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arizona driving drunk law, overtime pay, literature, shwarma, driving drunk, seth diamond, angry about, video, stress, pamela, jennifernew, drunklesbian, anderson, anger, barnard, erotic, laws, drunk moms, dirtyjokes, agnosticism, holidays, postsecularism, literary, dogging, "You know Marge's daughter married a nice alcoholic from New Jersey," she commented as we pushed drunk flashing woman the plastic Christmas tree into the corner of the living room. "Every year for drunk flashing woman the last decade they've managed to make it to Marge's for the holidays," she continued. I was sure that Marge, in her need to needle my mother, had left drunk flashing woman out the fact that her son-in-law ritually collapsed into her cranberry mold just after grace. "But not you," she went on, "you had to be different." My brother, who was living in Chicago while practicing as a Lutheran minister, remained innocent of sin despite having missed every single holiday since I had flown the coop. I took over the kitchen from the get go, having learned to cook at a tender age in order to increase my chances of survival into adulthood. I set a bowl of stew down on the dinner table next to a platter of steaming pilaf.
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"Offtah, but you sure put up a good fight, didn't you? A lesser woman would have crumbled, Sweetie, don't forget that," she said as she shwarma rubbed my back. I think that's why most of us stay close to our families, no matter how neurotic the members, how deeply annoying or dull--because when people have seen you at your worst, you don't have to put on the shwarma mask as much. And that gives us license to try on that radical hat of liberation, the hat of self-acceptance; shwarma we're allowed to escape from underneath one of the fatwas. --Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies Soon to be divorced, I decided to remain with my mother. Grateful to be free of a third-world country, I had forgotten what living with the woman was like. I was now an adult with children of my own but, to my mother, I was still her wayward child. She lived alone now, having been divorced from my father for several years, and welcomed the chance to be around the grandchildren of whom she had been cheated. Her anger over my absence and over the countless hours she had spent fretting over my living in the terrorist capital of the world seeped out in its usual subtle way.
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