Oh Baby!

Last weekend I invited TheGuy to go to dinner with my family. It was the first time he met my brothers so it was kind of a big deal.

And then there's my mom. You may recall she did meet TheGuy at the wedding, but that was only a brief encounter so her moments of opportunity to humiliate me were few and far between. But when you have a mother who tends to rapidly form emotional bonds to the significant others of her children, it can be a scary thing to bring boys home. She’s still not over the loss of Platonic Ex and probably never will be.

To my surprise, she behaved herself at dinner. For the most part.

At one point, she turned to TheGuy and said, “Have you seen WTP’s baby pictures?” Yes Mother, we sit around and page through my baby books on weekends. TheGuy said no, and thus when prompted to see them, he gave the only polite response in such a situation and pretended to be amused as he flipped through my mom’s wallet-size photo booklet.

I mean, really, do guys care about their girlfriend’s baby pictures? I think not. She pulled this once before, busting out the baby pictures back when she first met Married Ex. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

It's not like my mom said, “Would you like to see a picture of my daughter making out with another girl?” or “Hey, do you wanna see a photo of my daughter in a schoolgirl uniform?” Seeing a picture of a pudgy baby dressed in trousers with red suspenders and saddle shoes is hardly interesting.

I really don’t know what my mom is thinking by asking the guys I bring home if they want to see my baby pictures. Is she hoping they’ll see how cute I was and suddenly get down on one knee and ask for my hand in marriage? Damn, she sure was a cute baby, imagine what our kids would look like! She's not really a picture person, but for some reason, when it comes to whipping out those baby pictures, it’s always a quick draw. Typically cashiers and sale associates are the victims of her Proud Mother Syndrome.

Speaking of babies, my mom and I were at the mall a couple weeks ago when she struck up conversation with the young couple + baby in front of us. After cooing over the newborn, she turned to me and said, “You know, I would like to have grandchildren someday.” Thanks Mom.

Wedding Day Jitters

Part I - December 6th, 2007

This was a draft I saved from the 6th that I never posted. Note: before the big blow up.

The RSVP for my friend's wedding hangs on my fridge, staring blankly, as if mocking my love life. Should I bring TheGuy as my date? Mind you, it's sort of a big decision given I'm in the wedding and both Platonic Ex and my parents will be in attendance.

It never used to be this hard. In the past, I was clear. From the beginning, I made a point to ask future boyfriends exactly where we stood. Why waste time? I distinctly remember each and every one of those conversations -- the way I practiced beforehand, dramatizing every possible outcome and perfecting the appropriate response accordingly. As much as I dreaded those awkward discussions, I told myself it was a MUST.

What's so different this time?? Is my hesitation an indicator that it's not right? Or maybe I'd feel differently if he didn't seem content with the way things are now. It's maddening that I don't have answers. Don't even get me started on my own feelings because I don't know...

Part II - December 20th, 2007

The variables:

1.) Pseudo Dating
We've established we're dating and have agreed not to see other people. But it's not serious. Translation: If either of us happens to meet someone else, we're obligated to tell the other, but jealousy and bitterness should be kept to a minimum since we share this mutual understanding. Could there be a more perfect equation for disaster? I think not.

2.) Platonic Ex
He'll be in attendance sans chubby gf. I don't think he'll cause a scene if I bring a date, but you never know. He can be unpredictable especially when alcohol is involved. Several months ago, we were talking on the phone, both intoxicated, when the subject of me making out with other guys arose. I admitted to making out with one guy in the 7 months since our split. He got pissed, saying, "Okay, I really didn't need to know that." He'd told me all the details of his love life so I figured it was fine. Having never mentioned the situation with TheGuy, he continued, "Who is this guy? Do I need to know? I'll punch him in the face." I know that sounds pretty bad, but I'm 99% sure it was the booze talking. He's got too much pride to hit my pseudo bf. However, in the off-chance Platonic Ex goes Jerry Springer on TheGuy's ass, I'll forever feel guilty.

3.) My mother
Both my parents will be there. My mom is a concern. She means well, but she doesn't realize the things she says and does are offensive and hurtful. And she drinks too much. More often than not, the combination of the two makes for an awkward, humiliating experience. A couple years ago, I went to a college friend's wedding, making the mistake of taking my mom. In talking to one of my former college roommates, my mom made a snide remark about the bridesmaids being the size of elephants, mimicking them as she puffed out her cheeks like a chipmunk and positioned her arms like an orangutan. The "elephants" just so happen to be three of my old roommate's really close friends.

In the end, I decided I would rather have TheGuy there than not have him there. Though I did my best to forewarn him that my ex and parents would be present so I would completely understand if he didn't wanna go, all he said was, "Why would I feel uncomfortable?"

I have yet to tell my mom either guys will be at the wedding simply because I cringe at the thought of what she might say or do. She'll most definitely grill Platonic Ex as to why we broke up and ask TheGuy a million questions, pausing only to breathe, sip her scotch, and share my most embarrassing stories. January 5th shall be interesting...

It's a Bonus

My brother, who lives at home, just got a new place but hasn't fully moved in yet.

I just had the funniest phone conversation with my mom.

Mom: I think your brother is using his new apartment as a bachelor pad.

Me: Huh?

Mom: Last night he said he was going there to sleep and he's not back yet so I think his girlfriend is in town.

Me: You know, that's not his "girlfriend."

Mom: Yes it is.

Me: No, it's not.

Mom: She's slept over here several times.

Me: I know. It's still not his girlfriend.

Mom: Then what are they? Friends with benefits?

Me: Something like that.

Mom: I don't get what "friends with benefits" means.

Me: It means there's no commitment.

Mom: So there's just benefits?

Me: Well, you're friends too, so it's a bonus.

Mom: [laughs] A bonus? I wish they had that in my day.

Mom: So there is an oral agreement?

Me: Maybe, it depends what you've talked about.

Mom: But if you sleep over, then how does that not make you someone's gf/bf?

Me: That rule no longer applies.

Mom: OH! I get it. I wouldn't know how to date these days.

Me: No, you wouldn't.

Mom: So how do you pay for things?

Me: With money?

Mom: Do you go dutch?

Me: [laughs] I don't know, Mom.

Mom: You need to write a tongue-in-cheek book on dating. But you'll need to find your funny bone first.

There's a Special Place for me Down Below

I can't breathe through my nose. Mouth agape, this is a hot look. It ranks right up there with unibrow.

I'd be at home watching Young & The Restless with Marley nestled in my lap if there such a thing as "sick" days at my company, but no, I prefer to blow my nose, cough and sneeze knowing my co-workers are within close proximity. Misery loves company.

My mom isn't evil -- I am. Yesterday she woke up early to make and deliver homemade chicken noodle soup and a super-size vanilla shake from McDonald's. The day before, she'd specially made a batch of chocolate chip not-so-chewy bars which I accepted out of guilt. They were rock-hard like David Beckham's abs. So when she said, "I could use some chocolate chip chewy bars," I was left no choice but to dig the bag out of the garbage under the sink. Then I served them to her accompanied with a glass of milk. She would've chosen coffee ten times over but there's not a drop to be found at my place -- I don't even own a coffee maker. Time to go warm up my chicken noodle soup. Yes, I'm aware I'm going to hell.