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Emily Blunt Rants on and on...Welcome to the Jungle
an emily blunt rant

 

 

 

My mother answered the phone like any other time, " Hello. How are you..." Except this time I'd been waiting at the airport for her for over an hour! As suspected she'd forgotten me. She said, "Oh, is dat today…"

Why do I bother? But she and Heidi, the dyke poodle pal she owns, sped around the terminal way in minutes and whisked me off towards "home." The car's radio was still blasting the stock reports, the floorboards had their little hand-made shag rugs and up on the dash was the ever present industrial box of Kleenex. Ah…home.

God bless my mom. She's still very beautiful. She's also elegant. Very Eva Gabor-ish - always smartly put together with open toed heels, large stoned jewelry and a coordinated pocketbook (purse). But she wears and adores nothing but flamboyant Dame Edna-like thrift shop apparel (though she can well afford better). Bright and sequenced - very funny- if it wasn't my mom...

Adding to her one-of-a-kind character, is her car. It's a Lincoln something or other - eighteen feet long, six feet wide! She insists on driving it because, as she says, she's "Scared to death of dose schmall cars mit da plastic frame - you can git killed - dis is a gut car, I get hit in dis at 40-50 miles an hour und I am fine." She's said this same sentence - verbatim - since I could speak. As politically incorrect, and obviously expensive (what with gas at 2.00 - 3.00 a gallon) it is, the car is also comfy like a livingroom - especially after the six-hour flight to get here. Not that I really noticed - I was flying Delta and my own version of United Airlines - I united a martini with a muscle relaxer of some sort just to board the tin can of possible death - then popped another of Dr. Gonzo's Brand aspirin with the mechanically separated chicken dish dinner as my flatulent neighbor got "chatty." I hate flying.

My mom lives (retired) on the water in Ft. Lauderdale, and it is beautiful. I get out of the car holding the petite poodle and suddenly I am attacked by what can only be described as a flying cockroach! I shielded myself with the husky little dog - What? Heidi is fearless. Her papers may say French Poodle but her spirit is Bowery Pit. My mom reminded me it's "just" a Palmetto bug as she reached to rescue Heidi! Everything in Florida is a palmetto; the palm trees, the state highway, the flying bugs! I want to go home to the city where it's safe, and I miss my dogs, and my feet are swollen, and I am hungry and …

My mom answered my swelling whining by making me some swell comfort food. This woman can cook! As I finished the bacon and garlic green beans (from her garden no less) I heard the faintest rhythm leaking in through the patio screens - it was The Doobie Brothers' "Takin' it to the Streets" …then it was positively blasting from the darkness - the concerto of pot-head-post hippie-classic rock meant only one thing - the invasion of my big brother! We are very (very) different but we both really love loud music when we drive - who knows why…

He came down from his big big house in his big big car to give me a big big surprise - and he seemed to look "bigger." Oddly, when I asked if he'd like to go get a cup of coffee, he gave out a big big laugh. While many things moved forward in Florida since my last visit, a cup of coffee after the ten o'clock hour was still, it seemed, a novelty.

I remembered a place called Lester's Diner - not too far either - and off we speed or rather swayed - in his Expedition, or Suburban, or Great White Way vehicle. Was a car/van/Winnebago this large that necessary? Was he smuggling cattle?

Caffeine! My kingdom for some caffeine!

Lester's isn't real trendy - but it's sure fun. It's near the "docks" or port and an eclectic group therefore swagger in. The gritty staff is so 1950's Flo without realizing it and of course the decor is that Fargo grease framed once-stylish postcard perfect schmeltz - so it's cool. I told my brother my ex and I use to come there allot for the strawberry pie. My ex. Should be my why? Why did I ever go out with him? Oops! Shouldn't have brought him up - I realized by look my brother's had since childhood he was about to say something without thinking, inevitably ending in me feeling real bad and him defensively asking, "What? What I say?" Here it comes…

He asked if I'd seen that film Adaptation. Of course I had. And yes, I realized it was literally my ex that was the center of the film. Well a studio version of my ex bumkined up (my guy had teeth, thank you) for effect by Mr. Chris Cooper. Heck they actually shot parts of the film at "his" nursery 'Jane's Herbs and Things' and Cooper was even wearing one of his real life sweaty scummy baseball caps in a few scenes. Argh. Can't I just have a bad relationship without it turning into a film? My brother giggled -still- at what an odd couple we'd been. I tried to explain how intelligent he was under the pot smoking and the rare plant addictions…but he'd already switched thoughts and my suffering love life was no longer of interest for discussion.

The pie came and we fed like little piggies. I had not stopped eating since I arrived. When I got back to my Mom's she'd set up the spare room and already gone to bed. The room had that smell. You know that "home" smell? For me it's a mixture of Downy, bleach and Tiffany perfume (Mom's only brand). I turned up the air conditioning and cuddled between the familiar sheets (my mom never throws anything away). I could still hear the bugs fornicating - loudly- outside my window and surprisingly they didn't bother me a bit. Yep, even with the "jechak... jechak and fsst-fsst-wchoo wchoo, crrkit bock crrkit" famously Floridian sounds crescendoing - it was nice to be home - for a few days at least.

 

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