Follow My Sorry Ass

Showing posts with label #ohmygod. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #ohmygod. Show all posts

Friday, April 29, 2022

Schumer's No-Longer-Secret Shame Inspires Me

 A Coupla Reasons Why Amy Schumer is my New Favorite Celebrity Mom

Image: Wikipedia

1.  Her kid has a great name.  First of all, Gene is an underused classic.  Secondly, she actually changed her son's middle name when she figured out he might get teased--her kid was originally known as Gene Attell (genital?) but she changed it to Gene David.  Some people would've dug in their heels by emphasizing the slightly-less-crotch-y pronunciation, but instead she admitted it was a little weird.  And she fixed it for the kid's sake but still figured out how to honor her friend with that middle.  Nailed it.

2.  She's real about her mental health.  Trichotillomania is a stigmatized thing, but we all have our freak flags folded up somewhere.  Amy let that sh*t fly, even though I don't know of any other celebrities who've admitted to yanking their own head hair out compulsively.  Full disclosure: I have been known to do this--both the blurting out of what used to be shameful secret for the whole damned world to know, AND the freaky hair-pulling thing.  It started when I was stressed to be driving one of my kids somewhere every day in a sh*tload of Bay Area traffic.  Now that I've allowed myself to notice what I'm doing, I'm trying to stop.  It's complex and weird, and I'm a little balder than I would be otherwise, but it happens to some of us.  If someone makes a G.I. Jane joke about me I'm hoping Joe doesn't react too poorly, though.

Monday, March 21, 2022


*****Warning: Gallows Humor******

Cat Roulette: My Mom’s Weird World of Pathologic Pet Ownership 

Thought it might be too much if I
pasted Dr. Kevorkian’s face on my mom’s,
so I just went with God from Monty Python

I complain a lot about the weird sh*t my mom used to do. 

She’s totally still doing it, but I’m not nearly as affected by it anymore since I haven’t even answered a text from her in six years. 

But sometimes I still have to laugh at the dark absurdity of some of the things she would do when I was still trying really hard to have some semblance of a daughter-mom thing with her.  I still hear about some of these things tangentially, when I talk to my brother. It always makes me think of temperamental G-d from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Not nearly as animated a character, Mom, but that fickle, “get ON with it” disposition comes to mind when I hear about these exploits. 

My mother is a serial pet monogamist.  I swear on my favorite childhood pet’s grave (RIP Woody, the affable and fat orange tabby of ‘85-‘95) that, post-divorce, Mom has had somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty cats over the span of twenty-odd years. One or two at a time. That’s a whole lotta cats. 

Okay, so maybe that’s an exaggeration.  And the perverse part isn’t her fondness of felines. Hell, even though over the years I have developed allergies to the tune of Will Smith’s face in Hitch, I used to fantasize about a Millions of Cats scenario. I would totally have scooped up every kitty cat in sight, ability to feed or house them be damned. Everyone can relate to that. 

It is the bare fact that she keeps killing them!  Lest you think I exaggerate, I spent my teens to early twenties wondering how in the hell is she not on some sort of pet adoption blacklist?  I still wonder that.  Animal shelters are not flush with cash or tech but there has got to be some kind of database for this f**kery.  The mysteries of the universe are not mine to understand, but I suspect it has something to do with the fact that there are WAY the hell too many domestic cats outside killing the wild birds of the world, which turns into a pretty big species-diversity problem.  We also collectively euthanize far too many innocent, healthy pets. But while a lack of ecological balance may be our destiny as red blooded cat-loving Americans, a future of only cockroaches kinda pales in comparison to the bleak enormity of letting people like Mom continue to blow through cute animals.

She euthanizes cats like it’s going out of style.  Barfs on the carpet a few too many times?  Euthanize.  Pees on her dirty laundry (which, due to her being a nurse, usually smells like cooter and @ss anyway)?  Dr. Catvorkian’s a-comin’ to town.  She needs a new one then and nihilistically pops by an animal shelter—never the same shelter twice.  Like some of the drug-seeking patients in the ER, she is the worst kind of “frequent flyer”.

