seeking Margie Morris, part 1

When I was about 10, my mother told me my father had been adopted. With no gauge for sensitivities yet, I openly asked him about it in an assumptive way and was hissed into silence - my grandparents were my grandparents and that was that.

Now I have the same curiosity about adoption that I'm sure many do - hypothesizing about backstories, motivations...that critical point where someone decides they just can't or shouldn't raise a child. All the adopted children I've known have grown up in wonderful families and so it became a universal truth for me that adoption is for the best. If you're unsure, watch one episode of 16 & Pregnant and then we can pretend like this whole disagreement never happened...

So okay fast forward back to the adoption being rigorously denied. I had no idea how he felt like this was plausibly deniable in any way...he looked absolutely nothing like his parents or his sister (also adopted). There are mysteriously no pictures of my Grandmama ever being pregnant. Oh and there's the birth certificate that he once showed my mom, registering him to someone else. While my mom can't ever tell a true depiction of emotional facts, she does have a scary steel trap for details such as: Margie Sampson Morris*, 1948, Chicago.

I wouldn't think of Margie S. Morris with any real interest for years. But I also didn't forget her name.

Then, fast forward forward this time to a few key events:
1) Around 2004, my Canadian aunt finds her mother and invites her to a family wedding. Thus I guess the Adoption Cat was out of the bag. I don't ask my Dad about it, but my curiosity is peaked.
2) In 2005, my Dad is diagnosed with myelodysplastic syndrome, which is fancy words for a Real Piece of Shit Disease with no cure. When he dies in 2008, I suddenly realize this RPSD might be hereditary for all I know and man would it be nice to have Margie Morris' medical records. I do some cursory Google searches to no avail.
3) During Christmas 2014, I get really into Ancestry.com. (You're wondering how those words could come out of my mouth - I can't explain these things). I get a free trial and spends hours and hours and hours building out my family tree. Free plug for Ancestry.com - this site is the bomb. I mean, I found pictures of family members including a great-aunt who died in a school fire who I had never seen before...fascinating!

Anyway, that hot & heavy free trial period made me realized that clearly I just wasn't trying very hard with this Margie Morris thing. I mean, I'm a Grade A stalker when it comes to ex-girlfriends...how had I gotten tripped up on this person?

So, I put those stalker skills to good use and started searching for Margie Morris.

*Even though the whole point here is to find this person, it seems like a real dick move to "out" someone nearly 70 years after the fact, so names have been changed and whatnot.

the one and only child

As my friends embark on having babies, and some now moving on to baby #2, it's been interesting to hear them explain their desire to have a second. I totally connect with wanting to build a family—personally, I'd love to end up with a houseful of kids and chaos. But there's often a nuance of fear in the conversation too...the fear of having an only child.

Even though I don't have siblings, I get that having a brother or sister is nine-times-out-of-ten the shit. You have an automatic best friend, a playmate, an unbreakable bond, shared memories. That's a blessing that, correct, I can't truly understand. So I get it if someone is sad that their kid might not know that kind of a relationship, and that I can't actually "get" that at all. 

But the funny thing is, I have only one time felt at a disadvantage for being an only child, and that's when my dad died and I had to pick up the pieces alone. But even in that impossible time, I still recognized that being an only child made the process simpler; it meant no fighting over tough decisions and stupid material items that shouldn't belong to us anyway...I just had to decide what choices I could live with making, and then make them. 

Other than that, I think being an only child has worked out really nicely. And not just because I got whatever I wanted (I didn't). Or because I got all of my parents attention (I did, and trust me, that's a bad thing too). But when I had to play alone, it meant that my imagination just got extra ramped up...I mean, have you ever gotten to be the shopper AND the checkout person in the same game?! When I wanted to play with someone else, I made friends...and they were playmates I got to choose all for myself. Which meant that over time, I've cherry-picked a freaking fantastic lineup of people I can't live without, people that feel as close to me as sisters, people that I fiercely cherish. Being an only child also meant that I fell in love with animals, because they were the extra "people" that filled our home. It meant that I behaved, because there was no older brother to buy me leniency with his screw-ups first, and there was no younger brother to distract my mom when it was time to pick a punishment. It was how I learned to love writing, because nothing passes the time like a good ole journaling session. For the same reason, it was how I learned to really, really love a huge variety of music. It was why I turned into an extrovert. It was how I became me.  

So I don't know. I certainly want multiple kids, but that's more because I personally love being around a group of people and to live with a group sounds like a dream! I'm actually a little scared to witness sibling relationships...what if they grow up to become strangers? What if they hurt each other, or hate each other? I guess the fear is there on either side. But don't be too sad for your kid if they end up being an only child. The beauty of it is...we never know the difference :)

remembrance

It's one of my favorite days of the whole year: Easter!!!!! Although I probably don't come across as the most reverent person, I take Easter and Lent and the whole story of Jesus' resurrection super seriously, and over the years I have found myself truly rejoicing more and more on the big day. Today Chicago was blessed with our first absolutely gorgeous day (i.e. it snowed last weekend and today we crested 70 degrees!) - in perfect timing to coincide with the greatest story of renewal and rebirth. This summer is definitely going to save my poor spirit, which was totally squashed by this horrible-no-good-very-bad winter. But enough about me. JUST KIDDING IT'S MY BLOG!

