You Hadda Be There

It rains, it pours.

2011-07-27T20:47:00.000-04:00

Looking up into the cloud-filled sky, I spotted the tiniest inkling of a rainbow. I nudged Mom and told her where to look.

Me: Look, a rainbow!
Mom: Oh yeah! Wow. [beat] You know when you see rainbows? [beat] After it rains.
Me: You're kidding, right?
Mom: No.
Me: You see rainbows after it RAINS, eh?
Mom: Yeah.
Me: No shit, Sherlock. [beat] You're kidding me with this, right? [beat] Can I put this on the blog?
Mom: I don't care.
Me: Are you sure?
Mom: Yeah, I don't care.
Me: You know, they call them RAINbows for a reason, right? 'Cause they happen after it RAINS.
Mom: I never thought about it like that.
Me: Really? Well, they don't call them DRYbows or CLEARbows, do they?
Mom: No, I guess not.

Welcome to my world. My DRYbow-filled world.

I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream

2011-07-24T21:13:00.001-04:00

Mom enters the room, issuing a stern proclamation:

Mom: I'm through with ice cream for the rest of my life.

Well, all right then, but she's gonna have to be the one to break it to the folks at Turkey Hill.

Everyone's Got a Little ADD

2011-06-28T08:30:00.000-04:00

6/26/11.

Mom tells me:

"There's a show on now about ADD. You should watch it so we can learn more about your father."

My mom and I have always believed that my dad has a mild case of ADD, since his attention span rivals that of a gnat.

As I was in the middle of watching something else, I let her do the reconnaissance. About every few minutes, I'd get updates:

Mom: Actually, he only has a few of these traits. I'm not so sure he has it after all.

Five minutes later...

Mom [alarmed]: I think I have it.

Note to self: Monitor Mom's TV viewing habits as she's prone to self-diagnosing.

Hello? Is it me you're looking for?

2011-06-27T09:04:00.000-04:00

Countless, I repeat, countless times I have had this phone conversation with my mom:

Me: Hey Mom.
Mom: Who's this?
Me: Um, your daughter.
Mom: Oh, Nicole!

For the record, my mom has only one daughter -- and that be moi. You'd think in all this time she'd be able to recognize my voice over the phone.

40 Winks

2011-06-24T08:21:00.000-04:00

Mom is known to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Though she'll deny it up and down, she is -- undoubtedly -- a very sleepy person. Usually, by 7 or 8pm -- she's out like a light on the living room couch. Then, inevitably, she always wakes up five or so minutes before the program she intended to watch ends.

It's at this point Dad will observe:

"She can sleep anywhere. She could sleep upside down, in a tree, like a bat."

I don't disagree with him.

I could have danced all night...

2011-06-23T07:54:00.001-04:00

12/20/10.

I don't know how I end up in conversations like this one, but they happen all too frequently. You know, like seeing a terrible movie and wishing you could get that money and time back.

Mom: I'd always wished I could have danced with Fred Astaire. But what chance did I have?
Me: I'm sure a lot of women wished the same thing. [beat] He didn't have many partners, though, did he?
Mom: A few. [beat] He ended up marrying a young one.
Dad: I saw her. She was uggggggly.
Mom: You never saw her.
Dad: I did. I remember it distinctly on the Edward R. Murrow show.
Mom [rolling eyes]: You stay in your dreamland and I'll stay in mine.

It's times like these I never know who to believe. Blissful ignorance is often preferred to the amount of time and energy it would take to determine the accuracy of any of these statements.

It's just another manic Monday...

2011-06-22T09:22:00.002-04:00

2/14/11.

On the phone with Mom:

Me: Ugh, I hate Mondays.
Mom: Eh, screw it -- make believe it's Tuesday.

Well, that's one way of coping, yes. But, if you subscribe to this philosophy, you're going to be pretty pissed off when you get to Thursday and think it's Friday. But I suspect Mom, just trying to be helpful and supportive, didn't think that far ahead.

Trouble in Paradise

2011-06-21T10:10:00.000-04:00

Overheard from the living room:

Dad to Mom: You changed the way I think. It took 52 years, but you did it!

Now, if that's not a testament to the joys of marriage, I don't know what is.

When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.

2011-06-20T19:14:00.001-04:00

6/10/11.

Watching TV with Dad. A commercial for Mike's Hard Lemonade comes on.

Me: You ever try that?
Dad [not paying attention]: What?
Me: Mike's Hard Lemonade.
Dad: Mike Todd?
Me [laughing]: No.
Dad: Oh, MIKE'S HARD Lemonade. No.

I imagine Mike Todd's Lemonade would be a completely different experience.

Happy Holidays!

2010-12-24T09:26:00.001-05:00

Wishing you a wonderful holiday season.

xoxo ~Harry & Jo

Smoke if you got 'em...

2010-12-11T22:07:00.000-05:00

Mom, who always enjoys a juicy piece of gossip, tells me:

"Did you hear about that trush, Miley Cyrus? She's been smoking bombs."

Now, that's talent.

Worrywart

2010-12-09T19:53:00.000-05:00

Mom sees danger in all things. Give her half a second and she will inevitably come up with precisely why and how something or some situation is unsafe. She is what one calls a "worrywart."

Take this recent conversation for example. Mom was was aware I'd be going to a place that had a flight of steep steps. Naturally, she had some advice for me.

Mom: Be careful going up and down those steps.

I just stared, silently, at her. If I hadn't learned to climb a flight of stairs by this point in my life, there was no help for me. Catching on, she responded:

Mom: Well, I think about those things. I know you don't like that. But I can't help it. I'm a little crazy.

My thoughts exactly.

Overheard from the Living Room

2010-12-08T20:17:00.000-05:00

Dad to Mom: You know, it's getting harder and harder to share your company.

Ain't love grand? ;)

10-Second Delay

2010-12-07T20:54:00.000-05:00

11/28/10.

At a restaurant -- well, that's stretching it -- at Olive Garden with mom and dad. Dad's on a 10-second delay the entire night, which (as you can imagine) complicated the ordering process.

Dad: What are the soups?
Waitress: Chicken Gnocchi or Zuppa Toscana.
Dad: I'll have the Chicken Toscana.
Waitress: It's either Chicken Gnocchi or Zuppa Toscana. One's with chicken and one's with sausage.
Dad: Right, Chicken Toscana.
Waitress: Zuppa Toscana?
Dad: Yeah.

So, the soup comes to the table. Dad is perplexed.

Dad: This isn't creamy.
Me: Nope, cause you got the Toscana.
Dad: I wanted what you have.
Me: It's good. Eat it.
Dad: Phew... this is spicy!

The waitress comes back to the table.

Waitress: How is everything?
Dad: Boy, this soup is spicy. Do you have a crying towel?
Waitress (confused): Yeah, it is a spicy soup.

Crying towel. Not a Kleenex. Not a tissue. A "crying towel" -- which is apparently a real thing where he comes from. Who knew?

Open to Debate

2010-11-28T21:16:00.000-05:00

There's been some debate on just how my dad proposed to my mom. I doubt I'll ever get the real story. Heck, I doubt either of them actually knows the real story.

My mom says it went down like this:

Mom: "I dunno. He just said, 'So you think one day you might wanna get married?' And, I said, 'Yeah."
Me: How romantic. [beat] Did he have a ring?
Mom: Not at the time. We were just talking in the car. He gave me the ring a little while later. In my mom's kitchen. Just pushed the ring across the table to me.
Me: Again, how romantic.
Mom: We were supposed to get married in April, but he was saying how he didn't wanna be alone at Christmas. And, I said, 'What, alone? You're gonna be with my family.' So, that's why we got married after Thanksgiving.

Dad, however, claims he knew nothing about April and this was the first he's heard of it.

