No note. No letter. No nothing. I mean clearly though, this thing truly speaks for itself.
In that vain, here's what it does not say:
I might note that since I hate my roommate and have thought I was going to move out on at least 2 occasions, I have officially forwarded all of my mail to my office. Imagine my co-workers' collective surprise when I opened up this package yesterday. I might be wrong, but it was quite similar to the look on the faces of the people sitting next to me last night at dinner when I pulled it out to show Cesar.
She usually decorates her packages and envelopes with various sparkles, colors and stickers. My favorite design is the one that bares a Jesus sticker right next to the postage stamp. She circles the Jesus sticker and places an arrow at the postage stamp with a message reading, "This is the real stamp! This is the only stamp that matters!" Or something to that extent. I'll have to scan one of those when I get home later. It's pretty important material that you shouldn't be deprived of.
My mom is a funny lady to say the least. While we're on the subject of dear mother, I should let you in on the jist of our past 4 conversations. And when I say conversations, I also mean 10 minute voicemail messages she leaves that might make an outsider wonder whether or not she knows she's not speaking to anyone:
Despicable
"Hi Gigi, I need you to go to the store right now and buy lycine for the coldsores you get on your lips. If you take one a day, you'll never get one again. I have one right now and I'm telling you, I look despicable!"
Fake Boob Removal
"I've decided that when you and your sisters get older and are rich, I want you each to give me $1,000 so I can get my boobs taken out. You know, I've never asked anyone for any money. I never asked your dad for alimony, I've never asked for anything. And I've had these things for 20 years. I'm afraid they're going to start leaking and they're getting heavy. I'm sick of them! I'd rather have little sacks of skin hanging off of my chest than these things. So, do you think you can help me with that someday?"
Chicago Boy
"Why do you have to date a guy from Chicago. Hello?! He is like totally geographically undesirable! There are a million other guys in Manhattan. Just date one of them. Wouldn't you like to be able to go out with your boyfriend on, say, a Wednesday night? I mean, wouldn't you? Just, think about it."
Follow-up on Chicago Boy
"Gigi, I was thinking about it and I'm calculating that if you go see D once a month and it costs you $200 per flight times 12 months a year, that's, umm, 12 x 200 is $240, no, no, no 12 x 200 is $24,000. No, 12 x 200 is $2,400? $2,400!! You're spending $2,400 a year going to Chicago! Can you please date someone in New York, honey??"
So, yeah - just like the outfit speaks for itself, I think that so too do these conversations. Check back later, I vow to dig up one of those Jesus envelopes for you.
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9 comments:
Wow! You have an impressive family! IT IS all starting to make more sense now. So your mom's got fake boobs?! 20 year old implants nonetheless. So they must be silicone right? I've heard that you can sell them (to girls that want silicone, but can't get them now). Boobs, the greatest investment ever!
I think she wants you to wear that lingerie when you go out clubbing. I've seen girls do that. Oh, and the "Rules" book... throw that shit away. Seriously, toilet paper is more useful.
My grandmother had fake boobs for 20 something years. I never understood why hugs from her felt like rocks banging into your chest until she had the surgery to remove them.
And Lysine doesn't work at all. ...not to mention that it's a pain in the ass to swallow.
I had sex ed from my mother when I was three years old. It was one of their ways of distancing their little girl from any inappropriate information hence illicit desires, along with sending me to single-sex schools since. This was duly followed by my discovery of a hardcore porn video in their drawer when I was nine which I watched, thinking, "I want that thing!"
The only advice to life my father has ever given me was, "Would you stop going for men my age."
So, this may be kind of long, but bear with me Gigi. I know exactly how you feel about the Jesus envelopes. My grandma goes to the same church as I do and almost every time I see her, she gives me a "Journey", which is a women's daily devotional magazine. They give them out at my church, so theoretically speaking, if I wanted one, I could get one myself. Anyhoo, I was at said grandma's house on Easter Sunday. I got my nose pierced about a month or so ago and have a very small gold stud in. Well, she pulls me to the side and said "I want to know, what's with this." and she points at my nose. I said "Well, I wanted to get it, so I got it. That's all." and then she says "Well, I don't love you ONE bit less, but I can't like it" and I say "Well, that's ok, you don't have to like it" and she finishes with "No, I can't like it. It just goes along too much with that whole drug scene" to which, I replied by mumbling something like "Uh, no, not really". I knew she wouldn't like it, but the DRUG SCENE?!!! Let's keep in mind that I am 27, married, have 2 kids and am a stay at home, attend church regularly, rarely drink, don't do any drugs, etc. Get the picture? And yet, I am involved in the drug scene because I have my nose pierced. Luckily (or unluckily), my husband piped in with "Well, I know A LOT of drug addicts and none of them have THEIR noses pierced." Family. Gotta love 'em. If for no other reason than that they provide excellent comedic material.
HAHAH! That's great. You should have your own blog badmammajamma.
I agree, Bufflo.
I need more reading material. Hook it up, Badmammajamma!
The REALLY funny thing is that a few days after getting the nose pierced, I got my 6th and 7th tattoos. Now, tattoos 1-5 are pretty well hidden, but tattoos 6 and 7 are 2 inch by 2 inch sparrows and are on both inner wrists. They are very visible and they made the Easter debut along with the nose ring. Wanna guess how many people had anything to say about them? That's right. None. I guess Jesus loves tattoos more than nose piercings. Who knew? About the blog, I could do one called "My Life as a G.R.I.T.S.". Now, I know you're thinking "Hey, that's completely grammatically incorrect. Oh, but no. G.R.I.T.S. is an acronym for Girl Raised In The South. I live in the great state of Mississippi and some truly bizarre shit goes down here on a regular basis. Oh, the stories I could tell.
Who doesn't know them about some GRITS?? I've got the sticker posted at work!
Take them south of I-10 and east of the Mississippi. (of course many debate the I-10 border. I hold firm. I want it that far down!)
I love the south. I won a lot of money in Tunica, then I lost it 2 minutes later. When I move to Nashville, I'll be going to those casinos on a regular basis, if only for the illusion of "free" alcohol.
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