Sunday, May 11, 2008

• The Homeless Guy Story

  I've left some incredible comments about my mother on other people's Xanga sites (i.e. her selling me to the zoo, leaving me in the back alleyway of a bar, wearing a Darth Vader mask in an attempt to convince me that she is NOT my mother, etc.) and almost all of these stories are a work of fucked up fiction. There are, however, true stories -- really fucked up true stories -- about my mom that I love to share with my friends. These stories make up the unique relationship I have with my mother. I figured, I should share them with you.
  
  First, let me say a few things to introduce my mom. My mother is a short Filipino woman who is mischievous, competitive, and downright insane -- In the good way. Not the Tom Green way or the Microwave-My-Babies way, but the "I'm going to wear all of my metal bangles on my wrists when I walk through airport security" way. My mother is the kind of woman whose only fun moment at Universal Studios was attacking complete strangers with the super soaker and screaming, "YEEEAAAAHHHH!" like the hardest of all Spartans.
  
  When we were growing up, my mother had a tendency to lie and scare me and my sister for fun. When I asked her why I only had one dimple on my cheek and not two, she said that when I was born, I had no dimples. To fix that, she sharpened her finger nail and carved one out. Unfortunately for me she only wanted one.
  
  My favorite bed time story came from her. When it was bed time, I would ask my mommy to tell me a story and she agreed, beginning with a soft, sincere voice, "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess named Christina who was just like you and she lived in a castle. One day, Christina wanted to runaway into the forest so she did. As she ran through the forest, she stepped on an anaconda and it ate her and then she died. The end." Then she'd turn around, turn off the lights, and leave me in the dark.
  
  Another story involves me being five or six. I remember standing in the doorway of our kitchen, watching my mother slice fish. She saw me in the corner of her eye, but stood there silently slicing the skin as I watched. Then suddenly, she stopped, and as she raised her butcher knife, shaking, she turned towards me wide-eyed and psycho. "Mommy? ...." I whispered in horror. Then she said in her best Exorcist voice: "I'm not your mom!" I'm pretty sure I heard her laughing as I ran in away in sheer terror.
  
  The story that tops them all though (This is the last one, I have so many) is what I refer to as The Homeless Guy Story. My sister and I shared the same room and bed, situated near what was once our backyard sink and washing machine. One day as I was getting ready for Driver's Ed class, my sister lay on the bed listening to the water run outside.
  
  Z.: Tina, where's mom?
  Me: In the kitchen.
  Z.: And uncle?
  Me.: He's not here yet.
  Z.: And dad is in California.
  Me: Yeah.
  Z.: And papa's in the living room.
  Me: Yeah.
  Z.: So if you're here with me ... Who's outside?
  
  There was a long silence between us. My sister jumped up, ripped open the blinds, and looked.
  
  Z.: Tina. There's a man outside. And he's not wearing pants.
  
  I ran to my mom who was in the kitchen and I told her what my sister saw. My mother wasn't phased and said, "I'll check, but I think your sister is trying to scare you." As she went towards the back, I ran back to my room just in time to hear her scream, "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!"
  
  (Or some shit, like that. I don't remember, but it was funny)
  
  It was a homeless guy in our backyard who was brushing his teeth with the toothbrush we use to scrub tires. And like my sister said, he wasn't wearing any pants.
  
  The man apologized profusely and explained that he just needed a place to brush his teeth and as soon as he could spit, he would leave. My mother surprisingly cooled down but kept her stern demeanor and told him he had to leave quickly.
  
  She went back into the house and called the police who said they would be there immediately. When she went back to check on the man, she caught him stealing.
  
  This is where we say, "The shit hit the fan."
  
  My mother ran back into the house to get a baseball bat. Remember, she is a short Filipino woman and this guy was an average Caucasian man. As she came out, she found him walking away with our stuff. We didn't see it (as we, ourselves, didn't want to get our face accidentally smashed in) but we could definitely hear it. My mother cornered this poor bastard and started swinging away.
  
  "YOU MESS WITH DA WRONG ONE, BRADDAH! IMMA KICK YOUR ASS, BRADDAH!" was all you could hear.
  
  It's safe to say that at that moment, my mother would've pummeled Hulk Hogan and made him cry.
  
  The guy, luckily, got away right when the police came. Though they found the whole story pretty funny, they warned my mother that she shouldn't try to do that if the situation ever came up again as criminals (unfortunately) have more rights than citizens. When we checked on what the guy stole, he took away a bottle of old pennies we left outside, a pair of pants (obviously), and my bright orange bikini bottom for non-obvious, but probably perverted reasons. The guy never came back and although he took a few things from us, he left us with a memory of our mother as a lion'ess.
  
  It seems like a strange thing to say, but I'm pretty grateful for all of the strange stories I have of her. I could've ended up with a boring mother, but instead I got someone who helped shaped my  sense of humor. I'm not sure how I'm going to top her with my kids. I'm definitely stealing that bed time story and making it my own, though.
  
  
  

  • 7:50 AM
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