Rick

Growing up, your aunts tend to date the darnest guys. This was no exception in my family. When I was about 9, my Aunt Rachel dated a guy named Rick. File Rick under what parents don’t want their daughter to come home with.

Days before my Pop Pop met Rick for real, Rachel showed up to our house with her newest flame. The reason for her visit was because Aunt Rachel had just been fired from another job. It wasn’t her fault. Most employers don’t understand vacation at will. It was a flower shop, and apparently she wanted to hang out with Rick and didn’t show up. Now she needed a few bucks to get through the week and she knew my mom’s door was always open.

Rick was a sight for sore eyes. He had dirty blonde hair, an AIDS era mustache, and a wife beater shirt. While he told us he usually styled his hair in a mullet, an admission that no one anywhere should make at any time, the Navy made him dawn his current do.

When Aunt Rachel brought Rick, I still remember the roaring of his pick up truck waking our quiet suburban block. Rachel, my mom’s kid sister, walked in with her conquest on her arm. His too tight jeans made him look more like the LGBTQ comic book star Tom Finland than the tough man he aspired to be, but why tell Rick.

Aunt Rachel wore a low cut shirt, a short skirt, and had terrible posture. All made my gym teacher mother gasp. Yes, her kid sister who struggled in school with severe dyslexia before it was understood. This same kid sister who had low self-worth. This same kid sister that my mom always had to keep an eye on. And this same kid sister who was now shortening her lifespan.

“This is Rick. The dream boat I have been telling you about.” She informed us as he walked in.

“Dream boat I am, so dreamy the United States Navy can’t even certify me.” Rick chimed back in his Southern accent.

My mom told Rachel she wanted to speak to her privately, probably to exchange twenty dollars and to confront her about her latest in a string of bad decisions. Our mother instructed us to show Rick our backyard gym. Our dad had installed a chin up bar and a rope because he felt it would be good for our upper body strength the previous summer. Wendell, who dreamed of playing football, was on their faithfully day in and day out trying to tone his muscles and get fit for the upcoming season.

 “They make us do chin ups in the Navy.” Rick said to Wendell, “And a man has to know how to do chin ups.”

“I can do 5.” My brother Wendell said. While he was strong, his body was still pudgy and growing. Wendell jumped up on our backyard chin up bar and did 5.

“Well in the Navy they make us do 20 or more.” Rick said. And then he jumped up and did several. Skipper and I stood in awe of Rick and his strength.

Just as this was happening, my dad pulled in the driveway from a long day of work. Rather than enter his garage, he stopped his car. It wasn’t to watch. No, like a hungry Great White he was lurking and wanted his prey to know he was there.

Stopping his car engine, he exited his Buick and walked down to the jungle gym. Sure, he was a lawyer off the clock but was ready to kill if need be. The look in his eyes indicated that he already disliked Rick, possibly because he knew my mom was going to give Rachel a few bucks and these two would have not stopped by had he been present.

Wendell also made the proverbial kill list. He was tardy with his room cleaning and the deadline was today.

Skipper and I ran over to hug our dad and Wendell stood in shock. Sensing the silence as we were no longer cheering, Rick jumped down from the chin up bar.

“Why aren’t you cleaning your room?” My dad snapped as he saw Wendell standing there.

Instead of butting out, Rick obliviously chimed in. Gosh, he was dumber than the grass under our feet.  “Hi, are you the man of the house?”

“Yes, I own this home, my wife is inside and those are my children.” My dad said putting his arms around us. His glance never left Rick.

“And where have you been?” Rick was now proving to be the brain trust he was. I wanted to tell the dumb ass to shut up now but it would be of no usage.

“Working.” My dad replied. His eyes not moving. I could tell he was freaking Rick out on purpose.

“Do you ever use the chin up bar?” Rick was now curious as my dad was in excellent shape. Meanwhile, I was curious as to how Rick was still alive.

“No. I don’t have time. I have a job.” In not so many words, my dad called Rick an idiot and a loser. At that moment, Rick got it. He gulped. And that’s when he found my aunt to make his exit.

