Madness Mom and Me

Ding-a-Lings at the Dover Library

November 21st, 2009

“I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process.” ~ Vincent Van Gogh

"It's just dad and his ding-a-ling, mom!"

On good days (luckily for me, there were plenty of those) Mom and I spent a lot of time shopping “downtown”. Downtown as in Dover, a cool old town known for its variety of diners, pizzerias, record shops and retail stores like J.C. Penney, Woolworth’s, JJ Newberry and Sears (actual stand-alone department stores, as these were the days long before malls took over the shopping scene). A frequent spot Mom and I would visit was the historical Dover Public Library, a place I always found so intimidating (this old brick building seemed so large to me – it housed dark wooden staircases, creaky banisters and always had a slightly musty mixture of sour and stale smells. Plus, those never smiling oh-so-serious women who worked there, who always wanted us kids to be quiet – geesh!)

Our library had 45 minutes set aside each week for the moms to browse books on the “mystery” floor, and the children would have story and coloring time downstairs in the “kiddie” area. I remember I couldn’t wait to be grown up, so I could go upstairs and browse all of those alluring adult novels. So there I was with the other kiddies sketching away — a pretty simple concept, until it came time for me to show my inner Degas I just unleased.

(Italian Lesson: Library = biblioteca)

You see, a day or two earlier, I happened to see my Dad in his birthday suit, when I just happened to be strolling by their bedroom while dad was getting dressed for work that morning — oops! I asked my mom what that “thing” was that Dad had kind-of hanging there, and she promptly told me “oh, that’s his ‘ding-a-ling’”. Aha- that Chuck Berry song! Now I know what Chuck was singing about!

Well, you can imagine what our storytime librarian did when a proud little me handed in my drawing of a naked man with his dangling ding-a-ling. My mother was immediately found and pulled aside by the staff to see what was going on in our family. All was explained, and mom told me it may be best to keep my new ding-a-ling findings to myself.

Dover Library c1911

OK, Ding-a-ling talk is now over, hope you enjoyed. Now please go back to the home of Madness: www.madnessmomandme.com.

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Posted in Ding-a-ling Drawing, Dover, Dover Library, NJ, madness, madness mom & me, madnessmomandme, mom & me, mom and me | 1 Comment »

Meeting Patti Ann

October 12th, 2009

“If you have one true friend, you have more than your share.” ~ Thomas Fuller

The coolest little outfit, too!

Patti Ann had long, shiny strawberry-blond hair. It was such a rare shade, which was bestowed upon only a select few, and its hue had powers to mesmerize you. Being Italian, many heads of hair in our family were sporting the typical Italian color palette of locks. Shades of medium chestnut to a deep espresso brown-black (except for my mom, of course, who enjoyed showing off her gorgeous thick mane of true red).

Patti Ann’s her younger John had a vibrant head of reddish hair, but this pair represented only two of the four Sullivan children (the other two boys had dark brown hair). Looking back, I often wonder if the postman, or perhaps a handsome neighbor had red hair. The Sullivan house was adjacent to our back yard, so we could just cut across the tiny little maze of bushes and, VIOLA! we’d be in their backyard. Life always seemed a bit more fun at PattiAnn’s yard, because they had a three foot above ground pool, a sandbox, a stand-alone playhouse in the backyard and these funny-looking pet rabbits – the kind with snow white fur and those “conjunctivitis-looking” neon pink eyes. Patti Ann was allergic to most animals, so I guess an outdoor rabbit in a wooden hutch was about it as far as furry creatures were concerned. I remember seeing her after one of her routine visits to the allergist, and she’d come home with all these red dots drawn all over her body – it was such a foreign concept to me, mysterious and utterly fascinating (what did this madman doctor do to her, stick her with needles everywhere?)

