When I walk into the kitchen, my mother is anxious, nervous, smiling, energetic. The mail has just come and she is holding an envelope. She wants me to sit down; she has something to tell me. I’m paranoid that she’s found my blog, as she’s been snooping around my room lately, and I’m starting to break out into a nervous sweat. “What is it, Mom? Did you find me a nice Jewish guy at Waldbaum’s?”
“No, Myra. Listen to me. Um. Well, okay. I found your poetry and I submitted it to the Long Island Circular.”
“What?!” I say.
“I know, your Mommy really loves you and wants to do good things for you.”
“But…why…” I try to say while gasping and containing my anger.
“You won,” she bursts out.
“What do you mean?” I croak.
Holding the letter in her hand, she reads, “We are pleased to inform you that your poetry entitled, “Thinking is Overrated” has won first place, and you are invited to attend our awards dinner on 7th.”
I put my head in my hands while saying, “Holy shit.” Part of me is excited to have won anything other than a place on jury duty, but part of me is furious that she went through my stuff.
She is beside herself with excitement. “I already told your grandmother, and she’s coming up from Florida to come to it.”
My grandmother, whom we’ve always referred to as “Bubbie,” has come to view me as a sort of unlucky pariah who things never work out for. “Poor Myra.” It’s how the whole family sees me. That’s why she’s coming all the way up from Florida. Because she probably figures I’ll never have a wedding or a kid or a corporate promotion, so she’s got to celebrate these kinds of “accomplishments.”
I fake a “Thank you,” and tell my mother I have to go upstairs and look at my poetry for a minute.
I run upstairs and lock myself in the bathroom. Maybe I’ll be happy later, but right now I feel violated and furious. I hang up a bathrobe and start screaming at it, as a real conversation with her would never yield a fruitful result. Neither parent can be spoken to. Crazy is crazy, and I’ve come to accept that. However, I need therapy, and with no money or job to speak of, I must settle for their avatar – Stained bathrobe therapy.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Why is it okay to sneak into my bedroom and snoop through my stuff? My personal words? Who do you think you are sending out my work without my permission? Another pea-brained idea of yours!! I can’t stand you sometimes. You don’t think about what you do! You don’t know how embarrassing you are! And now you’re probably going to wear your tracksuit to the awards. There’s no end to the shame. You know what would help me, I’ll tell you. Stop wearing frosted lipstick in public. Stop trying to set me up with every single man at Costco. That would be a great start!”
My mother yells from the stairs, “Myra, are you okay? What’s the screaming?”
I say, “Oh, I’m just yelling at Vito, he ate my Doritos.”
“He better not shit on the rug. I just had them steam-cleaned.”
By the time my grandmother arrives and I’m helping her apply blue eye shadow, without any time to make sure I look superb, I’ve started to warm up to my mother for her valiant attempt at helping me do something other than get married. Kudos to her. She’s trying.
We walk into the Howard Johnson’s in Medford, one exit away from us on the Long Island Expressway, and I wonder if anyone will shout out, “Where’s the beef?” to Bubbie, like they used to. She looks just like the old lady from the commercial. Even though she can walk, she overemphasizes her walker to reap maximum attention. She really puts it on at public events so she can secure prime seating and/or VIP status. My father gets his narcissism from her.
As we’re checking in at the front table, a woman gets up, walks around, and comes directly in front of us, embarrassed. When she figures out that I’m Myra, she speaks in hushed tones, but my family is around me like a football team at time-out. She truly apologizes. There’s been a miscalculation. I am not the winner. “But, please, all of you, stay for the dinner.”
We huddle, the once-again disappointed team of rejects. The 94-year-old linebacker with white hair says, “What a crock of shit. You should give them a what-for.”
My father actually looks disappointed for me. But, then I realize he’s just hungry.
During the awards ceremony I hear my grandmother muttering, “crock of shit,” among other cantankerous slurs.
