Dying is Easy... It's Comedy That's Hard

A fan of SheenaVision on a head-injury recovery support forum I used to read penned this love note sometime earlier this week and I thought I'd share it. As flattered as I am with the attention, I kind of wish I could attract a wittier form of stalker. On the upside, Father's Day is right around the corner....

The biggest compliment Doucheena ever made up -err- overheard her father give her & her sister was spoken in the heat of an argument many years ago."I pity the fools who end up with those two bitches because they're turning out just like you".Well okay, maybe that was just an old episode of the A-Team. But I think about these fictional words often. Well okay, as often as they serve my own self-centered purposes, because they make such a nice little back story to justify my being so narcissistic and selfish. I realized yesterday during my weekly hair appointment (which never makes me look any better but hey at least it gets it washed) in Bloor Village (an area that obviously impresses me and hopefully you too) that Sunday was Mother's Day and no I hadn't sent a card, or flowers or a gift. Because I'm just that thoughtless, cheap and self-centered!So in lieu of any of that crap (crap meaning thoughtful gestures I'd actually have to spend cash or energy on), I will write this completely no-cost blog entry and then maybe go phone Mom and read it to her (because Sheena's Mom doesn't do the innerdnets, but mainly because it involves no money or effort, and strokes my own ego very nicely all at the same time!).Thank you Mom for being the single largest influence in my life during the most crucial formative years (seeing how I turned out, I guess this part isn't much of a compliment to you, but moving along, as today is really all about me, after all).For raising me in a house full of books and magazines and respecting the power of words (even though I don't use them well and still can't spell most of them, but like to think I can).For exposing me to a circle of strong funny women and demanding we develop a quick wit and sense of humour if we were going to sit at the grownup's table at dinner. All my female friends are jealous when I tell them I was raised by a coven (okay okay, no one has ever been jealous of me and I don't have any real female friends but I like to pretend. Pretending people are jealous of me is especially comforting, since it's always the other way around in real life. Gawd I hate women who have anything that I don't and never will! Ya know, like charm, class, talent, manners, brains, beauty, breeding, discipline, grace, kindness, altruism, humour, humility, insight, sex appeal, physical fitness, nice friends, good families, you name it I hate it).For reminding me that money and good taste have nothing to do with each other (which is good, seeing as I have little of the first and none of the second).For teaching me that just because one was poor, doesn't mean one needs to look it (although looking like crap is a little harder for me to avoid no matter how much money I have).For letting me trust my judgement and make decisions for myself (even though my judgement and these decisions tell me not to bother buying you anything for Mother's Day).For allowing me to leave when I needed to be on my own (I'm sure that one was much more rewarding for you, so there ya go, there's your frigging gift, mom).For not crying in front of me the day I packed up all my possessions and bought a 1-way Greyhound bus ticket (it was just about you being strong at the thought of losing such a wonderful daughter, not that you were relieved to finally get rid of me, right? Right??).For teaching me the basic comfort foods like homemade stuffing, bread from scratch and forgiving my utter complete failure with pie crusts (hey I may not know how to make em but I sure know how to eat em!).For instilling the fundamental commandment of never counting on anyone to look after your security and financial stability. Especially a man (good thing too since I've never met a man who'd be with me unless I was willing to pick up the tab).For encouraging to reach beyond my station (and to spend the rest of my life constantly obsessing and boring people to death about it).The first time I bought a pair of Gucci loafers at a SAKS season-end-clear-out sale and slapped down my credit card to buy them (I worked Gucci, Saks and credit cards all into one sentence! I'm not insecure! I'm not insecure! I'm not insecure! I'm not insecure!), I said "thanks mom" in my head (but not by phone or in person because that would mean spending energy or cash on someone other than myself).The first time I wore them in business class, I said "thanks mom" (but didn't bother to send you any shoes or a plane ticket).The first time I flew on a private corporate jet, the only woman in a sea of testosterone, and held my own in conversation (okay, okay, I didn't hold my own anything except an extra bag of pretzels or twelve), I said "thanks mom" (I really hope you are telepathic by now because I'm not putting my credit card into that frigging airplane phone).When I have 10 minutes to myself and get to explore the world, sitting in front of the places I need to mention for the sake of my self esteem, like the White House, touching the Conde Nast building in NYC, at the payphone outside the Eiffel Tower (hey I worked private jet, business class, White House, Conde Nast building and Eiffel Tower all into two sentences! Repeat: I'm not insecure! I'm not insecure! I'm not insecure! I'm not insecure! I'm not insecure!), I pick up the phone and say "thanks mom" (but don't actually dial). But rest assured I say it in my head much more often.Aww. What a touching tribute I just wrote entirely about -umm- myself. I hope you're grateful to have me as a daughter, mom. Happy Mother's Day!Ok, gonna call you now. Collect.