This morning I’m less than a mile from home when I rear-end the car in front of me. My previously stellar mood begins to plummet. Miraculously, I contain myself in a uncharacteristically emotionless way. Luckily, the man is very nice and his car contains a scratch so small you’d need a magnifier to see it. My car, on the other hand, is smashed to smithereens.
My accident
I know my next step is to call my parents. This scares me. Continue reading: The rear-end of it all
Two years ago, when I first contemplate transferring to AI (Art Institute International Minnesota), my mother takes me on a tour and we meet with the head of admissions. I express concerns about my GPA falling, due to a dreadful class I’m enrolled in.
Mom instantly interjects, “Oh she said that about her classes last semester too. She always says that and then she gets A’s!” She looks at me and then back at the admissions director nodding smugly.
“Last semester she claimed she was struggling in her Economics class and then her father and I get a letter in the mail from her teacher saying how she should major in economics!” she shouts gleefully. I attempt, unsuccessfully, to silence her with my eyes and sink lower in my chair.
As soon as we exit the building, it appears she can barely contain her excitement. She skips down the sidewalk gushing about what we just experienced. “Oh, wow, you are embarrassing.” I remark falling a few steps behind her.
“It’s ok! Noboby knows you!” she exclaims happily.
“Nobody will want to if you keep that up,” I retort.
Last week I discovered coffee. Having procrastinated until Sunday I was in desperate need of the miracle pick-me-up. With the help of my roommate, I was introduced to the wonders of caffeine. Four cups later, I felt more than a little loopy. Today I decide I should revisit my dear friend. I buy my first bag of coffee at the local Whole Foods store. It is the cheapest bag on the shelf, perhaps because it is called, “Mystery Blend.” Not knowing the difference in blends, I decide it can’t be that bad.
When I get home, I Google, “how to brew coffee.” I decide something is seriously wrong with me. Certainly I should be asking Google more intelligent questions.
I carefully examine the package, which instructs me to add one tablespoon of grounds to every 6 ounces of water. I figure 12 ounces will suffice and fill the water to the 12 number mark.
I hear it whistle and bubble from the other room and smile in satisfaction at having finally figured out how to brew my own cup. I douse the cup in milk and vanilla extract, but it tastes god awful. I attribute this to the fact that I purchased the “mystery blend.”
Later my roommate returns home from work and says,
“Wow, you sure brewed a lot of coffee.”
“It’s not very good,” I say.
“How many scoops did you put in?” she asks.
“Two. It said 2 for every 6 ounces.”
“Oh my god,” she says laughing.
“What?” I ask.
“These are cups,” she explains, “pointing at the numbers on the side of the pot.”
Perhaps my mystery blend isn’t to blame after all.
Today I check my facebook and it appears my mother has discovered I broke into her account. On my wall she has written
“My site has been hijacked…Wonder if the hijacker wants a birthday present………….”
I comment on this, “bahahaha. I just made some minor improvements. Pretty sure the hacker wants a present!
My mother retaliates with, “I’m sure SHE does.”
It appears I should be on my best behavior in order to ensure new car speakers in November.
Today I become bored in class, and looking for ways to entertain myself, decide to look into hacking into my mother’s facebook account. It appears her security would be lax as she knows very little about technology. I ask my sister if she knows mom’s password. She suggests a password. I type in my mother’s email and add ****** to the password field. It takes me right in.
I giggle in amusement at how easily I breached security. The first thing I decide to do is change her status to read, “Nancy is drowning in a world of technologically savvy individuals.” Next I add the following statement to her profile, “I love my daughter Angela. She loves me too as indicated by her blog…
along with a link to my blog.”
I censor the urge to go hog wild, making only minor cosmetic adjustments to the overall look and feel of her profile. I strive to keep it tastefully humorous.
Finally, I change her profile picture to one of her dumping out one of the plants I accidentally killed, along with the caption:
Mom becomes horrified that I’m a plant killer (pictured here dumping out the plant I killed) and asks my roommates to watch over the community plant so they don’t suffer the same fate as the ones in my room.
