It's So Hard To Type With A Gun In My Mouth (7 page)

I called Judy to tell her I might be bringing my mother. Her immediate reaction, "Love, are you out of your mind? You can't go to dinner with your mother, and you're thinking of taking her half way round the world."  Judy was right, as she always was; there was no way I could take my mother on a vacation. Flash cut. My mother and I sitting in the first class lounge of Qantas Airlines.  We're on a sofa next to an elderly woman and my mother is chatting up a storm. "My husband just died. It was a long illness. Longer for him than for me." Out come the tissues. In mid sentence she stops and notices the food table in the corner, "Look there's a buffet." and goes back to boring this stranger about the details of her husband's death. "We didn't have an open casket... he wasn't that good looking alive I'm certainly not going to show him dead". I cringe. Someone asks me a question, I look away for a 1/10th of a second and when I look back, my mother is gone. I scanned the room and found her. The blood drained from my face. There was my mother at the buffet table with her purse wide open and she was cramming it with whatever she could get her hands on. Oranges, bananas, apples, napkins, silverware, toothpicks... you name it, she was shoveling it. I ran to her...  "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"   "We'll need food on the long flight."  "WE'RE GOING FIRST CLASS. THIS IS QANTAS NOT A LEWIS AND CLARK EXPEDITION." "SHUT UP. I want this fruit."  We are five minutes into the trip and they need a crowbar to get my hands from around her neck.

I grab my suitcase and I leave for the gate. I want nothing to do with her. I'm walking down the long corridors at LAX which are divided by moving walkways. Behind me I hear the "click, click, click" of my mothers high heels... "Click, click, click"... then silence as she gets on the moving walkway... "Click, click, click"... then silence as she gets on the walkway... "Click, click, click"... then "OMPH!!!" I don't turn around, but an orange rolls past me. I turn and she's spread eagle on the floor surrounded by oranges and grapes and pineapples, napkins and forks. I walk back, "You ok?"  She nods and I step over the body as she sits there gathering her groceries.

Cut to me on the plane sitting in first class. My mother soon follows behind... she's eating a banana. Now I don't know if you've ever been in first class on a 747 but it's huge and at the bulkhead of each seat is a large storage bin. My mother opens it and dumps in her cache of stolen food. About this time the flight attendant approaches with a leather amenities kit. My mother takes hers and tosses it into the bin. The flight attendant leaves and my mother hits the "call button". Another flight attendant approaches. My mother says, " I didn't get an amenities kit." To which I say..."WHAT!"  And my mother's eyes open the size of dinner plates. I know this look. This is the "Shut your mouth or you’re out of the will." look. 

Cut to baggage claim.  Our suitcases come up and my mother says with glee..."Look, they ripped my luggage."  Now you have to know what this luggage is...what's lower than K-Mart. Salvation Army?  That's what this luggage looked like. I beg her,  "Don't start. Please. We just arrived in a foreign land... don't declare war." And she's off to the claim's office.  I sit there for an hour and finally go to find her. I open the door of the claim's office and as God is my judge this is what I hear my mother saying. "No, what do YOU think it's worth." She gets an entire set of new luggage from Qantas because, "I'm not traveling with an unmatched set.", this coming from a woman who re-washes zip-lock bags.

So the trip was a never-ending story of battles and losses. Wherever she went she stole. She took the towels from the hotel, the alarm clock, the brochures, sugar packets, if it was there she threw it in her bag, which now weighed the same as a small Volkswagen. I begged her to get rid of this crap. I was the one carrying the suitcases. "Please throw this shit out. " "No! I need them for gifts."  "Gifts?" Who goes to Australia and comes back to say, "Here. I was in Sydney and I brought you a packet of EQUAL????"

