Sunday, May 9, 2010

Dear Mom: Thanks For Not Drinking (as much) During Your Last Tri-Mester

Ciao fuckers!

Mummy has missed you oh so much! I know I've neglected you little bastards for well over a week now, but detox was helpful and I'm back on track. Now go fill my flask with Makers Mark so I can share my life shittings with you.

So if you'll recall only days ago I was ready to auction off my best wigs and bras to Christie's to pay for my funeral party. My acting career was dead. The plots of my writings were held together by duct tape and a dream.  And no matter how much gel I used, my baby hair would not slick down. So, I was like: FUCK IT. I'M DONE. I was certain that I was going to take a flying leap off a bridge.  Okay perhaps joking about suicide isn't in good taste...but when have I ever had respect for--anything? Shiiiiddd, I'm like school on Sunday NOOOO CLASSS.

Between my housing crisis, underemployment, anemic bank account, and lack of arbitrary spa visits to make me feel like the prettiest hag in the room, I was convinced that papa Zeus had kicked me off Mt. Olympus and damned me to a life of Ivory soap, collecting samples at Sephora, and turning tricks for Wifi codes.

When times are a ruff, you make do with what you have right? I mean come on, it's not like we're living in war torn Europe when big ass Nazi Zepplin's are hovering over your house, dropping bombs while you're milking the cow.  I still have a car, a healthy vagina, friends with pot, and an iPhone to make me look important when I'm stuck at a party and don't know a soul.

Like our heroes, The Hobbits I am short with wide hairy feet. I'm adorable and people want to help me climb the mountain. And thank the gods for my loved ones. Sure I might bitch and cry along the way---but I'm still carrying the ring, and fighting off that crackhead Smeagol (who insists on calling me "the fat one") so that I can save the world.

But before you see how my story ends, you must know the beginnings. I was born to a heroine named Vera Lois Brooks.

If you've been lucky enough to have me as a friend at some point of my life, then you've probably met my mami, Ms. Brooks.  She's a West Side Chicagoan who raised me to fear God, love the White Sox, and never to argue with a n-word. "Just stick him, and keep on moving."

People laugh when I tell them I had my first drink of beer as a child from my mami. My best friend Boom and I would race thru my house to fetch my mom a new beer. And whomever returned with the beer first, would get to finish the last beer.  They also get uncomfortable I tell them mami taught me how to use a knife at 8 years old.  The smirk totally fades when I tell them my aunt (a cop) use to let me carry her loaded .357 magnum.  You see, I was her purse carrier, in grocery stores and during errands.  My aunt would say "don't drop that purse, or you'll shoot yourself."  Or sometimes she'd leave me and my cousin Sammy in the car alone to run an errand. She'd leave her purse in care of me and say "If any n-word fucks with you, shoot that mothafucka, then blow the horn."

Yep, all this under the age of 12. Oh don't you judge my family! This was all out of love. And if you call social services on my mama, I will fuck you up. No I'll stab and shoot you.

The women of my family aren't perfect.  They didn't always don aprons, or bake cookies for the PTA.  But if you fucked with ANY of their off spring? You can best believe, them heifers would show up and whup some ass. They have also shown up for all of our graduations, court hearings, bad plays, track meets, ball games, weddings and funerals. My aunt Olivia still slips me $20 every time she sees me, bless her.  My auntie Tutu struggles with drug addiction, but still manages to pitch me movie ideas to write.  My cop aunt, gave me a tutorial on guns last time I saw her, and promised to take me on the shooting range with her. And my mami, who has taught me everything about the world encourages me to keep fighting. So to all of the Brooks-Hughes-Morris-Banks-Lewis women of my clan, I salute you. And thanks for passing all of us through your vagina's.

Happy Mothafucking Mothers Day.



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