On Tristan’s Mommie Dearest

Arghhhh… Vade Retro Satanas. I guess there was not enough garlic on my front door. My mother, who is the Spanish domestic version of Caligula, and was once called the Parisian Margaret Thatcher, exchanged gracious e-mails with me today so I am not in the mood to blog whatsoever. But it’s summer and my shrink has split so I have no other alternative than this. You see this is the thing with the de A. kind of mother is that they are such powerful killing machines. Mine would be some kind of a nuclear warhead missile; she would be the affective Terminator. You see Iran and Korea are fighting over my mother. My mother is so f***ing manipulative that if she was Saddam Hussein’s lawyer, W would probably reinstate him at the head of Iraq. One of the worst career move I ever did was to become her son. Immediately after being born, I met her and I tried to file a lawsuit against her but I lost (the Spanish judicial system is f**ed up). I even put an ad in the Figaro placing myself up for adoption at three years old. She is not even wealthy, famous or alcoholic no she is just plain heartless without excuses. If you think Corridas are cruel, you have not met my mother. If you think that Cruella De Vil or TJ L. are truly frightening figures for children, you have not met Mrs. de A. When my friend would not eat their Spanish version of chicken pot pie, their mother would tell them: "finish your plate or I call Tristan's mother". At Halloween, the kids in my block would dress up like Mrs. de A. If I had known, I would have accepted to join Joan Crawford or even Andrea Yates’s cute little families. I would even have taken Michael Jackson or Elizabeth Taylor for a mother instead but they would not let me. If Joan would beat her daughter with the wire hangers, mine would beat me up with the closet itself. Yesterday Kevin W. asked me why I like the US: well dear Kevin W. I like the US because Mrs. de A. does not live in this country. She is so mean she is on the no fly list. I actually should be a political refugee here. Oh I love Spain, Man, Madrid without my mother, it can't get much better than that. I am broke these days but I place a $5 open contract over Mrs. de A.’s head (you can even keep her hat for your show at Secrets). The thing is that she is eternal. You see the only aisle, she will go down with me will be the one of my funerals if she is invited. I guess 6000 kilometers is too short of a distance, I shall move again in a place without phones nor internet connection. I’d prefer to spend a week at the Clerk’s international union conference, than 5 minutes with Mrs. H. Gide's famous "Familles, je vous hais!” was written after he met my mother. Hervé Bazin interviewed me to write “Vipère au poing”. Finally, she inspired the author of “Poil de Carotte” (Carrot Head). And Elton John's wrote a song called "Mrs. de A. is back" just for her. Don’t tell her I wrote that, she will fly  her broomstick here and I don’t need that.

Comments

[Batya]

she may be a witch but least your mom is gorgeous. by the way i dumped the Spanishie i was dating in le garbage.

[Alexandre]

Do not take it personally. It comes with motherhood. Why do you think so many writers wrote about it. Give up. You will never measure up to your mother's expectations. Nobody does.