So, they can't get their stories straight. Something must be working... 52 years later... tomorrow.


Harry and Jo, November 29th, 1958.

Bells will be ringing...

2010-11-16T19:54:00.000-05:00

Today, upon hearing that Prince William proposed to Kate Middleton, I was instantly transported to nearly 30 years prior.

July 29, 1981.

My mom woke me up at the crack of dawn and said:

You have to watch this. This is history.

And together, in awe, we watched the royal wedding of Prince Charles to Diana Spencer take place.

Thanks, Mom, for the history lesson. Can't wait for the next royal wedding. :)

Calling Gloria

2010-10-05T19:04:00.000-04:00

As it's hurricane season, it's only fitting I share a story about Hurricane Gloria. Long Islanders will recall Hurricane Gloria as the bad-ass storm front that whipped island dwellers into a frothy mix for a few days back in the 80s.

I was just a pre-teen when it all went down, and (without going into gory detail) was experiencing one of my first "times of the month."

Some time during the storm, I ran out of what I needed to get by. So, when the eye of the storm was upon us, my dad and I rushed out to the local 7-11. When we parked, I told my dad I was too embarrassed to go in and buy what I needed.

Now, while he was not jumping for joy -- he bucked up like a good soldier and came to my rescue. Ahh, what fathers won't do for their daughters.

The mouth wants what it wants...

2010-10-03T21:01:00.000-04:00

So, Mom breaks into a bag of cheese-flavored corn puffs and makes the following declaration:

Mom: I don't even like these. They have a bitter taste.

Grabs another handful and continues to chomp, chomp, chomp...

Me: So, why are you eating them?
Mom: I dunno. My mouth wants to eat.

Not "Because I'm hungry." Not "Because I'm in the mood for something crunchy." Nope. Because "my mouth wants to eat." Priceless.

Nice Schmice

2010-09-27T19:17:00.000-04:00

To entice people to eat, Mom always inserts the word "nice" before the food item she's pushing.

Mom: You want a nice apple? Have a nice apple.
Me: What's so nice about it?

Take my mom, please.

2010-09-25T18:29:00.000-04:00

Early 1970s.

The scene of the crime: The Colony Hill.

Mom and Dad are there to see Henny Youngman perform. But the sound wasn't so great in the auditorium, so they didn't quite get every word. Much like her run in with Joey Bishop, Mom managed to get a few words in with the well-known comic as he was exiting the ballroom.

Mom: "Oh, Hi Henny! Too bad the sound wasn't so great. But don't worry about it -- I know all your jokes.

Henny, taken aback, makes a pointing gesture to my mom and says: "Get her."

And, that was the extent of the relationship my mom had with Mr. Youngman.

Hangin' with One-Fifth of the Rat Pack

2010-09-14T19:33:00.000-04:00

1973.

A long, long time ago, the place to be (and be seen) on Long Island was The Colony Hill. In it's heyday, the Colony booked in some pretty famous headliners, among them Henny Youngman and Joey Bishop.

Mom and Dad apparently dragged me to one such Joey Bishop performance. (What the hell did I know? I was all of 6 months old at the time.) The headliners were known to mingle with the audience after their performances, so naturally, Mom was all over this.

She managed to pull Joey Bishop aside and tell him:

"My daughter fell asleep during your show."

Bishop was taken aback. Picking up on that, Mom quickly did some damage control:

"Oh, she's just a baby!"

It should have ended there. But to add insult to injury, Mom added:

"By the way, say hi to Dean and Frank for me. I love them so much."

Right, like the first thing Bishop was gonna do when he got back to Vegas was make a B-line to Sinatra and Martin and say: "Hey, some lady on Long Island says 'Hi!'"

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Charlie Swayze and Patrick Sheen

2010-09-13T19:16:00.000-04:00

9/12/10.

Dad is forever confusing one actor for another. It's a gift. For instance, just yesterday, he was watching some movie on TV and...

Dad: Hey, isn't that Charlie Sheen?
Me: No, that's Patrick Swayze.
Dad: They look a lot alike.
Me: No, they look nothing alike.
Dad: What are you talking about?
Me: Look, Patrick Swayze looks like Patrick Swayze and Charlie Sheen looks like Charlie Sheen. Case closed.

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The Unexplained

2010-09-09T22:18:00.000-04:00

Anyone who knows me knows I'm a sucker for anything paranormal. If there's a documentary on TV about ghosts, UFOs, yeti -- whatever -- I'm gonna watch it.

One day, I'm watching Supernatural Science on Chiller. The topic? Loch Ness.

Dad comes into the room.

"What's this? [beat] Oh, Loch Ness? Eff that. How many times I've seen pictures of that and been fooled every damn time."

And with that, he departs. No doubt to watch something sensible, like Benny Hill.

That's deep.

2010-09-08T20:15:00.000-04:00

One Thanksgiving, we'd all gathered in the living room to digest the big feast. The conversation turned to the war in Iraq. Our relatives shared their opinions and things they'd heard on the nightly news and in various newspapers. All the while, my mom remained silent, taking it all in. Then the conversation stopped momentarily, as conversations do, everyone taking a second or two to ruminate.

Contemplatively, mom breaks the silence with:

"War is hell."

It was delivered in such a matter-of-fact, brass-tax tone, and whether is was right or wrong everyone burst into laughter.

Perez Hilton, Meet Your Competition

2010-09-07T19:53:00.000-04:00

9/5/10.

During a conversation, which can be labeled anything but deep, Mom says:

You know, I got some news for Madonna: She looks old now.

To which I responded: Are you going to deliver this news personally?

Junk in the trunk

2010-09-06T11:27:00.000-04:00

9/5/10

Dad's sitting in a restaurant, distracted by the Yankees game showing on one of the large TVs hanging above the bar. Contemplative, he says:

"Look at that big ass on Alex Rodriguez. Jeez. He's got the ass of a putan."

[Beat]

"Wait, they all have big asses. Must be the TV."

He then continues to eat his pizza, leaving me to conclude that Mets' fans are more complicated than I originally thought.

That's one way to put it...

2010-09-02T19:43:00.000-04:00

Recently, I was complaining to my mom about how my shoulder was sore, especially right near the blade, and how I thought it was due to computer use. Her response?

"You know, you gotta get off that mouse for a while."

Sound advice.

My Baby Goes to Rio...

2010-09-01T19:42:00.000-04:00

Last month.

Mom calls me at work.

"Hey, Peter Allen is having that Tent Sale again."

Is he now? That's pretty remarkable, considering how he's dead and all.

BTW: This is what she really meant: Peter Andrews.

Thinly Veiled Threat

2010-08-31T20:13:00.000-04:00

Whenever Mom or I get on Dad's case about one thing or another, he'll retaliate with his standard threat:

"I'm gonna go get a furnished room!"

He's never made good on this. Not once.

Damn Beavers

2010-08-25T19:41:00.000-04:00

Recently, while watching E! News, Mom mutters:

"I hate that 'bleeping' Beaver kid."

Yeah, me too.

Before Janet Jackson, there was...

2010-08-24T20:30:00.000-04:00

Circa Mid-1990s.

Dad is making breakfast. And, he's experiencing a wardrobe malfunction.

Let's face it: He's never been able to find the right belt/pants combination. Frustrated by his drooping pants, he struggles -- spatula in hand -- to lift them belly-high. As he's doing so, he mutters under his breath:

"Why do my pants... ugh... WHY do my pants... keep..."

And then, as if he's trying out for some Broadway musical, he belts out Ira Gershwin-like:

"WHYYYYYY do my PANTSSSSS keep FALLINGGGGGG DOWWWWWWN!

I really wish I had that on audio for ya. It seriously was priceless. But, do your best to try and imagine the vocal and melody.

