Last week, I told you about the impending weekend with my parents, which was not only going to involve them meeting the cute neighbor for the first time, but a possible reaction to my sleeping over at his house, since I was being so generous as to give up my bedroom to them.
The first meeting took place on Friday night. We were all going to a baseball game. Good first meeting, as there is not too much pressure to keep a conversation up and running. The meeting went well; better than the baseball game, but that's another story. I don't really have too much to report from the first meeting. In fact, I'm afraid this entire story will just bore everyone, it was so drama-free.
We got back from the game pretty late, and the cute neighbor said good night to my parents and vice versa. I went inside to get everyone settled. While I was brushing my teeth, my dad asked if I was going to sack out on the couch. I said, "I'll probably just go across the street." He said, "Ok." Then my mom asked me the same question. I gave her the same answer. She too said, "Ok. So we'll just see you when we see you in the morning?" "Yup," I said. And that was that. Transition into adulthood: Complete.
I wasn't really expecting any drama. First of all, my parents don't criticize life decisions that Grayer or I make. Yes, my mom may suggest that I keep my bread in a different location in my kitchen, or ask why I'm taking a certain route home when I am the one who lives here, thank you very much, so I do indeed know my way around. But when it comes to things that actually matter, they stay quiet. When I told them I was quitting my job to go to South America for several months, they said, "Ok." Second, I am an adult. I live 1,000 miles away from them. They raised me to be an independent grown-up. They did their job. They can't say anything.
Saturday evening, we grilled burgers on my porch. The cute neighbor contributed to the meal with a side dish and beer (which my parents don't drink, and he knew). Afterward, the friend who introduced me to the cute neighbor (and who is from my hometown, which is very strange and has a sister who lives in Boston. We're like the same person.) stopped by to say hello and we all played cards. It was actually quite a fun evening. I got a little nervous when the cute neighbor made some slightly bawdy jokes, such as suggesting Tiger Woods should have stuck to whoring, which was apparently good for his golf game, but my parents just laughed. I mean, really laughed.
I knew they liked him when they kept asking me if he was joining us on our other endeavors throughout the weekend. When it was time for them to leave, they told me that it had been nice meeting him, with my mom adding her classic mom line: "He's nice." But then, she went above and beyond her usual mom line and actually added, "He's funny." Wow. That is some high praise right there. To actually form an opinion beyond "nice?" My dad even followed up with an email today, telling me, "Very nice to meet [the cute neighbor]- seems like a good guy."
Sorry I couldn't bring home the drama or even a really funny meet the parents story, but sadly the cute neighbor is just too cool to try to tell my dad that he can milk anything with nipples or break anybody's nose playing volleyball. He's got strong approval ratings from Fenella and now my parents. Next up: Grayer!
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
I don't think we're in college anymore Toto...
Apologies for my blog absence recently. I am currently without Internet at my house and the blog is blocked on the Internet at work. I can't imagine why.
Last night I went out with some girls from work for dinner, drinks and dancing. The dinner and drinks all went to plan and then we went on the hunt for some dancing...
I graduated from college about 3 years ago. I also graduated from going to sleazy clubs 3 years ago. In fact, even in college, I rarely went to the type of club we found ourselves in. You know the type: loud music, cheap drinks, girls in short skirts, guys ogling, the smell of sweat mixed with the smell of people on heat. I wasn't a fan back in college of the type of guys that were in that place and I'm even less of a fan now. They really should've grown out of it.
My friend and I (everyone else had gone home at this point) surveyed the scene. It didn't look promising. I spotted a couple making-out quite, um, vigorously. I pointed them out to my friend Helen saying: "Aw look, they're getting an STD." I'm definitely not in college anymore.
We decided that as we had come for dancing then we might as well dance and the music was good. However, can I just ask, what right do men think they have to stare at girls and then grab their waists? Or come up to girls and start, what can only be described as gyrating, in front of them? It's disgusting. It was almost like they thought that because they paid £10 to get into the club, they had the right. Never do they have the right.