first time my shoulders have seen sun since September

Easter, all about remembrance, is aptly nested in the middle of the month that typically has its ups and downs for me. April marks my dad's passing and birthday, so it's just jam-packed with all sorts of shittiness. Six years later, my grief has shifted to this mild anxiety that I really don't know how to "remember" him appropriately. As in, I think it's really difficult to honor someone once they're gone -- in a way that reminds you of how much you loved them and also helps other people honor their memories with him as well. I mean, my dad definitely had friends, but as a single, older male with only one distanced sister, it just sort of played out that I was the closest person left to him. I hate the thought that other people don't remember him as much as I do, and the pressure to try to preserve his memory is even worse.

I know some people find a public way to commemorate a lost loved one, and even though I did a few of those things (like buying a brick at Town Lake), I'm at a loss for what else to do. It even seems weird to post on Facebook, say for his birthday, because I don't want people to feel sorry for me or something, I just want them to remember him. I've thought a lot about doing a Team in Training, which fights leukemia, but I can't honestly say I feel like that would do anything in terms of preserving his memory. I do make a donation in his name on his birthday and Brian & I share a Guinness every year too, but it feels so private...I already know WE remember him. I want other people to too.

If anyone has any interesting ideas, I'd love to hear them! Surely there's something creative and meaningful that we could get into...and if not, then this year there's a cat shelter with a donation in his name on it :) I guess I inherited my love for cats from him because half his emails were like a neighborhood newsletter on all the strays. I'll leave you with this one - makes me laugh!

The blue-eyed 3/4 Siamese kitty is all over me every time I see it and keeps trying to get inside.  It comes up for scratching even when there is food out.  Someone has apparently spoiled it badly .  This morning when I went out for the paper there were waiting for me:

blue-eyed kitty
blk/orange noisy one
little grey-striped Noko Mari
very old orange kitty
little black noisy kitty
another grey and stripes who has been coming closer and talks back to me

Lots of racoon prints on porch from last night.  Guess I better go get more food.

Pops the easy touch

5 days of pools

I thought I had posted this a while back and somehow I hadn't - oops! Reverse to late May...aaaaaand scene. 

____________________________________

I just had the most unexpectedly lovely 5 days! 

Stop 1: Dallas for Amy’s bachelorette party

I think my crowning achievement of this weekend is tied between 1) ordering 10 honey butter chicken biscuits at 2 a.m., and 2) not having a hangover after two nights of power drinking. Yeahhhhh 30 years old and still kicking! (I feel like that’s an open invitation for karma to lay me out the next time I drink but whateverrrrrrrrr I’m crazyyy remember?!).

We had a really big group—18 in total—which fortunately included the ladies from Austin that I miss so much and of course, my favorite beautiful bride Amy! So for me, it was sort of a double whammy to get to celebrate Amy and do so with all of our mutual friends. In a way, weddings and bachelorette weekends sort of substitute for our girls trips now, so we really max out our time together…in the best way!

what up W!

The highlight of the weekend was a pole dancing class, which we naturally decided to take to an unnecessary level by dressing 80s for it and pre-drinking for several hours before showing up. Which meant that I spent two hours of laughing my ass off instead of working it. In true costume-loving fashion, everybody went balls-out on their outfits too, although I think these two take the cake:

Ain't no shame in this game

There was a lot of other great stuff to love about the weekend, but I especially loved seeing how different groups of girls that are mostly connected in some way but maybe aren’t close can band together for a relaxing, dancy, hilarious, and occasionally raunchy good time!

Stop 2: Ft. Worth for Mother’s Day

Since I was just a hop-skip-and-a-jump away, I rode with Megan back to Ft. Worth and spent the next 24 hours with my mom for Mother’s Day! Even though we definitely celebrated her, I think I got the positive end of the stick. My mom recently bought an amazing house with a pool, hot tub, etc., and now was the first time I was able to actually use it. Ho.ly.Moly. I seriously felt like I was at Club Med. Since I was last there, they have really amped up the outdoor décor and it is really beautiful. The pool is heated, there are outdoor speakers playing music, the treadmill is set up in front of a TV, and there’s a dry sauna…with a TV in it.

#wherewasthis15yearsago

We spent most of our time lolling around in the pool, chatting, and me teaching my mom new phrases like “totes b’goats”—which incidentally she thought was “choke my goat”. I made it clear that that takes on an entirely different meaning.

Tex Mex lunch, obvi

For those of you who know about my mom's shopping habits...right now she's on a bronze kick. Hence, the bronze pelican on the edge of the hot tub....

Ole Johnny boy (i.e. stepfather) waving from the hot tub. Loving life!

Stop 3: Miami for a work conference

So I was already coming off of a truly wonderful 3 days in row, and rolling that right into a conference on consumer trends, which really dives into human behavior and why we do the things we do...well, that's just a nerd's dream. This conference was the bomb.com for 3 reasons. 

ummm what?!