Well, ain't that a son of a bitch?

2010-06-09T20:12:00.000-04:00

All these years, I thought I was born at 10:20am. Today my mom informs me I was actually born at 10:32.

Guess that makes me 12 minutes younger.

There's no business like show business

2010-06-09T19:51:00.000-04:00

My mom watches Turner Classic Movies like other people watch the nightly news or soap operas. It's probably the only channel number she has memorized. Chalk it up to nostalgia.

Sometimes, I'll get a voice mail. The caller will stay on the line for a few seconds, say nothing...then hang up.

I know it's my mom because I can hear the unmistakable overly dramatic soundtrack of say "Laura" or "Double Indemnity" playing loudly in the background.

He's a regular Emeril Lagasse

2010-06-08T20:33:00.000-04:00

Somewhat frantic phone call from dad, went like this:

Dad: "You know those round things you make food on?"
Me: "... plates?"
Dad: "No -- you know... Pepperidge Farm makes them."
Me: "Are you talking about the Deli Flats?"
Dad: "Yeah, yeah. Don't eat them. They're green molded."

What mystifies me about this whole conversation was that he remembered the brand "Pepperidge Farm," but not the word "bread."

Wow.

Take two of these, and call me in the morning.

2010-06-07T19:23:00.000-04:00

Complaining about my allergies to mom...

Me: I've tried everything.
Mom: That pill from your doctor?
Me: Yep.
Mom: Your nose spray?
Me: Yep.
Mom: [beat] Isn't there anything else you can sniff up?

I think that would cause an entirely new problem.

...and to all a good night.

2010-06-06T19:13:00.000-04:00

My dad has many pre-bedtime rituals. One of them includes announcing:

Dad: "I'm going to lay myself flat."

I've never heard anyone else say this, nor do I know why he feels the need to state it this way -- but he's never varied the phrase. It's never: "I'm gonna curl myself up in a ball" or "Hit the sheets." Nope. It's ALWAYS "I'm going to lay myself flat."

Ponderous.

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I do, Muumuu?

2010-06-03T21:33:00.000-04:00

What is it about Italian women of a certain age and muumuus? (For those of you who may be unfamiliar with the unflattering and seriously questionable fashion choice, click here.)

My mom has owned some form of muumuu for as long as I can remember. These garments generally surface as warm weather approaches, but are known to make random appearances throughout the year.

One recent shopping spree took us to a local flea market.

Mom: "Oh, good. I can get a new muumuu."
Me: "You know, just because you're Italian doesn't mean you have to wear the uniform."
Mom: "I like them. They're so soft and comfortable."
Me: "...and extremely flammable."
Mom: "I don't smoke."
Me: "Yeah, but you cook."

[silence]

Mom: "They're cheap and I'm getting one."
Me: "Why do they have such loud, ugly prints? Can't you find a solid one?"
Mom: "What do you care? You're not wearing it."
Me: "Yeah, but I gotta look at it -- and that's worse."
Mom: [beat] "They only come in prints."
Me: "Fine, but I'm helping you pick one out."

So, I found one that was the least hideous on the eyes: A lilac-and-white polka-dotted number for a whopping 13 bucks -- eight dollars extra than the variety of disastrous ones she could have purchased.

The entire ride home was about that eight dollars. It's not that mom's cheap -- she just likes a good deal. And, I guess she's right -- no one should have to pay more than $5 for something that friggin' ugly.

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Sleeping Beauty

2010-06-02T20:13:00.000-04:00

Under normal circumstances, when someone takes a nap they tend to wake up refreshed and well-rested. Not mom. If she sleeps a smidge more than an average nap, she wakes up grumpy.

After one such nap, she lumbered into the living room and hunkered down into a side chair -- with a totally disgusted look on her face.

Mom: "That little nap I took put me in a mood."

Hand to God, that's what she said.

She may not look the type...

2010-06-01T20:13:00.000-04:00

5/30/10.

Mom may not look the type, and she'll deny it if pressed to confess, but she has a mouth like a sailor who just pulled into port.

Case in point...

Memorial Day Weekend. Coming back from an outdoor fair, mom notices the roads are virtually free of cars.

Mom: Isn't it nice when it's like this? [beat] 'Cause all the bastards are nowhere to be found.

But, you have to read "bastards" as "bear-steads." It's so much more colorful and expressive in her New York accent.

Topical Reference

2010-05-31T22:07:00.000-04:00

5/30/10.

While walking through a train station-side fair on a very hot day, mom stopped at a booth and bought a pink baseball hat to shelter her head from the sun.

Dad, with a shit-eating-grin on his face, walks up to me, pointing over his shoulder at mom and says:

"Did ya see Pinky Tuscadero over there?"

;)

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Healthy Eating Tips from Harry

2010-05-13T19:47:00.002-04:00

5/13/10.

You know how dads always mean well by passing along "helpful" information? Except, the information isn't always helpful so much as it's totally confusing. The following conversation nearly drove me insane:

Dad: What'd you have for lunch?
Me: Salad.
Dad: A Chicken Caesar Salad?
Me: No.
Dad: You should have Chicken Caesar Salad.
Me: It's high in calories.
Dad: No it's not.
Me: Yes, it is. Because of the dressing and the cheese.
Dad: So, use another dressing.
Me: Then it's not a Chicken Caesar Salad.
Dad: Yes it is.
Me: The Caesar Dressing is what makes it a Chicken Caesar Salad.
Dad: Well, you can't just call it a Chicken Salad, because a Chicken Salad has mayo in it.
Me: Obviously.
Dad: So have a Ranch Chicken Salad.
Me: You're just not getting that it's the dressing that makes the salad unhealthy.
Dad: Whatever.

You're welcome.

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Kicking It Old School

2010-04-27T21:02:00.000-04:00

Late 1990s.

During a conversation, mom gene-spliced two famous rappers:

Mom: "Who's this Puffy Dog?"
Me: "Do you mean Sean 'Puffy' Combs or Snoop Doggy Dog?
Mom: I don't know.
Me: Neither do I.

My Kingdom for a Fortress of Solitude

2010-04-26T19:03:00.000-04:00

Late 1970s/Early 1980s.

When I was growing up, Wonder Woman was all the rage. Every little girl (and big girl) wanted to be Linda Carter.

When I was a kid, merchandising wasn't nearly as hardcore as it is today -- but there were a few must-have items you just couldn't live without. For me, it was the Wonder Woman bathing suit. It was the real deal -- looked just like the costume Linda Carter wore on the show (well, without the giant D-sized cups). It came with gold cuffs, and I'm pretty sure there was also a lasso -- though I could be embellishing on my memory. Plus, it even had the option of waterproof boots. That's where my mom drew the line.

My mother wouldn’t buy me the boots because she said I’d “slip in the pool.”

So what if I was going to “slip in the pool;" where was I really gonna go? What kind of damage was I gonna do? It wasn't like I was gonna get hurt or anything. Now, if she had said: "You’ll run around after getting out of the pool and slip on the deck," then I could have agreed...

I still want those boots.

For argument's sake, I also couldn’t have the following:

A Lite Brite: "Too many little pieces."
A Big Wheel: "You'll break your head open."
A pogo stick: See Big Wheel
A trampoline: See Big Wheel and pogo stick
A Slip N Slide: "You'll slip and fall and break your ass."

"Watch your ass." - WEAR IT!

2010-04-18T22:04:00.000-04:00

Introducing the YOU HADDA BE THERE Merchandise Store at Zazzle.com.

New merchandise is being added on a frequent basis, so please bookmark us and visit often!

Wear the t-shirt inspired by the "Well-meant Advice" Post:

"Watch your ass." Tshirts from Zazzle.com

Watch Out for the Crazies - STICK IT!

