Hottie Maintenance Man and My Trailer Trash Mom’s Crap Pants: A Love Story

Those of you that follow me on Twitter and Facebook (if you aren’t, well why the hell not?) have seen me bitching and griping all morning about how my mom was supposed to come over for breakfast around 10 o’clock and did not show up. Well, she eventually showed up, and in her grande, late entrance proved yet again why she earned her title Trailer Trash Mom.

A quick rundown on my Trailer Trash Mom, for those of you that are relatively new faithful blog followers. My mom left my dad when I was eight, and she high-tailed it shortly thereafter across the country to be the “other woman” for a guy she met at a bar. My dad raised me alone, with regular visits to see my mom in which I was subjected to one boyfriend after another, and slowly watched her descend from normal person to crazy hillbilly. When my dad and I moved to California, she was still living near Seattle, but decided that her dream of moving back to California where she grew up would then be coming true. That’s right, she followed us and started using us in every way she possibly could. In my adulthood, she’s lied to me, she’s stolen from me, she’s mooched off of me, she’s flaked out on me time and again, she’s eloped with some hillbilly she hardly knows, and she’s basically become a wart on the asshole of society. Many of you are probably asking: whycome you still have a relationship with this woman, B(itch)? Simple: my grandparents think she’s the greatest thing next to stick butter, so I need to let her hang around (within reason) for the sake of having a relationship with them while they are still alive. And plus, after all is said and done, the stories that come out of interactions with her have me rolling around, laughing hysterically after the fact.

But I keep my distance.

So yesterday, my Trailer Trash Mom called and asked if she could come over this morning to hang out for a bit. Wanted to see the Pookies and all, so I figured it would be OK and even asked if she wanted breakfast. She said she’d bring donuts, to which I said “NO!” (stupidly), and then we resolved that she would bring a carton of eggs and I’d make eggs and toast and we’d eat the raspberries we picked yesterday.

The time was set: 10 o’clock.

This morning 10 o’clock came and went. While I was finishing putting on my make up and doing my hair, 10:15 rolled on by. I checked my phone: nothing from my mom. 10:30 came and I went ahead and made breakfast, figuring she wasn’t going to show up. I called my husband to start my bitching. I then was mad, so start Tweeting and Facebooking. 10:45 rolled on by and we were done eating breakfast. 10:56, I saw Hottie Maintenance Man outside (there is only one good looking maintenance man in our complex, and he happens to be “assigned” to our building). He was repairing the light above the stairway that goes to the apartments above us. I looked. And looked some more.

And then I saw my Trailer Trash Mom walking up the walkway to the apartment.

Quickly I opened the door lest she ruin my future look-a-thons with Hottie Maintenance Man by coming onto him with her teeth falling out or something, and creeping him out. This was my biggest mistake of the morning.

What I should have done was let her open the door and come in. I’m still kicking myself for not, because by opening the door I opened the flood gates for her to start making her excuses right there, in front of Hottie Maintenance Man.

There, standing in front of Hottie Maintenance Man; with the Pookies at my side and neighbors walking by, my mother blathered out her hillbilly nonsense:

“Hi! Sorry I’m late. Grandma and Grandpa and I went out for Mexican food last night, and I had way too many beans. Anyway, I was drivin’ here and went to let one from all those beans and I accidentally crapped my pants.”

Yes. Yes, you read that right faithful blog followers. My mom was late because she shit her pants, thinking it was just some arbitrary gas leftover from last night’s spicy beans.

What the fuck?! is right. I may swear a lot, and I may be uncouth, but goddammit I’m a fucking lady. That is just too much for me.

Hottie Maintenance Man started to laugh. I turned around and walked in the house. My Trailer Trash Mom followed and said she wanted cheese in her eggs.


  1. Ha ha ha. I think our mothers were separated at birth. Have I said that to you before?
    By the way, I can’t remember if you were following me on the Kinky Boot Collective or Shedward but I’ve amalgamated them. All my content is now on Shedward. Dunno if that makes a difference to you but in case you were wondering …

  2. I’m not sure I’d know where to begin trying to apologize to Hottie Maintenance Man, but I’d sure try! OMG, that was such an overshare on her part……….

  3. Holy over-share with random strangers in ear shot. That is so out of line. Maybe you should introduce her to the neighbor who took down your skeleton. It could be an over-assumptive love match.

  4. So, it’s after Midnight here. I just laughed so loud I think I probably woke up my drunk neighbors. There is nobody left asleep here. I’d let them read it… but they’re not near as cool as us…and probably wouldn’t find the humor in it. Ok, nevermind. THAT was some FUNNY shit…no pun intended!! Smooches, Cyn
    A.D.D. Music Mamma

  5. omg-she’s a nightmare! You might want to apologize to the hottie next time you see him. Not that its your fault, but it shows you at least have some class. I bet your dad is happy to be rid of her.

  6. Classy :S I don’t even know where I would start explaining a story like that, or trying to convince her how to avoid an incident such as that in future. No more Mexican I guess.

  7. You crack me up….and there is one good thing about your TTM hanging around…she provides you with hilarious blogging material. As you said before, you couldn’t think this “sh*t” up. Thanks for the laughs…always enjoy your blog. Cheers.

  8. Even if something like thgat happened to me (and I am an oversharer) I would never say it within earshot of other people.

  9. That made me snort out loud…would that be SOL? Holy hell… If it weren’t for the crazy what would we have left?

  10. Oh. My. God. I was not expecting that. I was thinking, ok mom had to pull over to find a bathoom. I really wish she had’ve. I’m so sorry!!


  11. Too funny… Sounds like she needed the cheese to help, um, bind things up.
    Eatum chese, clogum butt… hahaha….

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.