On the day I left NJ, my mother hugged me from her stair lift chair so tightly that if she had hit the wrong button she surely would have broken my neck and dragged my body up the stairs. I imagine by the fifth stair she would have realized what had occurred and in a panic would reverse directions and run over my corpse.
Once I was safely out of her clutches and 3,000 miles away I called Sybil to thank her for the lovely visit.
Barry: I'm home. Thanks for the tickets.
Sybil: When are you coming again? I enjoyed your visit even if you yelled at me. I just found a picture from your second grade class. I never liked Miss Lolk (my second grade teacher).
Barry: Will let you know. Bye.
Within the week my brother will be visiting Sybil. I would let him guest blog, but I'm too much of a control freak. Seriously what if his writing is better than mine? Hopefully he will give me the details so I can write about his trip or I guess I could read it in the police blotter.
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Monday, June 8, 2015
It puts the lotion in the basket
Among soy packets, medicine bottles, crumbs, a Time magazine about the ongoing hunt for Osama, I found a prescription hand pump full of lidocaine.
Barry: What is this?
Sybil: Can you rub that on my back? Oy. It hurts. That should help.
I should note Sybil wasn't in the kitchen when I asked. I'm pretty sure she would have given me the same response if I was holding a soy packet.
I wasn't sure what to do. Being this is my mother and she gave me life I shouldn't have hesitated to help alleviate her pain. Forty-four minutes later I finally relented.
Barry: Fiiiiiiiiiine I'll do it.
Later that day she tried to get me to do it again. Fool me once...
Barry: Sophia, go help grandma with her special lotion.
Sophia gladly did it. She doesn't know any better and as I said, what's the point of therapy if she hasn't had anything traumatizing happen to her.
I later used the lidocaine to masturbate.
Barry: What is this?
Sybil: Can you rub that on my back? Oy. It hurts. That should help.
I should note Sybil wasn't in the kitchen when I asked. I'm pretty sure she would have given me the same response if I was holding a soy packet.
I wasn't sure what to do. Being this is my mother and she gave me life I shouldn't have hesitated to help alleviate her pain. Forty-four minutes later I finally relented.
Barry: Fiiiiiiiiiine I'll do it.
Later that day she tried to get me to do it again. Fool me once...
Barry: Sophia, go help grandma with her special lotion.
Sophia gladly did it. She doesn't know any better and as I said, what's the point of therapy if she hasn't had anything traumatizing happen to her.
I later used the lidocaine to masturbate.
Friday, June 5, 2015
Choke on it - Dinner with mom
Is there really anything better than sharing a meal with family?
On the second night of the trip, we decided to venture out and eat dinner in Ridegwood. It's a town a few miles from Hillsdale. Picture Hillsdale, but the bagel store is on the left side of the street instead of the right, and there is zero parking. I circled the place we planned to eat a few times, cursing the parking situation, while simultaneously smiling at the fact there was a Ben and Jerry's walking distance from the restaurant. Finally I gave up and dropped Sybil at the front door. I told her to get a table while Sophia and I found parking. Luckily we found a spot exactly three spaces up from Ben and Jerry's (very important fact).
Sophia and I walked in the restaurant where we found Sybil scowling. In all of this, it's best to picture me as dynamite and Sybil as a child throwing lit matches in my direction.
Barry: What's wrong?
Sybil: You dropped me at the side door. I had to walk past three other doors to get in.
Barry: Who cares.
With no response from Sybil, the conversation was over.
A few minutes later...
Sybil: This food is good, but it could be a touch hotter. Just a touch. (Massive steam coming off her plate)
We then fought over the check. By fought, I mean she watched as I paid and I punched her in my mind.
Barry: So I parked three spots up from Ben and Jerry's. Can you walk to the car? You want to get ice cream?
Sybil: Yes I can make it, but I don't want to go in the ice cream shop. Get me a sundae with caramel sauce. I'll wait in the car. Don't forget the cherry.
Barry: Okay see you in a few minutes.
Sophia and I walked over to get ice cream while Sybil shuffled off down the street. With ice cream in tow, I proceeded to the car. One spot, two spots, three spots. Damn where did the car go? Four spots, five spots, six spots, seven spots, eight spots. Could I have parked this far away? Nine spots, ten spots, that looks like it, but I don't see Sybil. I stare right into the windshield of Sybil's car, but I don't see her. Finally I move out of the glare and notice Sybil squinting like a one eyed pirate waving me aboard with her hook. In actuality it was a serious grimace and her using her fingers to point/wave at me.
I opened the car door and handed Sybil her two scoops. As she grabbed them with her claws, she started screaming at the top of her lungs that the car was ten spots up and not three.
BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE!!!! "
Barry: What the fuck is the difference? Three spots? Ten? You could use the exercise. CHOKE ON YOUR ICE CREAM!"
At this point Sybil tried to twist the whole thing around and tell me that isn't how you treat your mother especially in front of your daughter. She then ate her ice cream.
Do I regret snapping in front of my five year old? Of course. Would I do it again and again and again? It's a safer bet than thinking Sybil would pay for my ticket on the next visit.
I later explained to Sophia that this isn't how you treat a parent and there are extenuating circumstances at play. She told me she understood. Pretty sure what was saved in plane tickets will be spent on therapy.
Choke on it (according to Webster's Dictionary) - When my brother was a teenager, he was fighting with my mother while she was eating and he screamed "choke on it." In the years to follow I would take the statement and make it my own. Every time I would fight with Sybil I would say it eventually. I'm not sure if I wanted her to choke on her words or I somehow wanted Darth Vader power to spontaneously make her choke. I'm 39 now and still saying it with the venom of a stupid teenager.
The key to a happy healthy life is consistency.
On the second night of the trip, we decided to venture out and eat dinner in Ridegwood. It's a town a few miles from Hillsdale. Picture Hillsdale, but the bagel store is on the left side of the street instead of the right, and there is zero parking. I circled the place we planned to eat a few times, cursing the parking situation, while simultaneously smiling at the fact there was a Ben and Jerry's walking distance from the restaurant. Finally I gave up and dropped Sybil at the front door. I told her to get a table while Sophia and I found parking. Luckily we found a spot exactly three spaces up from Ben and Jerry's (very important fact).
Sophia and I walked in the restaurant where we found Sybil scowling. In all of this, it's best to picture me as dynamite and Sybil as a child throwing lit matches in my direction.
Barry: What's wrong?
Sybil: You dropped me at the side door. I had to walk past three other doors to get in.
Barry: Who cares.
With no response from Sybil, the conversation was over.
A few minutes later...
Sybil: This food is good, but it could be a touch hotter. Just a touch. (Massive steam coming off her plate)
We then fought over the check. By fought, I mean she watched as I paid and I punched her in my mind.
Barry: So I parked three spots up from Ben and Jerry's. Can you walk to the car? You want to get ice cream?
Sybil: Yes I can make it, but I don't want to go in the ice cream shop. Get me a sundae with caramel sauce. I'll wait in the car. Don't forget the cherry.
Barry: Okay see you in a few minutes.
Sophia and I walked over to get ice cream while Sybil shuffled off down the street. With ice cream in tow, I proceeded to the car. One spot, two spots, three spots. Damn where did the car go? Four spots, five spots, six spots, seven spots, eight spots. Could I have parked this far away? Nine spots, ten spots, that looks like it, but I don't see Sybil. I stare right into the windshield of Sybil's car, but I don't see her. Finally I move out of the glare and notice Sybil squinting like a one eyed pirate waving me aboard with her hook. In actuality it was a serious grimace and her using her fingers to point/wave at me.
I opened the car door and handed Sybil her two scoops. As she grabbed them with her claws, she started screaming at the top of her lungs that the car was ten spots up and not three.
BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE!!!! "
Barry: What the fuck is the difference? Three spots? Ten? You could use the exercise. CHOKE ON YOUR ICE CREAM!"
At this point Sybil tried to twist the whole thing around and tell me that isn't how you treat your mother especially in front of your daughter. She then ate her ice cream.
Do I regret snapping in front of my five year old? Of course. Would I do it again and again and again? It's a safer bet than thinking Sybil would pay for my ticket on the next visit.
I later explained to Sophia that this isn't how you treat a parent and there are extenuating circumstances at play. She told me she understood. Pretty sure what was saved in plane tickets will be spent on therapy.
Choke on it (according to Webster's Dictionary) - When my brother was a teenager, he was fighting with my mother while she was eating and he screamed "choke on it." In the years to follow I would take the statement and make it my own. Every time I would fight with Sybil I would say it eventually. I'm not sure if I wanted her to choke on her words or I somehow wanted Darth Vader power to spontaneously make her choke. I'm 39 now and still saying it with the venom of a stupid teenager.
The key to a happy healthy life is consistency.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
All you need is a dollar and a dream
For as long as I can remember Sybil has had a weird obsession with scratch off lotto tickets. I can sorta understand the instant gratification of winning, but it just seems like such a low class form of gambling. And if there is anything my family knows about it's class. Why couldn't she be obsessed with baccarat? It would get her that much closer to being a Bond villain. But alas, she likes to buy one dollar, three dollar, and sometimes twenty dollar tickets at the local Quick Check.
