Facebook With Mom

facebook-momA lot of people ask me, “Hey, asshole. Where do you get your blogging topics?” Good question. Using today as an example, I had an early morning Facebook chat with mom. Later, I decided to write about it. See? That’s how it’s done. -Ed.

I don’t use the Facebook a lot. It’s mainly for poking. And, way less often, liking. I’ve been patiently waiting for the HATE button. I’d settle for DISLIKE. Maybe then I’d use it more.

For me, the primary purpose of Facebook is that it’s a place to post selfies I’ve taken during urban riots when I’m standing atop overturned police cars that are on fire. With my shirt off.

Other than that I have little use for the thing.

Then there’s mom. You respond to a message from mom at your own peril.

As a diehard old school AOL account holder, mom had very selective knowledge of the internet. Email and sending pictures. That was about it. At least until she discovered the stalking abilities of Facebook.

All of the sudden she was a technological sponge. She was grokking things. Things involving a computer! I know!

So, there it was this morning. A public message from mom. On my timeline. For everyone to see. “When is your wife’s birthday?” Yeah, not everyone has a Facebook account and not everyone broadcasts the date like it’s a bloody holiday. At least she didn’t ask about my underwear.

I decided to respond in private. Ha ha! I get an ounce of control! Neener.

“March 5.” Eloquent, eh? Yeah, I’m a wordsmith.

Ding! “Oh shit! I’m late!!!”

Ding! “What did you do for her?”

Ding! “Please tell her my greeting is on the way!”

Ding! “How did her surgery go?”

Mothafuka. (In other words, I blame dad.)

Not too bad. Let’s tally the Round One damage, shall we? Two follow-up questions and one directive. Not a TKO but she did land some body blows. And my spidey sense is already tingling that a haymaker is on the way.

I must be cautious, I thought, as I considered my reply.

Bloody Mary meats Beef Jerky.

Bloody Mary meats Beef Jerky.

“I took her and the gerbil out to a fancy, trendy, expensive, hipster brunch in Portland where food was served on small plates by fedora-wearing bearded women.” On the plus side, my Bloody Mary did contain a piece of beef jerky, so it wasn’t all bad.

Ding! “Oh, the son showed up?”

Ding! “When did this happen?”

Ding! “How long has he been there?”

Ding! “How did it go?”

Ding! “What’s he been up to?”

Ding! “Did he get a job?”

Ding! “Did he get his GED?”

Shit. Missed it by that much. Round Two also goes to mom’s corner. Why did I bring up the kid? What was I thinking? I’m a failure!

In Round Three she decided to go freestyle.

Ding! “When is your wedding anniversary?”

Ding! “How many years will that be?”

Ding! “How are the cats?”

Ding! “Did your wife get a job?”

Ding! “How old is she now?”

Ding! “Did you clean your plate?”

Ding! “Should I send a care package with underwear?”

Fortunately the referee forced us to break and called the bout. I pretended my browser had crashed and quickly closed the tab containing Facebook. I prayed she wouldn’t be notified that I had performed this action.

Too late! One last message got through.

Ding! “When are you coming to visit?”

Does anyone know if Facebook has a feature for deliberately losing your password? Please let me know!

Addendum: Mom just broke out of the private conversation and went back to my public timeline. “I put something in the mail for her today.” She knows what she’s doing. I guess she wants everyone to know, eh?

21 responses

    1. Thanks for the reblog!


  1. […] Facebook With Mom. […]


  2. Or you could defriend and block her like I did my mom. I am a horrible person. I was already out of the will, so. But your post was fun.


    1. You do have a point. I could attempt the unmom maneuver. Weird how that idea never occurred to me. I think it’s because I’m a glutton for punishment.


      1. You’re a better Christian than I, honoring your mother and all.




    1. Excellent comment. Brilliant.


      1. I heart you, lady behind the glasses. I do.


      2. I noticed you became a fan of the boy.
        Those of us with great taste must support each other.
        We need tee shirts.
        “I’m with Guru”


    2. I agree. Brilliant. And I’m glad you two finally got to meet. If you’re smart you’ll cut me out. Then good times will be in store.

      Here’s the official shirt in case you ignore my advice, like always:


  4. Happy Belated Birthday to Mrs. Abyss!
    I guess she didn’t get what she asked for.
    Maybe next year.

    Never block your mom. That’s just rude.
    Cut off her Internet connection instead.


    1. With AOL it doesn’t take too much effort.


  5. Is it weird to say that I’m glad my mom didn’t live long enough to have to try and figure out the internet? Of course, she never quite got the whole “cell phone” thing — or actually, the whole “cordless phone” thing, so there you go.

    I will say my MIL has done great as a septuagenarian in figuring our FB and that she can keep up with some members of her family that way. Good for her. She’d still rather get a call though, of course.

    Very happy birthday to the Mrs. What she must deal with.


    1. Some moms are just too cool. Mine made me. True, I did sue her for wrongful life (and wrote a song about it) but sometimes life doesn’t allow takebacks.

      I think Mrs. Abyss is a lucky, lucky woman. She gets what all the rest of you get only at full throttle.


  6. Happy belated birthday, Mrs. Abyss!!!

    so…when is your mom starting a blog?


    1. My mom with a blog? Kill me now.


  7. So, in other words, this means she doesn’t text yet?


    1. Mwuhahaha! I win this round. I don’t own a device capable of receiving texts! I win, I win!


  8. Snoring Dog Studio | Reply

    No worries there as far as my mom is concerned. She won’t go near a computer. She won’t even use the phone. She’s content with operating the dishwasher and washing machine. Frankly, if my mom were on Facebook, she’d be far more delightful to read than 99% of what clogs up that site.


    1. Lucky you! Mom should always be your #1 fan. The rest of the people get a choice. Mom doesn’t.


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