*BlanksGiving*

How are you all doing? Good. I’m not quite sure how I got myself stuck in this two-fer holiday nightmare but it’s giving me a case of the What-the-Fucks!…

For one – back in August at the end of my father-in-law’s 75th birthday celebration I gave myself a present and outright refused the favor of watching his pissy little shit… I mean, his sweet little shih tzu who is prone to excited fits of incontinence, over the Christmas weekend. I was all proud of my standing firm and tall in the Land of Nope – which is my sweet spot in times like this.

A Thousand (EASY) Pieces (ca. ’96)

So it’s perfect. It’s all so perfect now. My hair – perfect. Not too much makeup. Body looks great. Took me long enough. Damn baby-weight.

I’m experimental these days. I like hanging out with him. Makes me feel good. Nothing feels good anymore. But he does. Yeah, he sure does…

Why Can’t We Fix All the Broken Ones?

I have a bone to pick. This might not sound like something new, but this one is so entirely different –

Why can’t broken children be fixed?  I mean, they are children – the most malleable, resilient beings I’ve ever encountered. Why, if they have parents & family that love and care for their well-being (and maybe a regular shrink appointment), can’t they all just bounce back, get well, learn a lesson and move beyond the darkness that is drugs; that is demons; that is Hell for Children?

DraMOMic Finale: Labor Day Debacle

When Mom came down to us for Labor Day weekend her focus was killing two birds with one stone.  The plan was – pay us a (very fucking brief) visit while using our house as a safe-spot so that her two-month, long-distance, online boyfriend could pick her up. Pretty much immediately after arriving.

You’ll be surprised to know my annoyance wasn’t just about the lack of priority she placed on spending time with us. It wasn’t 100% my being a selfish, embittered child clinging to past resentment. Putting all sluttiness most judgements aside, here’s what went down…

DraMOMic Part 4: Favoritism & Hypocrisy

In the last few posts we got some insight into my relationship with my mother and what 70’s icon she used to tease me.  We also saw some ethnicity-elimination strategies my Jewish family employed that helped form the snarky, stubborn, independent, bacon-eating thinker I am today.

What hurt just a wee bit more than Afro threats or “You are what your mother is” was the favoritism my Jewish grandmother showed my little, pinky-white, blonde-haired cousin.  His parents, Aunt D and Uncle B, raised him as a true Jew – Bris, Bar Mitzvah; the whole bag of gelt.

Throwback: Finding Humor in Hell

So I’m a tad late for TBT. Sue me – it’s been a tough week:

Spirits, we need to convene…

— Lola the Short 🤍🇵🇷🇵🇱🇷🇺🇷🇴 (@lolaveed) September 30, 2014

Nothing like a cerebral embolism to make everyone hurrah every time you break into song and spontaneously count to 10. My poor Aunt…

— Lola the Short 🤍🇵🇷🇵🇱🇷🇺🇷🇴 (@lolaveed) October 1, 2014

As many of you already know, I lost my dad in 2005. It was a terribly sudden and tragic loss and I’m pretty sure I went slightly out of my mind. Dad and I were CLOSE. Really, really close…

There were many sleepless nights, crying and some hysterics courtesy of yours truly. It wasn’t really my fault – when I caught sight of my cousin Eric, whom I hadn’t seen in ages, in my Godmother’s house where we were all graciously welcomed, I nearly lost my shit. He looked almost exactly like Dad when he had his full beard.

DraMOMic, Part 3: You ARE What Your Mother is

(Missed Part 1 or Part 2? No worries – just click!)

The title of this post is a commonplace belief/tradition/practice among Jewish people.  On its own it seems quite innocuous.  I mean, someone’s side has to rule when you’ve got one reformed Jewish family and one Catholic family, right?

Today I’m exploring how the wrong kind of emphasis can teach a child something you truly did not intend.

DraMOMic, Part 2 – The Afro Threat

Last week it was postulated that I may or may not have been raised by a bunch of racists.  Am I reaching here?  Proximity to the situation could make me kind of biased (ha ha), but consider the possibilities when a reformed Jewish family joins in marriage with a tribe of Puerto Rican Catholics.  No way they ever got together to devise “fusion” kosher/comida criolla.  Trust me, gefilte fish empanadas (no, just NO!) and bialys with queso blanco & lox (please kill me) would SUCK on ANY planet…

Anyway, was mom’s family actually a bunch of Archie Bunker-watching bigots? For me, the clues added up…

The Object of My Affliction: Dra-MOM-ic

Recently, I got super annoyed. You’re thinking this is nothing new but this time, the object of my exasperation was my mom.

I’m sure you expect the following to contain a crapload of bitching, but that is also nothing new.  As you know, I never disappoint!

Mom “made a show” of emailing me several weeks ago to announce that she wanted to come down to us for Labor Day weekend. “Say whatnow?” said my husband. “Preposterous & unbelievable!” apprised my psychotherapist (kidding – I don’t have one… yet). She said she was doing better with driving long distances since beginning acupuncture treatments a few months ago.