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vibrator, biography, interracial porn, gynecologist and patient., tit, gender, lucia mauro, for, literature k, cricket, truth, mymother/my self : the daughter's search for identity, newspapers, rodneydangerfield, sociology, chicago alternative newsweeklies, blonde, sex while pregnant, fetish, nifty, travel, asianthumbs, | In the photo I am looking over at her with screening room enormous gentleness, because I sometimes feel this. Some part of me is Odysseus's dog. But I was only feeling this about half the time that day. The rest of the time I was annoyed. I was annoyed in general because she is not at all whom I would have picked at the Neiman-Marcus Mommy Salon. screening room --Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies I lay awake one night thinking of Eskimos. When an Eskimo becomes too old or too cranky to screening room have around, the other family members lead the guilty party to an ice floe, sit him or her down on a stack of seal pelts, and ceremoniously kick the whole kit-and-caboodle right on out to sea. This idea appealed to me; it was the sign that I had overstayed my welcome. One hardly needs Confucius to point out that two women, particularly a mother and daughter, cannot live harmoniously under one roof. |
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My daughter greeted me at the door in tears. "She keeps calling nifty me Vicky Iverson. So I leave one book on the kitchen counter and all nifty of a sudden I'm Vicky Iverson?" she gasped hysterically. "Of course, she can leave mayonnaise knives all over the place, but if I leave just one book, I'm Vicky Iverson?" she continued. I walked into the house that I had left clean that morning to discover nifty that Hurricane Mom had done her worst. I dropped my briefcase on the kitchen floor and found my mother reading in the living room. My son was on his stomach in front of the television. "Hmm, I think someone could use a little fresh air, don't you, Ann?" she hinted, using me as her means of communicating indirectly to her grandson. He continued to ignore her, just as I had always done. "Mom, you've got to watch this; it is so fucking funny," my son called out; turning to make sure I would do as he asked. My mother's lips pursed. "Are you going to let him talk like that?" she asked rhetorically. |
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