2010-04-17T11:24:00.001-04:00

Introducing the YOU HADDA BE THERE Merchandise Store at Zazzle.com.

New merchandise is being added on a frequent basis, so please bookmark us and visit often!

Grab the magnet inspired by the "Watch Out for the Crazies" post:

Watch out for the crazies. magnets from Zazzle.com

Don't Let Your Meat Loaf - WEAR IT!

2010-04-17T11:21:00.000-04:00

Introducing the YOU HADDA BE THERE Merchandise Store at Zazzle.com.

New merchandise is being added on a frequent basis, so please bookmark us and visit often!

Wear the t-shirt inspired by the "Meatloaf" post.

Don't let your meat loaf. t shirts from Zazzle.com

Watch Out for the Crazies -- WEAR IT!

2010-04-17T11:15:00.002-04:00

Introducing the YOU HADDA BE THERE Merchandise Store at Zazzle.com.

New merchandise is being added on a frequent basis, so please bookmark us and visit often!

Wear the t-shirt inspired by the "Watch Out for the Crazies" post:

Watch out for the crazies shirt from Zazzle.com

The Stiller/Lewis Connection

2010-04-15T19:15:00.000-04:00

April 2010.

Many a conversation with Mom goes like this:

Mom: I was looking through your Entertainment Weekly and saw a picture of that guy whose father is on that show...
Me: What show?
Mom: You know. The one with the funny father.
Me: Mom. What show...?
Mom: You know the one... It’s on channel 9.
Me: King of Queens?
Mom: Yeah, his son.
Me: Ben Stiller. Right.
Mom: What happened to him? He looks terrible now.
Me: Yeah, he let himself go.
Mom: He looks like Larry’s friend.
Me: Larry’s friend?
Mom: Yeah, you know. Larry’s friend on his show.
Me: Mom!
Mom: Oh, you know... The one who’s always complaining!
Me: Oh, Larry David.
Mom: Yeah, his friend.
Me: Richard Lewis.
Mom: Yeah.
Me: Yeah, he kinda does look Richard Lewis.

The Wizard of Weird

2010-04-05T19:12:00.000-04:00

Today.

For some reason, I was talking with my mom about how I had to miss a Tori Amos concert because I had to recover from surgery. To relate, and make me feel better, she said:

"Oh, I know how you feel; I missed Judy Garland because my dress was too tight."

Feel free to ponder, discuss and ruminate. I sure am.

Well-meant advice

2010-04-01T19:09:00.000-04:00

Countless times, and for many reasons, my mother has told me to:

"Watch my ass."

The meaning of this: To be careful.

Of course, if I watched my ass, there's no telling what amount of trouble I'd get into. But, God love her, she means well.

Keeping Up with the Kominskys

2010-03-31T19:06:00.000-04:00

3/30/10.

Watching TV with dad. A commercial comes on featuring two or three women in their mid-20s with long, dark hair.

Dad: Hey, are those the Kominskys?
Me: Who?
Dad: The Kominsikys...you know...
Me: Dad, do you mean the Kardashians?
Dad: Yeah! Yeah...
Me: No, that's not the Kardashians. And, why do you even care if they were?

I never got a straight answer. Suffice to say, Keeping Up with the Kominskys would be a very different show.

Wolf Blitzer in Residence

2010-03-30T19:15:00.000-04:00

My dad is rarely seen without a newspaper tucked under his arm. He thinks the Internet is stupid and tolerates TV as a news source, but overall prefers the good old-fashioned daily newspaper as his main go-to for information.

Someone will walk into the room my dad is sitting in, reading said newspaper, and be treated to a recitation of that day's events--whether they like it or not. I know I'm in for it when I hear:

Dad: Do you believe this?

Dad: Would ya get a load of this?

He'll do the same thing when he's watching TV and someone walks in:

Dad: Can you believe this?
Me: How can I, when I don't know what THIS is?

Handling Telemarketers 101

2010-03-29T20:54:00.000-04:00

I'm sure you've been on the line with a telemarketer and ended being strong-armed into a lengthy conversation you just can't seem to get out of. It's an unfortunate fact of life. Well, fret not, there are ways to combat the pesky telemarketer.

For instance: Take this tip from my mom the next time you should find yourself in such a situation:

Mom: Hello?
Telemarketer: Yes, can I speak to Harry D _________?
Mom: Who's this?
Telemarketer: This is Blank from Blanky Blank.
Mom: Oh, he's not home right now.
Telemarketer: When is a better time for me to reach him?
Mom: Oh, I don't know. I'm just here to take care of the cats.

Click.

Completely Stuffed

2010-03-28T20:31:00.001-04:00

Conversations with mom and dad are often of the "fill in the blank" variety. Case in point:

Mom: Did I tell you so-and-so went to NYC to see the stuffed people?
Me: The stuffed people? What on earth are you talking about?
Mom: You know, the stuffed people that look like famous people...
Me: Mom, do you mean Madame Tussauds Wax Museum?
Mom: Yeah... Yeah.

And, just today, this one with dad:

Dad: So now we won't be able to see the show with what's his name.
Me: Who?
Dad: The guy who interviews people.
Me: Dad...
Dad: You know, what's his name. The comedian.
Me: Bill Maher?
Dad: Yeah!

It scares me more than just a little that I knew who he was talking about with just a single guess.

You gotta be in it, to win it.

2010-03-14T20:34:00.000-04:00

One night, I overheard Mom and Pop arguing over the lottery drawing. It went like this:

Dad: Lemme write down the numbers quick!
Mom: Oooh, Harry! Get a pen!
Announcer on TV: Tonight's winning lotto numbers are 11...
Mom: 11. Did you get that?
Dad: Yeah, shh...
Announcer: 19...
Mom: 19.
Dad: Shh!
Announcer: 25...
Mom: 25.
Dad: Jesus, Jo! Would ya be quiet? I'm trying to write down the numbers!
Mom: I'm helping!
Dad: You're not helping! I can hardly hear what the woman on TV is saying!
Mom: Oh, fine. [beat] Didja get 'em all?
Dad: Yeaaaaaahhhhh

Calling Card

2010-02-28T19:13:00.000-05:00

This is the shit my dad does just to let me know he's been there. It's a calling card, so to speak.

Wind-up toys, in this case a pair of parakeets,

wedged into a package of recently purchased muffins.

He could leave a note... But this is far more endearing, I suppose.

DeBeep

2010-02-23T19:58:00.001-05:00

2/23/10. 10:30am.
Phone call from Dad.

Dad: I'm calling from the cell phone. I can't seem to make any calls on the house phone.
Me: What's wrong with it.

Mom is now on the other extension.

Dad: I don't know. It's making a weird beeping sound -- debeep... debeep... debeep... debeep... debeep... debeeep...

Mom and I bust out laughing.

Mom: I was wondering when that was going to stop.
Me: I know, he made that sound for a really long time.
Mom and Me: [laughing]
Dad: Look, I didn't get on this phone to be ridiculed. [hangs up.]

Debeep.

She wants it her way...

2010-02-18T04:43:00.000-05:00

1980s.

One day, Mom took me to KFC for lunch. I was at the age when everything mortified me to epic levels of embarassment. Such is being a pre-teen.

She stepped to the counter and placed her order, with me at her side.

Mom: Uh, yeah. Gimme some of those McNugget things.
Me: [cringing] Mommmm, that's McDonald's. Not KFC.
Mom: Oh, it's the same thing. [beat] And two cokes...
Cashier: No coke. We have Pepsi.
Mom: Whatever, it's the same thing.

Truth be told: She's right.

"It looks like a big Tylenol."

2010-02-18T04:32:00.001-05:00

Summer 1996.

Republic Airport might as well have been in the backyard -- that's how close it was to my home. People in the neighborhood often lodged complaints if a plane basically appeared to be landing on their front lawns. But I digress...