My Aunt Rachel departed along with Rick in the roaring pick up. Actually, fled was more like it. While Rick seemed too stupid to be evil it was funny to see him sweat like that. But my mom was not holding her tongue over dinner.

Aunt Rachel said Nuni had seen him in McDonalds looking all handsome in his Navy Uniform. Nuni, my mom’s mother, was a character. Friendly and outgoing, she made friends everywhere she went and talked to everyone. She had fixed my parents up initially, and thought she could do the same with Rachel. This was a fail.

“Wendelin, what was she thinking!” My mom demanded. “This guy is a loser!”

“Gracie, your mom never thinks. That’s the damn problem.” My dad said shaking his head.

“She wants to move to Alabama and live in his trailer after he’s discharged!” My mom bemoaned. “Two years ago, when Rachel dropped out of college my dad called me crying. I said let her work. Let her get it together. Now she is dating THIS LOSER!!”

“Let it go Gracie, it’s not our problem.”

“But he could do a ton of chin ups.” Skipper said.

“That’s what unemployment looks like.” My dad informed her.

“In all fairness unemployment was kind of good looking.” I told my dad.

“It won’t be when he makes you a single parent.” My dad cautioned me.

Wendell laughed. “He was seriously jacked Dad. I could only do 5 chin ups…..”

“And so that’s why your room wasn’t cleaned! You were screwing around with that redneck!” Wendell gulped. The table went silent. My mom changed the subject to the fact Wendell’s science project was a finalist in the contest at school. The uneasy transition proved to work as my dad quickly forgot about Wendell’s room.

That evening, I had a dream. Rick came to our house, except his pick up truck was roaring and jumping over fences and people’s houses. The dream was pretty cool actually. And Aunt Rachel was yelling with joy the entire time as Skipper and I were in the truck bed. So what they were risking our welfare and breaking several laws? It was awesome.

The next morning my mom woke us up. As it was late spring we still had school as summer had not quite come. My dad was getting ready for work. Seeing him I said, “Dad, I had a dream. Rick came with his pick up and was jumping over houses and fences. Aunt Rachel was in the truck, and Skipper and I were in the back of the pick up.”

“That wasn’t a dream.” My dad said shaking his head.

“What he is saying is, your aunt made a terrible decision.” My mom shared.

Two days later, my grandparents had a party in their backyard. My dad was unable to come as he had a huge case he was working, and there was a filing date with federal court that Monday. The party began as usual, my Nuni telling colorful stories as she flitted in and out like a butterfly looking for a new flower. With white hair and a plethora of pastels, she stood barely five feet tall and was akin to a tropical creature each time you saw her.

“Mom, what were you thinking?” My mother said confronting my grandmother as people came in. “Rachel is dating a guy who has probably been voted most likely to go to prison!”

 “He’s handsome and Rachel needs to meet men.” Nuni said.

“She would be better meeting men at the food stamp office.” My mom was now livid.

“They aren’t getting married. Relax Gracie.” My Nuni said. “I never thought you would marry yours. Besides, he’s in the service. He has a job of some sort. It could be worse. He could be like Phyllis and Rob.”

My mom rolled her eyes. Phyllis was my mom’s other sister who was dating Rob, a man who fearlessly lived off of women. He had a glue on rug, glue on chest hair, gold chains, and announced that he was training to be a porn star. Phyllis and Rob would have been there, but Rob had been beaten up in a street fight and was currently in the hospital.

“Anything is better than Rob.” My mother seethed.

Just then, the rest of the cousins entered and we found ourselves in the backyard. My Pop Pop, a quiet, gentle man, put out bread crumbs to feed to his pet squirrel Jinx. Well it wasn’t really his pet, Jinx was sort of a pest my grandfather adopted. In many ways, my Pop Pop was the antithesis of my dad because he would have just killed Jinx.

Pop Pop was an the type everyone loved. Because my father had lost his own dad young, Pop Pop adopted him at times. My Pop Pop had been a college man and then World War II broke out. After graduating from The University of Pittsburgh, he enlisted in The Navy. Because of his engineering degree, he went through officer training and at the time of his discharge was a second lieutenant. My Pop Pop never spoke of the war or his Navy days but always remained friends with his shipmates. The war ended and life went on.

