Yes, this is the post that has the profanity. It is not my profanity. (
Yesterday, as I drove to Mom’s to pick her up for a visit to the physical therapist, I popped in my Ben Folds CD, “Rockin’ the Suburbs.” I sang lustily along with my favorite track, “Still Fighting It.”
As I neared Mom’s house, I jumped ahead to track 10, “Rockin’ the Suburbs.” I wanted to hear it, plus, I didn’t want it to come up when Mom was in the car. I’m not a delicate flower, but now that Mom is a dowager she likes to lecture me about the salty language I have adopted in my middle age.
I’m always careful about my CD selections since that time I chauffeured a ten year old girl to the tune of Liz Phair singing the praises of men’s ejaculate. I try to give Mom something a little soothing to listen to, especially since she once requested “something without drums” instead of BNL.
That is why I opted for Ben Folds, and since I didn’t want to sit in awkward silence while Ben screamed “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKK,” I jumped to track 11.
Sure, that would have worked great if the PT had been close to home, but as it turned out the CD looped back to “Rockin’ the Suburbs” just as we exited the highway by her home. I hadn’t paid attention until he rocked out:
…It’s a bitch, if you don’t believe
Listen up to my new CD
Great, I thought, I could have jumped to the next track if I’d been paying attention. Well, there’s nothing to do now except distract her.
…I got shit runnin’ through my brain
It’s so intense that I can’t explain
Goddamnit! Think fast! “So! Did I tell you the relatives are contesting the will?” I chirped.
“Yes, you mentioned that,” Mom said smoothly.
“That some producer with computers fixes all my shitty tracks!” Ben screamed.
God FUCKING Damnit! Wait…there’s a break before he starts screaming “FUUUUUUUUUCCCCK!” Mom and I sat in silence while I searched for something to say.
Mom broke the silence. “What was that?”
“What?”
“What was that line about slaves?”
“Oh, great. You’re actually listening to this song. THIS song.” Mom has only made two comments on the music in my car: 1) Born On a Pirate Ship? Too many drums. 2) The bridge to Running Out of Ink is beautiful, obviously sung by a group far superior to that Barenaked Ladies band I am so partial to.
“But what was that line?”
“Um, I think Cause my great great great great Grandad /Made someone’s great great great great Grandaddies slaves.”
“Oh. Is that Barenaked Ladies?”
“No!”
“It gets me real pissed off, it makes me wanna say – ” Ben screamed.
Shit! Stall!
“It gets me real pissed off and it makes me wanna say – ” Ben screamed. Shut up Ben!
I blurted, “Uh – this is really funny song! There are these lyrics about Michael Jackson being talented,” I shouted over the last chorus of It gets me real pissed off and it makes me wanna say -“
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” Ben screamed, just in time for Mom to consider a response.
Sigh.
I would say “Fuck” but Mom really doesn’t like that word.
12 responses to “In Which I Am Profane”
I keep some Ella Fiztgerald handy for just such occasions. Ella has not yet screamed “FUUUUCK” on a recording. Also, some Windham Hills. Heavy mellow. My mother in law asks too many questions, but luckily she will also not admit to being hard of hearing.Oh, and my car stereo has this one button Mute control.
Sherri – I snort repeatedly at your comment “Ella has not yet screamed “FUUUUCK” on a recording.” Snort!
Yikes. You will be happy to know that I’m working on church minutes today.
I just gave up on playing music with my mother within earshot while I was still in my teen years. As a result, she still thinks I’m really into the Smiths and the Psychedelic Furs. Good thing I dropped the f-bomb early on with her, I wore her out and now I can cuss freely like a sailor to my filthy heart’s content.
Umm, wouldn’t changing the track have been infinitely easier than the verbal gymnastics and forced chatter? I mean, FUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK.
Autumn – Good! And don’t say I didn’t warn you. Styro – I should have taken that route. Heck.UndertheBridge – Yeah, but then she would have become suspicious, and probably imagined something worse than what it was. Moms are delicate. You have to handle them just so.
I meant yikes for you with your mom there…My bosses at the radio station would scream this out several times a day. Much like Mr. Ben Folds. Except they weren’t singing. Or referring to computers.
My mom used to get upset when I played Billy Joel’s greatest hits in the car because one has a sound effect of glass breaking. She would get panicked and try to figure out what had hit a window.This is the same woman who was shocked, shocked I tell you, when I told her I was meeting friends for a drink after work last night. “Caroline, you DRINK?” “Mom, I’m 32.” “Who is driving you home?” “Mom, I’m having one drink. Don’t worry.” “You be careful!” “Now I might need two.”
Ha! This reminds me of when I was a young lass and George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex” would come on when I was in the car with my mom. We were both too self-conscious to change it, so we just sat there in uncomfortable silence.Nowadays I would turn it up and sing along. I’ve come a long way with my mother.
Old sayings: “Profanity is the effort of a feeble mind trying to express itself forcibly.””Obscenity is the final refuge of inarticulate motherfuckers.”Harumph.
You go Queen Mum!
Carrie – I think my husband still goes through that with Mom. She often recommends movies from the Independent film channel and they ALWAYS have a sex scene between siblings, or a bondage fetish, or something that just horrifies Gary. Queen Mother (Mom) – I second what Caroline, Libby (Hot Mom) and Marcia said today at work when they alerted me to your comment. You are such a cool Mom. Love, Ellen