My Momma

Somebody once asked me why I like to get on myspace and talk about personal stuff.  I replied that I didn’t find anything that I wrote on myspace to be truly personal.  All of it is a matter of public record:  who I’ve dated, how I feel about certain people, opinions.  Stuff like that.  I’m open in my own way about a lot of things, because the truth is, if you don’t tell it yourself, someone else will and the story will be fucked up.  If you beat the gossipmongers to the punch, they can’t make up lies because you’ve already said all there is to say on a subject.

The only thing that is personal to me is family matters.  What goes on in a person’s family is nobody’s business.  However you feel about your family is not a concern for everyone else.  I don’t mind admitting I’m depressed over a boy, or that I ate a pint of ice cream for breakfast.  That’s not serious.  Family is always serious.

Anyway, I decided to write that because I feel like writing about my mother.  Not in a negative way, either.  She and I have a very strange and strained relationship.  There’s a lot of things that go behind that, and that’s none of your business. 

At any rate, some days we can be civil.  Other days we totally hate each other.  And sometimes we’re just like two cool people hanging out.  It’s very random.  I think it’s because we are both a lot alike, even though we have had totally different life experiences.  My mother had 6 siblings and grew up way less than middle class.  I grew up very nicely because both my parents worked very hard to give us pretty much anything we wanted. 

Some people have asked me where my atittude comes from.  Some people ask me about my trait for saying whatever is on my mind and not really paying attention to the consequences or the feelings I might hurt.  I’ve been described as rude, bitchy and evil.  I’m not really offended by this.  I’m not really swayed by public opinion.  I got that from my mother.  My mother could really give a damn what someone has to say about her.  I have never in my life heard my mother get stressed about something someone said about her, unless it was work-related and then she was usually pissed and thinking of ways to exact her revenge.

My mom and I don’t really keep in touch with each other.  We have random conversations via phone very sporadically.  I talk to my dad almost every week, and I’m sure he tells her everything. 

I wrote last week about the situation at my job.  There’s a lot more to it, but basically me and my co-worker are going to have issues soon because I’m really tired of her taking credit of work that I do.  Because this atmosphere is different than TSA, I guess I’m just not sure how to handle the situation, so I wound up not really saying anything.  I called my dad about it, and for once his advice was kind of blah.  Usually he is on point.

Ironically, it was my mother that had the best advice.  She called just now to tell me what she thought.

For anyone who ever thought I was rude or bitchy or whatever, you have never met my mother.  My mother is times ten, on crack.  (No, she isn’t on drugs.)  My mother has been around the block.  Her life growing up was definitely not as easy as mine.  My mother is raw and wouldn’t hesitate to knock a bitch out with a brick if she had to.  Me, you know I don’t fight.  I would get beat up.  Not my mother, she would fuck a bitch up.  She used to tell me and my sister stories about how she and her sisters (all 5 of them) would bank girls at their school who tried them.  Their motto was if you messed with one then you messed with them all.  And from what I have heard, some of my mother’s sisters were even worse than she was.

I’m telling you, if you mess with my mother you are either going to get your feelings hurt or your teeth knocked.  But since I’m not one for physical violence, she said, “There is way to be nice but nasty.”  She has this down to an art.  You will think she is being gracious and helpful, but really she is cutting you down and you don’t even know it.

I had told my dad that I thought I might want to quit.  Which is really so dumb.  This is the highest paying and best job I’ve ever had.  Why should I quit?  My mother told me not to let no bitch run me out of a good-paying job.  My mother doesn’t really understand what it is I do, or anything like that, but that is not important to her.  All she knows is that I am doing well, and I’ve earned it and that I shouldn’t let some cum-sock hoe run me from my money. 

She pretty much said that I shouldn’t let some white mother fucker get over on me.  Although racism really isn’t an issue right now, because of where she grew up she sees everything in black/white issues.  She said that I might talk white and think white, but they don’t see me as white.  She said they see me as a dumb monkey and that’s why they think they can play me.  Right now, they are playing me because I’m letting them.  My mother actually said, “Beat that bitch at her own game.”  Yes, my mother does talk like that.  She curses worse than a heavy machine gunner.

Anyway, she is right.  I’m allowing myself to be punked.  I am trying to settle into a more professional role, but I think I’m letting that overpower that attitude in me that I have always had.  If I was at TSA, she would have been cussed out.  No, I don’t have to cuss her ass out, but I am quite capable of handling my business and that’s what I need to do.  My mom was like, “When a mother fucker wants to start playing games with you, you just start playing games with them.” 

See, this is what makes my mother a little different than other mothers.  My mother didn’t bake cookies for the neighbourhood or throw sleepover parties and shit like that.  She didn’t come to PTA meetings or parent-teacher conferences.  She damn sure wasn’t no soccer mom.  She couldn’t help me with my homework or help me decide on a university, but she could teach me about life and how there is always someone out there trying to push you off your game.  My mother would never allow some hoe to run her off her money.  It just isn’t gonna happen.  I need to take a cue from her and get right.

It used to piss me off that I would bring home straight A report cards and that she never came to any of my voice recitals.  When I graduated at the top my class, she was like whatever.  She used to say, “You are so smart till you’re dumb.”  And really what she was saying that a high GPA and SAT vocabulary words are great and everything, but if you don’t have the common sense to bring it all together, it ain’t really worth shit.

What’s the use of a well-paying job if I am punked out of it?  Yeah, it’s really time to handle it.  Like my momma always said, “Never lay down for no bitch.”


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