Day 40

It’s Mother’s Day weekend. Everyone thinks that their mom is the best; it’s genetically ingrained into our systems. If you don’t think you’re mom’s awesome, it’s kind of fucked up. That’s why Norman Bates was weird, but not super scary. He just loved his mom too much. How do you express to your mother that you’re really happy that she carried you around for 9 months and gave birth to you, only to have to continue carrying you around and changing your diaper? Flowers? Candy? Muscial Hallmark card?

My sister and I got my mom a Harry Potter cookbook and a homemade birdhouse thingy. These are just tokens of my appreciation, but really I think that moms should have gifts showered on them all the time. My mom sends me silly cards almost every week. Usually they contain pearls of wisdom, coupons, and at least $5. My mom knows me so well; she usually sends me coupons for yogurt, pie, or pizza. I try to reciprocate and send her stuff that she would enjoy. I once sent her a care package with a Harry Potter t-shirt and a new lunch box, which made me feel like I was sponsoring some sort of 11-year-old child, but those are things my mom liked.

My mom wasn’t so thrilled with the idea of me being blonde, but her reaction to the photo was “it’s not so bad, I guess.” A real confidence boost, ma! I laughed inside since I know my hair does not photograph as blonde as it really is. “Just don’t go Marilyn,” she says. Oh mom, that’s the goal: to become like Marilyn, the ultimate blonde. I may never star in movies or have a tryst with a Kennedy, but I can stand over a subway grate! She really won’t know what to do when she comes to visit me and she realizes that she has a warped feminist Barbie/Marilyn hybrid for a daughter. I can’t wait.

Today gets 3 Barbie Warhols: