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Posts Tagged ‘UCLA’

“Bobby,” I say, exasperated.  “It is not a gambling game, it is a writing game. You are many fantastic things, but you are not a writer.”

His look, coupled with his “tell it to the hand” attitude, suggests I go to my FInder folder, pull up pictures, and get back to him.

“Fine.” I answer, making it clear with my retreat that he can tell it to my ass.

Well, I am busted, he gets to play.

bobby_writer_cropped.jpg

 First of all, the rules, sent to me by the SO cool Sherri Cornelius, who “tagged” me to play this game. Being a newbie here on wordpress, I have no idea what being tagged is, but I think it is a badge of honor.
Learning, immediately forgetting, learning the same thing over and over….AHH, the GREAT circle of life! (The first person who recognizes that film quote wins…something. I will figure it out later.

BACK to the task at hand.

First, the rules:

1. Link to the person’s blog who tagged you.
2. Post these rules on your blog.
3. List seven random and/or weird facts about yourself.
4. Tag seven random [?] people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
5. Let each person know that they have been tagged by posting a comment on their blog.

We are now on Rule Number Three. (Rule number 1a is the mom gets to go first).

MOM:
Sixteen years ago, when I was twenty nine, I went to the UCLA psychiatric facility to seek help for depression. I received ten minutes of interaction, and was sent home with a bag of antidepressants. I was misdiagnosed. These medications – prozac, wellbutrin, too many to list – have helped many people, but in my case, they caused my heart to stop. I was in my apartment, luckily with a sort of ex-boyfriend, as we were trying to work things out. He called 911, and the paramedics applied the paddles over and over, until one of them said, “Well, it’s time to bag and tag her”.
(Mind you, I have no memory of this – this was told to me, in great detail).
My boyfriend pleaded for them to try one more time and viola! – heartbeat.
My heart stopped again in the ambulance, but the got ‘er going again.
However, all of this insanity left me in a coma for a week, and when I came to, I had brain damage. I was a grown woman with the brain capacity of a six-year old. The family were discussing what facility I should be shipped to.
I woke up in the UCLA psyche ward with two weeks of my life absolutely blank, and it has stayed blank.
I woke up to a team of psychiatrists standing around my bead, charts in hand, asking me if I knew what I had done.
That is an unsettling question.

BOBBY:
“And you have the nerve to call me a three year old. I am going to snap at you when we are finished.”

MOM:
“Bobby, it is your turn to tell us something about yourself.”

BOBBY:
Well, besides being the real writer, I have become a vegetarian. At first I ate beef, McDonald burgers were just the best, I ate chicken, yeah, yeah, I know we are related, don’t start. But I find that I like dry cat food, cheese and egg whites. I believe the egg whites come from living in Los Angeles. I have been bombarded with donated magazines that I shred, but I do read them, and it is very, very important to stay svelte.

“Bobby, dry cat food is fattening.”
“Shut Up – your turn, Dead Zone.”

MOM:
When my father died, five years and three months ago, I divorced the rest of my family. Mother, sister, brother. I have chosen to have no family. Tomas and you, Bobby, along with the cats and Wullith the rabbit, are my family. I like my in-laws, but they are on the east coast, so whenever we get to see them it is a real treat.

“Why can’t I go with?”
“I smuggle you into the house, how do you think I can smuggle you onto a plane? I can barely get on a plane.”
“Point taken.”

BOBBY:
I love to have my head and chest scriched by the Mom. I demand it, by pounding on my condo, then putting my head down and waiting. She always complies, she cannot resist, and I make her do it until her arms hurt and she has to quit. It makes her feel guilty, but I cannot help it, it just feels so good. I think she is getting some kind of Karma for always wanting backrubs from the Dad.

“You dont even know that I get backrubs, brat.”
“Mother, you have no idea what I know.”

MOM:
I went to the DMV to renew my I.D. and was informed that I was on the suspected terrorist list. I use that fact whenever someone is working my last nerve. You might want to remember that, Robert.

“Oh puh-leeze. You SO scary when you call me Robert. See? I am shaking.”
“You are shaking because it is cold out here. Want the heat on?”
“Sure.”
“Okay.”
“Can I say one more?”
“NO! the game specifically says SEVEN! God!
“But how about seven for you and seven for me?”
“Honestly, I really cannot tell which one of is the most self-centered.”
“Well, everybody knows the world revolves around the bird. How ’bout hitting that heat?”

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