First, not only was it great to be around a bunch of people who more-or-less do the same thing I do, but it reinvigorated me to love what I’m doing. Not to say that I don’t still feel like I’m missing something more purposeful in my job, but at the core of what I do…holy cats, my job is interesting. Some of the topics were: why playing video games is good for us, how to predict food trends, differences between men and women, and how to tell a story with your brands. DELICIOUS.

The hotel was way too classy for me, and I loved it. Eden Roc Renaissance on South Beach, do it.

Second, I won a prize at one of the sessions and I got to accompany a small group to a new restaurant called Tuyo, which is Norman Van Aken’s latest and greatest—he’s apparently the shit, James Beard winner and whatnot, look him up. We got to see a food demonstration and tour the Miami Culinary Institute (the restaurant sits on top), and of course, eat his divine food. My favorite part was sitting next to a woman named Ramin who is a journalist but also a cookbook author, who has a lot of writing awards and is generally just a fascinating person. The conversation with her and the whole table was so bizarre and incredible, we covered everything from how George Washington treated his slaves to Angelina Jolie’s double mastectomy and what it means to predict the future of your health. Pretty dynamic chatting, especially for not knowing each other before that day. 

Flan demonstration. I drooled and learned nothing.

Third, location location location. We were at a phenomenal hotel called the Eden Roc Renaissance, right on the beach. I found time in the mornings and after the sessions to walk, lay out, and enjoy the sunshine, sand, and water. Let's not talk about the worst sunburn of my life, which I got after one hour of no sunscreen (long story) and was in hypersensitive pain for seven straight days. I forget how much I love the beach, probably because all of our vacations revolve around skiing or weddings, but I think it’s amazing. Even just the sound of the water is so relaxing; it’s impossible to be stressed out there. And the fact that I got to get a little taste of the beach for free, on work time, well…can’t beat that. 

sunrise

my annual guinness

Today really creeped up on me - I've been so wrapped up in work and other things that need to be posted about, that what would've been my dad's 64th birthday is suddenly here. I'm giving this year's gift to the Hill Country Aeromodelers, which is a conspicuous way of saying Big Kids Group. These guys operate out of south Austin and meet every few weeks to fly their homemade radio controlled planes, which is so my dad.

I loved this club because it reminded me of my dad when we lived in our house in Austin (until I was 7). We had a second story to the house that was just one unairconditioned, light-filled, treehouse of a room that he used exclusively to build model things....planes, trains, cars, whatever. He painted them too, so the room always smelled of a really intense lacquer. I loved it. When I was older, he took me several times to the Fry's parking lot (you heard me) because they held weekly remote-control car races. And he always loved all things aviation, from his real plane to flying kites in Zilker Park. Actually I just found this email he sent a few years ago:

I'm scanning in family pics and found this one of your great granddaddy
(and your grandaddy) and his airplane from 1967 probably taken by me.
Thanks to the registration number visible and Google - I just got off the
phone with the 73 year old man in Peoria Illinois who now owns it and he is
very interested in getting scans of the pics I have of it and your great
granddaddy's pilot's license, etc.  He is going to send me current pictures
of it.  He's very active in aviation and edits the newsletter for his local
airplane club.  I'll show you the other pics when you are here.
-Genealogy Pops

P.S. That means I now live near this plane, which basically makes me want to buy it.

Then my dad and the guy who owns the plane had a super nerd-out exchange that ended up in the local aviation newsletter - what what!

Pretty cute, right? So anyway, it's safe to say he would dig this club.

Sip a Guinness today for Ed!

counter special

When I was 10, I went to live with my grandparents in Fort Worth. I lived there on and off until I was 15. During those formative 5 years, I "studied" under my grandmother, heretofore known as The Most Frugal Person in the World, and I learned how rich people become rich: they never spend any money.

Grandmother was born in 1929, and the Depression made an indelible mark on her that would later manifest in the form of quirky practices like exclusively hand-washing clothes, scouting 10 garage sales a week, asking her banker to make all her personal photocopies, attending any and all grand openings (samples and raffles, duh!), and only grocery shopping with triple coupons. (In fact, she was an extreme couponer before extreme couponing was cool - if you need toothpaste, laundry detergent, or lipstick for the next 20 years, there's a stash in her garage with your name on it.) For 5 years, I was subjected to those rituals among many others, and I won't hesitate to say the word I most commonly associate with that time period is mortified.

Fast forward. By all accounts, I proceeded to grow up normally, paying full price for most things and always enjoying a good sale. But every once in a while...a little piece of the past flares up...and the next thing you know...I'm shopping at the bread outlet.

I imagine most of you don't know that bread outlets exist because your family wasn't hell-bent on making puberty as difficult for you as possible. If that's the case, they're exactly what they sound like: small storefronts, usually in not-so-awesome neighborhoods, that contain discounted bread from a major brand. The closer the bread is to its expiration, the cheaper it is. But most of it is anywhere from 3 days to a week away from expiring, and it's all 50% or more off.

The Most Frugal Person in the World used to buy all of our bread at the bread outlet. It was one of the few places I didn't absolutely hate going, because it meant I'd get some raisin bread out of it. However, I still managed to push my memory of the bread outlet waaaaay down, right next to consignment store $1 bag sales and forced contest entries at the public library.

