Coversations with Schmom B.: Schpop B. Edition

The following is the rough outline of an actual conversation that took place between Schmom B. and myself. I call her everyday, usually in the evenings; sometimes I talk to Schpop B. as well, but he's often traveling because he's in the military. This last part played a key role in the conversation I had with her a couple days ago, detailed below, while my dad was in Washington, DC.

Me: Hey Moooom.
Schmom B.: Hi, sweetie. How's it goin?
Me: Ohh, you know, it's fine. I'm tired. Getting ready to move, etc.
SB: Very exciting!
Me: Have you heard from dad? I haven't talked to him in a couple days. How's he doing in DC?
SB: (laughing) He's fine. He's been texting me all evening. He's at the vice president's house for a cocktail thing and he's bored.
Me: Oh. Hmmm... the vice president's house?
SB: Yeah.
Me: Like... as in the vice president of the United States? Joe Biden?
SB: Yeah.
M: And he's bored?
SB: Yeah, he texted me a few times. He said he's pretty over it.
M: So he's at the vice president's house, and he told you - via text message - that he's "over it"?
SB: Yeah, he said it's been going on for like five hours and all they have is wine and water and he really wants a beer. I know he's bored because he never really texts me during the day like that.
M: So, just to recap, he's hanging out with the vice president of the United States, he's bored slash over it, and all he really wants is a beer?
SB: (laughing)
M: Yes?
SB: Yep.

The Schfolks rock, no?

Edit: I spoke with Schpop B. the day after the above conversation took place, and he clarified that the event was not in fact "boring," but more of "a pain in the ass."

How to reach maximum cat annoyance: Tha Queen B edition

One of my favorite things about being home in the South is spending time with Queenie, my family's kitty cat. I usually refer to her as Tha Queen B, and I spend most of my time at home trying to get her to love me. The following is typical Queen B/Meghan behavior, concluding with her reaching the crest on her bell curve of annoyance with me.

1. I try to get Tha Queen B to pose for the camera. She is squirmy in resistance.

2. Success, bitch!

3. She slinks away and shuns me for the great humiliation I have caused her.

4. I am sad and filled with remorse.

5. I prepare a sneak attack to gain her affections back.

6. She is alerted to my presence, despite my amazing fish disguise. (???)

7. Maximum annoyance achieved.

Editor's note: Upon further review, I think this post probably makes me look like a crazy fucking cat lady. And I'm OK with it.

In Memoriam

One of the things I find most nebulous about being a blogger is how much personal stuff I should share with the rest of the Internet. I've written about bad dates I've been on, amazing nights that can only happen in New York, heartwrenching depression brought on by my break-up, and moving moments in others' lives that brought tears to my eyes. I write about all these things because I literally don't know what else I'm supposed to do. Writing has always been and will always be the only way I really know how to express adequately my version of the human experience.

Yesterday, my grandmother passed away. She had Parkinson's Disease for several years before that, and we basically watched her fade away over the past couple of years. She was my only remaining living grandparent. She was 82 years old. She had three children, one of whom is my beloved Schmom B. She had three grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. She was sweet and beautiful. Here she is. I called her Mema.

Isn't she pretty? This photo was taken while my family, friends and I stood outside Taylor Grocery in Taylor, Mississippi waiting for a table for my college graduation dinner in May 2008. At this point, she was shaking because of the Parkinson's, but she could still walk around and do stuff pretty much on her own. It's really my last significant memory of her being self-sufficient and out in the world. When she passed yesterday, she was confined to a wheelchair and not really able to eat or do anything for herself anymore. We begin life as babies, and if we are among the lucky ones, we end it as them as well.

The last time I saw her was on Christmas Day, just a few weeks ago. She said a couple things to me that were so poignant and painfully beautiful that I debated for a long time whether I wanted to write an essay based entirely on these few words. I still haven't decided, but I feel comfortable sharing them here now. I feel like I need to share them, because I feel like they represent the person she was.

When I walked into the house she and my Papa shared for at least the past 23 years - they were married for more than 50 before he passed away in 2003 - she was sitting in her wheelchair in the kitchen. She was shaking pretty badly but she still reached her hand to me as I went to hug her gently. As I hugged her, I said, "Hey Mema, how are you doin'? You look good. You feelin' OK?" I never really know how to talk to old or sick people, which is something I have always disliked about myself. My face hovered close to hers and she looked directly in my eyes and said, "This isn't contagious, you know." Then her voice tinkled with laughter, weak but real.

