My Mom thinks she should appear more in my blog, but only for reasons she finds acceptable. Hello; you're my Mom, you don't find anything I do acceptable which is why you don't show up here very often, I'm afraid of you. So my Mom's been having some cell phone issues. For some reason she's married to the Palm and her carrier no longer services it. (See Mom, now you're going to be mad because here's where I say your marriage to the Palm is your longest and most successful marriage). So it broke and she found another old beat up one and then she put it into the breast of her swimming suit AND WORE IT INTO THE POOL (See Mom, now you're going to be mad because I'm going to tell everyone you keep your phone in your bra and that every time I'm with you and it rings I think you're having a heart attack because you grab your boob in a panic). Broken Palm number two. Now, Brandi has given her an old one to use in the meantime and she tells me she's having trouble with it. She's charged it, it's fully charged but it just won't work. So I say, "let me try calling you on it." It goes straight to voice mail. I call her at home, "Mom," I say, "have you turned it on?" I love you, Mom.
Here's a funny Cheli story from long ago. Let's preface this with it's MY version of a true story; it's my version, it's not new, it's been embellished and I can tell it how I want to. Maybe about 15 years ago my mom was in Minneapolis visiting with her sister. At the time she still smoked. In Minneapolis smoking in public is right up there with crapping on the sidewalk; it's just not done. My family was having brunch or lunch at this nice hotel and my mom and her husband stepped outside to crap on the sidewalk (you know...smoke). Well, John, who has OCD (and we may revisit that at a later date because OCD can be really fun if you want to mess with someone), was collecting all of his cigarette butts in his pockets because he didn't want to be rude and throw them on the ground. Cheli did not share his enthusiasm. Cheli said "just throw them in there" and pointed to a fenced in hole in the ground which later, in a cruel twist of fate, turns out to be a blow vent. So they throw the cigarettes in the hole. My mom is wearing a dress, it's summer, and I'm proud to say; my Mom doesn't own a pair of underwear. So she's standing in front of the hole, oops, I mean blow vent when it....wait for it....starts to blow. Yes, it blew her dress up over her head a la Marilyn Monroe. And. Then. The. Cigarettes. Caught. On. Fire.
A real, honest to God, blaze for which the fire department had to be called. Seriously, two trucks. Tons of firemen, because having her skirt blow up over her head wasn't enough attention.
Hey Mom, do you still want to be in my blog???? I love you, Mom.