Mother dearest disturbed my otherwise peaceful lunch last week to share with me what initially began as an interesting story but concluded in the most fucked up and disturbing way possible. Way to go, Mom.

So she says to me, "There is this local woman who graduated from college with a journalism degree and began at a p.r. firm as a media coordinator, just like you."

Really? And here I am, thinking that I'm some kind of trailblazer.

She continues. "After working as a coordinator for a few years, she went to grad school to pursue a masters degree in business and marketing."

Okay, now we're getting somewhere. I don't know if I'll ever go to grad school or what I'd study, but maybe business and marketing is the way to go, especially since I'm already on the p.r. track.

"Once she got her masters degree, she went on to work at a few large corporations and eventually became the head of marketing for Volvo. Isn't that great?"

Well, damn! I can't believe my mother knows this woman. It'd be awesome to e-mail her and ask a few questions, so I ask my mother for her friend's contact information.

"Oh, I don't actually know the woman. I read about her in the paper."

This is when things get fucked up. This is when my mother hands me a newspaper clipping.

I read the headline.

"Local Woman Beaten and Fatally Stabbed at Home by Sneak-In Killer."

Oh my god. I continue to the subhead.

"Woman Put Up a Fight Before Man Killed Her in Her Own Bed."

What. The Fuck. What the fuck!

So, essentially, my mother has suggested that I make the same life choices as a woman who was brutally murdered two weeks ago by a man hired to power-wash her deck. I'm sorry, I know that my mother meant well, but that is just plain fucking creepy.

Augh. Well, at least there's an opening at Volvo.