So, I spend a lot of time with my mom. Helps that we’re neighbors & ride to work together. But still, my mom is odd, & confusing. People from the outside instantly take it as “HOMG! Pixie! Your mom is SOOOOO COOL!” Yeah. Mmhmm.
She has her moments, I admit. Giving me a tarot deck for my sweet 16, finding cool shops while lost, etc.
Well, see, Mom has “The gift of gab”, as she puts it. She likes to write up funny family stories. I admit that they are very well written, & I think, if compiled into book form (like The Bloggess did), it would sell very well. There is just one drawback.
I’m in her family, therefore not imune to being written about. Think “Well, that’s cool, tho!”? Think again. How would you feel if your mother wrote an article, for example, about how you told her you were no longer a virgin? And then, in her way, hyper-exaggerated bits of it? Then, to top it off, post it on a then popular website, where classmates (cause you’re still in high school) have been known to look.
Still cool? Didn’t think so. Now, she didn’t name the child (I’m one of a lot), but she did give birth order. And, when you live in a small town, everyone knows if you’re the oldest, second, third, etc.
I still think she should do the book. Well, with a caveat. The kids talked about have the right to say “No, you can’t use that story” or “If you use it, you have to de-exaggerate it to how it actually happened, or no go”.
I think it’s fair. If it sells well, the stories will be EVERYWHERE, not just hidden away on a website in the far reaches of cyberspace.
Now, before people get in a huff about us wanting to censor our mother… the example I used? It happened. The story was printed out & passed around classes, etc. The subject about died of embarrassment, then called Mom, screaming “Oh my God, how the HELL could you do that to me? I didn’t say half that shit, and it’s being passed around. No, I don’t care how many hits you got, or that you’re paid ten cents per hit. Take. It. Down. Now.”
See our side, now?
But, I still want to eventually be able to hold up a New York Times bestseller, and go “My mom wrote this”. So, I’ll harp & nitpick until she gets a manuscript together. Until then, keep an eye on my twitter feed. I quote Mom a lot. A lot a lot. She’s funny.

Mom… Don’t hand her new technology.

My mother. Everyone loves her. Lord & Lady know why, but I’ve apparently been “blessed” with what has been termed “A cool mom”. But there’s a downfall. I have to live with her as my mom.
My mom stumbles upon weird and crazy shit (when not creating it, herself). She finds weird books. Case in point?


This. Seriously?!? Yes, I bought it. Cricket sheds so much, I’m surprised he still has fur. But I wouldn’t have it if she hadn’t found it.
Mom’s new fascination? She wants a smartphone. Not to make calls. Not to keep up with her blogs (yes, plural) or other social media. She wants it for one singular, solitary app.
Mom wants Songify.
She finds those videos of autotuned news reports hilarious. But she doesn’t want to do that. No.
You see, Mom can’t sing. Family legend states that when I was two years old, Mom was singing a nursery rhyme to me. And, supposedly, I said, “Mommy, please stop. Your singing hurts my ears.”
Songify will cure that for her. So her ingenious idea?
Record all of her stories, then autotune them into songs for my siblings & myself.
So, we were out yesterday, cause my phone kicked the bucket & I needed a replacement. So, at the first cell phone store, she’s looking at a display case of used phones. She doesn’t buy one because the cheapest they have is $100, & she just spent oodles @ Best Buy buying a laptop. (She almost bought an android tablet, but thought better of it.)
When we get to a location that can actually solve my phone issue, the guy notices I’m the only person on my plan, & asked if Mom would be interested in being added to my plan. She said no. She only wanted a smartphone for one app, & gave the guy her speil. At the end, she asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have a used smartphone that no one wants that I could have?”
” *chuckles* Sorry. I actually would give you one if we had one just to check it out. And I’m totally downloading that app now.”
If you have an old smartphone that you’re willing to part with, Mom wants it. So so badly. She even joked (at least, I hope she was joking) that she was going to peruse Craigslist & eBay.

Mom’s lesson on how to drink like a lady

My mom is unique. Really. Sometimes it’s in a truely marvelous way, like she’s the best mom ever, and everyone should bow down to her. Other times… Well, she’s my mom. I’m obligated to be embarrased of or by her at times. It’s in the Daughter Handbook. *Girl Scout Honor*

In comparison to some other Moms I know, I have to admit, my mom’s pretty damned cool. How many people have mom’s that used to be a DJ, and would test songs on her kids using the “If my kids dance around like maniacs to it, the crowd will love it” method? Or insist, that even if we were born with two left feet, that we must, and I mean MUST, know how to do every version of the Electric Slide, The Bird, The Chicken Dance, a little bit of swing dance, and how to “Drop it like it’s hot”?

She also took me out for my first legal drink when I turned 21.