Not the point of the story but a funny side note is that when she buys them she usually can't wait to get home and insists on borrowing a penny from the "give a penny, take a penny" jar and scratches them at the counter. In a pinch she will use her mauve finger nail, but rest assured either way she is taking and keeping a penny. It is very amusing to watch her do this while the people in line behind her have to wait. She gives zero fucks.
During my visit I quickly realized that my mother and five year old daughter both shared a love of scratching. What a great way for them to spend some time together. Both like to make messes and neither know how to read to see if they won. The first night I was there my mother bought a bunch of tickets and gave some to Sophia to scratch (only the dollar ones). Shockingly, winner, winner, chicken dinner! Sophia's furious scratching netted $25! The next morning I was walking out the door when Sybil asked me to cash in the tickets for more tickets. She gave me very specific denominations to get. One five dollar, one ten, two threes, and four ones. I obliged, and handed her the tickets upon my return and went and hid in my room.
Ten minutes later my kid came in with a sad look on her face. I asked if grandma told her she had my nose again, but as it turns out, what grandma Sybil did was much worse. She scratched all the tickets and didn't share.
I sat there for a second as a little vein started throbbing in my head. I was in Sybil's house less than 24 hours and it was go time.
I jumped on my mother's stair lift and patiently rode it to the first floor to confront her. A million scenarios ran through my head:
A. Do I kill her? Would my daughter be able to keep this quiet?
B. Do I rub the bagel and lox she was eating in her face? I did buy it after all.
C. Do I just yell like a fucking lunatic?
I chose C.
Barry: Are you fucking kidding me? You didn't share with her? Are you a fucking animal? She is five and your grand-daughter. It was an activity to do together.
Sybil: I bought the tickets, so if I don't want to share I don't have to.
Barry: You really are an asshole.
Sybil: Don't talk to me like that. Where do you want to have lunch?
We went to the Fireplace.
Not the point of the story but a funny side note is that when she buys them she usually can't wait to get home and insists on borrowing a penny from the "give a penny, take a penny" jar and scratches them at the counter. In a pinch she will use her mauve finger nail, but rest assured either way she is taking and keeping a penny. It is very amusing to watch her do this while the people in line behind her have to wait. She gives zero fucks.
During my visit I quickly realized that my mother and five year old daughter both shared a love of scratching. What a great way for them to spend some time together. Both like to make messes and neither know how to read to see if they won. The first night I was there my mother bought a bunch of tickets and gave some to Sophia to scratch (only the dollar ones). Shockingly, winner, winner, chicken dinner! Sophia's furious scratching netted $25! The next morning I was walking out the door when Sybil asked me to cash in the tickets for more tickets. She gave me very specific denominations to get. One five dollar, one ten, two threes, and four ones. I obliged, and handed her the tickets upon my return and went and hid in my room.
Ten minutes later my kid came in with a sad look on her face. I asked if grandma told her she had my nose again, but as it turns out, what grandma Sybil did was much worse. She scratched all the tickets and didn't share.
I sat there for a second as a little vein started throbbing in my head. I was in Sybil's house less than 24 hours and it was go time.
I jumped on my mother's stair lift and patiently rode it to the first floor to confront her. A million scenarios ran through my head:
A. Do I kill her? Would my daughter be able to keep this quiet?
B. Do I rub the bagel and lox she was eating in her face? I did buy it after all.
C. Do I just yell like a fucking lunatic?
I chose C.
Barry: Are you fucking kidding me? You didn't share with her? Are you a fucking animal? She is five and your grand-daughter. It was an activity to do together.
Sybil: I bought the tickets, so if I don't want to share I don't have to.
Barry: You really are an asshole.
Sybil: Don't talk to me like that. Where do you want to have lunch?
We went to the Fireplace.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Philip Roth
A good quote from Philip Roth that pretty much sums up my trip to see my mother and my life in general.
"A Jewish man with parents alive is a fifteen-year-old boy, and will remain a fifteen-year-old boy till they die"
"A Jewish man with parents alive is a fifteen-year-old boy, and will remain a fifteen-year-old boy till they die"
Betting Man
For the last few months, Sybil has been hounding me to visit. Since there was no good way to spin a trip to the 25 Taylor Street pain cave, I decided the best approach would be to piggy back a vacation my brother planned back east to Sag Harbor. Something about him renting a house, having a car service pick up Sybil, blah, blah, blah. In theory it sounded like a great way to visit without really visiting. There would be enough distractions and people that I could possibly avoid talking to Sybil the entire time. My daughter could play with my brother's daughter and I more importantly could hide while other people dealt with Sybil requesting her tomato be sliced extra thin. "No, that isn't thin enough. Do it again."
