazy E-mail Lady

2006-09-17T21:43:00.000-04:00

My mom, she has a way with the emails. Today she sent along two that, for one reason or another, tickled my funny bone.

The first one was entitled, I kid you not, "Cute Boys":

***

Hi -
I went this afternoon to St. Gregory Church for confession and saw a bunch of very cute Jewish boys with their beanies on walking to the big temple. They looked so cute, very well dressed some in coat and tie. Then followed their parents who are
in black suits and the mothers wearing conservative dresses.

We learn from other religions. From the Jews we learn to dress well out of respect for the God they are going to worship. Catholics, old and young alike, are really going by the wayside in the clothes dept.

St. Gregory Church is a beautiful church with lots of brilliant mosaic. But it is dirty and smells bad -- very musty. The carpets certainly need replacing. What I like about St. Dominic is it always smells so great inside.

Love and God bless,
Mom

***

Hm, I might have to rethink what I've always assumed to be my mother's dating criteria for me. How about: 1) Jewish; 2) beanie; 3) good-smelling?

What I really like about the second e-mail is how cheerful it is, from the opening exclamation point to the closing "Momsey."

***

Hi!

Pumpkin, meningitis, which can be deadly, can be gotten from kissing, sharing beverages and ?. I can't remember the third. So ... be careful. Don't be too generous.

And what do you think about the Spinach menace? I mean .. you eat spinach to become healthy and strong and you die from E coli. If not by the grace of God, there go I.

Love,
Momsey

***

I've never been warned about two potentially deadly outbreaks in such an upbeat, positive manner. What moxie! They definitely don't make women like that anymore. That is, of course, until I have kids and my Crazy Hormone immediately kicks in, and I rush to the computer and all manner of paranoid rants leave my fingers to clog my childrens' inboxes. Then I have no doubt that karmic retribution will be upon me, and I will curse the day this blog came into being.

Until then, I'm hoping for more emails.

Maternal Guilt = Another Big Box

2006-08-27T19:40:00.000-04:00

To celebrate my recent graduation, my family went out to a fancy dinner that, impulsively and somewhat unwisely, I paid for. My mom has been wracked with guilt ever since; she will frequently call me and ask me why I did it, in a sort of moaning tone that makes it sound like I gave her my good kidney. In an effort to seek redemption (sigh...she's so Catholic) she's been telling me that she's sending me a package. Part of me wants to talk her down like I normally do, to say that I really don't need anything and she shouldn't spend money on me, but another part of me has recently started thinking, "Fodder for the blog!" Such bad incentives. The internet is making me a terrible, terrible person.

Anyway, when I saw the size of the box, it was immediately apparent to me that my mom felt very guilty indeed. Getting right to it - I know I normally share my mom's note, but to be honest, this one wasn't particularly funny or kooky, and in fact was kind of personal, and as you know, the credo we follow here at Shit From My Mom is one of utter respect for my mom, really, just memorializing the dignity of the mother-daughter relationship, and...okay, enough. The point is, no note. The envelope, however, was kind of interesting this time around:

My mom is strangely into the whole aging thing, especially the discounts. You'd think that some people, especially women on the low end of the age spectrum, would be reluctant to specify "senior citizen" wherever they went, but not my mom. So, she gets cheaper movie tickets, plane tickets, you name it. Characteristic of her, I guess, to seize the opportunity to make life one giant sale.

And, drum roll, here's The Clipping:

See previous comment re: inevitable receipt of law-related clippings from now until I die, add subtle maternal pressure to apply to clerk in Supreme Court. Sigh. Mothers. They're demented geniuses.

For some reason, my mom's guilt manifested itself most strongly in the form of handbags:

She was seriously determined to equip me with purses - lots of purses. She kept telling me how expensive and beautiful they were, and she did obviously put a lot of effort into picking them out, which was nice of her, so although none of them are really my thing, I arbitrarily picked one to keep, so as to carry on my arm sometime when we're together and bring her journey of emotional penance to a close. I'm carrying the purse, Mom, now you can stop feeling bad for that dinner I paid for two years ago. You know, sometimes families are like that.

