“Mom! Do you pray in English or Tagalog?” Tagalog, being the national language of the Philippines, for you uneducated mofos. To which she replied (as if I asked the dumbest question ever), “English, of course! This is America!” with her thick ass Filipino accent. “Um. Don’t you think it’s best to do it in your native tongue? That way God can understand what you’re talking about?” I’m not sure if you’ve ever heard a Filipino person (one who is born and raised in the Philippines) try to speak English before, but it’s not pretty. I can see God up in heaven cursing everyone out because he can’t figure out what the hell my mother’s praying about, asking himself, “Did she say she wants piss?” when my mom actually asked for fish. I just hope he has Tivo or some kind of a recording device so he can rewind. Maybe a subtitle option, or even an interpreter. I was tempted to asked if any of her prayers are ever answered, but I thought I’d leave it alone considering this is the woman responsible for birthing yours truly.
The thing about my mom is that she is beyond wonderful. She is one of those people that’s just beaming with positives. You can tell her that your left foot needs to be amputated and will tell you to be grateful you still have your other foot. She’s just made that way. Full of optimism. She used to tell me that when it rains, it’s because God is taking a shower and it should be celebrated. I grew up thinking God must be morbidly obese if he needs to bring rainstorm in an entire city. And that he has some kind of personal hygiene issues considering rainy season mostly only happened between July & August in the Philippines. She cracks me up. It is never a dull moment when my mom is around. Just the other day we were at the store and she was looking at something. She says to me, “Do you think this perfume smells good? I can’t find the expiration date.” as she handed me the package. I looked at it and wanted to laugh so hard but I though I’d keep the fun going. I tell her it looks nice. Even the name sounded nice. KY Intense Personal Lubrication. “That’s nice. I will buy.” I finally had to tell her it’s for having sex. She immediately threw the thing away while yelling “Oh Shet!” Yup just liked that. She can’t say things that have sh or ch. Anything with sha or dge sound. So if she says, “Cate, close the garuds.” She means, close the garage. Or if she says, “Cate, you need to clean Em’s shet.” She means, “sheet.” She also confuses the letter f with a p, as with the v with a b. So, love is lub, and very is berry. Here’s an example. My daughter is berry beautipool and likes to eat a lot of piss por dinner. Get it?
My mom is pretty much perfect. Except for one thing. She can’t see shit up close. She is always squinting and wonders why people think she’s Chinese. She needed corn starch and grabbed tapioca starch instead and wonders why her dessert didn’t come out right. Don’t let her take a very important family picture because it will come out blurry. They always do. What, like not wearing her reading glasses in public will make her look younger or something? She’s not realizing that it’s all the squinting that’s causing her the extra wrinkles and making her look old as balls. Oh, and speaking of balls. The only other annoying thing about my mother, is her husband. Please see previous post appropriately titled “Aged Ball Sack” to catch up. On our way to the airport this morning (to drop them off finally) he says, “It will be nice to build a house up there in the mountains. But the water bill will be expensive because it’s so high up there.” And “Why is everything white here?” I’m pissed off I even had to answer with “What do you mean?” He goes on to say, “The roads are all white.” That’s pretty much how it is when he comes with my mother to visit. 98% of the shit he says, I know nothing about. The other 2% will make your 6 month old infant seem a genius. I imagined kicking open the passenger side door and pushing him out of the car! While shooting him so he can finally shut the fuck up. But then I wouldn’t have anything funny to write about. Ain’t that a bitch?
Hope to see you never,