When I told Sybil the glorious plan she immediately said no. She needed to see me and my brother and our collective children separately. I would like to say this had to do with her being lonely and wanting to spread out people visiting, but I think it had more to do with her driving home that my brother and I should be close but not that close. I responded by saying well I guess I'm not coming then because that's the only free time I have.
SO THEN DON'T COME!
That was the end of it until I realized I had two days off Memorial Day weekend. Hmmmm, four days off. That's nice. What should I do? Let me think about that for a bit. Mid-day Tuesday before the weekend in question I called Sybil and told her about my four days off and if I only knew sooner I would have come for a visit. If I had stopped there I would have been free, but I added the following, "Well, I know it's short notice but if you want to pay for the tickets, I will come visit."
I thought the empty gesture was the equivalent of me standing in an OTB with the sports almanac from Back to the Future in one hand and a dozen tickets for American Pharoah in the other. I thought I had a sure thing!
Sybil: How much are the tickets?
Barry: Let me look... $2600 plus tax on United.
Sybil: Call me in a bit and I will give you a credit card.
Barry (quietly): okay
I sat there for a moment wondering if she was serious. Would she really spend the money? A few minutes later I got a confirmation email from United. She booked the trip for me.
I truly gambled and lost.
More on the trip later.
When I told Sybil the glorious plan she immediately said no. She needed to see me and my brother and our collective children separately. I would like to say this had to do with her being lonely and wanting to spread out people visiting, but I think it had more to do with her driving home that my brother and I should be close but not that close. I responded by saying well I guess I'm not coming then because that's the only free time I have.
SO THEN DON'T COME!
That was the end of it until I realized I had two days off Memorial Day weekend. Hmmmm, four days off. That's nice. What should I do? Let me think about that for a bit. Mid-day Tuesday before the weekend in question I called Sybil and told her about my four days off and if I only knew sooner I would have come for a visit. If I had stopped there I would have been free, but I added the following, "Well, I know it's short notice but if you want to pay for the tickets, I will come visit."
I thought the empty gesture was the equivalent of me standing in an OTB with the sports almanac from Back to the Future in one hand and a dozen tickets for American Pharoah in the other. I thought I had a sure thing!
Sybil: How much are the tickets?
Barry: Let me look... $2600 plus tax on United.
Sybil: Call me in a bit and I will give you a credit card.
Barry (quietly): okay
I sat there for a moment wondering if she was serious. Would she really spend the money? A few minutes later I got a confirmation email from United. She booked the trip for me.
I truly gambled and lost.
More on the trip later.
Upon further research I see the almanac only goes up to 2000. Clearly I can't gamble for shit.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
I wish I married someone like you
I called Sybil the other day and she started the conversation with, "I wish I married someone like you." I don't know if it was meant as insult to my dead father or that she felt I was good with my kid or that she recently looked at my bank statement. Odds are it wasn't a compliment. After that she proceeded to ramble the following:
I had a bagel this morning and it was terrible, the Guatemalan who fixed the steps did a good job, the guy who runs the agency who provides my aide came over with his son who has downs, I mean is autistic, and he played with himself, I told him him you don't do that in polite company, my back hurts, when are you coming again, It rained today.
Which led to the following exchange:
Barry: Hold up. Did you just say someone played with themself in your home? How are you glossing over that? How old was he?
Sybil: He was 16 or 17.
Barry: Did he take out his penis?
Sybil: No he stuck his hands down his pants and played with it?
Barry: What did his dad say?
Sybil: Nothing.
Barry: Okay then. I'm at work. Talk to you later.
At that point Sybil just hung up with no good bye, but I know she was thinking "I love you."
Sorry for the delay in posts. I was pretending I cared about work, life, etc. There will be a post a day going forward until I sell this and there is a movie.
I had a bagel this morning and it was terrible, the Guatemalan who fixed the steps did a good job, the guy who runs the agency who provides my aide came over with his son who has downs, I mean is autistic, and he played with himself, I told him him you don't do that in polite company, my back hurts, when are you coming again, It rained today.
Which led to the following exchange:
Barry: Hold up. Did you just say someone played with themself in your home? How are you glossing over that? How old was he?
Sybil: He was 16 or 17.
Barry: Did he take out his penis?
Sybil: No he stuck his hands down his pants and played with it?
Barry: What did his dad say?
Sybil: Nothing.
Barry: Okay then. I'm at work. Talk to you later.
At that point Sybil just hung up with no good bye, but I know she was thinking "I love you."
Sorry for the delay in posts. I was pretending I cared about work, life, etc. There will be a post a day going forward until I sell this and there is a movie.
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