My Mom is as classy as a Kardashian.

My Mother, she's about as classy as a Kardashian. She's got the mouth of a drunk sailor, the tact of a barbarian and the evilness of a shedevil. In related news, we are extremely similar.

So I was back home due to my recent and completely bullshit status of unemployment, where I voluntarily spent a week in my childhood room, which by the way is like walking into 2004, such a time warp. A week dealing with my mom's criticism, nagging and mockery. You've read it all before, "Sam, I thought you've been working out... whatever it is, it's not working. Sam, go be a stripper, strap a pole. Sam, move home." Ahhh yes, whenever things get a little rough for me my parents are quick to jump to "the obvious" which to them means,  just picking up and moving home. Which, I'm sure most parents would love, but mine do it in a way that not only makes you feel like a failure, but also breaks your spirit. Oh the joys of coming home.

So I grew up about 15 minutes from the border of Mexico, needless to say, Mexico has always been apart of my life. The good and the bad. It was always relatively safe, especially during the winter seasons which are a big tourist time in the Rio Grande Valley. However, the past few years have been pretty scary, drug wars and all. It seems to be mostly over, so my family swears. They started going back during the day for their little shopping trips about a year ago. Personally, it still scares the living shit out of me, everyone I know has a story about someone they know who has been affected by the crazy stuff going on down there - so knowing how terrible my luck is, I thought it best to stay as far away from the border as possible. Well, my Mother, had other plans. One of my last days home, my mom was dead set on us taking a little day trip to stock up on medicine and other cheap necessities. To which I responded, "Mom, but... is it safe? I still hear stories, horrible stories!" Followed by, "Sam, don't be such a pussy. Jesus, when did you become such a moist little pussy?" Knowing full well, that the word "moist" makes my insides flip and causes a nauseating reaction to which I will surely express with a gagging sound. "MOM! what the fuck?!" I scream, because, if I failed to mention, we are with my two Aunts and my cousin. "Well shit girl, don't be such a puss."

Just like that, I was going to Mexico. There is only so many times you can stand to hear your mother call you a pussy before you just have suck it up and risk your life. I wish I could say that this was as shocking to me as it might be to you reading it... but alas, I cannot. My mother is like no other and that's my cross to bare, I suppose. Though, I will say, she is awesome and our relationship is pretty spectacular.

p.s.

We were just fine, nothing out of the ordinary happened, we ate, we drank (a lot of XX and margaritas) and did some shopping, all was well and we came back with all of our body parts. Success!

Emails from My Mother...

Daily emails with my mom.. this is just yesterday's thread. 

The adventures of the emotionally retarded mother/daughter duo.. world's worst combination. We can't even express emotion with each other, there is no hope for me. 

MOM:   Hey girl is everything ok kind of got the feeling you needed to tell me something. Don’t forget to make an appointment for the dentist and the doctor.

ME:   no everything is fine, just birthday blues.. mostly the fact that i'm going to be 26 which is the age you had or were preggo with me and i'm still single as F with no prospects (anymore) and my job sucks .. mostly this is not what i had in mind for myself when i was younger.. you know ..that same ol' same pessimistic feelings. hahaha

I had liquid courage and just laid it all out there. It didn't go well. Now i'm sad and old and lonely. I'm gonna start collecting cats. right meow.

MOM:   HAHAH…sorry had a good laugh there. Good things comes to those who wait and all the garbage that goes along with lifting someone’s spirits.

It’ll happen, you're still young. I’ll lay off the grandma thing.

As for your job well hopefully there’s one out there perfect for you. Write to Oprah ask her for a job, appeal to her sense of whatever Oprah feels.

ME:   hahaha oh man, you are terrible at reassurance, luckily i am also terrible so i know when you actually have a genuine moment. WE ARE SO MESSED UP. 

I have been told that I was incapable of saying how i felt, unless it was through text message. They weren't wrong. I just don't like feelings. i don't want them, they're stupid and they make me feel things, ugh. 

