My mom is my best friend. Of course she is also a little bit of a character. Standing less than five feet in height, she looks like she can't cause too much damage. Everyone assumes she is just a little lady, that is, before she gets behind the wheel of her red convertible. Then off she goes on some adventure. My father calls her the Mouse or Cupcake. I prefer The Mouse With Red Shoes.
When it comes to technology, my mom is nothing short of a disaster. Once I showed her how to text. No go. I think I showed her fifty times and finally just gave up. One day, my iphone melted. Out of no where, the sound died and nothing was working. So my mom called me. I tried to pick up and talk but couldn't. That is when she texted me, "ARe you alright?"
Second text, "Are you dead?"
I remember being at the Verizon store. The clerk was trying to fix my phone and he was unsuccessful. He asked me who kept texting me. I explained it was my mom. Then puzzled I said, "She totally is bad with technology and can't text."
"Oh, but mom is texting now isn't she?" The clerk said, a young black kid who had some cursive ink tat on his arm.
I nodded. "My grandmother tried the same trip. My bet is she could text all this time."
Of course my mother's big thing is that I am dead. When I don't call her or text her I am dead. Once, I was doing a music video shoot and was dressed as a zombie. The name of the piece was "Sleeping with Demons." Dressed in a bikini with latex horror movie paint, it was a job that not only required full special effects makeup, but contacts. My mom called me all day to see where the address was and to talk. I couldnt.
I was working, and because I had latex all over my hands the phone stuck on my hands everytime I tried to pick it up. Then after the shoot I had to shower several times. Since I got out around 7, I met a friend for dinner. At this point, my mom was calling me frantic. I was tired though. My mom kept calling and I figured we could speak the next day. Well when I got home I saw I had almost 50 unread emails.
I decided to bite the bullet and call my mom. It was eleven at night. When I got her the line was busy. I tried the other line. Exasperated, my mom screamed, "I WAS ON THE PHONE WITH THE NYPD! I WAS TELLING THEM, MY DAUGHTER HAS BEEN MURDERED AND YOU NEED TO FIND HER!!!!"
I tried to explain the situation to my mother but she wasn't hearing it. Finally, she told me the police dude or whatever the heck he is called informed her she needed to wait 24 hours to file a police report. And he told her they had a good idea of who was alive and dead, and they assured her I was alive. Meanwhile, he was probably thinking they didn't pay him enough. Of course I spoke to her and let her know the shoot went alright. I apologized. I felt badly. It was pretty funny looking back at it though.
My mother also discovered my blog, YIKES! Anyway, she had liked a few entries and didn't tell me about it. One time though, I was having an online meltdown. As a blogger from Generation X/Y I will admit I am guilty. My mother calls me and leaves the following message: "I read your blog. Keep it funny. When you laugh, the world laughs with you. When you cry, you cry alone. If you cry again, I will get on and blog back at your ass....CLICK."
Recently things have been heating up for me on the work front. In addition, I am also taking some classes. One is an acting class with an East Coast Union Rep. The other is a graduate level publishing class with a literary agent. Last night was the first night of my publishing class. My mom called me afterwards to tell me how proud she was of me for reaching. And then we began to talk about how I am being photographed by a photographer today. The project is artists in their natural environment.
"Don't let him in your house for too long. He might kill you."
"Mom, that would be bad for his business. And he has photographed the vice president."
"He still might be a killer." My mom pointed out.
"Mom, he is not going to kill me. I am being photographed and delivering a telegram tonight in Long Island. No one is going to kill me. I couldn't be that lucky." I told her.
"Blah, blah blah. That is what you say. But you are the child and I am the mother. One day you will understand."
"Are you going to do this when I am living in Beverly Hills?" I asked her.
"Yes." My mom replied.
Recently I watched a documentary on Marines on PBS. When each Marine gets off the bus on Parris Island he or she is required to call a parent, and they have to keep trying until they get that parent. They are to give them a special message, and then afterwards tell the drill instructor a parent has been reached. The Marines insist it's to let parents know they did the right thing by entrusting the government with their child.
In the end, one thing is true. There are two people that win in this world:
God and your mother.