He coached my mom as well as the rest of her siblings in swimming, owned his own life insurance business and played tennis religiously. Of course as my mom bemoaned my Nuni’s bad decision making ability to her sister Magdelene, who’s children were dancers, Rachel entered with Rick.

I knew they were coming from the Duke’s of Hazzard roar of his pick up truck. Rick entered carrying Rachel. As soon as they saw my Pop Pop he set her down. Some of us laughed. Some of us gasped in horror.

 “I bet she’s pregnant.” My cousin Starboard said.

Starboard was Magdelene’s younger daughter. Mindy, a dancer, was in New York for the summer hoping to become a professional ballerina and Starboard hoped to join. She had a head of dark, springy curls and always dressed like Blossom. Like Skipper, she had been named for my Pop Pop’s love of ships and the water. While he said nothing else about his time in the service, he taught his kids all about boats because he felt it was important.

“Hello Mr. Wallace, pleased to meet you.” Rick said extending his hand. My grandfather, gray hair and Mr. Rogers sweater, looked confused. He looked very scrambled. My Pop Pop was sharp, this was a whole new thing. Seemingly disinterested, he continued to throw crumbs hoping Jinx would catch them. Was he getting dementia? My friend’s grandmother had that and it was nasty.

“Good to meet you too.” Pop Pop said, seemingly not focused as his big task was feeding Jinx.

“Rick’s in the Navy.” Aunt Rachel explained. “Just like you, Dad.”

“Oh yes, that was a very long time ago.” My Pop Pop said looking up laughing.

“Mr. Wallace, you would be pleased to know young men like me are making the US Navy strong!” Rick declared.

My mother marched over. Ever ready to micromanage a shit show, the oldest child in the family had to let Rick know what time it was. “Dad wasn’t just any Navy man. He was an officer, weren’t you, Dad?”

“Yes, Second Lieutenant. I was aboard a military aircraft carrier.” Pop Pop said. “We were in the Okinawa for much for the war and near Japan. But it’s over and I don’t like to talk about it.”

“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of an officer.” Rick said. He stood up and saluted my grandfather.

“Please, sit down. That wasn’t necessary. I haven’t been a member of the military since 1946.” My Pop Pop assured him gently. But Rick was standing there with complete salute.

“I hope she isn’t knocked up.” Starboard said again.

“What does knocked up mean?” Skipper, age 6, asked.

“Shhhhh……” I said as Rick continued to stand with a complete salute. At first it seemed he was mocking my grandfather, but he was tragically such a simpleton it was no longer even funny.

“At ease.” Pop Pop said. Rick relaxed his salute and sat down. He yammered on and on about something stupid and his thick drawl didn’t help. As Rick talked and Rachel chimed in, my grandfather’s eyes closed.

“He always falls asleep at parties.” I observed as Starboard stood near me.

“It’s because he’s old.” Skipper said. “Old people always sleep.”

“Maybe he’s dead.” Starboard offered. “My neighbor died like that.” Yes, Starboard, age 8, had all the answers.

“He’s not dead. His hand is moving.” Skipper observed. Her sunkissed strawberry blonde hair sporting ringlet curls from a perm my dad suggested she get to give her hair more volume.

“Also, if he was deceased his color would change.” Skipper educated us. “When there is still some red, you know there is blood moving.” Skipper had been reading a medical book she got for Christmas and announced her plans of becoming a doctor.

After my grandfather had been out for sometime my Nuni entered the backyard. Carrying a tray of something that resembled shish kabobs, she called to my Pop Pop, “Wake up Mike and stop being an old man. The kids inside think you are dead.” Yes, she never had the filter.

“Shut up Loretta. You are going to kill me one day.” Pop Pop replied.

“I would have done it already but I spent all your money.” Now we were all roaring. Yes, my grandparents were literally a comedy duo at times and today was one. Rachel laughed as Rick now looked confused. The two braincells he had were doing an awful lot of thinking.

“Being married to you is like life in prison. Except with life in prison I would have a chance at parole.” Pop Pop said now giving the zinger that finished the routine. We all applauded. How could we not?

