The 3rd Element

Thursday January 29. 10:00pm

“Watching TV & folding clean tablecloths & towels to take back to church tomorrow!”

Wacha watching, mom? Wild hare of a guess…is it the weather channel? The television that my mom watches involves three channels, maximum, and they are, in order of frequency:

1) The Weather Channel

2) Whatever my dad is watching/yelling at

3) The Cosby Show
Let’s take a look my mom’s plethora of options:

The Weather Channel

I will say her weather channel watching has decreased A LOT in the last few years because during prime time now the Weather Channel has realized that–spoiler alert–the weather doesn’t change THAT OFTEN for 24 hour weather coverage. And these assholes have been shoving clouds down our throat since 1982, saying “You Need Us For Everything You Do”.

At least their marketing campaign was honest in the “we’re actively trying to create a sense of anxiety and co-dependency in you” category. I’ve detailed how my mom loves those “Local on the 8s”. Thankfully she has been pretty underwhelmed by the egregiously sensational So You Think You’d Survive and the just barely associated with weather Fat Guys in the Woods. I wish that I was making these show titles up. Also, anyone wanna talk about why Jim Cantore is ripped as shit?

jim cantore

That boy is swoll, son.

 

Whatever my dad is watching/yelling at

My dad likes to watch sports. He also really, really likes to win. But even more than winning, he loves a good, close, down to the wire game, and he loves watching well-funded teams lose (the Yankees, Miami Heat, the Patriots) He also loves seeing any star athletes with big attitudes lose (everyone on the Yankees, everyone on Miami Heat, anyone within a 50 mile radius of Massachusetts) getting eviscerated. His favorite is probably college basketball, but he’ll take any of the big three: Basketball, Football, or the last 10 minutes of any Baseball game. Anytime before then and you’re wasting your time. Seriously, if you weren’t watching the first two hours and forty-five minutes of baseball games, you probably could’ve earned that raise by now. Or, at the very least, you could have called your mother.

My mom doesn’t necessarily like to watch as much as she likes to multitask and ensure that my father doesn’t throw anything large at the television or make any death-threat phone calls he would later regret.

The Cosby Show

Okay, okay, before I get in on the Cosby Show, and everyone wants to chat about pills and waitresses, let me just quote Chris Rock in saying “I don’t know what to say. What do you say? I hope it’s not true. That’s all you can say. I really do. I grew up on Cosby. I love Cosby, and I just hope it’s not true.”

I, too, grew up on some mad Cosby. My mom barely knows how to work the remotes (yes, plural) in our house, and there used to be written instructions for her by the side of the couch in case she EVER wanted to watch TV by herself. It was so rare that she watched TV by herself that she forgot EVERY TIME how the damn thing worked.

My mom memorized the number for Nickelodeon because she didn’t want to flip through the channels. Most of the other channels frightened her. I completely understand. Imagine that you’re an alien who has never seen TV before (not far off the mark for describing my mother) and then all of a sudden you’re watching The View or anything on Spike TV. You would never recover. It would be like the scene in The 5th Element when Leeloo finally decided to casually search the term “War” on the interwebs.

leeloo

 

I’m with you, mom. Stick with The Cosby Show.

 

Thank You, Notes

Wednesday January 28. 10:37pm

“Writing thank you notes to folks who fed, housed & cared for us while we were in Louisiana!”

My mom is a Thank You note writer. Alas, it is a dying art, and I’m not exactly carrying the torch. Thank You notes are going the way of the Inuits of Greenland, sailing across the icy sea on a pile of lickable envelopes nobody wanted to lick.

iniuit

I don’t exactly mourn their passing, but I know there is something about them that people (including me) like. But there is a deep seeded hatred as well. My mom used to basically force us at gunpoint after Christmas and birthdays every year to write thank you notes. Mainly what happened was I told the person who gave me shit what it was they gave me (presumably they forgot or were high when they bought it). Then, after she removed the duct tape from our mouths, we were instructed to write about what we did with that thing. This was not such an easy task. Especially when what they gave you was pants. “Umm… thanks for the goddamn cargo pants. They have a lot of storage. I put money that I’m saving for a Power Wheel Jeep Rubicon in them, and guess what, it’s still not enough! Maybe I’ll sell these pants.” A child’s most hated gift is, of course, clothes. Coincidentally, a parent’s most cherished gift for their child is any period of genuine silence and/or for that child to get a law degree.

Anyway, Thanks for all the hospitality in Louisiana. I’m going to print this blog post on my printing press and send it via post forthwith as a token of my thanks.

printing-press1

I’ll have it ready in four weeks.

Linens n Things: suspiciously ambiguous.

Tuesday January 27. 9:59pm

“Taking linens off the guest bed getting ready for delivery of new mattress for exchange tomorrow!”