When it comes to technology, my mom is nothing short of a disaster. Once I showed her how to text. No go. I think I showed her fifty times and finally just gave up. One day, my iphone melted. Out of no where, the sound died and nothing was working. So my mom called me. I tried to pick up and talk but couldn't. That is when she texted me, "ARe you alright?"
Second text, "Are you dead?"
I remember being at the Verizon store. The clerk was trying to fix my phone and he was unsuccessful. He asked me who kept texting me. I explained it was my mom. Then puzzled I said, "She totally is bad with technology and can't text."
"Oh, but mom is texting now isn't she?" The clerk said, a young black kid who had some cursive ink tat on his arm.
I nodded. "My grandmother tried the same trip. My bet is she could text all this time."
.JPG) |
| My mom trains the Williams' Sisters. She taught them everything they know about tennis |
Of course my mother's big thing is that I am dead. When I don't call her or text her I am dead. Once, I was doing a music video shoot and was dressed as a zombie. The name of the piece was "Sleeping with Demons." Dressed in a bikini with latex horror movie paint, it was a job that not only required full special effects makeup, but contacts. My mom called me all day to see where the address was and to talk. I couldnt.
.JPG) |
| My mom fighting crime with Spiderman |
I was working, and because I had latex all over my hands the phone stuck on my hands everytime I tried to pick it up. Then after the shoot I had to shower several times. Since I got out around 7, I met a friend for dinner. At this point, my mom was calling me frantic. I was tired though. My mom kept calling and I figured we could speak the next day. Well when I got home I saw I had almost 50 unread emails.
I decided to bite the bullet and call my mom. It was eleven at night. When I got her the line was busy. I tried the other line. Exasperated, my mom screamed, "I WAS ON THE PHONE WITH THE NYPD! I WAS TELLING THEM, MY DAUGHTER HAS BEEN MURDERED AND YOU NEED TO FIND HER!!!!"
I tried to explain the situation to my mother but she wasn't hearing it. Finally, she told me the police dude or whatever the heck he is called informed her she needed to wait 24 hours to file a police report. And he told her they had a good idea of who was alive and dead, and they assured her I was alive. Meanwhile, he was probably thinking they didn't pay him enough. Of course I spoke to her and let her know the shoot went alright. I apologized. I felt badly. It was pretty funny looking back at it though.
My mother also discovered my blog, YIKES! Anyway, she had liked a few entries and didn't tell me about it. One time though, I was having an online meltdown. As a blogger from Generation X/Y I will admit I am guilty. My mother calls me and leaves the following message: "I read your blog. Keep it funny. When you laugh, the world laughs with you. When you cry, you cry alone. If you cry again, I will get on and blog back at your ass....CLICK."
.JPG) |
| My mom napping after one of her adventures |
Recently things have been heating up for me on the work front. In addition, I am also taking some classes. One is an acting class with an East Coast Union Rep. The other is a graduate level publishing class with a literary agent. Last night was the first night of my publishing class. My mom called me afterwards to tell me how proud she was of me for reaching. And then we began to talk about how I am being photographed by a photographer today. The project is artists in their natural environment.
"Don't let him in your house for too long. He might kill you."
"Mom, that would be bad for his business. And he has photographed the vice president."
"He still might be a killer." My mom pointed out.
"Mom, he is not going to kill me. I am being photographed and delivering a telegram tonight in Long Island. No one is going to kill me. I couldn't be that lucky." I told her.
"Blah, blah blah. That is what you say. But you are the child and I am the mother. One day you will understand."
"Are you going to do this when I am living in Beverly Hills?" I asked her.
"Yes." My mom replied.
 |
| James Bond and my mom. She is explaining why he has to call his mother in between missions |
Recently I watched a documentary on Marines on PBS. When each Marine gets off the bus on Parris Island he or she is required to call a parent, and they have to keep trying until they get that parent. They are to give them a special message, and then afterwards tell the drill instructor a parent has been reached. The Marines insist it's to let parents know they did the right thing by entrusting the government with their child.
In the end, one thing is true. There are two people that win in this world:
God and your mother.
No comments:
Post a Comment