When in Oregon....

My parents are pot-smoking hippies (they will say they aren't but I would be hard-pressed to find anyone who says they aren't pot smoking hippies), so, they retired and moved to the Pacific North West (Oregon) to join the rest of my mom's hippy family.

So my mom, as un-hippy as it is, equates loves to possessions, as that is how she was raised. So, she loves to still take me shopping and out to lunch on her dime, as if I'm ten. But I mean, I cannot complain, she gets warm fuzzies and I get a new shirt or a taco. It's all good I guess.

She went to Macy's with my grandma and I guesss they bought me a new wardrobe for me new job. See, I hate shopping, so I haven't bought more than a kids-sized crappy t-shirt or pair of PJs in five years...as a SAHM, why buy nice things? Especially if you hate shopping? Hence, my mom made it her obsessive-compulsive mission to buy me a wardrobe.

Except, she is in Oregon and I'm not, and she is a bit skinnier than me so who knows if the clothes she chose a)fit  b)look ok... so...instead of wasting money to mail them to me and having me return what I don't need, she is taking photos.

Except....

She is an "artist" and so she has to use her expensive camera, set at the highest resolution of like a gajillion pixels to take photos of each outfit. In each swapped condition as in, white shirt with blue jeans, white shirt with black skirt, same white shirt with green skirt, add blazer, subtract blazer and add necklace...you get the idea.

She refused to let the clothes just "hang n hangers", so she was going to dress up her mannequins.

Her name is Bridget

Yes. She has mannequins. Plural. She has a whole creepy room downstairs filled with old dusty paintings rusty metal sculptures, and naked antique mannequins. And they all have names.  Her dream is to paint one green, put deer antlers on it, and display it in the yard. My should-be-commuted-crazy dad is probably why there isn't a horned green naked mannequin in the yard, because even in his insanity, he is probably like "hell no, that can't go in the yard, what do we look like, freaks??" (The answer is yes, because you also already have a broken door with Chrismas lights, weird wooden humanistic feathered "effigies" in the yard, etc....)

Anyways where was I other than lost in the craziness that is my family? My mom was going to put my new outfits on the mannequins to take photos, but her sister and mom were in town at her mom's cabin, so she ended up with the trunk full of clothing at their place.

So they call me tonight, stoned and drunk, asking how to upload photos.

"Mom, click the paperclip, select the photo, click send"

"Send? How do you send an email?" (I face palm, Mom, you send email all the time!)

"you put in my email in the long rectangle box that says to and-"
"I give up this is too hard!"
"ok mom try Facebook, go to the little talking boxes icon to send me a message"

'i don't want it posted all over the internet. Since I didn't have my mannequins, I wore the clothes and posed. I don't want that all over for everyone to see"

" mom, the world won't see it in a private message."

"Forget it, I'm spending $40 to have staples upload them and email them"

"But you can't waste money to mail them to me?"

"just...we are fried. We tried for an hour to email you. We are done"

No mom, You guys were too high and drunk to figure out email. And don't tell me this digital native crap. I didn't have a remote control TV until 1997, we had a circly-spinny-rotary dial phone until 1992, and all our lighting was circa 1950 and before. I am digitally stuck in 1965, mom....

When in Oregon....

Get high with your hippy sister, paint your mannequins, and get confused how to send an email.

sigh. I couldn't make this up if I tried.