I call my mother and tell her the blog on her behalf is up and running. She points out that she especially likes the last line in my post ‘Alexandrite: the magic stone’ where I state that I’m not sure how I functioned without her precious stone. She breaks into uncontrollable laughter. “Aren’t you proud of me?” I ask, “How clever I am?”
She pauses, “I’m not sure proud is the word I’d use,” she says thoughtfully. “Scared, maybe.”
I start laughing, “What was that last line you said?” I ask. “Scared. I never know when what I say will be made into a story.”
Two weeks later, my mom is still bringing up this magic pebble she purchased. Today, she sends me the following email…
These are some of the qualities of the stone we got you.It also helps with the qualities of creativity and the art of manifestation.
Keep it close . Either in a pocket or in a purse or on your night stand to benefit from these qualities. Enjoy…..Mom and Dad
Alexandrite – enhances the rebirth of inner and outer self, promotes awareness. Healing ability: Alexandrite helps fighting low self-esteem. Improves central nervous system disorders. Alexandrite relieves spleen & pancreas problems.
Mystical power- Alexandrite is a stone of good omen. Alexandrite can assist one in centering the self, reinforcing self-esteem, and increases ones ability to experience joy.
I’m not sure how I ever functioned without it.
Between school,work, and my internship, I’ve neglected to call my mother in over a week. Whenever she calls me and I don’t answer, she leaves a voicemail. I tell her repeatedly not to leave me voicemails because I hate listening to them and that I’ll call her back. She says, “Well Angela, I’m going to leave them.” “Well I delete them half way through,” I tell her. “What if there is something important on them!” she gasps. “I’ll call you back.”
Today I hear my phone ring bright and early and don’t bother getting up to answer it. A few minutes later I hear a beep and know instantly it’s my mother. “Hi, it’s mom. Just checking in on you…haven’t heard from you in a week. You know…your voicemail says to leave a message. So I am.”
My parents, Ancha, and I took a walk around Lake Calhoun. When we we’re almost back to the vehicle my mom stops dead in her tracks, jaw dropped, and points at a passing vehicle, “Is that our van!” she stutters. “Ya mom, someone just jacked your bright, red van. I’m sure that’s high priority on their list.” “Oh,” she laughs sheepishly, “I just thought…” Ya I’m sure you did.
Mom and dad come to visit me bearing a plethora of gifts from their travels out west. Mom hands me a giant pink ring gloating and asks, “do you like it?” “Ya,” I say. Dad turns to me and says, “She found it in the bathroom.” “What?” I say. “Ya it was just sitting there!” mom exclaims happily. “Is it clean?” I question. “Well it was in a bathroom,” mom says, as though this somehow sanitizes the item. “Someone probably came back for it and you just pocketed it,” “Well…” mom shrugs, “You like it don’t you?”
A few minutes later I’m on twitter updating my status and mom says, “What is a status? like single?” she asks. I burst into laughter, “No.” I say. I’m sandwiched between mom and dad on the love seat and dad looks over to mom and shouts, “I know what a status is…well I do now. You told me last time,” he reminds me-referring to the time I explained to him how a facebook status worked(in case I forgot).
Dad leans over and squints at my computer screen, “I have twitter,” he says smugly. I’m on it all the time, when I play poker…” I give him an odd look, “What are you talking about!”
“I update it hourly,” he adds. “You don’t even know what twitter is!” I say and he bursts into a fit of evil cackling.
A few minutes later mom walks back from the bathroom and says, “What I’d like to know is what you update when you’re playing poker!” “He doesn’t have a twitter!” I say in amused exasperation. “Oh,” mom says noticing a small bag on the couch. “What is this?” she wonders shaking out a minuscule rock into her palm. “Oh! We got you this too!” she says. “A rock?” I ask. “Don’t you want it?” she asks sadly.
“What am I supposed to do with a rock that size?” I ask squinting at the tiny pebble in her outstretched hand. “It’s for creativity! Put it in your pocket.” “Fine,” I oblige. This better work.