I did *not*, however, pick the blue faux crocodile bag with gold buckles and what's up with that clutch? That's the longest clutch I've ever seen in my -

Oh. Oh my. Why would someone bother disguising a meat carving set in something closely resembling a ladies' evening bag? To carry in case of a bizarre social emergency at the office Thanksgiving party? Or, an alternative to pepper spray for the young, single, style-conscious potential mugging victim? Intriguing.

Next, a little light reading material:

Well, it could be worse; at least there's nothing by the Pope. Taking a slight turn:

Eh? Random. There are some hotties in it, apparently, so that's promising. IMDb tells me that it's set in the Philippines in WWII. Ah, it all makes sense now. Shoot. I think I might have Salvation Army-ed this one too quickly. I mean, when will my mom ever send me an R-rated movie again? Well, I can contemplate my haste while making use of these handy household items:

I want to know: what makes these "women's" shoe mitts? Are they strong enough for a man, but made for a woman? Will they make me feel "fresher"? Also, what's a shoe mitt? If only my mom had attached a little explanation, like she did for the item on the right: "Massage head in the shower - stimulates hair roots for healthier hair and scalp." This was actually a very helpful note, since I would have had no idea what to do with the thing otherwise. In an effort to be open-minded, I tried it on my scalp, and maybe it was my fault for not doing it in the shower but in fact in the kitchen, but it kind of hurt. You'd think it might be useful for something else, like grout-cleaning or pot scrubbing, but actually, it's not. Scalp massager, bye bye.

Why my mom felt compelled to send me stamps and a quarter I have no idea, but I'm psyched - at least I'm definitely keeping these.

Moving to the fashion portion of this evening's festivities, we present: Dorothy (minus the Wizard of Oz)!

And, for Dorothy's hot night out:

When I pulled this out of the box, I got the weird feeling I'd seen it before - I believe it's my mom's belt, and that I used to play dress-up with it. My boyfriend succintly commented, "Instead of throwing it out, she mailed it to you?" Indeed.

And, if Dorothy has a pilgrim prom to go to:

I feel like I should have some kind of snappy remark to make about these, but they're so horrible I simply have no words. Finally, for that special sparkle:

Put it all together, and what do you get?

I'm not sure, but I just hope that at the end of the evening, Dorothy ends up 1) with at least $100, and 2) chlamydia-free.

My mom did send me one thing that I actually found kind of charming, in a vintage-y, eclectic kind of way:

I think this was my mom's too, so I can carry around a little reminder of her wherever I go...a thought that she apparently shared.

Whoa.

Pretty Freakin' Awesome Shit from My Mom

2006-08-27T19:15:00.000-04:00

We all have those moments when we look at our parents and think, "We share DNA?" But, sometimes Mom and Dad hit it out of the park. Exhibit A:

This is my new car, bestowed upon me by my parents when I graduated from law school. I felt I would be remiss if I didn't give a little shout out to the folks for this gleaming, virile automotive wonder. I think I'm in love.

After this short break, we'll return to our regularly scheduled programming of amused disbelief and gentle mockery.

June 14, 2006: Birthday Girl!

2006-07-09T04:48:00.000-04:00

Yes, it was my birthday last month, which can only mean one thing: a new box chock full of juicy goodness from Mom. (Ew. Remind me never to put "Mom" and "juicy goodness" in the same phrase again.)

Now, call me a traditionalist, but whenever I open a present, I always go for the card first. Here we go:

Lest one forget, my mom is indeed very corny. But that's alright; we expect our parents to be corny. Moving on:

Ramping that corniness right up, here we have multi-lingual birthday greetings from Mom and Dad. At least my mother's choice of her own native tongue (Tagalog) makes sense. My dad, however, in selecting the mellifluous stylings of the German language, is just a nerd. Next, let us meditate upon the inspiring events that have happened over the years on the blessed day of my birth:

Hm, wow. Fun! Like, really cheery. Invasions and Middle East politics always put me in the birthday mood. Did I mention that I turned 27, which of course in my mind is equivalent to 30, which leads pretty much straight to impending death, and maybe whoever made this stupid card could have had just a *little bit* more of a positive attitude? You work for Hallmark, not the goddamn Encyclopedia Britannica, right? Whatever happened to fun little factoids like, "The number one single on this day was 'Hangin' Tough' by the New Kids on the Block" (shut up, I used to really like them), or "The number one movie at the box office was 'Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights'"? And where the hell is that bottle of vodka?????