I know that in the past I have complained about British men and their lack of confidence when it comes to approaching women. Perhaps I should clarify: the British men that are sleazy, sweaty and downright repulsive, under no circumstances, do I want them to approach me. The nice, grown-up men who aren't drunk and think that it is highly inappropriate to grab a girl when they're dancing may by all means approach me. Unfortunately as we all know, we can't always get what we want in life.
By 2am Helen and I were fed up of the meat market and left with the scent of heat clinging to our clothes and our feet sore from our toe pinching shoes. We headed back to mine for tea and toast.
I'm so glad I'm not in college anymore.
Last night I went out with some girls from work for dinner, drinks and dancing. The dinner and drinks all went to plan and then we went on the hunt for some dancing...
I graduated from college about 3 years ago. I also graduated from going to sleazy clubs 3 years ago. In fact, even in college, I rarely went to the type of club we found ourselves in. You know the type: loud music, cheap drinks, girls in short skirts, guys ogling, the smell of sweat mixed with the smell of people on heat. I wasn't a fan back in college of the type of guys that were in that place and I'm even less of a fan now. They really should've grown out of it.
My friend and I (everyone else had gone home at this point) surveyed the scene. It didn't look promising. I spotted a couple making-out quite, um, vigorously. I pointed them out to my friend Helen saying: "Aw look, they're getting an STD." I'm definitely not in college anymore.
We decided that as we had come for dancing then we might as well dance and the music was good. However, can I just ask, what right do men think they have to stare at girls and then grab their waists? Or come up to girls and start, what can only be described as gyrating, in front of them? It's disgusting. It was almost like they thought that because they paid £10 to get into the club, they had the right. Never do they have the right.
I know that in the past I have complained about British men and their lack of confidence when it comes to approaching women. Perhaps I should clarify: the British men that are sleazy, sweaty and downright repulsive, under no circumstances, do I want them to approach me. The nice, grown-up men who aren't drunk and think that it is highly inappropriate to grab a girl when they're dancing may by all means approach me. Unfortunately as we all know, we can't always get what we want in life.
By 2am Helen and I were fed up of the meat market and left with the scent of heat clinging to our clothes and our feet sore from our toe pinching shoes. We headed back to mine for tea and toast.
I'm so glad I'm not in college anymore.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Meet the Parents
My parents are coming for a visit this weekend. You know what that means. The cute neighbor is going to meet the parents.
I'm not really worried about what they're going to think of him. He already has very high approval ratings from The Important People he's met thus far, most notably Fenella, and this will be the first boy Grayer or I have introduced to our parents in a very, very long time. Years, actually. They want grandchildren. He is very highly educated and well-groomed. They will love him.
While my mom can be kind of a wild-card, I'm not too worried about what he will think of them, either. Mainly because my dad is probably one of the most likable people on the planet. They may be a bit nerdy, what with their ballroom dance habit and bike helmet rear view mirrors, but they're not dealbreakers for sure.
No, what will make this weekend interesting is where I choose to sleep. Being the top-notch hostess that I am, I will surrender my bedroom to my parents. Thus leaving me with two sleeping options:
1. I sleep on one of our two couches.
2. I do what I normally do, especially on the weekends, and sleep at the cute neighbor's house.
The last time I brought a boy home (in college, people) he was exiled to the guest bedroom. (In case you're wondering, yes, we found ways around this.) So you would think I should be sleeping on the couch, right?
Oh, no. I'm going rogue. I am a grown-up. I am 27 years old. Very nearly 28. If I want to have a sleep-over with my boyfriend, I very well will. And why should I have to spend a night tossing and turning on the couch while the cat pulls my hair when I can get a comfortable night's sleep in a comfortable bed? If he didn't live across the street, we may have a different story, but he lives across the street. I can see his front door from mine. If they think for a minute that that isn't happening on a regular basis, they need a reality check.
Aren't you worried about what they're going to say? you ask. That's the beauty of it. They won't say anything. That would mean having an uncomfortable conversation, and if there is one thing we are really, truly good at in this family, it is avoiding uncomfortable conversations. I mean yes, our mom sent Grayer a condom sticker, but she didn't actually say anything about it.
So check in next week when I give an update, and Grayer relays what the parents have to say about it.
I'm not really worried about what they're going to think of him. He already has very high approval ratings from The Important People he's met thus far, most notably Fenella, and this will be the first boy Grayer or I have introduced to our parents in a very, very long time. Years, actually. They want grandchildren. He is very highly educated and well-groomed. They will love him.
While my mom can be kind of a wild-card, I'm not too worried about what he will think of them, either. Mainly because my dad is probably one of the most likable people on the planet. They may be a bit nerdy, what with their ballroom dance habit and bike helmet rear view mirrors, but they're not dealbreakers for sure.
No, what will make this weekend interesting is where I choose to sleep. Being the top-notch hostess that I am, I will surrender my bedroom to my parents. Thus leaving me with two sleeping options:
1. I sleep on one of our two couches.
2. I do what I normally do, especially on the weekends, and sleep at the cute neighbor's house.
The last time I brought a boy home (in college, people) he was exiled to the guest bedroom. (In case you're wondering, yes, we found ways around this.) So you would think I should be sleeping on the couch, right?
Oh, no. I'm going rogue. I am a grown-up. I am 27 years old. Very nearly 28. If I want to have a sleep-over with my boyfriend, I very well will. And why should I have to spend a night tossing and turning on the couch while the cat pulls my hair when I can get a comfortable night's sleep in a comfortable bed? If he didn't live across the street, we may have a different story, but he lives across the street. I can see his front door from mine. If they think for a minute that that isn't happening on a regular basis, they need a reality check.
Aren't you worried about what they're going to say? you ask. That's the beauty of it. They won't say anything. That would mean having an uncomfortable conversation, and if there is one thing we are really, truly good at in this family, it is avoiding uncomfortable conversations. I mean yes, our mom sent Grayer a condom sticker, but she didn't actually say anything about it.
So check in next week when I give an update, and Grayer relays what the parents have to say about it.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Beware the Jellyfish
In recent years, I've realized that I spend about 90% of my social life hanging out with men. In the last few months, it's become apparent: girls suck.
Don't get me wrong. I am a feminist. Which is why it irritates the hell out of me that women are our own worst enemy. When I hang out with guys, there is no drama.
Rebecca is a friend of mine and the cute neighbor. She and the cute neighbor were friends long before I entered the picture. In fact, Rebecca took advantage of the cute neighbor's mad culinary skills as often as possible and sometimes ate dinner at his place every night of the week. However, Rebecca is a bit lazy, and never helped with dinner or the clean up and the cute neighbor decided it was time to cut her off. Lucky for him, by this time he had been introduced to me, so he texted me to see if I wanted to come over for some homemade pizza. Yes, please! And the rest is history.
Recently, however, Rebecca looks for any opportunity to put me down. For awhile, she was constantly pointing out that I am shorter than she is, or the shortest one present. (I am not a short person, mind you. In most crowds, I'm even tall.) But lately, she's been aiming below the belt. As in, my lack of funds and employment. More than once, she's pointed out that I make less money than she does. The more I think about it, the more I realize she's the Rebecca to my Bridget Jones. Her nasty comments are always back handed and quick, just like a jellyfish. You don't realize you've been stung until she's moved on. A few weeks ago, we were discussing the color of my toe nails (she approved) and I mentioned my collection of purple nail polishes. To which she said, "You do your own toes? Well, I guess I had to do my own toes when I wasn't making any money."
Ouch.
When I relayed this to the cute neighbor, he shook his head and said, "She's always saying shit like that." We chalked it up to her blatant insecurity and need to build herself up. But when I retold the story to Fenella and Grayer, they both had the same reaction, which basically boiled down to, "What a bitch!"
Then last week, Rebecca came over and told the cute neighbor and me about the date she had had over the weekend. The date went great, but of course she had a problem with his physical appearance, namely, his teeth needed to be whitened. Rebecca always has a problem with their physical appearance, and it usually has to do with teeth. She went on and on about how she could get him to whiten his teeth. I was frustrated with her comments to me (she had pointed out that finding a job right now is going to be really tough), I was menstrual AND had just donated blood that day, and I started to get pissed off. Apparently, I let it show. I told her she needed to let it go about the teeth (I'm sure there was nothing wrong with them. I've seen the teeth she's complained about before, and they're fine.) and what was she looking for, a Greek god? Of course, she said she was.
Later in the week, I invited Rebecca to a game night at my place. She didn't respond. But she did leave the cute neighbor (who was out of town) a message saying they should hang out and that they haven't had much "one-on-one" time lately. I don't think this was a coincidence.
How is it that Rebecca gets a free pass to say bitchy things because that's just how she is, but I get to be the bad guy for calling her out on something she needed to be called out on? Luckily, the cute neighbor is on my team. He agreed with me and understood why I was so snippy with her. But I can't help but wonder if the bitchy things she says are just the way she is or are directly related to me and the cute neighbor. I mean, I never noticed them before we started dating... smiles-and teeth- are very important to her... the cute neighbor has a disarmingly sexy smile.... hmmmm.
See? It's always a competition with women! Why can't we all just get along? In the meantime, I'll steer clear of Rebecca for awhile. Wouldn't want to have to rely on the cute neighbor to pee on me after I've been stung.
Don't get me wrong. I am a feminist. Which is why it irritates the hell out of me that women are our own worst enemy. When I hang out with guys, there is no drama.
Rebecca is a friend of mine and the cute neighbor. She and the cute neighbor were friends long before I entered the picture. In fact, Rebecca took advantage of the cute neighbor's mad culinary skills as often as possible and sometimes ate dinner at his place every night of the week. However, Rebecca is a bit lazy, and never helped with dinner or the clean up and the cute neighbor decided it was time to cut her off. Lucky for him, by this time he had been introduced to me, so he texted me to see if I wanted to come over for some homemade pizza. Yes, please! And the rest is history.
Recently, however, Rebecca looks for any opportunity to put me down. For awhile, she was constantly pointing out that I am shorter than she is, or the shortest one present. (I am not a short person, mind you. In most crowds, I'm even tall.) But lately, she's been aiming below the belt. As in, my lack of funds and employment. More than once, she's pointed out that I make less money than she does. The more I think about it, the more I realize she's the Rebecca to my Bridget Jones. Her nasty comments are always back handed and quick, just like a jellyfish. You don't realize you've been stung until she's moved on. A few weeks ago, we were discussing the color of my toe nails (she approved) and I mentioned my collection of purple nail polishes. To which she said, "You do your own toes? Well, I guess I had to do my own toes when I wasn't making any money."
Ouch.
When I relayed this to the cute neighbor, he shook his head and said, "She's always saying shit like that." We chalked it up to her blatant insecurity and need to build herself up. But when I retold the story to Fenella and Grayer, they both had the same reaction, which basically boiled down to, "What a bitch!"
Then last week, Rebecca came over and told the cute neighbor and me about the date she had had over the weekend. The date went great, but of course she had a problem with his physical appearance, namely, his teeth needed to be whitened. Rebecca always has a problem with their physical appearance, and it usually has to do with teeth. She went on and on about how she could get him to whiten his teeth. I was frustrated with her comments to me (she had pointed out that finding a job right now is going to be really tough), I was menstrual AND had just donated blood that day, and I started to get pissed off. Apparently, I let it show. I told her she needed to let it go about the teeth (I'm sure there was nothing wrong with them. I've seen the teeth she's complained about before, and they're fine.) and what was she looking for, a Greek god? Of course, she said she was.
