People Think It's Funny

Day 5 of unwanted diarrhea. (Is diarrhea ever wanted?)
I've taken so much Immodium that, by all rights, I shouldn't have to go to the bathroom for 3 months.

I am sick of this shit.

Betty's reply: "Me too."

The Audacity of Fat

Okay, okay, I know we all have figure flaws. Betty's Son is no exception.  I have always said that I have the "skinniest limbs in show business".  (insert skinny joke here, like: I'm so skinny that my striped pajamas have only one stripe! Or, I have to jump around in the shower to get wet!) I squeal like a little girl when I (rarely) work out and my thighs touch. I have a bald head and skinny arms and legs. I KNOW THIS!  I have always known this. But I do have to say that I have the sense to cover up these "flaws". I wear a cap as much as I can. I wear long pants and long sleeves as much as I can as to not scare the children or incite someone to break off my leg and use it for a baseball bat.

But what is it with fat people these days???

As most of you know, I have recently relocated to Texas from Los Angeles, California.  A myth about Los Angeles is that there are not many fat people there. That is not completely true. There are some fatties in L.A. But the difference between those chubs in L.A and the chubs in Texas is that those in L.A. have shame!  Los Angeles is the bastion of superficiality.  There are so many beautiful people there that you actually seek out ugly people to make yourself feel better.  The climate is so "looks" oriented that if you do have flaws you have to cover them up and deal with them the best you can.

But here in Texas, the porkers have NO shame!  NONE.  As I am apt to frequent, how should I say?, "less sophisticated" establishments here in Texas, I am exposed to many, many obese people. And when I say "exposed", I mean, literally, exposed! (insert groan and fake vomit sound here) When did it become okay for a 300 lb. woman to wear leggings and a half T-shirt?  When did it become okay for a teenage girl who is 40 lbs. overweight to wear low-rise ass crack jeans and a tank top that doesn't quite stretch far enough down? And why must men who are obviously 8 and a half months pregnant wear a wife beater undershirt and cargo shorts that don't quite make it over their beer bellies? (I am assuming it's a beer belly due to their "This Bud's For You" tattoo on their shoulder)  Where is the shame?????

Now, I am not judging these people because they are overweight. (okay, maybe a little) BUT, I am judging them because they are subjecting all of us to every carton of Blue Bell Ice Cream they have ever eaten. They are subjecting us to every chicken fried steak, cream gravy and loaf of Mrs. Baird's white bread they have ever eaten.  What happened to the days when fat women would wear MuuMuu's and layers? Lots of layers! Where are the tunics? Where are the tent dresses? Where are large scarves draped over their shoulders a la Oprah 1988? Where are the broomstick skirts, for God's sake????

I know that we should all love our bodies and accept ourselves for the inner beauty that we all possess.  But can't we all do this in the privacy of our own homes???

What would Betty say? "I don't know how some of those people fit in the car!"

Going Viral

Well, well, well... it seems that Betty's Son has some impatient readers. A couple of days away and some of you get a little testy. I apologize to you for my tardiness, but I do have a couple of good excuses.

There have been a couple of viruses floating around Betty's house since last we visited.  One that infiltrates a computer and one that invades your body and makes you regret that the rapture didn't occur.

As to the computer... I need a new one. But then again,  I also need a new career, a new car and a new John Varvatos midnight blue suit, and none of those things are gonna happen anytime soon.  In the meantime, my extremely tech-savvy nephew made a benevolent house call and helped me revive the old girl so that I can continue to share these witty musings with you.  Like me, the old girl is tired and has seen better days and needs a healthy dose of botox. But, also like me, she is trying her best to keep up with all the younger, hipper computers.  She's giving it her best shot.

