My Cuban Mother

You know, I’ve been thinking, I’ve already kind of incorporated my mom in a few posts now… but no one has seemed to mention if they could relate to her. Maybe I’m the only one who has experienced her type of mom-ing. My bad, mothering. But I’m not so convinced. I’m pretty sure your moms have done some similar stuff, you just haven’t told me yet. Granted, my mother is Cuban, so she obviously doesn’t represent all the moms out there. But, she’s the best and all your moms suck, dayuuuuuuuum. I’m just kidding, I’m sure your mothers are lovely women. Either way, I wanted to share some things that my mom does (or did), because I’m not convinced that she’s the only person that does these things.

Things my mom says.

(1) People are looking.

My mom likes to remind me when we are out in public that we are out in public. What I mean is, she constantly points out that anything I do in public is seen by other people. The phrase she likes to use is “people are looking.”

Example: “Dios Mio, you are not going to wear that in public, people will be looking.”

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Napkin Hoarding Syndrome

Everyone knows about the cat-lady stereotype. The one where a woman just hoards cats because…well…cats are cool.

Well, I’m about to tell you about the Napkin lady…or Napkin Hoarding Syndrome (NHS).

See, napkin hoarding syndrome is a disease (this is probably not a disease) and it has no cure (probably has no cure because it is not a disease). But it affects thousands of women every year (false statistic, it’s just me).

I suffer from NHS.

I don’t remember when NHS started, but I can tell you factors that lead me to developing NHS.

As a child, I had horrible allergies. Like, horrible, dreadful, super inconvenient allergies. Since I had such severe allergies, to basically everything, my nose was very sensitive. The slightest exposure to one of my allergens caused an almost instantaneous runny nose. I don’t know how many kids you enjoy interacting with whose nose holes are constantly dripping liquids, but I can tell you that I personally avoid these kinds of children.

So, in an attempt to maintain human social interactions with people, I constantly carried tissues in my pocket. This way, I could flip out my fibrous saviors and stuff them up my nose to plug up my nasal faucets.

As I became a young adult, I no longer had access to free tissues from my parents…I had to buy them. Now, I can tell you’re thinking to yourself, “tissues are cheap, so what’s the big deal?” – I’ll tell you what the big deal is. You can get free napkins from any food-producing business!

And free is always better than not free.

Thus, my love affair with napkins and hoarding them began.

Anytime I would visit a restaurant, I would take a handful of napkins and stuff them into my purse. If I ordered fast food, I would keep the extra napkins that came in the bag.

There are several different types of napkins, all with varying quality.

Let me break it down for you.

1) Cardboard – napkins that feel like cardboard are of the worst quality. They feel like sandpaper on your nose, you’re lucky if you don’t scrape off the entire superficial layer of your skin. Granted, napkins were never meant to be used for nose-blowing…but I mean, when in Rome McDonalds, do as Ronald would do.

2) Recycled – fibrous, but manageable. Also environmentally friendly, so, how can you hate it? These can be found everywhere, and they are generally the most abundant in my purse collection. They’re also surprisingly absorbent.

3) Thickened – thick napkins usually have fancy embossed decorations. As the title suggests, they are thicker and usually sturdier as well. I call these “old reliable,” because no matter what the issue, these work just as good as tissues (see what I did there?).

4) Royal – I’ve only seen these in high-scale restaurants, you know, the ones where the bathrooms have marble floors and there’s like a person sitting there for any bathroom assistance – usually waiting to help you out for a tip (thanks, but no thanks, I’ve got this lady). This is like the holy grail of napkin quality, it doesn’t get any better than this. They’re basically linen, like, I’m pretty sure some of those napkins come with a 600 cotton thread count. I’d sleep like a baby on a bed covered in Royal napkins.

Now, I go through phases of purse full-ness, meaning there will be times when there are only three napkins in my purse and then there will be times when there are thirty napkins in my purse. I usually hoard them until I use the majority of my stash, unless something happens – like I stored food in my purse and now all my napkins have crumbs in them. Then I discard them…but I’m quick to restock.

There is a silver-lining to my NHS, and that is when my napkins make me a hero.

Hero? Yes, hero.

I am a swift spill-solver. Spiderman has his spidey-sense, and I have my Spill-sense. When my spill-sense tingles, I know that there is a spill near by. I quickly take out my utility belt napkins and attack the culprit before it spreads over materials that could be damaged. Like a fucking ninja.

