by Perez, Nina
He came back down a few minutes later and pelted me in the back of the head with the rolled up socks.
"Ow!" I yelled. It didn't hurt, but I was shocked. They bounced off my head and hit the coffee table. He picked them up and threw them again, this time hitting me in the face.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I asked, grabbing the socks and holding them to my chest.
"Keep it up and I'll do it again."
“Keep it up and I'll fuck you up."
What followed was a battle of epic proportions. I finally couldn't take the wrestling any longer and yelled out, "Stop it! I feel so dizzy my arms are burning."
Donny just stops grabbing for the socks and looks at me like I'm a complete moron.
"One has nothing to do with the other. That doesn't even make any sense!"
Then he starts laughing, and then I start laughing, and he sees this and decides to run it in the ground... all night. It started when he went to the kitchen to grab a drink for himself and a bottle of water from the fridge for me. I was climbing on to the dreaded elliptical when I glanced over my shoulder to see Donny sneeze into his hand.
"Ugh! What are you doing? Are you going to touch my water now?"
"Sorry. I couldn't help it. I had to sneeze ‘cause my ass hurts."
It didn't end there. Before bed he confessed that:
His head hurt because his leg fell asleep, his toe itched because he had the hiccups, and my personal favorite: "I'm horny because my balls itch."
My Mother the Pet Killer
October 8, 2007
Last night I was on the phone with a friend and we were talking about her two gerbils that passed away this year. I asked her, "Why gerbils?" She explained that she wanted a pet, and considered a dog, but was afraid she'd kill it. I told her that I thought it took a whole lot to kill a dog. I mean, I almost killed a dog so I should know. Dogs will pretty much let you know, "Look, bitch. I'm hungry." I'm thinking you'd have to like, leave the dog home alone for months to actually kill it. You'd have to really put in some serious effort to kill a dog. Unless you're my mother.
My mother shouldn't be allowed to purchase a pet. No one should give my mother a pet. My mother shouldn't even look at a domesticated animal for too long. My mother is a pet killer. To be fair, she doesn't kill all of them - that we know of - but it's pretty accurate to say that she doesn't have a good track record with maintaining a pet for a very long period of time.
When I was nine, the first movie I saw on VHS was Annie. My Dad was the only one I knew with a VCR; one of those top-loading ones with buttons the size of baseball mitts and when you put the tape in, you had to push back and down. When you pressed the rewind button it sounded like you were trying to start an old Chevy. But, I loved that movie so when my mother got a tawny-haired mutt for us, I insisted on calling her Sandy. I have no idea how long Sandy lasted with us, I just know that one day my mother told me that Sandy was homesick for her mommy so she had to leave. I bet if someone went digging behind the apartment building on the corner of Hendrix and Livonia in Brooklyn, they'd find some Sandy-sized bones.
Years passed and my mother once again found herself in the possession of a little mutt. A black, cute, little thing she named Sade. She loved her some Sade! I don't remember my younger sister, Naiemah's, reaction to Sade, but I know that my little brother, David, and I adored her. One day, my mother went to walk Sade after she'd gotten home from work. She came home a short while later without Sade.
"What happened?"
"I was at the corner by Key Food and this man saw her and said his wife would love her. He was just in love with her so I told him he could take her."
"You what?"
My mother had given our dog away. Leash and all. My brother and I sulked in my room. We cried and wished horrible things upon my mother. I mean, who does that? Who just gives away their kids' dog to a complete stranger on a whim? The only thing we had to remind us Sade ever existed in our lives was a half-eaten bag of dog food, two dog bowls, and a few piss stains on the carpet. It took us a long time to forgive her. Now, thinking back on it, I bet the man gave her some money. I wish I could remember if my mother subsequently got her hair and nails done after giving away my damn dog.
