Ode to Ma

I am not a fan of children. They're expensive, needy and you have to teach them EVERYTHING.
But I am a fan of moms. Especially the good ones.
My mom happens to be a superior mother. Not to be confused with Mother Superior.

I think kids start off as being really lovey towards their moms because we depend on them for everything. And then we hit a certain age, and become little spiteful shits. F'in kids.

But then we move out at a certain adult age and we LOVE our moms. And then they can go back to loving us. Because, when we're teenagers, even our mothers don't like us that much. Sometimes, but not always. Because we were mostly douchy then.

But now that we're not constantly reminding them of our slothness and insensitivity because we share a separate dwelling, moms miss us. And then the phone calls are nicer and we share niceties. It's just nice. Rainbows and butterflies nice.

This year's mother's day call was something worth sharing.
Sunday, as I'm hanging up the laundry (in memory of ma and our dryer is broken) I call mom to chat.

We're talking about our week, and mom tells me about when she went to Mass Saturday.
She just finished doing her part-time Census work and walked into the church and noticed all of the decorations.
"Jill, they were ordaining three priests so the Bishop was there and it was a big to-do. It was so beautiful and with singing and decorations, it was so spiritual."

So my mom has a slight Massachussetts accent. Just say it in her voice.

"Jill, you know their coming down the aisle and the boy with the incense ball was paused at door." Mom has to sit in the back of the church, because she has asthma attacks. They're pretty violent.

So when the guy starts swinging that good ol' incense ball, my mom's head becomes enveloped in a cloud of fragrant smoke.
She stops breathing, face turns red, the people around her are concerned and she can't talk, so she steps out to get water.
"But JILL, it was so HOLY!"


Then later during the service, the bishop is coming down the aisle with the holy water wand. He flicks the holy water wand and the holy water sprays directly into mom's face.
"But Jill, I felt so HOLY!"

I'm dying, "Mom, did you tell Auntie Carmen?"
"Oh yah, she said, 'Oh God, I wish I had been there! I'm so jealous.'"

(Mom's four sisters and one brother were raised Catholic. Like, praying on their knees during the month of May for the Blessed Virgin.)

Then mom tells me about the bishop going through all of the saints. "St. Agnes, pray for us. St. Francis, pray for us. St. Jude, pray for us..."

"Jesus, Jill, he spent 10 minutes going through all of the saints, and we're all chanting back (monotone) 'Pray for us. Pray for us.' I thought, 'What? Is he going to do them all?!'"

So then mom and I start talking about how Catholics are different. We're pro-choice, pro-gay marriage Catholics and we both think that's OK.
I'm more of a lapsed Catholic, but I still consider it a way of life more than a religion, personally.

Then I'm telling her about how I was relaying Catholic customs to one of the people I work with, who was raised Baptist.
Baptists think Catholics are idolators because we have saints through our houses. It's difficult to explain to people who think you're already going to Hell about why I have the Virgin Mary all through my house, so I just say, "I think she's pretty."


Mom, "Oh yah, Jill. And Catholics are supposed to bury our statues when they break, but Auntie Carmen and I can't bear to bury them.
Meme kept all of her broken statues that we broke when we were kids, and now Auntie Carmen and I have them at our houses."

See? All kids were douchy at one point!
Breaking their mother's saint statues...
But then they keep them and remember their moms. So that's nice.

Blueberry muffins can kill you on Mondays

Let me explain:

This morning as I'm rushing out of the house to go to my place of employment, I run into the kitchen and grab a blueberry muffin off the counter.

I take a bite out of the muffin while I'm walking out of the kitchen.

I had to pause and brush the hair out of my mouth that got pulled into the muffin bite. My hair was tickling my face. As I'm wiping the hair off my face, I glance at the half-bitten muffin in my right hand.

IT'S COVERED IN ANTS. The tickling on my face wasn't my hair, it was ants CRAWLING on my face and lips.

I throw the muffin down on the kitchen floor, glance up at the counter top and my plate of muffins. Covered in ants.
I run to the toilet 2 ft away and spit out the muffin bite along with four ants.

This is when I proceed to squeal, spit and beat my hands over my face, chest, hair and body. "Plah, Plah, Plah!" Splashing water into my mouth and wiping my lips of little ant bodies.
"Eeeeek!"

Dave drowsily from the bedroom, "What's wrong?"