Rick and Rachel than said they had an errand to run. We didn’t want to ask, and we prayed they weren’t going to get eloped. As they exited, Pop Pop perked up and went back to feeding Jinx. Murmuring to himself he lamented, “Enlisted men, they never change.”

Pop Pop had not been asleep. He had been tuning out an idiot in the most effective way possible. In the days before the block button this innovation was genius. For his bravery in the line of stupidity he was to be commended.

Rachel would later break up with Rick after he was sent to sea on a submarine, had a nervous breakdown, and spent time in a psych hospital. It wasn’t the time in the psych hospital that drove her away, but the fact she fell in love with his best friend, Josh. She figured Josh was more soft spoken, better looking, and had a better double wide I suppose. I dunno, that story is for another blog……

Shop For Merch

Parents Are Groovy

Last night I did a show at a studio I attended in college. It was a good experience. The whole thing was a little trippy in a way because I was by far perhaps the oldest one there. Translated, the place was chalk full of Millennials. Yes, that is the name of this generation. I am not sure what my generation was, but I think I missed the cut by a few years.

There are some older folks who have nothing but destain for Millennials. However, my experiences with them have always been positive. I find Millennials to be creative, not afraid to push the boundary for change, but ultimately kinder than my very wicked generation. They are a softer, gentler version of us because they are the ones cracking down on bullying. All and all, not bad.

The show was good and the performers were all quite supportive. Plus the young woman hosting the show worked really hard. When I say she did a good job, she did a good job. I have produced enough in my life to know how hard it was.

Anyway, after the show I was talking to this brother and sister, Americans raised in London, trying to do the whole comedy thing in New York. The sister realized she had pit stains when she was performing which is like an “AHHHHHH!!!!!” for a woman. I had pit stains in my high school year book. Pit stains immortalized  forever. After a TV show I did a high school classmate said she remembered my yearbook picture. Was this the one with the pit stains……hope not.

Anyway, she told me in her high school year book her school mates did a mean thing to her. I reassured her that while people were mean in high school sometimes it was because they were going through things. And we all grow up. It’s weird telling that to someone who’s only 20, but as you get older, certain things just come to you.

However, one thing about young people is that they are pretty profound sometimes. I was talking to the brother’s girlfriend. The subject of parents came up as I was talking about my puppets saying they were like my children. While I am aware my puppets are not human, they need clothes et all. I said while I loved children, I was in no hurry to have any of my own. Then she said, “You know, as a teen I was such a brat sometimes and my parents kind of put up with it.”

We both agreed. We were probably brats as kids. And somehow, our parents put up with it. We both opined that kids are thankless creatures and our parents probably deserved a reward. However, because they were supportive, even when we were bratty, she summed it up, “Parents can be pretty cool sometimes.”

My parents are crazy. I will not lie. Yet at the same time they are also amazing. When I had to move in a hurry, my parents generously floated me the money, no questions asked. During my court proceedings with my landlord, my dad didn’t yell at me or blame me. Instead, he was right by the phone despite his busy schedule to answer my legal questions. The weekend after I moved, my mom flew up to help. Tickets were not cheap that weekend, but she was there anyway. She spent money I don’t know that she had getting me set up in my new place. Before she looked, my room went from box city to a small palace fit for a Princess Pan like myself.

That same weekend, I found out a yearly test I had came back abnormal, and there was a suspicion of cancerous cells. I was afraid, and I was cursing my mom for picking the worst weekend to come. But it was the best weekend actually. There were times I cried my little eyes out that weekend, and I just didn’t want my mom to stress me out. Actually, she was nothing short of supportive and comforting. We called my sister who’s a doctor and she told me it was going to be no big deal. The test turned out benign, but my mom was on the phone with me from that weekend until the test was completed. I don’t know what I would have done had she not come to town.

Mind you, I was nervous about my mom meeting my housemates but they hit it off famously, so much so they wanted her to redo their rooms and didn’t want her to leave. They say she is welcome back anytime.

