And I've gotten really good at "accidentally" changing the channel when they're watching FOX News

My parents are pretty damn cool. I’m sure they never thought they’d have the daughter who would veer off into creative pursuits (and then shun them and then come back again, but that’s a whole other story) and reject the conservative values they instilled in her. Yet they continue to show nothing but support, genuine interest and unconditional love as they watch me crash and burn. And crash and burn. And crash and burn.

They are, in fact, so interested in the things that I do that they began putting generous amounts of money in every musician’s tip jar that they came across during that time when my life was all about 4-strings and horse hair. They’ve continued this practice and just the other day, informed me that they now find themselves stopping at promotional displays when they’re out shopping because I’m in advertising. Stopping and buying. A trip to Central Market last weekend cost them an extra jar of local honey and 2 cans of cookies. According to my mom, my life fancies are leading to their financial demise. (you can see where I got my inclination for hyperbole) Not to mention that they now pay special attention to media ads and usually call me to tell me their opinions of them. And the last time they were in Austin to visit, my dad spent every free moment reading my advertising textbooks and telling me about how great good, smart advertising really is. This from a man who, when I was growing up, would sit beside me while we watched TV and say, “You see these commercials? You see how they all claim to be the best? How can everything be the best? Do you think that make sense? The lesson here is: DON’T TRUST THE ADVERTISING. It’s a TRICK.”

But even more meaningful to me is their acceptance of me even as I live my life with values that are contrary to the ones that they so strongly believe. Unfortunately, it took me too many years to talk to them about it openly. Not because I thought they would be angry or that they would think less of me, but because I just didn’t want them to be sad. Only I wish I would’ve talked to them about it sooner because when I finally did this last year, it was the best thing I could’ve done for our relationship. They still show nothing but support, genuine interest and unconditional love for me and for the significant people in my life.

Pretty damn cool.

Because up until then, I still thought that things would actually be different this time

Twice a week, I park my car in the parking lot of a lovely neighborhood park and ride a big yellow school bus to class at the community college with the teeny tiny parking lot. So even though I come prepared every time with my official parking lot permit proudly hanging on my rearview mirror, I still get to take the big yellow school bus, just like the one I rode to kindergarten. Except that back then, I never noticed the big metal box bolted to the front of the bus that says “BODILY FLUIDS CLEAN UP KIT. BIO-HAZARD”

This week, I encountered another familiar vehicle. That’s right, I came flying into grad school on my old friend, the Bullshit Bike. Even though I came prepared, having read, studied and taken notes on every single word of every single page of material for a READING QUIZ.

Let me repeat that. A reading quiz. Closed-book, closed- notes. In graduate school.

So as I stared down at this quiz, light-headed and staggering from its decidedly undergraduate stench, I had no choice but to get right back on my undergraduate BS bike. And I have to say, not only did I not forget how to ride, but I also discovered that BSing about the four specific variables of an optimal communications budget according to Dr. One of 50 Different Marketing Scholars mentioned somewhere in the 300 pages worth of reading that I actually read and studied? Feels just like BSing about the medieval plainchants of the 15th century about which I never read or studied. The only difference I noticed about this familiar old vehicle is the big metal box bolted to my head that says “SHATTERED IDEALISTIC NOTIONS CLEAN UP KIT. ACADEMIC HAZARD.”

At least horns really do belong up there

Wearing a sooner wagon on your head is the stupidest, lamest thing I've ever seen.

Yeah, so maybe I'm just a little bitter.

Plus, she never yells back

The best thing about having inheriting a hand-me-down GPS is that it comes from the era before GPS voices had names. So while everyone else yells at Grace or Karen or Charles, I can yell at DAMN CRAZY-TALKIN’ STUPID WOMAN as we u-turn our way through my post-DAMN CRAZY-TALKIN’ STUPID WOMAN developed part of town.

Who the hell do I think I’m kidding? Even if she was named Svetlana and gave her dopey antique directions in a lovely Russian accent, I’d still call her DAMN CRAZY-TALKIN’ STUPID WOMAN. Bless her little global positioning heart.