Later in the week, I invited Rebecca to a game night at my place. She didn't respond. But she did leave the cute neighbor (who was out of town) a message saying they should hang out and that they haven't had much "one-on-one" time lately. I don't think this was a coincidence.
How is it that Rebecca gets a free pass to say bitchy things because that's just how she is, but I get to be the bad guy for calling her out on something she needed to be called out on? Luckily, the cute neighbor is on my team. He agreed with me and understood why I was so snippy with her. But I can't help but wonder if the bitchy things she says are just the way she is or are directly related to me and the cute neighbor. I mean, I never noticed them before we started dating... smiles-and teeth- are very important to her... the cute neighbor has a disarmingly sexy smile.... hmmmm.
See? It's always a competition with women! Why can't we all just get along? In the meantime, I'll steer clear of Rebecca for awhile. Wouldn't want to have to rely on the cute neighbor to pee on me after I've been stung.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Abstinence only
That's right. Condoms don't protect the heart. Thanks, Mom. My mom sent this sticker to me in her last mailing. Apparently she found it while cleaning out our old coats before giving them to Goodwill. This prize was found in the pocket of my coat I wore in high school. Why she thought I needed a reminder of what condoms do or do not do, is beyond me. Doesn't she remember that I was in the Abstinence Club?That's right, I was in the Abstinence Club all through high school. If you're wondering, the Abstinence Club was not something I made up as an excuse for not getting laid. No. The Abstinence Club was a bonafide state-funded program that required us to wear obnoxiously bright yellow tshirts while putting on skits for 5th graders. I don't mean to brag, but my BFF, Greenley, and I wrote the skit pretty much all by ourselves when we were in 9th grade. Yeah, you're right, we were pretty cool back then.
The Abstinence Club encouraged abstaining from drugs and alcohol, but sex was our real bread and butter. Greenley and I wrote a scintillating tale that included football players, high school dances, and a scandalous teen pregnancy (Obviously, we have to get a teen pregnancy in there. It's what happens when you have sex!). We even had this girl show up at the dance (after being shipped off to her Aunt's in a nearby town) with her newborn baby, telling her former flame, "Of course it's yours!" Oh, what drama. (It's as if I had grown up watching soaps with my mom...which I did).
The great part is, Greenley and I also got to act in the skits, and hell yes we played the same parts all 4 years. Greenley played a promiscuous girl who had to be rejected by her football playing beau. It's as if she had learned nothing from her baby mama friend, Jasmin. I, on the other hand, would not even consider going to my football playing boyfriend's house with his parents out of town. "Look," I would say with much gusto, "you know what happened to Jasmin. That is NOT going to happen to ME!" The fifth graders couldn't help but be moved by that performance. (And I'm positive that I convinced them that being alone in a house together will result in a baby.) If you're wondering how I can remember my lines after 7 years, it's because I played the same part and said my lines the exact same way over the course of 4 years and every 5th grade class in the district. We are talking dozens of performances, people. If that's not the sign of great acting skills, then I don't know what is.
When we were seniors we got a little over the top. We had a musical performance by a girl that could actually sing, along with a real life football player that could actually play the guitar. One time Greenley and I sang backup, complete with two-stepping and hand gestures in the background. It was no High School Musical production (obviously as it wasn't highly choreographed dancing with basketballs) but it was pretty awesome. Unfortunately, our adviser wouldn't let us do it again. She said it was distracting and taking away from the message of the song (Wait for me by Rebecca St. James). Sadly, my career as a back up singer was over before it ever really began. What can I say, I sang, I danced, I acted, I wrote skits...I had so much potential back then.
