12% BEER
Mom and Thanksgiving: A LadeeLeroy List
  • Drinking an entire bottle of white zinfindel while cooking a turkey. The bottle opened at 11AM. By 3PM Mom had to lay down on the porch swing and demand cups of coffee from me and the guy that I live with. By 7PM I passed out on the couch for about 45 minutes, giving me an excellent excuse to not clean up the dishes or the food. By 11PM we were looking for the Pepto as a day full of drinking white zinfindel and eating uncooked stuffing while waiting for a turkey to cook does not add up to a well balanced stomach.

  • Watching Mom accidentally take whippits from the Reddi Whip can. She didn't mean to. I'm pretty sure. She was trying to spray some whip cream right into her mouth, but wasn't leaning her head back in the proper fashion. It took her about 5 tries to realize that she needed to tilt the ol' noggin back a little further. About three minutes later she said she had a "weird headache" and sat down. That was kinda funny.
  • Taking my anger out on the fire alarm. Ever since the incident where our house almost burnt down, the fire alarm is on a bit of a hero kick. It goes off constantly now. It's got its own system of evaluating potential danger. Thanksgiving was a Code Amber day. Anything that was related to smoke sent it blaring: steam, coughing, a passing of wind. By the sixth time it went off, I couldn't handle it anymore. I just started beating the thing with my fist. Which was hard, because it's kind of high up on the wall, but I can jump pretty good. It took me a good couple of whacks to completely kill it. I pulled out its heart (read:battery) and let out a battle cry (read:screamed "Fuck you fire alarm. FUCKYOU.") and displayed its body on a pyre to be worshipped (read:left it hanging on the wall to remind me later to get a new fire alarm.) My Mom says that I probably need to figure out ways to release tension. Then we drank some more wine.
  • Feeling like I was still in high school, when in fact, I am not in high school. Mom doesn't know I smoke. The show I'm in now requires that I smoke about 5 cigarettes in under 40 minutes. "Ech. How do you do that? It must make you sick!," she declares. "You have no idea, Mom. I feel like I want to hurl after every show. I have to eat like two cough drops after I'm done AND I had to buy these Crest Whitestrips so that my teeth wouldn't suffer any damage from all of this horrific smoking. But, sometimes one must suffer for her art.," I answered. Rewind 1 hour prior to that conversation and you would have seen me smoking a Camel, watching every car that passed to make sure none were my Mom. The moment I let down my guard, you would have seen me quickly chucking a butt as far awary from me as possible when I see her park. You would have also witnessed me running into the lobby and demanding a piece of gum from anyone willing to help a gal keep a secret from her Mom. I'm so cool.
  • Cuddling There is nothing wrong with cuddling with your Mom. It is not weird. It is not dorky. It is way cool. All the cool kids I know cuddle with their Moms all the time. Falling asleep next to your Mom and waking up at 2AM still in the same position with your head jammed into her armpit and your face rammed next to her chest. There's nothing more pure and American than that, people. Nothing.
  • Hearing the word "funky" applied to things that were not funky. Converse are not funky. Elvis Costello is not funky. The use of orange and red and blue in room decor is not funky. NPR is not funky. The new VW bugs are not funky. Austin as a city is not funky. Wearing a thermal shirt under a short sleeved shirt is not funky. Swag lamps are not funky. The way I dance is not funky. My Mom, on the otherhand, belives all of the above are, indeed, "funky." In some cases they are even considered "really funky." My Mom is funky.
  • Saying Good-bye. No matter how old you are or how long you've been away from home, saying "good-bye" to your Mom can make you tear up a little bit. It can make you want to hug a little tighter and a little longer. You can even watch as the car pulls away and fight the urge to run next to it until you can't keep up any longer--- just like you did back in the day. But sometimes, you just gotta let yourself feel sad and know that saying good-bye to the Moms is going to be something in your life now. And it's okay to cry a little bit. And it's okay to run after the car just a tad. And it's okay to miss her and feel dorky about it. Sigh.
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Copyright 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004 L.Leroy