This Blog Is Sponsored By The Letter “K”

A few years back my mom decided (for no apparent reason) she wanted to divide up all her worldly belongings while she was still alive.  She wasn’t going to give us anything right away, but at least we would all know who’s getting what.  My mom’s reasoning sounded logical to the untrained person– “I don’t want you to fight over my stuff after I’m dead.”

*Actual picture of me holding my sister... right before I squeezed the life out of her and beat her with the snorkel behind us  (not really) *

So, we were going to meet with a lawyer to draw up a will, right?  NOPE.  My mom had a MUCH better idea than any legal type of document.  WE DIDN’T NEED NO STINKIN’ LAWYERS..

*not actual lawyers*

She pulled out two black sharpie markers and handed one to me and to my sister and instructed us to put a “K” underneath the things that I wanted, and my sister would mark her things with a “T”.   Yes indeed, this was MUCH better than having a last will and testament.  Silly lawyers.

However, I immediately recognized flaws in my mother’s system.

Suddenly and without warning, it was like a crazy Japanese game show exploded in my mom’s living room. 

 My sister morphed into a crazed-flesh-eating-monster … scratching “T”s on all the good stuff.  Momentarily dazed and confused, I erratically pushed through the maze of mom’s stuff... shoving small children and old ladies out of my way…  I thought I saw something valuable in my peripheral vision… I lunged towards the china cabinet... grabbed the alleged valuable artifact.. turned it upside down and was just about to mark it with a BIG FAT K… and damn if there wasn’t a T already there.  There were T’s everywhere.  Panic set in.

*actual picture of my sister *

Flustered, I grabbed a worthless piece of crap to make my mark, and much to my amazement, there was already a K.  WHAT?  I didn’t mark this… That’s when I realized that my sister was marking the ALL THE CRAP STUFF with a K… just to make sure that she wouldn’t be stuck with it one day.

*examples of crap that I did not want*

*side note: don't email me to tell me that these things are valuable*

I needed a life-line to win.  Could I phone a friend or use my street shout-out?   There was no time. 

*not actual picture of me*

All the good stuff was COVERED with T’s.   There was confusion, mayhem, TOTAL ANARCHY… and that’s when I realized….  My mom’s ultimate plan was to see us fight over her stuff while she was ALIVE.   HA! We had been outsmarted by the lady that doesn’t even have an email address.  HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

Good news is that we think that most of the stuff in my mom’s house came from SteinMart or Target.  So, neither of us really won the lottery that day.  Although, we did get some good excersize.  And everytime I go to my mom’s house, I like to randomly pick up one of the chachkies and look underneath just to see what’s there.

I have also figured out how to make a “T” look like a “K”.

Satan Lived In My House

In honor of my mother's birthday, I'm posting this story - It's a classic and one of my all-time-favorites.

For any of you that don't know me, I was previously married to an idiot.  During the 5th year of our marriage, my parents came to stay with us one weekend.  (We lived about 3 hours from them)  For the most part, everything was as "normal."  The parental units spent Friday night at the house without incident.  We spent the entire Saturday doing parent/grown-children activities..  They spent the night Saturday night - and planned on leaving on Sunday morning after breakfast.  All seemed to go according to plan.

Several months later I called my parents to let them know that I was filing for divorce from the idiot.  After they FREAKED OUT, my mother and I had the following strange conversation:

MOM:   I KNEW something was wrong when we stayed with you a few months ago.

ME:   Really?  Were we acting weird?

MOM:  No.  On our last night there, I woke up in the middle of the night, and I was freezing.  I got up and walked thru the house, and there was this strange feeling surrounding me.  It was Satan.

ME:  Are you sure? Maybe you just needed a fluffy blanket.

MOM:  No, I’m certain it was Satan.  And, now that you tell me that you’re getting divorced, this confirms that Satan was definitely in your house.

OK.  Fine.  Let’s just go with her story.   I then took a moment to reflect on the morning after her demonic encounter.  On that Sunday morning, we got up, made yummy eggs, pancakes, bacon, biscuits. We drank coffee on the back porch.  We had fresh orange juice.   There was not a single mention of Satan the entire morning.  They packed up their crap – hugged, kissed – and off they went. 

Now, 3 months later – I find out that Satan lives in my house!  REALLY??!!

So, I called her back to let her know that if she thought Satan lived in my house, I think a reasonable person would MENTION such an encounter to the homeowner.  For example, maybe that Sunday morning we could have had this kind of conversation:

ME:   So, mom.. how’d you sleep last night?

MOM:  Fine, except for the fact that I was woken-up in the middle of the night by the very presence of Satan.  These pancakes are extra fluffy.  I’d like another cup of coffee.

Maybe Satan WAS there… that’s not really what I’m disputing.   I just think it would have been considerate to have been told.   So, if any of you plan on spending any time with me, and you feel any demonic spirits in my house, I would freakin appreciate a heads-up.

My first blog entry.....

I decided to write this blog at the continuous encouragement from my fans.  Actually, most people are saying, "Wow, you post to facebook alot.. don't you have a life?"   Or  "Apparently you have too much time on your hands."     So to answer all the moronic people questioning my time, "Yes, there are alot of other things that I could be doing right now.. however, my house is being cleaned by a robot that I call Tosh.O, my children are fed and have clean clothing, and for the most part everything here is in order. So shove that up your ass."

Ok, maybe I should leave the shove that up your ass part off of it.  But, hey, I'm Italian, this is my blog.. and no one is forcing you to read it.  And, if you ARE reading it.. then apparently you have cooked, cleaned, and done all your laundry.. or you have too much time on YOUR hands to have nothing better to do than to read this crazy blog.