The trip was two weeks of living hell. She was a human vacuum cleaner sucking up whatever wasn't nailed down. I was embarrassed beyond words but I made it, holding on to what was left of my sanity. Cut to the return flight. At this point we're not talking. I hate her and her 398 pound carry on and she hates me for not being an accountant. We're approaching LAX and we are so close to landing the flaps are down and the landing gear is being deployed. My mother rings for the flight attendant. She approaches and my mother says, "Can I have a deck of cards." And, people, it was the last straw and I go ballistic.  Two weeks of pent up anger comes out in First class. "A DECK OF CARDS!!! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU NEED A DECK OF CARD FOR!!!  OH I FORGOT YOU STOLE THE CARD TABLE FROM THE HOTEL. I'M SICK OF IT, YA HEAR ME...SICK OF IT!!!" I've pulled off my seat belt and I'm standing in the aisle. And now I look like a raving lunatic...everyone is diverting his or her eyes. The flight attendant is trying to get me seated for landing. I can see the headlines, "Comedian arrested on plane".  My mother says to the flight attendant, "He's been impossible the entire trip."

We land and I bolt from the plane. I'm the first one at customs. My mother is about 20 people back and like Damien possessed me I say to the customs inspector. "I don't know if this is anything or not. But see that woman in the black suit. She's been acting suspicious the whole trip."  Two and a half hours later my Mommy is still in customs. I can see her as the door opens and closes; they have the hotel towels and the alarm clocks (plural) and the brochures and napkins and smuggled fruit spread all over the counter. About 30 minutes later she comes out, suitcase wrapped in masking tape. She rolls right past me and turns. "I will never go to Australia with you again." And storms off to the taxi. I spend the next six months in therapy.

March 9, 2006 -
MY FIFTIETH BRITHDAY

Ok, so now we all know what hell I went through on the first trip. It was a nightmare. So for my birthday, the following year, I think, "I just need some quality time with Judy, besides, it's my birthday. I've been a good boy. I've earned it" However, about a month before my birthday my mother calls to see what I'm doing on my "special day". "Oh I don't know. I think I'll go to see Judy".  I can feel the ice forming on the phone. "Really... Judy, huh... well I think you should come to Florida and see me!" she orders.  " Mom, it's my birthday and I want to go to Australia."  Long pause... " OK, then you go to Australia. You do whatever you want, no matter who it hurts."  I have never heard her like this. She has become possessed. It's like the Stephen King novel when the gypsy whispers the curse, "Thinner". And I get a chill down my spine... I know my trip has just been cursed. "Oh, don't be silly... what could she do, you ask". YOU don't know MY mother.

I have enough frequent miles to go to Sydney first class.  But my friend, Dina, wants to go with me so I tell her. "I'll get you a ticket with my miles and then I'll contact one of my flight attendant friends and get a buddy pass (this was before 9/11) and I'll go with her." It's a long story, but I created a company that did plastic surgery for flight attendants and I had hundreds of flight attendants connections. And if I may add, flight attendants are the most under-rated class of people flying today. They bust their humps for slobs on airlines and get their pensions revoked as a bonus. In any case, I'm wandering.

So the day we are leaving. I put the dogs in the kennel and I close up the house. Dina comes over and I take HER to the airport. She takes my luggage and she's off to the warm, sunny beaches of Sydney. My plane leaves in three hours so I drive home and my other friend Bennet Yellin (writer of Dumb and Dumber) comes to my house and takes me to the airport. I get to the gate. The flight is cancelled.  I call Bennet he comes back and gets me. But not to worry there is another flight leaving tomorrow "We'll get you on that one".  The curse is starting.

Next day same routine...dogs to kennel... close up house...Bennet to airport. Bad weather.  Curse. Now, Dina's in Sydney with MY luggage. My underwear is in Australia... I'm in LA.  Next day... same routine... dogs, house, ride... over booked. Curse. This goes on for days until I realize that if I left now... I would arrive in Australia the day AFTER my birthday (because of the international dateline) and would miss my birthday all together. The curse thickens. I call Dina, who is staying with Judy... someone she does not know and I tell her I'm not coming and to enjoy the vacation she's having with my frequent flier miles. She can't talk... she's going to the beach! FUCK!

I go home. I get the dogs OUT of the kennel. I fill the house with food. I open the shutters and have myself a good sit on the pity pot. (This is the time I watched Schindler's List to try to cheer up). While I'm watching the movie the phone rings. It's a flight attendant in San Francisco she tells me the flight to Sydney is wide open if I can get to SFX I can make it out tonight. Adrenaline rush. The dogs go back to the kennel. I close up the house. I take the food and bring it next door. "Here take this. I beg you ... take me to the airport". They are eating dinner and get up from the table to take me.

