Conversations with my mother.

On Sunday, I was at my mother's house - the most uncomfortable place on Earth - doing laundry and then sneaking into a private room by myself to watch "Desperate Housewives."

My stepfather wanted absolute silence - other than, of course, when he spoke about how he's afraid his aching back means he has meningitis or how pissed he was that "60 Minutes" pre-empted "Cold Case" and ruined his whole night, so I retreated.

Of course, when my stepfather went to bed, I went back downstairs, where my mother helped me finish my laundry.

And, for some reason, I started to vent to her about how I didn't like my job, how I didn't like the direction my life was going, how unhappy I was and how I never date.

She told me the usual, like "You need to change medication. That therapist has you on the wrong pills."

Or the classic "Only you can change your situation for you. I've told you and told you that you should go into sales. But you don't listen to me."

I'm not saying she's not right. I'm just saying that she's my mother, so I take that detail into consideration whenever I listen to her.

For years, she's been trying to get me to read Norman Vincent Peale's "How to Win Friends and Influence People" for instance.

"Benjie, people pay $3,000 to attend one of those conferences, and your dad went to one of them, his company paid for it," she said.

"Mom, have you met Dad???" I asked incredulously. "Is he someone who I should model myself after socially?"

My mom laughed.

My mom's favorite thing for me to say is "Maybe you should try women." I don't know whether she thinks she's being funny or not, but it's getting goddamn annoying. I just wish that she was consistently supportive, rather than being generally supportive but holding out that last gleam of heterosexual hope.

Something about it offends me. It seems disrespectful for her to say that.

I told her Sunday night that women weren't an option and that men were frequently frustrating.

"Well, will you end up with anyone, then?" my mom asked me.

"I'll become a confirmed bachelor with calloused hands," I said.

"Why would you have callou --" my mother started to ask me.

Then she started to laugh. Out loud.

"There are things you just shouldn't tell me," my mother said. "Even if they're true."