mother’s day

All posts tagged mother’s day

A Nice Story for Mother’s Day

Published May 13, 2012 by Sandee



Your Spawn, Mona

Mona played chess with the computer, listened to death metal and ate quinoa.  She’d eat soft food until the pain from her root canal stopped.  She moved her black knight and the computer’s white queen checkmated her.  “Arrhhhhhhhh!!”  When Mona screamed there was a stabbing pain in her jaw.  She winced and flung the quinoa bowl onto the floor, and herself behind it, writhing like a junky kicking smack.  She cried in an intense implosion, not to allow her neighbors to hear this sad, desperate woman living alone breaking down in an act of humiliation and defeat.  With tears and snot on her face, she crawled back to the computer and turned up the volume on ‘Fall into Decay’.  The music was severe and celebrated decay, which she loved and could relate to.

Her pain lessened now and the internet station played one after another of the songs she liked, ‘Reality Distortion’, ‘Under the Rotted Flesh’, and ‘Nocturnal Dominion’.  She saw humor in this kind of anti-music.

The cell phone vibrated on the sofa.  “Who the hell’s this?  I hate everybody!”  It was her sister, the only one she could stand talking to when she was like this.

“Ma’s sad you’re not speaking to her.”

“I’ll go on ahead and email her some death metal songs for Mother’s Day, okay?”

“Ain’t no good, gon’ come to ya,” her sister said, and they laughed.

She didn’t think it would be mean to send her mother these songs.  For all of the issues between them it baffled her to no end that her mother was one who understood her – this woman who had betrayed her on different levels.  In the body of the email, she pasted links to the songs, ‘Seeds of Suffering’, ‘Thanks for Nothing’ and ‘Where Humanity is Cancer’, which had screams of agony and a great chaotic rhythm.  Happy Mother’s Day! she wrote in the subject line.  Above the links to the death metal songs she wrote:  Dear Mom, these songs celebrate my existence and are a tribute to your being the channel to my glorious life.  Who has five rows of teeth, bile colored toenails and squiggly hair?  Your spawn, Mona.

She knew that her mother would listen to all of the songs.  She hit send and called her mother two hours later.

“Yeah Happy Mother’s Day,” Mona said.

“Yeah you too bitch,” said her mother, as if possessed, her voice affected with  darkness.  Her mother’s usual was a lady-like manner and sweet voice.  And she rarely cursed.  The departure was exhilarating to Mona.

What?”  Mona laughed until gasping for air, coughing finally, wiping tears from her eyes.  What her mother had said was even crazier because Mona had no children.  She was caught off guard at these moments when her mother allowed herself to go with her brand of cynicism.  She realized that this was one way of connecting with a daughter who had distanced herself by focusing on the wrongs inflicted on her throughout the years.  Mona relished the sound of her mother’s demonic giggling through her own spasmodic laughter.

Drunk Blogging

Published May 2, 2012 by Sandee

While drunk in the good old days, all I had to worry about was drunk-dialing, i.e., calling someone, perhaps someone I might not normally call, and uninhibitedly pour my heart out.  I might profess my love, confess my sins, or talk about all the freaky things I really wanted to do to them (Hopefully this wouldn’t be someone I’m related to.).

These days, one has to be concerned with drunk-texting, drunk-emailing, drunk-tweeting, and posting on face book while drunk; but the worst would be drunk-blogging!  With blogging you have perhaps an international audience larger than your list of fb friends, or the address book in your phone, so the whole world would be a witness to your verbal diarrhea.

Here’s a list of things I might blog about while drunk and/or drinking (intermittent swigs of Jack Daniels, Jäger, corn liquor, lighter fluid, rubbing alcohol, Nyquil):

  1. My idea for a new government based on the barter system with some characteristics of the Amish culture.  I would insert cockamamie graphs and charts of course.  It would be pages long, with plenty of my philosophical musings.  Some of the ideas would be repeated several times over, depending on how drunk I was.
  2. I would go on and on about how much I love my mother even though she thinks I hate her.  I would talk about the time I did hate her then how I became compassionate and started to love her again, but how I hated her again for a brief period after that.  I would then write out the entire history of our family which would eventually lead to why my mother is the way that she is.  I would justify why she did the things that she did, then start crying while typing about the time when I was twelve and in the hospital how she bought me chocolates, pretty pajamas and stuffed animals.  Of course this would lead to the chapter on how my childhood was so magical, with unicorns, rainbows, and lollipops, and with my mother singing and reading stories.  I’d end it all with a blubbering sob while typing out in all caps, “MY POOR MOTHER NEVER HAD A CHANCE TO GET TO KNOW HERSELF; FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, SHE NEVER HAD A CHANCE!!!!!!!!!”
  3. There’d be philosophical musings on the barbarity of man.
  4. My love affair (in my head) with Peter Steele; I’d ramble on and on about the biorhythmic currents that kept us apart.
  5. I’d discuss the biorhythmic current (I have no idea what this means) responsible for bringing me almost to the point of success then repelling success away.
  6. The previous subject would lead into me discussing my past lives and of course in one of those lives I was an African warrior princess who rode on the backs of cheetahs.

Guys, let us pray this never happens.