(Italian Lesson: my best friend = mia migliore amica)

Patti Ann was just a mere year older than me, and we had many of the same interests, so we used to hang out a lot together playing records and board games like Operation, Candy Land and our personal favorite, Mystery Date (The Dating Game version for girls). The best version was our own Dating Game which was played on Patti Ann’s kitchen chalkboard. We would sit on the floor next to her basement steps, taking turns drawing three “bachelors” each with very different looks. Usually one was a clean cut cute guy, one was a total long-haired hippe flower-child and one a total geeky nerd. These bachelors would answer questions from the girl making the selection and whomever was playing the part of the guys, would make different voices for each character and answer typical Dating Game questions, like “what is your idea of a great first date?” “what do you look for in a girl?” and “what hobbies do you have?” – it was pretty funny. Ahhhh, so innocent we were.

A but more on the quirky side were my ideas of pretend games and made-up scenerios. My two favs were Orphanage and Sunday Mass. Orphanage goes like this: we’d hang out in my huge playroom on Lehigh Street and just play with toys, games, cars, etc. pretending we were orphans. When mom brought us lunch, we’d pretend it was our porridge or rations and sometimes, when a few of us were in the playroom, one of us would play the parent coming in to look and select their orphan. Where the heck did I come up with that?

Sunday Mass was fun as well. I received a pretty white leather book for my communion which had the entire Catholic Mass written in it, so my cousin Tracy and I would “play” Mass once in awhile. I was the priest of course, and Tracy was my congregation. I would even make my own communion wafers, by making quarter-size disks from the middle of a slice of Wonder Bread (plain store brand white bread if money was tight). I would seriously dispense communion and read the priest’s part from my little book and my congregation (of one) would reply when asked.

Follow me! Single File!

The four of us, me, PattiAnn, Tracy and John would usually be playing together and we’d look forward to our Sunday strolls to a little soda and burger shop named Lobb’s, which was a walk up the “big” Baker Street hill to the next town called Wharton. This great little family soda shop had it all! Bottle Cap candy, Kung Fu and Wacky Pack cards, Bazooka Joe gum, lemon-flavored sugar in a straw,and all the Cheez-Its we could spend our nickels on. Getting there was another matter of business. Patti Ann (who I will now start referring to as Pat) loves to tell – and cherry cokes to wash it down! Pat still tells me to this day that I reminded her of the Lucy character from the Charlie Brown’s Peanuts gang, because I was a bit bossy and made the crew follow me up Baker Hill, single file. Perhaps I was a Lucy Van Pelt-ish drill sergeant, but I kept our walks neat and orderly. We always managed to have fun on our little adventures to Wharton.

Once, on one of our walks we found a middle-aged scruffy looking bearded man sitting in the driver’s side of his old puke-green Chevy Malibu with his ding-a-ling hanging there, just perched in his lap as if it stuck its head out for a little air! We told our parents who probably called the police about it. On future walks I’d be on the lookout for the perv’s pukemobile, but I never spotted the dirty ol’ dude ”hanging” out on any future Sunday walk.

Not a care in the world!

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Posted in Dover, NJ, Pat Sullivan, Patti Ann Sullivan, madness mom & me | 2 Comments »

Turn the car around, Dominic!

September 4th, 2009

“We spend the first twelve months of our children’s lives teaching them to walk and talk and the next twelve telling them to sit down and shut up.” ~ Phyllis Diller

Mom loved the drama!

One of the things I most looked forward to (and some days despised at the same time) were our weekend family day trips. Looking back, it seemed that we all - mom, dad, me and my cousin Tracy – were always jumping in the car to hit the best the New Jersey and Pennsylvania areas had to offer: Turtleback Zoo, Space Farms, Roadside America (a vast indoor miniature village), Bertran’s Island Amusement Park (home of the most rickety old wooden roller coaster in the USA), The Land of Make Believe, Gingerbread Castle, The Snake & Reptile Farm, Jockey Hollow, Jenny Jump Mountain, Jockey Hollow (a “George” Washington slept here type of park) or some other family type destination. Places where the many happy normal families ventured to on the weekends, but being Romano’s, we just didn’t “do” normal.