Okay. I'm over it. I'm just saying, maybe rethink the little news blurbs next time. Next up: the inevitable clipping:

Sigh. One of the major downsides of having actually earned a law degree: you will forever be branded a lawyer and be deluged with lawyer-related references: jokes, knickknacks, and in my mom's case, clippings. I'm pretty sure that she's got a monopoly on the Catholic-law-references angle, though. Clever woman. Actually, I did learn something from this article that I hadn't gleaned from the New York Times, Slate, C-Span, etc.: all five conservative-leaning justices are indeed Catholic. Hm...very interesting. In fact, a bit suspicious. Was my mom's plan for me even more prescient than I thought? Even before they took me on the Harvard tour when I was twelve, before they started me on the violin when I was three, before they taught me to read at a freakishly early age through rigorous flash card drills as I dribbled in my high chair - was my mother envisioning my confirmation hearings when she had me BAPTIZED???? Shit. I'm a little bit scared of her right now. Just a little bit.

Shifting gears slightly:

This is indeed a coupon for "feminine products". Visionary *and* detail-oriented, my mom. You know, just in case it's true that they don't wear pants under those robes.

This is standard Mom-fare, a random house-related item that could be vaguely useful. (My sister swears up and down that my mom once mailed her a used fly-swatter. I've crossed my fingers and toes that it will one day make an appearance on this page.) Well, come to think of it, this sweater bag is not really all that useful, considering that I'm moving to Houston in a month and sent all of my sweaters home with my parents the last time I saw them. But a minor oversight, really.

This next series of items, however, is truly baffling. I do have a general belief, as you may recall from previous posts, that as weird as this shit can get sometimes, my mom's good intentions are not far under the surface. But this stuff - I don't get it. Apparently she purchased these items during a little trip to Amish country. I just don't know what to make of the fact that she actually paid money for these things, that the Amish, of all people, sell them, that someone might find them funny....but, well, judge for yourself.

Step 1:

Step 2:

Um, right. See, funny! Or...hunh? And it goes downhill from here, believe it or not:

Now it's starting to get kind of offensive. Might as well go straight to low-brow scatological:

Yes, in case your disbelieving eyes refused to transmit the visual information to your brain, those are in fact beans in that bag. And for the big finish:

Now this is just sad, considering that is exactly the number of hairs my Dad has. (Okay, not really - but he's heading in that direction.) Well, at least she only spent $1.49 on it. And worth every cent, I say!

But seriously - does anyone have any ideas? My boyfriend the ex-fundamentalist/evangelical dwarf naturally suggested the subtle-dig-at-inappropriate-significant-other's-rural-upbringing angle. A fine conspiracy theory, and normally it would be quite plausible, but no, this stuff is just *too* weird. So weird that you'd really be embarassed sending it to someone unless you sincerely thought it was funny, right? I mean, I was too ashamed to even bring these things to the Salvation Army, otherwise known as the Relatively Guilt-Free Final Resting Place Of Shit From My Mom. I think the answer must be as simple as this: my mom is now OFFICIALLY THE CORNIEST PERSON ALIVE. My god. It's finally happened.

Wow. I didn't realize until now how much was actually in that box, and we're not done yet! No no, on to the latest edition of Mom's Fashion Choices. Hot, I tell you, hot. First up:

A little bling for the ladies, although if you couldn't identify these kicky little baubles straight away, my mom was kind enough to label them:

She pronounces it "ree-tro", by the way. It's endearing.

Moving on - I'm sad to report that this latest shipment of Clothing Items isn't quite as fashion-forward as the last batch, what with the shrug and the batwings and all. No, she's definitely taken a step backwards from things that are actually sold at normal stores to, well, the more typical mix of thrift store-garage sale-bargain basement. Not that there is anything wrong with thrift stores, garage sales, or bargain basements, mind you. But she does possess an uncanny talent for not observing anything I actually wear and buying only things that I, joined by pretty much everyone in my general demographic, would never wear. For example:

Mom - newsflash - my first communion was EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO. Seriously.

