Saturday 5 November 2011
One of the very first people I met on Twitter was @VariantVal. She was this witty, sarcastic, wise-ass, American woman who could tweet-spar with the best of them. And then I found out that Val could write with the best of them as well. She is, at the very least, an incredible woman who I’m lucky to call a friend. I know that part of my previous sentence won’t sit well with Val, but tough luck, she’s going to have to suck it up! 😉 For that comment, she’s sure to shove me down an abandoned well. I love Val to bits, and it’s amazing to consider that through Social Media, I’ve now got myself a big sis in the U.S. (sucked in again for Val, ‘cause I love to be the annoying lil sis 😉 ) I highly recommend that you check out Val’s blog http://www.variantlyval.blogspot.com and the Dorothy: Locked and Loaded website, where Val writes as the Lion. She is a talented writer, a beautiful person, and an awesome friend, and I’m absolutely determined that one day, I will eventually get to meet her in real life. Enjoy Val’s article . . .
I have to be honest here; I’ve been drawing a blank on what to write for Danielle. I’ve coursed through the memories in the corners of my mind, and they aren’t very misty, nor are they water-colored. Okay, some of them may be a bit water-colory, but they’re mostly done in crayon and spray paints. What events in my life have changed me to make me the person I am today? Jesus, girl, that’s bringing us all the way back to my birth, where I fought my way out of my mother, got stuck and was grabbed by the neck with a set of cooking tongs and pulled right. My mother, at age 73, will still bitch about how I ruined a really great party at her home, and the very awesome light-blue, chiffon dress she wore.
My destructive tenancies didn’t stop there. Throughout my life I displayed behaviors that, I imagine, were embarrassing, funny, crazy, insane, sad, and nerve wrecking. Somewhere amid all of it, my mother still tells me she loves me and would never give me up for anything. I imagine she’d have happily sold me to Gypsies on the day we got drunk in Spain with my Aunt and ended up screaming at each other in public, in the Palazzo, “Bitch!” “No! You’re the fucking bitch!” “No! You’re the fucking bitch!” “No! You’re the fucking bitch!” “You are the master queen bitch of the world!” “You were a bitch before I was, I learned from the best, didn’t I?” … Well, you get the picture. My Aunt (who is Irish) just sat back in her chair, sipping her wine, nibbling on her tapas, enjoying the first rate performance unfurling before her. My mother (who is Irish as well) and I laughed about the whole spectacle the next day, and still do when the topic arises nearly 12 years later.
During the calm times, we got along pretty great. In Ireland we even managed to take a cross-country, spontaneous road trip. Just follow the YBR, Dot… Okay, more like stay on the crooked and extremely narrow; have you ever driven in Ireland? Out in the country they have single land roads they built for two horses to pass going opposite directions. My cousin Marie drove that trip, and once again my Aunt Margaret was along with us. We had no set destination, no plans, just turned when we felt like it. We stopped and explored one of the smallest, run-down castles I’d ever seen. I don’t know who owned the property, and perhaps we were trespassing (especially since we had to off-road it through the field to reach the structure, but Shhh!), but no one shot at us, tried to throw us out, nor were we chased by flesh eating sheep. Don’t ask me where we were while we were out in wild country. I know we stopped somewhere and watched a man blow glass. I remember thinking, ‘Wow, I want to do that,’ and totally fucked shit up. I’m still willing to give it another try, provided I don’t get kicked out of the country next time. We also spent one night in a really old hotel. Its bright-pink, exterior paint job was a bit deceiving (and garish, but let’s not be rude). It even reminded me a bit of Florida. However, stepping inside was like H.G. Wells left his time machine at the door. The lobby was elegant, with carved wood, pillars, three huge fireplaces and a butler to brink cocktails. Awesome!! We figured we’d save some cash and all chip in on a room and ended up in a massive, five bed room. Each wooden headboard was different, antique, I’m certain. There was deep-red wallpaper hung, with gold crown moulding. I kept waiting for the ghosts to show, but was sadly disappointed. The next day we set out again and ended up in Knock. Knock is a holy Catholic place. A conglomeration (well, only 3) of some of the holiest of holiests was present there sometime in the 1800s, and one of the Popes made a pilgrimage to visit there. So now we all kneel and pray, get holy water from the drinking fountains and listen to mass delivered in Latin. I was fairly hung over when we were there, but remember an awesome white marble statue of an angel. I think it was an angel anyways. I wasn’t able to give confession there, for some reason in my travels I find myself doing this and once confessed to a priest in Spain who didn’t speak a lick of English (thank God). I think I was just following along with my mother. She is very Catholic, even had my have my first communion in Ireland, then we took the priest back to the house and the adults got drunk, including the priest. Anyways, I’m off subject here, this shouldn’t surprise any of you if you already know me.
Crap, I forgot what I was going to say again. But I’ll sum it up like this… There are many events that have occurred in my life, many deaths, much happiness, fun times, hard times, a ton of insanity, lots of food and booze, but in the end, with everything that has occurred, my mother is always there. The greatest event in my life is my mother, and yes, she is an event. She is magical, crazy and has taught me many things. She shops with me, eats good food with me and drinks with me. Just last year we started out shopping and ended up at The World of Beer with one of my sister-in-laws for a good eight hours, drinking, jamming to the band and totally forgetting about shopping. How can a girl shop when the temptation of The World of Beer is present? I mean it’s a world and it’s beer. Live— and who gives a shit what anyone thinks of you…do right, do your best, be happy, be sad, be mad, but live. This I take from the event that is my mother. Amen.