- 6:13 p.m.
Saturday was my Mother’s birthday.
Yes. That Mother. Her.
The one who left her children when they were young instead of killing them (thanks again for THAT) and then went EVEN CRAZIER and then came back, still crazy, and has now been AROUND for years and who I am JUST NOW finally able to make the EFFORT to LOOK AT again and be with (ish) and try to listen to every 3rd WORD instead of every 3rd PARAGRAPH.
Yes. That Mother. Her Birthday.
Quote (ish) from my Therapist(ish): “….blah… blah…. as part of YOUR healing… blah, blah.. blah it would be great if you could… blah, blah, blah… your mother’s birthday… blah, blah…healing… crazy…. Extra-effort…painful…blah…blah…”
So, I find out that what my MOTHER wants for her birthday is a BOOM BOX.
Where IS the make-a-wish-foundation when you need them? That mother of mine, she’s a dreamer, aint she? Okay—that was NOT productive or healthy to say, but I’m not erasing it.
So.. yes, BOOM BOX. A BOOM BOX from BEST BUY. Oy.
With LARGER THAN LIFE WISH LIST in hand, we (My girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/mall-hater) and I went to a nearby GIANT-MEGGA-HUGE-EVENBIGGER OUTDOOR MALL(ish) place in “just-over-the-hill” Burbank, California to find a BEST BUY to purchase the BOOM BOX that was at the top of my Mother’s birthday gift wish list. Goodtimes. Goodtimes.
I tell myself (and my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/mall-hater) that I won’t overcompensate by buying the MOST EXPENSIVE BOOM BOX. That’s NOT what the Therapist(ish) wants. It doesn’t have to be THE BIGGEST or THE BEST. No, she wants to make sure I have money left to pay her with… and that it’s just the EFFORT and the THOUGHT that.. pardon me, counts, apparently.
Yeah… so we walk through the doors and find ourselves in the middle of SATURDAY AFTERNOON at the BEST BUY in a GIANT-MEGGA-HUGE-EVENBIGGER OUTDOOR MALL. Double OY with a jumbo VEY (hold the chili).
We RACE past all the icky/nerdy/creepy DAD-TYPES who are buying NEW LASER PRINTERS to print all their DOWNLOADED PORN with; We pass all the consumers who are buying into the whole “take a picture with your cell phone” craze and MUST HAVE the NEWEST, FRESHEST,…. Whatever gadget. Yes, we breeze right past those people. We also pass the kids who are fervently searching the MUSIC AISLES of BEST BUY for their favorite INDIE-ARTIST who isn’t quite big enough to have BEST BUY purchase their CD’s, so the kids will have to settle for (insert a band/artists name here who you personally, strongly believe has SOLD OUT TO THE MAN).
Right. So we’ve passed all those different scenarios, plus the kids that are totally TRANCE-LIKE in the VIDEO GAME AREA playing X-BOX, PLAYSTATION and MINDFUCKER 2003 (oh man, it’s so much better than MINDFUCKER 2002, even if you do need a totally new monitor and system and joystick to play it).
Okay… so my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/bestbuy-hater spots the BOOM BOX area, in the back (of course) and we celebrate, doing a little “we’re lezzie’s trapped in a best buy on a Saturday afternoon and we finally found the section we’re looking for without the help of any of the blue-vested best buy workers” dance. It’s a cute dance. You should see it sometime.
So… BOOM BOXES. Let me just say this: Best Buy was NOT chock-full o’ boom boxes. There were, seriously, like 3 to choose from, and they were all under $50. Okay, I know I wasn’t going to OVERCOMPENSATE, but I’m not gonna be a total bust-out cheapskate either.
Suddenly, I look one row over and there are the most GIGANTIC BOOM BOXES(ish) things I’ve ever seen. They looked like those TRANSFORMER TOY THINGS (it’s a Battleship! Now it’s a Robot! Now it’s a battleship again). I laugh (audibly) at the thought of my mother chillin’ with her homies, sippin a 40 ouncer…. Okay, that’s not healthy to write like that… she has no homies to chill with and she doesn’t drink.
So… though THESE BOOM BOXES are more (let’s say) ELABORATE… they are not AGE-APPROPRIATE (hi Julie) so… can’t get her one of those.
Almost-as-suddenly my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/tired-by-now-shopper sees a section of little “stereos”. Stereo-ette’s if you will (will you?).
Finally! Sorta classy (ish) in a BEST BUY in a GIANT-MEGGA-HUGE-EVENBIGGER OUTDOOR MALL kind of way.
We grab the sleek silver box and race (again with the racing) to the register. I grab a GIFT CARD (overcompensating?) and we zip thru the checkout (how did THAT happen? Probably my Therapist(ish) pulling strings with the gods that decide how long you’ll have to wait in line once you’ve made the HUGE GROWTH of BUYING YOUR MOTHER A BIRTHDAY GIFT for the FIRST TIME IN 20 YEARS…. Yes, good deed is rewarded with speedy checkout.
So… TODAY… this very morning (hi Monday morning) We (again the supportive girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/really sick of my family by now “roommate”
Drive down to deliver the present.
That’s were we get another big serving of OY followed with several heaping teaspoons of VEY.
Again with the mental illness talking and emptiness and effort and yet nothing and still sad and yet trying and helping but hurting yet, indeed, helping.
She LOVED the SLEEK STEREO(ish) THING and my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/electronics expert SET THE WHOLE THING UP in my mother’s bedroom (hello my mothers bedroom and all the ANGEL and CHERUB statues and pictures and paintings and books and videos).
She put in a CD (Andre Boccelli(ish)) and she couldn’t have been happier (except for the day when she raced away from the front of my father’s house after dumping all the kids and all their belongings off in trash bags and racing away to start her new HAPPY LIFE).
Wait. See there. That’s ANGER masked as HUMOR. Gotta be careful with that. Ugly head-rearing.
It was a VERY DIFFICULT “gift delivering” MORNING.
Much chit and chat and chatter and looking into her empty eyes and bruised face (don’t ask) and having her tell me how much she loves me (ouch) and my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/patient driver and…. It sucked the very lesbian-life outta me.
So…now… I’m tired.
Tired, but—apparently on the road to a much stronger mental health score.
This should all get easier and less painful, right??
Happy Birthday to my Mother.
Why do I feel dirty?