MOM:  Dang Sam, were you always like this with your feelings. Well until  you show some emotion I guess that may be the day you find the ONE.

So texting is the only way your able to communicate your feelings? aye girl…ask your friends to set you up.

ME:   yea i'm emotionally retarded. 

i dont' think i'm at that age yet, if my friends knew of someone to set me up with, they would be with them. hahaha.

MOM:   The one’s that are in a relationship, a brother, or anything?  Aye Sam hope you have a good Birthday… 

Just like that, convo over. I think it got too close to being a mushy moment, neither of us are okay with that. So... know of any cats? 

Weddings and Funerals

ahh holidays. Am I right? If it weren't for all the lovely and necessary alcoholic holiday drinks I don't know how I would have survived my mother this season. Having so many "coupled up" holidays so close together might not bug most people, those people are assholes and are probably in a loving relationship. Fuck them. Anyway, those people also probably have loving and supporting mothers who are just so overjoyed to see their only daughter, the eldest, golden, first born child whom they adore, right? Herein lies my problem, my mother - emotionally retarded and void of all positive natured criticism is just so deconstructive, infuriating and brutally honest.

Yes, I do own a mirror. Yes, I have noticed the weight gain. Yes, I do drink more than I should, NO - I DON'T HAVE A PROBLEM.  Yes Mother, I realize I have not had a stable relationship since he who shall not be mentioned, and yes, I'm aware of how long ago that was. For the love of God NO, mother, I'm not a lesbian. I'm just single, 25, no prospects and ok-- not in as of great shape as I used to be. To which my loving wretched Mother replies, "Might as well be." This was just DAY ONE.

On our way back from my extended family's house on Christmas Eve, alone with ...her, she attempts having a normal conversation of my dating life and other life choices. After the subtle probing questions,  to which I can only feel worse about myself, which therefore requires no further injury to my pride --she keeps going. "Sam, what if you never get married?" Realizing she dove right in to the deep end too quick she retracts a bit, "I mean, what if you don't get married before.. you know.. your grandparents... die. What if I die?" With no possible shock left, due to a lifetime of experiences like this, and my own emotional handicap, a direct result of being my Mother's daughter, I sarcastically say, "Mom, at this point I will plan your funeral before I plan my wedding." To which, we both immediately start laughing hysterically. I had given up and when I stop fighting back with her, she feels remorse, so me giving in made her feel like shit - yet she laughed it up and continued to subtly pick on me.. but at least that conversation was over.

 I need a serious detox from all things depressing, which is why my annual trip to Colorado with my friends for one big music festival, snowboarding and debauchery trip comes in perfect timing. I shall come back renewed and hungover.

Mama's Break-Up Checklist

Miranda Lambert's - Mama's Broken Heart - written by Kasey Musgraves, two fierce Texas Girls with no apologies.

When I first heard this song I related in so many ways, I was actually dealing with a breakup and very much relating to the lyrics "I numbed the pain at the expense of my liver." "Sometimes revenge is a choice you gotta make" etc. You can read all about that here.

Anyway.. my mom was battling with her reactions and advice to me. She battled between what she should say - as her responsibility as a mother and what she thought and felt. Because I am my mother's daughter.. I completely understood. I was battling between how I wanted to react and how I knew what I should do. On the one hand I was confused, embarrassed  sad, let down, depressed etc. On the other hand I was furious, Lorena Bobbitt -furious. I wanted to destroy him and at one point..I called my mom and said, "I'm going to jail, be ready to bail me out please." "WHAT? WHY? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" She quickly asked. "I'm going over to his house.. shit hit the fan and well, he lied. He has some explaining to do..and begging." "Sam, DO NOT do anything stupid..it's not worth it, that  racist-momma's boy-asshole isn't worth it. Can't you just wait a month or two and key his car in a parking lot..so no one will suspect you?" she says. If that little conversation could sum up the motherly advice and her true disdain for men who hurt me/crazy bitter old woman advice, it would be that one.