I rinse my mouth with Listerine and watch the green-blue fluid and three ants drain into the sink.
The second rinsing yielded one more body. More rinsing of mouth until I was ant free.

"EEEEEEEK!"

Dave, "Are you ok?" Still in the bedroom.
WHAT THE HELL KIND OF A HERO ARE YOU?

Once I'm done beating the crap out of myself, I head to the bedroom and explain to Dave what just happened. His face finally displays the gravity of the situation.
"Oh my God. That's like a nightmare."

WHAT THE HELL KIND OF PEOPLE ARE PLAGUED WITH BUGS IN MOUTH NIGHTMARES?
I'd try to sew my mouth shut after a dream like that. THAT is bullshit. It's more like a bad acid trip (so I'm told). YOU CAN'T DENY THAT SKIN CRAWL.
DUDE, IT STAYS WITH YOU!

I almost wreck on the way to work, because I'm still spitting and my throat is scratchy from being a resting place for the dead ant carcasses that got swallowed. And THEY ARE STUCK IN MY ESOPHAGUS!
Shudder.

So I call my mom later to tell her what happened. As I get to the ants in my mouth and tickling my lips part, she gasps appropriately, "Oh God" and guffaws.

After I finish my tale, she's like, "Well it could have been worse."

I'M SORRY, HOW COULD THIS HAVE BEEN WORSE, MOM?

"Well, they could have been maggots, Jill."

YOU'RE RIGHT MOM, AND I WOULD HAVE RIPPED MY FACE OFF.

So really, all of my optimism is my mom's fault.

So whenever you think it's bad, just remember my Mom, "It could have been worse."
Then you'll know, nothing is worse than biting into maggots and having them tickle your face.

Give me a baguette and a nap over this shit!

So, it's about 1:30p on a Wednesday and my co-workers and I were just discussing the benefits to a European lifestyle.
We just had lunch, salad and bread, and chocolate cake. And now we need a nap. A siesta. It's about 70 degrees and cloudy outside. Why can't I be outside?!

It makes me remember my high school French teacher, Madame Paquette. The best thing about Madame Paquette, ("She's actually French? Thank God" says, my French-Canadian mom) is that she supported the European lifestyle and would tell us stories about how the French lived. She was also a bit eccentric, but so what! At least she wasn't a robot.

As a high school student, I couldn't appreciate the freedom of their lifestyle. But now that I've been working in 'corporate' for more than six years, where the hell is my free time?

What is wrong with us? Is it our Puritan history that makes us so oppressed? What's so great about capitalism? Do we need all of this CRAP!

SUVs, tanning beds, Styrofoam, box shopping malls (we all like the familiar over the unique don't we!)

Last night, I smelled smoke outside, and I thought, "If the house burns down, grab Dorie and the back-up drive." The dog is our child and the computer houses the majority of our photos over the years, and that's all I'd want to save. The rest is just crap!

If we had the opportunity to live in Hawaii in a shack or RV, I'd take it. Sell all of the crap, suitcase of clothes, and gone! Tell all the family, "Bring your own towel and pillow, come on over."

What about the 4-day work week? Let's mimic Utah's example. (well this aspect of Utah) I mean, don't most of us work at least 10 hrs a day anyway? When you factor in emails and phone calls - DAMN!

And joy of joys, our dirty cars wouldn't be polluting as much, we wouldn't have all of those office lights on, and you have less sick days.

So, how do insert the European lifestyle into our American ways?
I think Wikihow has a decent article with tips! WIKI WHAT? WIKI THAT'S HOW!
They even give you ideas for hygiene and fashion. Dig it.

Another young lady gives us tips on how to live like a European in the suburbs of America.

My life partner, hunny bunny, and I make attempts to run or walk daily, be outdoors and sunbathe, get out of the house, and recently we removed so much red meat from our diet.

One of the reasons I'm rejecting our current American "GO GO GO" attitude is probably due to my incessant road rage. It's not as if I'm raging for no good reason, these people are truly crazy out there.

I confronted the latest offending person, which has always been a fantasy. It went well.

But at least I didn't go with my initial reaction to drag his wife out the car by her hair and beat her face against the hood of their speedy, red BMW. Cut me off? Sure...

And I looked up that night, "Sorry about that one God, but he deserved it. Hope I'm not so angry next time..."

Leads me to my point- Why do we have to be in such a hurry?

Just try and enjoy everything. Be leisurely with your tasks. I like getting my car washed. It makes me feel happy and bubbly. I like lonely shopping. Reading my book. Lying in my under-roos. So freeing.

