Some sort of something

Some sort of something huh flame? I will tell you something…. I may never let my mom read my blog again. Not that I have any choice now that I have shown her the url, but she read yesterdays, and the day before, and yes she enjoyed it. Yes she thought I am a good writer, that is to say, well written, but you know what she says? “You didn’t tell them where he lives did you?” (referring to B-snaps, because for some unknown reason, she thinks I will tell the world wide web my street address and invite you all over to rape and pillage my home and body.) “No, mother, I didn’t tell them where I live, don’t worry.” Okay good, is her quick reply, and I ask if she is going to read my blog or if she is just going to worry about the things I say in it. “I’M YOUR MOTHER, I’M ALLOWED TO WORRY!”

She has a point. She IS allowed to do whatever she wants, partially because she had a large hand in my creation, and partially because, well because she says so. That has been her reasoning behind things for awhile now….because I say so….and I wonder. When do I get to use that? When I give birth? When I produce three lovely children, help them into adulthood and then move to Hawaii to live happily ever after? Huh? HUH? (to which she would reply “yes, that IS when” and then pat me lovingly on the head and walk into the other room signifying that the conversation is now over, and there is no more to say) ((and if you have ever been in an argument with me, you now know where my reasoning and logic comes from)). Well, she makes it about two lines into each paragraph, gets distracted by what I am saying in the paragraph, ande begins to worry. Worries about me dreaming about my x boyfriends (I can’t help it mom, I wish I didn’t too), worries about me not getting my funds together to move (mom, I swear you don’t worry as much as I do, “OH NO, I WORRY MORE, I AM YOUR MOTHER), so in retrospect, to yesterdays blog, She is right. She wins this one. Mom? YOU WIN. YOU WORRY MORE THAN ME.

Okay, now that that is out of the way, I feel like I can blog properly, and not worry about my mom worrying about me worrying more than she worry’s about worrying.

For fuck sake, drop it flamer. Move on.

Okay, now she is taking a picture of me….which I will insert here.

And here. She took two because she is OCD and wanted the windows to be square. And then she took about ten more because she wanted to clean things out of the way so I had a perfect picture for my blog. I love my mother more than any one else on earth. But don’t tell her that. Okay, you can tell her, because

So how did the day go you ask? Today in paradise with dinero du fuego? Well… started with a great conversation with a new friend….who I will lovingly refer to as Achilles. Achilles and I spent the better half of the morning chatting away and you know what? It is always nice to meet someone that whether we are on the record or not, is willing to speak candidly, willing to speak openly, and willing to laugh not only at other people, but at ourselves. And we had a laugh we did. A couple actually. Achilles and I spent about an hour on the phone this morning, from about 9 something to 10 something. We spoke about love, love lost, art, lost creativity, creativity found and then lost, we spoke of just about everything under the sun. And then we started the interview. Unfortunately, just as soon as we started to get down and dirty, my whale of a tale adventure was beginning, so I had to postpone our chat for later in the day.

My step-dad and I went to get my mamma from work and then we all went to Maa’alea Harbor, which is the second windiest harbor in world. From there, we and all these lovely people, who I can only assume come from the middle of America due to their neon fanny packs, hopped on board for our two hour hump back whale tour. The guide said we may see 5-10 whales. We saw 10 on the way out, were completely surrounded at one point, (a competition of males to the left furiously slapping their pecs and heads, tail slapping and breaching as though we weren’t sitting there, jaw on the poop deck hahaha poop, and a mama and her calf to the right with the mama doing her best to teach her son or daughter to slap his/her tail), and then on our way back in, another 10 breaching spouting, slapping, padunkling, and then we are about 30 minutes out and suddenly? Bottle nose dolphins surround our boat and start jumping, diving, dancing, flipping (well, maybe not Seaworld flipping, but close enough for me). Amazing. Absolutely fucking amazing. What a day? I wish I had pictures that I could upload here, but I took them on my real camera as opposed to my Iphone, and don’t have the things I need to upload here, in Hawaii. Then we came back into harbor, thanked our guides, had a little lunch, some brews, and made our way back to S. Kihei.

Where I immediately picked up my excellent conversation with Achilles. At one point, I forgot it was an editor I was speaking with and that we were actually doing an interview, and realized, Wow. This is a really great person. This is someone who I will probably end up being friends with for the rest of my life. This is someone who I am stoked to add to my friend list, and I’m not talking about Myspace. This is someone who…..I would tell my real name to. Hahahaha. Not that Penny Flame isn’t my name but……hahahahah. Oh lord, don’t ruin the fantasy flame. Don’t ruin the fantasy. Well, my new friend Achilles, here I am on the lanai, blowing you a kiss from paradise. I’m glad to have met you today. I am glad that you were the bread on my whale of a tale day. (a joke maybe only he will get).

I’m glad. Hope your nights pan out as mine…..perfect.

Continuation of earlier….

