The Cult of Melinda

The gAyTM is closed! No gay rights, no gay $$$!

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Love Ya, Mom!

Since it's Mother's Day, I've been thinking about my mother. And yes, I spoke to her today. My mom is kind of a mixed bag. We won't rehash old history, but there's lots of bad in the past. I'll focus on the good, the weird and the downright TMFI today, just cuz.

The Good:

When I came out to my mother, I pretty much said "Mom, I'm gay." and ran out the door. I managed not to speak to her for a week, because I was sure she would judge me. Instead, when I asked her about what she felt about what I'd said, she told me she didn't remember. I repeated, "Mom, I'm gay." Mom said, "No! Really?" in this really exaggerated, sarcastic tone. Then, she said, "Sweetie, have you met yourself? I knew you were gay in elementary school!" Later, she started telling me about her gay friend and waking up in a dormitory for gay men after a night out on the town with him in the 70's. That was the coolest thing my mother has ever done.

My mom always wished I'd be more feminine, but she never expected me to be a traditional, submissive girl. My mother always thought it was stupid to think that you couldn't do something because you were female. (I'm sure it helped that she was a Louisiana State Trooper when there were very few women in uniform.) We were always expected to stand up for ourselves and to take no crap from anyone. In fact, she taught my sisters and me this little gem: If a man raises his hand to you, make sure it's the last time he raises his hand. My mom was definitely a royal bitch in the best way when it came to standing up to the men in her life. I'm proud of that.

When I converted to Judaism, despite being raised with the expectation that I'd become a minister, my mother was completely supportive. A bit too supportive at times. Though, to the good, at least she's stopped asking me to become a rabbi.

The Weird:

My mother calls me out of the blue to tell me weird and inappropriate jokes she hears on the radio or to ask if such and such a celebrity is a lesbian. No, I'm serious. I'll answer the phone and my mother's like, "Hey, Baby. It's Mom. I have a question for you. Is Rosie O'Donnell a lesbian?"

My mom is obsessed with Chihuahuas and always gives them Spanish names, because she apparently wants to respect their "ethnic heritage." She's learning Spanish now because she's dating a Mexican guy, so she's teaching her current Chihuahua to take commands in poorly pronounced Spanish and lets it play with a friend's dog who only speaks Spanish. So, now I get calls asking me how to say such and such a thing in Spanish and I have to figure out if it's for the boyfriend or the dog!

My mother's told me repeatedly about what my name would have been if... Like, she liked the name Kalinda, but didn't choose it because it had an a instead of an e. She wanted my sister Belinda's name and mine to be as close as possible. No, we're not twins. Kalinda, btw, means watermelon or something like that in Choctaw, which my mother knew when she considered naming me that. I'm kind of big-breasted. It would NOT have been funny. If I were a boy, my name would be Roger after my dad OR Lamont Desmond after the guy who played Lamont on Sanford and Son. My mother had a crush on Desmond Wilson, so she wanted to name her "son" after him.

The TMFI:

My mother insists on telling me whom she would date if she were a lesbian. I really don't need to hear my mother say, "I'd do k.d. lang. She's so sexy!" I also don't need to know that Rosie just really isn't her "type." Seriously, Mom. I love you, but keep it to yourself.

Anyway, Mom, if you've figured out how to Google yet without me walking you through it. I love you, but you're really freaking weird sometimes.

2 Comments:

Blogger sinister_n_evil said...

I think your mom is cool... I totally love that thing about not letting a guy raise his hand to ya more than once... cause he won't be able to... that rocks...

Mom's are allowed to be weird... after being a mom... i think it is all the crazy crap that we do in childhood that drives us a little batty... ya know that Charles has been stashing his Duplo blocks in my sub woofer speaker in the den... I was wondering where they were disappearing to and why the speaker sounded funky... and ya wonder why i don't get to post any more....

1:05 PM  
Blogger Melinda Barton said...

My sisters took that literally. I can't tell you how many times one of my sisters ended up beating the crap out of some guy b/c he raised his hand. One guy didn't even get to complete the slap before my sister had his blood all over her shirt from busting his nose wide open. My nephew told me that his mom's husband once slapped her. He was immediately sorry, but it was too late. He was apparently crying like a girl by the time the beat down was done.

As for moms, I've spent enough time around children to get that. My sister Judy swears it's easier for me with the kids b/c I'm "one of them."

And for Charlie, at least he's picking up his toys! lol

6:50 PM  

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