The Bad Mom

 I caught a glimpse of him through the thick bamboo curtain. I could see him staring at me, I turned away, then looked back. He was still looking and gave me a smile. I waved to him and he waved back. I could feel him undressing me with his eyes. I giggled and lifted my skirt showing him my ass. He turned and slapped his own ass. I giggled some more and pointed him out to my cousin. Molly are you flirting with a Gorilla?

He’s so cute and human like, I defend my beastly behavior.

And he’s not flinging his shit at us. There is a missing link, remember that.

Call me! I yell as my cousin drug me to the penguin exhibit.

The San Francisco Zoo is free the first Wednesday of every month, which attracts all kinds of poor animal lovers like myself. To my surprise the zoo is popular with the homeless, which makes sense, have you seen how well behaved homeless animals are? They seemed to congregate at the reptile exhibit where I became fascinated with all the different tarantulas and their inflictions. One description read: this spider is non-lethal but will become aggravated if molested.

Well wouldn’t you?

I was on my way to my weekly appointment with Striker when I decided to pick up some Kleenex at the drug store, seems how I had been fighting to keep the snot in my nose the whole bus ride to Felton. I click clocked up and down each isle in my paten leather heels when a sales woman asked if I needed help finding anything. Before I could answer her question she interrupted herself and asked, What are you all dressed up for?

He must be cute, or you wouldn’t be wearing those Fuck Me pumps. I beg your pardon? I said as I thought to myself, when have I ever begged someone’s pardon?

My sister called me frantically, The Piñata Store is closed so now I have to drive to Watsonville, can you buy a cake?Slow down. First, is there really a piñata store, like a whole store just for piñatas?

God your so white! My sister teased.

Is a piñata mandatory?

Yes white girl, I can’t have a fucking party without a fucking piñata now just get a cake! Click.

My sister tells me all the “cool” parents hang out at Blue Ball Park. The kids call it Blue Ball Park because there are blue ball sculptures. The dad’s call it Blue Ball because the MILF’s (Moms I’d Like to Fuck) roam around leaving the men sexually frustrated returning home to their wives that make them negotiate chores for sex.

My niece and nephew are having their birthday party at the skate park which turns out is where all the DILF’s hang out. (get it, dads I’d like to fuck)

Men in their 30’s clinging to their youth, physically and figuratively is hot.

Not thinking with the right head I grabbed my skateboard and the chocolate cake to make my big party entrance. I jumped on the board, hit a pebble and went flying through air landing flat on my face now covered in cake. This DILF came to help me up.

I thought the girl was suppose to jump out of the cake, not into it.

One day I was watching TV after school when a commercial came on and asked: “Do you want to know the meaning of life?”

Uhhhh, yeah. I picked up the phone and called the 1-800 number on the screen. The operator asked for my name and address and said she was sending the meaning of life in 3-6 business days. The next day two young men in suits introduced themselves as Elder One and Elder Two.

What a coincidence, you’re both named Elder? They chuckled and I invited them in.

Are you guys here to bring me the meaning of life?

Yes, we have been sent to you from God. They said as they handed me a bible and a ring with the letters CTR.

What does CTR mean? I asked as I placed the ring on my finger.

Choose The Right, said Elder one. Let us pray.

The three of us held hands and began to pray, until mom came home from work.

What the hell is going on?

This is Elder one and Elder two, they know the meaning of life.

“Oh brother,” she rolled her eyes as the Elders said Amen and that they’d like to continue to see me for bible study where I would soon know the meaning of life. They returned every week for bible study and I just enjoyed the company of two hot guys who seemed to care. I began to secretly see Elder two on the side for “private lessons” which consisted of me giving him blow jobs. He said Oral sex wasn’t really sex. Mom was always open minded about the people I dated: guys/ girls, black /Hispanic, younger/ older, thugs/gangsters she didn’t even flinch when I dated a blind guy and his dog. But she put her foot down when it came to me dating a Mormon, fearing I would run off to Utah and get married and have lots of little Elders.

Mom confided in one of her co-workers who was Mormon. She told them that I was only 16 and made the issue more about my age than her hate/ fear for their religon.

The co-worker made a phone call. That was the day my mom sent my Mormon away. I never saw my Mormon again nor did I ever learn the meaning of life. 

Hey dad, I have a blind date on Friday.How do you know this guy?

I met him at school.

If you know him, it’s not a blind date.

It is if he’s blind.

I went to alternative high school that focused on job training which was segregated with adults. We were treated as adults with an open campus and a smoking section which is where I hung out. Everyone knew “Big John” and his seeing eye dog, Bernie. He was like 6′5, wore combat boot and aviator sunglasses and would always let me bum a smoke. He was really nice and asked me for my phone number. This was before cell phones, so messages were public domain.

Hi Molly, it’s Big John. I want you to come over so I can cook you dinner.

