About Mama Millionizer, she made me want to scream this morning.

I’ll preface this by saying we talk like 30 times a week. No shit, 30 separate phone calls in one week is entirely possible. Sometimes it blows my mind because she’ll complain we’re not in contact enough and I’m like, Woman! are you kidding me? Most of our conversations are me listening to her go on about her meal options, weekend plans, my extended family’s goings on, what she ate for dinner yesterday, what she’ll pick up from the store and blah blah blah. I mean sure, some of the things she mentions are relevant but only the first time. When I’ve heard something for the fourth time in two days it’s pretty difficult for me to feign enthusiasm, sorry, that’s just the way it is. When this happens she usually ends the conversation in some super blamey way, her favorites are, OK well you sound busy, I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you’re doing, and Well you sound tired, I’ll let you get some rest. The fact that she says things like that instead of realizing she can’t possibly expect someone to care, makes me want to lose it. I know what you’re thinking, why not just tell her how I’m feeling. That’s a great idea, except I’ve done it several times and each time it has only led to an argument that is basically her telling me she thinks a) we don’t communicate enough b) she feels like she can’t talk to me freely because I criticize what she says and how she says it c) other random things she wants me to feel guilty about.

As far as us not communicating enough, I think she actually means I don’t live with her enough. She never fails to mention that our conversations are of a lesser quality than she desires. I have two things to say to this, 1) I try to talk to her and tell her all those little things that pop up in life. Very often she’s so busy going on about her end of the conversation she doesn’t even hear me, or she has to go, or she offers a disinterested, Oh that’s nice. What does she want from me? 2) With the sheer number of daily conversations we have, of course the quality is lacking! We talk three or more times per day, I don’t have that much quality going on in my life to warrant that many conversations, and frankly, neither does she.

Which leads us to the fact that she thinks she can’t speak freely to me because I tell her she’s mentioned something fourteen times. She doesn’t realize she’s being a hypocrite when she gets angry at me for telling her I don’t want to hear about what a bitch my grandma is. Believe me, I know that woman is out of control and I am well versed in this current episode of her bitchiness, I just don’t need to do the whole song and dance again. I can’t speak freely with her so I don’t. I just listen to her and grunt where appropriate, laugh on cue and do my best. Not all of our conversations are like this, but a lot are. And it is incredibly irritating.

So this morning I called her on the way to class, like I always do. It went like this.

ME: Hi, Mom!

MM: Oh, I haven’t heard from you in a while.

What the hell? Today is only Tuesday and we talked on Saturday. Saturday! And during that conversation I reminded her I was going to be in Tahoe for a couple nights. And if I had called her on her ridiculousness, like I wanted to, it would have ruined both of our days. There is no winning this battle.

Um, helloooo, MIA much?

My weekend was friggin awesome, it started Thursday afternoon and is just ending now. We were in Tahoe visiting the Teebs’ family. They’re really fun and I mentioned how I wish hanging out with my mom was as unstressful. OHMYGOD how fucking terrible is that? It was terrible when I just thought it but actually verbalizing and committing the sentiment to the internet seems somehow worse. But also kinda good. I hope other people feel the same way.

Speaking of stressful moms, my shame was lessened when I realized that it’s not all fun and sunshine for TBU and his brothers when it comes to their mom, either. We tried to go out to lunch with her, she had a lot of conditions to be met though. The main one being that we had to eat on the water. We couldn’t just eat a tasty lunch in a convenient location, no we had to eat somewhere overpriced with a view. So we did. Do not eat at Jakes. Now, I know why TBU puts up with all my ridiculous demands in stride.

But let’s get onto the good stuff. We got to the cabin Saturday night in time for dinner, while everyone ate their chicken soup, I ate my specially prepared veggie soup thanks to Mama TBU. I was so grateful. Especially after last weeks staff meeting where everyone but me got a free lunch because bossman forgot about my vegetarian meal. I’m glad he remembered the two other special orders though, that made me feel real good. And fuck no, I do not want chips and/or bite size kitkats for lunch.

OK, trying to reign it in. We were talking about good stuff, no? I mean, the weekend was awesome, so there. My favorite place to eat in Tahoe is El Sancho, go there, get the breakfast burrito with avocado and thank me later. I hesitate to put that Yelp link in because there are only 5 reviews (soon to be 6!) but it’s got the address and phone number. Seriously just go to Tahoe for the best breakfast burrito of your life. We did, and we took it across the street and ate on the water because Mama TBU was with us.

The gambling was not so fruitful, save for the momentary excitement we all felt while playing the Big Spin and the needle got this close to the $1000 slice of pie. We rode that wave clear through this morning. Otherwise, Chris the blackjack dealer took our monies and got TBUs mom all in a huff when he hit on me.

Oh yeah and there’s a hot tub. Which is such a frickin luxury on a cool night after casino cocktails. Of course, the brothers TBU cannot be bothered to pack water attire. TBU can barely be bothered to pack. Anyone who has seen him away from home overnight can attest that his luggage is a Trader Joe’s bag, double bagged if it’s more than one night. So when TBUs naked brother started to massage my back with his feet I had to draw the line. It’s not the first time I’ve been the only clothed one, either. They don’t even realize they’re naked, they walk around with their skinny, straight line alien bodies in complete comfort. It’s almost admirable and at this point I barely notice it.

On the way back we stopped at the jelly belly factory in Fairfield. We wanted to go again to get samples and see the rainbow-y production line but we almost left after seeing all the mccock/pitbull signs in the parking lot. These weren’t lawn signs for the uncommitted, these were almost billboard size for the truly committed asshole/billionaire. As we walked in we wished we had Obama shirts but settled for all the free goodies we could get. Once during the tour we got stuck behind two old ladies with too much perfume. By the end, I learned to follow the Japanese woman to stay ahead of the crowd and have a pleasant breathing environment. Those are a people at the front of the line. So my point is don’t buy jelly belly jelly beans unless… well I would hope you wouldn’t want to, especially if you have a uterus and enjoy higher learning. (Fruit flies are incredibly important to science, man. They share 98% of our DNA and most of the medical advances we benefit from are a result of fruit fly testing at some point in the research and development process. Yes, even Down’s Syndrome studies you fucking fuck.)

Whoa. I really can’t help myself at this point though. What do we have, like 9 days? I may lose my mind and start throwing poop. The sheer amount of things I want to say about this election is precisely what has prevented me from posting the last few weeks. It’s too much. I literally can start crying at the thought of either candidate winning, for different reasons. Do I believe Barack is our messiah? No, but I believe in him. I honestly do, and if, on November 4th, I am cheering instead of throwing up I will know that I’ll undoubtedly be disappointed in him at several points during his administration. But those are disappointments I’m willing to accept considering the alternative.

The Millionizer also reminds us Californians to VOTE NO ON PROP 8*

*godammit, do I really have to say that? I don’t see how a couple of homos ruins your marriage. Get over yourselves you weird ass religious freaks. And the next pair of mormons at my door has an earful coming, and a couple cold glasses of water. It gets hot out there.

TBU: It smells like a nasty hot tub all of a sudden.

ME: I just burped.

TBU: [looks at me, horrified}

ME: I blames the free beer.