As we come to the close of my first full year as writer of the (now) infamous “Mom to Mom” column I would like to present awards to those people who inspired me during the course of this fantastic year. Unfortunately, Joan Rivers could not be here to host the fashion segment, so for the benefit of our home readers, tonight I’m wearing Target -- a sequined robe (and by “sequined” I mean that my kids’ art-project glitter got all over it; and by “robe” I mean my husband’s XXL thermal-zipper sweat shirt lifted from the 75% off rack.) Now, let me just belly up to the podium (bar), grab the microphone (bourbon) and begin the ceremony. So without any further adieu (cue music) I present the first annual Bewzie awards.
The first Bewzie goes to: the Mexican in my trunk. (Applause.) Unfortunately the Mexican couldn’t be here to accept this award in person tonight because he has taken out a restraining order against me and I can’t be within 500 feet of him. Who knew he was documented after all? Congratulations Juan!
The second Bewzie goes to: the maid-of-honor who, while liquored out of her skull, had the nerve to call me a whore while I was stone sober leaving me utterly defenseless! (Applause.) It’s the first Floozy Bewzie. Unfortunately, she couldn’t be here to accept her Bewzie because…who cares?
The third Bewzie award goes to: “Kenneth” from a branch of my bank who had “Security” detain me for theft simply because I produced my husband’s ATM card as I.D. Although a step up from Guantanamo Bay, this detention did cause me to miss most of the wedding I was attending and resulted in a pull in my CVS pantyhose. If I had known that I would be called a whore by the maid-of-honor upon my return to said wedding, I would have not resisted arrest. (P.S. Although reluctant to mention the name of the bank, I will say that a significant amount of their green pens ended up as stocking stuffers for just about everyone on my Christmas list.)
The fourth Bewzie goes to: my beloved dog Burkey, who has soldiered through insufferable amounts of playdates, homemade haircuts, and (I’m not kidding) a nasty skin rash due to stress that cost my husband in excess of $300 in vet expenses. (To which he replied, “I’ve been scratching my ass for 18 years and you could care less; the dog scratches hers for a week and you call specialists in to examine her.” My response, “When you lick between my toes, and fetch my paper, perhaps I’ll treat you with such care.”)
The fifth Bewzie goes to: whoever at The Bergen News buries my column behind the automotive section almost every week allowing my column to suck on the exhaust from all those used tailpipes.
The sixth Bewzie goes to: my mother, who despite all of her hairy-eyeball-warnings, has yet to disinherit me because I have begun to dig into the family archives of memories.
The seventh Bewzie goes to: Shop Rite Liquors who continues to carry the best bottom-shelf bourbon around! (Read: brown-bag affordable!)
The eighth Bewzie goes to: the little Asian kid who was using his pumpkin carving knives as nunchunks and hasn’t hunted me down in the school playground for retribution, preschool style.
The ninth Bewzie goes to: my son, Jack, who still insists that we are an African-American family despite the fact that his father burns, peels, and scabs whenever he walks out into the sun.
The tenth Bewzie goes to: my husband, Jim, who has been such a great sport about letting me write about him in my column and, thankfully, is too poor to file for divorce.
Well, that wraps up this year’s Bewzie’s! (Applause) Congratulations to all our winners and thanks to everyone who continues to read my column each week! It’s been an absolute blast, and I look forward to a great 2010. Thanks to all the many, many people who continue to send me emails and share their life and their memories with me every week. Happy New Year!