Case in point: Summer of 1996. Mom and I were in the kitchen chatting. We heard the plane coming before we actually saw it. There it was, coming in over the trees looking as if it was going to land on the roof, a huge plane -- seemingly too big to be able to land at Republic. Dad ran in from outside, where he'd been gardening.

Dad: Did you see that thing?
Mom: YES! I'm calling them now.
Dad: Did you see what airline?
Mom: No, it was blue and white. I couldn't make out the writing.
Me: It was huuuuuuuge. Can that thing even land here?
Dad: Unbelievable.

Mom picked up the phone and began to voice her concern, in her inimitable fashion.

Mom: Yes. I want to complain about a plane that just landed. I don't know what airline it was, but it was big, white and blue. It practically landed in our backyard, it was so low. How can you fly such large planes into this airport?

Dad and I were rehashing the situation when one of us came up with the bright idea of driving over to Republic to have a better look. Next thing I know, all three of us were in the car, driving the short distance to the airport.

We got to the intersection where the turnoff to the airport entrance was and noticed that the road was blocked off by a ton of police cars. Immediately thereafter we noticed a government motorcade zipped by.

Me: What the hell? Is this some kind of dignitary?
Dad: Must be.

The police let us pass after the motorcade disappeared and we turned by the airport only to see... gulp ... Airforce 2 parked on the tarmac. The area was flooded with a bevy of Al Gore supporters.

Mom: Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I just complained about Airforce 2.

When we got home, the first thing my mom did was phone the airport hotline back.

Mom: Hi... I just made a complaint about a low-flying plane. I want to take that back. I'm a registered Democrat.

You say potayto, I say potahto...

2010-02-18T03:58:00.002-05:00

2/16/10.

Mom likes to reminisce. Oh, about anything. I'm not even sure what brought this particular memory to mind, frankly. But it went like this:

Mom: Nicole, do you remember when we lived on Red Maple? There were those two little girls you were friends with and when they moved they left a lot of dolls that we ended up taking.
Me: Yeah, lots of vintage knock-off Barbies.
Mom: Right. And then they went to live in the caboose.
Me: What? [beat] They lived on a train? What?
Mom: No, they moved to Israel...
Me: Kibbutz! Not "caboose."
Mom: Right.

Right. That's what she said.

Venus

2010-02-10T20:50:00.002-05:00

My dad has false teeth. At night, he takes them out. His pronunciation isn't too great without his teeth in. Vs sounds like Ps, depending on the word he's trying to say. And, so on...

One night, years ago, my dad had come in from putting out the trash and remarked:

"Gee, Penis sure is bright tonight."

Naturally, my mom and I giggled and said: "WHAT?"

Dad: "Penis! The planet. It's bright tonight."
Me: "Oh!!! VENUS. Venus is bright tonight."

I assure you, much laughter ensued.

She's here, get used to it.

2010-02-10T20:43:00.002-05:00

There's a little strip mall in Massapequa that has a very nondescript "storefront." There's no real window to speak of and the sign above the door reads simply: Blanche.

My mother liked to get scratch-off lottos from a stationery store in this strip mall and occasionally I would drive her and wait outside in the car while she got her gamble on.

On one such occasion, I took a good look at this "store," Blanche. I started thinking, "What could this be?" There was no visible advertisement to clue me in, so I went down the nefarious route. By the time my mom got back to the car, I was convinced Blanche was a massage parlor.

Me: Mom, that storefront ain't right.
Mom: Yeah, it is odd, isn't it?
Me: I think something fishy is going on in there. You should go in and see what that's all about.

Before you think I was sending my mother into harm's way, you have to know one thing about her: If there's business you need done, Mom's your gal. If something's sketchy -- she's gonna get to the bottom of it and she's gonna report it to the proper authorities. In other words, Mom's got balls. Genetically, these balls were not passed on to me. I am, as they say, ball-less.

Mom: I'll go in. I don't care.
Me: Go ahead. I'm curious as to what's going on in there.
Mom: OK.
Me: No, wait. I dunno. Maybe it's better you don't.
Mom: Why?
Me: It looks too suspicious. Let's ask around first.
Mom: OK.

Months later, I was driving a friend and long-time resident of Massapequa home. We passed by the strip mall and Blanche's was "open for business."

Me: Just what the hell is that place anyway?
Friend: Oh, that? It's a gay bar.
Me: OH, MY GOD. I almost sent my mom in there to find out what kind of place that was.
Friend: Awk-ward.

In hindsight, I shoulda sent her in. Mom's always been pro-gay rights, so she probably would have just sat down at the bar and made a few new friends. Viva la Blanche's!

Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday...

2010-01-26T20:47:00.000-05:00

Mom calls me one day and leaves a message on my voice mail at work. Prior to which, apparently, there was some back and forth about about their lunch plans -- which happens quite a bit.

It generally takes a lot of things to happen first for actual, solid plans to go off without a hitch. First, my mom has to mention the idea. Then my dad has to refuse. Then my mom tries good old-fashioned Italian guilt, to which he seems to think he's impervious. Then, an hour or so later, he comes around and submits to the idea and they end up going. It's rather exhausting to watch, frankly.

So, the voice mail message went like this:

Mom: "Hi Nicole, it's Ma. I just want to let you know if you call and we're not home that we went to Ruby Tuesdays."
Dad [in background]: "Nooooo. We're not going there."
Mom: "Oh, we're not?"
Dad [in background]: "No, I'm not a rubber band."
Mom: "OK. I guess we're not going then. Talk to you later. Bye."

Long story short: They went to Ruby Tuesdays that day. And, as mom says, "the little hamburgers were delicious."

FYI: "Little Hamburgers" = Sliders

Where Could I Be?

2010-01-26T20:32:00.000-05:00

January 2010.
Voice Mail from Mom.

"Hi. Nicole? It's Ma. Are you not working at your desk or something? OK, well. Call me back."

I guess she thinks I'm chained to my desk for 8-plus hours every week day.

Award Season

2010-01-24T16:04:00.000-05:00

Since we're officially in the throws of Award Show Season, it's only fitting I should share some of my mom's Red Carpet Comments.

In response to any celebrity who shows up to an award show gala wearing a dress that is extremely low-cut and revealing:

"Oh, look. She brought her two friends."

In response to a celeb who's wearing a very short dress or a decidedly risky neckline:

"She forgot the other half of her dress."

Whenever -- and I mean whenever -- she sees Guiliana DePandi-Rancic on E! she will say:

"Something about her face bothers me."

One time, she went even further to say:

"I saw her on that dumb show she has with her husband and she said to him: 'When we have kids, I hope they look like you, cause you're cuter than me.' And she's right -- I hope they look like him."

As you can guess, watching the Red Carpet with mom is always a good time. ;)

So thoughtful...

2010-01-24T15:54:00.002-05:00

Whenever someone bumps into something or hurts themselves in a very minor way and exclaims briefly in pain, my dad will always follow the incident up with:

"I didn't feel a thing."

Rudolph the Blue-Nosed Reindeer

2010-01-11T21:03:00.001-05:00

Pre-Christmas 2009.

Every Christmas, my father puts up festive lights. But this last Christmas, he wanted to scale back so it wouldn't be such a hassle to take everything down again. He opted for an all-white pre-lit lawn tree and a small white reindeer.

He later decided he wanted to add a larger white reindeer to the mix. So, he went to Home Depot. Turns out, they were out of the larger white reindeers, except for the floor model. He convinced the manager to sell it to him for $10.

He took the reindeer home and plugged it in. Only half of it lit up. No problem: He's Mr. Fixit. He proceeded to try different methods to light the bulbs that weren't working to no avail.

