Move Over, Mrs. Lapczynski

A few months ago, when I was new to San Diego, I started a blog. At the time, my intention was to hone my voice and finally put to paper ... er, pixel... the columns that continually fly through my mind half-formed. Adding fuel to the writer's fire was the fact that, visiting a new town, I had a whole new set of experiences to draw on -- and plenty of free time. Little did I know what would happen next.

You see, somewhere along the line, I let someone in my family KNOW I was writing a blog. I suppose I'd written something I was proud of. Ah... those were the days. Next thing I knew, my mother started a blog. My brother was quick to follow. Suddenly, my family was communicating in a whole new way and better than ever, but it changed the nature of the beast.

This continued for months before my friend Chris joined the fray. Dear Chris. Many years ago, afraid to put my own words out for public consumption, I demanded that Chris follow his own writing muse according to my strict deadlines for an online magazine. As his editor, I earned the moniker Darth Kel.

The four of us -- my mother, brother, Chris, and me -- in varying combinations, read and comment on each other's blogs. Now, it's important for a writer to know his audience, but it's quite another thing for a writer to KNOW his audience... especially if they would otherwise be the subject of one's writings. That's a problem.

But not for my mother. You see, tonight my mother wrote quite a lengthy piece about me on her blog. Before I could pry the keyboard from her hands to comment on the fact she and the other fiends had devilishly plagiarized my lists of random thoughts, she'd already written a second post. And this one was about me. Specifically, it was about living with me again for the first time since I was 18.

Now don't get me wrong. I love my mother. I even like my mother. But I can't live with my mother. I've known it for as long as I can remember; my very first steps were toward the door.

And this is what I mean about KNOWING your audience, because that last sentence could go in any number of funny directions, but I don't want to hurt my mother's feelings for the sake of comedy. (Chris: you have a new assignment). The fact is, my mother and I are The Odd Couple incarnate. By the end of 3 weeks, one of us has to go before somebody gets killed. Stick to the hallway and your room and you won't get hurt! ...And to think she thought I should have been cast as the female Felix! Although she has a bit of a point: when it comes to the house, I am definitely Felix to her Oscar.

After sharing a space with me for the first time in 15 years, my mother wrote that she'd learned these things about herself:

• I am an inherently aggravating person.
• No matter where I am, I am in the way.
• Everything is my fault...that's just the way things are.
• There is no way I can help with anything. It's my fault, I should just get out the way, I am being aggravating.

My God that's aggravating! Now get out of my way, let me at the keyboard, and stop screwing up the fonts, will you?

She also wrote: "Living with an actor is a challenging thing. Actors are high-strung, sensitive, semi-hysterical creatures. People may live on the edge of hysteria. Actors build condos there." Yeah, that's not going to niggle away at me at all. AAUUGGHH! Now she's doing it on the internet!

Fortunately, this 3-week arrangement ends Friday. Mom and Dad are returning to Tennessee just as my rehearsals end and my show opens.

And then I'll be all alone... by myself... and lonely.

mommy!

Disclaimer: After reading my mother's blog at her insistence, I warned her that I would get her back. It's all in fun... though, like any comedy, it has a base of truth. Apologies to Neil Simon, whose recently-memorized lines made more than one italicized appearance above.