Apr 22, 2007

Backstage Pass

I am a deep thinker, it's what I do. But I pretty much amuse myself and if I were, placed in a cell for long periods of time, I'd enjoy my own company. If I was put on a deserted Island, Me, myself and I would be just fine, short of the daily phone call, from at least one of my three sons. Thank goodness, I don't smoke pot anymore, why the implication of higher learning, higher thought patterns would surely make me a mark for some scientific study. Some of my thoughts, just this morning...

I can't quit smoking because I would never see nature in the raw, as I do. If I had not been out back smoking, all this time, I'd never have seen the little baby squirrels or been able to watch them carelessly play, with complete disregard for life and limb. Of course, Mom is off, getting boned or she'd be around to scold them. I watch as they bring leaves to the top of my tree and add it to their nest everyday. Then, they play in the top of the highest tree, the very top and they fall and catch themselves.

The Dove's are insane. They fly like drunken frat guys but pretty much stick together in their group of about 15. They yield to the squirrels and will fly up or down to get out of their way.

It may have been a little harsh to call my son, "Butt Paste." I don't know what that is or where it came from and I was kidding and playing when he was talking smack to me. They all talk smack and the respect, that most Mom's adhere to or aspire to have, is not really there for me. Yet, I know that they would kill or die for me and I, the same. They respect me, just in a different way. We kinda have that white trash relationship and when I call my son and say,"Waz zup, my nigga," it's with complete love. He'll respond with something to the effect of, "You mean yo pimp let you call? Better get yo ass back to work."
They tell me their secrets and I tell them mine. They usually cut me off at some point, stating, "Uh Ma, don't want to hear this, la,la,la and cover their ears but they make sure I hear theirs. Last month, my youngest, "Johnny Appleseed," calls, hungover and says, "Last night, I went to the strip club in Chicago. Guess what? I went home with 4 strippers!" He tells me, with all the conviction, of a man who's just got a promotion at work or won the Nobel Peace Prize. Of course, I have to ask him, if he wore a rubber? He tells me that he didn't sleep with any of them. I don't know, did I sound disappointed? He says "but I watched them all run around naked and dance and shit. I had a blast." Every guys dream, huh?

My other son tells me about the time, he was at Traxx, in D.C., a legendary Gay Club/Bar. Or the time, he went into NYC, to a club there and watched as a guy stood on a glass cubicle, over top of another guy and the guy on top, crapped on the cubicle. "It's called Scat, Mom." How nice for me to learn this stuff. When I first heard about it, I wrote about it on my old blog. We were both hideously appalled but of course, curious. So, I researched it and holy shit, you'd not believe the demand for people who are willing to take dump on your chest. I wrote about it here, on Bitchin & Stuff. Leave it to Beaver here, to make you think of compelling and truly thought provoking ideas.

From Bitchin & Stuff

I'm on duty tonight walking point in the jungle jims of Long Island. I'm armed with a M16 in case I encounter any hostiles. Of course that's a frigin' lie cause I'm a felon and they took my gun away from me so all I've got to defend myself is a very large and intimidating Buzz Lightyear doll that if used properly could render the enemy speechless. My sister is in Connecticut on business and has left me in charge. My nephew, Ryan who is 4 and has Autism woke at 0230 hrs and thankfully fell back to sleep. But 0430 hrs rolled around and he's wide awake.There is no telling him to go back to bed when it's that close to his time to wake and as long as he plays and doesn't cry I do not intervene. I wear my camo and the latest in body armor,(a fluffy bathrobe), and sneak up to make sure he has his clothes on as he didn't yesterday morn. Now, I live in the basement apt. in the house but I have baby monitors sensitive enough to hear him breath,the best in spy gear, not to mention my radar capabilities stationed here in the quarters below ground level, I call home. He's up there now playing with his farm equipment, some Fisher Price gadget that moos and clucks over and over, taunting and tormenting me and may disappear when he goes to school. So, this is my life. This is my semi-retirement package. This is my kill yourself now, take the cyanide pill and get out while you can. His only joy at this point is to watch me dance and he makes me put my hands over my head and turn around and around, I think he might be mocking me and pretending he has autism. He's so smart that it's actually possible. I had thoughts of selling him on the black market before my sister gets home after all he's blonde with blue eyes and that should fetcha pretty penny but... I love the lil' bugger. And although he doesn't say much, he makes up for it with his smile and his contagious laugh. I guess I'll keep him for now but that moo things gotta go!!

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