Bertrand's Island

You may be thinking, why would a little girl despise all of these fun family places? Mom’s in the passenger seat. Driving to and from these events would be a total crap shoot. Would we go in? Would we turn around with me and my cousin Tracy in tears? Would mom throw something out the window? OK, let me explain, here’s a typical scenario: We leave the house with such anticipation of a family fun day ahead. Tracy and I are goofing around all happy and giggly in the back seat (unbuckled of course, as nobody buckled up in those days – we are all ready to be launched out of the car like a cold war nuclear bomb). Tracy and I would often play what we called “Cousin It”, which meant I’d flip my long hair over my face, put sunglasses on over my now hairy cousin it face, and wave my arms like a child maniac to the cars behind us. Our goal was to get the driver or passengers to wave back, offer up a peace sign or simply a smile. Tracy and I made it fun to ride in the car back then, but that was usually only on the way there.

(Italian Lesson: Crazy = Pazzo (a) / it was a crazy idea = era un’ idea folle

When we arrived at our destination brimming with excitement there was still one caveat, and our day’s fate was up to the tar – otherwise known as the parking lot. Yup, the freaking parking lot was our “fortune teller”. If the lot was too crowded, mom would say “Dom, let’s get out of here, this place is too crowded!”. If the parking lot was empty, mom would say “Dom, nobody is here, let’s turn around and go home!”. If Dad put up an argument or disagreed – DRAMA TIME! Mom would take control of the situation her way, which meant throwing something…ANYTHING out of the car window. I’m not talking about a paper cup or trash, but I’m talking her wallet, her shoe or shoes (as if one wasn’t enough), shit – sometimes her whole handbag would go flying out the window if mom was feeling extra dramatic that day! This antic of hers “forced” my poor dad to turn the car around, get out and get her fucking shoe, wallet, purse, whatever it was, and proceed to head home defeated and speechless. After screaming “Nooooooooooo Dad!” and “Come on, Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!” begging mom to stay, the car would soon be heading back to Dover, and Tracy and I would then begin making the nastiest faces at mom and shooting her a violent finger (with both hands!) behind her back (from the back seat, she couldn’t see us of course). Sometimes, we’d first break down in tears at the thought of our totally ruined day - that just sucked. One thing you could count on was that mom would get the finger whenever she turned her back to us for the remainder of THAT day!

Luckily, even with all of the turning around of the car, crying, kicking and screaming, our nutty little family still managed to see so many places over the years. And yes, we usually had a really good time – I have plenty of photos to prove it…REALLY!

Mom gets the Jersey Bird!

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Frenzy, Food & Fits: Help! The foster kids are coming!

August 29th, 2009

“What sane person could live in this world and not be crazy?” ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

One of my many fond memories was when mom used to let me skip school every once-in-awhile, so we could just hang out together for the day. We’d watch TV, make cookies, go shopping, hang out or grab a bite at Grant’s lunch counter in downtown Dover. Grant’s had THE BEST hot dogs, the kind with those squared-off buns which they’d grill with a bit of butter on the delicious toasty bun. To wash it down, Grants had the tastiest icy-cold strawberry thick shakes. Mmmm…lunch at Grant’s was the icing on the cake when you get to play hooky with ma for the day!

I liked being the only child, loved my own space and I did really enjoy my independence (yeah, I probably enjoyed all of the attention too). When I was finishing up seventh grade change was coming, as mom and dad made the decision to try out foster care to take care of local children in need. I guess it was the right thing to do — they loved kids, I was getting older, and we did have a pretty decent size four bedroom Colonial.

I really couldn’t be bothered with the whole foster kid process, I was about to be thirteen – a teenager! I do remember the social worker from the Division of Youth and Family Services (DYFS) meeting with the guidance counselor at my middle school to see if I acted nuts in class, was abused at home, or on the fast track to becoming a wayward Dover youth. Mom and dad were interviewed and background checked, so apparently they passed the requirements. Luckily for mom and dad DYFS did not have a “road test” on their roster. Not that they did anything wrong, of course, they are great and loving parents, but I think we all could have been classified as a bit “off” in a fun crazy kinda way.