As far as the vile invasion of the body snatcher.... Do you remember the first time you drank tequila shots and you thought that it would be okay to drink 14 of them? And then you thought it would be okay to walk around campus at night and you were almost thrown in jail?  And then you threw up for 2 days and were in bed for 4 days?  Do you remember that? Oh, you don't? Was I the only one that did that? Oh, how awkward.  Well, anyway, this virus that I contracted wasn't quite that bad, but for about 8 hours it took me back to those days in Lubbock, Texas at some hideous country and western bar where tequila shots were 50 cents and George Strait blared on the jukebox. (Yes, a jukebox.  For you young readers - google it) But this time I did not suffer from the "cocktail flu".  Some random vicious bug got to me and put me down for 2 days.
And what's really crappy (no pun intended),  is that I didn't have a lick of fun before hand. That's kind of the story of my life right now.

So dear readers, I'm back.  Betty's Son continues to speak. And he toasts you all with... well, toast and Sprite!!

Betty's reaction?  "I knew you drank, you weren't fooling anybody!" And then she would tell me how many violent bowel movements she had that day.

The End of an (Op) Era

Today, May 25, 2011 is the end of an era.  Oprah Winfrey ended her 25 year show.  I love "events" on TV.  I love finales of long running shows, I love televised funerals and weddings, inaugurations, resignations. I love contest finales and this was big week for that. So, I am in hog heaven. (that was not meant as a weight joke)

So, today I found my Oprah glasses, put on my Oprah gloves and turned on the set.  I fixed fried Oprah, pickled Oprah and Oprah Gumbo.  I was ready for what was the most culturally influential show in the history of television to end.  I was ready to "ugly cry", have an "aha" moment and write in my gratitude journal while reading an Oprah Book Club selection. I was ready to say good bye to someone who has spoken to me for half of my life.

Oprah entered the stage.  Her hair was quite good today.  She was wearing an ill fitted pepto bismol pink dress with a weird sash thingy hanging from her waist. There was much anticipation on whom might be her last guest. But in true Oprah classy fashion, she selected no one to be her guest. She instead chose to give us a classroom lesson review of what she has taught us through the seasons. She told us that we all have a "calling". She told us that we are "worthy" because we are here on this earth.  She told us that all we want in life is to be listened to and validated.  And she said some other stuff, but frankly, I zoned out and fast forwarded to the end. 

I must say that I will miss the Oprah. I do believe that she influenced our society in a positive way more so than just about anyone in our history.  I wish her luck. I am sure she will need it.

And with that I rented the DVD of "The Phantom of the Oprah". (It's not over until the fat lady sings!) (and that was not meant as a weight joke)

What would Betty have thought of Oprah's finale?  "That dress was just too tight".  And once again she would remind me that she had a black friend at work, but she was a really hard worker.

Life's a Bitch and Then You Don't Die

My friend Donna Sue Gonzalez (possibly the funniest woman on earth) and I were chatting on the facebook today.  We were talking about taking care of old people and I said that I was hoping the rapture would happen, but yet once again, I didn't get what I wanted.  She said she saw a bumper sticker that said, "Life's A Bitch and Then You Don't Die!". Well, ain't that the truth!!!

I took my 79 year old to her first visit to the neurologist today.  As she sat there explaining to Dr. Hwong  how something exploded in her head and now her memory is leaking in her brain, I watched his face.  He was good. Stone faced and really good. This obviously wasn't his first "bat-shit crazy" rodeo. In the span of about 3 minutes she told him that her head had constant pain across her forehead but now that she doesn't have the pain anymore she can go home and live by herself. She also said that her mind was alright but, "I just have trouble remembering things". He nodded and then performed some physiological tests on her. She was loving it.  The more tests, the more she kept talking and he kept listening. He said that he wanted to get to the bottom of this so he ordered an MRI, a video EEG, etc..

After the appointment I came home and turned on Oprah's final show.  (I will hopefully blog about this later) She said a lot of things, but one thing that gave me an Oprah "Aha" moment was that all of us want someone to listen to us. We want validation, we want to be heard.  I must admit that I have stopped listening to my little 79 year old and she needs that...even as her memory is leaking in her head, she needs someone to listen.

Before I left the appointment I wanted to talk with Dr. Hwong. I wanted to make sure that he knew the extint
of her memory loss. He said he got it.  I asked if these tests were necessary. He said that there could actually be something physically wrong with her.  He also said, "and I don't think we want to have regrets".

So, Dr. Hwong, if loving you is hwong, I don't want to be hwight!