We were living in New Jersey, just on the other side of the Ben Franklin Bridge. My original plans? Go to Philly with a couple of friends and do the “traditional” bar crawl of the South Side, and see how many free drinks I got before my friend drove me home. Yeah, didn’t happen. My best friend’s girlfriend decided to have a drama fit, so he drove me home before the sun set. Bum. Mer.

So, Mom insisted in taking me out. First stop, the Burger King drive through. Can’t drink on an empty stomach, don’t ya know? Then we drove. And drove. And drove. We drove around for about 2 hours trying to find a bar with the right “vibe”. I don’t know what she was looking for exactly, but what we ended up doing has affected my tastes in bars ever since.

We ended up at the bar two buildings down from where I worked, and less than 5 minutes (if you hit EVERY red light) from home. It was a total blue collar dive bar, and I’ve felt more comfortable in places like that since. Brightly lit bars/clubs with trendy music and/or DJ’s, “Mixologists”, and the trappings that go with it don’t do it for me. Give me a dimly lit, smokey place with a friendly bartender that knows how to pull a draft with just the right amount of foam, knows your basic, classic coctails, and doesn’t charge an arm and a leg for them. Great, cheap food is a plus.

So, we go to the counter, and Mom orders 2 Long Islands. One for her, one for me. I go snag a table nearby while she stays put, watching the bartender mix them. Did I mention Mom used to be one? So she knows what goes into one. The 4 white wells, triple sec (or, if out, Country Time Lemonade), and coke.

“Ohhhh shit… Oh shiiiiit. God damnit.. Shit shit shit.”

Now, I look young for my age, so of course, I had to show my ID. The bartender was sweet, and told me happy birthday. Then, promptly adjusted Mom’s order so I’d start my birthday off with a kick.

Did we get Long Islands? Oh, noooo. We got Texas Tea’s. Not just that, but heavy handed Texas Tea’s. What’s a Texas Tea, you ask? Okay, first off, the Long Island is actually a family of drinks. There’s the classic, the Tokyo Tea (which has Midori added to the mix), the Long Beach (replace the coke with a splash of cranberry and orange juice), and the Texas Tea. There are probably other variations, but these are the most common. All start with the same basic ingredients, known as the 4 white wells. These are the basic clear liquors that are most common in drinks: vodka, gin, white rum, and tequila. So, a Long Island is a shot each those 4, triple sec (an orange liquor) or bar syrup (think simple syrup), and coke. Easy, right?

So, a Texas Tea is special. You take the 4 white wells, the triple sec and coke… Then add another shot of tequila. Everything’s bigger in Texas, right? Well, this bartender went heavy handed. He didn’t just put a shot of everything in, he put in about double the alcohol, almost no ice.. And could barely fit in the coke.


So, Mom taught me how NOT to drink. See, addiction runs strongly in my father’s side of the family. Well, in my father. And she didn’t want me to become an alcoholic, so she wanted me to have a horrible hangover the next day. One of those “I’m never drinking like that again” kind of nights. So, she had me push the orange slice down to the bottom, and drink the whole thing through the straw, then eat the orange.

If you want to get drunk fast, that is the way to do it. If you’d rather savor your drink… Don’t. Doesn’t help that on top of doing that (first time drinking hard liquor. I had had beer/wine coolers before, though) my older brother, in his infinite wisdom, said that I must -MUST- have a shot of Jager since he couldn’t be there. (He was in Iraq on his first deployment).

Yeah… I was DRUNK. Only things I remember from that is the bar TV was on ESPN, comparing Alex Trebek and some other Alex that played baseball (cause they were both Canadian), with me and Mom rooting for Trebek, me insisting that I could walk a straight line (it was diagonal. Straight, but not forward.), and my step dad chewing my mom out for getting me so wasted, and then driving me home while she, herself, was drunk.

Thank god that Mom and I are both cheap dates.

As it is, her little lesson has stuck with me. While I do enjoy the taste of a coctail once in a while, I stick to her “rule” of only imbibing a handful of times a year, typically holidays, plus one freebie. I rarely get drunk off my ass because I seriously don’t like the feeling. I’ve only gotten very drunk once, and I swore to never repeat it. (We were out celebrating a friend’s birthday, it was my first time drinking sake, and I honestly don’t remember getting in my friend’s car to go home, nor singing “Twinkle Twinkle” in the backseat. Never. Again.)

Now, I do go to a bar quite often (once or twice a week after work), but I can count on one hand (with fingers left over) how many times I had a drink in the past 4 years of going there. The bar has a cool atmosphere, ginormous breakfasts for dirt cheap, coffee to die for that does NOT taste like the crap Starbucks shits out, and wi-fi. The bartender knows me by name, knows what I want when I say “I’ll have my usual”, and asks me what cool new music is out.

And, more times than not, it’s Mom that wants to go, not me. Oh well.. Just means she has to pick up the tab. 🙂