So my Trailer Trash Mom’s trailer was apparently destroyed yesterday.
I think I mentioned to all you faithful blog followers last week that my mom is married to a hillbilly that lives out in the rednecked New Mexico version of the Ozarks, in a trailer. She spews her hillbilly shit all over the place all the time now; has since she eloped with this guy last October. To make matters worse, the guy is a total liar (as most psychopathic hillbillies are), and as such there is a constant stream of stories from him over why they can’t move from New Mexico back to my mother’s lavish life in California. At present she – and she, alone – can only visit, which she has been doing now since the beginning of March.
Apparently, the trailer they were trying to sell on the land – the one where hillbilly husband claimed 15 Mexican migrant workers had essentially begun squatting in, refusing to leave; that trailer fell victim to a hail storm yesterday. That’s right: all my Trailer Trash Mom’s hopes and dreams of having a property to sell in New Mexico were destroyed yesterday when a supposed storm ripped through their land, dropping hail the size of my head (her description) – and while this sign of End Times storm was not apparently bad enough to be reported widely in the news, it was bad enough to completely destroy the trailer that the Mexican squatters were inhabiting, which was the only ticket my mom had out of New Mexico.
I’ve asked this before (and recently): at what point do you call bullshit on all of this? Apparently, for my Trailer Trash Mom, she has not reached that point yet. She instead took it out on me.
My Trailer Trash Mom waltzed into Pookie’s swimming lesson today and she actually had a snarl on her face.
My Trailer Trash Mom
Heather, what is the plan for this weekend?
Me
Um, what do you mean ‘what is the plan’? I am making dinner for 15 of your family members on Sunday and bringing it to Grandma and Grandpa’s apartment.
My Trailer Trash Mom
I thought I was coming over Saturday to help you.
Me
Well, I don’t remember you offering help, and that is nice of you but I’m going to an opera gala Saturday evening so have already prepped everything and the cake is even done and frozen.
My Trailer Trash Mom
Heather! Some of us don’t actually like your cooking!
Now you all may be pausing to wonder just what the fuck is going on. Last week she said that she had volunteered me to single-handedly prepare this grandiose meal because I am “such a good cook.” Now apparently she meant to say she wanted to come over and use my kitchen because a lot of them don’t actually like my cooking.
Keeping in mind that my mother has a tendency to try and pick fights with me when she is in a pissy mood, I simply replied:
Me
Whatever
A few minutes went by.
My Trailer Trash Mom
So what kind of vegetables are you making?
Me
Well, I was going to make —
My Trailer Trash Mom
Because you know that some of us there don’t have teeth.
Yes, faithful blog followers, my mother is correct. Some of them do not have teeth – at least real ones, that is. This includes my Trailer Trash Mom. Makes her even more trailer trash-y, doesn’t it?
Me
Green beans, mom.
My Trailer Trash Mom
So do I have any change?
Me
What?
My Trailer Trash Mom
So do I have any change? I gave you $60.
Me
No, Mom – no change. $60 barely bought the meat. We’re having roasted trip tip, green beans, mushroom risotto, the triple layered cake, and I’m making BLT bites, deviled eggs, and caprese skewers for appetizers. You do not have any change.
A few more minutes went by, and this time it was awkward.
My Trailer Trash Mom
So I was thinking about it and we’re going to use Grandma’s dishes.
I should mention that my grandparents live in an assisted living apartment complex. This means that they don’t actually cook their own meals – they meet with all the other elderly people that live in those apartments three times a day and have meals served to them. This means they have no kitchen in their apartment, except for a little microwave and a mini fridge.
Me
Mom, who is going to do all those dishes?
My Trailer Trash Mom
Well, we are.
Me
Who is we? We really cannot stay much past dinner and gifts.
My Trailer Trash Mom
You and I. Heather, this is a special occasion. I am not going to have it ruined with your trashy plastic plates and silverware. You can just find the time to stay and do the dishes.
I did not continue her conversation any further. Had I, I may have told her where she could shove her Mother’s Day dinner, her dirty dishes, and all of her ingratitude for all the things I do. Later in the day she yelled at me some more about how she didn’t like the way I had set up the new bed in the spare bedroom of our apartment. Then she capped it all off with a random tirade about what I don’t know – I didn’t pay attention to a word of it. Clearly my Trailer Trash Mom has some trailer trash issues that need to be resolved so she can stop taking them out on other people. The other possibility is that she’s been away from Hillbilly Husband for far too long, and is itching to get back to the trailer they rent off the property that held the trailer they owned, which my Trailer Trash Mom has never actually seen but was apparently destroyed yesterday by hail.
New Mexico calls, Trailer Trash Mom! New Mexico calls!
Heather Christena Schmidt 
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