Joe doesn’t believe me. 

“That’s more than one cat per year,” he protests.  Yah.  It is. Maybe thirty’s a high estimate but it’s definitely been at least ten. And it’s plausible—probable, even—that she gave some of them away.  Fancy, the longhaired gray tortoiseshell she let me keep when our calico had babies, wouldn’t come out from under the bed often enough. She went into the recycle bin of pets and was gifted to our interior decorator.  At least she wasn’t one of the disposable ones.

One time she picked up a pretty Norwegian Forest Cat, a highly collectible breed, who had a bad case of giardiasis from its life on the streets.  Even gave it a middle name.  She wanted to kill that one too but the vet volunteered to adopt it herself because it would have been such a waste of a perfectly good status symbol.  Ask my brother if you don’t believe me.  

Some of my cynicism around this issue may come from the way my allergies took on a life of their own in my adolescence, while Mom kept right on acquiring.  My dad had very few pets, mercifully, as he was the kind of owner who would have played the “cat bagpipes” with them and actually—no sh*t—set our hamsters free in the backyard when they grew tiresome.  So at my house we had a home free of pet dander.  Then, when I would make a visit to Mom’s every few weeks or whatever, I’d be breathing in a cat-infested apartment again. For us non-allergists, this is called sensitization.  You can eventually get more and more allergic to these allergens over the years.

Contrast this inane scene to that of my friend and former neighbor, who tragically lost his wife to cancer which left him with four devastated kids.  This had just happened when their hamster (when it rains it pours) also got cancer and he very responsibly brought it to a vet’s to have it put down for its own good.  “We’re not going to discuss end-of-life scenarios,” scorned the veterinarian, at a man who was absolutely haggard from nursing his terminally ill wife for the previous year.  Nobody wants his loved ones to suffer a drawn-out death and that is precisely what the real Dr. Kevorkian was getting at. I guess some vets aren’t down with hastening a compassionate, quick end to everyone’s suffering.  But my mom took an incredibly liberal interpretation to it.

Anyway. About she of the death knell—whatever, man. As with Eric Cartman from South Park, there is a certain “whatevah, I can do what I want” mentality in some folks that makes a terminal case of pet hoarding NBD.  Or allows it to make any sense at all.

We got our kids a “guilt” kitten for Christmas after having had a hellish year. I wash my hands and face every time she looks at me and she does NOT rub her @sshole on my pillow or whatever those cats at my mom’s used to do.  Holly the Christmas kitten is (hopefully) here to stay. 

Unless somebody gets to her first. 

Saturday, March 5, 2022

Yet Another List of Things My Children Are Never Allowed To Watch (And Why)

More Sh*t My Kids Are Never Allowed to Watch (and why).

In no particular order:

TV Shows

1. The Thundermans. Reason: Theme song is catchy AF and haunts me in my dreams

2. Family Guy. Reason: Every time someone cracks a masturbation joke, my oldest three kids laugh. Loudly. Then, my fourth or fifth child asks me to explain the joke, and what should easily be a teachable moment turns the joke not funny

Speaking of masturbation jokes...

3.  Women's water polo or swimming--Pretty much any aquatic sport that women are playing these days. Reason: Atomic wedgies turn all of these respectable female athletes into unwitting strippers.
You may be asking yourself what I expect my kids to do in the event that they are sitting behind the starting blocks as official meet timers. In that case, they should close their eyes and listen for the splash.

4. That Discovery Channel Dolphins DVD. Reason: Contains live footage of a dolphin gang bang mating strategy. Babysitter who first viewed it with them was unsure of what to say.

[An actual book cover I found during my internet quest to remember the name of that Discovery Channel Dolphins DVD.  Some things just aren't meant to be Googled, such as "dolphin sex".  Also, for the record--gay dolphin sex is fine; I draw the line at hurting others, crimes against humanity, or group sex, though.]