Living With a Teenager: My Mother's Revenge

I am officially living with a teenager. A teenager who is 30 years older than me. Please, Universe, what have I done to deserve this? I mean, I understand that I was once a teenager who did bad things like come home drunk and stoned (my parents, however, never had a clue), smoked cigarettes in my room and once tried to pierce my own belly button, but never was I at the levels of teenage patheticness (spell check says that's not a word, I say it is, so bite me spell check) that I am living with now.

I didn't realize my mom was a teenager until she found her ex-boyfriend on Facebook (courtesy of me, so yes, I brought this all on myself). Via my own Facebook page, I contacted him and what ensued was something like the time in middle school where your friend had you talk to a guy she liked for her and all of your time was consumed by either composing messages to him with her breathing down your neck or listening to her tell you how much she "likes" him or how "cute" he is. This situation was caused by the fact that my mother is hopelessly technologically challenged, not because she was afraid to talk to him herself. I figured I could easily remedy this, after all, I am a technology guru and my mom is not completely retarded...

So I try to teach my mom how to use the Internets. This proved to be much more difficult than it sounds. Between her opening 300 browser windows (by clicking the easy access icon I put on the desktop EVERY time she wanted to read her email) and me having to show her 17 million times how to sign out of my Gmail account and into her own, I was ready to drink a bottle of Windex and call it a life. To boot, I had to defile my own laptop by installing AOHell instant messenger so she could talk to her boyfriend. I thought this would make things better, you know, because they could now talk directly to each other. Oh no, suddenly, my laptop was no longer my own. I got kicked off of Facebook nightly, at the ungodly early hour of 10 pm. What was I to do with my life? No Facebook after 10 PM? Am I being grounded from my own computer?

It only gets better worse. They began texting each other. Yes, texting, on a cell phone. I am no stranger to the occasional text conversation. However, these conversations should be limited to the occasional funny quip or quick question. If you're telling each other every grueling detail about your day via t9, you really need to learn to pick up the goddamn phone and call!! You may think I am exaggerating, in which case, I ask you: is 1500+ texts in 2 weeks an exaggeration? I mean, WTF can two old people talk about (no, no, don't tell me, I really don't want to know, that was totally a rhetorical question)?? And just imagine a technologically challenged person texting this much... You have to remember, it probably takes her about 10 minutes (ok, ok, exaggeration) to compose a text, 10 x 1500 = 15000 minutes worth of texting in two weeks time! What could I do with that time? Write a hilarious blog post, take a shower and shave my legs, argue with 15 people on Facebook, talk on the phone and have a real conversation, work on my Eddie Vedder voice for Karaoke... The possibilities are endless.

Aside from the obvious pain I have experienced from my mother's lack of 21st century survival skills, you have the romance aspect of this situation. I, personally, have never seen Letters to Juliet but I have heard that this cringe-worthy old-person romance is much like this situation. Not that I am against love, or romance, I just don't want to associate it with two senior citizens. Although, you would never know by the way she acts that she is a grandmother to an actual teenager. Which, again, is fine, because I am certainly no advocate for acting one's age, but not when I have to deal with the incessant giggling every five minutes after she receives some presumably naughty text message he sent her. The exchange that happens usually goes something like this:

*BLIINGG* (noise Mom's phone makes when she gets a text)

Mom: Oh, it must be Eugene*!

Me: (oh gee, it must be Eugene because you hated cell phones, computers and text messages before Eugene came around)

Mom: *high-pitched hysterical giggles*

Me: What's so funny?

Mom: Nothing, Eugene just said something funny.

Me: Well, if it's so funny, and Eugene is such a comedic genius, surely you want to share with your daughter, the Queen of All Things Funny...?

Mom: no, I can't tell you *sheepish grin*

Me: Oh boy, I don't wanna know...

This exchange happened a few times before I realized that she was not laughing to express that Loverboy had said anything actually funny and that it was probably something that would belong on a GILF hookup site...

I also now understand what it feels like to worry about a teenager. She and Loverboy went out for a moonlit stroll one night when he was here visiting. My sister came over and was waiting here for them to come back. We waited for what seemed like hours. We were wringing our hands and checking our watches before one of us finally said "Ok, that's it! I am calling!" So we call mom's cell phone. Apparently, when the object of her texting affection is in her presence, she has no reason to carry her cellphone while she's out for a walk, at night, down a very secluded trail, with a guy she hasn't seen in 30 some years, who could very well be a psychotic axe-murderer. Just as I am about to grab my Samurai Dagger of Doom (which, as I think about it rationally, would have been no match for the barbed 16-bladed machete of a psychotic serial killer) and head out into the night to tackle Norman Bates head-on, they walk up the driveway (holding hands I am pretty sure, though I try to put such images out of my already disturbed mind). Life, at that point, entered into the 180 realm of complete role-reversal. My sister and I proceeded to thoroughly scold our mother for irresponsible behavior. Such phrases as "something could have happened to you and we would have had no way to find you!" and "we were worried sick!" escaped our mouths in a scene straight out of my own teenage years.

So I get it now, mom, I know what I put you through, but this is no way to exact your revenge on me. Next thing you know, I'll be uttering such cliches as "have her home before midnight" and "you're not dating til I'm 30!" while cleaning my guns at the kitchen table. Mom, I draw the line at taking you to shop at Hot Topic and allowing you to dye your hair purple. And that skirt? It's too short, go change it. At least I don't have to worry about you getting pregnant...

*names have been changed to protect the elderly