Reenactment:

More realistic reenactment:

Actually, I’m sure on-lookers must think I’m some kind of napkin-dealer…

Spills and nose-blowing are the only reasons why I keep a stack of napkins in my car. I cannot tell you the number of times I spill something in my car. It’s like the universe gets offended by my ability to drink things, so it curses me when my car goes over speed bumps or badly-paved roads.

The other time that I look like a hero with my napkins is when someone needs paper and there’s none around.

I just pop open my purse and hand a napkin over.

NAPKIN RESCUE, SCENARIO 1:

NAPKIN RESCUE SCENARIO 2:

And when I am done helping those in need…

Sometimes I’m my own hero… like, for example, when I enter a bathroom and I see that there is no toilet paper.

Having no toilet paper in a bathroom is quite possibly the most annoying thing ever… it leaves you totally helpless.

But I digress.

My NHS does get pretty out of control when I’m too busy to clean out my purse… they have a tenancy to spill out onto the floor. It kind of makes me look like I’m trying to keep track of where I’m going by leaving myself napkin clues. It also makes me unintentionally litter.

At home, I may put some napkins in my kitchen, but they always somehow make their way into my room…so then I’ve got napkins all over my already messy bedroom.

The point when I have to start throwing things away is when I wake up to the sight of a napkin on my pillow…

I know I have made progress with my disease…but it’s still got a strong grip on me. any time I get rid of napkins…a strong, burning urge to attain more floods through my body.

One day, when there is no more pollen, freshly cut grass, dogs, cats, dust, or allergens in general, I will finally be free of NHS. Until then…my purse will forever be twice as large thanks to my fluffy paper friends.

The Majestic Pizza Table

Friends, I want to ask you all to go back in time with me. But not too far back…I’m talking probably early 1990s…can’t believe its already been 20 years. I’m asking you to go back in time with me because I had a dream the other night…a dream that reminded me of something I thought had been long forgotten. But really, it can never be forgotten…because it was possibly the most important piece of plastic to have ever graced my hands.

This is the story, of the Majestic Pizza Table.

My first time doing “public speaking”

I‘ve been prompted to discuss my first time doing something. Immediately what came to mind was my first time doing public speaking.

When I was a little kid I was beyond shy. I like invented shy. If you weren’t a family member of mine, I’d be the quietest child you had ever met. I’m not sure why I was like this, but my shyness often took a back seat to my urinary tract.

Anytime we would be doing an activity in class I’d go about my business until I had to do my business – get what I’m saying? I had no problem approaching my teachers one-on-one to let them know that things were stirring down below. I’d be excused to go to the bathroom and come back and it was no big deal.

But one day, in the middle of some lecture the teacher was giving, the urge to use the bathroom hit me like a sack of bricks to the face. It was so sudden that, without thinking, I jumped up from my seat and raised my hand.

At this point, I am more aware of my bladder than I am of what I’m doing. I know that asking to go to the bathroom (the whole “May I” instead of “Can I” question correction thing was so annoying, you remember that?) was a question; and when you asked questions you had to raise your hand.

BEAST MODE ACAPELLA

Alright guys, I’m about to share something with you that only a hand full of people know about myself. That’s right, and after I discuss this with you, I’d kindly ask you to burn this post and never speak of it again. Sharing embarrassing secrets makes us basically best friends…  Mmm, I feel so close to you right now.

So while I was driving back up to my apartment, after visiting family down south, I happened upon a crazy driver along the highway.

She was full-on jamming out to a Britney Spears song, like, JAMMING. Straight up going no-hands-on-the-steering-wheel-I-may-die-call-the-cops-I-don’t-give-a-fuck jamming. I call this kind of reckless singing: Beast-Mode-Acapella (BMA).

Basically, in that exact moment, that random lady was Britney Spears, and she was flipping out all the dance moves she could in the confined space of her motor vehicle.

When I realize that someone is going BMA, I get irritated that they’re jeopardizing the safety of the people around them. I may curse, flip the bird, or honk at them, but the one thing I never do…is judge them.

“Wait, you can’t judge the lady swerving into every lane while shrieking incoherent words?” I hear you ask. Yes, I have no fucking grounds to start judging that lady. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to speed ahead of her and make sure I stay at a safe distance, but that’s only because I understand the great, involuntary power of BMA. You can’t control that shit. When BMA takes you over, all bets are off.

You see friends, there was a time when I would make the great trip from central to southern Florida basically every two weeks. It was a happier time, I had money left over from a few months earlier when I held two jobs concurrently, and my posse was still located in the same area; which made the trip to see friends a sort of one-stop kind of thing. The only problem is that the drive really killed me. Depending on the location of where I would be staying, the drive down south could be anywhere from 3 to 4 hours. I don’t mind making a trip that long maybe once every couple of months, perhaps even every month, but multiple times a month??? Let’s just say it takes boredom to a whole other level.