Before too long, I see them get up, and I follow them. They go right to the buffet before anyone else gets there, and my grandmother reaches into her walker seat to pluck several handy Ziploc bags. Her and my father attack the buffet, storing as much as they can into the bags. They are still berating the turn of events while simultaneously plundering the smorgasbord. My father stuffs a sushi roll into his mouth, while screaming, “Linda, come try one.” My mother used to be such a proper, graceful lady. Now she’s putting a tray of baby lamb-chops onto her to-go plate.
I turn my head to see the approaching line of people just staring at them.
I’m always surprised at my growing threshold for embarrassment.
I tell them I’ll be waiting in the car, and we should go NOW. This is where, if I smoked, I’d be chain-smoking. Maybe this is why, as a kid, I used to repeatedly “smoke” the bubblegum cigarettes. It was my way of releasing nervous energy.
When I get home, I don’t really care about anything, and just stuff my face with one of my grandmother’s Ziploc bag of skewers. Yum. I’m grateful for their thievery as I sit Indian style next to Vito, who tries to lunge for the hour d’ouevres when I’m not looking. With a full mouth, I shout out, spitting beef pieces, “Hey Mom. Thank you for sending my poetry in. That was really nice of you.”
“Oh, Myra. Sometimes I feel so bad. Things never seem to work out.”
“You know, Mom. Sometimes you just have to look for the good things.”
She looks at me, when my grandmother suddenly shouts, “Like free food?!”
“Yes! L’chaim,” I scream, holding up a skewer.
pattyabr
July 8, 2011
Another priceless blog entry. I’m glad your family reaped the smorgaboard benefits of you not being named the winner of the poetry contest.
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 8, 2011
One must always reap the smorgasbord benefits.
irratebass
July 8, 2011
Great read! Well I was going to say congrats, but now I am speechless……nevertheless good stuff, thanks for sharing.
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 8, 2011
Thank you, Mr. T!
Invisible Mikey
July 8, 2011
I was so scared this was going to turn out to be some bait and switch event, like getting a bunch of starry-eyed hopefuls together and then hard-selling them timeshares.
Miraculously, you ended up with a more valuable prize than winning a poetry contest. Your whole family was supportive for once instead of just feeling sorry for you. (Thanks for sharing your buffet with me in here.)
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 8, 2011
It didn’t last for long, but yes, it was a prize 🙂
gojulesgo
July 8, 2011
I know! It seems like poetry contests are always a scam. Either way, Myra, I’m sure you were robbed!! And now I really want to read that poem.
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 8, 2011
Well, I’ll consider posting it, then. Perhaps with the acceptance speech I was going to deliver.
Sharideth Smith
July 8, 2011
this sounds remarkably like my family. only my grandmother would have gotten drunk and started shouting racial slurs.
badstoryblog
July 8, 2011
Fantastic! Funny, but sucks that you didn’t win. It is totally a “crock of shit” 🙂
Suzie Ivy
July 8, 2011
Oh, the arguments my children would have about your blog title. Did you ever think of going into law enforcement? Life experience is a huge plus. The other plus is living in a dorm for 18 weeks, away from your parents. I was your age when I started. Congratulations on the poetry contest:-)
MaximumWage
July 8, 2011
I dont use that word often enough. Smorgasbord.
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 8, 2011
Nor do I. I’m going to consider using it at least once every two hours.
bfmccurry
July 8, 2011
I would LOVE to read your acceptance speech. This is a lovely post–hilarious. No matter how much confidence I muster by myself in public, my parents can shatter it like well-meaning but oblivious rhinos.
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 8, 2011
“Well-meaning but oblivious rhinos” f-ing hilarious and so spot on!!!
luzmaria17
July 8, 2011
I’m so glad that you stumbled upon my Blog and liked it enough to post a “like”. Now I’m laughing out loud at your current post and am looking forward to reading previous postings. Yes, I’m subscriber, and I will look forward to future comments of life with your fun and zany family. : )
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 8, 2011
Thank you and welcome!!!
highheelsandslippers
July 8, 2011
OMG so funny! 🙂
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 8, 2011
Thank you!