What would Betty say?  "Oh, I hope I never lose my mind!" And then she would remind me that she had a black friend at work and that I shouldn't use dirty words.

Mama, We're Not in Texas Anymore

With news of the horrifying tornado in Missouri today, I thought of a special mother/son bonding moment that Betty and I had.

It was May of my senior year in high school.   As you can imagine, I was very busy. Choir concerts, the spring musical, prom, banquets, and oh yeah, school.  It was time for our annual spring band trip to Corpus Christi. It was also time for my senior term paper to be due.  As any perfect student (as I was) would, I planned ahead and put off writing my senior term paper until the night before it was to be turned in. I pulled an all-nighter and barely, BARELY got it finished and turned in.  That next day (after the all-nighter) we were leaving on our band trip. 

Now Betty had decided that since it was my senior year in high school she would take off work and chaperone EVERY trip I went on that year. Wasn't that sweet? NO. Looking back now that she is gone, it was sweet and pretty special. Not all parents would do that. But as an 18 year old boy who liked to have a little fun every once in a while, it was not cool. Especially since everyone loved her and thought she was so funny and interesting.  I remember one of my friends saying to me: "I wish I had your mother".  I said something snarky like, "TAKE HER!".

On that day in May the weather turned bad. They decided that we should try to leave early to avoid the weather. So, we loaded the greyhound bus we had chartered.  I was so tired that I barely got in my seat and promptly fell asleep before the rest of the bus was loaded. I was out...in an all-nighter coma.  About an hour or so later I groggily woke up. There was no one on the bus. I thought...wow, I  must have slept the whole trip!  I looked outside the window to the left and much to my surprise I saw our high school parking lot. To the right was the band rehearsal hall. I ran off the bus into the band hall and there were my bandmates in the big room... some were playing cards, some were sleeping on the floor, some were doing homework. I was totally confused. I asked one of my friends what they were doing in there.  He said, "There was a tornado. They put us in here to keep us safe."  I asked if he had seen my Mom.  He said that she was probably in the director's office.  So I went in there. There she was telling some story to the band director and another parent.
"What is going on?", I said. "What do you mean?", she said.  I said, "DID NO ONE THINK TO WAKE ME UP AND GET ME OFF THE BUS DURING THE TORNADO?" "Oh", she said, "I thought you were you in there with your friends".  "No", I said. "I COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!".  "Oh Kevin Lynn, stop being so dramatic", she said with her eyes rolled.

We eventually went on the trip and I did not speak to her.  She did not care. She had plenty others to tell her stories to.

What was Betty's advice for weathering a tornado?  Get in the hall closet with your telephone and a hammer. "Just in case some hoodlums try to loot - hit 'em over the head and call the police."

Gaga for Gaga

Last night I had dinner with my friend and stage-mother, Suzanne.  The subject of Lady Gaga came up. We had a lengthy discussion on her meteoric rise and what she has done for the landscape of Pop Music today.  (We are so deep!)

Then I came home and watched "Saturday Night Live".  She was the musical guest and Justin Timberlake was the host. (FYI: I think Justin is a terrible actor, but he absolutely OWNS Saturday Night Live. Just brilliant!)

Some of you might not know that Lady Gaga was a student at NYU's Tish School of the Arts.   Unlike other "Pop Stars", she is  a trained musician and actress. (Brittany, Ke$ha, yes, I am talking about you) In a very short time she has established herself as a Pop Icon and lucrative musician. However, I think she goes way beyond Pop Star and Icon, she is a Pop Role Model.  She has established for herself a strong sense of individualism (the meat dress, come on!). But she also has given hope and aspiration to all those weird, off beat kids who are screaming to have their voices heard.  She loves them, embraces them and encourages them to let their voices sing. (You were"Born This Way" baby)

Back in my day I was one of those weird, off beat kids screaming. (insert "screamer" joke here). I was trying with all might to embrace the idea of individualism in a culture that was not so...well, embracing.  My Pop Idols were ( don't laugh) Bette Midler, Elton John and Charles Nelson Reilly. (don't judge me!) Later, I found Whoopi Goldberg (before movies and TV) and my creative career changed forever.  For me, these artists were true to themselves. And they didn't look like anyone else that were "idolized". They "screamed" in a society that was not as receptive today, and I listened.