Taking a sharp left turn:

Hunh. Interesting. For some reason I'm having trouble reconciling the tacky-fabulous belts and the The-First-Rule-of-Asian-Fight-Club-Is-That-ASIANS-DON'T-LOOK-GOOD-IN-YELLOW-REMEMBER??? scarf with the rather prim and proper white shawl and bag-purse thing. Is my mom embracing the essentially dual nature of every woman, the mysteries of the sacred feminine, the little girl and saucy minx that co-exist within each of us? Or does she really think that I'm a nun by day and a hooker by night? The contrast is, you must admit, a bit startling. Consider it again:

virgin!

whore!

virgin!

(too easy)

??????

(well yes, we know which one *now*, but those were the early days, remember, back when we actually weren't sure? theoretically?)

and now that I've posted both paris hilton and britney spears, it is clearly time to go to bed.

May 31, 2006: Mom Rates the Movies!

2006-06-02T17:42:00.000-04:00

So, my mom used to cover my eyes during, let's say, "intimate" scenes in movies. This happened well into my high school years, although at some point she did transition to the verbal warning, "Don't look, Pumpkin!", accompanied by a sharp elbow jab to the ribs. As horrifyingly embarrassing as this was (I still can't show my face at certain Sony Entertainment establishments in my hometown), it was actually kind of effective in training us kids to not watch movies with sex scenes - at least, not with Mom. Hence, representative family movie outings included: "Batteries Not Included", "Cocoon", "Driving Miss Daisy", and "Straight Story" (which I swear to GOD is entirely about an old guy driving a lawnmower on the highway). Movies about old people are usually safe - not much sex (and if there were, I suppose I'd probably cover my own eyes).

Now that I'm on the other side of the country I'm out of forcible censoring range, but my mom continues to reach out by email:

***

Dear Pumpkin,

This weekend, we watched Jake's DVD of "Witness" which has a documentary at the end of how it was made. This film about an Amish family is 20 years old and is now considered a classic. Very nice movie -- full of suspense. You might want to rent it. However, there is frontal nudity from waste up by the leading lady, Kelly McGillis. You can fast forward if you don't like to see that. It happened when she was sponge bathing with her bedroom door open (how convenient is that? The occasion of sin.) That's the only bad part of the movie. Whenever it is shown on tv, they censor that part. Watch TV Guide in case they will show it again, so you will not have to see Kelly McGillis nudity and you don't have to fast forward.

Love,
Momsy

***

My brother's response was, of course, "Yeah, Kelly McGillis is HOT!" Sigh.

April 15, 2006: A Quickie.

2006-04-15T17:53:00.000-04:00

The subject lines of the three emails I received from my my mom today:

1) "Two Cheers for the Vatican"
2) "Dr. Perricone's Anti-Aging News"
3) "Salmon and Salad Dressing"

Bless her heart, she's nothing if not consistent.

Nostalgia: Classic Crazy Shit.

2006-04-09T22:46:00.000-04:00

I realize that this blog doesn't lend itself to frequent updating, unless I somehow provoke my mom into sending me stuff, but that strategy can be a bit chance-y, as you can imagine. I've been resisting the idea of recreating Ghosts of Crazy Shit Past, because I fear they won't have the ring of authenticity, and what would this site be without its integrity?

But, in the interest of maintaining some kind of flow, and, come to think of it, recording important nuggets of my personal history, I feel compelled to recall perhaps the craziest shit from my mom EVER. (You may ask, crazier than tomato layer? Crazier than disks made of sesame seeds and rat testicle puree? Patience, dear reader.) So, sadly, there won't be any satisfying photos or direct quotes from Mom, but on the other hand, this story KILLS whenever I tell it, so hopefully you'll enjoy.