We had the Whitman’s Sampler “family pack” of about sixteen various foster kids over the years. When I say variety, I mean it. The Romano family welcomed deaf ones, crazy ones, semi-retarded ones, babies, black, white, mocha, girls, boys, you name it — they were part of our looney spaghetti-and-meatball eating Italian family for a time! Some stayed for only a few weeks, others for months to years — and two are still family to this day. Each comes complete with their own story, and a couple of those stories are pretty heartbreaking, but we’ll get to that much later on.

Maria, Victor & Me

Our debut foster kids were Victor (eight) & Maria (seven) a local Spanish brother and sister duo. They seemed innocent enough. Victor was thin and lanky with such pretty dark brown eyes – almost black. He has the craziest head of hair too, these chocolate-colored tight curls, which if you pulled a lock out to play, it would stretch out about a foot and snap right back into place with a big BO-ING! Maria was a shy and quiet little girl, with such a cute little Cheshire cat smile. She had a lighter hue of ultra crazy afro hair, which when picked it out would resemble a extra large basketball. She used to like it rolled into two Mickey-Mouse ponytails on the either side of her head. I guess that was her mother’s styling, and what mother she was. Correction: mother f*cker. The reason? Her two kids were with us was because she could not cope and I believe a neighbor called social services. Her “failure to cope” was that of a sadistic bitch, since some of her punishments involved making the kids kneel down on sharp cheese graters, burning their butts with lit cigarettes, holding their hands on a hot stove, and forcing them to sit on a hot radiator – these were punishments for wetting the bed (out of fear I am sure) and God knows what else.

Soon after these two siblings entered our world, so did something we Romano’s were not familiar with (we only understood crazy). This was called Hyperactivity. Yeah, we had loud and drama down pat, but this stepped it up a notch.

(Italian Lesson: hyperactive = iperattivo)

Victor was diagnosed as a “hyperactive” kid and came toting Ritalin pills which were given to him at certain times during the day to keep him less hyper I suppose. What a crock! The second or third day Victor threw one of his “fits” as we called them. He would scream – no SCREEEEEEEEEECH at the top of his lungs, punch his arms and flail his tight little balled-up fists in the air, all while jumping up and down NON-STOP!! It was like he was auditioning to play the Zuni fetish doll (that frenzied, totally mad creature starring in Trilogy of Terror).

WHAT THE?? These fits went on for a few days, weeks, etc., and my mom was told that Victor must stay on his meds, and as foster parents, no hitting or spanking of any child would be tolerated. Luckily for me, mom and dad were not hitters – but they were yellers. In fact, they made yelling their own art form. I recall being yelled at by both of them a few times, and at least one (usually my dad) would chase around the dining room table a few times when I was acting fresh. I think the dining room chases were more to burn off steam, because I don’t recall ever being caught, I think it was more for the show of it, or the thrill of scaring the living sh!t out of me. I wonder what would have happened if they ever really did catch my wise-crackin’ ass!

Eventually, my mom thought this whole scene with Victor was total bullshit, so she she took him by the arm and carried out a much-deserved royal crack on his little hyperactive ass! Needless to say, those crazy Zulu fits stopped, and so did the Ritalin.

Mom: One

Ritalin: Zero

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The Jersey Devil’s in the “The Sticks”

August 20th, 2009

“The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist. And like that, poof. He’s gone.” ~ Verbal, The Usual Suspects

Mom grew up a pretty quiet and relatively happy little red-headed girl in the bustling (very Italian) area of Nutley, but when she and her two younger hell-raising sisters (more about them later) were approaching their teenage years, my grandfather Lewis (”Poppa”) was smitten and bitten by the “let’s move the family to a rural area” bug, and he settled on the very isolated (yeah, backwoods) Hopatcong, New Jersey. After visiting the area for a family summer vacation, Poppa was sold on the idea lake living. He imagined boat rides, swimming, his three daughters amazing him with their new found love of diving, family picnics, fishing, a yard with a pool - all that Hopatcong had to offer. Mom was most definitely not sold on any of it. Sorry Hopatcong residents, but mom called that area “the sticks” and still does to this day. (Just remember this was back in the fifties, so it was a bit stick-ish).

