I Hate Your Sleepovers, And Especially Your Mom

Thanks so much for inviting me to sleep at your house. I never would’ve been able to fall asleep at my own house what with the comfortable and familiar bed, the lack of snoring, and the wholly reassuring thought that my own parents would be sleeping a few rooms over and would protect me if sex-offenders picked our locks or if ghouls arrived and tried to eat my bones. But seriously; while I understand the importance of the sleepover in normal female social development, I do have an issue to raise with you. That issue is your mom: I hate your mom.

For starters, your mom asks too many questions. Just because you and I go to different schools now doesn’t mean she has missed anything. I am still not popular, I still look like George Costanza minus glasses and plus hair, and the most thrilling event in my life this week was that at recess I got a pebble lodged under my toenail and then the nurse told me not to wear sandals to school anymore and when I went back out to the playground a sixth-grader with a rattail pointed at me and I sat against a wall and no one, not even the teacher, bothered to ask if my toenail was OK (it was). So please tell your mom to lay off. Your mom is a social climber and should go move to England if she cares that much about class. She should go have tea and crumpets with the Spice Girls and leave me alone.

I hate that every time I come over your mom drives us in her stupid Chevy Malibu to the Taco Bell down the road because if she drives long distances the cops might find the Boones’ Farm hidden in her Hawaiian Punch can, and also because she can’t cook any dinners, only sandwiches, which is lunch food. I hate that when we go inside she always asks me, “How many Items are you getting?” And then goes, “What, only two Items?!” And then insists that I order more Items. If you’d please tell your mom to shut up, I’ll even pay for the goddamn Taco Bell next time because my mom, who knows how to cook all sorts of things such as Hamburger Helper and Boboli pizza, always gives me five bucks before she drops me off at ya’ll’s stupid house. And just fyi, although each concoction on Taco Bell’s menu may share equal status as an “Item” in your mom’s utopian little world, in the real world everyone knows that in terms of fullness a Cinnamon Twists does not equal a Bean Burrito does not equal a Mexican Pizza, and so forth. Your mom is a Communist and should move to Cuba, where she’d probably starve because she’d only get to order zero Items as they don’t have Taco Bell there.

I wish when I came over that your mom would let us stay inside like normal kids. But no, she’s all, “Internet Time is up, Go play outside, Go jump in the lake, Wait I’ll go with you, Let me go put on my bikini!” We just ate Items from Taco Bell; does she want us to get a cramp and drown? Why does your mom even own a bikini? She’s a mom for chrissakes. Why does she always come sit on the dock with us and wear Oakley sunglasses with multicolored lenses and hum TLC songs and try to steer the conversation toward boys? “Ooh, look at that chunk of man meat on the jet ski,” etc. Everyone knows I am too shy to talk about boys in front of a mom and also I’m scared of getting chopped up in a jet ski propeller. Full disclosure, I am also still a little afraid of getting my foot sucked up by the vacuum cleaner, but I guess I don’t have to worry about that at ya’ll’s house because, based on all the Taco Bell wrappers haphazardly strewn about, your mom is fatally allergic to cleaning.

And look, I hate to even bring this up, but what is the point of having a 64k internet connection if your mom only lets you use it for thirty minutes per day? We have a snaillike 28k connection at my house and my brothers and I have killed many an afternoon physically brawling over who gets to download midis and play Literati on Yahoo!Games. Brawling. Last week, my youngest brother had to go to the hospital with a dislocated kneecap. But he’s a trooper, he lived, we didn’t have to talk about hunks or ride jet skis, and when we got home my mom cooked us macaroni with crunched-up Saltines on top.

Additionally: Why the heck did your mom give you that lip balm that smells like hot dogs? What kind of Easter Basket gift is that? I fucking hate hot dogs. Hot dogs taste like bologna burps. Hot dogs suck. I want to go home just thinking about it. How come your mom never just lets us use her make-up when we play pop stars? My mom always lets us use hers, but try telling that to your mom and she just says to go downstairs and watch TV and quit bugging her because she’s on the phone with the psychic hotline. Why does your mom always invite that stupid fat hippie neighbor and his fifteen-year-old son over, and why do they always bring their guitars and play “The Boxer”? I am tired of that song. Why can’t they play “Camptown Races” or “Red, Red Wine”? Why doesn’t your mom install a lock on your bathroom door? Or does she want people to walk in on you? If your mom likes TLC so much, then why does she always sing along to Christian music when she’s driving? If your mom loves you, why doesn’t she birth you some siblings? Or does she want you to die alone? Why does your mom let you watch MTV but not PG-13 movies? Why did she hang that poster on your bedroom wall of unicorns running through a big puddle? Why does she let you drink Surge, which makes people infertile? Why does she always laugh when Carrot Top comes on TV?

