TMI Thursday: This Shit Has Got to Stop

As far as TMI Thursdays go, this one is pretty mild. If my salient stories about failed phone- and netsex sessions with the Ex- don't sate your need for inappropriate stories, try LiLu's place, which is the home of TMI Thursdays!

So, as I've referenced before, I have an active account on a certain social networking site. I reactivated it last November, after I drove back from Tennessee where I spent time with my wife's family for the holiday.

*glassy-eyed stare*

On my way home, I thought about my friend from Tennessee, and so I decided to netstalk her look her up online. When I got home, I fingered Googled her and found her page. So, I activated my account, sent her a message, we exchanged life update emails, and...well...haven't really spoken too her much since. Hooray for getting reconnected!

So, that initial night, I went through, picked up a handful of friends, and then, because I felt the need to be nice, I added my brother. I'm still not sure why, since we haven't spoken in...I dunno...a long time. We'll just say that.

A few days later, we had our company Christmas party, and on my work's intranet, there were some pictures of my kids sitting on Santa's lap. So, I figured, in order to avoid shooting pictures of the kids around on the emails and unnecessarily sucking up large amounts of bandwidth, I would just load the pictures onto my page and then the wife could also check them out and link to them or whatever the fuck it is that people do on there with pictures.

My brother then apparently showed the pictures to my mom. And here is where the proverbial wheels came off the cart, because this was the catalyst that caused my mother to open an account on the site.

And I've pretty much wanted to put a bullet in my brain ever since.

My mother is the Queen of Non-Sequiturs. She doesn't mean to be, but she is. And she feels the need to comment on every. single. post. I. make. It's enough to bring a man who cries less than Chuck Norris to tears.

She also is painfully unaware of what it is I do for a living. For one, she apparently thinks I went to medical school (I had a minor in biology) so she asks me about all of her health issues. She also is convinced that I work for a company that makes generic pharmaceuticals (we currently have no products on the market), and so she asks when her cholesterol and diabetes drugs will be on the generic markets.

So, you can imagine how all this misinformation of hers plays out well with my status updates and minor posts. Comedy ensues.

To compound this, she suddenly decided that I needed to connect to her through Yahoo!. I'm not even sure what that means, but I knew that I didn't like it. So I blocked her.

Yeah. I blocked my mother. Wanna make something of it?

My mother--like with so many other things in life--thinks that she's an expert in computer usage.

Allow me to dispel this notion.

Remember ICQ? A happy little chat program that was kind of big during the late 90s before AIM pretty much dominated until the rise of Twitter? It was invaluable for someone whose girlfriend lived hours away.

It was also a convenient way for my mom to chat with my bed-ridden aunt, because my aunt lived in Fort Wayne and we lived in podunk little Markle. This meant that, in order for my mom to chat with my aunt, she had to dial long distance. This was before digital phones, so long distance charges could get costly.

Being that I was a good son, I set my mom up with an ICQ account. I also set her up with her own email account. Neither of which she would use. She would use my accounts because she was too...lazy...to be bothered with learning how to log someone else out of a program and log herself in.

She would also check my email for me. And since she was...too lazy...to bother to learn how to pronounce anyone's last name, she would garble them, badly. You can imagine what she did with things like "Grzegorek" (Grez-gore-eck) or "Jarowicz" (Jar-o-witz). Once, much to my horror, she informed me that I had an email from e-moaning. When I looked, it was from my friend, one Mr. E. Moening.

With all this in mind...one night, during my college years, I was home. I was upstairs, probably rotting my mind with video games or *gasp* reading or something. My mom was downstairs on the computer, chatting with my aunt. All is well with the world.

And then the Ex logs in and sees that "I'm" on ICQ. So, she messages "me." She hits "me" with this doozie:

"So, you gonna stick that big old cock of yours into me, or am I going to have to get down on my knees and beg for it?"*

Now, remember...the Ex and I were very sexually active. But, since we spent a lot of time apart, we had to resort to phone- and cybersexing. And, this mostly worked while we were apart, and then in those rare times when we'd be together (before she moved to the greater Fort Wayne area after we were both out of college) we'd fuck like hounds.

My mother, of course, was completely fucking oblivious to our fucking. It was fucking great. Fucking.

Therefore, a highly sexually-charged introductory message in a chat session was pretty much par for the course between us.

However...I wasn't the one receiving the message.

So, my mother responded to her, in very unflattering terms, that it was not me using the computer right now and that she did not appreciate such language. I'm pretty sure she called my girlfriend a whore, and probably a slut. And any number of unkind terms implying that she was loose in the knickers.

Later, when I finally was able to use the computer, I got a message from the Ex.

The Ex: Is this you?

Me: Uh, yeah.

The Ex: WHY THE FUCK WAS YOUR MOTHER USING YOUR FUCKING ACCOUNT EARLIER?

Me: Excuse me?

The Ex then related the story to me. I about pissed my pants myself laughing (I took them off when I got on the computer, anticipating the cybering). Fortunately, since this was just internet chatting, she couldn't hear me laughing. I explained to her about my technologically-challenged mother and her refusal to use the accounts I set up for her.

The Ex: So...

The Ex: What are you going to do about this?

Me: I think I'm going to make you beg.

The Ex: ???

Me: Instead of sticking my big old cock in you, I'm going to make you beg. I like it when you're a dirty little girl and need some punishment.

Me: Get down on your knees.

Me: And fucking beg for it, bitch.

The Ex: You're a fucking pig.

Me: And that makes you a pig fucker.

The Ex: You know, I WAS horny earlier.

Me: Before or after talking to my mom?

Me: Oh...oh God...was it during?

The Ex: Okay, seriously, fuck you.

Me: Isn't that what you were trying to get earlier?

The Ex: You're such an asshole! [log off]

For years, my mother brought this story up at every family gathering in some weak attempt to embarrass me. I just always kind of shrugged it off, and threw back in her face, "It wouldn't have been a problem if you had ever bothered to learn how to access your own account."

"But, Son, I wouldn't be able to embarrass you so if it hadn't."

I guess she was right; I was embarrassed for her. I'd roll my eyes and just let her keep going in her own happy little world.

Just to steer this ship back onto the TMI Thursday track, the Ex came back fifteen minutes later and we had the cybersex. I think twice. I mean, I had my pants off already and everything. Never let a good boner go to waste.

And now that I think back...I mercilessly abused myself autoerotically in the same chair my mom sat in when she dinked around on the computer. Revenge is a dish best served naked...and musky...and possibly with traces of semen on it. And a few ass hairs and pubes for good measure.

/rant

* This all happened fourteen years ago, so I'm paraphrasing here. Just go with it.