Sunday, May 6, 2012
PRELUDE: (Written by me on Myspace several years ago when we first moved to town.)
I COULD BE ON JERRY SPRINGER!!
After today, I have proven myself to be the picture of poor white trash... so my mother was correct after all! I am expecting a call from Jerry any minute.
Sammy the dog has been pissing the floor since we moved to this university town last month. I figured she was protesting the move. She has actually warped the floor in our new kitchen with her urine... isn't that nice? So I decided it was time to take her to the vet to rule out diabetes.
I load up the car with my over-tired toddler and the dog, who smells strongly of urine, and head out to meet our new veterinarian. At the clinic, we park in front of a big window. After Sammy gets out of the car, I go to take Dean out, only to find he has taken his shoes and socks off during the ride. Holding Sammy's leash with my left hand, I put on Dean's shoes with my right hand. I manage to half-ass the task and pick Dean up, when Sammy breaks free of the leash and makes a mad dash toward the highway. I catch her by the back of the neck, and Dean and I go tumbling down on top of her in the cement parking lot in front of the vet's office. In front of that big window.
I peel myself off the ground to find that I have skinned both elbows and one knee, ripped a hole in my pant leg, and the knee and one elbow are bleeding. (The baby's fine, didn't touch the pavement.) Dean's crying. I take my bloody self, complete with ripped clothing, my crying two year old who's clothing is studded with half-eaten Cheerios, and my urine-stank dog in to meet our new vet and his staff.
The staff, of course, have all seen me fall on my ass and I really think they may have been concerned that I was drunk or strung out? Especially with the dog's piss odor invading the room, and my torn, bloody clothes. Of course the first thing I tell them is, "be careful, the dog's snappy."
...So picture the scene, now, with my nappy self and sticky kid and stinkin' dog and the first words out my mouth are, "careful, she bites." Imagine that sentence with a heavy southern drawl, and don't you think I'd easily qualify for Jerry Springer?? ..."Cayerfull, sh'baats..." Yeah.
In the examining room, Dean threw the contents of my purse on the floor piece by piece, which the staff helped me pick up. Sammy did test positive for diabetes and will be treated for it.
To end the visit with a bang, my keys had migrated to the bottom of my big mommy-purse, so before leaving, I set Dean on the counter to search for my keys (while the staff eyed us up and down). As I am finally grasping my key chain, I feel a rope around my neck. My two year old has one end of someone's nasty old dog leash in his mouth and he is looping the other end around my neck. And the picture of white trash has been completed.
-written August, 2006, and published May, 2012
MEET THE (REAL LIVE) CAST:
Anna Kate: I'm Anna Kate. I am a JAP (Jewish American Princess) who was born in NYC but has lived in the bible belt of the south eastern US for the last 20 years. Except I'm more of a practicing Catholic if I had to claim a religion. My dad was an OB/GYN and mom's a shrink, so you can't say much that will surprise me. I'll let you form your own judgements on me, but I'll happily provide candid descriptions of everyone else I know.
Christopher: That's the husband. He's the only one in the family who knows about this blog, so he will be reading this. He is simply lovely.
Dean: our son, born in 2005. Cute kid, sweet kid, socially kinda awkward. IQ of 140 but athletic ability is negative 0 out of 10. We've wondered if he's a little "soft," but he recently confessed to Christopher that he's noticing the boobs drawn into a cartoon in one of his "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" books. So now we're thinking he's just metro.
Allison: Baby Girl was born 2008. Very adorable. Very alpha personality. She likes to eat dirt when she thinks no one is looking but she does not have PICA. She has no fear except when it comes to cats, or people dressed in character costumes (like Mall Santa). Inspired by her fear of cats, her latest move is a cat-like hiss when she is being disciplined by an authority figure. The Hiss includes baring of the teeth and narrowing of the eyes, along with the obvious "ssssssss" sound and direct eye contact.
So that's everyone who lives in the house. Then there's the extended family. This is where it gets fun.
Berti: That's my mom, the shrink. (Well, child psychologist but whatever, right?) Mom is a little peculiar. And by "peculiar" I mean bat-shit crazy. Everything she says is in a thick Jersey accent. (Oy wish yuw wouldn't make fun of muy, oy don't twak like that at owul. Nwot at owul.) She has absolutely NO appreciation for sarcasm so everything I say is perceived as just really mean. Mom went to finishing school in Europe before college. She thinks I am a classless shallow redneck, but she loves me in spite of that. Mom goes off the deep end, often provoked by absolutely NOTHING AT ALL. She will blame you for [random imagined offense here] and then lock herself in an adjacent room and cry audibly, then "go for a drive," and eventually confront you in front of whoever happens to be around (usually clients of my husband's, some new friend prospects, or neighbors). Last time this happened it was because I did not properly greet her when she arrived at my home. I had smiled, and said "hello" but did not stand up from the table, hug her, or invite her to eat with us. I thought it was obvious that she was invited to eat with us... she's my mom, there was a place set for her, and she had just driven 4 hours to see us... I was wrong. The kids call her Nona, Italian for "grandma."
THE Daniel: The. One. And. Only. Daniel thinks Daniel is awesome, and my mother fully agrees. He is the middle brother (I'm the oldest). This is my mom's favorite child. Daniel is, literally, a rocket scientist. He went to grad school on a full academic scholarship for aerospace engineering and lives in DC and has some part in designing space shuttles for NASA. He spends most of his time passing judgement on people, and as far as I know lives alone and has no friends. Except my mother, they talk every night.
Hello, Freud, How is Oedipus doing?
The kids call him "Daniel Daniel" because "Uncle Daniel" was too redundant for a two year old to pronounce. Daniel is actually really good with the kids, like, 90% of the time. The other 10% leaves you thinkin' "OMG he's being a douchebag to a 3 year old?!?"
Kenneth: Ken is my youngest brother. He's a very sweet kid but a little fucked in the head. (Thanks, Mom!!) He graduated from college and then dropped out of grad school because of "math block." He says it's like writer's block but for mathematicians. So he moved back in with Mom where he has been "looking for a job." It has been about two years now. That must be a Really. Bad. Case. Of math block, yo. Based on Ken's routine, one would surmise that the best place to look for a job is on gaming websites at 3am. Ken has Tourette's Syndrome (Yes, really, he does and he's on meds for it. No, he doesn't randomly spout out curse words, that's so Hollywood.). He's really not nearly as much of a loser as this paragraph makes him sound, I promise. Kids call him Uncle Kenny. He's great with them.