 Overreaction? Yes, but you know what they say, ...bitches be crazy, well that and "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" and shit, was I scorned. Well, that was all in the past and I'm over it now - but while spending some time with my mom over the holiday we were talking about that moment and how I have been doing lately, as far as dating new guys and what not. I realized that the struggle between my mom's advice is pretty ridiculous. She'll go from saying something like, "go out for drinks, rebound" to "go get one drink..but just one, don't get sloppy" to "you know, you are young and there will be other men." etc.

So after the holiday and having this song just come on my shuffle I've decided to put together the most memorable "how to deal with a break-up" checklist by my mother.

1. take a day to be really sad. Then stop making yourself sick by crying - get out, do stuff, call a friend.
2. get a hair cut, color your hair - do something for you that makes you feel beautiful.
3. pedicures never hurt.
4. kick him in the balls
5. do not answer his calls or reply to his messages
6. delete him from everything
7. go get a drink - but not too many, don't get sloppy
8. if you must have revenge, wait a month then key his car in a parking lot so no one will suspect you
9. does he have cute friends? .... 
10. go to the gym, you always want to look better than him.
11. don't forget to eat. keep yourself healthy
12. don't dwell on what you can't change. It does you no good to keep thinking of how it happened or what would have happened if it went a different way. He's an ass, not worth it and you're better off.
13. don't overload your friends, don't be that girl.
14. go on a date or two but don't jump into a relationship
15. don't hate all men because this one sucked.
16. stay strong, but there is no shame in being sad
17. for the love of God, don't call him drunk.
18. sleep in the middle of your bed
19. imagine that look of fear he had when you showed up "hahahaha" and laugh about it.

Well, that is what I can remember. Pearls, aren't they? 

Four kinds of women.

My mother is genuinely worried I will die alone. She's said this on numerous occasions, she even tried to soften the blow of my high expectations of getting married by telling me, that I probably won't. (that was her being supportive.) Her most memorable analogy or piece of advice was to relate to me in a way she was sure I would understand, Sex and the City.

It was just another casual conversation with my mother, the usual questions followed by the always invading questions of my nonexistent dating life.. where there always seems to be two answers, post traumatic break up..you can read that here. It either goes like this, "No, that's over.. just another guy I thought had potential but he turned out to be a douche, typical" or "Nope, not seeing anyone, no mom I'm not a lesbian, Jesus!"

So one time, caught completely off guard my mom says, "You know Sam, there are four kinds of women, you need to be more like Charlotte. I know you are somewhere in between Carrie and Samantha, probably more close to Samantha than I'd like, and just because you have the same name doesn't mean you have to live up to it. You know what those two have in common, ...they don't get married, well Carrie does, but she's in her 40s...you don't want that. Going around giving IT up doesn't get you very far. Charlotte held out and was married... twice." (not exaclty what I'm shooting for, divorce and all). "Or even Miranda, she continues, wait, never-mind don't be like Miranda, she's too cynical and bitter, you're already bitter..you don't need to be worse. Be somewhere in between Charlotte and Carrie, try holding out, keep those legs closed, girl. hahahaha!!"

Well that's my mom for you. I guess there really is only 4 types of women. Which one are you? Apparently I'm in between the two spinsters. Awesome. Guess I will die alone.

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No One Camps Like the Ramos Tribe

The other weekend I went camping with my family and a friend. I'm glad I brought an outsider to attest to my family's antics, because as crazy and outlandish as you think they sound... seeing it is believing. I can't even begin to describe the Ramos debauchery ..it's all so inappropriate, embarrassing and hilarious but here goes.

My Mom likes to portray herself as quiet and reserved but when she's around family and me in particular she lets loose. She curses like a sailor, makes everything a sexual joke, likes to embarrass her kids beyond belief and thoroughly gets off on people hurting themselves (we are identical, with the exception of perception..I could give two shits how people think of me, she genuinely cares.)

