All about my mother.

This past weekend, my mother took me to a spa for a mother/daughter weekend. I mentioned my weekend plan to one of my friends on Friday and she jokingly (and deservedly) called me a spoiled brat. And I would normally agree with her except she doesn't know my mother.

Despite the fact I fully intend to make a fortune off stories about my mom one day, I realize my blog has been noticeably void of such tales. Mainly because, despite my mother's insistence that, "If you're gonna make fun of me, at least make some damn money off it so that you can prop me up in the lifestyle in which I plan to become accustomed," she both loves and hates the mockery I regularly heap upon her and out of respect for the hatred part of that equation, I've thus far left her alone.

Until now.

But before I get into this weekend, here's a quick tale that should provide some insight into the character that is my mother. Last year, I went to visit my cousin in Houston. When I arrived, he had a friend over who upon being introduced to me, asked my cousin, "Wait, is this Snatch's kid?"

I was still trying to get my head wrapped around this question when to my great surprise, my cousin replied, "Yup."

Not surprisingly, I had questions. Apparently my cousin had gone home to visit our family in Paris, TX, where my mother also lives. He'd taken his friend Natalie with him, and for reasons known only to God, she decided to get a bikini wax while there. I've received two bikini waxes in Paris, and I will only say that one almost required surgical intervention and both resulted in me being comped the initial wax in addition to receiving gift certificates to the salons where they were performed. It turns out Natalie's experience was pretty similar to my own, and afterward, she relayed her tales of pain and horror to my cousin who (in what had to have been the nastiest game of "telephone" ever) then shared them with his mother, who in turn shared them with my mom.

Later that night, my cousins and Natalie went to my mother's house for dinner. Upon meeting Natalie, my mom stuck out her hand and said, "Hi, you must be Natalie. How's your snatch?"

With that in mind and an additional side note that Mom just returned from getting a tummy tuck in Albuquerque, I'd like to share a few quotes from the weekend:

"This place smells like a giant fart." - My mother's comment upon entering the lobby of the resort.

"Would you like me to get you lipo for your 30th birthday? Actually, I should probably just give that to you regardless because it's my fault you have the fat cells you do. You know, when you were a baby they thought switching to cereal early was a good thing. But now they know it just makes you a fat grown-up." - She gives and she gives...

"Well, I mean you still look tall, if that's what you're asking." - This was her response following my horror at her suggestion of lipo for my birthday, and asking (via shrieking) if she really thought I needed it. It's also a reference to a comment she made my junior year of college that was met with an equal amount of horror, specifically, "Baby doll, you don't even look tall anymore."

"Dragon butt." - An exclamation that came out of nowhere while we were watching television in our hotel room. After asking what the hell she was talking about, she explained she wanted to clarify her "giant fart" sentiment from several hours earlier. The hotel did not, in fact, smell like a giant fart, but rather "dragon butt".

(pointing at the bra-style hooks in the crotch of her compression garment) "THIS is how you know a man designed this thing. Gettin' this thing unhooked to pee is a nightmare because he put all these little hooky things back by your butt. A woman would have known to stick 'em up by your twat." - Proof my mother's range of epithets for the female anatomy knows no boundary.

"Si." -Her response to a question asked of her in English by a man visiting from France.

Once back from the spa, our weekend concluded with a shopping trip to Costco, during which my mother raised an enormous box of tampons over her head like John Cusack in Say Anything and shouted, "Liz, are these yours???" as I had wandered off to look at the flat screens. And I might normally have been horrified by this, except by that point, she could have run the perimeter of the store shouting "Cooter! Cooter! Cooter!!!" at the top of her lungs and I wouldn't have been the slightest bit fazed.