So, I decided that I should take advantage of the fact that the CD player in my car could hold more than one CD and indulge myself in some new music. Back in the day, the place I used to hang out the most was Borders (a super cool bookstore-cafe-awesome-adventure-building). I had a membership card so I got some coupons all the time to get discounts on CDs. One day, after I had gotten sick of my self-made mixes, I thought I would be a rebel and buy a couple of CDs from Borders at random (I live life on the edge). So I literally walked into Borders, went straight to the bargain CD bin, dug my hands into the mountain of plastic cases and pulled out two CDs. I was excited to listen to my random findings.

Turns out the two CDs I chose were the greatest hits of Cheap Trick (which featured some live tracks, pretty cool) and a Sarah McLachlan Remix CD from 2001.

So, I’m cultured enough to know who Sarah McLachlan is – some of you may recall she did a bunch of advertisements for animal adoption recently. You know, the ones that make you question the type of person you are for not saving every sad kitten or battered puppy? Spoilers, you are a fucking terrible person. As depressed as you are when you watch that commercial, you can’t deny the sweet, sweet serenading voice that Sarah McLachlan has man…its like…undeniable.

The thing that made me question my purchase was that this CD remix was from 2001. So I’m thinking…this is like…a weird, cheesy techno compilation of Sarah McLachlan’s stuff that I could find on those old-school Dance Dance Revolution arcade machines; you know what I mean?

But it was too late to panic, I had to be down south in a few hours. All I could do at that point was cross my fingers and hope the CD didn’t suck.

The second I loaded that bad boy up, something started happening… The song “Fear” came on. I had started the domino effect that leads up to a full-on BMA.

Phase 1: Introduction.

It starts simple enough, you’re just kind of listening to the music. You might not catch all the lyrics, you may even completely space out. You’re just kind of shaking the hand of this song, getting to know them a bit better. Nothing out of the ordinary per say.

Phase 2: Infiltration.

Things are picking up, you’re getting the beats of the song all up in your car. Yeah, you like those beats. Not bad for a techno song. You’re paying a bit more attention to the lyrics, you may even be bouncing your head along to the rhythm. This is the song’s attempt to give you a false sense of security. You my friend, just let your guard down and personally escorted that slimy mother fucking song worm right into your brain. But you’re having such a good time you don’t even know what just happened.

Phase 3: Infestation.

The damage is done, you can’t go back now. That base is sick and already getting stuck in your head. Those beats got you moving your whole body. You are clinging on to every song lyric, those words were written for you man! This is the infestation of the song. It has tricked you into thinking it knows you on a deeper level, you guys have chemistry, you go way back – this is the one that got away. This is your lover. You got to move your body, you got to seduce that lover back into your life. You can’t stop now. You wouldn’t even if you had the option. This is your life now.

Phase 4: BEAST MODE ACAPELLA.

I AM SARAH MCLACHLAN. LISTEN TO MY FALSETTO MAN, I AM A GIFT TO MANKIND. I SHOULD BE FILLING UP STADIUMS WITH THIS VOICE. HOW DO I NOT HAVE A GRAMMY IN MY HANDS RIGHT NOW? AM I DRIVING? I DON’T FUCKING KNOW. LISTEN TO ME. THIS VOICE CAN SOLVE WORLD HUNGER. OR AT THE VERY LEAST PROPEL A ROCKET INTO SPACE. MY VOCAL CORDS HAVE THE POWER OF A THOUSAND SUNS.

Do you see how dangerous this shit is? I could have caused an accident. That’s 4 minutes and 46 seconds of pure, reckless singing.

I swear, this doesn’t happen to me every time I hear a song. I’ve listened to so many freaking songs on my travels from north to south… but this is the only one that makes me go BMA. This song did something to me, and no matter how many times I hear it, it is still as powerful as the first time it seduced me. Self control doesn’t exist with this song. I have to flail my arms to my terrible, improvised choreography and scream bloody murder to reach the high notes that only I can hear.

This is why I can’t judge that girl I saw today, driving like a maniac. Because the second that Brittney Spears song ended…she grabbed her steering wheel and went about her business as usual. Like nothing had ever happened. The song still possesses her, but it won’t come out until the next incantation.

So about that thing that I mentioned earlier, the one about the secret and the burning and the stuff… yeah. If you guys ever mention to anyone that I listen to Sarah McLauchlan techno music, I will disown you and deny this entire thing.

