My mother is a loose-cannon; I think that's been made clear. She's so tightly wound in her conservative Republican, evangelical Christian ways that my liberal, bleeding heart skips a beat whenever I can shock and appall her. And today was no exception.
The past few days have been amazing for me creatively. I've come up with some great jokes and gotten pretty good feedback via texts and Facebook comments...at least from my target audience. On Saturday, I came up with a joke about how I want Alabama meteorologist James Spann to co-host a talkshow with a Hispanic, and the show has to be called "Spick and Spann." Severely racist, I know, but nothing is sacred, so I texted it to a few people--mostly my liberals who would think it was funny because of the pun and the outrageousness of it, and not because they enjoy racist jokes. I got a good response and came out with a less regional version in case my Facebook friends weren't familiar with James Spann and I posted it: "I think the phrase 'spick and span' is very racist considering the large number of Hispanics in the janitorial industry."
I also came up with "The child who has been screaming in this restaurant throughout my entire lunch reinforces my pro-choice stance," which was even more well-received, probably because we've all had meals ruined by ill-mannered parents who bring their undisciplined kids to restaurant and let them run a muck like they're at Chuck E. Cheese.
Capitalizing on the baby-killing success of my abortion joke, I followed it up with "I'm going to be terribly upset if they kill the baby in Paranormal Activity 2...unless it cries a lot, and then all bets are off."
Then, I've been talking to this really aloof girl lately and can't get a read on whether or not she's interested, so I got to thinking: is she being aloof because she's playing "the game"? Is she debating if she's interested? Is she hatching a plan to abduct me and sell me to a Russian businessman in the international sex trade, because (and then I was inspired by Jackie Kashian) I know people look at me and think "Wow! I bet he's a tiger in bed!" and I hate to ruin the fantasy, but no, I'm not. Do you want to know what I'm like in bed? I'm a lot like I am in everyday life: socially awkward and kind of lethargic. And then a shortened version of that thought process became my next Facebook status, and again, I was praised for my comedic genius.
So today marked Day 4 of my creative streak, and still thinking about the aloof girl and regretting having told her that I'm a Taylor Swift fan, I began to analyze why anyone--other than Kanye--would hate Taylor. Slowly, I began to accept that some on her songs are a bit whiny and melodramatic--particularly that song "Fifteen" about her friend who loses her virginity to a guy who turns out to be an asshole. And then LIGHTBULB! "That song could be called 'Broken Hymen, Broken Heart'." I was so proud of myself! I added afterwards that that is also the title of my Lifetime movie. I posted it on Facebook, tweeted it to a few close friends, and I was so excited, I even had to tell my mother.
Needless to say, she said that the joke was terrible and I was terrible and she doesn't know where I get my dark, liberal, vulgar sense of humor and she just prays that one day as I get older, I'll outgrow it--as if it's a bad habit like picking my nose or leaving dirty laundry on my bedroom floor. So, as fun as horrifying Mom with the joke was, my real joy came about an hour later as I was driving and thought to myself: "I should add some CDs to my Christmas list. Would anything be better than Mom asking the clerk at Wal-Mart 'Do you have the new Shakira album "Dirty Sanchez"? No? Well, what about Buddy Holly's "Cleveland Steamer"? No, you don't have that one either, eh? Well, the only other one on the list is Kenny Chesney's "Tossed Salad." Do you have that one?'" I literally laughed off and on every time I thought about it for half an hour. Even now, six hours later, I've got a huge grin on my face just picturing her naively saying crass sexual slang to some 17 year boy who's shitting himself laughing and waiting for his shift to be over so he can call everyone he knows to recount the story of the middle-aged women who wanted a Lady Gaga CD called "Blumpkin."
As I become the next Chelsea Handler, with book deals, my own TV shows (Chelsea's getting another one called "After Lately" that will be like Curb Your Enthusiasm set in her office), and have a mattress stuffed with $100 bills, I will call my stand up tour "The 'Breaking Hymens, Breaking Hearts' Tour" and I'll comp your ticket because we're old friends.