True story around Christmas, 2009. This is part of what happened after the Special Olympics story. As of today 2/3/12, Mom and I have probably said 20 sentences to each other, and she
sat in the car while Dad watched me play one night in SF.
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Been a year since the Presidential Election
and when I said something silly and tacky to my church-loving, political-groupie Mom back home and am
still paying for it. Make a bad joke, pay the tithe…
In a nutshell, around last election, Mom and I were chatting when things got derailed, and this is as “word-for-word-y” as I can remember:
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So Mom starts talking about how my Dad really has it for Sarah Palin, the politician... "Yeah, your father thinks she's a hot tamale, and I guess her nickname he says is 'Caribou Barbie'."
I said surprised, "
REALLY!? Beyond me - I don't see it, but that's funny. No way I'd ever vote for her."
Mom stammered, "OK, Kar – uhh, how'd you come to that conclusion?"
"She had a retarded baby, and..."
"Jesus, KARYN,
for Christ's sake!!! Sometimes you make me...", she interrupted.
"MOM!!! Whoa, whoa, whoa - just shush up a sec - I didn't finish. If you would have
LISTENED instead of jumping on me, I was saying she had a retarded baby then named it
Trig - like math..."
Long,
long pregnant pause… "I know what Trig is Karyn. I just don't understand why you're so cruel."
"Cruel?? How??? It's not a matter of cruel; it's a matter of
judgement Mom. I'm not trying to be mean, but naming your retarded baby Trig is like naming a blind baby 'Colors' - I just don't think it was the best choice of..."
"You make me sick..."
And "boom went the dynamite"...
SLAM!!!
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OK, not the first time - but every call back got me an earful of slam. While that was new and kinda amusing, she upped the ante significantly by having someone
high up in our church back home (and a good family friend) send me an e-mail asking if I would "make use of free counseling" if they could arrange it for me here in San Francisco.
What the fuck? I didn’t know whether to LOL or ROFL - counseling? Me??? For that tacky observation / bad joke? Had to bite my lip to resist the temptation to fire back: "Wonderful, maybe I could work through some issues I’m carrying from overly flirtatious elderly priests ogling me as a volunteer teen way back when." But
that truth would be in bad taste, so I didn't.
Called and met with my California contact in the interest of keeping family peace. The first time we met I felt as out of place as a penis at Lillith Fair. Father was nice - think soft-spoken, anorexic Santa, probably 70’s? Reminded me my Church attendance had gone from 2x weekly when I was a kid to
ZERO in almost 2 years. Threw back in my face I’d once considered making the Church my life (in fairness, I was 7 and also thought nuns flew back then). Went on to inform me I had let down several people, including myself (unbeknownst to
even me) and seemed aimless in life. This total stranger - only knew
of me from people back home, after 20 minutes, came to those conclusions! Ahhhh,
that’s why it’s been 2 years and counting...
Opens a manila folder full of papers bright with yellow highlights. Adjusts his glasses and asks very 60 Minutes-like, “Did you write ‘a chubby rudder on the good ship Tards and Stripes’ about a mentally-disabled man having an erection to your Mother?” He looked confused on the word “Tards” - did I spell it right? Oh my freakin' God… I wanted to
die – she’s
actually sent him the various postings I’ve done for a goof and forwarded to her.
Red-faced, I explained kinda, but not to her directly – posted it on a sports-like forum and forwarded it to her thinking she might get a laugh. “Father, I helped at the Special Olympics - a swimmer in a Speedo had a gigantic bon... - ugh, and a rudder steers a boat, and a chubby is another word… nevermind – guess you had to be there. I didn’t
intend it to be mean, just wrote what I saw.”
So, for this past year, I’ve humored them with their little “exorcysm” by going to mass and meetings with advisors weekly. We’ve talked about making fun of the “less fortunate”, importance of family and reconnecting with the Church. To
repay them for their mandatory wisdom, I've
made up more shit to see them cringe than I
ever thought I was capable of... least I could do!
Wish I had no moral compass and would do all the things we talk about! Of
course I've never really held a horse's huge penis and shouted "Say hello to my leeetle friend!" to make my little sister's friends scream. Wait,
once on a bet, bad example - but I'd openly question if God thinks we are sooo stupid that he
had to make shit really stink to help us discern it from food. And
that didn't even work on dogs... You know - important issues - and they'd sit and take notes...
Did it for the blank stares, the open mouths, the brows coming together in worry, but really my own amusement to keep me sane. Seen more head-shaking than Michael J. Fox’s wife
ever will, heard elderly men of the cloth say words
surely they've only whispered to face-down altar boys, and endured their goddamn eternal lectures – all while while swallowing the real loathing I feel for the Church these days. Guess I’m healed!? Fast forward to today:
Feeling awful and guilty about all this blowing up into a huge deal, I called Mom a couple weeks back asking if I should come home for Christmas or fill in guitar work in Las Vegas again. “The latter” was her
entire reply. OK. So, I’ve learned not to discuss politics with my parents, math terms and babies’ names don’t mix (bummer, had my heart
so set on Kotangynt Rose), and Sarah Pahlin is responsible for destroying American families - starting in the heartland!
Seriously, think I've learned you can
never really go home again, there's a way-high tithe to pay for family peace when you gore someone’s sacred political ox, and not
even a year dulls that mother-fucking razor’s edge of Catholic guilt. Oh well...
Merry Christmas!!! See ya in Vegas!
Sister Karyn Rose
So cop leaves for work, and I was running late - showered, dried off, got mostly dressed and went potty. It’s a trusted zone, so don’t hover – plopped down, saw my electric toothbrush within reach, and figured I’d multi-task and brush teeth to save time. Heaped Crest Gel–Cinnamon Rush on, hit the button and whirrrrrr – oops, it flung the red blob smack in the financial district of my panties. First trying to pinky it out, then standing up to waddle to sink, really smooshed it, but got out what I could. Oh well, in a hurry, so out the door…
Made it to Madera before I really had to do something about this now fire in my front window. Burning and waddling to convenience store potty (which is filthy, tiny, stinky, and wizz-drenched), I now get a fistful of toilet paper soaked in the sink – have to get some cold water on this bush fire. Lock door – whew… but look down to see this giant red stripe in my white panties. Not exactly the Red Stripe I was hoping for in my day. Not-wearable, so take off, rinse out, then go to dry myself off – no paper towels? As God is my witness, I've never felt more trashy in my life as I actually kicked a leg up half-naked on the sink and had to use an air hands-dryer to funnel hot air to my already scorched lava-labia in a disgusting, rarely cleaned Sip ‘n Pump bathroom…
