She'd be Classy If This Were a Film Noir

I've had two very lovely days. On Wednesday night, Swetus [EEEP! It should be noted I originally wrote HIS ACTUAL NAME here--well, we can't be having that now, can we?] and I had a big date night. Dressed up all pretty and went out to Kitchen 22 in Gramercy. And I'll be damned if we weren't the best-looking couple in New York. Well, no matter how true that statement is, I'm most likely damned either way.

Then last night we drank free beer, got free pizza, Swetus helped install Blythe's A/C unit and fed us even more. After literally chasing down a bus [which totally counts as my excercise for the next YEAR], we managed to be settled and in bed by midnight. Not too bad. Not too bad at all.

But more importantly, today is my mama's birthday. Which means we should all take a moment to wish her a happy birthday, and more importantly, praise her for bringing ME into the world. Heh. Not really. But in honor of her birthday, and the fact the only thing I can manage to talk about in my current life is how much I love that damn Swede, I shall share one of my favorite mama stories:

I was in a jazz company back in the day, around my middle school years. And many of the girls would choose to leave the company at some point in high school to join the drill team or whatnot. And we always made it a point to pull some sort of prank on those that broke ranks and left us to go do line kicks and booty-shaking, not real dance in our humble and snooty opinions.

So we had three girls leaving us one year, and we decided to do the prank en masse and toilet-paper each of their houses. It was going to be real fun. Teachers and dancers joined together in vandalism. My mom decided to come along too. I love how many times that I went wrapping, my mom came along.

First house, no problem. Looked like Christmas in July, it did. I've always been fascinated by the arcs toilet paper makes when it's on its journey, and the deep satisfaction that comes from it securing itself nicely onto a branch. Man, I'd go toilet papering again here in New York, if I didn't think it'd get me shot.

The second house wasn't an issue, either. It was good to go. Recall the satisfaction I mentioned in the last paragraph and you get the idea.

The third house was a bit problematic. We had been told the family was on vacation, so this should have been the LEAST to worry about. It should have been nothing but blue skies and bunnies and stuff. Mom even got arrogant and went up to the front door to give them a new kind of wreath or whatnot.

Oh crap, there's movement from within the house. My brain, being a strange device, first thinks that someone is robbing them while we toilet paper their house. Man, that'd be shitty, wouldn't it? And if one perpetrator got caught, it would be hard to convince the authorities that they didn't commit the other. Which, basically would only suck for us.

"No, no. We only went to vandalize. We don't know nothing 'bout no heirloom theft."

But, of course, this was not the case. I am, what they like to call, "special." Anyhoo, somehow we got the date wrong or they got held up or something and their trip was canceled. Actually, to this day I don't know why they were there, but it was the family. So we noticed this and scramble into the getaway car. I mean, it was a sight to behold. And let me tell you, when people think they're about to get busted for toilet papering, it's every man for himself. I mean, I almost left my mom on their front doorstep:

"Take her!!! She's old and feeble!!!" [though my mother is, in fact, neither]

The van we were traveling in zips around and we pick Mom up. She is the last to get in our getaway car and was by far the most exposed out of all of us. She's a little out of breath. And freaking out. And here is reason 3094823905792304759043.3 why I love my mom.

Mom [breathlessly]: "Ohmygod!!!! They saw me! They totally saw me. Oh my god, they're gonna finger me!"

[dead silence]

"Uh, what?"

"They saw me! They're totally gonna finger me!"

"They're going to do WHAT?!?!?!!?"

[utter horror]

"You know, finger me. Like, point me out in a lineup."

[everyone busts into laughter]

"They're going to finger me!...why is everyone laughing?!?! I'm gonna get in trouble!"

[my jazz teacher leans over to inform my mom of the new implication of the word]

"Oh!...You people are gross."

"Well, it's not 1934 anymore, Mom."

End scene.

Happy Birthday Mama! You've earned yourself a tequila shot. Or six.