A week of attempts later, he decided to go out and purchase a string of lights to compensate for the strand that wouldn't light up. Lights in place, all ready to go, he lights the thing up -- and it's blue. All told, the budget reindeer ended up costing around $30.

And that's how a hybrid blue-and-white reindeer ushered in a Merry Christmas 2009.

A rose by any other name...

2010-01-11T20:47:00.001-05:00

True Story:

The night my parents met, my mom told my dad her name was Carol (not her name) and that she was a beautician for the Arthur Godfrey Show (not her job).

She tells me this was her friend's idea, to tell a playful lie. She fessed up later on the same night they met.

It's been 51 years, so I guess he wasn't bothered by this. Either that, or he hadn't been in the country long enough to tell one screwy broad from the other.

Chicken Little

2010-01-05T19:17:00.002-05:00

1/5/09. Approximately 5:50pm.

On the phone with mom. As is the case with all of our phone conversations, there's always some tidbit or warning she must impart before saying so-long. We're about to hang up when she says:

Mom: Be careful. It's icy out.
Me: Is it? 'Cause I don't think it is.
Mom: I haven't been outside today, but you never know.
Me: It's fine if you have information that could be useful to me, but don't go making stuff up.
Mom: Well, there could be an icy patch.
Me: An icy patch? Ohhhhhkay. Well, as always, it's been nice talking with you, but I gotta go.

Always a good time.

Skatey 8

2010-01-04T19:21:00.001-05:00

Whenever my mom wants to get across to me that something involves a large number, she uses the term: "Skatey 8."

"That lady has skatey 8 cats."

I have never heard this term used by anyone else. If you have, by all means, drop me a line. 'Cause I think she's making this crap up.

Lost in Yonkers

2010-01-04T19:14:00.002-05:00

My dad is an angry driver. You'd never know it by talking to him or knowing him, but the minute he gets behind a wheel he becomes a different person. And, it doesn't take much to tick him off. Naturally, driving in the city is not a pleasurable experience. It's also usually a much longer trek than originally planned, because there are wrong turns, misplaced directions and German pride involved.

Case in point: on numerous occasions, he's been leaving the city via Riverside Drive and ended up in Yonkers. Naturally, this makes the trip back home a tedious journey--considering how Yonkers is in the complete opposite direction from the Long Island.

Every time this has happened, it has been

"the NY Department of Transportation's fault for not posting signs properly."

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Mr. Fixit

2009-12-29T20:15:00.002-05:00

My dad considers himself a handyman. He can split wire, build a birdhouse, unclog a drain...the list is endless, really.

My family used to live in a two-floor Levitt Ranch. He decided to convert the upstairs hallway closet to a second bathroom -- without putting a dormer on. I mention this because, there was very little space in this handyman special to stand up straight. Thus, the shower head was installed a bit low on the wall. The water stream would hit you, oh, about mid-chest. Naturally, very few people took a shower in this "bathroom."

That being said, for a first try -- not too shabby.

The Blue Period

2009-12-28T20:35:00.004-05:00

Look, it was the 70s; therefore, taste was questionable. Taste in art -- all the more questionable. I guess that's what possessed my parents to purchase the painting that hung on our living room wall for the better part of 15 years.

Let me describe: The painting used to hang over an equally atrocious brown floral sofa. The subject of the painting was a lone country church, at night, in the snow. And the entire painting was cast over with the most depressing shade of blue. Every time I looked at that painting, I'd shiver. It literally made me cold inside.

My mom would often stand in front of that painting and say:

"Don't you feel like you're there?"

My answer was always a firm no.

As far paintings go, I suppose it wasn't as terrible as the sad hobo clown that hung on the wall in the den (which, incidentally, also hung in Craig Brady's bedroom on The Brady Bunch).

Ahh, the '70s. Good times.


This is the actual painting that "delighted" me for so many years.

Tonsillectomy

2009-12-28T20:08:00.003-05:00

A few months ago, my mom and I were watching one of TLC's many unnecessary medical shows. I happened to notice that one of the surgeons had a hook where his hand had once been. Admittedly unPC, my reaction was one of shock.

"How does a surgeon manage to perform surgeries without the use of both hands?" I remarked.

To which my mom, without hesitation, said:

"That's why you never had your tonsils out."

Remember that scene in Weird Science, when the two main characters walk into the bar and the music comes to a screeching halt? Yeah, that's what my reaction to hearing what she said felt like. Just.Like.That.

Me: Whaaaaaat?
Mom: Well, when you were little, I asked a couple of your friend's mothers to recommend an ENT. So, I took you to visit this doctor and the entire time I could not see one of his hands. I saw what looked like a hook protruding from the arm of his lab coat. So, I didn't feel comfortable having him operate on you. But it turned out he didn't have a hook after all.
Me: Wait, what?
Mom: Well, at first, I didn't want to ask your friends' mothers about it, because I didn't want them to think I was insensitive. But, I was curious and finally asked. So, it must have been that he was holding on to the stethoscope and I mistook it for a hook.
Me: ...and this is why I never had my tonsils out?
Mom: Yeah.

There.Are.No.Words.

Is there a doctor in the house?

2009-12-28T19:54:00.002-05:00

True story: My mom once had a doctor by the name of Dr. Dick.

Happy Holidays...

2009-12-25T18:07:00.002-05:00

Mom's High Hopes

2009-12-20T19:46:00.001-05:00

Mom has always been smitten with Adam Sandler. Not in a "she has a crush on him" way. No, no. In a "she'd love him to be her son-in-law" kind of way.

When she'd see him on TV, she'd say to me:

Mom: Oh, I wish you could marry him.
Me: Right, cause we travel in the same circles.

It never occurred to her how I'd pull that off. And, when she was told he got married, she gave me a look like: "Nice going -- you missed the boat on that one."

Ponderous.

Couple Three

2009-12-20T19:39:00.001-05:00

Perhaps it's a generational or regional thing, but my parents have a weird grasp of language.

For instance, when they ask to be given a few things, say eggs or packets of sugar, I'll hear:

"Gimme a couple-a-three packs of sugar."

Now, correct me if I'm wrong here, but isn't a "couple of three" equal to six? Isn't it easier to specify the exact amount you need without leaving room for interpretation? One would think...

Ode to the Great BM

2009-12-20T19:34:00.002-05:00

On more than one occasion, Dad has been known to exit the bathroom proclaiming:

Dad: Here I sit, broken-hearted. Thought I shit, but only farted.

Classy.

Where the mice are...

2009-12-17T20:11:00.002-05:00

Early 1990s.

When I started college, I didn't have a car to get me back and forth. So, for a brief time, my mom would drive me to class, do some shopping, and then pick me up. She would meet me on either side of the campus, and had a little shorthand way of remembering where to pick me up.

If she was picking me up on the "old" side of the campus, near the bookstore, she'd say:

"I'll pick you up by the kids."

I know what you're thinking: what are kids doing on a college campus? Well, near the bookstore and in between the English and History buildings, there was a daycare center. Obviously this helped her find her way back to the same spot each time she'd pick me up.

Likewise, if she was picking me up on the "new" side of campus, near the science buildings, she'd say:

"I'll pick you up where the mice are."

I know what you're thinking. What? Apparently, she had seen a few mice scampering about while she was waiting for me one day. Thank God she'd told me this, or I'd have been sure she was losing it.

Fact or Fiction

2009-12-17T19:57:00.001-05:00

Unless Dad knows something is true, he's hesitant to believe anything someone says. He simply must corroborate the "fact" with a reliable source. This reliable source is usually an almanac. I used to buy him one every year for Christmas; admittedly not one of my wiser decisions. I have since stopped indulging him.

I cannot tell you how many times I've had to hear:

Dad: No, that doesn't seem right. Let me get the almanac.