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THE SUPERMAN EFFECT

Alright, so I’m sure I’m not the first person that this has happened  to, but I thought I’d rant about it anyway.

Actually, this is going to be a two part rant. Part 1 is about my lack of eyesight abilities, part 2 about the superman effect.

PART 1 – I CAN’T SEE

As a kid, I don’t remember gradually losing my eye sight… even though it probably was gradual. According to my memory, it happened in the matter of a week.

First I recall my teacher coming up to me and asking me if I was having a lot of trouble looking at the board, cause apparently I was squinting my eyes. Then in my phys. ed. class the following day we had like some eye vision test thing. It wasn’t random, they did it every year, but this year they sent me home with a note. Then I remember my dad driving me to the optometrist and telling me that I needed glasses.

Now, my dad has worn glasses since the beginning of dad history. So, it was explained to me that crap eyesight was passed down to me by the biological miracle that is genetics. So, I was kind of always destined to wear glasses. At some point, one way or another, my vision would start to deteriorate, and I’d have to get glasses. There’s no way to out run fate kids…especially when you can’t see where you’re going.

After the eye exam, I waited patiently with my dad in this museum of glasses. They came in all shapes, sizes, colors, it was crazy overwhelming. I have always been very indecisive, so my dad helped pick out my first pair. They were this kind of light brown, very circular shaped, pair of glasses. I was excited to try them on.

Okay, so here’s the thing. Before I got glasses, I had no idea that I had crooked ears. SURPRISE – I know now.

Even worse, because I had never had glasses before, I wasn’t used to having to keep tabs on their location all the time.  So one day I accidentally sat on them…and made them even more crooked.

Yeah. I had to go to school looking like that.

These glasses weren’t doing me any favors man, my nerd factor just exponentially skyrocketed.  Silver-lining – I could see with crystal clarity the looks of pity on the faces of my peers.

It’s the little things in life…

Anyway, as my eyes slowly started to decompose in my skull, my eye sight started getting progressively worse. I’d go back and get new pairs of glasses over the course of my life. Here’s a quick recap of the pairs I’ve owned:

I guess I was never really into loud or bright colors. Also, I didn’t discover contact lenses until I was like…17, so until then I had to always choose colors that would match the majority of my wardrobe.

These days glasses are cool and hip. I see kids running around with frames that don’t even have lenses. ARE YOU MOCKING ME CHILDREN? Why couldn’t glasses have been cool when I was growing up?

Anyway, I complain some more about being blind in one of my previous posts.  But what I really want to get to, is part 2 of this post, because I’ve got some rants to unleash.

PART 2: SUPERMAN EFFECT

I think I’ve had this conversation with a couple of people who wear glasses before. It’s the Superman effect.

Okay so everyone knows (the audience) that Superman is Clark Kent; but no one in Metropolis would ever be able to finish that puzzle. Makes you wonder, like, they could have done anything to Superman – ANYTHING – and these Metropolites would totally buy it.

The thing is that, in the real world, this happens all the time.

On several different occasions, I have introduced myself to someone without my glasses and if I ran into them again with my glasses they would re-introduce themselves to me.

The other thing that happens to me is that people will call me another name. I’ll show up to class one day with my glasses off, the professor calls me by my given name, no problems. I show up the next day with my glasses on, suddenly I’m “Melissa.”

FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THE GALAXIES IN THIS UNIVERSE, WHY AM I ALWAYS MELISSA? SERIOUSLY. Was there a memo that went out about how if you forget my name the automatic default is Melissa? Where did you even come up with that! Is everyone in on this? People who have never met each other, that I have met separately, have mistakenly called me Melissa.

YEAH I MAY LOOK DIFFERENT, CAUSE THERE’S AN OBJECT SITTING ON MY FACE – BUT NOT THAT DAMN DIFFERENT.

What is it about my glasses that makes people think I’m a completely different person?

I’ve heard of the Doorway Effect, where when you walk through a doorway you subconsciously forget about whatever it was that you were doing. Maybe glasses are the same way. Maybe when I put on my glasses, its like a reverse doorway effect – people who see me subconsciously forget who I am. My glasses open a realm of random forgetfulness.

The reverse doorway effect wipes away my identity when the glasses situate themselves on my face. To outsiders who may have known me, their memory of me becomes erased. This has to be the reason why people don’t recognize me…IT HAS TO BE.

What do you guys think about all this? Can you relate to any of it? Or is this just something I’m cursed with… TELL ME I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE.