Thursday, September 10, 2009

Like You Talk About Other Things At Dinner

A conversation I started I kinda wish I hadn't:

Me: "So I heard this guy, he . . . well, he stuck his finger up his. . . "
Mom: "His what?"
Me: "Pee hole."
Mom: "His urethra?"
Me: "Yes."
Mom: "Eeewww. You'd think that would totally hurt wouldn't you?"
Me: "I guarantee if I tried to pull that shit in the bedroom with someone I would get smacked."

And that's how I ended up making my mom spit her coke all over me.

This was all at dinner with my brother, after we let that pass and my mom moved the conversation to more appropriate topics like how she just learned how to "kick lemon drops up a notch". She was wildly gesturing with her utensils about how to pour the two things into the martini glass at once in some sort of wondrous vodka waterfall when she got a little too big with her movements and stabbed my brother in the face with her knife.

"Jesus Mom!"
"Oh shit, I mean shoot - I'm trying not to swear for the grandkids."
"I don't have kids."
"Don't remind me. I mean E's."
"Is Michael ok?"
"Oh I forgot to check."
"It just happened!"
"Michael are you ok?"
"Is that blood?"
"Is it?. . . Oh, no. That's just hot sauce. He's fine."
"He could have lost an eye!"
"Oh for Christ's sake it's just a plastic knife, it's not gonna do any real damage."

Did I forget to mention we were at Taco Bell when all this went down? Because when we take my brother out to dinner we like to do it in style.

Speaking of family style, my grandma has this thing in her front yard. . . wait. I should preface by saying she lives on what is affectionately known as 'the hill'. It's a fancy part of the south bay, where people have views of the entire LA basin, and on a day when the smog is not at deathcon five levels, you can see both the Hollywood hills and Catalina Island. Rich/famous people who don't want to deal with the 405 traffic live there. Note: my grandma is neither rich nor famous, but she's older than the hills (ha!) and bought the house when LA was nothing but farmlands and orange fields. Point is, she's lived up there so long she can pretty much do whatever she dang well wants and It. Is. Awesome.

Exhibit A:
She bought this painted (life-mother-f-ing-size) buffalo at an art auction on the island and had it shipped over so it could live in her front yard.




My Aunt makes her cover it up whenever she visits because she's so embarrassed of it, but it's not like the neighbors forget what's under there just because they can't see it.

Here's a little closer picture so you can get the full joy:





I rag on her a lot because she's a basket of crazy, but let me tell you something - every time I see this it reminds me how much I just love her for doing stuff like this. Love it.

Unfortunately I didn't get a picture of the (also life-size) tile hanging she has on the front of her house that is the Virgin Mary because it was covered for the moment. Probably because some Jews were coming to visit. Next time people.

2 comments:

Wachamacallit said...

Oh, love Tutu! Have I told you about when Dad and I tried to cart the buffalo onto the side deck? She found out like the next day! …last time I’m doing anything for those rat neighbors…

McGee said...

*Sigh* Makes me miss home, crazy buffalo loving grandma and all.