Mea Culpa, You-a Culpa, We All-a Culpa

A recent e-mail from an attorney friend of mine reads:

"i went to read part IV and nada---what gives?"

Aside from the obvious grammatical errors, and the possibility that I just breached the attorney work-product privilege by sharing that with you, her question was valid. It's been over a week since I promised you Part IV, and still, "nada." Por que?

Well, mi amigos, because I spent all of my free time last week panicking about this past weekend, which left me precious little time to entertain you. You know how I write about my crazy family all the time (I of course include myself in this description)? Sadly, unlike my marriage to Mario Lopez, it turns out they actually exist. And so I went home this weekend to visit them. I won't bore you with the details here (I know it wouldn't actually bore you, as you are all experts in schadenfraude, but I need to process with my therapist first), except to give you three highlights:

(1) When we went out to dinner Saturday night, my mother told me to park in front of the restaurant, while my grandmother objected, claiming that we would have to pay for the meter. A full-blown argument ensued, during which my grandmother declared that no one appreciated her and implored my mother to "take the dagger out of her heart," and my mother threatend to jump out of a moving car. In response, I calmly reminded them that it was just a parking space and there was no need for an argument. Of course, after ten minutes of fighting, my calm demeanor evaporated, and soon I was shouting along with them, "THIS IS NOT A FUCKING HEALTHY WAY OF DEALING WITH CONFLICT!!!"

(Dinner was good though. I had the salmon, if you were wondering.)

(2) After first telling my father that I couldn't see him this trip because of other commitments, I decided that was selfish and cancelled plans to attend my friends 30th birthday party so I could have dinner with him. At the last minute my father called and told me that he was "too busy" to see me. I wonder if we can get Congress to outlaw passive-aggressiveness along with other forms of torture. Personally I'd rather someone dump gallons of water on my head.

(3) My mother suggested to my sister that she sell her eggs, and I don't mean the dairy kind.

So mea culpa, readers. I am hard at work on the next installment of the story, so that you can take comfort in the fact that your life is not nearly as screwed up as mine. Ok, maybe "hard at work" is an overstatement. I'm never really "hard at work" on anything. Unless it's getting David Beckham's phone number. Those new underwear ads of his have gotten me through some tough times.

--JKH

(By the way, has anyone seen this Lifetime show, "Your Mama Don't Dance," a reality show competition where sons dance with their mothers? (One of my three television sets is always tuned to Lifetime, which was a requirement in my homosexuality contract, along with owning at least two pairs of capris pants and knowing the words to Vogue.) Is it just me, or is that show seriously disturbing? I just don't get the social mores in this country. Apparently it's totally immoral to say "fuck" on television, but it's just fine to watch a son dance the Lambada with his mother. I only hope there's an on-set therapist who knows the definition of "Freudian complex.")