Why I Love My Mom, Part 123
So, remember back when I was unemployed and loving it? Relaxed, concubine, watching my ass grow, etc., etc., good times? Well, my mom ruined that in one conversation. "You need to get a job!" she kvetched at me. "I'm worried about you! Nag nag nag, nag NAG!" And then in just one moment I was bored and depressed and hated being unemployed, even though I explained to her that I'M FINE, and I'M LOOKING FOR A JOB. Fast-forward to Friday night, when I stopped by her house to drop off the kid and get my ass kicked.
"You need to get a job," she kvetched again. "I'm worried about . . . blah blah blah, nag."
"Mom," I explained slowly and patiently. "My UCI class starts in two weeks; I prepped the course this morning. I'm going to be the web editor for Will's new Long Beach paper. I talked to a literary agent and three publishers today. I'm up for the job in ______, and I applied for jobs in DC and San Francisco yesterday. I'm working on a story for Riviera, and I'm tending bar at a party tomorrow."
She stopped. She looked at me.
"I don't want you working in a bar!" she bitched, and then she got on a roll about bikers and beer while I stood out front of her house loudly singing Rickie Lee Jones' "Easy Money" at her, about the hookers who want to roll the guy but their boyfriends scammed them first, complete with an interpretive dance about loosening their shoulder straps. Outvolumed, my mom went in the house and shut up.
"You need to get a job," she kvetched again. "I'm worried about . . . blah blah blah, nag."
"Mom," I explained slowly and patiently. "My UCI class starts in two weeks; I prepped the course this morning. I'm going to be the web editor for Will's new Long Beach paper. I talked to a literary agent and three publishers today. I'm up for the job in ______, and I applied for jobs in DC and San Francisco yesterday. I'm working on a story for Riviera, and I'm tending bar at a party tomorrow."
She stopped. She looked at me.
"I don't want you working in a bar!" she bitched, and then she got on a roll about bikers and beer while I stood out front of her house loudly singing Rickie Lee Jones' "Easy Money" at her, about the hookers who want to roll the guy but their boyfriends scammed them first, complete with an interpretive dance about loosening their shoulder straps. Outvolumed, my mom went in the house and shut up.
2 Comments:
Dang, wish I had it like that!
You're an American idol!
Please, please, let it be the DC job.
Your talents deserve a national stage.
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