Siegel - Mother, can you not?: and you thought your mom was crazy

W hen my mother was twenty-five years old, she moved to Los Angeles to pursue her dream of becoming a television director. She hitched a ride to Hollywood with no idea how to drive, no job, and no place to live (unless you count the floor of a garage in West Hollywood without direct access to plumbing or heat). She was ultimately successful, even nominated for a directing Emmy, but in the early days, she had no money and wrote porn scripts to pay the rent. When asked about that time in her life, she always remembers it proudly: Oh, honey, it was fabulous! So, I wrote a few pornos? You do what you have to, and it was fun!

Incidentally, if anyone reading this is in possession of a late 70s skin flick called The Bionic Tool, please email me at . My mom doesnt remember her porn name, so the writing credit could either be Kim Friedman or (if I had to guess) her superhero alter ego, The Castrator.

Given my mothers job history, I suppose I should have anticipated a positive response when I told her about a seemingly crazy idea I had for a project: sharing our intensely personal conversations on the Internet every day.

At this point, I should mention that my mother texts me a lot. Like, a lot. Seriously, I counted. She averages 111 text messages a day.

In light of the content of these messages, I had some serious privacy concerns when I thought about sharing them.

Her reaction to my idea was: TRY IT! I mean, Id prefer you make an app and become a billionaire Mark Zuckerberg with ovaries, but are you kidding me?! What are you afraid of!? Try something! Youre not getting any younger. With my mothers encouragement, I began posting screenshots of our conversations on Instagram.

I immediately regretted the decision: OH DEAR GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE?! HOW AM I EVER GOING TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY AFTER PEOPLE KNOW THAT MY MOM TEXTS ME DAILY KEGEL REMINDERS AND HAS A LOT TO SAY ABOUT DILDOS AND MY VAGINA IN GENERAL? Sharing my personal life so publicly was a major adjustment, and for the first few weeks, I wanted to hide in my apartment. Was my bosss bosss bosss boss just staring at me because of last nights vagina post? Probably not, as he didnt know my name. Was my dry cleaner smirking about the soy sauce stain on my blazer, or because he read this afternoons conversation about waxing my boyfriends pubic hair?

After a few months of getting accustomed to the fact that a wealth of information about my vaginal canal was publicly available, I just leaned in to all the oversharing. Hey, if my dental hygienist is already well versed in my mothers anal bead curiosity, why not strangers in Iowa? So, when an editor named Morgan Shanahan reached out about writing an article on @CrazyJewish Mom for BuzzFeed, I thought why the hell not?

That weekend, my boyfriend and I were visiting my parents house, and we went to lunch at a little hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese restaurant my dad and I love. Unfortunately, the restaurant is in the back of an Asian supermarket that smells like the inside of a whales rectum. My mother was grimacing as we sat down.

Uch, this place is disgusting. She turned to my father. Hey, Michael, tomorrow do you want to take me to dinner in a Porta Potty? I saw a really nice one at a construction site on the way here.

I pulled out my phone to check Instagram, leaving my father to fend for himself. Thousands of new followers flashed onto my screen. I refreshed my feed again, one hundred more in less than a second! Jon! Look! I grabbed my boyfriends arm.

Kate, turn that off. My mom glared at me.

No wait. She reached for my phone, but I put a hand up. Seriously hang on, something crazy is happening. I refreshed BuzzFeed for the fiftieth time that day, and the interview was finally live!

Oh my god! Thousands of new followers were pouring in, and my heart started fluttering. Oh my GoIII have to throw up! Perhaps the orca butthole contributed, but I jumped up from the table, ran to the bathroom, and puked up the entire contents of my stomach and possibly some of my small intestine.