Then recently I was running errands in a patchy area of town and saw a sign for Entenmann's Outlet, instinct took over, and I whipped into the parking lot. Could it be what I think it is???

As an adult, I understand that unless you buy the store brand, bread is freaking expensive. And between breakfast and daily sandwiches, we go through a lot. To make matters worse, I try to support our clients at work and (un)fortunately we have a upper-tier bread brand, so now Brian and I spend $4 for a loaf of bread, bread "thins," English muffins, etc. It's delicious but expensive. Not at the bread outlet though!!!!

I was pumped to find that this store actually carried our client's brand, which meant that I could have my bread and eat it too! It was just as I remembered: one-room, crappy signage, and rows and rows of all the types of bread you could want. 12-grain widepan. Onion hamburger rolls. Honey wheat English muffins. Bagel thins. Oh yeah - and for half the price or less. The best part is the counter special - one select product that sits by the register that's marked down to $.50. Did I buy perfectly good multi-grain English muffins for $.50 and then eat them every day for breakfast for over a week? You're damn right I did! Did I go back the next week, buy twice as much bread, and throw half of it in the freezer? Yessiree. Am I wondering if the excitement of the bread outlet is going to unleash all sorts of subliminal crazy? Absolutely. But when you get a month's worth of good bread for $7, it's hard to not think maybe a little crazy could go a long way.

my annual guinness

For our book club this month, we chose Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking. I read a few of her books in college so I was excited to revisit her again without the distraction of other required class reading. However, I didn't realize this is a book about grief. (It begins with her husband's death and tracks her experiences in the following year.) And I didn't think about the fact that I'd be reading it during my personal, annual "re-grieving period." (March and April are infected by a constant playback of those months in 2008 when my dad became especially sick and then died). Let's just say, it's been a tough read.

As difficult as it was to get through, I thought it was really interesting to see how much of her experience with grief mirrored my own, in relation to losing my dad. Of course hers was by far more awful, but considering your relationship with a parent is completely different from the one you have with your spouse, you'd think the losses would feel worlds apart. But she gives a strikingly honest account of the regret, self-pity, confusion, doubt, and helplessness that marked her grief, my grief, and I suspect, many other people's...all for completely different reasons.

It's now been three years since he passed away. I hardly ever blog about it because no one needs to read my own Didion-esque account, but it's still very much a presence in my mind. Today would have been his 63rd birthday, and as sad as this makes me, it also concludes "that period" for another year. Brian and I have shared a Guinness on April 25th every year in his memory - it's a nice little tradition that I look forward to. (Although this go-around I'll have to stomach an entire one by myself, and when you're alone, I hear it's unacceptable to take this down in Irish Car Bomb form). I'm definitely happy to gain a little forward momentum now that I've finished the book and am closing out the month as well. Onward and upward, right friends?

you win some, you lose some

Brian and I thought it would be appropriate to make a pit-stop in the Fort during our travels to Austin for Engagement Party Weekend, so we pitched it to my mom as an early Thanksgiving (2 birds 1 stone, bitches). Our three days in the Metroplex were noteworthy, as is becoming typical now that JTF is in the picture.

Let me go ahead and say that this is one of the nicest men I have ever met. He is very dedicated to my mom and, by default, is committed to building a relationship with myself and Brian. For a future stepfather, these are really great qualities. Moving on...

So, JTF invited Brian, my mom, and I over to his place to watch some of their weekly TV shows. B and I had never seen his house, so this was the first time we'd gotten a glimpse of JTF's Life, versus JTF in My Mom's Life. Seeing as how he's trying to become a part of the family, I imagine this was an important moment for him. So we arrive, take our coats off, and linger awkwardly around the couch waiting to see who will sit where. JTF flips on the TV.

I tilt my head to the side...what is exactly is that on the screen? Oh, it's a girl. Aaaaaaaand a penis. It's a girl and a penis. SHIZAM! Fortunately, JTF manages to hit the input button and send that girl and that penis into the confines of blackness. Unfortunately, only a few seconds later JTF hits the input button again and, hooray, they're back! Only now there's another girl in the scene, and she and her boobs are looking to parrrrrty. For the next 11 seconds, JTF misplaces his opposable thumbs and cannot figure out even so much as one. button. to press to make it go away.

And what are we doing this whole time? Well, my mom is laughing so hysterically that she's capsized on the couch. Brian is exhibiting the greatest restraint of all time, mixed with bursts of snarfed laughter. And I am experiencing a real, live heart attack but still manage to say the only words that anyone can squeak out during this excruciating cinematic screening: AT LEAST MUTE IT.

This episode has inspired me to create a new level of Texcellence, appropriately categorized as TeXXXas.

That night after Dave & Buster's (you heard me!), JTF invited us in to watch some more TV. He promised there would be no porn on. Brian said in that case, he might as well go home.

Gotta love it. Now please go re-read the second paragraph :)

yee haw now folks

I went to Fort Worth recently for a high school friend's wedding, and I spent a lot of time soaking up state pride. Now, I love Texas, I do. It's such a strange place, how can you not love it? But I prefer to keep my Texanness tucked riiiiight in my back pocket where it belongs.