My heart broke a little bit. On the one hand, I admired her for still being able to tell a joke, despite her condition. On the other hand, I realized that she wasn't really joking at all. She was always more concerned about the comfort of everyone else than she ever was about herself. And I could hear the loneliness in her voice. It was that palpable loneliness that is not linguistically replicable, but beats under every vocal chord. I cannot tell you what it sounds like or feels like or looks like. Writing is failing me here.

After we ate our Christmas meal and opened our presents, my parents and I were getting ready to head back home. I reached down to hug her, this time more tightly, because I had a feeling I might not see her alive again. She grasped my hand in hers, and it stopped shaking. Just for a few moments, the shaking stopped. I told her I loved her very much. She looked at me and said, "I love you, too. Maybe next year we'll all be healthy."

My heart broke the rest of the way. Even after several years of illness, and being so aware of her sickness and how it affected everyone else around her, she still had this hope in her heart, this seemingly unwavering belief, that we would all be together again for Christmas the next year. After 83 years of life, she seemed to have no concept of giving up, or of not being around to enjoy Christmas dinner. I knew that what she said was very unlikely, if not nearly impossible, but at the same time I felt inspired by her resilience. If she could live so long and endure so much pain and still think that way, then I can certainly find my way through to the other side of my own problems and survive. More than that - I can live, and love others, and love myself, and breathe hope into my heart forever.

Lots of people might balk that I am writing about such personal moments in such a public sphere, but that's just what my life is. For whatever reason, I feel compelled to create work - essays, blog posts, plays, poems - out of my personal experiences, with the implicit hope that other people will read it. I want to connect with other people and effect them. I can't say how exactly, but I do. I just want to effect the world.

And I want other people to know what happy memories I have of Mema. I want people to know that I  remember this one Christmas when I was real little, my mom packed pillows around my body and put me in a homemade Santa suit, and I was so fat that I couldn't walk and I just fell down on my face in my grandparents' house and everyone just laughed and laughed and laughed. This other time, when I was in high school, my mom, Mema and I were watching Elf one Christmas and whenever that scene happened when Will Farrell belches really loudly at the dinner table, Mema just laughed and laughed and laughed. And anyone who knows me understands now where I get my warped sense of humor, and my strong penchant slash skill for burping.

I remember playing Uno with her on the couch, and Sequence with her at the kitchen table. We like card and board games in my family. I remember her laugh and how she always used to call me "hun." I remember how she always used to greet me at Christmas by coming outside her house and standing in her driveway with her arms open, expecting a big hug. I remember how she smelled. I remember how she always used to say "shoot" through her smile after she had a laughing fit. She was very Southern.

I am going home today to be with my family and attend Mema's funeral. I really hate funerals. Like a lot of things about Western culture, I just don't get it. They seem to never have anything to do with the actual life of the person being mourned. It seems like every funeral I've ever been to has been basically the same experience, which is wrong, because no two people are alike. Perhaps that is why I write; I want to create something unique so that I can pass on memories and important experiences to other people. Isn't that what a funeral should really be like, in theory?

So here you go Mema. This is my funeral for you. I'll be there Sunday, crying and laughing with everyone else, but just know that I've already committed my heart to my own memorial for you. This is it. I hope you liked it. I love you.

In the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if you were forbidden to write.
And look deep into your heart where it spreads its roots, the answer, and ask yourself: must I write?

Everything is a gift from the universe

Well, it's Thanksgiving*. I've never written a blog post about Thanksgiving. At this time last year, this blog had not yet been born - though its first birthday is coming up very, very soon! -making this my inaugural happy Thanksgiving post. Bawk bawk, y'all.

Firstly, I should say that this is my first Thanksgiving ever away from my family. (Insert frowny face here.) I decided a couple months ago to visit my BFF C in Chicago instead. My parents were surprisingly receptive to the idea -- they made reservations for themselves and a couple good friends at a fancy restaurant in downtown Birmingham that serves three-course meals on Thanksgiving. I'm kind of jealous, to be honest. I miss my parents, I miss tha Queen B., and I miss the South. But I will be home for Xmas in just under a month for like ten days, so I'm really excited about that.

