I'll Always Love My Mama (The Intruders)

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."

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.

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."

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.

Princess Dropped Down to Earth Part Deux: The Hair Cut

Growing up my mom always had a way around things. Woman always gets her way hell or high water. Sometimes it is genius, sometimes it is hair brained. Today was hair brained. Usually when my mother is engineering some scheme I am her unwitting right hand. Whether I was eight, eighteen or twenty eight. To make a long story short my father's birthday is tomorrow and my mom wants to look great. She had her hair cut but her hairdresser was having a boyfriend crisis and gave her some bizarre looking mullet type of cut. My mother was beside herself and had me cut her hair. This is how the whole thing went down.

Mom: April, will you cut my hair?

Me: Sure. You mean trim that mullet in the back?

Mom: Yes. We need to into the bathroom. I have the perfect pair of scissors. I can't believe Lizzie did this to me. Maybe I should call Lizzie and have her squeeze me in.

Me: Yeah. I hang around hair dressers. I dont cut hair.

My mom runs down the stairs. I am off the hook.

Mom shouts from landing

Mom: I don't feel like driving over there and your father is coming home soon. Cut my hair now!

Mom thrusts the scissors in my hand.

Mom: I want a centimeter or two off like this.

Mom demonstrates with fingers.

I begin trimming.

Mom: No, not like that. I don't want you to cut my hair straight across like a man. I want the cut up and down like shark teeth. Let me demonstrate.

My mom demonstrates the cutting technique clearly out of my skill range.

Me: You should do this. You have a better idea of what you want.

Mom: Shark teeth. You can do this.

Me: How about I trim the back? Get rid of your mullet. I am not a hair dresser but that I can do well.

I begin to cut.

Mom: No! Not straight across. Shark teeth!

Me: I have never cut hair before! This is a free cut! You wanted to save money and time well here you go!

Mom: It is my holiday and I want a shark tooth cut! My daughter will give me a shark tooth cut!

I grugingly begin cutting. I now have no choice.

Mom: Up and down, the jagged edges, up and down. (Repeat three times)

Me: Mom, my friends in hair school diagramed for six weeks until they attempted a cut like this.

Mom: You are doing a great job.

My mom has second thoughs about her compliment

Mom: You didn't get the other side. Now one side is longer than the other!

Me: I hate you.

Mom: Stop being an asshole and cut my hair.

Me: You're the asshole, screw you! I never cut hair and now I am. You get what you get. You should have asked Dad.

Mom: Oh him? The last time he cut my hair it was atrocious.

April: Serves you right.

Mom: I love you. Now cut my hair on the other side please.

Me: Okay.

Grudgingly I cut the other side in silence. My mother periodically commands me. I have surrendered to the madness.

Finally we are done.

Mom: Oh shit, now I have to clean this up.

April: You wanted a hair cut, remember?

Mom: And now there's no blonde left in my hair. Only dark roots.

Me: Sorry, you wanted it cut short. You wanted the shark teeth. I gave you what you wanted.

Mom: I need to color it.

April: Do you have hair coloring?

Mom: No.

April: Then go get some.

Mom: I am going to the Rite Aid.

April: Tell Skipper it's her turn. My sister has done nothing all day.

Mom goes to leave.

I go downstairs. Mom is having tea.

Me: Did you go to the Rite Aid? Are you going?

Mom: No, your dad's gonna be home and it's time to cook dinner.

Me: Okay.

Mom: By the way we are having shrimp. I need you to see which pack is the freshest.

I turn over all three packs. One says use best by 2-1-11, the other says use best by 2-1-12.

April: Mom, one pack is a year and a half old and the other is several months old. How long have you had these shrimp in the freezer?

Mom: Oh I just forgot about them.

Mom goes to throw them away.

Mom pulls out another pack. It says use by 2-1-13.

Me: This one is more current.

Mom: Then throw them in. Pasta and shrimp for dinner.

To Be Continued.


I love my mom, she is the greatest woman in the world. Not only is she sweet and endearing with a capacity to feel deeply and a passion for personal fitness, but she is funny as hell.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Available on Amazon

Come to my book signing
12-27-12
Bethel Park Public Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
7pm xo


 

T and A

When I was fifteen I was a bit of a gawky kid. Slightly overweight, my wardrobe piece of choice was either a black rain hat that when pointed up made me look like a witch, or fire engine red lip color. Usually, the lip color was smeared, and the hat didn’t help matters. My activities included volunteering at the public access television station or writing death poetry for the literary magazine. When I wasn’t doing that, I was performing ventriloquism at the local nursing homes or writing articles for the youth page of the local paper. English teachers loved me, and my history teacher adored me.

