I feel like this right now.

    I made the huge mistake of sending my Mom an email.  Sounds harmless enough, right?  EHHHH, wrong.  My commentary in the email made my Mom consider, even if only for a second, joining Facebook. Fuck.

    In the email, I sent my Mom a picture of a family that we used to know when we lived in Miami.  We lived in Lake Village, this small community of townhomes where everyone knows everyone else’s bidness, where the kids have their first kisses with other kids in the neighborhood while their parents scream at each other at the “town hall” meetings held in the rec room. 

    The picture I sent her was of another mom she was friends with, her daughter (whose older sister I was friends with) and their son, who we last saw in diapers.  The picture was of the family at the son’s high school graduation.

    Five minutes after I send the email, my phone rings.

    “Hiiii Mom,” I answer.

     “She’s so well preserved,” she says.  (‘She’ being her old friend, who really does look gorgeous.)

     Well preserved?  Like a mummy?

    I forgot to mention that in the same email, I wrote that the well preserved mummy (badum bum) was on Facebook, and I told her that Julie’s mom, and Monica’s mom, and a bunch of other moms of my friends were too.

    Now why did I go and do something so stupid?

    I don’t want my parents on Facebook.  I talk about them.  A lot. Not in a bad, like they totally suck and I can’t stand them way, but in a funny way.  A harmless way.  But I can just hear my Mom calling me at work saying, “Why did you saaaaaay that about me,” after reading something I wrote about how she bought a tie-dyed T-Shirt at Haight Ashbury in San Francisco with a pot leaf on it, and threatened to wear it to Publix to piss me off. Shit like that. Comedy gold.  How can I help it?

    My Mom asks me why I told her the other moms were on Facebook.  “Are you trying to make me feel technologically retarded since I wouldn’t know how to work it?” You see?  YOU SEE?

     She asks me if it costs anything to be on Facebook.  I almost said yes, since I realize this would completely deter her from it as she refuses to use her credit card online. She asked me how “people find people” on Facebook.  I explain the process, and tell her she can even make her profile private. That took about fifteen minutes to explain.

    “How do people find you then,” she asked. They don’t, I told her, as I’ve set mine to private, and made my name unsearchable (mostly so students can’t stalk me). “Ohhhh, sneaky,” she giggled.

    I may have dodged the bullet as far as having my Mom be on Facebook, but my Dad is another story. 

    I have a horrible confession, you guys.  I was at my parent’s house one day helping my Mom forward an email (YES) and I happened to see that a friend of my father’s had sent him an email requesting he join Facebook.  After two seconds of sheer panic, I clicked on the email and deleted it. My Mom asked, “What’d you just do?” I made up some technical stuff that was over her head to confuse her and she was fine.

    My Dad being on Facebook would be disastrous.  He’s much more computer saavy then my Mom is, as he sends texts via Blackberry and knows how to forward and CC someone on an email.

    Sidenote: I sent my Mom a text once for fun, knowing it would confuse the shit out of her. I get a call a few minutes letter and she says, “Why is a big envelope on my phone screen right now?” I explain. She reads the text which says something cheesy like, “Hi Mom, love you” and says, “Thank you.”  That’s it.  No discussion on how to reply back, no questions on what a text message is. Nothing. She even keeps a list of phone numbers in her purse because she had no idea how to program a number into her phone. I spent about five minutes one day doing it for her, and explained how to press a number down on the phone to speed-dial me, my Dad, or the vet (she’s on a first name basis there apparently) but I still see her pull out that paper to call my Dad on his cell. Dammit.

    Anyway, I can just see my Dad making some wiseass comments about my status updates, totally busting my balls (or ovaries, since I don’t have balls) and saying something way more funny than I ever could. I accepted long ago that my Dad is cooler than me, but don’t necessarily want everyone to know. (I’ll just write it on a public forum then, right? O.K.)

    My Dad is like the musician that you love (and he really is a musician, too!!) that you want nobody else to know about because it makes you feel superior. When my friends find out about my cool Dad, they’re all, “Your Dad is SO cool,” and I’m all smug like, all, “Oh, I know.” It’s a nice process. I can’t give that up.

    And honestly, some stuff I don’t want my parents to know about.  I posted a comment a few weeks ago, joking that I was a “MILF” after I randomly got asked out.  I’d rather not have the conversation with either of my parents explaining what a MILF is, thanks very much.

    But for now, I’m safe.  I feel though it’s only a matter of time until I get an email that my Dad has requested me as a friend, and I’m sure everyone within a fifty mile radius will know since I will scream.  Loudly. Because, “It’s just common sense, anybody knows you keep the worlds APART!”

    Thanks, George Costanza.