It really makes the conversation come to a screeching halt.

Muting the TV

2009-12-17T19:47:00.001-05:00

Mom calls me one day at work. I can hardly hear her because the TV is on what must be the manufacturer's highest volume setting.

Me: Ma, lower the TV. I can't hear you.
Mom: Oh, right... [presumably searching for the remote] OH NO... I just tried to mute the TV with the cordless phone. [beat] DON'T TELL YOUR FRIENDS.

So, I'm telling my friends...

Mom's Got a Soft Spot for a Ricky

2009-12-16T18:25:00.002-05:00

There is a Navy recruitment office in a town where my mom and I often go shopping. Driving by this office, it's not uncommon to see Navy personnel dressed in uniform. Without fail, my mom will point and say:

Hey, look -- there's a sailor.

Now, I've been with her when we've seen other military personnel and she never stops to point them out -- leading me to come to a firm conclusion: My mom has a thing for sailors.

Dad's Personal Christmas Tree

2009-12-16T18:11:00.001-05:00

Late 1990s.

Mom and I decided that the Christmas tree needed a makeover. The old red and gold decorations were looking tired and blah -- so we bought all new lights in white and trimmings in white and silver, with a little mauve (hey, it was the 90s -- guilty as charged).

Dad just didn't like the new tree. It wasn't traditional enough for his taste. He'd gone out and purchased a $20 artificial tree at RockBottom. While Mom and I were trimming the tree in the living room, Dad was in the den decorating his own tree.When he was done, he called us in to have a look.

To say it was tacky is a gross understatement. It was like Christmas threw up all over that thing, which -- by the way -- leaned awkwardly, threatening to fall over at any moment. That being said, it was hard to laugh -- especially considering that Dad wore an endearing expression of "look what I did all by myself" on his face.

Needless to say -- that was the last Christmas there were two trees in the household.

Oh, Tannenbaum

2009-12-14T19:59:00.002-05:00

Late 1980s.

Dad decided to cut down the blue spruce in the backyard and use it for our Christmas tree. Tree trimmed and lit -- no problem. Until it occurred to us, that in the years the tree stood in the yard it may have acquired more than a few inhabitants of the insect variety.

Dad's solution: spray the tree down with bug killer. Except the bug killer reeked to high-heaven and what we ended up with was a Raid/pine-scented mess.

Dad's solution #2: spray the tree with perfume. Naturally, you can see where this is going...

The next day, my brother's friend walks into the house and exclaims:

"Jeez! It smells like a French whore in here!"

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Watch Out for the "Crazies"

2009-12-14T19:47:00.000-05:00

Ever since I can remember, whenever I've left the house, my mom gives me a brief, but unsettling warning:

Mom: Remember to watch out for the crazies.

My retort is usually something along the lines of:

Me: But that means we can never see each other again.

Sangria

2009-12-14T19:41:00.001-05:00

Anyone who knows me well knows I'm not a drinker. Liquor makes me paranoid, hot and angry. Never a good combination.

One night, oh about 10 years ago, I went to the fridge and found some Welches' grape juice. I poured myself a tall glass and drank it down pretty quick. It tasted a little on the dry side, but still sweet. So, I poured another glass, took it with me into the living room and sat down to watch some TV. The last thing I remember was emptying the glass of its contents and resting it on the side table. I soon fell into what can only be described as a drooling stupor.

The next day, I caught my dad by the fridge.

Me: Oh, hey, Dad -- never buy that grape juice again. It was awful! So dry. Tasted funny.
Dad: Ohh, hmm. You drank that, huh?
Me: Yeah, why?
Dad: I poured the leftover Sangria into the bottle.
Me: AND YOU DIDN'T LABEL IT?
Dad: No -- well, I didn't think you were gonna drink it.

Landscaping

2009-12-12T20:04:00.002-05:00

1980s.

My dad has always had green thumb. He used to maintain a small vegetable patch, which he tended to in a number of unconventional ways. And if mother nature got in his way, he'd adjust accordingly. Case in point:

A house we used to live in had a large bank of windows in the living room that looked out on the backyard. The vegetable patch was off to the side of the house, where a small maple tree had been growing for a some time. I guess it was about 8-feet tall, thereabouts.

Anyway, one day I was sitting in the living room chatting on the phone with a friend and looking out the back window. Here comes Dad... carrying the uprooted tree across the expanse of the yard, then out of my field of vision. I was rendered speechless.

The displaced tree found a new home on the exact opposite end of our property. Later, dad decided he didn't like the new spot and put it right back where it had been in the first place.

That's what happens when you try to play God.

Cell Phone

2009-12-12T19:44:00.000-05:00

I don't know what it is about cell phone owners over a certain age; they just don't think they need to keep them on. They tend to feel that they only need to turn it on when they need to use it. Never mind that fact that someone (like me) may be trying to reach them. And, sure, I could leave a voice mail...that's if the cell phone owner actually knew how to retrieve said voice mail. But I digress...

On numerous occasions, I've received phone calls from my dad or mom's cell phone. However, they're unaware they've called me. I'll usually hear some kind of rustling (cluing me in to the fact that the cell phone is located in a jacket pocket or a handbag) or a distant conversation between my parents (usually in a moving car).

One day, at work, I received such a phone call during which I overheard a lot of mumbling.

Me: Hello? Ma!!! Can you hear me??? Dad???

Mom and dad just continued to talk in the background, totally unaware I was on the end of the line. So I just stayed on the line a moment longer and waited, in case they realized the phone was engaged. In the background, the conversation became clearer.

Mom: Harry -- I'll get the door. [car door slams, keys jingle, front door opens.] Oh, no! Harry -- the cat threw up!
Harry: What? Oh no... Is it food?
Mom: No, it looks like cat grass.
Harry: Then it was Dino, not Cosmo.

I realized at this point, they were never going to notice the cell phone was on. So, I hung up and called the house number.

Mom: Hello?
Me: Hey... Everything OK?
Mom: Yeah, why? What's wrong?
Me: I don't know -- I got this weird feeling that Dino threw up or something.
Mom: [gasps] Oh, my God! He did! How did you know that?
Me: Because your cell phone dialed me again and I overheard the whole thing.
Mom: Oh, this is crazy. [aside] Harry -- the cell phone keeps dialing Nicole. [to me] Maybe I should remove your number.
Me: How is that going to solve anything?
Mom: So it won't dial you anymore.

It's hard to argue with that kind of logic.

Talk About the Weather

2009-12-12T19:25:00.002-05:00

Mom thinks it's her responsibility to inform me about the weather. It's like she has her own Doppler Radar.

I used to sit at a desk next to a 12-foot window--no exaggeration. So, if it was raining, sleeting, snowing -- I was very much aware. Even though mom knew this, she still felt (and still feels) it's her responsibility to send me weather reports.

Phone rings. I answer.

Me: Hello.
Mom: Nicole, it's ma. It's raining out. So be very careful when you leave work. The streets will be slippery.
Me: Really? Because I hear that's what happens when it rains. It tends to make things wet.
Mom: Don't get smart.

On Demand

2009-12-10T20:53:00.003-05:00

Even though my dad held a very technical job as an electronics inspector for many years, he just doesn't have the patience or time for modern technology. Consider the cable remote: This is something that perplexes dad on a continual basis.

One day, he was messing around with the remote and somehow managed to purchase Here! On Demand. Now...we share a cable connection -- so when I got the bill, naturally, I was confused.

So, I asked my dad —

Me: "Hey, did you mess around with the remote and accidentally order something?"
Dad: "No. Why? Oh, one time I got some On Demand screens and I said OK to something...."
Me: "You said ok to Here! On Demand."
Dad: "What’s that?"
Me: "It’s gay programming."
Dad: "WHAT?"
Me: "Now I gotta call Cablevision and cancel this. I should make you do it."