Hopatcong (go ahead, you can call it the sticks) is filled with long and winding roads, hungry deer, possums, raccoons and plenty of mosquitoes (ugh – I cannot stand those little blood-sucking bastards). It’s the perfect place a guy like Tony Soprano would send out his wiseguys to dump a tattletale’s body deep in the woods (after dismembering it on the basement butcher table over a few glasses of homemade red)

Mom was not happy, she was a city girl after all, on the verge of hot guys with hot cars, but she really had no choice, so she made the best of it. She’d get really bored with their new found country lifestyle, so to stay out of trouble, she acquired quite the appetite for reading. Mom was a voracious reader, at night she would curl up with her novel, a bag of the always greasy Wise potato chips and bottle of Coca Cola at her side (funny, she still does this to this day).

(Italian Lesson: evil spirit = diavolo / the devil = il diavolo, il demonio)

Speaking of mom’s book collection, when I was a little I remember looking through her collection of books in our hallway bookshelf as if they were candies displayed at the local dime store. Those titles and spicey book jacket descriptions (many with words I did not yet understand) those colorful covers – even the authors’ photos totally fascinated me. My imagination would run wild and I’d dream up my own little stories from mom’s books, and what made it more fun was I really didn’t know the difference from fiction and non-fiction at the time.

Besides books, mom’s teenage years in the fifties consisted of a bit of drag racing adventures, plenty of shopping and, of yeah, the Jersey Devil even made a cameo appearance. What the heck is the Jersey Devil, you might ask? Jersey D, as he is so affectionately known throughout the region, is a supposed mythical creature which has haunted New Jersey for the past 260 years. The rumor is that the little naughty bugger Jersey D. has terrorized towns and even caused factories and schools to close down. Yet, many people believe that the Jersey Devil is a legend, plan ol’ bullshit — a Sasquatch-esque beast simply originated from folklore.

Yes, mom witnessed the Jersey Devil prancing around through the woods one snowy winter day. And yes, he was red disturbing and sinister. (Funny though, I always pictured that little red dude with his tiny pitchfork on the cans of Underwood deviled ham I’d see in the supermarket - what a creepy little shit, if you ask me!)

Is this the little devil mom saw in the woods?

I have no idea what this actually symbolizes, but it is a fact (if you believe in that little red guy). Over 260 people have their own personal sighting tales, although discrepancies in these stories exist, the origins provide some validity to the existence of the Jersey Devil. OK, enough about him, I am starting to get goosebumps.

Jersey Devil, meet mom

The Jersey Devil made me do it! Quickly, let’s back to the home of ”Madness ”: www.madnessmomandme.com

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P.S. This just in: breaking news from mom directly! Mom wants me to be clear about the fact that when she lived in Hopatcong as a teen, she still only had eyes for the “city” boys, and although not a snob, she just wasn’t into country guys. More about mom’s quite interesting romances, black lips, old dudes and stalkers to come.

Posted in The Jersey Devil, madness mom & me, madnessmomandme | 1 Comment »

This little piggy…

August 12th, 2009

“There was an old lady who lived in a shoe – she had so many kids – her uterus fell out” ~ Andrew Dice Clay

While flipping channels on the tube today I happened to stumble across a commercial with a cute nursery rhyme jingle, and it made me think of a few of my favorite expressions mom would say to my younger cousin Tracy and me when we were kids.

Of course, once I recalled these gems I just had to share! If you’re a parent, you may even want to use a one or two on your little monsters.

Chiclets, can you spit some Mom?

Two of my personal favs:

“What do you want me to do, jump up and down and spit Chiclets?”

~ or ~

“What am I supposed to do, shit some out for you?”

An example of usage: say cousin Tracy & I wanted something unattainable at the moment – let’s use chocolate chip cookies as an example — mom would say, ”Do you want me to shit some chocolate chip cookies out for you?” The spitting Chiclets was randomly thrown in to conversation here and there; I guess it’s the visual of mom jumping up and down spitting out Chiclets that used to really get us going a bit wild, then we’d get these type of comments:

“Be quiet or I’ll slap you silly!” (which would make us all googly and act even more silly.)

