Me: It's a BLOG, mom and yes, some of them.
Mom: Oh, well, blog makes more sense than blarg. I thought that was a rather unattractive name for it.
Me: Right. Remember when you thought the guitarist from Guns N' Roses was named Slice? And then you thought he had his own band called Slice's Snake Pit? Remember how hard we laughed at you?
Mom: I hardly think that's important. That Slice guy isn't exactly in the news these days, anyway.
Me: How would you know? His name is SLASH.
Mom: Oh. Right. Anyway, you're hardly one to talk. Remember when you kept thinking the man who composed the Phantom of the Opera was named Frank Lloyd Wright? Remember how hard I laughed at you?
Me: It was the Lloyd. It always used to confuse me. Frank Lloyd Wright, Andrew Lloyd Webber...whatever.
Mom: Remember when you thought Yassir Arafat played on your brother's soccer team?
Me: Be quiet. I was young. And be fair, the kid's name was Yassir.
Mom: The kid's name was Abdul.
Me: Oh.
Mom: Anyway, what conversations do you put in your blarg?
Me: Mom...
Mom: Just kidding. Blog.
Me: The funny ones.
Mom: We have funny conversations?
Me: Sometimes.
Mom: Huh. Well then why don't you ever put in any conversations with your father?
Me: Because he's just too wierd. Like anyone wants to read a journal entry full of Dad's random mumblings and psychotic musings?
Mom: Well, they read your stuff.
Me: Are you saying I'm psychotic?
Mom: Well, the doctors weren't sure, but...
Me: You're mean.
Mom: Of course, dear. Think of it as revenge for all the horrible hours of labor I was in with you.
Me: Mom, you were in labor for thirty minutes!
Mom: It was 45! The most agonizing 45 minutes of my life. Followed by the most agonizing 18 years of my life.
Me: You are going to mommy hell.
Mom: Already there. Remember? I was sent there after I told you that you were shaped like a fire hydrant.
Me: You are the reason I have my therapist on speed dial.
Mom: Tee hee.
