Here Comes Crazy

Mamala called yesterday and announced that she’ll be arriving around lunchtime today. She also informed me that she will be staying in a hotel.

Okay then.

That’s my mother for you, a big bag of nuttiness packaged neatly — Southern, blond, appropriate, and Republican. Bless her heart!! And mine as well.

In preparation for her visit, I’ve already managed to pick a fight with Gil this morning, AND I screamed at the kids for something like breathing on the way to school. At this point, I’m fighting the good fight and resisting the urge to just go crawl in my bed and stay there until she heads out of town — which, thank God, is tomorrow.

To quote Mamala, “Honey, you and I do better with short visits.”

Now there is something we agree on!!

I’m just afraid that she’s trying to squeeze too much in to one week. She couldn’t leave until she voted yesterday, and she has to be back in town for Friday night’s “Hootinanny,” whatever the hell that is.

I’m afraid to ask if she’s still seeing her man friend, who by the way, professed his love for her to me outside of the Porky Pig Barbecue Pit on our visit back in July. He even asked how I felt about the two of them coming down to the Coastal Georgia region for some beach time and sightseeing and meeting up with us along the way. He seemed like a nice enough man, and it was obvious that she liked him. I’ve never seen her snuggle up in a booth with anyone the way she did with this gentleman, but he seemed less than convinced.

I told him that by no means did he have to ask my permission for my mother’s company, but I appreciated the gesture. I went on to say that I trusted her judgement and that she was perfectly capable of making her own decisions. Okay, well, that’s a slight exaggeration, but I figured it wasn’t my place to air all her craziness to him, and no doubt he would figure it out on his own soon enough.

Well…he continued. Apparently, Mamala was concerned with how the two of them traveling together might look — being that they are unmarried and all. So, she pinned it on me and my dear brother who is his own bundle of crazy, but that’s another post altogether. As much cash as she’s shelled out for Dear Brother, and that’s nothing compared with the emotional whirlwind he keeps her on, he SHOULD be the last person she’s worried about pleasing.

But that’s not how Mamala operates. If Mamala is nothing else, you better believe she is appropriate! And because she has such high standards, she’s under the delusion that everyone else is just like her, and heaven forbid that anyone might think she’s being inappropriate — in this case, shacking up in a hotel!!! Horrors!! This man is a widower after being married for over fifty years, and Mamala was widowed by my father nearly twenty years ago. And THEY were married for twenty-five years. I think Mamala might have been on five or so dates since my father’s death, so I seriously doubt too many people are concerned with what Mamala and Man Friend are doing on their travels.

So back to the Porky Pig. Mamala was wrangling my two boys in the bathroom, so Man Friend and I had to chat fast. I quickly recovered from the shock that Mamala was actually worried about my thoughts on her relationship, and proceeded to give man-friend an ear full. I’m known as the crazy, loose cannon on Mamala’s side of the family because I can be quite outspoken and don’t always play the appropriate game well. Gil says I just need a mute function that can be enabled. Sadly, he’s right. I have improved tremendously with age, but I still have moments and this was one of them.

“Good Lord!! She’s sixty-five years old!! When in the HELL is she going to quit worrying about what everyone thinks?! I swear this mess wears me out more than you’ll ever know!! She doesn’t need to worry about what I think and she damn sure doesn’t need to worry about what Dear Brother thinks!! I’m just done!!”

I spouted and gestured and pretty much showed my ass to Man Friend, though if I’m not mistaken, I caught what I think was a slight grin. With that, I attempted to reel myself back in.

“Man Friend, I’m sorry. Now I’m being inappropriate, to my mother’s boyfriend, of all people. I can be so raw at times and it’s way too early in our relationship for you to see this. Whatever you two want, you have my blessing. And GOOD LUCK. You’re gonna need it.”

Probably should have left that last part off.

I have no idea whether or not she’s still seeing him, but I sense that it might be over. They have not made it down to Coastal Georgia that I’m aware, and she hasn’t mentioned him in our last few conversations.

There’s a lot more, but I have to don some lipstick and try to behave myself.

I think I should have named this blog Welcome to Crazy Town.

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