“Don’t get smart with me” (what ma? you want a dumb child?)

Dad’s favorite line was “do as I say, not as I do” (hey, isn’t that a bit hypocritical dad?)

This one always made me smile:

“What time is it mom?” Mom’s reply would sometimes be:

“Half past the donkey’s ass, quarter to his balls” – Classic!

"Mom, what time did you say it was?"

Bedtime was always a treat too, with this little nugget: “Here is the candle to light you to bed, and here comes to CHOPPER TO CHOP OFF YOUR HEAD!!!” (you have to be certain to say the chopper part in a monster-like voice to really make it work).

(Italian Lesson: nursery rhyme = filastrocca / a little rhyme = una breve poesia)

I have to mention our silly tongue-twisters like, “The big black bug bled black blood” and “I slit a sheet, a sheet I slid, and on the slitted sheet I sit.” Say that one (in church) five times fast kiddies!

After all the kidding was over, mom always made sure to tuck me into bed, and each night her last words to me were “sweet dreams” (no kidding about this sentiment, she really meant it). I’m sure many a night things got confused in my kid-cranium and I ended up dreaming of bloody black bugs, donkeys spitting – or shitting – out Chiclets. Or maybe just their balls, decapitated heads rolling around slitted sheets – a dreamworld carnival of crazy.

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“Madness: True or Total Bullsh!t?”

August 6th, 2009

I just added a bit regarding “truth or fiction” to my blog’s ABOUT page, and I thought it was a good idea to post an update here as well. You may be wondering if this stuff REALLY happened, or if I’m just another sh!thead writing some piece of fabricated crap, only to find myself one fine day on Oprah’s couch trying to minimize the effect of a face-pummeling by Ms. O on national TV.

Yup, everything I write is true – really happened. Yeah, some of my “stories” may be a bit hard to relive for me, but that’s life I suppose. You get the cherry on the Sundae some days and you get a thermometer up your ass the next. Really though, my mom and I have a great relationship; she practically pees her pants laughing when I read some of the madness snippets to her. Gotta love it!

I recount and write my life’s stories to the best of my acid-trip free recollection. Most of the madness is permanently etched into my little head with a sharp ballpoint pen anyway. Yes, I did change a few of the names to No Bullshit Zone, Baby! protect the guilty but, alas, their tales are true.

So, with that said,

WELCOME to the NO BULLSH!T ZONE!

~ Me

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Madness & Morose Mom

August 2nd, 2009

Retro Range “I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once.”
~ Jennifer Unlimited

I’ll get straight to the point of the dark side of being a young mom…my young mom. Looking back (fondly), I now believe mom had undiagnosed issues like today’s classic panic attacks sprinkled with generalized anxiety disorder. Maybe Mom felt a bit trapped in the reality of her world — maybe she was just a bit nuts. She may have just craved more attention, and perhaps she relished the drama just for drama’s sake (I definitely think mom loved drama, but it was most likely a combination of all of these gems).

A bad day for mom would usually mean the oven goes on. You could always smell when our gas range was on, so I’d wander down to the kitchen and see what mom was cooking up for dad and me. On my way, I’d wonder “will mom be baking my favorite treat today? Maybe chocolate fudgy brownies – or a creamy chocolate Betty Crocker cake? Lemon cupcakes with colorful sprinkles on top? Would I be able to lick the batter off the spoon?”. Licking the batter – mmmmm, one of the best yet simplest pleasures life has to offer a kid. Well, unfortunately, this was not about cakes, cupcakes or my delicious chocolately cake batter….damn!

(Italian Lesson: gas stove = cucina a gas)

No, this was all about our gas oven, a prime prop for my mother’s drama. Mom would turn on the oven, open the door – gas aflame – that “funny” gassy scent filling up our tiny kitchen. At times she threatened to stick her head in the oven and end it all, leaving me a motherless kid. Sometimes she said we were ALL doomed, and our trusty little gas oven would take us all out.