Years later, my mother brought home a white cat which she named Sade. I told you: She loved her some Sade! I was never a big fan of cats. I think they are sneaky and kinda evil and the thought of one walking on my kitchen counter and possibly jumping on my tables just drives me crazy. It's just downright nasty. Eventually, I warmed to Sade. She wasn't so bad. My mother had gotten her from someone in the neighborhood who had kept only one of the litter, Sade's brother named Snowball.
One day, my mother left the front door open and Sade took off. My siblings and I were pissed. Who does that, we asked. Who leaves the apartment door open when they have an inside cat in the ghetto? We didn't see that cat for awhile. I cried thinking of all the horrible things that were happening to her. When she finally showed up it didn't take long for us to realize what she'd been up to while she was out gallivanting. She was pregnant. By her brother. Who does that?
I never looked at that cat the same way again. I was like a disappointed mother who found out her daughter had been giving it up behind the school bleachers. She was no longer allowed on my bed, and I could barely tolerate her in my room. One night, while a friend of the family was over doing my hair, pregnant Sade came down the stairs and started mewing at my mother's feet.
"What's wrong with her?" the family friend asked.
"She's a dirty little whore pregnant with her brother's babies."
My mother slapped me on the forehead with a comb and followed Sade upstairs to the warm utility closet which was serving as Sade's labor and delivery unit. My mother stroked her back as she cried, and after a while came back downstairs.
"I think she's in labor."
"Ewww," was my response.
A few minutes later, Sade once again came downstairs, this time trailing blood on the linoleum and cried at my mother's feet. My mother followed her upstairs again.
"That's just nasty," family friend said. I agreed.
This went on a few more times until finally one of those times my mother was stroking her back little kittens popped out. Not her back, but you know, the usual spot. The blessed event was marred by the fact that two of them died the next day. We're not exactly sure what happened, but they were found with kitty litter spilling out of their little mouths. The third kitten was killed by Sade who'd eaten everything but the head.
"How is this my fault?" my mother asked when my brother, sister, and I gave her the stink eye as she buried the kittens in the yard. The answer was, it wasn't her fault, but we were somehow sure it was.
Then there were the birds that filled our house with song until my mother went to bed one night and forgot to cover their cage. And left the window open. In the winter. The next morning we found those birds in their cage, flat on their backs, legs up and as stiff as if a taxidermist had paid a late night visit.
Then there were the fish. My mother had a habit of buying fish without doing any research whatsoever. She just bought ones that looked pretty. There were the Japanese fish that were so gorgeous, but we found out the hard way that they couldn't occupy the same tank as one another. Seems they were also known as "Japanese Fighting Fish.”
Then there were the little blue-speckled ones that ate all the other fish and my mother kept replacing them... till she found out the blue-speckled ones were in the piranha family, and also didn't play well with others.
My favorite fish adventure came in the form of a lizard with fins that swam in the tank with the other fish. He was a long, ugly fucker. One day, my brother went to sprinkle some fish food into the tank and noticed the lizard was gone. In a panic, we all searched the house. The lizard-fish was nowhere to be found. I couldn't sleep for days. Where could it have gone for God's sake?! It was a fish. It needed water to survive! Then one morning we were in the kitchen when
something caught my eye. There, walking out of the bathroom like he paid rent, was the lizard. Walking and strutting as proud as he pleased totally devoid of fins. Again, my mother had failed to do research on her aquatic purchase, and didn't realize that after awhile the lizard-fish shed his fins and became more lizard than fish.
Over the years there were more pets that met calamitous ends. There were dogs that ran away or got sick and died. There was the Lhasa Apso fittingly named Dusty who, no matter how often you bathed him, had a perpetual look of filth about him. The last time she came to visit, to drop my sister Dina off at college in Atlanta, she brought with her a curious looking creature she swore was a poodle.
"That's not a poodle" I said.
"It is a poodle."
"It doesn't look like a poodle."
"Well, I had to give her a haircut."
