I know I’ve already put up a post today, but this really deserved it’s own, separate discussion with all you faithful blog followers. For this will forever go down in history as the day my Trailer Trash Mom went insane.
I actually think my Trailer Trash Mom has gone insane before. There was that time when I was in 6th grade and she cried uncontrollably for six hours straight at the kitchen sink because Patrick Swayze went to heaven at the end of the movie Ghost. There was also that time she was dating Marvin Gaye’s former drummer and showed up at the Fresno International Airport asking for her plane ticket to tour Madonna with him, even though she had no actual information beyond something he had said months prior. Yeah, my Trailer Trash Mom has issues – this is why I usually try to keep her at a distance.
So the Mother’s Day gala of the century is just a few days away, and she is now out to prove how angry she is at the world by abusing me over the whole meal preparation thing as much as she possibly can. I realize, now, that the reason she is throwing this little shindig (mostly in her own honor) is because last year I didn’t really do anything for her for the day. This may explain why I caved and continue to take her drama.
When she showed up at my house today to take Pookie to swim lessons so that I would not be interrupted in my six hour cake bake (yes, the cake I was baking takes roughly six hours to bake), she walked into the kitchen and saw all five layers of the cake cooling. This means that the majority of my work was done – the two red velvet layers, the two french vanilla layers, and the thick layer of sticky fudge to hold it all together in the middle were all done. All that was left was to freeze the layers for a few days and then stack the layers together and ice the cake on Saturday night.
My Trailer Trash Mom
Heather, it looks like these layers are going to break apart
Me
Yeah, they are fine. That is how they have to cool so that they fit together properly when I put the cake together. They will not break, just don’t touch them.
Note: my Trailer Trash Mom again has revealed to me at this point how little she actually knows about baking and cooking. Her cooking tastes like shit and the last time she baked anything she almost burned down our apartment doing so.
My Trailer Trash Mom
(Mumbling) Oh yeah, you know everything Heather … you know everything …
My Trailer Trash Mom then left and took Pookie to swimming.
I should also mention at this point that I was at my dad’s house. I was baking bacon a week or so ago and spilled grease all over the bottom of my oven, which caused smoke to permeate through our entire apartment, setting off the fire alarm and causing a neighborhood ruckus. Afterwards, the grease melded with whatever else was at the bottom of my oven so that now it looks like I was cooking human intestines in the bottom of the damn thing, and I have yet to find the time to clean it out. So today I gathered my things and went to my dad’s house – he has a nicer oven anyway.
My Dad With the Harry Caray Glasses
…walked out to the kitchen to get a Diet Coke
Uh, Heather … what the fuck happened to your cakes?
(Yes, my dad said “fuck” … he says it all the time, which is particularly ironic given how much he bitches at me for saying it so often in my blogs.)
Me
What do you mean? They’re cooling.
I walked into the kitchen and saw that my mother has destroyed my cakes. That’s right, my Trailer Trash Mom broke apart my cakes – the most egregious of which was the fudge that was supposed to hold the entire thing together.
I began to cry.
My Dad With the Harry Caray Glasses
Wow, your mom is one vindictive bitch!
Yes, dad. Yes, she is. I see now why they divorced over twenty years ago.
The remainder of my day was spent shopping and drinking copious amounts of wine. My husband says that I should just say ‘screw it’ altogether on the dessert. My Dad With the Harry Caray Glasses says I should just go buy a box set and make a new cake. I just can’t get over how insane my mother is. All the crying episodes about the movie Ghost, and the whole Marvin Gaye’s drummer thing, doesn’t compare in the least bit to a directly malicious act. I have yet to even bring it up with my Trailer Trash Mom. I’m sure she’ll just spew more of her hillbilly shit all over the place.
Or maybe it will be like an intervention. I don’t know, I still can’t even decide what to do about the cake. No matter what, I think this really was the day My Trailer Trash Mom went insane. Like really insane – who even knows what will happen next.
Heather Christena Schmidt 
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