My Dad is a whole other blog of fucked-up, but here's a quick back-story. My parents were married and then divorced, while I was in utero. He lived in Dallas, my mom and I lived in the Valley (RGV, aka almost Mexico.) My parents - either by sincere emotion, Mexican Catholic guilt propagated by both Grandmothers, or my incessant crying and complete naive begging, got back together to give it another shot when I was around seven. They had my brother when I was nine and have been unhappily cohabitating, well now recently, happily unmarried from then on.

Anyway, my Dad is super outgoing and needs the spotlight. He loves to tell stories and be the center of attention. He is really.. really emotional. He's cried more than I've ever seen a man cry and is super touchy-feely, heart to heart loving, long talks- sappy kind of guy..completely opposite of my Mother. Oh and he's huge, 6'2 and biiiiiiig. Imagine that stature blubbering like a baby. My Dad is not as funny as my Mom though, not naturally, at least. My mom can come back with quick quips- usually dirty whereas my Dad will most likely keep making fun of you because he has nothing to say. He gets flustered when my mom jokes about sex with me.. as he should. As a Father of a  twenty-something Daughter, I can imagine it is rough.. and that would be the end of that..but he, my father, in order to join in on the fun will turn every harmless joke my Mom says into deliberate uncomfortable situations about them and their (barf) love life. (real or not, it's disgusting).

My family, my  Dad's side is a hot mess, simply put. Outrageous, loud, alcohol-loving, night owls who like to have a good time, whether it's camping late at night or a two year old's birthday party. Where there is family and booze, we will have a good time.

All these explanations are necessary, trust me.

So upon arrival, my friend so graciously brings a bottle of vodka, worried that maybe she shouldn't, this being a family gathering and all.. I said something along the lines of, "no, they'll love it."

We walk up, vodka in hand and I hear my Aunt yell, "we got another bottle, see I told you! We should have bet!" --Now that's a welcome! Almost immediately we start drinking, making drinks for my Mom, Aunts and my dearest cousin, who is a hot mess just like me. After some catching up and playful banter, mostly at my expense my mom has now said countless inappropriate things such as: when discussing how hot and sweaty "we" are she calls a vagina... a... CLAM. She points out the size of my boobs, thanks to a very well constructed bikini top and almost immediately asks if anyone has been "sucking on them, because they look bigger."

Later that night and almost an entire liter of vodka later, I suggest a "pants off dance off" -which went over well.. although I may have started and competed by myself for a while. The (fully clothed, thank God) dance off turned into me "dropping it like it was  hot"....on my mother. It didn't stop there.. my Dad, being himself, had to compete and try to take me out.. he has some moves, I'll give him that.. but before I threw up watching my dad dry hump a chair saying, "that's what your mom likes" to Marvin Gaye..I shut him up the only way I know how... I said, "weird.. that's what the guys I sleep with say about me!" He quickly stopped and shut the hell up. Then in order to put that conversation to bed, I suggested we play a friendly game of family flip cup.  -Normal right?

Being of the Ramos clan, my family was intrigued by anything involving alcohol and competition. So we played until the wee hours of the night. Kids were even playing- with soda, though as we find out later my 13 year old cousin was sneaking beer. As it turns out, family flip cup was a real bonding experience. Beer pong on the other hand (which we also played) was not - we are way to competitive for that shit. In the midst of all this family fun debauchery I looked over at my friend, fully understanding for the first time what is happening and said, "this. is. my. family. .. is this real life? Clearly I didn't stand a chance"

I mean, really. We are a product of our environment, are we not? My mom is ridiculous, vulgar and pure evil. My Dad is loud, egotistical, a natural center of attention - spotlight loving goof. My family is loud, crazy and hella fun. Nowhere in the cards was I meant to be an engineer, doctor or business-y, functioning member of society. I fully accept where I am, who I am and how I behave.. but I will continue to use my family as writing material. That the least they can do for me. Bastards.