Both my parents have been very generous with both my siblings’ weddings. When my brother got married, they rented a huge house and had mini parties in between the wedding and day after. During the ceremony, my dad found out that my brother and his wife had been ashamed to ask him for the money to cover the bar tab, and wanted to make it cash only. My dad, suspecting this was done because they were out of funds and didn’t calculate, covered the bar tab day of.  Not to mention he gave a funny speech day of the rehearsal dinner.

As for my sister’s wedding, my mom and I, assisted by my aunt’s, threw her a wicked bachelorette party. While her wedding is rather big, my parents are doing it out of love. My sister will be a lovely bride and we will all be there to support her, even if the wedding nearly kills all of us in the process.

As for me, not getting married anytime soon. But a year ago, this little reality star became eligible to join SAG-AFTRA. I didn’t know whether or not to join, but my mentor pushed me. She said it would make a difference, and it did. To join is a small fortune, and I thought about getting the loan which the interest rate was quite high. My mom kept offering the money but I dodged the question. I was ashamed. I was a big girl. I didn’t want to take her money. Until finally, I told her this. My mom said, “You are making something of yourself. We are happy to give you the money. You didn’t go to grad school and aren’t having a wedding. Take it.”

I did and have been grateful to them ever since. While my heart dropped after dropping $3000, and I got a giant bag of gummy bears to eat afterwards, I was grateful to have my parents.

Mind you they also put three kids through three elite colleges. They somehow have not killed us all, despite my brother’s need to be an eternal scholar and not provide grandchildren. Then there is my Princess Pan-esque life, fairy wings and all. Finally, you have my sister and the wedding, the current family joy and drama all in one breath.

Tomorrow I am doing a superhero themed puppet show for a little boy named October. His mother is doing this because he is 2 and loves superheroes. Her house will be filled with toddlers, but this is what he loves. Superheroes. It is just a testament to how eternally patient this woman probably is, and how dizzy she will probably feel by the end of the day. But we do these things for children because we love them. Even if it is at the expense of our own insanity.

Mind you, my landlord’s kids have been behaved lately. Both seem on track again, but he has to stay on them because they are of the age. They don’t like it now but will appreciate him later. Sigh, what headaches we give our parents.

My dad expressed interest in joining facebook. I'm scared. I hope he doesn't friend request me. Actually, it would be funny if he was my friend. He would leave snarky comments on all my posts and would probably be more popular than me. He would leave mean comments on my blogs, but  I would just have to let it go. My mom threatened to start commenting on my facebook threads. Oh what the hell. I don't want to complain too much because no one lives forever. 

Did I mention parents are groovy?

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.

Stranger Things

Today is my parents 38th wedding anniversary. My folks found love in the weirdest way. It was my Aunt Darlene's wedding. She and my Uncle Rob had been high school sweethearts and had been an item since they were kids. Long story short, my grandfather had died when my dad was nineteen so he was kind of the man of the house. The second of seven, oldest boy, his job was to give my aunt away. So they were all at the church for the big day.

When my grandfather died-my dad's dad-my grandmother was left with four kids still at home for the most part. My Aunt Margaret (RIP) was married. Aunt Darlene was getting married. While my dad still lived at home he was gainfully employed now that he was finished with college. But my grandmother still had four mouths to feed. Anyway, my Mema had some money from my grandfather's pension from the mill, but not enough. So my Nunni (RIP), my mom's mom, stepped in. Basically, what happened was my Nunni-a one time nurse-was able to help my Mema get a job as an LPN. Thus she got invited to her daughter's wedding as a thank you.

Well mom really didnt want to go. She had kinda sorta been dating my dad's cousin and blew the dude off. Apparently he was trying to be a pilot and according to my mother was "unstable." Anyway, my dad told his heartbroken cousin, "Forget that broad." Allegedly my dad had said hello to my mother while flying a kite on Flagstaff Hill at University of Pittsburgh but my mom blew him off. My mom alleges that my dad was tending bar at her cousin's party and was with some crazy red head and totally gave her the diss.My mom had no clue my dad was going to be there. She was just a young teacher, overworked, and wanted to be left alone. But my Nunni told her that she needed to go where the single guys were and that was a wedding.