However. My mom and John-the-Fiance (JTF, for short) are both from South Texas and really like "working" the distinctive drawl, attitudes, and outlooks that spawn from down there. I'm not trying to be disrespectful, but to be honest...it can be a handful sometimes. When they're together, it's like a fine Texan reduction sauce is born...they let the left-wing burn right out while the accents thicken up and before you know it, you're dripping anti-Obama propoganda all over your entree. I like to call this level of pride, "Texcellence"...you know the one...the one that can't be questioned, challenged, or subordinated by any cretin "unlucky son of a bitch" non-Texan. No weekend at home is without a deluge of Texcellence.

5 Highlights of the Weekend

1. Texas TV: discussing how much Mom & JTF love the show Border Wars

2. Edible Texas: an array of wild boar, buffalo, filets, quail, elk, and my favorite, Oysters "Texafeller"

3. Bejeweled Texas: JTF's gold & diamond Texas-shaped man-necklace

4. Embroidered Texas: Tapestries with rodeo and hunting scenes hanging over our dinner table. Nothing makes me hungrier than seeing how my food made it to my plate.

And finally my personal favorite,

5. Concealed Texas: JTF's gun falling out of his holster onto the floor...at a restaurant.

Well sheeeeet, nuthin' says Texas like yur damn handgun fallin' out on the floor like yur some gang banger from Como.

did I call that or what?

So as I anticipated, my Mom lost her shit when I told her about the Mexico trip. It started with the dramatic "OH MY GOD" and went downhill from there. After 5 minutes I accidentally started laughing because, although the paranoia behind her statements was very sobering, the one-liners she was delivering were amazing. After 10 minutes, I opened a Word document and started typing. To prove to you that I wasn't kidding when I defined the dying swan act that would ensue, I've categorized her commentary based on the categories that I put in the anticipatory blog.

Because you can't write stuff this good:

1) Reference to a number of stereotypes and hyperboles. Think us/them dichotomies. 

"It’s Dodge City without gunslingers and dance hall girls—you've got prostitutes, cartels, and thugs."

"You can’t even trust the people at the resorts not to come steal your shit."

"Don’t drink the water. If you don’t hear the cap go PSSH when you open it, someone’s already fucked with it."

"The streets aren’t going to be marked – you’re going to be like 'I’m at the corner of Colostomy and Rectum, outside Hotel Terminado' where when the people in the room above you flush their toilet and shit comes out your sink."

2) An assumption that I can't defend myself for shit. 

"Don’t wear anything nice, go to the Salvation Army before you go and buy your clothes there. I’m talking hobo. Don’t even take a nice purse. Take something you fully expect to have ripped off your shoulder."

"You need to plan an escape route, how are you going to get home if something horrible happens?"

"You make sure it’s you and 2 huge ape-sized men when you take a cab—or 2 women that are smaller than you so you can run like hell. You just have to faster than 1 woman."

3) An assumption that I will run from the group at the first chance I have, and then will be kidnapped and die.

"So basically you’re telling me you won’t here for your birthday because you’ll be in Mexico hiding from kidnappers."

"Oh my God, you might also give me power of attorney in case I need to send ransom money."

"I don’t want it to be called St. Laurie’s because I own it at the expense of my dead daughter."

"I don’t think any of those school releases are gonna hold up if something happens to you down there. They’ll try to blame you, but I’ll know."

"Oh my god, I need a copy of your passport. You'll probably be held captive by some swarthy, mustache-ed cartel member who decided he wanted a blonde wife."

"Mother knows Laura Bush, who doesn’t have a lot of clout but might know some people in the government who know a recovery specialist."

4) A last-ditch effort, usually correlating Mexico to imminent death. My mother's imminent death.

"I suggest you watch the movie Breakout before you go. Seriously, I’m serious. I’m very serious."

"Now I’m going to go in and get my blood pressure dosage upped."

"Maybe I can find a doctor to give me Deprovan so I can sleep through it for 6 days."

I do think she has a real fear of the unknown, and it doesn't help that a bunch of kids were just killed in Juarez, but I think most of her hemming and hawing is for dramatic effect. I mean come on, the woman writes novels! Incidentally, when I first called her and asked her what she was doing, she said "writing stories about Mexico." 

Which then she brought full circle when the light bulb went off and she said, "Oh my God, this is life imitating art." My mother, the xenophobic philosopher.

mom code

I'm going to commit this week to posts about my mom, because she keeps doing this ridiculous stuff that other people need to share in dammit!

As you've probably gathered from other posts, my mom is the quintessential cop-turned-overprotective parent. Hence why Brian and I received matching emergency hammers for Christmas....in case we ever need to break our windshield from inside the car, DUH. She also does fun things like force me to stay on the phone with her until I'm inside my house ("Is your alarm on? Is your door locked?"), as if I don't complete this feat the other 364 days of the year all by my baby-self. I could go on.