In my first year of law school, my parents came to visit for Thanksgiving. I had, just one week previously, started dating my current boyfriend, a classmate of mine, and he really wanted to meet the 'rental units, which I was fine with, except that I wasn't in the mood to disclose our romantic status, given that my mom can be rather judgmental about my boyfriends (her three criteria: 1) catholic, 2) harvard-educated, 3) tall, none of which my boyfriend fulfills). So, I asked him if it would be okay to "play it platonic" while they were around, and he agreed.

we did, however, decide to make dinner for my parents, so there we were, the four of us, sharing a table and breaking metaphorical bread, although I could see the suspicious and annoyingly perceptive wheels turning in my mom's head from the moment she met said clandestine boyfriend (she may be nuts, but she's nobody's fool). but, to my shock and amazement, my boyfriend did an *unbelievable* job of winning her over - if you've read my previous posts, you know that I described my mom as very catholic and an "amateur cult leader", and given that my boyfriend was raised a fundamentalist christian and went to a bible college, he is ALL OVER that religious shit. my mom was all, "Yes, the Pope says that blah blah blah", and my boyfriend was all, "I believe that was in the encyclical Vatican Curriculum Aqua Vitae", and she was all, "why, yes!", and I was all, "SNAP!" And before I knew it, she was asking me in tagalog (the language of my people) if he was catholic, which he could understand, because basically the way you ask in tagalog if someone is catholic is to say, "catholico?" while gesturing suggestively at the person you're gossping about, and I said, "um, no, I don't think so,", and he was trying really hard not to spit out his soup for laughing at me. grrr.

and then I did something stupid, which is not atypical for me, but...I noticed that there was a law school facebook (basically a yearbook, listing previous educational stats) in the kitchen where we were eating, and I noticed my mom notice the same thing, and she reached out her hand for it, and I leapt from my seat, seized the facebook, and sat on it.

irrational, immature, yes - I won't try to defend it. she kind of glared at me and said that she wanted to see it, but I said no, and she dropped it. and thus, for the moment, she could continue on in blissful ignorance of the fact that he was a fundamentalist bible college graduate, instead of a catholic harvard alum, and even though he wasn't very tall, two out of three ain't bad.

[speaking of height, this is perhaps the moment to mention that my boyfriend is quite normally sized. Five-eight, okay, not exactly willowy, but perfectly in the realm of normal. And normal in all other physical ways. hang in there. the import of this will become clear soon enough.]

back to the story. not only did my boyfriend get along with my mom, he also successfully wooed my dad, because he could talk about law too, and my dad works for a law publishing company. so dad, who normally falls asleep in front of "M*A*S*H" re-runs at 9pm, was still going strong at 12:15am, looking up cases and discussing various legal annotations and zzzz....zzzz.... At which point, I said decisively that I was tired, and we all stood up, and BAM! With terrifyingly cat-like speed and agility, my mom's hand darted under my ass and SNATCHED! that facebook right away. then she settled back down smugly, flipping through, flipping flipping...oh, here's the picture of my daugther's suspicious male "friend"...scan, hm, where did he go to school, oh here we are, hobe sound bible colle--

her face freezes. silence descends. she purses her lips, closes the facebook. "Well, we must be going now." and that was that.

until....

a few days after my parents had returned safely home, I get an email, henceforth known as the DID I KNOW MY MOTHER COULD BE THIS MENTAL? email. It says something to the effect of:

"Dear Pumpkin, thank you very much for hosting us. We had a very nice time. We also enjoyed meeting your friend, who was very pleasant. I couldn't help but feel sorry for him, though, because it was so obvious that he has the features of a dwarf. I noticed how large his hands were. His pants were also very long, because his legs are very short. He is not a full dwarf, but probably one of his parents is, because you know that dwarfism is hereditary."

um...

what the FUCK???

craziest shit EVER.

I guess we'd better not breed, because our kids would be DWARVES.

I was quite taken aback. I refused to tell my boyfriend why I was in a tizzy, even though he was in the room when I got the email, and my reaction was, hm, not well-concealed. I did finally tell him about it, although not before (and I admit, this was not my finest moment) asking him how tall his parents are (MOTHER! WHY DO YOU INFECT MY MIND!!!!!) And, well, he thought the whole thing was pretty hilarious. And he did web research, and read the U.N. Convention Against Dwarf Tossing, and realized that as a matter of definition, he would actually be more accurately described as a midget, because dwarves are proportionally sized, except that he's too tall to fit into the midget height range, and according to the dwarf height range, my mom QUALIFIES! HA HA HA HA HA!

February, 2006: The 80's are BACK!