So, today kids, do as I say, not as I did.  Embrace your individualism with all your might and soul!  Because yes, you were "Born This Way", hey!

Hopefully one day I will meet the Lady Gaga and she will call me "Alejandro, Ala, Alejandro".

What would Betty think about Lady Gaga? "She is just trying to look ugly". And then she would tell me again that Michael Jackson molested children because he wore tight pants and grabbed his crotch.

Parenthood

Well, I am proud to announce that I am the father of a beautiful 79 year old tween!!  We named her Roetta. (It was supposed to be Rowena, but the country doctor who delivered her was a drunk and misspelled it on her birth certificate)  As most 79 year old tweens go, she came with issues, but we are working through them. 

The official adoption went through in January. It went well at first.  She was in a nice foster home while recovering from a broken hip. Then we brought her home and all hell broke loose. (Fortunately no hips or other brones broke loose)  She so wanted to come home, but after many, many incidents, we decided that she would be best served by sending her off to camp. According to her, it's like a geriatric Outward Bound. But in reality (which is a rare commodity these days)  it is a lovely place where she is cared for 24 hours a day, fed 3 meals (the enchiladas are mui fabuloso) and there are other campers that are...shall I say, "happy campers".  Our little Roetta, however, is NOT A HAPPY CAMPER!

She calls often.  OFTEN.  Her room is too small, she thinks the nurses give her the wrong medication, her TV is broken, she has a fever, she's cold, she's hot, there's cold air coming through her windows and her sink. She doesn't feel well she says often. "What would make you feel better?", I say, as any good parent would say.  "I would feel better if I was in my house".  Like any troublesome tween she is having trouble fitting in with her peers. "They have 'cliques' and they won't talk to me". "No one likes me". "No one comes to visit me" she tells me when I go to visit her everyday.

Other parents at the camp tell me it will get better with time, but my little girl seems to be getting worse. As her disease takes over she gets more and more unhappy and ornery. In better times she was always a meek, sweet little girl. But now she is getting more combative. Because of her disease she can't rationalize that this is the best camp a girl could hope for. Instead, her thoughts take to her to an emotional place that she can't climb out of.

I have often heard that being a parent is the hardest job on earth. And to that I say, "No Shit!"

What would Betty say to this?  "You're a good boy, but you don't need to use dirty words"  And then she would go on and on about how no one will  help her clean out her garage.

It's the End of the World As We Know It

Rumor has it that the world is going to end on Saturday, May 21, 2011.  They say it has something to do with Noah and the floods and 7000 years and 7 days.....or something like that.

When I first heard about the world ending I thought for sure it had something to do with Lindsey Lohan. She's trouble. Or the fact that Charlie Sheen has millions of followers on Twitter just because he's a raving lunatic drug addict.  Or that Donald Trump embeds racist thoughts about our President just because he's a publicity whore and a narcissistic twit and somehow was on top of the polls for Republican Candidates for President.  Or that some Frenchie rich guy raped a poor defenseless African immigrant with HIV.  Or that the Arnold has a "love child" and allegedly had "relations" with an under-aged girl. Or that that James guy got kicked off of American Idol. Not to mention Pia!!!

But no, once again, Google proved me wrong again.  Accurate information is a terrible thing. 

What would Betty say about the world coming to an end?  "Wear clean underwear and put on your nice clothes."  And then she would go on and on about how her dryer makes all of clothes too wrinkled.

Give Me a Head With Hair

I am bald. There I said it.  I use to say I was balding, but now I have to say it, "I'm bald!".  I started losing my hair when I was 25. I looked in the mirror and I freaked.  Some say balding is genetic, but for me, I think it is Karma. I remember making fun of my college friend Mike Morgan for having thinning hair. (ironically, he has a full head of hair now) 

But at 25, I realized that my forehead was growing. And there was nothing to do about it. So I decided to grow my hair long to make up for it. That was a pretty look.  Betty said that it looked like my scalp was slipping. And this time she was right.  Unfortunately, it wasn't vogue to shave your hair close to your head. There was no hope for us "balding" men.  At 25, my forehead was beginning to take the shape of the continent of Africa. By 30, it was looking a little like an ink blot test. And now... It looks like an inlet with a few patches of seaweed.
Thank goodness it is cool for us bald boys to shave our heads. I never thought I would say these words, but thank you Bruce Willis.