Even washing the dishes during the weekend mornings while I'm waiting for the coffee to be done makes me cozy. (I have a window, so naturally, it's easier.)

So, take a stretch and make time some free-time. Do whatever. Just do something else.

America even supports F'in idiots.

I'm a veteran and can say what I want. That's how it works, see.

So, this is going to be short. Not because I'm at work, but because it's 4:30p and I'm almost out of here. Bitches.

I'm a combat veteran, not because I think I am, but because the military named me one. That is because I spent some time in 2004 and 2005 deployed in the horror of horrors - Kosovo (FORMER REPUBLIC OF YUGOSLAVIA).

It's not scary, not in 2005 anyways and not when you're an American person with a gun. They give you some leeway when you have a gun.

It was while I was in the Army National Guard. Not like Bush's National Guard. The National Guard has changed its role somewhat since Bush was in. Loads of overseas deployments, especially for the Army.

But, the point is that I'm a veteran (technically). And when ignorant people vomit their rhetoric about:
1.gays ("They're going to Hell)

2.religion ("If you're against coal, you're an Atheist." I don't know if that qualifies, but I hate Don Blankenship.)

3.environment ("Global warming doesn't exisit")

4.race (I can't even say it)

5.sex ("Can I speak to your husband little lady?")

I can quickly shut them up by saying, "Well, I'm a veteran of this country. And I'm pretty sure there is something about freedom in our Constitution somewhere...
Oh and I":

1. support gay rights. Everybody needs love, right? And everyone needs to get laid.

2. am not religious. But I do believe in a higher power, so I guess that makes me spiritual. You intolerant hypo-Christian.

3. I think humans are wasteful and at times toxic. We really need to do better. Carry a fucking tote and recycle for a start.

4. I like stereotypes just like the next person, but I try not to hate others unless they're stupid or mean. And I wish I was Native American. They run so fast! But they don't do well with sugar...

5. And "I'm assuming you want to speak to the person who will make the final decision, correct? Well that would be me, you ignorant fuck."
Oh, and I BELIEVE that women have a place in combat. But I'm also a superhuman. And, I'm not the only one.

I know there was a tad bit of anger in this one. But I was still being supportive. It's about freedom, get it? If you want to be a fucking retard, you can! Because we live in America and you don't have to be persecuted for your 'beliefs' even though you're lacking all intelligent thought.

So when you encounter someone who you think is actually retarded,
(not Down's syndrome because they're usually friendly and like to hug - except for my Aunt Judy. She will hug you, but she'll also try to steal your cupcake. She's sneaky, that Aunt Judy. And likes cupcakes.)

but RETARDED - LIKE "THIS PERSON IS SO FUCKING STUPID, IT WOULD BE WORTH GOING TO JAIL JUST SO I CAN CHOKE THE LIFE OUT OF THEM."

Just remember, this is America and we will embrace the weak, the poor, the sick and the fucking retarded. And smile dammit, you're in AMERICA!

I love you Jesus - have a 'Peep'.

A little Easter reflection.

As a lapsed Catholic (don't worry, I'm seeking spiritual attention) I'm not particularly religious. But I do enjoy tradition, and holidays that get me out of work. Though, I currently work in Hell, where we don't get Good Friday off.

It was the same when I worked at the ad agency in 2007.
This is where I began, "Bad Girls on Good Friday" - it was a celebration of Christ through bar tabs. I made posters and plastered them around the office.
Everyone was invited, especially J.C.
"Have a drink with Jesus" and "Drinking with the Lord"

(Thank God it was San Francisco and not W.V. - I might have been stoned to death.)

Growing up in a pseudo-practicing Catholic family (Mom knew how to pray the rosary, my brothers and I thought it was a necklace) we celebrated Christian holidays with gusto. Thankfully, we weren't one of those families that made a birthday cake for Jesus. What is with that?

We also liked to drape the scapulars around our bed posts with the pretty pictures. (Had I known then what I know now...OUCH)

But, I always liked Christmas and Easter. Christmas was warm in an otherwise frigid season and Easter felt like a breeze before the muggy, buggy summer.

Though, Halloween is sacred to me. Not in a Wiccan way, either. Costumes, drag, get it?

I don't think my type of celebration is sacrilegious either. Why are people so serious? Don't you think if J.C. came down for a visit and saw how people were acting in 'his' name, he'd say, "Jesus Christ, get over yourself. You're embarrassing me!"