2006-03-25T18:17:00.000-05:00

Lest any visitor to this page suffer from a misapprehension, let me clear it up: my mom's particular brand of crazy is always motivated by lots of love and good intentions, and I appreciate that. But sometimes, like when I got a priority mail envelope from her in college containing nothing but pistachio nuts (emphasis on the NUTS! ha ha ha ha ha), you just have to chuckle.

A couple of months ago I went with several classmates of mine to New Orleans to spend a week working for Habitat for Humanity, and upon my return, I received yet another priority mail envelope from my mom. The enclosed note said that she was proud of my humanitarian efforts and wanted to give me some nice "feminine" items after all of that hard work. very sweet of her, really (no sarcasm, for once).

But the thing is, like many mothers, mine has not only no idea what kinds of clothes I wear, but also no idea what kinds of clothes people have been wearing after, oh, 1980 or so. Which explains the delightful Fashion Items that were in the box. I do have to say, however, that this selection of garments is actually way above par for her, in that they weren't things that would be more appropriately worn by 1) her, or 2) nuns or other celibate religious individuals. So she definitely gets an A for effort. The flipside is, she apparently thinks that I live in Flashdance. Let's start with:

Not so bad, really - wearable, just not really my thing (my mom's always been more of a Rhinestone Girl than me). It's also too tight for me (the picture does not adequately reflect how much I'm sucking in). But it gets better:

Ah, the shrug. How is it that such an unassuming piece of clothing so brilliantly highlights my Pacific Rim? Or, as Stephen Colbert would call them, "truth handles"? After playing around with the shrug for a while, trying to decide on which side of the acceptability line it lay, I discovered that it actually looks better this way:

Which is to say, upside down.

But still, not quite my style. It's a bit too, oh, I don't know...Victoria's Secret:

ah, there you go...the outfit all of a sudden comes alive.

And for the grand finale, the 80's come back with a vengeance:

Batwings! AUGH!!!!!!!!!! I ask you, on whom would this be flattering? Maybe on those tiny-waist-fatty-armpits people. It really is quite roomy in the armpit:

You could carry stuff around in there - cigarettes, iPod, or...wait...what's that I feel in there...

mm, tomato layer.

February 20, 2006: A Truly Awesome E-Mail.

2006-02-20T21:39:00.000-05:00

While peacefully watching the Olympics with my roommate (more accurately, hoping for some ice dancing carnage), I received the following missive from my mom, which my roommate and I instantly agreed was appropriate for blog-posting, though it arrived through the electronic medium rather than through the Post.

***

Dear Pumpkin,

At around 3:30 this afternoon, a white man (at least a white accent)
called looking for you. I said you were not here, that you did
not live here, and I asked who was calling. He ignored my question and went
on to ask " is her husband there?" I said "no, she has no husband." Then
he hurriedly said thank you for your time or something like that and
immediately hanged up. I did not even get the chance who he was and what
the phone call was about.

Who could have known to call you here? Did you get married without our
knowledge? Holy cow. It is a very disturbing phone call to me. Hope you
are doing well at school and you are healthy. And I hope you haven't gotten
married.

Love,
Mom

***

Oh, if I had only saved the one where she warned me against being unwittingly recruited into a Dutch prostitution ring.

big box: february 6, 2006

2006-02-06T21:15:00.000-05:00

on my arrival back home today from school, having walked very fast down the hill because there was some dude right behind me the whole way, prompting me to grip my house keys very tightly and prominently in my hand so as to ward off any potential attack with the possibility of a good gouging, I...I've lost my train of thought. oh, right. well, I got to the vestibule (foyer?) of our building and saw that there was a big box for me! me! and then I saw that it was from my mom, and thought, oh jesus, what's in here?

I brought the box into our apartment, noting that it was heavier than usual (my mom's boxes are usually largely full of light things like newspaper clippings and potato chips). so then I opened it, and oh, the goodness. let's start with the note, since I always try to read the notes first:

IN case you can't read it, it says: "Dearest Pumpkin, Here's a care package for you. Always stick an Alcohol Prep Pad in your purse to take care of paper cuts, etc., esp. a popped-out zit. When I have more time, I will look for old pictures to copy for you. God bless! Love & take care, Momsy." (I've preserved the original capitalization of the note, but what this transcription doesn't get across is that the "esp. a popped-out zit" part was obviously added after the rest of the note was written. A last-minute inspiration, obviously, and thank GOD.)

