Amanda Bernstein smashed her finger in the door. Smashed it so bad mom had to rush her to Memorial Hospital. Since Amanda has insurance Amanda got healthcare, so mom had a great idea. She decided to smash her finger the next day and pose as Amanda. That way she could get a checkup using Amanda’s insurance card. Mom got herself a checkup, but at a different hospital. Memorial Hospital West. The doctor said mom’s finger will be fine no problem just go home and rest, but mom told the doctor she had cramps, in her chest. You can’t have cramps in your chest, the doctor said. But mom insisted. Stop drinking, he said. Fuck you, she said. He looked into her eyes. I think you have Hepatitis C, he said. Fuck, she said. Fuck yah, he said. There was no sex involved in mom’s diagnosis, just a lot of fucking while the doctor explained why the letter C. She’s on meds now. Doing fine right next to me.
Mom just broke up with Amanda Bernstein. Amanda Bernstein just broke up with mom. No one packs their bags. Mom throws a crockpot at Amanda Bernstein. Amanda Bernstein calls mom a crackpot. The crockpot cracked. They’re in the kitchen and there’s a chicken on the kitchen counter. Amanda Bernstein throws a cornmuffin with chocolate chips at mom. Mom picks up the cornmuffin and eats it. The kitchen is under assault but the chicken is okay for now. Mom calls Amanda Bernstein a bitch. Mom makes oo ooo oo uh uhhh oo ooo monkey sounds in response. Scratches her armpits. Puffs her chest. Amanda makes monkey sounds too. Puffs her chest and scratches her armpits. The kitchen is a zoo and the chicken is still dead on the kitchen counter. No one moves. Not even the chicken. Ooo oo uh uhh oo oo, I say. Ooo oo uh uhh oo oo, they respond and then we all laugh–except the chicken. He just doesn’t get our humor. Plus, he’s dead dead.
Mom thinks the grounp Young Americans for Freedom is a hate group. Mom thinks all they want is to see her dead. Her son dead. Her lover dead. All of us dead who think all humans should have the same rights. Mom will have more to say on Ryan Sorba later but right now she is in the process of putting on her lesbian shoes. The ones she wears to protest. The sames ones with the high high heels she wears to work when she strips for the Young Americans for Freedom. Mom is going to make breakfast today and wear her high high heels while she makes breakfast. Amanda Bernstein and I called the fire department just in case she burns the house down. We hope Ryan Sorba shows up so we can show him how supernatural mom really is. Like a Clydesdale. Bigger and stronger than he’ll ever be. Even though he has fancy eyebrows we can see right through him. We hope he shows up for breakfast so we can show him how good it tastes.
Mom is less sad today because she got laid. Mom is less sad because Amanda Bernstein got her a Valentine’s Day gift. Mom is less sad because Amanda sat on her lap and kissed her on the lips for an hour. Mom is less sad because I told her she should be less sad. I swear I’ll punch you, I said. She just laughed and said shut up as if she’d never been sad before or knew the concept of sadness. It’s Valentine’s Day, I said. She said she knew it was. She said I should find a date, fall in love, and get laid. I told her I was too young and not into sex, yet. Our mutt Bobo the Mutt kissed mom on the lips. Mom kissed Bobo the Mutt on the lips. It wasn’t gross and wasn’t meant to be. It was just mom, Amanda Bernstein and Bobo the Mutt in a threesome, full of love–their tongues licking each other like they were licking a rapidly melting vanilla ice cream cone. I just watched because I’m not into women or mutts.