My mother's desire and affection for animals sometimes outweighs her bank account and inevitably she will find herself in possession of a pet that she can't afford to take to the groomers as often as she should - as was the case with this pseudo-poodle named Mimi. So, my mother would call herself trimming the animal herself only to screw it up so badly, the only way to remedy the disaster was by shaving everything off and starting from scratch. Which is why the shaved, skinny, long-faced creature in my kitchen in no way resembled a poodle. She even caused Donny, who is really tolerant when it comes to weird looking animals to lament, "That's an ugly ass dog."
I know my limitations when it comes to pets, and Donny and Kali do as well. They realize that if we were to ever take on the responsibility of an animal it would primarily be their responsibility. I want very limited contact. Or, contact on my own terms. I like the idea of kittens, but not cats. And I detest cleaning a litter box. I like puppies, but not dogs. I'd want a dog that was guaranteed to get no bigger than say, a sofa's throw pillow. Donny loves Labs, but they get too big and any animal that can take a bigger shit than me can't live in my house.
Every time I start to weaken; when we see people giving away puppies in the Wal-Mart parking lot, we pass the pet store, or Kali and Donny start begging for a dog, I just think back to mother... and wonder if it’s hereditary. And then I say no.
Ass Biscuits
October 11, 2007
The world doesn't stop when you're sick. I'm learning that the hard way. I want to write my professors and be like, "Dude, I'm dying. Give me a break." My bedroom smells like Vick's Vapor Rub and sick. There was another odd smell that I couldn't place until a few minutes ago. The other day I was baking and Donny ran out to get some stuff I needed. When he came back he placed a box I'd never seen before on the table.
"What's that?"
"Chicken in a Biskit."
"A who in a what?"
"You never had that before?"
"Uh, no."
They're chicken-flavored crackers.
"What does it taste like?"
"Chicken in a biscuit. Taste it."
After watching Kali and Donny munch on them I decided to give it a try.
"Agggh." I spit the chewed-up cracker into a napkin.
"You don't like it?"
"It tastes like ass in a biscuit."
Apparently, he brought the box upstairs and left it on his bedside table. I was tempted to stop using the Vick's vapor rub to keep my nose stuffed up just so I wouldn't have to smell them. Too sick, weak, and lazy to take them downstairs, I just closed up the box and tossed them over the landing to the first floor.
That aside, Donny has to be the best husband like, ever. He's been up for twenty-four hours, working. He came home two hours ago long enough to shower, change, grab coffee, and head back out. I kinda feel like a twat now. Maybe I should go get his ass biscuits and put them in the pantry.
Mortified
October 12, 2007
Let me set the scene:
INTERIOR; BEDROOM, EARLY MORNING:
We see NINA, an attractive, tall, curvaceous woman in her early 30's, sitting criss-cross-applesauce-style in the middle of a large bed. There are balled up snot tissues next to her (don't judge her!), a laptop in front of her, and various text books strewn about the bed.
She's wearing blue flannel LL Bean pajamas that are three sizes too big, but they cost like, $3, so what do you want from her? Her nose is as greasy as a bowl of fried chicken it's so lathered down with Vick's Vapor Rub. Every time she coughs it sounds like dogs barking.
Feeling a funny twinge in her belly she literally rolls herself off the bed and heads to the master bathroom.
INT; WATERCLOSET; CONTINUOUS:
We shall save you the gory details and just say that NINA'S suspicions that she was a baby killer in a former life were once again confirmed as it seemed that God saw fit to not only plague her with flu-like symptoms for four days, but to make sure she got her period in the midst of it all. Also, if her calculations are correct, it seems she is now getting her period earlier and earlier every month. Wondering if she is peri-menopausal she heads downstairs to make a cup of tea.
INT; 2nd STORY FOYER; CONT:
As NINA enters the hall she glances out the gallery window and spots a POLICE CAR parked in front of her home. The OFFICER in the driver's seat is making notes on a clipboard and consulting a small computer screen attached to the dashboard.
Having grabbed the phone before heading downstairs, NINA wonders if she should call her husband, DONNY, to make sure he's okay or if she should call her daughter, KALI’S, school. She heads downstairs, turns off the alarm system and is just about to open the front door when she notices the OFFICER approaching.