Sorry to unload on you like this, and I guess I really shouldn’t take any of your mom’s crap personally. It’s probably just that she is cranky on account of her botched shag haircut and leaving her wallet in the Wal Mart parking lot and finding out that her current lake-house husband possibly kissed and touched penises with the mayor in the city park restrooms. So thanks again for inviting me over, and please tell your stupid mom thanks for making me realize how much I like my mom. My mom is the best. The only thing that could possibly make her better is if she wouldn’t make me go to any more goddamn sleepovers at your stupid house. TC mark


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  • http://www.facebook.com/seikel Steve Seikel

    And all your stupid rules about “one scoop of ice cream” and “one piece of food item” also “no noise please” and your house smells weird. and your parents arent cool.  why do you wear a robe everywhere? Did we just j/o together in the same room?

  • valentine_kitchenson

    And why can I not sit on anything without getting piles of dog hair running up my backside? And why does the milk in your fridge always taste weird compared to the gallon in mine?

  • http://somuchtocome.blogspot.com Aja

    This is needlessly mean.  Kids like you were the reason why I never wanted to have sleepovers.  I can't control my Mum's actions (who was cranky, but loving, not a favorite with the neighborhood kids) but I can exercise the ability to not invite an ungrateful asshat over to spend the night.  And no, my Mum would not let you play with her make up either.  You'd mess it up.

    • Guest

      Ughhh, it wasn't, your house just sucked. Your mom chain smoked, your dad made inappropriate jokes about moles that said “ass” and you had nine cuckoo clocks. Nine. Fucking clocks. Every hour was just time to dream about living in an old-school insane asylum, with old-school strait-jackets and everything. I'm glad you never had sleepovers.

      • Guest

        omg, mole-asses, yes

      • http://somuchtocome.blogspot.com Aja

        Yikes!  I would hate to be you.  You get a kick and a thrill out of meanness and those are the saddest people in life.   But most important to me, you're completely wrong.  My mother has never drank or smoked in my life, to this day.  She was loving but she was a disciplinarian who didn't take any shit from bratty kids.  She cooked and if we were nice, she ordered pizza.  But she didn't tolerate kids who came in and acted like they owned the place.  Or treated our house like they were better than us (which is what this essay reeks of mostly).  My mother had/has rules and that might be why people always told her what well behaved good natured kids we were.  But more important my parents taught me something, which you're obviously lacking:  compassion.  My parents are big on this dying trait.  We were taught not to laugh at other people's situations and that no one needs your judgment.  But if I had told my Mother that I didn't want to go to someone's house because their mother drank Boone's Hill while driving, I wouldn't be going there anymore.  End of story.  It's called having a conversation with your kids.  People should try it.  Oh yeah and she'd also kick us outside to play.  It's no wonder childhood obesity is on the rise in America.  Bottom line:  my parents rule.  Fuck you.

        End Rant.

        PS-  I will give you the roman numeral clock which chimed on the hour.  The kids which were fortunate enough to receive an invite to my house, thought it was cool.  Because you know, they were cool.

  • RamonaCC

    But “The Boxer” is such a good song…

  • Guest

    Loved this.

  • Coco

    This is hilarious. CJ: you're such a welcome addition to TC! (Let's face it, the quality has been plummeting lately, for the most part.) Keep it up!

  • Hjddydj

    Go fuck your mom then. Stupid bitch.

    • http://twitter.com/cjhallman Carly J Hallman

      Good enough for a poke! ;)

  • http://twitter.com/ihavenofun Radio Raheem

    This. Is. So. True.

