People, all I can say is:
I’m nice, I’m the mother of the J-man, who is God after all. But I just have to tell you – do NOT PISS ME OFF. I know when you are lying. I know when you are sleeping etc. Sort of like Santa Claus, but a lot less jolly, and I know what you’re doing, even when I’m not home. I’m away a lot because, I HAVE A LOT TO DO.
Like that girl I rescued from Ojai. Her parents were these down and out hippies. They’d been growing weed, but that business failed because they smoked all their product, and they were basically starving, and their little girl was crying in the preschool parking lot, so I came down to their beat up Volkswagen bus and said “I will take care of the child.” and up we went to Heaven, and in case you didn’t know, Heaven is sweet and looks just like Big Sur. There are gorgeous trees, and an amazing view of the ocean and seals that come and play on the beach, and of course scrumptious organic cocktails, and humus, and a lovely gift shop and all kinds of places to stay – cabins, and designer tents, and luxury tree houses. because duh – your father’s house has many mansions. Yes, it’s THAT house we’re talking about, with gardens and endless vistas. So I give the little girl the keys to the entire complex, and tell her – go where ever you want, play in every playroom, enjoy the spa, go horseback riding, but stay out of the 13th tree house, which is used for storage.
So I leave because I have visitations to make and saints to talk to and jugglers to see juggle at my altars, and what can I tell you I’m a popular lady and what do you think happens? That kid goes into every room and plays with the apostle in each one. I hear that James plays videogames, and Simon plays ping-pong, and Peter tells the best bedtime stories – which figures. But the little girl, let’s call her Britta, she wants that 13th room – the tree house. The little angels say no, and the big angels say no, and the flowers say no and the birds say no, but she goes in and sees the Holy Ghost roasting marshmallows over a big camp fire, and she puts her hand out to take one, and her finger turns gold.
I come back and – what’s a mother to do? — I throw her out. She goes and lives in the wilderness, aka Palm Desert, and then she meets some guy – which is nice and of which I approve, but when I say to her “Britta, I need you to take responsibility for this Holy Ghost and some mores situation,” she has the gall to deny it.
“No Virgin Mary, I did not go into the 13th room,” she pipes up in this very annoying So Cal voice,, and she keeps on denying she opened the 13th door.
Well, she marries the guy who runs some software empire, and she has a kid.
“Young lady,” I intone. “Didn’t you go into that 13th room?” She says no, so I take the baby.
But she doesn’t listen. She has 2 more kids and I take THEM away too.
Oh, and I don’t let her speak, because I’m STRICT LIKE THAT. and then the town is about to burn her as a witch at the Westfield Mall in front of Macy’s, and she says “oh gosh I’m sorry,” just as the flames are about to melt some of that juvederm she had put in her lips.
And I say, “That’s all you had to do.”
So, seriously don’t fuck around with the Virgin Mary, or you’ll have to live in Palm Desert and almost get burned alive.
I’m just saying – it’s NOT WORTH IT.