My mom and me.
To celebrate turning 39 for the 27th time (you do the math), today’s post is dedicated to the one woman who can proudly (cough) call me her daughter, my mom (everybody say, “aw”). Yes, I’ve decided to share all the wonderful ways my mom is super special with you, my audience (which I am pretty sure consists solely of my friends and relatives, who, and this is a big bonus, are already acquainted with my mom). Behold the list of all things that makes her uniquely extraordinary, and all the reasons I love her as much as I do. Happy birthday, Mom.
- Dinner. What we are going to have for dinner, whether she cooks it or not, is of utmost importance to my mom. Above almost all other things, the dinner question must be answered in a timely fashion and WELL before the dining hour (second only to, “where’s the bathroom?”). Usually the dinner question makes its first appearance after lunch. Which is logical, because, lunch comes before dinner. However, and I don’t know about you but, after lunch I am FULL. The farthest thing from my mind is thinking about eating more food. Often, my mom has even solicited dinner suggestions as she heads off to bed the night BEFORE. Apparently, it’s all about dinner.
- Bathrooms. As previously mentioned, the definitive knowledge of every location of each bathroom within a 5 mile radius of our home is a given. This includes temporary bathroom structures, otherwise known as Port-A-Potties, ingeniously placed in residential areas where access to public bathroom facilities may be limited. I don’t know what my mom would do if people stopped remodeling their homes. Perhaps she’d have to resort to wearing Depends, but let’s hope it doesn’t get to that stage any time soon.
- Grammatical Errors. Bearing in mind that my mom taught high school English for 42 years (yes, 42 YEARS), the proper usage, spelling, and punctuation of absolutely everything in the entire universe is under scrutiny. Signs, billboards, books, magazines, anything that relies on the 26 letters of the alphabet is fair game. And, my mom wants to correct it ALL. Of course, that would be impossible, but she still tries.
- Walking. My mom has walked 3 miles every day for the past 4,627 days IN A ROW. Take a moment and try to think of something you have done every single day since January 21, 1997. Bodily functions don’t count. I got nothin’, and you? Just for fun, I decided to calculate exactly how far my mom has walked. That’s 13,881 miles. That’s almost TWO TIMES the circumference of the Earth. The EARTH, people! Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow, nor dead of night can keep my mom from taking her walk. Before she retired, there were many days she would wake up at 4:00 in the morning to take her walk, because she knew she would be too tired when she got home from work. To most people, this seems commendable, an example of true dedication. To me, it seems insane.
- Crossword Puzzles. Each day, my mom completes at least three crossword puzzles: The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times online crossword, and The Los Angeles Times Crossword that comes in the morning paper. Don’t ask me why there are two different L.A. crosswords. I have no idea. And, when vacationing in Hawaii, she adds two more crossword puzzles to the daily tally, The Honolulu Advertiser and The Honolulu Star Bulletin. She’d do more, if there were more available. Seriously. I kid you not.
- Indomania. According to Wikipedia, “Indomania, or Indophilia, refers to the special interest India, or the Indian subcontinent, that has generated in the Western world.” That being said, my mom’s enthusiasm for Indian culture, books, music, and movies has turned her into an INDOMANIAC. She hasn’t gone as far as wearing a sari and a bindi, but I wouldn’t put it past her.
- Cats. If there is one creature in this world my mom hates more than any other living thing on Earth, it’s cats. In her opinion, cats are as revolting as cockroaches. I honestly believe, if she were forced to choose, she’d rather live in a house full of cockroaches, than a house full of cats. And don’t even mention purring.
- Dark Chocolate. Although she loves dark chocolate more than life itself, my mom is allergic to it. Not one of those serious “one-bite-and-you-will-die” allergies, but an allergy nonetheless. Eating chocolate makes my mom sneeze. Oh, and not just one sneeze, we are talkin’ major double digits and no less than 5 tissues. One would think that all that sneezing would put her off chocolate altogether. One would be incorrect. For future reference, dark chocolate ganache is her absolute favorite.
- Choking. My mom is the only person alive who can practically choke to death on a single grain of rice. Sometimes, she chokes on air. Again, I have no explanation to share with you, it’s just a fact.