Guys didn’t. It seemed they spoke this weird language of grunts and stupidity that seemed lost on me. My friends went nuts over them, one going so far as to have her mother drive past the house of a boy she was in love with everytime they were on a shopping errand. Other friends carved boys names on notebooks in red marker with hearts. That wasn’t my tune or my scene. One guy I liked a little said I was angry. Translated, he wanted a dumb bimbo with a popsicle stick body who nodded and smiled.

One day, my mom took me for our usual walk after school. We discussed my day and my life, which friend was doing what. My mom was always supportive of what I did as far as the creative endeavors went, and I believe we were discussing something of that nature when my mom breaked and asked, “April, do you know what a man likes?”

“A girl with a personality and a brain?” I asked. While I knew in my heart it wasn’t true I wanted to believe. I had seen these movies where guy gets girl, and the girl he was usually after wasn’t the pretty, heartless, iced queen, but the bookish girl. The one everyone made fun of, the one like myself.

“NO!” My mom exclaimed. This woman, not even five feet tall, was all fired up. Working as a fitness instructor, she was missing her whistle. If she had it at that moment she would have given it one big blow.

“What?” I asked.

“T and A!”My mom shouted.

I shook my head. My mom explained, “April, guys like T and A. Yes, the T and the A. The tits and the ass. That is why it is important that you stand up straight and continue to work your pecs in the gym, and also that you keep running to tone that  butt. Because first the guys look at the T and then their eyes go to the A.”

A saddened look came over my face. What about looks not being everything? What about a heart and a personality? Did those count for nothing. When I posed this question to my mom she said, “Not really. They are nice to have but T and A. T and A, guts like T and A. And as your new personal trainer, starting today we are shaping up your T and A.”

To make matters worse for my young self, my mother kept shouting, “T and A!”  Going down the block I wanted to bury my head. Maybe I would move to the island and get six cats. Seven hundred pounds later after three published novels, I could say I died a smart and learned woman. I posed this to my mother, but the shouting did not cease it only continued.

Finally I said, “Mom, I get it. T and A. It makes me more cynical about the world but I get it.”

Then my mom said, “Good, because if you keep up with that rotten feminazi attitude you will be wearing flat shoes and wear no makeup and no one will want to be around you. Now let’s talk about the exercises one can do to tune up their T and A.”

Just as I thought I was going to be subjected to more torment, a group of guys one class up from me appeared on the horizon, fast approaching. I wanted to bury my head in the proverbial sand. “Say hi.” My mom commanded.

“No.” I snapped.

“I am your mother and I am giving you’re an order.” My mom commanded.

“Then you say hi.” I told her.

“The Commandments say honor thy mother and father. God wouldn’t want you disobeying your mother because that would mean you would be going to hell.” My mom told me changing her tactic.

“Assuming there is a heaven or hell.” I countered.

“Do it or you are taking out the garbage instead of your brother.” My mom snapped. Somehow that got me.  I hated the garbage and it was my brother’s job. For the past few weeks I had to do the dreaded task because the week before my sister and I got into a heated fight over a brush, and the week previous to that my brother had a physics exam and claimed he had to study.

As the boys approached, I recognized the three. The first was Dan Howard, a member of student senate. The second was Bob Davies, track star and boyfriend of Denise Unkler, female track star with perfect body. The third was Preston Sewars, tennis team member and perpetual lady’s man. All were good looking in that Abercrombie and Fitch sort of way. We didn’t associate and I wanted to keep it at that.

“Hi.” I said sheepishly.

“Oh hey Brucker. Saw the article you wrote framed in the writing center. Good job.” Dan said. He was referring to an article I had written for the local paper that had won an award. While my teachers were proud, the student body was seemingly apathetic. Maybe they weren’t after all.

“Yeah. Good job Brucker.” Preston said.

Bob sort of shook his head and then added, “Oh, hi Mrs. Brucker.”

“Hi.” My mom said, as if she were an innocent little woman approaching fifty, not as if she had put me up to this errand of hell.

Then the three were off. Leaving me with my mother who somehow I actually did not want to strangle.  To tell you the truth, the whole thing put a smile on my face. Maybe guys weren’t these stupid cave creatures who spoke in grunts, but rather things I could approach if I simply said hi and smiled.

“Was that so bad?” My mom asked.

“No.” I told her. And we both laughed about the whole encounter. Perhaps my mother, for as crazy as she could be, knew how to bring the best out in people. In those little bones there was a big amount of knowledge, and a certain kick butt that could never be rivaled.

And my mother was right, men like T and A. Once you know that the journey gets easier from there.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom.

Love,

April

My mom, looking like she is about to cause trouble