Jesus wasn't a bad guy. He probably would have dressed up as the Easter bunny and Santa if you asked.
How could he not have a sense of humor with all of the shit he went through...I mean, "Eat this bread. It is my body." Come on! He's fucking hilarious!

Back to holiday celebration.
My friend just recently had a Good Friday party.
"Jesus weekend Chill & Grill. Welcome back."

What a way to get young people together. So what if they didn't go to church and woke up drunk (in a field).
Re-invent!

It's all about bringing people together, right?

Our Christmas was usually spent at Memere's (we pronounced it "meh-may") apartment in Massachusetts.
It was a bit cold.
It hurt to breathe.
Once your body shut down from the freezing temperature, you finally slept. My two brothers on the sleeper sofa, and I on a fold-up cot.

I remember waking up to Pepere's voice at 7am.
He would shout in French when speaking to my mom and Memere because he didn't like to wear his hearing aid. Selective listening?

The 20 other relatives would show up after present-opening morning and we'd pack ourselves into the 2 sitting rooms and the kitchen in the 1-bedroom apt.

It became warmer. And louder.

This family wasn't about playing board games or doing holiday skits. We wore our casual clothes, socialized, made fun of each other and ate.
It wasn't like the Italians or Greeks (they're usually more dressed up and have more money) it was more French (well French-Canadian). More tea, bread and cheese involved. Still about the same amount of talking though. And gesturing.

My husband is impressed with how much time my family spends together. When I go to my mom's house, we just sit, eat, chat and play cards. Then eat and chat more.

I remember Easter with my dad's side of the family. Ten cousins in all. We played rough. But when it came to Easter egg hunts, we were focused. I do remember pastels and ham. And it was so Spring-like outside. That was nice.

With my dad's side of the family, the ten of us cousins are tight. It's strange when you get older and you don't spend as much time with each other. But when you get an email, call or text, it's like a message from a sibling - you remember and don't feel so lonely.

Even if you did try to kill each other earlier in life. Survival of the fittest-Jamgochians aren't allowed to be weak.

So even if early Christian leaders stole Pagan holiday traditions to make the transition to a new religion easier - I still appreciate J.C. for
1. being a really nice person and,
2. keeping those traditions alive for family get-togethers

It's nice to be with my peeps.

Getting Laid - Being Laid Off. Often Similar.

Getting laid, screwed, plugged or F'd!
Sometimes sex can be inspirational. Or it can be bad, even sad and empty.

Being laid off is like sex. Good or bad, you can walk away feeling a little blank. Like, "Now what? Where do we go from here?"

I was laid off in Feb. 2009. I really liked my job and the people I worked with were mostly pretty great. Obviously, there are always things you'd like to change about your current work situation, but I was happy and felt somewhat fulfilled by what I was able to accomplish.

I worked for a homebuilder in Northern California, so my impending doom was not entirely unexpected, but it still hurt when they broke up with me.

There's a part of you that says, "NO! BUT I'M THE BEST! LOOK AT WHAT I'VE BEEN ABLE TO DO HERE!"

And there's the other part of you that wants to comfort your soon-to-be ex-employer,
"No, it's ok. It's a tough time for us. I understand."

All the while you're patting people on the back. "What the hell am I doing that for?!"

I think there are two types of people we can turn into when laid (off):
1. those who are ruined, dismayed and everyone is comforting them, expressing disdain, anger or sadness, "How will we go on without you?"

They are the victim of their own bad sex/relationship.
These seem like the type of people who would write hateful things on their Facebook wall about their ex.

2. Then there are those who display a feeling of ease, joy at their undiscovered future and "Just think of the possibilities." These people are excited about new opportunites.

"There are so many things to experience! I'm better off!"
This person would cut their hair or buy a new outfit. (or re-do their resume eight times in a month and be excited about it - "Damn, I'm impressive!")

Clearly I was the latter.

Don't misunderstand, I did cry a couple of times. I did this because at the time I might have felt screwed (bad lay), or I wondered what I could have done better to make my work (boyfriend) love me more, and realize my greatness (I'm a great employee/lay).

And I respected/loathed the craftiness of the layoff. Not that my company handled the layoffs poorly - they were great at laying people off. (Weird...)

Layoffs can be like the boyfriend who doesn't want to break up with you, but things get so bad that you just do it. The genius! Don't dump crazy, let crazy dump you.

