Bad teacher

Okay, I’m not Cameron Diaz bad, but even my own mom claims that I’m a bad teacher. Isn’t she contractually obligated to tell me that everything I do is amazing?

In the last several years, I’ve spent countless hours teaching my mom:

  • How to program the VCR
  • How to use a DVD player
  • How to use a universal remote
  • How to use a cell phone
  • How to search with Google
  • How to bookmark
  • How to create a Yahoo! e-mail account
  • How to buy me presents on Amazon
  • How to use a digital camera
  • How to attach photos to an e-mail
  • How to send photos to Walgreens
  • How to buy a Groupon
  • How to “ship to store”
  • How to reserve movies from Redbox
  • How to “friend” somebody on Facebook
  • How to “defriend” somebody on Facebook

While my mom has truly mastered a few of the items above, our lessons have left her performance less than stellar on a majority of these activities. She blames her lack of understanding on me for being a bad teacher. I will admit that I don’t read diaglog boxes, I grab the mouse from her hand, I click faster than a Kardashian marriage, and I swear a little. Apparently what I perceive as efficient, others find irritating. You say potato, I say potahto.

I pretended not to hear my mom a few weeks ago when she asked, “Should I be tweeting?” And again yesterday morning when she said, “I wish that I knew how to sell stuff on Craig’s List.” I literally ran from the room when she uttered the words, “I ordered a DVR last week.”

That said, my mom was my very first blog subscriber and she still doesn’t even know what is a blog. I truly love my mom for trying so hard to learn about technology, new media, and how I spend my days in eMarketing. I just wish that somebody else would teach her.

Going broke with Groupon

Last Friday wasn’t just any date night. It was date night with a free babysitter and a Groupon! How could we possibly go wrong with such an extreme score? Upon meeting my husband at the locally owned Italian eatery, we found ourselves uttering the following phrases:

  • Let’s order an appetizer – we have a Groupon.
  • Should we get another round of drinks? We have a Groupon.
  • Don’t order your favorite margherita pizza, get something better – we have a Groupon.
  • How about dessert? We have a Groupon.

We left this popular restaurant two hours later feeling uncomfortably full, fairly buzzed, and completely broke. This sacred Groupon somehow made us feel entitled to splurge beyond our means and our appetites. As a result, we spent more money than we would have on a normal date night with a paid sitter.

I have been purchasing these money-saving gems since the inception of Groupon. I have purchased photo framing, teeth whitening, massages, pedicures, and play date activities. In fact, next week I will be enjoying a $19 gel manicure at my favorite salon. Why do I need a $19 gel manicure? I don’t. I have 20 shades of nail polish in my closet and two hands that are perfectly capable of painting the nails on the other. Still, when that e-mail arrives in my inbox every morning with claims to save 50-60% on a service or product I don’t actually need, suddenly I would be a fool for not purchasing this convenient mobile scannable bar code of sheer value.