The stage mom from hell

Print This Page

First Posted: 5/18/2014

Dear Mom and Dad,

I know you raised me to respect my elders, but I told someone’s mother to go f#@% herself, and it felt so good. Sorry, Mom and Dad.

I met the mother, Godzilla, a few years ago when I was producing a charity holiday show that featured her teenage daughter as a performer.

When I was launching my online talk show, “The Millennials,” her mother begged me to have her daughter as a featured performer. Even though Godzilla is known to talk your ear off about how amazingly gifted her daughter is, I was more than happy to let her be part of the show because I have learned to take people like that with a grain of salt.

On the opening night, Godzilla’s daughter closed the show while performing back-to-back songs. She started off with “Stay with Me” by Sam Smith and was surprisingly brilliant! Then, when she started to perform her second song, she messed up.

“I can’t believe I messed up. I suck!” she announced to crowd in defeat. She spent the rest of her performance twitching in disappointment that she messed up in the beginning. Afterwards, I did everything I could to encourage the daughter that she performed well, despite the mistake.

“I’m not very impressed with the way this show was put together,” bitched Godzilla. “We showed up earlier than you today!”

“You’re making it sound like I was sitting home watching TV,” I replied. “I was running around getting last-minute things for the show.”

I understood she was upset that her daughter messed up, but I wasn’t about to take the blame for it. “You’re out of order right now. This conversation is over,” I told Godzilla before walking away to avoid an argument.

“You’re such a DIVA!” shouted Godzilla. I tried playing nice, but Godzilla wasn’t having it. That’s when I turned around and told her to f#@% herself, and it felt great! Godzilla stomped away and I assumed the argument was over.

That night I received a novel of a Facebook message from Godzilla’s daughter telling me the show sucked, that I was overweight, and that she didn’t like the outfit I wore. White girls are silly, right? “If that’s how you feel about me and the show, then you don’t have to be part of it,” I responded in regards to kicking her out of the show. I didn’t need that bizarre, borderline manic negative energy, so I decided to remove it.

When Godzilla found out I removed her daughter from the show for her poor attitude, I got a string of text messages telling me that I have nothing going for me, that I need to move out of my parents house, and that I kicked her daughter out of the show because I was unhappy with the way my life turned out.

In a desperate attempt to guilt me into letting her daughter back in the show, Godzilla called me with an announcement. “I didn’t want to have to say this, but I’m having health issues,” shared Godzilla in a dramatic monologue that sounded like she put the phone against the television while the Lifetime Movie Network was playing.

“Yeah, mental health issues,” I fired back before coming to the conclusion that you can’t argue with crazy people.

The second night of the show was a breeze, partially because the negative energy of Godzilla and her spawn was somewhere else, and partially because I told Godzilla to go f#@% herself. Sometimes using the F word makes everything better!