I Survived a Jewish Mother

This morning broke with a call from my mom--my mom! I hadn't talked to her in months.
"It's your Jewish mother!!" she yelled raspily, in perfect mock stereotype of her yiddish speaking counterparts, "You're the worst daughter--you never call!"
I know, I know, I don't. I'm terrible. But I'm finally visiting--that's worth something, right?
I tell everyone about my mom--my Jewish mom--but I never see it really neccesary to explain exactly how I know her, how I met her, and how technically she didn't give birth to me. I have a big blue badge on the front of my shoulder bag that bears block white letters that read "I Survived a Jewish Mother", and at least once a day I get the question: "You're Jewish?"
I always reply: "My mom is Jewish."
Then with furrowed eyebrows and the same basic knoledge of Jewish geneology that everyone has, they'll look at me confused, wondering how I could possibly not know who I've been all my life.
"Doesn't that make you Jewish?"
If I don't know them very well, I won't correct them. Yeah, I'm Jewish. You can't tell? Weird, most people can.
My mom is a writer like I pretend I am; I say this because she makes an actual living from it--a career if you will! Unlike me, she has no need to keep a day job dressing up like a french whore and photographing rich people all day. She is also the only person I know who can draw a correlation between Kafka and a Volkswagen Beetle.
Jill and I--like most people in this world--are completely obsessed with David Sedaris. Right now, I'm listening to an old episode of TAL, one of my all time favorites called A Very Special Sedaris Christmas. In the episode, there is an interlude that describes how Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol to get out of debt, to get a piece of the just burgoning christmas cash cow. 1854 was apparently not without it's commercialism. Jill, my jewish mother, once got out of a parking ticket by pleading with the police officer that it was Easter Sunday.
You see, I don't celebrate Easter, or Christmas for that matter; you see, I'm Jewish. Really? You can't tell? That's weird, most people can.

ETA on new piece--working title: Ride--a few more days. Probably Thursday or Friday. Don't cry--I'll finish soon. --M

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