After I published this previous portion of my written day, I figured I should add some more private feelings that I won’t publish, that I don’t feel are appropriate for publishing, that are actually kind of too sensitive to share with the www.

Halfway through this evening I realized my mom was drunker than she should be. Should be meaning that she had two drinks at lunch and there is no way in hell that she could be as drunk as she is. I asked her to read over my blog from the other day, the day where I missed my flight and had to apologize to the Hawaiian air guy and a couple other things, I asked her to read it because it meant a lot to me. About two sentences in, I realize she isn’t really reading it so much as scanning it. Which is interesting because it is one of the first things that she said she isn’t doing….scanning. She said, “oh, babe, I’m really reading it, I’m not just scanning it” and then went on to tell me that that is why she failed at school is because she isn’t good at reading, which I know is bullshit, because I certainly didn’t get my love of the written word from my father. She used to read a book every three days. She gave me an entire library of books that she had read….the only difference being that she read them sober. Well more sober than tonight. And then she didn’t even really read what I wrote. She just got sad. And not sad over anything that was in my blog, just sad like she always gets when she has drank too much booze. Its one of the first signs that she is shitty. And then I start listening to her speech, only to realize that she is slurring. Not a lot, but enough for me to notice. Like ages ago when one of her voice mails had a message from her with a slight slur. I finally told her that it sounds like she is slurring, and she changed it, but never said that she was slurring. Never admitted it. Which I suppose would be incredibly hard to admit, but come on. On your voicemail? Well tonight, after she half read one of my blogs, (changed subject every other sentence, at no point did she ever give her full attention to something that meant a lot to me….), she bullied me into playing this silly drunk game, that can only be fun when you are drunk. Its this thing from Tommy Bahama’s called “shut the box” where the goal is to get all the lowest numbers and then get all the numbers down, and then once you’ve rolled all the numbers and knocked em down, you shut the box. Great. I really didn’t want to play, but she gave me so much shit about it I felt like I had no choice. And then she got out pictures, which she ALWAYS does when she is trashed. And then watchin Idol and Lyrics, she kept asking the same questions over and over. At which point I got up off the couch and threw a piece of nicorette in, grabbed my phone and went to call Brett. Then she told me to spit my gum out because it’s rude that I speak to him and chew gum in his ear, to which I replied “trust me, he would rather I chew this fucking gum than smoke”, and of course as soon as I get him on the phone, he can tell I’m stressed, I say I’ve stepped outside to get some fresh air and check on the stars, and he says “babe, you aren’t smoking are you?” and no, of course not darling, just chewing, and then it all came out to him.

I’ve been worried about spending time with her because I don’t feel like I can do so without drinking. I don’t mind a beer or two, but she always has a cup of vodka. Okay, I understand no mai-tai, too many calories, but a cup of vodka? A little much?? And then to only have two drinks at lunch and be so drunk by early evening? I mean, even I could drink two vodka straight ups and not be as affected. But that isn’t the point. The point is that her personality changed dramatically and the only reason that I can find is that she had more to drink without telling anyone, without sharing with any one, and it seems as though she hid it. At least she did from Duane. I didn’t see her drink, although I feel like she had a drink at one point, I don’t remember what was in it. Damnit Marijuana for fucking up my short term memory. Don’t blame it on that Jennie, you can’t say that its pots fault you can’t remember whether your mom had a drink or not.

A large part of my concern has to do with how she seems to have given up on taking care of herself. She says she does the weight watchers, but it isn’t enough. I know that being 50, your body changes, and your metabolism slows down, but there are plenty of things that she can do to keep healthy, besides switching from regular iodized salt to sea salt. That doesn’t do it. I wish she would start exercising, whether its just going for a walk every day, or a couple extra trips up and down the stairs, I just want her to be healthy. I want her to love herself enough to take care of herself, because I want her to be in my life for a long time, and the way she is living right now will kill her. It kills me to see her. It is killing her relationship with Duane, the man she loves more than anything.

I don’t feel like I can talk to her without her becoming defensive. I don’t want to show her things that I have written because I feel like she will be too fucked up to appreciate the depth of the feelings I am attempting to share. It absolutely broke my heart that she didn’t really read my writing. It was about her. About her husband. About how happy I am to be here. And she blew over it, asked me if she wanted me to correct my typo’s, (to which I replied, its word, it does it automatically), and then that’s when she claimed she failed at school because she isn’t a reader. What makes me most sad is that when she wakes up tomorrow, none of this will have happened. She won’t remember a word I wrote let alone the fact that she got angry and went to bed without saying goodnight to me.

I don’t know how or what to do to help her, because I don’t think she thinks she has a problem. She is a large reason of why I can’t drink. Alcoholism is in my blood, and I don’t want to fall victim. Because I AM NOT A VICTIM. And I will not let alcohol make me one. I wish that she felt the same.


~ by Penny Flame on February 28, 2008.

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