- Freshness. Perhaps it’s because for the past 30 years she has lived within 50 feet of Gelson’s, because my mom is obsessed with how fresh food is. She will rifle through every single loaf of bread to find the one with the best “sell by” date. And it’s not just bread. It’s everything. Absolutely anything that can possibly expire including, but not limited to: deli meats, cheese, eggs, bacon, chicken, and chips. If it’s not fresh, she won’t eat it.
- Food Temperature. If her food is one degree less than scalding, my mom won’t eat it. At home, she heats up the dinner plates in the oven so the food won’t catch a chill by being placed on a room temperature plate. And it’s not like the kitchen is another wing of the house or anything. If I had to estimate, I’d say the oven is approximately 5 feet from the dining room table, maybe less. You think I am kidding, don’t you? Come over some time, and you can see for yourself. God forbid we should ever eat in a restaurant where she can see the food waiting under the heat lamps to be served. Every ounce of restraint is needed for her not to go and pick up the plates herself. Most especially if French fries are involved.
- French fries. There is no other food my mom loves more than French fries. If she could have fries with every meal for the rest of her life, she would die a happy woman. Fries are to be served plain. No ketchup. Not too much salt. Possibly a side of Ranch, but not entirely necessary. But they’d better be HOT, or you will hear about it.
- Mary J. Blige. For some unexplainable reason, my mom cannot accept that Mary J. Blige pronounces her last name as B-L-I-G-E and not B-I-L-G-E (as in pump). She always says it incorrectly and she doesn’t care anymore. As far as she’s concerned, the woman’s name is Mary J. Bilge (sorry, Mary).
- Drugs. One does not venture forth from the house without a wide selection of medications to treat one’s ills, especially not my mother. I’m not saying she’s a drug addict or anything like that, it’s just that my mom has quite a few prescriptions for a number of different complaints. Got a headache? Here’s a Darvon. Feeling stressed? Take a Xanax. Tummy upset? Pick your poison: Nexium, Ranitadine, Immodium, Advantix? I’m probably missing one, but you get the idea. My mom’s motto is to be prepared, lest you be in pain.
- Ready for Anything. As I just mentioned, my mom believes heartily in being prepared. This means that at any moment my mom is equipped with the proper tools to get the job done. If you find yourself without a pen, just ask my mom. Scissors? Paper? Nail file? Bottle opener? Measuring tape? My mom has it. She’s not unlike a walking Swiss Army Knife, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she pulled out a magnifying glass or a saw from her bag. She is absolutely prepared for anything and everything. Bring it on.
- Chablis. You can keep your fancy schmancy Chardonnay, my mom prefers a nice, chilled Chablis. On occasion, she might have a glass of Pinot Grigio or Merlot, but for her, Chablis is where it’s at. Oh, and toss a few ice cubes in her glass while you’re at it because as much as she likes her fries hot, she demands that her wine be cold.
- Cleanliness. Nothing can be too clean when it comes to my mom’s standards, and you can bet your bottom dollar that if there’s even the tiniest spot or smudge or stain, she will zero in on that sucker like a hawk. She has a full arsenal of cleaning potions and solutions to rid the world of its filth, and she uses them liberally. Dirt has no place in my mother’s world.
- Organization. Aside from dirt and cats, nothing bothers my mom more than clutter. Disorganization is the eighth deadly sin as far as she’s concerned, and everything under her management is color-coded, labeled, and alphabetically arranged. I’d say she has OCD, but she’d rearrange it as CDO.
And you people wonder why I’m insane. Now, you know. (Kidding, Mom…kidding.)
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Dude, perhaps the tone of my first letter was too jovial, too light-hearted. Maybe you thought I was just kidding around with you when I BEGGED you not to quit acting to pursue a career in music, specifically Rap. I’m going to try a different approach, because this time, I am seriously worried about your mental and physical health.
In an attempt to keep this short, because I have a feeling that your attention span may have been negatively affected as well, you need to stop whatever drugs you are doing and get some help. Take that ridiculous sparkly hairclip out of your rat’s nest of a hair-don’t that makes Amy Winehouse’s crack-hive look like a sleek styling from Vidal Sassoon, and BATHE. Get a haircut. Stop smoking those cigarettes like they are going out of style. Put down the bong or pipe or needle and try to sober up, because you are about a jar full of toenail clippings away from turning into Howard Hughes.