  • Guest

    hot dogs slay though, how is this even up for contention

  • Drake

    How old are you? 10…

  • lauren

    I once had a sleepover when I was 9 with a girl who still wore diapers and her parents didn't believe in microwaves and her dad was a German philosopher and y'all is spelled with the apostrophe before the A

    • http://twitter.com/cjhallman Carly J Hallman

      It is, isn't it? Oh, well. I only feel a little embarrassed about it because I'm not a native Texan, and so how should anyone expect me to know such things? The Internet? Spell-check? Asking a friend? But I should probably peel the “I wasn't born in Texas, but I got here as fast as I could” sticker off my bumper now.  :/

    • http://twitter.com/cjhallman Carly J Hallman

      Also, did her parents change her diapers or did she do it herself?

  • http://fastfoodies.org Briana

    I love most of all the capitalization and sanctity of Items.

    My earlier comment on your earlier article stands strong, CJ. It still stands strong.

    • douchegirl

      I thought the same thing about “Items”. God, what nerd we are.

  • Lillian

    Yeesh, commenters on TC are kind of harsh sometimes. Maybe commenters everywhere are harsh, but I've just started to regularly read comments on blogs that I read. Anyway, I liked this post a lot. It was hilarious!

  • http://www.facebook.com/t.jason.ham Jason Ham

    Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha fucking Items.

  • your cousin

    My mom asks my friends too many questions :( but it gives me a break from her. I go sit in the other room in peace.

  • Indescifrable

    This was so annoying to read, you sound like a douchebag. Grow a pair and speak up your mind instead of coming  here to complain about nonsense.

    • http://twitter.com/cjhallman Carly J Hallman

      Hehe. I just pictured a douchebag with balls speaking up its mind.

  • guesst

    I love it.  To the haters: She's writing this from the perspective of a child (pretty obviously I thought) and children are ungrateful and scared of new things.  Stop bitching at her, she's not going around saying this to her actual friends' parents.

    • http://somuchtocome.blogspot.com Aja

      Are you sure?  I grew up with some bratty kids . . .

    • Guest1

      Agreed. However, what’s to say that if her friends or her parents read this, they won’t assume she’s referring to them? 

      I think it’s sad that we don’t realize that just as other people’s eccentricities bother us, much about us probably bothers them. Live and let live. If we spent half the time we spend mocking & criticizing others on bettering ourselves, we wouldn’t really have to be so crude all the time.


    I recognized your prose style by the 2nd paragraph. Write more, please.

    • AbbyR

      Yes.   This is incredible.   Please write more.  I love you!  So glad to have discovered your writing.

  • Aelemon

    As funny as this was, the true comedy lies in the comments.

    Don't read TC if you can't recognize satire, but dear readers, if you must, please continue to make foolish and unreasonable remarks which highlight your complete lack of intelligence.

    • http://somuchtocome.blogspot.com Aja

      Just because an essay used a satirical voice, doesn't mean it's automatically funny.  There really are kids out there with parents who are as bad as what's described here.  I grew up with some.  And their situations aren't there for other people's amusement.  Since when is it funny to be cruel?  Even when you're a kid?

  • guest

    Hahahahaha!  Amazing.  

    My BFF growing up's mom made us stand with our noses in the corner like the Blair Witch or write hundreds of sentences when we misbehaved.

  • Briana

    You are my new favorite TC contributor. So hilarious.

  • guest

    BHAHHAHAHHAHAHHA. LOVE. Also there are WAY too many people with the annoying “you're lucky you had a mom ” comments, and they can suck a dee. When I was the age of the voice in this story I didn't really have a mom (mine had drug problems so I would see her like… Never.)  I  still HATED the moms like the aforementioned mom. Like, why the hell are you asking a 12 year old so many damn questions? These moms didn't have a sense of boundaries with kids… As an adult, I still hate people like this mom, regardless of my different-crappy relationship with my own mother, so everyone with the not finding humor is ridiculous. Write more.

  • Guest

    lol this is Aja: http://www.nbc.com/saturday-ni

    • http://somuchtocome.blogspot.com Aja

       Touche.  (Not really but whatever, I’ll give it to you). 

  • Kieran Slattery

    CJ, this is absolutely hilarious. The effing Items – YES!! I had friends (and friends’ moms) exactly like this. Every paragraph is funnier than the last. PLEASE write more.

    Aja, get a life.

    • http://somuchtocome.blogspot.com Aja

      I have a life AND I’m a nice person.  Deal with it.

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