BSF, Genetics and an Award

It's time for...



slutcode: whips and chains.
Go link up assclowns.

This Friday I give a big FUCK YOU to my genetic make-up.

My Mother is in her 60's, and knows how to use and navigate the computer system at her job, but the Internet? Not so much. She calls it "the MSN thingy inside the little blue 'e' on the screen", because I set MSN as her homepage on Explorer.

I bought her a laptop for her birthday this past May. Even though she doesn't know anything about the world wide web, she really wanted one and more than anything, she really wanted to learn how to use it. For the first two weeks her laptop was a $2,000 electronic solitaire game. Once she began to familiarize herself with that, she "found" pinball.

"Yes, mother! Oh, sure. I bet you are! You're right. No one plays pinball better than you, for you are the one, the only, Pinball Wizard!"

I have sat down at the computer (for many painful fucking hours followed by Xanax blackouts) showing this woman step-by-step how to do basic computer shit. I also have handwritten and typed (saved on her desktop in case she loses the paper version) instructions for each task.

She still calls every single time she logs into explorer. She has been doing this for seven fucking months. I've decided, she is either...
A) trying to kill me slowly and painfully
B) fucking with me to find the breaking point she couldn't find when I was a child
C) really a goddamn airhead in need of a refill
D) hitting the sauce again
E) all of the above

Guess the answer and you'll win a prize. If you said "E - all of the above", I say, ding-ding-ding, we have a winner folks. Step right up and claim your prize. It's a lovely prize really. It's the goddamn sanity I no longer have. Congratulations!

When I was little, I thought this was not only the prettiest lady in the universe but the smartest. I must have been a crack baby to think such bullshit!

Don't even waste your damn breath with, "Dutchess, shame on you, that's your mom!" or "Dutchess, that's not nice!"

I'll tell ya what's not so fucking nice. Last night I was at home,drinking heavily and watching Celebrity Rehab minding my very own business. My phone rang, and it was my mother.

We exchanged the regular bullshit pleasantries and before long, she was going in for the kill. I e-mailed her some photos taken of my Step-Dad at our last get together and she was having "a devil of a time" retrieving them.

I decided to send her the photos again, but this time through instant messenger. She said she had to have these pictures right away. I wondered if my Step-Dad was trying out for some modeling gig I didn't know about.

"Okay Mom, first open your MSN IM."
"My what?"
"The little blue guy with the butterfly thingy."
"I don't see that."
"It should be on your far right, at the bottom of your screen."
"There's nothing down there."

"Mom, do you remember where I told you to find the volume to listen to Cher?"
"Oh, down there! I see."
"Okay, click on the little blue guy."
"The little blue guy?"
"Yes. Your MSN instant messenger."

"Honey, I don't want to chit chat. I want to get those pictures of Dad."
"Trust me Mom, I don't want to chit chat either! This is how I plan to send the pictures to you. Could you please click on the blue guy two times, very fast for fuck sake?"
"With my left clicker or my right clicker?"
"Always your left Mom. Unless I say, 'right click', it's always your left."

I am now hand signaling the Duke to bring me the bottle of Jim Beam

"I don't know why I can't remember that. You say it all the time."
"I know."
"Oh, there it is!"

She said this with such surprise, it was almost hard to be mad at her. Almost.

"Great! Now you need to sign in. Did you keep the password saved?"
"The password?"
"Never mind that. Is there a place for you to hit 'Sign in'?"
"Yes, right on the little rectangle box."
"Good! Hit that."
"Sign in?"
"Yes."

"Okay. Well now it's doing this weird thing and the little blue guy is spinning around and around."
"That's okay. It's signing in."
"Remember when you were little and would spin for hours and hours. You were such a cute kid."
"Yes, I remember." (It was what I did when you were making me lose my fucking marbles mother, of course I remember.)

"Oh look! The Dutchess is online."
"Yes I am. I am waiting for you."
"Well, here I am," she giggled. I beat my head on my desk.

This went on for quite some time but she finally made it to MSN IM. I was proud, for a second.

"What you need to do now is hit 'Accept'."
"I don't see that."
"It's in the little blue flashing box at the bottom of your screen. The one that says, 'Dutchess conversation'. Do you see that?"

"Oh, that's you."
"Yep, still me." (big swig of whiskey)

Then I noticed something. She seemed distracted. I could tell I didn't have 100% of her attention, more so than normal.

"What the hell are you doing Mom?"
"Oh my god! The president's legs just went out from under him. Oh my god!"

I hop on CNN's website. I checkout US, Homepage, World news and nothing.

"Was this during a press conference Mom? Where is the president?"
"On the television."

I run to the television, only to figure out that my mother was watching her fucking West Wing DVD's on her television!

"Mom, I gotta go."
"What about my pictures?"

I'm thinking, fuck your pictures and fuck West Wing and while you're at it, fuck me for being so goddamn stupid. What was I thinking, buying you something you are too damn insane to operate!

"When I come over next week, I'll retrieve them from your e-mail, okay?"
"Oh, that's a great idea! I just wish I could look at them right now. But it's okay. I can wait."

"How nice of you. Thanks for being so patient with me Mom. I have to go STAB MYSELF IN THE FUCKING HEAD WITH A BUTTER KNIFE take a bath.

If this is what I have to look forward to, I think I got fucked, big time in the DNA lottery.

At least I won an award this week. Check it out...


I'm a fucking rock star, yo! Thank you Jen.