I was just a kid, so I believed her (not knowing that just lighting an oven with a working pilot light wouldn’t kill a freaking moth). However, for some strange reason I never panicked when the range of death went on. Yeah, I thought it was peculiar, but perhaps it was the frequency of this nut-job behavior that it became an in home show – a performance put on by a mom for her daughter. Masterpiece Theatre in my own kitchen. Bellissimo, Bellissimo!

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: Mom’s “end-it-all” prop

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Thank God I am not Joan Rivers

July 28th, 2009

This post is simply random B.S. which I will spill onto these pages from time to time.

I love you Joan – you are one really funny bee-atch, but I must say I would not want to be you today. Why? Because if I were, I think my nose would have melted off from the walk I just took my furkids on. Yes, I must say you do look much younger than a hundred and four, but with all that plastic filling your noggin, I would have a deep fear of the sun’s rays for certain. The city is sporting full sun today, with a large side order of sticky. So, if you do venture outside in this July feels-like-August sun, be sure to tote along your cabochon-cut and pearl encrusted parasol with the little Yorkie dogs all over it. Hey Joan, do you sell those on QVC?

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Joe Pesci is my third cousin, you gotta F*%#!n’ problem with that?

July 25th, 2009

Just so you know, I do plan on skipping around with tidbits of retro madness and recent madness. One: because of my own personal ping- pong ball which enjoys bouncing all over the place inside my head (I gotta have some form of ADD) – and Two: simply to keep readers entertained with real life snippets of insanity. Since this is not the book or the movie (by the way, did I mention there will be a book and a movie?), there is no chronological order, but worry not – when MADNESS hits the big screen, all will be in order for your viewing pleasure (so YOUR head does not develop ping-pong ball syndrome). OK, on with a snippet -

My mother’s mom (my Nan, whom I called “Nanny” my entire childhood) Olga just turned ninety one. Nan is such a sweetheart of a woman – always was. Women in our family live a pretty long life – not that each and every marble is still in tact, but most of them are still rolling around there in nan’s head. My great-grandmother (nan’s mom) lived to be one hundred and two — of course she thought it was the fifties and she was a much younger woman but hey, whatever works for you, especially after a millennium of living.

Nan does have some quirky habits: making her coffee the night before and leaving it in her thermos for fifteen hours, defrosting frozen meat in her sweater drawers and forgetting about it until my cousin smells the rot of decaying animal flesh stinking up her cluttered house, and she has a thing about cooking her banquet TV dinners a day or two ahead. She covers them with Saran wrap and put them in the fridge until ready to microwave again. Earth to dear Nan: frozen meals take just three minutes to nuke – but I digress. My Nan and I share a special birthday bond (I was the “grandgift” from my mom to her mom) as we share the same day of coming into this world. Recently I heard that nan put a few of those little butter packets in her purse and forgot about them – what a hot mess.

Lately, Nan keeps forgetting we share the same June birthday (something we must have talked about for over 40 years) but she’ll never forget to mention her bladder suspension surgery (I’m talking a surgery she had from decades back) at least three times in every conversation we have, and how she’ll sneeze and pee her pants (Jesus Christ, getting older certainly has its share of some really sucky shit)!

: Joe Pesci is my third cousin, you gotta F*%#!n’ problem with that?

So, you might be wondering why I have Joe Pesci’s photo here if I’m writing about my grandmother. No, that is NOT my nan. A fun family tidbit is that my nan babysat for Joe Pesci (well-known Italian actor in Goodfellas, Casino, My Cousin Vinnie, etc.) and his sister when we they were little. She tells me that his mom Mary was a cousin of hers, which would make him, Joe Pesci, my third cousin! Pretty cool, huh? I never wrote down all the names years ago or wrote a note to him (Nan wanted me to, but I felt cheesy about it) and unfortunately, she does not quite recall all of the details these days. Hey Joe: if you remember Olga Gabora Robosky changing your diapers, please drop me a line, cuz!

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Posted in Joe Pesci, madness, madness mom & me, madnessmomandme, mom & me, mom and me | 2 Comments »

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Joe Pesci is my third cousin, you gotta F*%#!n’ problem with that?

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