Life in New York has been such an adjustment for me, and not always an easy one. It's really easy to get caught up in the glamor of being young in New York - going out all the time, sipping on (often free) cocktails, just generally being jaded - and to forget what's really important in life. It seems that the longer I live here, the faster life happens and the less time I have to devote to really important stuff, like thanking the universe for all the amazing things I've been blessed with. So here goes. An open, sincere, unabridged letter to the universe about all the things for which I'm thankful.

1. My family. Although they are far away, which is really hard, I still feel their presence everyday. Were it not for their support, I could never have achieved the things I have, and they are a constant reminder of who I am and where I come from. Life in New York is complicated, and my parents' lives are so simple in comparison - and I don't mean that in a degrading or bad way at all. I mean they just enjoy being where they are, and for them life has always been - at least since I was born - about giving me all the tools I needed to do well in life. So far, they've done an amazing job. In addition, they constantly remind me that I am very loved.

2. My friends. Were it not for my close group of amazing, inspirational, talented, hilarious, brilliant friends in New York, I would have literally gone insane already. They give me a home away from home, a family away from my family. They inspire me to work and create and do amazing things. Along with C in Chicago, they've been there for me through some hard stuff this year, and I am so thankful.

3. My health. My health has been off and on this year, and as of late I've not been feeling too well - but having said that, I am very thankful for my body and all the amazing things it does. Being healthy all the time is kind of a curse, I think, because it's virtually impossible, when healthy, to remember what it feels like not to be healthy. I'm kind of thankful that I've felt sick at times, because when I start to feel better, I appreciate it more. Is that weird? Whatever. I'm thankful for life, period.

4. Love. I experienced my first real heartbreak this year. In less than two months, I went from dating someone I really thought might be the love of my life to hearing him tell me he no longer felt the same way about me. I've lost sleep because of it. There were days that I would go in the bathroom stall at work just so I could cry and get it over with. Other days, I was so depressed that I wasn't sure that I could even go on enjoying life. But in the end, it made me stronger, and all I can honestly say is that I'm thankful I experienced that kind of love at all. It was my first grown-up love, and it was fucking hard at times, but I learned a lot, and at least I know - without a doubt - that I experienced something a lot of people never do. And I have hope that I will experience an even greater love in the future.

5. Hope. I remember hearing someone say once that hope was a meaningless word. They said that because it's not an actionable verb - because saying you "hope" for something is not the expression of any specific action - it's essentially devoid of any real meaning. I am thankful that I don't feel that way. Through everything I've been through this year, heartbreak included, I still cling to my hope for the future. I have high hopes for myself and my career, as well as my personal life. I still have hope that if I believe in them hard enough, and make every effort to live my life humbly and authentically, I will be able to make my dreams real. I have hope that I will find another great love in my life, and that I will one day get married and have brilliant children. I have hope that I will make myself a successful career writer - whether it's writing books or magazine articles or plays or TV shows. I have hope that I continue to be surrounded by great people. For these hopes I am thankful.

6. My blog. I really poured myself into my blog in September, and I've been making a sincere effort to write at least five days a week. I'm so thankful there are actually people out there who want to read my writing, and who give me such positive feedback. Thank you thank you thank you. It's been such an outlet for me - and without it, I honestly don't even know who I would be. It's become such a big part of my life that it's hard to imagine how I could be happy without it.

7. New York. The experiences I have had in New York have helped me grow. I can honestly say that I have matured more in the past 11 months than in my entire life before I moved to the city. In some ways, I'm a completely different person than I was when I moved up here. Some things will never change - you know, like my unending love for Beyoncé and Lady Gaga and terrible rap music - but in other aspects, change is the only constant. Since moving to New York, I've experienced more love, sorrow, confusion, anger, hurt, joy and exhilaration than ever before in my life. For all these emotions, I am thankful, because in every case - even the most painful ones - New York has made me feel more alive than ever before.

So thank you, universe, for giving me a year of dreams, both good and bad. Thank you for the beauty that surrounds me. Thank you for helping me grow. Thank you for keeping me in check with what's really important in life. Thank you for occasionally reminding me of who I am, and helping me to keep sight of it. Now, just help me to live my life with as much outward love in my heart as you've shown to me, and I'll do my part by showing others as much compassion as possible and always trying to stay positive.

Oh - and I can't believe I almost forgot this - thanks for Weezy.

*Recently dubbed Wanksgiving by my friend M; I'm not exactly sure why or what that means, but it sounds street as shit so I'm keeping it.