INT/EXT; FRONT OF HOUSE/FOYER; CONT:
OFFICER: Ok, this is about your lawn.
NINA glances at her front lawn which does resemble a small, South American jungle. Seeing the look of embarrassment and annoyance cross NINA's face, the OFFICER continues...
OFFICER: Yeah, we have better things to do, but they're really making us enforce this now. What this says is that you have till the end of the month to take care of the lawn and if you don't, you could face fines and/or imprisonment.
Extremely mortified for both the condition of her lawn and the copious amount of Vick's Vapor Rub around her nose - not to mention the state of her hair - NINA goes on a mini-rant against the Home Owner's Association that gets $500 of her, er, Donny's hard-earned money every year to do absolutely shit. She rants against her nosy-ass neighbors who can afford to have lawn care services come out once a week and whose husbands don't work two jobs so they're not dead exhausted on the weekends; therefore, able to mow their lawns then.
The OFFICER listens patiently, even nods a few times either in agreement or shock that someone who sounds as if they have two rolls of socks shoved up their nostrils can go on such a rant without taking a breath. Then, he asks her name to add it to the warning.
NINA: Nina Perez (insert German married last name here. Purposely left out to protect the innocent, lazy, and kinda broke.)
The OFFICER writes on the citation, signs it, and then hands NINA a bright pink copy. She considers balling it up in an act of defiance, but is suddenly overcome with the desire to sneeze and she does so right into the bright pink paper. Though unintended, it too serves as an accurate expression of what she thinks of the citation.
There's an awkward exchange of "excuse me," "hope you feel better," and "have a good day."
NINA plops down on the foyer floor and calls her DAD, a retired New York City police detective, who explains that though he understands her annoyance, and even has his own issues with his own HOA for his subdivision - which, by the way, is all custom-designed homes starting at $750k and going upwards of $2 million yet only charges about $400/year in dues - and they don't even have a pool or tennis court! - she is in the wrong. Not at all what NINA wanted to hear she makes up some excuse to get off the phone and calls DONNY.
They realize that they're going to have to, once and for all, make a decision on lawn care. If one, or both, of them aren't going to honestly c
ommit to mowing the lawn at least once every two weeks, they need to bite the bullet and pay for a service. The latter is NINA's choice, but as her total contribution to the household funds this year has been about $1,500, she decides it's best to shut the fuck up and leave this particular decision making process to the breadwinner, DONNY.
As they talk on the phone, NINA peers out the sidelight window and admits to herself that the lawn does look pretty ghetto. It's not so much the grass as it is the weeds. It does have a certain "no-one-has-lived-here-in-months" feel to it. She's not sure, but she thought she saw Mowgli chillin' in her Japanese Plum tree. They end their conversation with NINA asking if DONNY could bring home some orange juice, Nyquil, and tampons.
As she continues to lie on the foyer floor she once again glances at the bright pink citation slightly damp with her nasal fluids. Being dead wrong doesn't stop her from imagining exacting all kinds of revenge on her neighbors. On her citation, under "Property Maintenance Violations" the box marked "Grass, Weeds, Uncultivated Vegetation" is checked.
She looks under "Miscellaneous Violations" and notices "Leash Law." She immediately thinks of at least five neighbors on her block alone who violate that law every day. Then there's "Overcrowding." The family across the cul-de-sac has had at least three full families living in there at once at any given time, NINA thinks to herself. "You don't see me calling the cops."
"Accumulation of Solid Waste." NINA wonders if her neighbor's no-good, teenage sons, who are constantly cutting, or getting suspended from, school counts. She also wonders if the mixture of shame/annoyance/indignation she is feeling will keep her mind off the body aches, stuffy nose, and menstrual cramps. More importantly though, she wonders if last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy is available on ABC.com yet, since her TiVo cut off right as George got home to tell Callie about Izzy. She heads upstairs to find out.
