My mom has a Facebook account. Wasted day. Rush

Thank God her picture is the unisex grey silhouette. For now. That way I can't envision a half-dozen drunk picture in an update, or a mass-message asking for a new cell phone number. It'd depress me to read, "Hey, I think I left my keys at Marsha's house. Like, what the fuck? Was I that tore up?"

Mothers don't talk like that, in any existence. Sorry. If your mom does, she's not a mom. Moms are there to wear aprons, shovel plates of cholesterol coated with syrup and rainbow sprinkles, or iron everything you own, even the striped socks with no heals. You know, the ones you wear when you play basketball at the park with Buddy and Dennis. The ones you pull up after you nail a shot from the elbow, leaving your arm raised up like a goose swallowing pond water.

She says its for networking. Sure Mom, everyone joins to "make it with people." To branch out, to share pics, to beat strangers at Centipede or that JetMan game. Sooner or later her wall will be illegible and the page will freeze because there are 150 applications on it.

Let's hope this never shows up on my mom's Facebook page.

**

I had to sit at my parents house all day while two men that smelled like bowling alley and athlete's foot install new windows in the living room and downstairs. Gusts of wind walked through my house as if there were sneaking into the kitchen to eat the last brownie. Nothing was accomplished today. 

However, the basement is now warmer. You can walk and feel warm pockets near the walls where it used to feel dead from wind getting through bad seals. Either way, it was a wasted day. I didn't get to do anything. I had to sit in my parents house and guard guns and paperwork. My dad is stupid like that.

**

Could you imagine performing in front of this many people? Jesus Christ. It's literally like you're inside a body and that's every single cell. Holy crap. Plus, that song kicks ass.