i_am_nav_12_01
I am...a New Yorker
Index

[Previous entry: "a Jolly Christmas Elf"]

Sunday, December 30, 2001
so Loved
Sidebar

Photographng...
Mom's high school friends and spouses n general, Cathy and a photo of her bare butt n particular, none of which you'll see here.

Marvellng...
That all the kids I last saw when they were 10-14 have kids of their own. As Aunt Cherie said, they need to get another hobby.

Eatng...
So much I could pop and that's with just one meal a day. These holidays just keep on givng.

Wearng...
A Wnnie the Pooh and friends sweatshirt that is all too precious.

Ahhhng...
Over Aunt Cherie's grandkids these days.

Satisfyng...
The no-drama family Christmas.

Feelng...
So relaxed, it ought to be a sn.

Missng...
Not work, I tell you that!

Seeng...
No one I knew today, I was a homebody, keepng my shy self mostly away from Cherie's big family.

Watchng...
Swordfish, which is so far better than I expected. Any movie with Hugh Jackman ooglng Halle Berry n her undies can't go wrong.

Hearng...
All sorts of drunken stories from my mom and her friends; they're like a Mid-West version of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.

Tellng...
Someone what's what, as I should have done weeks ago.

Thnkng...
I need to stop beng so fuckng nice, at least to those who neither deserve or appreciate it.

Irritatng...
People who want to blame you for everythng that goes wrong, but who refuse to take responsibility for wastng time you could have spent more wisely than tryng to accomodate them.

Wonderng...
Why I get weird sexual proposals, but never anythng remotely lovng, wholesome or genune.

Realizng...
The reason my standards are so high -- the Ya-Yas have great husbands.


Talkng...
With Josh and wonderng why we never got together n high school or durng my recent year n the Empire, though it's probably because he voted for Dubya and made fun of my politics. Chicks don't dig that.

I am...prone to forget, given the needless abuse and drama from 4 of my closest relatives, that most people I know and care about love and appreciate me profoundly.

I say this because I spent Friday night drnkng wne and swappng stories with my mother's oldest friends. I didn't get a chance to see them when I was here durng my trip last year, so the last time I saw them was at Dad's funeral, almost 3 years ago. I forgot how much fun they are to be around. They said I should write a book about their adventures. It would be one hell of a read!

They remnisce and it's the one time I start to remember my mother is a person beyond beng my mom, which I thnk is hard for most of us to see, even if we try. I see her as the child, teen and woman n their funny, bawdy stories. Inevitably, Aunt Cathy gets hammered which has resulted, n years past, n burnt on the outside/raw on the nside chicken or some other crazness.

This year she got especially gooey on me, tellng me agan and agan that I was her soulmate and that she loved me more than her three kids. I told her to watch it, her kids were n the next room and she said, "I've told them, they understand." I thnk she was beng drunk and silly, but mom's right, I eat up all the affection. I take what I can get when I can.

The lot of them are very impressed with my livng n New York and are plannng a visit n June. It's nice to make plans, to thnk about the future, to have somethng to look forward to. Besides, it's been a while snce I played tour guide. They want to go to Broadway shows, eat at every knd of restaurant and see it all. They can't believe I live n the Village and said I was livng their dream.

Aunt Cathy told the hospital story agan, which always brngs down the house. She also revealed that, after I was born, she cornered my dad and told him he better take care of Mom and me forever. Mom said, "I thought he stayed all those years for me, but all along it was fear of Cathy!"

She went on to tell us that she talked to Dad a lot and near the end he made her promise to take care of Mom, The Boy and Me, no matter what. There wasn't a dry eye n the house. We're not sure if she was drunk and exaggeratng or rememberng thngs differently or just pretendng to be more drunk than she really was. No matter, she didn't need to tell me 20 times how she felt -- I've always known who loved me for me, who wanted somethng from me and who was usng me to play out their own twisted psychodrama.

I suppose my mom can't be half bad, havng spent her entire life n a cherished bond with these women.

[Next entry: "Drnkng, Smokng, Celebratng, Hopng"]
[Index] [archives] [bio]
[Wish List]


Powered By Greymatter

All text and images 1992-2002 Erica