Annie
July 8, 2011
So funny! Your parents are crazier than mine.
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 8, 2011
Are your parents almost as crazy? Do tell.
Mercurian Dawta
July 8, 2011
You are totally amazing! I needed this laugh today.
“I’m always surprised at my growing threshold for embarrassment.”
Seriously laughing out loud…
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 8, 2011
Glad to make you laugh! That means a lot.
Kim
July 8, 2011
This was awesome to read!!! Loved it!
Mark Petruska
July 8, 2011
Your blog just wouldn’t be the same if your parents were always loving and supportive and respected your privacy. Love this!
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 9, 2011
That is so true. I sometimes think writers are especially blessed with less than desirable situations. Because we can at least transform them into entertainment.
Maureen
July 9, 2011
I would feel so totally violated if my Mom had gone through my things and submitted a poem. Oh! Ug! I squirmed as I was reading it. But in the end it turned out ok — everyone got lots of food and you had a brief time of solidarity with your family. You should have another section on your blog where you post your poems. I know it is hard to share them sometimes, but we all enjoy your writing so much I’m sure your poems would touch people, also. Hang in there, Myra!!
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 9, 2011
I will consider that, Maureen. The poems usually aren’t as funny, but I’ll see what I can do 🙂
livelaughloveliquor
July 9, 2011
DO OVER!! I am certain you should have won.
At least you got a free meal out of the deal…….and awesome blog material 9awesome for us readers, that is, i am sure it was painful for you)
I call incidents like these ‘why-g-d-made-valium’ moments. Hang in there!
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 11, 2011
HAhaHA! I must say I derive great pleasure from free meals. That is one thing I get from my family.
concerned
July 9, 2011
the ambrosia method
concerned
July 9, 2011
an angel, a cow with his ear tagged, and a surveyor walk into a blog.
Deeone
July 10, 2011
As always, great post Myra. I too am disappointed about the mix-up on your behalf. I am glad that something good came out of it though, i.e. the smorgasbord. Don’t fault your moms too much though for entering your work into the contest…. although she was meddling where she shouldn’t have been, and going through your personal property without permission; she obviously thought your work was worthy of being sent to enter. Which says a lot, you know?! She believes in you…. in a meddling, snooping type way. 😉
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 11, 2011
Yeah, my Moms is an interesting character. I’m trying to find the humor in every encounter, rather than my impatience. She’s really not that smart, but she tries so hard.
Always nice to hear from you, hot stuff.
thelaughingmom
July 10, 2011
I have to say, I can’t blame your family for the buffet napping. It was a pretty crappy move from the contest organizers, to say the least. Contests are very over-rated. Your writing is hugely entertaining.
Iulius Ionescu
July 10, 2011
It’s nice to see you looking on the bright side of things. We really should count our blessings.
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 11, 2011
Yes, it’s something I try to do all the time. People have always accused me of being a Pollyanna of sorts, but I think you’ve got to to stay sane.
thedailydish
July 10, 2011
Have you ever thought of entering one of those contests yourself? I KNOW you’d win ‘best black comedy’ hands down. Myra, your unfailing ability to turn even the most shocking disappointment/embarrassment into something positive is one of life’s greatest gifts. That, and your writing. XO
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
July 11, 2011
Thank you beautiful lady! I will look into these contests myself.
E
July 13, 2011
Very funny – could totally be my family….
Spectra
July 15, 2011
Can’t you rig some sort of electricution-mousetrap thing to train her to say out of your stuff? That’s just the worst thing, invasion of privacy.
Laura Weldon
August 16, 2011
I suffered from the Snoop Ma myself. My tactic? Leave outrageous accounts of impossibly foul behavior. Gave her lots to chew on. Sadly in my case I had to make up most of those accounts. sigh