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Oh, for God's sake. I've only been gone three nights, but I have 15 messages on my machine. Here’s the embarrassing part: none are from guys, 11 are from Mom. I told her I was leaving town on another business trip, but it must have been one more thing that slipped her mind. So instead of sexy talk from a sultry guy, I got treated to Manic Mom.

"Lisa, are you there? Are you there? Ok, listen, my monthly casino-night party is coming up and it's my turn to host. So, I was hoping you'd help me with the invitation. How 'bout one of those trendy evites? I know I can hardly send an email, but that's why I have you: my pretty little techie. Can you help me download—or is it upload—or whatever—some music to go with it? Anyway, I was thinking, maybe dancing martini glasses or playing cards? That would show up Ethel's Martha Stewart stationery and matching envelopes. Ok, I really, really need it done tonight. Call me!"

Then there's Neurotic Mom:

"Lisa, dear, I was just watching the Weather Channel and they're predicting a rainstorm for D.C. tomorrow. Don't forget to wear your raincoat, and please don't don one of those outdoorsy Gore-Tex jackets of yours. It simply doesn't go with the business attire. Oh, and do take one of those Airborne tablets I sent you. You know how easy it is to catch a cold in the rain."

No wonder I can’t have a decent relationship with a man. My mother is still dressing me.

Calgon, take me away. It sucks when being away is depressing and being home is an equal downer.

Check here every Monday to read a new confession from Lisa.

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