Then the drama began. The bartender had a heart attack. So my Nunni and Mom stepped in to help serve drinks. One thing about my Nunni was that for as crazy as she could be, she was big into the spiritual part of Catholicism. On a good note, that meant helping out when things were crazy. On a not so good note, that meant rescuing riff raff she met at McDonald's and bringing them to family functions when they were either just out of jail or living at some half way house. Needless to say my dad was thankful.

This is how the exchange went from there.

Fire hall. Open scene.

Dad: Mrs. Wallisch, thank you so much. Let me know if there is anything I can do to repay you for helping make my sister's day special.

Nunni: Yes. Go over there and dance with my single daughter.

Nunni walks over to my mom

Nunni: See that young man right there. You are going to dance with him.

Mom: But Mom-

Nunni: Hush up. He is King of the Paper Boys. Now look distracted and bored.

(Note: My dad had gotten his MBA and was working for Price Water House. His MBA days were long over).

My Dad walks over

Dad: Want to dance

My mom doing a bad bored and distracted

Mom: Sure

Needless to say the rest is history. Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com

Loser of the Week: Octomom

I hate this woman. I think Nadya Suleman is a breeding lump and a waste of flesh. In a skype broadcast she called her children "eight pieces of poop," when talking about how much work it was to raise them. She is addicted to popping out babies which is not only unhealthy for her body but unhealthy for the children she is raising. This bizarre freak believes she is entitled to food stamps and other government benefits when meanwhile not only did she choose to be a single mother, but she chooses to keep having children.

I want to deck this woman in her plastic surgeried face and then kick her right in her uterus because she is so freaking disgusting. My parents are both from large families. My dad is the second of seven and my mom is the first of six. While they love their parents and siblings, it wasn't easy coming from a big family. When my mom married my dad, she was overjoyed to get her own closet and drawer. When my brother moved out of the house for college, she got her own room, something she has never had ever. As kids, when we took family vacations this was a new adventure for my dad because his family was always too poor to take vacations. Not to mention he is fifteen years older than my youngest aunt, who was four when our grandpa died. Therefore, my dad did a lot of the dad stuff with her. Again, while I love my large extended family there were times where growing up with a lot of people in the house wasn't easy. This was because there parents were very Catholic and at the time the Catholic church, disregarding people as usual, disallowed birth control. Thus producing these huge families.

My grandparents had a lot of kids because people did it at the time. This bitch is doing it on purpose.

When my grandfather died my grandmother was barely entitled to his benefits. My dad was college aged and on his own and both of my aunts were married. She still had four kids in the house. The government gave her a hard time, and it was especially hard since my aunt and uncle were quite small. My grandmother didn't choose to become a single mother. This reject who doesn't care about her children and cares more about getting cut to look like Angelina Jolie did.

What's worse is that it's reported these children are living in squalor. They are using pots in the backyard to pee. They are eating off the floor. It is because not only is their mother a sick medical experiment gone wrong, but she is a fucking cunt with no regard for other human beings other than reproducing them for her own self-aggrandizement.

To make matters worse, these children were running around unsupervised while this fat fucking breeding lump was getting her hair done.

I think we need to take those kids away to families who will care for them properly and parents who know their priorities. Being a parent is not about getting your hair done. It is about making sure your children are well cared for. It is about putting your children before yourself. I know my mother missed plenty of things she could have been doing for herself because we needed things/got sick. It goes with the territory. Then again, my mother is one thing Octoslut isn't, a good parent and an upstanding human being.

I think we also need Octomom to step into the middle of the road and have a mac truck hit her. Seriously, the world would be better off without that waste of flesh.

But instead I think we should boycott her, sending a larger message that one shouldn't get publicity for being mentally ill as well as a bad parent.

You would never see my puppet children being so maligned and poorly cared for.

Octomom and her "eight pieces of poop." Endearing. They look tired and malnourished your worthless bitch.  Stop with the tired look too. You are a leech, a parasite, and maybe you will do us all a favor and die ridding the world of your smelly fucking breeding body you waste of fucking flesh. If you ever want to kill yourself I will give you some suggestions. 

These puppet children are happy, well cared for, and  know that they are loved. Not the house of Octomom