Air in the Tires

As frequent blog readers know, Momma Jenn is all kinds of “Cra-Cra”.  I used to feel the usual shame and mortification typical of a teenager about my Mum’s sexual statements and want to pour nitrogen in my ears, now I’ve taken in delighting in them so I can win in a game my siblings and I play of “I should be more messed up than you”…and I can post on the ol’ blog. 

Since the start of Fiscal Year 2012 at the “Dream Job” I have fallen into a hole.  A hole where friends and family only know I survive based on random bitching Facebook status’s.  I’m working a lot.  But I still find time to connect with the parental unit on my commute home from work if I leave after putting a measly 12 hour day. 

Big Bill answered on Tuesday and listened sympathetically to my diatribe about the hideous results of being competent and perked up when I mentioned that I didn’t even have time to fix my tire pressure.  Big Bill, sensing he was needed, launched into a 20 minute play by play on how to check my tire pressure, places in Austin I could go to fix it, and all the things that could cause my sinking tires.  I, being a girl, lost interest and proceeded to give a sequence of “Uh-ha’s” that could be considered signs of listening. 

My Mom couldn’t be bothered to fake it.  Impatient for her turn to talk to me, she chimed in from another phone and announced (clearly delighted with how gross she was going to be), “Jenna, you shouldn’t be worrying about this, after all, you have a boyfriend who I presume you are having sex with and performing favors for-hasn’t he heard of quid pro quo?

Both Big Bill and I started screaming, I couldn’t cover my ears cause I was driving.

But maybe she has a point.