My mother: Decoded, and other fun facts

My mom is adorable.

Seriously. You'd love her.

She's super cheerful, and she has a cute face and lots of freckles and corny jokes and her perennial gardens are a-ma-zing. Also, she sings everything. All the time. And everything you say reminds her of a song she knows and prompts her to start singing it. I'm told this is really endearing if she's not your mother.

Still, she is my mother, and besides all the cute-and-cuddliness, she is very tactful with her judginess.

Here are some things she says to me and what they mean:

What she says: Honey, have you done something different with your eyebrows?


What she means: Time for a wax, wookie.

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What she says: It's just us, sweetie! You don't have to tidy up. Our house wasn't clean all the time when you were little.

What she means: If we have to wait for your house to be clean to visit, our grandchildren will be in high school.

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My mom is super supportive and great. She also makes me laugh - especially when she acts concerned about my daughter's girlyness.

LJ's second word was shoes (without any sort of encouragement to learn the word), and 'round about her 10th word, my mom taught her "jewelry." Also, my mother totally feeds it with princess movies and sparkly, girly gifts.

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You know what's AWESOME? Hot water. Holy shit. Seriously. Try taking a shower in it. It's amaaaazing.
After 12 days without a functioning water heater, that first hot shower felt gorgeous. I felt exactly like how a person in Africa feels when he gets food.

(I've repeated that sentence, like, 12 times in the last five days, and I never tire of it. Insensitivity makes me feel so good about myself.)

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Hey, you assholes who won the contest, why don't you e-mail me your addresses before I use your Starbucks cards on myself? That's right. I called you assholes. You want me to take it back? Fine. Send me your addresses, and I will.

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There's this whole blogger-etiquette thing that keeps me from critiquing this blog I read all the time, but I am very judgmental about this blog (which I do not subscribe to and you probably haven't ever heard of - so just stop trying to guess). Anyway, I judge the blogger for everything - what she eats, what she wears, her writing ability.

I feel bad about it sometimes, but then I remember I'm helping her make money because I keep going to her blog to judge her. It evens out. I hope.

Seriously, though. The girl eats pumpkin in fucking everything. Everything.

Pumpkin in her oatmeal. Pumpkin in her bread. Pumpkin beer. Pumpkin butter. Pumpkin yogurt. Roasted pumpkin. Pumpkin seeds. Pumpkin. Pumpkin. Fucking pumpkin.

I'm torn between two beliefs: one being that she has the cleanest colon in history, and the other being that she has gooey orange strings hanging out of her ass like Christmas tinsel on a cat.

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Peace.