On my way to school this morning mom and Amanda Bernstein (don’t forget the fucking B is silent! Amanda screamed) got into a fight, no fists, just tongue lashings and lots of fuck yous and bitch. The couple in the car next to us were making out at a stop light, so mom and Amanda started to make out too. The lady in the Ford saw them and made a pug face. I don’t think she was impressed, or maybe she was disgusted, or had an upset stomache, the shits. Mom screamed at her: Fuck off, you stupid bitch. Even though the window was closed, Amanda wasn’t too pleased, because the lady in the other car was Amanda’s boss and she wasn’t fond of lesbians. Amanda wanted to know if mom loves her. Amanda Bernstein wants to be loved. Amanda said her love is real and said so what and mine is too. Mom said she loves Amanda and that’s a fact, but mom had her finges crossed behind her back. I kept my big mouth shut for once, but laughed. Mom told Amanda that she only wants mom for her body and cigarettes. I don’t know what mom’s talking about, crazy bitch. Who’d want a woman with chicken skin and saggy squishy tits. Mom and I dedicated this day to nudity and the holy trinity–mom, Amanda, and me. They didn’t drop me off at school. You’re not gonna’ learn anything there anyway, they said. Fuck ya’! I thought. We’re gonna’ hang out and tan, drink margaritas in the back yard, mom said. Amanda wasn’t amused, but she joined us anyway. Amanda doesn’t drink but she isn’t about to give mom up without a fight to the death. It’s as if Amanda Bernstein has no self-respect. Or maybe she does. It’s hard to tell when the woman holding your mother’s hand is more of a mother to you than your real mom will ever be. Like I said before, we’ll see how long this lasts. Till then, I’ll keep my toes crossed.
I should do my homework but Amanda Bernstein (silent B) and mom are fucking like wild boars. I’ve never heard wild boars fuck but I assume it is like what’s going on in the kitchen. I’m not sure what lesbian sex is like, but it’s awesome, otherwise mom would be screaming no. One day when I become a real woman I will have wild boar sex, unless my husband is a Republican. Not sure why I’d marry a Republican. If I did marry one, I’d show him what it’s like to be a human being again. In the meantime, I’m listening to my iPod and hoping (and hopping) that mom and Amanda will clean off the kitchen table. Dirty pigs.
Last night mom and her new lover Amanda Bernstein (the B is silent) got struck by a porn star while driving south on Biscayne Boulevard. He drove a Honda something and they’re not dead, but almost died. The porn star is dead. His body stained the sidewalk with his bloody good looks and secret past. Based on the size of his penis, it’s a shame he won’t perform on film anymore. I’ve seen his photographs on the Internet. No, mom has no idea what the Internet is for, but I do. My best friend Squinny has an X-tube account. Amanda stopped mom from flying out the windshield with the force of her arm. Snap. I had no idea Amanda was stronger than Godzilla, or would even think to stop mom from hitting asphalt, because I wouldn’t have been able to do it. It was that ass’s fault, mom said, fuming mad. The porn star is dead!
Amanda Bernstein and mom spent one night in the hospital together, almost snuggling, almost holding hands. It’s like they’re married already, but not. Till death do us part, Amanda said. Mom looked at Amanda and crinkled her nose as if she smelled like a pile of dog shit, but Amanda just smiled and laughed. Called her a stupid, selfish bitch. I’m not sure how this will end, but I know Amanda will never forget mom, and mom will probably never forget Amanda as well. Because I was watching Requiem for a Dream the night they almost died I feel like I know what they’ve been through together. I can feel all the painful feelings that a double-sided dildo can cause. When there’s no hope, there’s always a mom inside you and the pain just begins to slip away when the pain reaches its apex. Even when strapped to a bed on her last leg mom will always be mom. Insensitive, grumpy, ill-mannered, but full of bitter love–or the possibility of love. When they came home, I hugged them. Amanda hugged me back. Mom lit a cigarette then took a leak.
Mom brought home a new love interest last night. Her name is Amanda Bernstein, but the B is silent, so her last name sounds like Ernstein, which makes her sound like she’s the offspring of Bert & Ernie. She’s a handsome woman. Mom says don’t laugh, but I couldn’t help it. She looks like Bert, but she’s a woman, I think. Mom said she’s going to spend the weekend with us, and she did. We ate ham. I just shrugged my shoulders because mom’s experiments usually only last for 48 hours. Ms. Bernstein, whose last name begins with a silent B, is a kindergarden teacher and an anthropologist. I also think she likes mom more than mom likes her. I wonder how this will turn out. I wonder if it will last. I hid Amanda’s glasses beneath the sofa so that she’d stay a little longer. I rifled through her purse last night. Her name really is Amanda. She’s 5’6″. Chews Trident gum. And has a photograph in her wallet of a girl who looks just like me.