The paranoia was born in a petri dish of bad experiences with criminals, but it blossomed into a whole new animal when she got her identity stolen about 10 years ago. Someone started a credit card in her name and, although it was a pain in the arse to fix, she lived to tell the story so no harm no foul, right? NO. To this day, she refuses to keep any credit cards (check or cash, anyone?) and she is extremely ticky about reading important numbers over the phone. The last time she had to give me a bank account number, she called me from a land line, read a few numbers, then hung up, called me from her cell phone, read the next few numbers, and so on. One time she read a sequence of numbers in chunks and then told me what order to put the chunks in to make the number read correctly.

Although I'm sure it sounds like it, she is not certifiable, by any means. I think she just subscribes to the "fool me once" mentality, and shame on her if she gets fooled again! So, to the point, this week I had to extract her social security number from her for some paperwork. I knew she'd feel like she was throwing her Hope diamond straight into a headwind, so I was excited to see what she would come up with in response. If you think she even touched the phrase "social security number" in her email, you're wrong. May I introduce you to Mom Code? 

By using your own as a model (I know yours), here's a formula to get mine:

 

Take the first number of yours and write that number down.

Write it down again.

Take the second number of yours and add four. Write it down.

Now write that number down again.

Take the third number of yours and subtract the first number on yours. Write that number down.

Take the second number of yours and subtract the fourth number of yours. Write that number down.

Double the fifth number of yours. Write that number down.

Take the first number of yours and subtract one from it. Write that number down.

Take the third number of yours and subtract two from it. Write that number down.

 

Hack that, hackers! Except don't because then I'd be in trouble. 

Plus, because I am the spawn of Queen Paranoia, obviously I changed the numbers :)

evidence

Remember how I was just telling you about my mom's aversion to Mexico? And you probably thought I was being dramatic?

Apparently she was having writer's block the other day (per her Facebook status) and in an effort to cure it, posted this:

Great timing for me to drop my little bombshell...

oh hello school. it's you again.

After my deliciously relaxing six-week break, school is back on like Donkey Kong starting tomorrow (that's right, Saturday morning). But who cares, because it's my last first day at school! 

Ever!

I'm sorry. What I'm trying to say is    ! ! ! ! ! ! !

I'm especially excited about tomorrow's class because it's the capstone, which is a fancy word for the grand finale big deal class. For my grand finale big deal I get to be a part of a consulting team for a start-up nonprofit in central Mexico....we'll be putting together the strategic plan (marketing, finance, etc.) so that the nonprofit can then go and help other schools/businesses learn about Mexican nonprofits. Kind of like we're building a factory that will then make parts to build factory. The matryoshka doll of businesses!

And, bonus, I get to go to Mexico over my birthday! Nothing says the-big-2-7 like diarrhea.

Unfortunately, this also means I have to tell my mom that I'll be in Mexico for a week, and thus she will flip her shit.

  

Not because I got arrested, or had a child out of wedlock, or have a porn circulating Youtube. 

Because I'm going to Mexico. For school.

I haven't told her that Heaven almighty this is really happening, mostly because she already told me a few months ago that she'd DIE if I signed up for it, and I'm not interested in her DYING, but I'm even less interested in watching the dying swan act that usually accompanies the charade of her DYING. 

"The swan" involves a careful step-by-step process, in no particular order. 

1) Reference to a number of stereotypes and hyperboles, including but not limited to "they prey on young American girls" "there's no safe place there" "those people don't act like we do." Think us/them dichotomies. 

2) An assumption that I can't defend myself for shit, because I have yet to operate any of the three guns in my house (don't come here, it's scary). 

3) An assumption that I will run from the group at the first chance I have, only to find myself in the cocaine-lined streets of the ghetto, most likely with my dress around my head, at which point I will have no other option than to get raped, pillaged, murdered, and chopped to pieces.

4) A last-ditch effort, usually correlating Mexico to imminent death. My mother's imminent death.

I'm not sure what gets her so worked up about Mexico (or really anyplace that's not spelled USA). Mind you, I've been to Mexico 5 times...and all 5 times I came back unscathed. This trip should be the least threatening of all of them, seeing as how it's "chaperoned" by professors, in an upscale tourist village, and OH YEAH I'm 26 and have a shred of common sense.

What's that, you say? You'll tell her for me? Excellent. I'll be over there hiding in that bomb shelter.

the parentals

Several of you know that Brian and I had the great meeting of the parents this past weekend, but I haven't had a chance to tell anyone about it...so...to the blog!

We've met each other's respective parents a few times but realized there would be no reason for us all to be in the same place before the wedding, and we really didn't want that to be the first time they'd all met, so we orchestrated a little meet-and-greet in ATX this past weekend. Brian's parents drove in from Florida and stayed for about 5 days and my mom popped down from Fort Worth for part of the weekend. Everyone played nicely, as expected, and the ladies seemed to get along quite well! 

The three main topics of the weekend were:

1) Guns

2) Food

3) Family relationships that need some explaining

Anticipating this dialogue exactly, Brian and I had a hard time figuring out what kind of activities we should plan. Unlike us, they are usually an "indoor only" kind of crew, but we were trying to avoid watching movies or other things that don't encourage conversation. We 86-ed playing poker (which we'd been doing with his parents already) because Brian pointed out that going for blood might not be the best way to get everyone to buddy-up. Doing a puzzle was out because these aren't our grandparents. Having a drink on the porch doesn't fly when none of the parentals drink. So, we went to the only place that we knew they'd all be happy:

Please note that Monday is Ladies Day. 

