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.
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.
When I first move to the cities, mom and dad drive me around in search of food. “I’d like to work at a place like Perkins,” I say, “They aren’t fancy and don’t serve alcohol.” As if by magic, mom instantly spots a Perkins and motions for dad to pull the van into the parking lot.
As we draw closer I realize it’s not even open yet. The lot is full of construction vans. “Oh, they’re closed. Let’ go!” I say, “I’m not going in there when they aren’t even open yet.”
Mom whips around to face me, “Oh yes you are Angela! This is the perfect time to sell yourself. Go in there and ask them when they are opening. Tell them you just moved down, you’d love to work for them and you have lots of experience.”
“I refuse to go up there, there’s not going to be anyone there besides the construction people,” I reason.
By this point dad decides he has to help me along and is out of the van pulling on the door and reaching for my hand. “Here, I’ll hold your hand and walk you to the door,” he says sarcastically. I glance up towards the restaurant where all the middle-aged workers are shooting us odd glances, “Get back in the car, you’re embarrassing!” I yell at dad. He finally concedes and I’m left with no choice but to march up to the front and attempt to apply.
I peer inside the windows and pull on the doors, which of course are locked, furthering my mortification. As I return to the van, mom and dad are beaming in the front seat. “Well it doesn’t hurt to try!” mom says straightening herself proudly in the front seat as dad tries to find his way out of the lot.
Mom and dad have no clue where we are going and drive aimlessly around the cities in search of Target. They are peering curiously at the giant, colored map of the twin cities before they suddenly realize they’ve been headed in the wrong direction for at least fifteen minutes. Dad’s patience is dwindling as mom tries to multitask, eating and giving him directions simultaneously. Her hands are piled with green grapes. “Did you wash those ?” I ask her.
“No, just wipe them on your shirt,” she says handing me a couple.
She’s popping them frantically into her mouth as she begins bobbing her head to the music. “Give me that,” dad says reaching for the map. “I think I’m going to like this song,” mom says putting on her sunglasses and stuffing a few more grapes into her mouth causing her to resemble a starved chipmunk. “It’s Get Money, Fuck Bitches,” I say laughing. She gasps in horror and changes the song.
Finally, we find a Target where I find myself constantly wandering astray. Mom yells at me for abandoning the cart, “Watch your cart! I’m not going back to refill it if someone takes it,” she warns. “Why would anyone take it?” I snap. Somehow we’ve managed to misplace dad and when we spot him strolling farther down the aisle mom begins whistling in attempted discretion, without success.
Dad notices and returns the catcall with one of his own. I am absolutely horrified. They resemble a couple of ducks during mating season- a fact that hasn’t managed to escape the amused stares of fellow customers.
So I’m trying to have my mom tell me about the browser errors of my website over the phone. She is the perfect tester as she is completely clueless about technology and hasn’t the faintest idea what I’m talking about.
“Does the top of the black link box match up with the top of the black border that runs across the screen?” I ask her.
“What do you mean?” she asks cluelessly. I repeat the question. She pauses and then says, “I don’t understand what you’re asking me. Maybe rephrase the question,” she suggests.
I try rephrasing several times before finally giving up. I direct her to the Contact page where I suggest she take a moment and fill out the form. “Don’t type in a real email,” I tell her, “just type in some random letters and press submit.”
“Okay ya, that’s what I was going to do.” I can see her nodding as though it were perfectly obvious. “It says, ‘Please enter a valid email!’” she exclaims.
I start laughing. “Did you get the email?” she asks me.
“No, did you send it?”
“Well I thought it said, ‘Money is required.’ ” she says. I start laughing hysterically. She joins in, instantly realizing it said nothing of the sort.
“Well I don’t know,” she begins hesitantly, “It says here ‘Email:’ …Am I supposed to enter your email? How would I know your email?”
I swear she really isn’t always this clueless. It only proves to me you can’t assume anything. I change it to say ‘Your Email:’ “Try it now,” I say.
“Well that’s better!” she exclaims happily. Success.