We get to the airport; the line to SFX is out the door. They've had mechanical trouble and two planes did not take off; these are the people who didn't get on the earlier planes. I think. "How could all these people piss off my mother?" I'm desperate. I find a flight attendant... "Get me on that plane and I'll get you a free facelift."  "Honey, you'll get on that plane if you have to go as luggage". The plane to Sydney leaves at 10 p.m., the plane from LAX lands at 8 p.m., we have plenty of time. Oh you'd think so, wouldn't you! We are held on the runway for one and a half hours. Curse. I land in SFX at 9:35. We land at gate 6, the flight to Sydney leaves from gate 96. So I run... run like I've never run before. I get to the gate three beats short of a heart attack... its 9:58. There are 14 standbys. I'm 14. They take 13 standbys and close the door. The stress of the last three days hits me. I start crying like a five year old who just lost his Dancing Elmo.

The counter rep, a huge, doe eyed, black woman sees me crying. She leans over the counter and puts her arms around me. I will never forget this act of love till the day I die. "I don't know if I should tell you this or not." she begins," You just flew up from LA, didn't you?"  I nod through my tears. "Well, honey, there was a misconnect in LA. 138 people missed the plane. If you had stayed in LA, you would have been on your way to Sydney." And I instantly know that God did not want me in Australia on this birthday. "Ok, I'll get back to LA." We have closure. I turned around and the United Counter was dark, the American counter was dark, Continental, Delta...the entire airport was dark. No one was flying out of SFX that night. I was stuck in San Francisco. Curse...no wait...this is not a curse. San Fran is a great place to celebrate your birthday. I'll get a hotel room, I'll see a show, and I'll go out to dinner. 

I start calling around for a hotel room but there appeared to be a gay horse breeder or a gay cow breeder or a gay goat breeder convention in town and there wasn't a single room available... not one. Not a Motel 6, not a Marriott, nothing! Now it's midnight and I'm wandering around SFX.... it's my birthday, no one cares. I am exhausted and find a corner to lie down on and fall asleep... and that's how I spent my birthday...sleeping on the floor of San Francisco International Airport in my navy blue cashmere rain coat.

And as I'm drifting off I hear my mother's voice whisper in my ear...."thinner"

                              March 10,2006 -
VERN

So, here's today's story. The house I owned before the one in Bel Air was in Northridge. You remember Northridge... 1994 earthquake. Oh yes, that's right, Mr. Lucky bought a house right over the San Andres fault. Why? I couldn't find one in Hell!  There hasn't been an earthquake in Northridge in 1500 years. I move in and Bingo... 8.9 shaker. But that's another story... for another day... today I want to tell you about my neighbor in Northridge, Vern.

The day I bought the house Vern came over to introduce himself. He was a slight man, salt and pepper hair, fair complexion. He was Ohio, Utah and Iowa all rolled up into one. He was your Uncle, the postman, literally, the guy next door... he was the whitest man I've ever seen.  He looked like Mr. Green Jeans on chemo.  He was married to Nell... Vern and Nell... E-I-E-I-O.  Vern was very friendly.... so friendly you wanted to take the gas pipe every time he came over. "So whatcha doin', Stevarino?"  Nell, on the other hand, was a little less friendly. Once in a while you'd see her dart in front of a window or open the door to suck in the mail, but it was like living next to The Bates Motel. The mother was there but she wasn't.

So a few years passed and Vern was a royal pain in the ass... Nell was invisible. At one point the other neighbors thought she might be buried under the roses. But I was cordial; after all, they had the house right next door. I had been on the road for a month and when I came home Vern was standing in my driveway with tears in his eyes. "My Nell has Cancer."  It was a horrific day and we talked and I told him if there was ANYTHING I could do... just ask.  Wasn't six weeks later when Nell passed.  Wasn't ten weeks later when I noticed Vern with blonde hair... at twenty weeks he had a ponytail and cut off micro-mini shorts. Vern was coming over more frequently and had been hitting the sauce quite regularly, "Wanna come over and swim in my pool? You could swim naked... no one would see!" I could feel the vomit backing up in my throat. "No, thanks, gee...um... look at the time."