some stories are so funny; we laugh until we cry and some stories are so sad we cry before we finish, but all stories need to be told...

Thursday, March 10, 2011

going cheyenne

it started out so innocently. then again, most addictions do.  it isn’t often that you hear an addict on oprah or dr. phil say “i knew even before i snorted my first line/took my first drink/placed my first bet that i would really like this and would be willing to give up all i’ve worked for, just to be able to be high/drunk/at a casino every day”. innocent and easy is how it all begins.

let me start at the beginning.
i text my boys (not really boys; they are 23 & 20) every day.  twice a day- once first thing in the morning and again before i go to bed.

this all started with a morning text to my 23 year old.

wait, let me go back a little further.

i love to read.  i will read anything; fiction, non-fiction, historical fiction, biographies, poetry, shampoo bottles- anything. okay. i don’t like to read nutrition labels- because i fear that if i know the number of calories per serving, i won’t ever eat that particular item again; sad but true but hardly the point. the point is that a few months ago i read a fascinating book by jim fergus- one thousand white women.  without going into huge detail- blabbedy blah- and for fear of becoming one of those people who advises: “you must read this”, then ruins the book for you by “outlining” the entire story, i will only tell you this: there are indians- as in native americans.  cheyenne to be exact.  and there are white women. duh.  did you know that an indian name is comprised directly from one’s behaviours/traits/characteristics/foibles and can remain the same throughout one’s life or change many times- depending on the person? beguiling, i know and exactly my point.

back to texting my 23 year old son today. at work. he was at work, i was not. in principle i was if you consider i am a stay at home mother; whenever i am at home i am at work- but nobody sees it that way, plus, if i’m not at home, but always with my 4 year old son - fully responsible for his well being and entertainment, then technically i am always at work- even if I am at the playground playing hide n’ seek appearing to be having fun- don’t be mislead. hello, working. 

back to the texting. i try to keep them brief; however, i refuse to use the "lol’s" and "bff’s", i am far too proper to speak that way.  i keep it brief with real words. some days the texts are serious and poignant. sometimes I write songs- or more accurately i change lyrics to other peoples’s songs. but I do try to keep it brief. especially considering my 23 year old is at work.  he is a recent college grad- attempting to get into the military, he works at a highschool as a supervisor for in school suspension kids; so texting him is inappropriate. i try to keep it brief so he can pretend to be looking down at his shoes or his pant cuffs while ever so quickly reading my greeting.

today, as i’ve explained started so very innocently but all escalated so quickly.  i was suddenly unable to stop myself.

things have changed.

my 23 year old used to call me every day. when he was 22 and stateside he would call several times per day. this summer he traveled to egypt working there for 6 months. he returned in december.  in march he turned 23. he doesn’t call so much anymore. 

this morning’s text began much like any other: “happy day to you” and then it all went, well it went cheyenne: “ a very happy day to you, sonwhonevercallsanymore”. i started laughing- quietly at first. “that is my new native american/cheyenne name for you” i explained.


i kept going: it is what i do best in awkard moments: make them even more awkard by merely existing.

“want to know what i call your brother?” (my 23 year old is militant. my 20 year old is not.  he is a poet/writer/musician lover- who cannot ever remember where he is supposed to be/ where he left his cell phone/keys/car/dorm room)- “ i call him: scatteredmindwholosesthings”.
now i was on a roll- laughing hysterically – my typing hands could not keep up with my mind.
“want to know what I call your father?” (foot note- it was a BITTER divorce. BIT-TER.)
“cheapevilmanwithoneblacktoothwhosmokestoomuch”. i was now thoroughly into this: laughing loudly and maniacally. (this is why i stopped getting high. i was that person- the one who was laughing hysterically at the jokes in my head- laughing to a point where i was unable to talk, therefore, unable to share whatever it was that i perceived as so very very funny. i looked like a total freak.)

and yes, even though my son was at work i was now on the unstoppable proverbial roll.

“want to know what I call your grandmother?” (i abhor my mother- we’ve not spoken in years. she is a strange cold woman who should never have birthed children. which she did.  three times. not one of us speaks to her.  an investment banker & financial planner for years she’s now retired and taken up painting; private lessons- the whole shebang. her walls are covered- literally floor to ceiling with her own (bad) artwork)
“i call her: womanwhopaintsbadlyandlovesherselftoomuch”(my mother also calls my children and offers to PAY them if they pretend to ‘simply happen by’ when she has company- we refer to it as “soul- selling”)
“or, or” (i am now writing as if i were speaking- and i am CRACKING MYSELF UP) “or i call her “womanwhopaysgrandchildrenandtakestheirsouls”.
i then text:
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA (i know it should be lol- or something like that, but HAHAHAHAHA is so much more meaningful)

my son texts back: “U R so f-in funny”.

i finish the diatribe with myself “know what i call myself?” (i can barely keep my hands on the keyboard and i am so wishing there were someone home, other than the 4 year old i am in charge of to share this hilarity with) “womanwhotalkstoomuchandhasnomoney”. the tears are streaming down my glittery face (don't ask) and my body is shaking.


i have either (a) lost my mind, (b) gone too far or (c) both.

it is addicting, the cheyenne naming way.

it would make life so much more honest.
instead of awkward introductions – like at parties- where you introduce someone you don’t like to someone you do- sneaking away to explain/gossip “oh, that sherry, i don’t like her much, she slept with my sister’s husband”.  you would simply introduce sherry as “inconsideratebitchwhoruinedmysisterslife”no expalanation needed. no need for sherry to wonder if you know, if you like her or if you have forgiven her. it’s all there – in the name.

having a problem with the lousy neighbor? the nosy drunkard who insists on putting your stroller, legally parked out of the way in the hall, down into the garbage room? next time you are with a friend and bump into him simply introduce him- the cheyenne way “janet, this is grumpyjimthealcoholicwhotouchesthingsthatdontbelongtohimandthinkshimselfsneakywhosassiwillkickifhetouchesmystuffagain”. see? point made.

and now i am off, to text my boys goodnight

peace and love to all,


No comments:

Post a Comment