Sunday, August 06, 2006

Well, My mother says...

I'm not sure if any of my trusty buddies in blogging are aware, but I am a co-moderator on a blog board. It's top secret, so I'm not allowed to say any more than that. (Actually, I'm simply not going to say any more than that because I don't need any more internet stalkers than I already have. If I gave you all the addy of my favorite internet hangout, you could all stalk me. I prefer my stalkers to hang out outside my bedroom windows; follow me through shopping centres; put viruses in my computer, and such like that).

Well, one of my duties as a co-mod is to come up with a blog challenge. Thankfully, I have a co-mod with me who is doing every second blog challenge, because I have no idea what a blog challenge is or how to run it.

So I, being the dinkus that I am, decided to start the first blog challenge. And I gave the others on my blog board a list of five challenges to choose from: Each challenge is the title of an entry. I made up things like "Well, My Mother says" and "I'm Slightly Insane and You'll Just Have to Deal With It".

A number of the ladies from my board have already completed the challenge and I can't htink of a damn thing to write. And come on, I chose "Well, My Mother Says" as one of the topics?

Have you met my mother? She never quits saying things! She says things all the time. Right now she's a million miles away from me and she said the following things to me:

"If you go fishing without your license, the Ministry of Natural Resources will take possession of Redneck Boy's truck and give you a ten thousand dollar fine. Look for your license!"

She said "It's your table cloth! Why are you calling me from Wal-Mart to ask me how big your table is? It's... well, I have no idea how big it is! Look at the picture on the package. What? What!? I'm fishing on the river by your brother's house and I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!"

"Where's your black filing box? Isn't the license in your black filing box? Now, I really don't want you to call me from jail again, saying..."

My mother has some other really great things to say.

One of my all time favorites is "You FuckShit".


I'm aware that a woman of class using a word like FuckShit is not particularly classy.

That's the great thing about SuperNan. She is a woman of many talents. In some groups she is the uber-classy former college professor; in some groups she is the head of the Cattleman's finances; in some groups she is my nephew's Granny who volunteers with the school to take all the kids skating on Wednesdays.

And in one other group (That would be my group) she is a super cool chica who can say things like "You FuckShit". It's a talent.

My mother says things to me all the time. One of the things she says is "Let it go".

Because sometiems I physically can not let something go. Then the something turns into hysteria and the hysteria turns into hives and really, if I would just let all the somethings of the world go before they even get a chance to register in my brain, I would never have hives. Ever.

One of my alltime favorite SuperNan-isms is the famous "Get your crap out of my house!"

I have a lot of crap. I mean, like, I really... well, I just happen to own a lot of crap.

And when I go back and forth from the city to the ranch, it all comes with me. And generally, when I get to the ranch, the first thing I want to do is drop all my crap on the floor and pick up my nephew and get the biggest squeeze I can from him; until my eyeballs hurt and I fear that fluid will start draining from my ears.

This would work fine, in theory, if I bothered to pick up any of my crap after I was done saying hello to the Precious Boy. But generally by the time we've finished our Hellos, he is dying to get the hell away from his batshit crazy Auntie who sings things like "I wish that you would be my love-y Bun-ny!" (To the tune of Oscar Meyer, no less); and I am ready to sit down at the table with a beer stolen from my dad and a ciggie stolen from Big Brother.

The crap always remains on the floor until the Precious Boy gets a hold of it and starts driving it around the kitchen on his tricycle. Thankfully, he's learned of late to ask me if my laptop is in any of the bags before he starts using them as jumps for his obstacle course. He's so clever. I could just burst!

Of course, what would a post about SuperNan be wihtout sharing her advice when I start dating something new. I wish that through blogging I could show the inflecion of her voice, because that is what really makes the things she says come from her.

Probably the most common thing I hear from my mother on dating is "Oh, Honey. Please don't date him." The unfortunate part of this is that it is so painfully true that it has become hysterical. Every time I date somone, she imparts that it's a bad idea and inevitably, I end up sobbing on her living room floor in a half drunken stupor for weeks to follow.

It's almost like she's psychic!

And if she could see me? Right now? This very minute? She would say "Put down those mints and go to bed, you nutjob."



Anonymous Jummy said...

hehehe...supernan sounds great!

Guess what? I done bought a domain! Check me out at the new coordinates below :)

1:18 a.m.  
Anonymous Jummy said...

I said below but of course I meant above!

I hope you're slumbering and not up trying to figure out what to wear fishing!

1:19 a.m.  

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