Sneak Peek...Field of Screams

“So, first thing Monday morning, I’m initiating the first of several new initiatives. As of Monday, the ‘Fresh Air for Cannes’ law goes into effect. Simply said, it will no longer be legal to break wind in the town’s limits. Shall we eat?”

The mayor sat down and flicked his napkin over his lap.

“Did he say what I think he said?” Bird asked.

“Breaking wind means farts, right?” Fred asked.

“Legend. Epic legend,” said Remington.

There was a lull. No one said a word, and I imagined they were all concentrating on not farting. I jumped when Grandma cleared her throat.

“I think we could start, Mayor, by going around the table and whoever wants to, can say what they are thankful for,” she said. “I’ll start, I’m thankful that there’s love in the world, that people find their soulmates and have a lifetime of love.”

Holden squeezed my hand, and I swallowed.

The declarations of gratitude went around the table until it got to Remington. “I’m thankful for it all,” he said and smiled. I held my breath, but he was true to his word. He didn’t look my way and never let on that he and I had gone for a tumble in his sheets every day for the past two weeks.

Whore.

Plus one.

Ruth’s niece, Julie was just about to say what she was grateful for – – probably for having all of her fingers and toes, despite her accident with a food processor last week– – when there was a loud stomping down the stairs. I closed my eyes, knowing full well who was making the noise and dreading what came next.

I wished for a time machine or a teleportation device, or just to be invisible or to not exist. But none of my wishes came true. No matter how hard I wished, my mother was there, her hair a rat’s nest on her head, her lipstick smeared past her lips and over her cheek, and her clothes were wrinkled, like she had slept in them, and of course she had. She was in that sweet spot before she had finished sleeping off her drunk, right before her hangover started and she had to contend with being sober. She was meanest during her sweet spots.

“What the hell?” she screeched. “You started without me? I live here, you know. What am I thankful for? It sure isn’t my daughter or my mother-in-law.”

I closed my eyes and prayed that someone would fart.

Proud Mama

My youngest son's school had a competition for best original plays. They narrowed it down to four plays and produced them. Then, professionals in the business came to judge, and....(insert drumroll here)...my son won best actor out of all of them! Yay! He played a mentally handicapped man in the Vietnam War.



My youngest son (on right) playing a Lenny-esqe character:

Sleeping Beauty Did It This Way

I was walking my dog and met these fabulous ladies doing fabulous spinning. No, not on stationary bikes...with spinning wheels! They invited me to join them. I've always wanted to own a gigantic loom and weave rugs. But I have no artistic talent. Anyway, I didn't try out the spinning, because it didn't work out well for Sleeping Beauty (and I base all my decisions on Disney movies), but it was so cool!

A Writer's Best Friend

I think Dolly, our family dog, has become my dog. She follows me everywhere. I feel sort of guilty about it.

Here she is under my desk.

I thought I was going to see La Traviata, But Then a Man Came Out In His Underpants.

My youngest son loves wrestling. I don't know why. He bought two tickets (with his own money) to see "Monday Night Raw" in Los Angeles and insisted that I go with him. I don't know why. You would think he would want to go with someone who liked wrestling. I know what you're thinking...mostly naked men with bulging muscles and 2% body fat, rolling around with each other can't be all that bad. Well...I can say that it was a joy to see my son so happy. We arrived four hours early to stand behind the arena to see the wrestlers come in.

Here's one. His name is Cena:

Then, we were in the arena for six hours (that's a lot of wrestling...I now know a lot about it. If you don't believe me, I'll F5 your ass, clothesline your fool self, and you can believe that, brother. Here are some men in underpants!

The Staples Center has a lot of rules. I don't understand the NO BROOMS rule, though. Why do people bring brooms to the Staples Center? Am I out of the loop, as far as brooms are concerned?

Where in the World is Elise Sax?

No...it can't be. Say it isn't so. On my way there...

I Am The World's Worst Mother

Today I had the joy of spending the morning with my oldest son, because I had to take my car to be serviced. He's 17 years old and about to graduate from high school. He's such a good person, and I'm so proud of him. But I'm not sure how proud of me he is.

Does your teenager do this? Did you do this to your mother when you were a teenager?...

When he drove me, if I said nothing: he would criticize me. If I mentioned his driving, he criticized me. At the grocery store, he said I wasn't polite enough. At the car wash, he said I was TOO polite. Basically, I don't know how to behave in society, according to my beautiful first born child.

Beyond that, he informed me that I yell at him all the time. I told him I didn't want him to go off to college with the memory of a mother who yelled at him for his whole life, so from now on I will never yell at him. I told him that if I wanted to yell, I would simply make a hand gesture (my hand out like a traffic cop), and then he would know that I was upset. He criticized this, and then tried for hours to get me to yell at him. First, when we went to the grocery store, I asked him to drop me off in the front of the store. He stopped and went and stopped and went, so I couldn't get out of the car. I put my hand out like a traffic cop and said: "Please let me out." He refused and drove to the far side of the parking lot and parked in the most distant parking spot. "Thank you," I told him and stuck my hand out in his face, as he turned off the car.

It went on like that for the morning. Loud rap music with the bass up to heart-attack levels. Singing old Queen songs loudly in my ear. My hand flew up in the air so many times, I looked like I was attending a Nazi meeting.

But I did it. I didn't yell.

Was he impressed? Was he proud? Nope. He told me how his friend's mother cooks better than I do.

*raises hand up*