So yes, I was in an Abstinence Club. It was fun. We were actually fairly cool and some us were actually fairly, if not completely, abstinent. We got to get out of school, we got pizza and doughnuts, and we got those rad yellow tshirts too. I wish I still had mine, but at least I still have a sticker. A sticker which is currently on my bathroom mirror, right where it belongs. Thanks, Mom!
Hang in there Vi!
Dearest Vi,
I know that you have been having a hard time of it lately with trying to find employment. I personally believe employers in the Atlanta area have their heads buried in the sand to not realise just how AMAZING you are.
I just wanted to say - hang in there. Things will get better soon and your luck is going to change. I promise.
And if for even one second you doubt just how great you are, remember this. You have managed to find AN ACTUAL BOYFRIEND. Who has lovely teeth. And cooks. It won't be long til your employment success is up there with your relationship success. And then you will have it all.
Love,
Fen
xoxo
I know that you have been having a hard time of it lately with trying to find employment. I personally believe employers in the Atlanta area have their heads buried in the sand to not realise just how AMAZING you are.
I just wanted to say - hang in there. Things will get better soon and your luck is going to change. I promise.
And if for even one second you doubt just how great you are, remember this. You have managed to find AN ACTUAL BOYFRIEND. Who has lovely teeth. And cooks. It won't be long til your employment success is up there with your relationship success. And then you will have it all.
Love,
Fen
xoxo
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Cool Runnings
I am not a terribly active person. Gyms scare me. Junk food appeals to me. I prefer watching sports to playing them (softball being the exception). When Vi went for a run while I was visiting her in Atlanta I stayed in the apartment watching '16 and Pregnant.' You get the picture.
I decided to try and change my somewhat lazy ways and signed up to run a half-marathon. I really should have started with something a little less demanding...
It's taken me awhile to get into the pattern of training but now that I have, I am actually quite enjoying it. And whilst I've been out pounding the pavement I have noticed that there are quite a few people of the male variety also running. And some haven't been all that bad looking. The thought did cross my mind that along with raising money for charity and getting fit I could stumble into the path of a tall, fit, handsome runner. And when I say stumble I literally mean stumble - I'm a klutz.
Today, whilst out running I spotted a guy who I wouldn't mind stumbling into (shallow yes as based purely on looks but I am only human). He gave me a bit of a look. "Ah ha!" I thought. This could work afterall! As I was coming to the end of my run I headed home, wondering if this guy ran every Sunday at the same time. Arriving home I glanced in the mirror.
Oh.
He'd given me a look all right. A look that I now realised went something along the lines of: "Why is this crazy girl with the bright, bright red face and very crazy hair looking at me"? We are talking BRIGHT red face here people. And my hair having a little party. It just didn't invite me.
I'll stick to the running. But I'll leave the cute runner fantasy at home.
I decided to try and change my somewhat lazy ways and signed up to run a half-marathon. I really should have started with something a little less demanding...
It's taken me awhile to get into the pattern of training but now that I have, I am actually quite enjoying it. And whilst I've been out pounding the pavement I have noticed that there are quite a few people of the male variety also running. And some haven't been all that bad looking. The thought did cross my mind that along with raising money for charity and getting fit I could stumble into the path of a tall, fit, handsome runner. And when I say stumble I literally mean stumble - I'm a klutz.
Today, whilst out running I spotted a guy who I wouldn't mind stumbling into (shallow yes as based purely on looks but I am only human). He gave me a bit of a look. "Ah ha!" I thought. This could work afterall! As I was coming to the end of my run I headed home, wondering if this guy ran every Sunday at the same time. Arriving home I glanced in the mirror.
Oh.
He'd given me a look all right. A look that I now realised went something along the lines of: "Why is this crazy girl with the bright, bright red face and very crazy hair looking at me"? We are talking BRIGHT red face here people. And my hair having a little party. It just didn't invite me.
I'll stick to the running. But I'll leave the cute runner fantasy at home.
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