All the adults have their carrying licenses, so we brought 6 guns for 5 people (I hear you can never be too safe) and everyone seemed pretty excited about teaching me how to shoot, as I was the only one who had never fired a weapon. Well that's not true, there was that corn I killed, but otherwise, no real weapons. 

So apparently there's this weird thing that cops' kids do. They live around guns their whole life and then grow up and watch Bowling for Columbine and decide that guns are what's wrong with America and the next thing you know, they're crying in a firing range. That's right. Crying. In the firing range. Honestly, I almost wish I'd just peed in my pants or something. Because there's less dignity but more spine involved in that. 

So here's what happened. I wanted to watch my mom shoot first so I'd know what to expect, and then I nearly died when she fired the gun. I'd never really processed the whole "ammo works because there's an explosion involved" dealio, so the bright flash and the sound (along with twenty other people firing in their lines) just about made me stop breathing. I was like a Mexican jumping bean in there, ricocheting off of everyone else's shots. Each one literally terrified me.

Somehow I'd managed to forget that I hate balloons simply because sometimes they pop and when they do I nearly have a heart attack, and also that I hate it when Brian hides to scare me because the anticipation kills me even if I know where he is, and oh yeah I hate Operation with a bloody fire because I scream every time my tiny scalpel makes the thing buzz. So trade out a 9 mm for a tiny scalpel and an explosion in a concrete bunker for a buzz and Oh Look, It's My Living Nightmare!

At first I tried to pull it together and just breathe and try to drown out the other shots but inevitably they just got louder and louder and I became more and more jumpy and the next thing you know, here come a few tears! (Only a few, for the record). I knew how badly Brian and especially my mom wanted me to learn to shoot. But as soon as the outward motivation changed from "It'll be fun!" to "Someday you may need to protect yourself if you're walking down a dark alley," I think the reality and definitiveness of GUNS KILL PEOPLE seeped back in and, knowing that's not something I ever want to do, I just got totally creeped out by the fact that any of these people could turn around and shoot me or accidentally misfire and shoot themselves (dents in the counters helped me with this theory) and then, more tears. Mucho embarrassment-o.

The good thing is, everyone else really enjoyed themselves. And Brian was a great shot, so I think we're covered in the defense department. It was a totally bizarre activity to choose for our parents but hey, some people bond over alcohol, some bond over deadly weapons. To each his own!

Mom, Brian, random dude, Brian's dad, Brian's mom. 

One big happy gun-wielding family!

the brick exists!

I mentioned a while back that I'd bought my dad a brick to go along the Town Lake trail. Well, promptly afterwards, I lost all records of doing so and started to wonder if I'd actually ever successfully put in the order at all. So I emailed the foundation in charge of the bricks to confess my idiot self had no mental or electronic record of the order and wanted to make sure it actually existed. No response. 

So I finally convinced myself that I was going crazy and obviously hadn't ordered it at all. Maybe I'd gotten to the last page and never clicked "send," but regardless, there was nothing in my credit card statements or email confirming my little make-believe transaction had ever happened. For the last few weeks I've been meaning to (re)order another brick, because they only have so much space in this particular pavilion. It's not exactly cheap, so I had been dragging my feet. 

And once again, procrastination does me a favor. 

On Monday, an email appeared in my inbox with the subject "Your commemorative brick at Lou Neff Point." My brick! The brick that I had ordered! The brick that I had not at all made up and had totally purchased successfully like a normal functioning human being! I already had plans to go to the trail that afternoon so I took my phone to get some shots of it. It's in a perfect spot, right by the edge of the sidewalk where I like to think it will get more "face time." The pavilion is right behind it with an awesome view of kayakers and downtown! I couldn't be happier with it!

cyber-mom

My mother--who cannot text, can barely attach a photograph in an e-mail, and does not understand the concept of "folders" on your computer--has just joined Facebook. And Twitter. AND WE'RE FRIENDS. 

Is there no sacred ground anymore?

I'm sure some of y'all's parents are already online, but literally my mom doesn't even truly understand what Facebook is. She's only on it because her website person told her she should get on it to promote her new book. I mean, her page is one big oxymoron. She somehow has managed to find 121 friends (WTF?) but she goes back and forth between normal statuses and misplaced wall posts: "Hi Gipper, how are Nancy and Shane? Ree called my mother a week or so ago. She was thrilled." 

I started to explore my new cybermom and looked at her website for the first time in forever to see if she's been updating about her books. In the "Meet Laurie" section there's a little paragraph about her family, so to speak. It includes the cats' names, but not mine. 

I will admit, though...I am starting to enjoy her Twittiness. Right now she has up: "This may be Sunday but it's a work day for me. Off to see patients in the psychiatric ward. It's times like this that I know I'm blessed."