A pretty typical note from Mom, in all.

Next: aforementioned Alcohol Prep Pads. Remind me to put those in my purse.

Then, there was another envelope, which is unusual - there's usually just one. But since the envelope was puffy, I thought it contained a selection of clippings, of which my mom usually sends many. And there was indeed one clipping, touching on one of my mother's favorite themes, at which you can probably guess: skin care.

But the big surprise in the the envelope was a series of small plastic ziplocs, which my roommate described as "quarter and dime bags". seriously. for real. my mom sent me DIME BAGS. why? no idea. what for? no clue. my roommate is spinning theories as we speak. if worse comes to worse, we can always put weed in them. just kidding, we don't have any, so don't ask us. here are the bags:

and then the requisite weird food products - and these are weirder than usual for her. First, "special plum candy", which has already been opened and sampled by various of my family members, apparently, before being rubber-banded up and sent to me:

my roommate and I both had one and they were definitely gross. she compared them to what it might taste like if you licked this really dusty shelf next to our bathroom sink. I think she's right. next, two bags of "chestnut kernels":

haven't tried these yet, don't think I ever well. what will we DO with this shit??? next, and randomly, "seasoned pretzels":

I'll probably eat these sometime in may, during finals, when I'm panicking because I have six hours until the exam and my computer has crashed. next, back to our skin care theme:

the tube on the right notes specifically that it helps alleviate "pimples and blackheads". thanks, mom. ooh, here's a lovely pair of products:

the close-up is of the "tomato layer" cracker, which my roommate and I both agreed was definitely grosser than the "grape layer", which mostly tasted like nothing with a subtle whiff of grape jelly. whereas the tomato layer tasted like nothing with a not-so-subtle whiff of V-8. moving on, here's another open bag, this time of cassava chips - because really, who can resist cassava chips?

when I said, "hm, cassava chips", my roommate said "cassava?" and I said "it's a tuber." and then I put on my ah-nold voice and said "IT'S NOT A TUBER." and then she laughed, in spite of herself. almost to the end of the package...here are some strange, hard-to-identify disks covered in sesame seeds (the package says "bei jing dao xiang cun shi pin ji tuan jing zhi", so if anyone knows what that is, please share):

they also tasted like nothing, but fattier, which makes sense, because the package says that they're 36% fat. mmm, fat. and, finally, some nice, normal chocolate for the upcoming valentine's day holiday:

they looked pretty normal, and tasted pretty normal, but then you turn the package over and see this:

"quadratisch"? what the hell does that mean? the chocolate is quadratic? is this the new, trendy word in germany for "cool", like "radical" was in the late 80's? my roommate and I have decided to introduce it into common parlance. "mindy, I love your legwarmers! they're so quadratic."

that's it for now. whew! it was a big box.

all ye with crazy parents

2006-02-06T21:01:00.000-05:00

this is my first post ever. on any blog. I actually had never seen a blog before this year, and I still don't really understand what they are, but my roommate made one for me, and here we are.

the inspiration for this blog is, simply put, shit my mom sends me in the mail. I mean, she doesn't actually send me shit in the literal sense, but in the metaphorical sense, it's some crazy shit. we'll start out with the package I received today, which is satisfyingly chock full of crazy shit. I might reminisce about crazy shit of packages past, and will keep you up to date on future crazy shit.

please feel free to contribute your tales of parental postal peccadiloes, shall we say, and of course, photos make a story come alive. I could wax philosophical about parents, children, what parents think their children need, how they try to shove that into a cardboard box, etc. but I won't, because I'm kind of sleepy.

I should also give a little background about my parents to "set the scene" - they're 60-something immigrants from the Philippines who moved to the U.S. about 35 years ago. my dad is a retired legal editor, and my mom has been a housewife for many years; although that hardly scratches the surface. she could also be described casually as an amateur cult leader. she's very catholic, and likes to be in charge of stuff, and well, that'll explain a lot right there.

enjoy...