I left the room to handle the billing matter. No doubt dad was confused and left questioning his identity.

Are ya there? Pick up.

2009-12-10T20:41:00.001-05:00

The concept of voice mail hasn't really dawned on mom. The answering machine, however, is something she's well acquainted with.

Mom's known to call my work number, almost daily, and leave messages. Except, in her mind, she's leaving a message on an answering machine. On numerous occasions, I've recieved this very message:

"Nicole, are ya there? It's Ma. Pick up." [silence.] "It's Ma. Are ya there? Pick up. [silence] "OK. Guess you're not there. Call me back."

Just imagine, if voice mail didn't exist and every worker's desk had an old-school answering machine. In my mom's world -- that's what modern office life is like. No matter how much I try to convince her otherwise.

Ben Vereen

2009-12-10T20:30:00.000-05:00

1992.

Mom tends to fall asleep watching TV. It's just a given.

One night, mom is typically out like a light when I walk into the living room, sit down and watch the local evening news with dad. The news anchor reports that song-and-dance man, Ben Vereen was critically injured in a car wreck. My dad exclaims:

"Oh, wow. Ben Vereen. That's terrible."

Sensing something was up, even in her stupor, Mom awakens briefly. "Wha -- What happened?"

Dad: "Ben Vereen got in a car accident."
Mom: [groggily] "Oh, no. Is he OK?"
Dad: "Not sure."

A few minutes later, mom is back in La La Land. The news anchor delivers yet another bombshell: A man was shot in the head with an arrow--and lived!

Me: "What??!!"
Dad: "Shot in the head with an arrow and LIVED???!!!"
Me: "I can't believe that..."

Mom stirs in her sleep and wakes up again, this time even more alarmed than the last.

Mom: "Wha??? What happened? Ben Vereen got shot in the head with an arrow? What???"

Dad and I look at each other and bust out laughing.

Me: "Yeah, Ben Vereen got shot in the head with an arrow. Go back to sleep. We'll tell ya what really happened in the morning."

Ear Worm

2009-12-08T19:28:00.001-05:00

You know how when someone is whistling a tune or singing a song, inevitably that song will get stuck and go 'round and 'round inside your head. My dad has an uncanny knack for doing that to people. I'm usually the lucky recipient of his ear worms.

And these are not songs you want in your head, believe me. They're usually circa 1950 B-sides that were maybe played on the radio twice during their heyday. I can't begin to tell you how long it took me to get:

"Blue moon of Kentucky just-a keep on shinin'..."

or

"I don't care if it rains or freezes, long as I got my plastic Jesus..."

...out of my head. I have never heard the actual recording, nor do I care to, of another one of his favorites--Dungaree Doll:

Dungaree doll, dungaree doll, paint your initials on my jeans
So everyone in town will know we go around together, together, together
Dungaree doll, dungaree doll, paste my picture on your sleeve
so everyone can see that you belong to me, forever, forever, forever
I want you to wear my orange sweater
The beat up sweater with the high school letter
Gonna make a chain of paperclips
And chain us together while I kiss your lips
Dungaree doll, dungaree doll promise me you never will fall
For any other guy, tell me you are my
Dungaree, Dungaree, Dungaree, Dungaree, Dungaree, Dungaree, Doll

Dungaree doll, dungaree doll, paste my picture on your sleeve
so everyone can see that you belong to me, forever, forever, forever
I want you to wear my orange sweater
The beat up sweater with the high school letter
Gonna make a chain of paperclips
And chain us together while I kiss your lips
Dungaree doll, dungaree doll promise me you never will fall
For any other guy, tell me you are my
Dungaree, Dungaree, Dungaree, Dungaree, Dungaree, Dungaree, Doll
Dungaree, Dungaree, Dungaree, Dungaree, Dungaree, Dungaree, Doll

You can thank me later...

Meatloaf

2009-12-08T19:18:00.001-05:00

Without fail, every single time meatloaf is served my dad will say:

"Mother always told me: 'Son, don't let your meat loaf.'"

Every. Single. Time.

I'm not sure what it means. But I do know this: I don't want to know what it means.

Twatter

2009-12-08T19:13:00.000-05:00

Never one for new technology, Mom says to me one day:

"What's this Twatter [pronounced "Twah-ter"] people are always talking about? People are Twatting or Tweeting...what is that?"

Had I been drinking something, this would have called for a spit-take.

"Twitter," I said. "Whatever you do -- NEVER -- say 'Twatter' again."

The Chicken

2009-12-07T22:15:00.002-05:00

My mom has a thing about chicken. Poultry in general, actually. If it’s slimy or smells funny, she automatically assumes it has salmonella, listeria or some other kind of food-borne bacteria. This is precisely why each poultry-containing meal she has ever prepared has been cooked to within a millimeter of burnt to a crisp. She is absolutely terrified of someone contracting food poisoning from a meal she’s cooked.

One day, I came out of my bedroom and found my parents arguing in the kitchen.

Jo: Harry, that chicken smells. You’re not going to cook that chicken.
Harry: Jo, the chicken is fine. You’re overreacting.
Jo: Harry – I swear, I’m taking that chicken back.
Harry: It’s fine. [continues to wash chicken]
Jo: I’m not allowing that chicken to be served.
Me: What’s going on?
Jo: The chicken smells funny.
Harry: The chicken is fine. [puts 12 or so chicken legs in an oven pan.]
Me: [shrugs, goes back in bedroom]
Jo: Harry – so help me God, you cook that chicken and I’m throwing it out.
Harry: You’re not gonna throw out perfectly good food.
Jo: [moves to grab the pan away from Harry before he can put it in the oven.]
Harry: Jo…

Overcome by her potential food-poisoning sixth sense, Jo grabs the pan away and empties the contents on Harry’s head. She immediately regrets this decision.

Harry: What…the… Jo!

Jo moves to make a quick exit, only to be hit in the back with several wayward chicken legs. She runs to my bedroom and comes in and closes door behind her. Overcome with laughter, she tries to explain what transpired after my exit stage left.

Harry comes in the room. Jo’s got some explaining to do.

Jo: [laughing] All right. All right! I didn’t mean it!
Harry: I’m cooking that chicken! [returns to kitchen.]
Jo: Go ahead – no one’s gonna eat it.
Harry: I’LL EAT IT.

And he did. As did I. It wasn’t bad.

The Worst Sick

2009-12-07T22:11:00.000-05:00

Every single time – and I mean, EVERY SINGLE TIME – my mom sees or knows about me eating something with gravy, she warns me:

“NEVER eat cold gravy. Make sure you warm that up good. The worst sick I ever got was when I ate cold gravy.”

Every time she tells me, it’s like the first time she’s told me. I could say “Ma, I know. You told me this” a million times and she’d still tell me regardless. And the wording never differs, either. She just has to get it said – so she’s covered.

FYI: As I read this to her, she said: I don’t want you to eat cold gravy. I was very sick.

Mom's from Boston and Dad's from Brooklyn

2009-12-07T22:03:00.003-05:00

Mom is really from Jamaica, Queens and Dad’s really from Bad Bergzabern, Germany – but you’d never know it. (Well, truth be told, when my mom met my dad she thought his accent was Irish. She grew up around tons of Irish people and yet was somehow unable to decipher the difference between “ach du lieber, gott” and “cheers, love” – but I digress.)

As long as I can remember, my mom has consistently said certain words with a strangely Boston-esque accent. Example:

Pop Tarts = Pop Tahts

Carnival = Cahnival

And dad’s not any easier… Even though he was transplanted from Germany to Richmond Hill, Queens, he somehow sounds like he’s from Brooklyn. Example:

Nurse = Noice

There is no way to determine why this is so. I have tried; it’s no use.