Which leads me to my pet peeve.... Men with perfectly full heads of hair that shave them close to their scalps!
How dare you?????????  Why???????  I blame it all on Justin Timberlake.
If I had a full head of hair I would grow it down to my waist. I would roll it, tease it, braid it. I would have a "Topsy Tail" in every color.

What would Betty say:  "I told you not to put that dye on your hair when you did those plays!"  And then she would remind of how pretty my hair was in high school.

Intervention

Is it weird that I would like to stage an intervention for myself?  No, I am not a alcohol or drug addict. (I do have an issue with Marlboro's, but that a for a different post)  I am at a crossroads. Sometimes I think it's a deadend.
I am a man of a certain age (and not a pretty one). To put it all in harsh terms, I have no home of my own, no car of my own and no job or career of my own. And I am spent...kaput...beaten down...in the crapper... depleted.  Don't get  me wrong, I have a place to live (thank you Betty) and a car to drive and sometimes (not very often) I have a little bit of income.  But really, not quite the picture I had in mind years ago as I graduated from college and planned out my life. I am having serious trouble trying to figure this out for myself.

So, this is how I see my imaginary "intervention" playing out:  My friends and family trap me in a room in my living room. I have a look of shock and dismay on my face. No one is saying anything in the tensely quiet room until my friend Kellie (she's the ballsiest) finally says, "We are here to save you from yourself".  I say, "What?".  She says, "You are a mess. You have to get it together!"  I say, "I'm together!".  And in unison everyone in the room says. "No, you're not!"   Everyone except my brother (he's a puss around confrontation) and my friend Stephanie who is sobbing in the corner.  I get angry.  I throw an imaginary metal chair into an imaginary glass door. I yell something brilliant like, "You are not the boss of me!" and I try to bolt. But Kellie (the ballsiest)  who is now joined by Karen (the second ballsiest) stop me.  I break down. My defenses are down and say, "What should I do?" .
Crickets.  Deafening silence. Nothing.
And thus ends my imaginary intervention. It ends with no answers. No answers.



What would Betty say to this dilemma? She would say, "I told you to major in Business!" And then she would ramble for about 10 minutes about some friend's son that majored in business and is now regional manager of Walmart.

Everybody's Doing It!

Well, Betty always said..."Why are you wearing that?" And I would say, "Everybody is wearing pucca beads and orange bell bottom jeans, MOTHER!"  She would say, "I don't know why you always have to do everything everyone else is doing?  I guess if they jumped off a bridge you would follow them."  "No", I would say. "I'd be the first one off the bridge, MOTHER!" 

In this case Mother you are right.  I am now following others and creating my own blog. Everybody's doing it!
And I can't be left out.  Unfortunately, this time I am a follower and not a leader.  I follow my dear friends, Brent and Suzanne into blogdom. Hopefully, witty musings will follow as well.

So, I am Betty Howard's second son. Her youngest baby.  She's dead now so I don't feel too bad about telling stories about her.  (okay, I have a little bit of guilt, but then again, not much)  She was a talker. She talked and talked and talked. Conversations were very one sided. The legend goes that once in the late 60's Betty had a 9 hour continuous phone conversation with her friend Janie Cox. In that 9 hours, she cooked lunch, washed dishes, did two loads of laundry, looked after 3 rowdy kids, canned beans, cooked and served dinner and washed more dishes - all while talking to her friend...on a corded phone.  Later in life, she cut those conversations down to 3 or 4 hours. And you can imagine what the invention of the cordless phone did for her productivity!

Don't get me wrong.. I can talk too.  I just didn't get to talk much around my mother.

Now Betty's son speaks!