Conversations with Mommy Dearest

My Mom likes to call me and give me little updates on all her friends' kids. You know So and So's kid just graduated from med school. This person's kid just got a promotion. Chubby Suburban Mom's kid just bought their first house. Then she tells me that she never knows what to say to her friends when they ask what I am doing. Like I am out here giving handjobs on Santa Monica Blvd. or something. I'm not that broke. At least not yet. "What should I tell them?" She aks.

Tell them I went to a very prestigious film school, graduated with a M.F.A. and now I'm a writer. She could also tell them while Chubby Suburban Mom's kid is shoveling the snow off their new driveway, I'm lounging in the pool. Yeah. A pool. That's way better than living in Pittsburgh.

"You have nothing to show for being a writer." She likes to say. Sure I do. I have stacks of rough drafts, second drafts, and third drafts of screenplays littered over my place. Actually, I'm too much of a neat freak for that. I organize everything into storage bins. Gotta love Ikea. I also have the letter my former manager sent me when I was unceremoniously dropped as client. Yeah. Class Act he was.

Maybe I could mail her the expired parking passes from various studio parking lots where I've had meetings. She could show all those to her friends. You think they'll be impressed?