A Mother By Any Other Name
Yes, it's true. Mother is in town. Dog sitting for a Jack Russel mix named Ziggy on the Upper East Side for the month of July.
Ziggy, clearly coked out of her brains.
And while she may always repeat the mantra "Do what you want, I'm not bothering you," she will usually follow that up with "So what are you doing tonight? Tomorrow? Maybe I could swing by the office, meet you for lunch? Howsabout tomorrow at 6 am, we have a quick bagel and catch a matinee before work? There is a great Gerard Depardu movie at Lincoln Center..." By this point it's usually too late, as I've hung myself from the rafters in my bedroom, Shawshank Redempy stizz.
Not actually true -- I've managed to squeeze in a number of Mommy-Daughter dates so far. Just this Saturday, we went to see Superman Returns on the Imax, where my Mom chose to wait for the quietist, most serious moments to stifle funeral-worthy laughs, and apply lipstick no less than 3 times during some key plot moments. The Daughter then must become the Mother, chiding her for such behavior, then feeling guilty, offering her a piece of gum, and secretly wishing she had never given birth to this 58-year-old menace.
Today, Mother came to the apartment to help me organize a Pizza-the-Hut-style clothing pile on my floor. Beforehand, we took a short detour to St. John the Divine, the largest Gothic Cathedral in the world, and around the corner from my apartment, the smallest Gothic Cathedral in my building. St. John's is stunning -- but what really makes it in my opinion is a little garden behind the church, next to where the priest resides. Away from the street, full of wildflowers and manicured topiaries, it's a fantastic mini-break from the city.
Making me believe in Jesus a little more evr'y day. (Note to new readers: I'm a Jew. But an easily converted one.)
But what made the trip extra special? Two things.
1. We saw two peacocks while perusing the premises. One was a beautiful blue male; the other, a startling albino peacock! We were having a time looking at them, until some little bastard children ran up to the albino and scared it away. Following my mother disciplining the little rats as though they were her own, we followed the bird down a little pathway, cooing and complimenting it as though it were our own.
It looks delicious.
2. At one point, my mother points to a pretty patch of yellow flowers and says "Uch! Those are my favorite flowers! I think they're called "Lazy-Eyed Susans".
Don't be fooled. The flower wasn't the more commonly known "Black-Eye Susan." It was, in fact, a lazy-eyed flower.
Clearly, my brain is fried from the weekend antics. However, if interested in seeing the inimitable dynamic between Mother and I, head down to the Rejection Show at Mo Pitkins (34 Avenue A) tomorrow at 7:30 pm, where I'll be confronting her, live on stage, about various rejections she put me through in my childhood. You can't miss us -- we'll be the Lazy-Eyed Susans fighting loudly by the bar.
Ziggy, clearly coked out of her brains.
And while she may always repeat the mantra "Do what you want, I'm not bothering you," she will usually follow that up with "So what are you doing tonight? Tomorrow? Maybe I could swing by the office, meet you for lunch? Howsabout tomorrow at 6 am, we have a quick bagel and catch a matinee before work? There is a great Gerard Depardu movie at Lincoln Center..." By this point it's usually too late, as I've hung myself from the rafters in my bedroom, Shawshank Redempy stizz.
Not actually true -- I've managed to squeeze in a number of Mommy-Daughter dates so far. Just this Saturday, we went to see Superman Returns on the Imax, where my Mom chose to wait for the quietist, most serious moments to stifle funeral-worthy laughs, and apply lipstick no less than 3 times during some key plot moments. The Daughter then must become the Mother, chiding her for such behavior, then feeling guilty, offering her a piece of gum, and secretly wishing she had never given birth to this 58-year-old menace.
Today, Mother came to the apartment to help me organize a Pizza-the-Hut-style clothing pile on my floor. Beforehand, we took a short detour to St. John the Divine, the largest Gothic Cathedral in the world, and around the corner from my apartment, the smallest Gothic Cathedral in my building. St. John's is stunning -- but what really makes it in my opinion is a little garden behind the church, next to where the priest resides. Away from the street, full of wildflowers and manicured topiaries, it's a fantastic mini-break from the city.
Making me believe in Jesus a little more evr'y day. (Note to new readers: I'm a Jew. But an easily converted one.)
But what made the trip extra special? Two things.
1. We saw two peacocks while perusing the premises. One was a beautiful blue male; the other, a startling albino peacock! We were having a time looking at them, until some little bastard children ran up to the albino and scared it away. Following my mother disciplining the little rats as though they were her own, we followed the bird down a little pathway, cooing and complimenting it as though it were our own.
It looks delicious.
2. At one point, my mother points to a pretty patch of yellow flowers and says "Uch! Those are my favorite flowers! I think they're called "Lazy-Eyed Susans".
Don't be fooled. The flower wasn't the more commonly known "Black-Eye Susan." It was, in fact, a lazy-eyed flower.
Clearly, my brain is fried from the weekend antics. However, if interested in seeing the inimitable dynamic between Mother and I, head down to the Rejection Show at Mo Pitkins (34 Avenue A) tomorrow at 7:30 pm, where I'll be confronting her, live on stage, about various rejections she put me through in my childhood. You can't miss us -- we'll be the Lazy-Eyed Susans fighting loudly by the bar.
posted by Michelle Collins on
Sunday, July 23, 2006
