- Only people in the United States can enter the contest, because I'm way too poor to ship anything overseas. Sorry! Everyone is welcome to comment, though!
- To enter the contest, you must clearly vote by either saying "Rachel is worse" OR "Rachel's mom is worse", followed by your reasoning.
- Voting gets you one point. If your comment makes me laugh, you'll get an extra point. If your comment is rude to my mother, you get negative one million points and a pissed off daughter coming at you with a vengeance.
- The winner will have a choice from three relevant prizes. (Note: Do NOT click these if you don't want any spoilers on what the stories are related to. Choice one, choice two, choice three.)
- The winner will be picked by a random number generator online.
- The winner of the contest and the winner of this poll (my mom or myself) will be announced next Wednesday! (Ordering the prize will be done at the end of next week, after I get paid.)
This is the story of the time that my mom was kicked out of Mexico.
When my mom was about fifteen, almost sixteen, she lived in New Mexico. Every couple of weeks, she and her friends would go across the boarded too Jaurez, to get shitfaced. Even though she didn't have a license, it was her turn to be the driver, so she wasn't allowed to drink anything alcoholic for the night.
When they got into the bar, her friend ordered for her (because he spoke Spanish). The drink was a green drink called Poison (the same green that the band Poison uses on their album covers). It was hot so she downed the first one. Apparently, it tasted like incredibly sweet Koolaid. She downed a second one and the friend who ordered for her decided to go to the bar next door to check it out.
Somehow, this friend bumped into somebody and military training kicked in. The police got involved before anything bad happened, but the entire group were saying, "Let's go! We need to get out of here!" By this time, Momma was on drink number three. It hit her when she turned around, so hard that she stumbled and sprained her ankle. She couldn't walk.
The friend picked up my mom but the police started yelling at them. "If she can't walk, I'm arresting her!" The friend put her back down and played it off like they were dating, trying to get her down the street. As soon as they were out of Jaurez city limits, he picked her back up. "Put her down! We will arrest her!" The police yelled. He put her back down and they made it to the bridge to cross over to the United States.
He picked her back up. "If she can't walk across the border, we are going to arrest her." Said the guard.
"Fuck you! My fucking ankle hurts and I'm drunk and I'm not fucking supposed to be drunk and he wasn't supposed to get into a fight and I'm trying to leave!" My mom was angry, drunk, and clearly didn't want to walk.
"GET HER THE FUCK OUT OF MY COUNTRY BEFORE I HAVE HER ARRESTED!" The guard yelled.
They got her the fuck out of their country before she got arrested...and went back two weeks later. The same guard was on duty and watched them like a hawk. Momma took her turn as driver and ordered water, because no alcohol.
This is the story of the time that I was kicked out of church.
I actually have no recollection of this because I was two, so this is the story as told to me by my mother (like her story).
When I was two, my grandma was big on the whole church thing. She used to take my aunt and me with her whenever she went, which my mom was totally okay with. My mom had stayed home to cut the grass, because my dad is a lazy fuck who didn't do it like he promised and they were getting in trouble on the military base for not having it done.
Since I was a toddler, I went into the nursery Sunday school class thing. At some point, I found a doll. (Sherry, this is the doll that I mentioned in your blog post.) I later named that doll "Baby Girl Jesus", for reasons unknown even to me. My family gave me all kinds of grief for it because "Jesus is a boy" but "that's why she's Baby Girl Jesus". I remember that part, but not the actual story.
The teacher ended up getting my aunt, during the sermon, who then called my mom in a panic. "Rachel just hit a little girl! You've got to come get us!"
When my mom strolled into the church, she interrupted the sermon (she interrupted God's word and I'm still the bad one, apparently), wearing holey jeans and covered in cut grass. "Where's Rachel?" The congregation gasped. "I can't believe she's not on fire!" People looked to the sky, expected to see lightening crash down or the ceiling start to cave in. "She's in the nursery. Would you like to join us? We have room in the front row." The pastor/father/preacher asked. "No thank you. I just heard Rachel hit somebody so I'm here to get her."
My aunt was still with me in the nursery, where I was holding the doll I had found in the church.
Now here's where we aren't 100% sure what actually happened.
My aunt had been in an entirely different room when the teacher had gotten her, because I was hitting somebody, but my aunt saw me hit somebody. What that means to us is that I didn't just hit her once (like I originally thought) but I must have gone after this three year old girl to the point that the teachers couldn't control me and then my aunt saw the final punch.
So, not only did I hit somebody in church, but I kicked the ass of a girl who was a little older than me. We aren't entirely sure why, but we're pretty sure it's because she was trying to take the doll away from me.
The church gave me the doll and said that I had to leave for the day, but I was welcome back the following week (provided that I wasn't going to assault anyone).