Not like I quit, but I acquiesced to the knowledge that the layoff was coming and there was nothing I could do about it. Inevitable.

So I was laid off, and asked to stay and help 'transition' (that's when you show other people how to do your job, since no one really knows how) for a month and a half.

I was the best soon-to-be ex-girlfriend ever.

I made continuity binders, detailed instructions, folders, CDs, contact lists and informed everyone of my upcoming departure with grace. And then I had meetings with employees to display my great rationale and understanding of them attempting to move on without me.
I wanted to leave my bed made-up and pretty. ("Ignore the dried tears on the pillow. It's all for the best. I'll just get my things.")

And I wanted a good recommendation. Naturally. I'm not entirely altruistic.

The thought that propelled me through the gloom was, "There are so many more people who have been screwed worse."
- I was a renter.
- I didn't have any kids.
- I was a veteran (insurance available).
- My friends and family are supportive and would house us if needed. (Mom? Can we stay with you?)

So I forced myself to think happy thoughts.
(It's kind of like working out. You know, like when you want to get skinny post-breakup? You hate it, but you do it to pass the time and pain.)
- I have free time to play with my dog and man. In the daylight.
- I can get fit.
- I can plan my wedding in June (insert dull laugh).
- I can get back to reading.
- I can lay by the pool!
- It won't last forever. (For me, 7 months before I was offered a job I'm ok with. So-so sex. But that too won't last forever.)

So if you find yourself laid off, and don't want to wallow in your own misery, here are some tips:

- Make attempts at being your own positive reinforcement and don't rely on others to pick you up. It's exhausting for them and doesn't do you any good to be Pouting Polly.

- Take up a hobby. Not everything is expensive.
Artwork by Treasure Frey.

- Make job hunting and resume writing your new job. (I'll have another post on how to do that.) But make sure to take 2 days off and only 'work' 5-7 hours a day. Take breaks too! It's the job you've always wanted!

- Get your unemployment. You earned it.

Know this, it's temporary and you'll recover.
Hopefully, quicker than some of your bad sexual experiences. Think of all of the laughs these kinds of experiences can bring you in the future!

Drag queens are survivors

"You don't have to be gay, but it helps."
I recently watched "Pageant" on Netflix. Obviously I loved it. What's not to love?
Men clawing their fake nails to the top for a tiara.

No surgery and no hormones allowed; these gals are all natural as they shave, buff, powder, conceal, and transform themselves into beauties any Texas toddler should emulate.

I think I'm allowed to love Miss Gay America and not adore Miss America, Teen Queen or whatever baby beauty pageants exist. "Mamma, where are my flippers?"
I don't think it's a double standard either.

Though, I do find the Miss America pageant contenders gorgeous (in a clone-like way), I'm sure the majority of them were always pretty ladies.
How many times did they feel uncomfortable in their skin, or didn't have shiny hair and a naturally matte complexion? Hmmm?

Honestly, as a young woman (30!), I relate more to the drag queens primping, plucking, pulling, shaving and pushing their bodies into outrageous costumes to find their comfort zone. And not only are they comfortable, they're damn fabulous.

I guarantee I've had more body hair, facial hair and acne (as well as a gorgeous head of hair - it's an Armenian thing, look at my cousin) than any of the typical beauties. My hormones, from the ages of 11 to 26, raged through the plains (my body, which is kind of squarish and has stayed that way) and never allowed me to feel pretty.

That was until I found the theater...and high-beam stage lights, where heavy, garish acne-covering makeup was encouraged, and you could cover your pasty, dark-follicle legs with thick, tan panty hose. And no one could see you sweat (I was always sweating - just thinking about it makes me bead up).
This lacquered, powdered face and body were too far away from the eyes of the audience to place harsh judgment upon. And there I could be whomever I wanted, and I entertained! I felt BRILLIANT!
(Cousin, Sarah and I after the final performance of Guys & Dolls. Senior Year)

More than any struggling performer or really, anyone who struggles for their own perfection, I related to these glittery amazons. I was inspired by their courage to keep doing this and their tenacity to become better than their competition (BITCH!), and better than themselves the year prior.

(Me as Betty Boop for Halloween. Every year I dress up - it's sacred)

These drag queens, who were such a wide variety of characters and looks, do a better job of connecting with my rise to being fabulous (I think so!) than any standard or 'normal' beauty pageantry.

I'd rather turn into these beauty queens any day.