The holidays are over, so the mattress juggling begins anew. These people…I just don’t know. Apparently, the new mattress they got at christmas wasn’t particularly comfortable, so they are exchanging it. Or, hell, maybe this is another situation entirely. It is very possible. Again, they basically run a lending library out of their basement for mattress, box springs, bed spreads, pillow cases, and bed skirts–whatever the hell you need a bed skirt for I will never know.

When Linens n Things closed all their stores, this is where the inventory went.

Popcorn Dinner vs. Amy’s “Kitchen”

Monday January 26.  10:05pm

“Watching a movie & eating popcorn & cheese had a late session meeting so made it dinner!”

Wow. I think this is the first time in the history of knowing my mother and father that they have had popcorn movie night on a MONDAY. I’m not even mad, I’m impressed. I should outline that, like a great many things my parents do, the popcorn is NEVER by itself. She mentioned cheese. Now what you’re probably visualizing is the usual version of this brand of laziness. You’re picturing my parents microwaving a bag of Orville Redenbacher, grabbing a hunk of medium cheddar cheese out of the fridge, and cueing up Netflix to watch season 3 of Friends. They are grabbing fistfuls of popcorn while passing a half-unwrapped block of cheese between them and taking bites directly into the cheese. Well, I hate to disappoint you, but this is not so. Eating popcorn involves, you guessed it, a mother-effing tray.

When my mom says they are eating “popcorn & cheese”, what she really means is they are eating popcorn, apples, raisins, at least two kinds of cheese, at least 3 kinds of crackers, peanut butter, dried apricots, carrots, orange slices, and shit, maybe even some celery. This is their “off night”.

Wanna know what my “off night” looks like? Well it starts with listlessness and a strong desire to cook NOTHING. It usually results in an Amy’s Mattar Tofu frozen dinner (hey, at least its expensive. I mean, healthy. btw, I’m not vegetarian, I just reuse to stoop to Hungry Man dinners). And then I pour Sriracha sauce aaaalll over it. Then I have a seat in front my laptop and maybe watch like 3 episodes of The Fall. The whole dish looks a lot like this:

amys

Nailed it.

OMeffingG no Rule of 3

Sunday January 25. 9:56pm

“Finishing eating apple pie and ice cream & chatting with Alex!”

It’s Sunday, so I give her major points for not folding laundry while doing it. Normally our Rule of 3 dictates she would be multitasking, but tonight she has abstained. How is this POSSIBLE? I’m assuming the only way she has accomplished this incredible feat is through Aversion Therapy. She got a rubber band and put it on her wrist. Every time she’s in the middle of enjoying a delicious swirl of melted ice cream, homemade crust, or good conversation, and she feels the urge to sort black socks, she pulls it back and slaps her wrist. Brutal, but effective.

Pie

Saturday January 29. 11:39pm.

Back from “visiting”! Yaaaay! At 10pm we were, you guessed it, visiting. My mom made apple pie ’cause my brother’s in town and she’s a goddamned American. I had it with ice cream. There was cinnamon. ‘Nuff said.

Friday is getting cray

Friday January 23. 9:53pm

“Making egg casserole to eat for breakfast tomorrow with your brother Alex!”

Oh snap! Egg casserole up in the house! My mom makes this egg casserole. It’s the shit. I’m talkin’ sausage, I’m talkin’ cheese, I’m talkin’ EGGS, I’m talkin bread. Need I say more? Put dat shizz in the oven and BAM you are snarfing some breakfast. Don’t eat too much or you’ll fart it all out in the form of an oily discharge.

It’s on.

#STOU

Thursday January 22. 10:05pm

“Helping your Dad hang the painting of flowers from you Papaw & Mamaw’s house!”

It’s a painting my mom brought home after my Papaw’s funeral. It is a painting of the flower arrangement at my Mamaw and Papaw’s engagement party. Aint’ that nice? Remember when people had those? Me neither. But then again, my Papaw and Mamaw probably didn’t get to experience the joys of viewing their friends, pseudo-friends, people they took an Ethnic Lit class in college, and ex-girlfriends’ engagement photos on the internet, either. So I call it a win for the future. So glad we’re in 2015, amirite?

Seriously, though, where are the hoverboards. I’m not talking about this crap. I’m talking about Mattel. Exhibit A:

hoverboard-00

Robert Zemeckis promised me a hoverboard and inside-out jeans and a giant hologram shark that pretends to eat you on the street! We had a CLEAR destination, a real goal.

Where have we gone wrong, Obama.

Mercy Killings

Wednesday January 21. 10:06pm

“Watering house plants & pulling off yellowed leaves!”

“Gardening at 10pm? Why the eff not, I’m mom!”–That’s what I’m imagining her saying as she plucks of all the dead leaves, whistling like the seven dwarves. She gave us a few of her outdoor plants when it got cold out, and I can safely say they have all fallen to ruin. All of them. We threw two of them out, the last one hangs by a thread. Sometimes you gotta cut your losses, put them down as a mercy killing. Don’t worry, mom, we kept the baskets.