So, let me just take a moment to talk about a recent passing that has severely affected me.

No, not Michael Jackson.  I mean, sure, icon and legend and all of that jazz.  But, really, to me he is always going to be that WEIRD guy.  This may make me callous and you may violently disagree with me, but in my mind, his fame and sphere of influence has been gone since the raid at Neverland.

Or even Farrah Fawcett.  As little as I cared about Jackson’s passing, I cared even less about Farrah’s.  I know this also makes me evil, but I was in that generation that knew nothing of her other than her hair came back into fashion a few years back.  And she had famous nipples.  But, can I say, that if you’re going to go, that ANAL CANCER may just be the more horrible way to die?  Yes, I do believe that having some parasitic amoeba eat away the inner intestines of your bowels might just be the one way I don’t want to die.  So my condolences and all that.

But yesterday?  FUCKING BILLY MAYS DIED.

I’m sorry; that was incredibly rude.

The LATE FUCKING BILLY MAYS DIED.

I have had a long running obsession with infomercials.  That doesn’t make sense, nor is it healthy for my bank accounts, but there you have it.  I love them.  LOVE THEM.  Maternity leave was like a godsend to me because I could spend sleepless days in front of court tv and sleepless nights in front of infomercials. 

Billy Mays was sort of a hero of mine.

I mean, think about it.  The guy had one talent: he could yell persuasively.  And he turned that into a multi-million dollar empire.  And he did it all with one shirt, my friends.  That?  That is talent.

Then, Discovery Channel FINALLY picked up on what I already knew: that Billy was a star.  He was featured in the new show, “Pitchmen”, alongside fellow infomercial genius Anthony Sullivan.  It showed how they picked their products to sell, and how genuine they really were.  They LOVED what they did, and they were good at it.  They were our modern day carnival barkers, and I loved it.

And now?  There is no more Billy Mays.  My heart is broken.  Our Everyman has fallen.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.. you started training in April and ran a 5k in May?!”

I nodded, beaming.  It even astounded me. 

There was no good reason for me to pick up running.  I just decided that I wanted to do it.  So I did.

I get that from my mom.

My mom was constantly discovering new amazing talents that surprised even her.  One day, she got tired of spending good money on hair accessories for us.  She just hated that they never quite matched, and LAWD, they were expensive.  We didn’t always have that kind of money.  But she wanted her girls to look like we did.

So she started making hairbows.

And she was GOOD at it.  And not just good, but good enough that she started doing trade shows and church sales and made the rounds as “BowJangles”, and people LOVED her stuff.  My personal fave was a bow she made out of comic strips.  She was savvy enough to grab a dated comic strip (say, a birthday or an anniversary) and make a precious bow out of it.  She was Etsy before Etsy was invented.

Then we got older and she decided that she wanted to stay involved in other ways through our lives.  We were heavily involved in local theatre, and Mom didn’t sew or act or sing, so she sat out for a season or so until she found something she COULD do. 

So she decided to be a graphic designer.

And she was GOOD at it.  I mean, really good.  She designed most of the posters for the shows we performed in, as well as the programs and often the tickets.  She had an uncanny knack for unusual color combinations, and made stock clip art look hand-drawn and unique.  She educated herself at home, through books and online courses, and now she’s in high demand for her artistry in graphic design.

My mother has this amazing skill for just deciding she wants to do something and becoming insanely proficient at it.  Sure, this may apply itself in odd forms .. growing up, Zelda was a source of disdain because the tv was off-limits until Mom had solved the damn game .. but for the most part, it resulted in beautiful and ethereal creations that, to this day, I am grateful and amazed to have witnessed.  And incredibly jealous that I cannot replicate.

But the zest for succeeding?

I get that from my mom.

Happy Birthday, Mommy Dearest.  You are everything an Italian mother should be, with a dose of southern grace for good measure.  Thank you for everything you’ve given me and my family.  I hope this birthday is the best yet, but overshadowed by the ones to come.  I love you.

(My mom reads this blog religiously.  It would be AWESOME if everyone could visit here .. even from the feed reader .. and wish her a happy birthday in the comments.  She would be ecstatic!)(Also, tell her how awesome her daughter is.)(No, ME, not the other daughter.)

I owe you a post.  I do.  I know that.

And life is starting to come to a screeching halt now that my show is over, so hopefully there will be more time for that.

But today is not that day, because I’m still playing catch-up from half-assing life the last two weeks.

I did, however, want to say this:

My little online family, I love you more than my luggage.  I can’t tell you how much it means to read stories of motherhood, of stress, of marriage, of things that I think I’m the ONLY ONE IN THE WORLD only to find out that.. hey.. I’m not.  You went through it too.  And we can all laugh about it, because in the end, it’s all pretty damn funny.

There’s a slew of you out there that all have babies around the same age as Tony.  I feel like Tony has some extended, virtual family: Dylan, Maddie, Lyla, AndyZ, Penelope, Lexi, Nate, Noah are all part of his brethren that he’s only seen through video and pictures, but they all helped his mother remain sane.  I know it sounds silly, and maybe I’m overly emotional (WHAT?!), but I wanted to say that.  I love y’all muchly and you’re seriously the most stable and amazing and fabulous group of people that I (n)ever knew. And it’s not even just reading your stories and laughing/crying along with you, but the personal exchanges .. the emails, the messages, the Twitters.. all of that counts. It’s amazing to me that such a kinship can be formed between people who have never been in the same room.

But one day we shall all be in the same room. AND LAWD, THEN IT IS OVER.