Ok harmless enough. I thought but the messages continued….

Hi sweetie, I was just telling my mom that you’re my new girlfriend and she wants to meet you.

Wait, what happened? When did I become his girl? I just agreed to friendly dinner, I’m fat, I don’t turn down meals, although he didn’t know that.

I avoided 12 messages that weekend that got progressively worse. The last message was Big John melting down.

Way to immature to straighten out the situation I just hid.

Monday morning Big John walked the campus yelling my name.

Evil boys would try to direct Big John in my direction and I would run away. For weeks I wouldn’t go near him fearing he would find me by my scent if not him the dog.

 How many omens does one lucky girl get before she’s sent to the clinker? It started out as harmless trip to the beach to watch the fireworks. Beth was driving so I hit the bong a few times and we were on our way, so I thought. In that 15-minute ride, Beth got the text she had been waiting all day for. It was her Booty Call.Do you mind dropping me off at my friend’s house?

No Problem, I say, in need of my own booty call, I’m sympathetic to being ditched with the kids, I’d do the same thing. But wait, I did smoke earlier and Beth’s registration is expired and she hasn’t paid her insurance in months I’m sure it’s canceled and the older kids aren’t in their proper car seats, oh fuck it.

As I turned from 7^th onto Capitola Road there were flashing lights and cops everywhere. A large blinking signs read: Sobriety checkpoint.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What’s wrong? My 9-year-old niece asks.

The police just need to ask us some questions to make sure we’re not drinking. But just in case: I want you kids to be very brave, nothing bad will happened, this will just be another adventure to tell your therapist when you grow up.

I hand the young officer my Oregon Drivers License.

Have you had anything to drink this evening?

No Sir.

Thank you.

No thank you for keeping our roads safe, officer. See children this is why you shouldn’t drink and drive. I tell the children as I put my ID back in my wallet.

Wait, the cop taps the roof of my sister’s Honda.

Fuck.

Tighten that kids seat belt in the back.

OK I yell as I speed away.

Fuck.

Part of my glamorous career in radio involved making public appearances, which I hated. For me it was like: Hey I’m down here at CAR TOYS giving away concert tickets for Limp Bizkit. But one particular appearance was on our local morning television show. 3 DJ’S- me being one of them- were to race during AM traffic by freeway, streets and me riding on public transportation which was the light rail train.

There was a slight miscommunication with the live programming. I thought the producer said to hop the next train but what he meant was wait until they were live and then hop the next train. I had just ruined the race because I got a head start. I’m broadcasting from my cell phone on the train as the news chopper is flying overhead. The anchor couple is irritated calling me a cheater, the people I’m squished next to seem equally irritated. The producer tells me to get off on 1st street, walk to Waterfront Park to find some monument. I paced for miles in the wrong direction before the traffic chopper flew overhead as I waved my arms like I needed to be rescued not realizing the chopper is filming me making an ass of myself. The traffic reporter called my cell phone and said turn around your going the wrong way.

I retraced my steps to the monument where my co-workers sat irritated. They left and I got on the train. When I got back to the station, I got heckled and laughed at but never had to do make an appearance again.

Bed Wetter

I skipped through the mall all the way to Sears. There it was. The pink and grey 10-speed bike I had been asking Santa, the Easter Bunny and dandelions for but never received until now. Nope it wasn’t even my 12th birthday. I stopped wetting the bed. When all else fails…. Bribery.

Farmers Market
Now that I have a baby, I’ve been forced to become a morning person. On the plus side I get to shop or shove my way through the farmers market Saturday morning with all the other early risers. I love that smell of kettle corn and beautiful flower arrangements. The rainbow of fruits and vegetables look good enough to eat. I can only afford the free samples right now and helped myself to what I thought was a cookie. The woman behind the table said, “ma’am, those are doggie treats.”
“Will they kill me?” I asked
“Well, no,” she hesitated.
“Then it’s fine.” I said as I took another.
Free entertainment is provided by random musical performers and on this day it was the “one man band” guy with various instruments strapped to himself like a suicide bomber ready to ignite. I too was strapped with my kid dangling from my stomach, thinking the only thing I use to strap on was a dildo, now look at me. Toddlers gathered around the man with their own tambourines and horns to add to the clatter they called music.
“Are there any requests?” the one man band guy asks the shorties.
“Shut up!” the one who could talk yelled.
“I have a request to shut up,” he giggles into the mic, “any other request?”
“Purple People Eater!” Another little one shouts as we got rockin.
Out of nowhere an elderly man who was either drunk or crazy joined the toddler mosh pit dancing and singing. He got his hips going and butt bumped an elderly bystander who lost her balance and stage dove onto the pit of toddlers and like London Bridges “they all fall down.” Parents went in to claim their screaming kid from the dog pile of pampers as the old guy was nowhere to be found.