cyber-mom

My mother--who cannot text, can barely attach a photograph in an e-mail, and does not understand the concept of "folders" on your computer--has just joined Facebook. And Twitter. AND WE'RE FRIENDS. 

Is there no sacred ground anymore?

I'm sure some of y'all's parents are already online, but literally my mom doesn't even truly understand what Facebook is. She's only on it because her website person told her she should get on it to promote her new book. I mean, her page is one big oxymoron. She somehow has managed to find 121 friends (WTF?) but she goes back and forth between normal statuses and misplaced wall posts: "Hi Gipper, how are Nancy and Shane? Ree called my mother a week or so ago. She was thrilled." 

I started to explore my new cybermom and looked at her website for the first time in forever to see if she's been updating about her books. In the "Meet Laurie" section there's a little paragraph about her family, so to speak. It includes the cats' names, but not mine. 

I will admit, though...I am starting to enjoy her Twittiness. Right now she has up: "This may be Sunday but it's a work day for me. Off to see patients in the psychiatric ward. It's times like this that I know I'm blessed."

We'll see how our new Internet relationship pans out. She still doesn't know about this blog, and I plan on keeping it a secret until I'm waterboarded.

one...more...day

Why is it that right when a really fun weekend is on the horizon, your to-do list is suddenly overwhelmed with totally obnoxious tasks? As if life tries to offset the caliber of fun you are about to have with an equally hemorrhoidic experience until then. Due to this rule of Life Suckage, Jackie's bachelorette party is being preceeded this week by things like: finding out a water leak has caused much more major structural damage than previously known; going to the gynecologist; having an emotional breakdown; and having to read out the ass for class. Like, so much reading out the ass that I periodically wander around my house (while reading) to change the scenery because I'm that sick of it. As if each new spot I find is a little prize that I get for making it through a few more pages. Because my life is that lame. Which leads to awkward moments where I come out of my read-walking and realize I'm sitting on the edge of my bathtub...or standing in the backyard. 

I guess this annoying crap makes the light at the end of the tunnel even brighter, but you know my priorities are all screwed up when I actually look forward to cleaning out the trunk of my car because it means I can avoid reading that much longer. (Incidentally, God rest the soul of the two-year old granola bar I found under a pair of mesh pantyhose). 

BUT I will say, when 5:00 tomorrow hits and I'm only 2 hours away from Katie's arrival and less than a day away from Jackie's arrival, I am closing those books until Sunday night and thoroughly enjoying every second of the glorious reunion / shitshow that is about to occur! 

a good ole Texas workday

I'm not sure if I've ever fully explained the deal with my job, aside from referencing how awesome it is. Half of it takes place in the office, typical doldrums of helping my bosses stay organized. That's all fine and well - I have a great view of trees and free range on the Internet, so I can't complain. The other part of my job is to manage one boss' family's vacation home, which is on a river about 45 minutes away. It's an incredible piece of property, lots of open ranch-land, huge trees, deer, cows, turkeys, four-wheelers, swimming holes, cliffs, etc., and that's not even touching on the house (and the new addition we just spent the last year building). 

My boss and I go out at least once a month to work on various projects, and sometimes we get distracted. Like a few weeks ago, when I realized someone in the family had put out glue traps to catch field mice in the garage. 

I don't know how much you know about glue traps, but if you've ever put one down, we can no longer be friends. I found the cutest tiniest deadest mouse in one, and while I was standing over him wondering how long it took him to starve to death, I leaned closer and realized his tiny body was hiccuping in an effort to breathe. And then I immediately started crying. Because I am made of fairy dust. 

A rodent control guy was actually at the house then, so I told him he needed to kill the mouse to put it out of its misery. He seemed totally miffed at how to do that (is this not your job?!) and asked if we had a hammer. Disgusting. I went to my boss and told him he had to do something. The poor mouse was dying. IT WAS DYING AND WE WERE WATCHING. 

And that's the day I learned how to shoot a gun.

I'd never fired an actual for-reals gun before, which is shocking considering both my parents were cops. I don't believe Americans should even have the right to carry concealed weapons, so I don't have too much interest in really learning how to use them. Buuuuuut since we had to shoot the mouse anyway....

R.I.P. Mr. Jingles

My mom periodically has to do some kind of testing at the shooting range to renew her handgun license, and she's a perfect shot. Like, perfect beats all the men perfect. So I've kind of wondered about my own skills, especially since I've been blessed with good vision. My boss and I set up some corncobs for targets on the hillside for the lesson. 

For your viewing pleasure, I circled the corn in red. 

The Shot

The Verdict: 

I can kill any ear of corn that tries to come within 100 feet of me.

I'm happy—and a little weirded out—to say this is my greatest personal victory in the last six months or so. And I'm pretty sure my mom got choked up at the good news, which guarantees that she'll be giving me a gun rack for Christmas. Hooray!