We'll see how our new Internet relationship pans out. She still doesn't know about this blog, and I plan on keeping it a secret until I'm waterboarded.

oh tannenbaum

I have to say, I'm looking forward to the holidays much much more than I thought I would be. I foresaw it being a winter of discontent filled with bitter reminders that this year is not like all the others. In a Where's Waldo book, I thought this Christmas would be the wrinkly bald Waldo with a Winston in one hand and an electrolarynx in the other. But things are looking up kids, and here's why:

• I put up Christmas decorations like a big girl. It took a bottle of wine and a Saturday night, but I did it dammit! Here's a sampling, since you're curious.

• The girls are having our second annual gift exchange at my house and, clearly, gifts + friends + wine/eggnog/champagne = mucho merriment-o. 

• My bosses agreed to sponsor a family as part of our charitable giving this year, so I get to hit up Target with someone else's credit card. And it's for a good cause. Am I dreaming?

• I'm spending the holiday in Florida with my loverboy and his family...and I love the beach with the passion of a five-year-old in a moonbounce. Or of Brian when he wins the Heisman...in an Xbox game. 

• And last but most importantly: my Mariah Carey Christmas album has been located! Albeit after a weeklong rampage that may or may not have included tears.

So all in all, the next few weeks are shaping up to be quite nice. It's certainly not hurting that I've listened to this song about six times already. Happy Dreideling!

in the name of love

So one of the most redeeming parts about having to sift through the items left behind by my dad and grandparents is that, occasionally, I find a little nugget of nostalgia so sweet it makes my heart drip into a little puddle right there on the floor. 

A few weeks ago, on my Grandaddy's birthday, I was going through some bookshelves and wedged in between a Tom Swift series I found "Our Wedding Book," which chronicled my grandparent's wedding in 1941. From what I can gather based on all the clippings, notes, telegrams, etc, it looks like my grandparents met during his final semester of college; got engaged in the middle of May; formally announced the engagement on the 24th; had three separate showers that week; and married on June 2 (the same day that he graduated college). In the back of the book was this letter, sent from my grandfather on May 21, 1941 to his parents. Even though you have never met him, I still thought you'd enjoy his depiction of life and love in the 40s....

Tuesday Night-

Tired but Happy

Dearest Folks-

Received your swell letter. Gee, what a fellow & gal you two turned out to be. Kay was with me 

when I got your letter & she just loves you both. 

You can start bragging, Mom, 'cause I passed my exam with flying colors. But how could I fail with Kay waiting right outside with her fingers crossed. But your encouragement helped a lot too. The profs said it was fine. It lasted 1 hour and 45 minutes & I bet I perspired a gallow. Ha ha.

Kay is soooo sweet. She is so understanding and encouraging. She gave me a little pep talk before I went in. You know, everyone (proffesors & all) are just crazy about Kay. We have the whole Business School buzzing & beaming. 

Guess what? Today about 11:00 o'clock Mr. Ron Dyer of Houston Humble Office phoned me long distance and told me he had me a good job - that he had been working on it for some time. Then I had to tell him about the army & he said that was too bad. He said he was coming up to Baylor tomorrow to see me & several sermons & then we'd talk it over. Dad, it just

makes me sick. The things I've wanted all my life being ruined by the army. I won't mind the army - it's just what it takes me away from. But maybe something will happen - I hope. I haven't heard from Hughes Tool Co. yet. But oh if I could work for the Humble & stay out of the army, everything would be absolutely perfect. 

Kay & I are going to get married regardless of whether I go to the army or not. She has to go to Baylor two terms more anyway. You see, her Dad is the Baylor contractor, building all these buildings. She gets all her tuition, fees, etc. paid. It doesn't cost her dad anything.

So she could finish school & get her degree, army or no army. She doesn't want to wait & neither do I -- so guess it won't be long. We are waiting for everything to be settled about the army & everything. Her dad was teasing her this morning about getting her an ole beat-up Ford car as a wedding gift & she suggested he give us a honeymoon trip to Galveston for a week. He said that sounded O.K. to him. Isn't that a sight? He's so swell. We all thought your letter was grand. We are all well & happy. Well, I owe about $8 dollars counting everything. If you could please send me ten I could make it I believe. Kay is so sweet, we won't have to spend much till school is out. 

I am going to bring Kay home with me for a week or so right after school is out if everything works out. She needs a vacation, she's been going to school continuously for nearly 3 years -- summers & all. And then I want you to get to know her & her to know you. 

We have more fun. Today as Kay got up to give a talk in Dr. Carroll's class, four of my fraternity brothers began humming "Here Comes the Bride." It embarrassed Kay so much, she blushed & sat back down. Everyone had a good laugh, & (confidentially, as she said) she really got a thrill out of it. But it was embarrassing. Everyone congratulates us, everywhere we go. O Boy - it's grand. 

Well, I must close this & go to bed. I'm really tired tonight. Tired but oh so happy. 

Be sweet, & start bragging. Can hardly wait to see you & tell you everything. Tell Erma & Bill & everyone -- Edna -- all -- I'm sooooooo happy!

Will get my birth certificate & everything. Bye. 

Love (ain't it grand)

Graves

My grandfather did end up getting drafted for the war and spent the first few years of their marriage in the Navy. When he returned, he ended up working for Humble like he hoped after all. They were married for 57 years until Grandmama passed away. 

Although I can usually think of about 2,376 things I'd rather be doing than going through my dad's house, things like this make it worthwhile.