Momma said there'd be.......

Last night while laid out across BF on the couch his phone rings, it's Momma(his mother).
I tried to listen to what he said the best I could while keeping one eye and ear tuned into The King of Queens.

"Ha hahahaha, Momma. pause It is too funny. pause It'll happen when it happens Momma."

It is at this point I realize that once again she is questioning him as to when we'll be getting married. Apparently the Rents don't hate me for being mouthy. Apparently, even though we've been dating less time then it takes to gestate a human baby, we're ready to be wed. Our eyes meet and he immediately covers my mouth with his hand. I started yelling my protests and flailing my arms, which only makes my muffled ranting seem all the more crazy.

"Yes Momma I know. pause There's no sense in talking about that right now, it's done. It'll make me mad. pause Ok, yes, bye Momma."

I'd begun to gnaw at his hand shortly before the conversation was over. He finally released me and I began firing questions at him.

"What did she want to know now that'll happen when it happens?"

"When we're getting married. 'We're not getting any younger' you know."

"Why won't you let me speak for myself? Let me tell her to back off."

"You want me to hand you the phone next time?"

Ah, there it is, he catches me in my fear of confrontation. I consider before answering, " No, I have a hard time understanding your mom with her accent. It's really heavy sometimes."

"She speaks fine. This is just how things are done in "The Homeland." "

"We're not IN the "Homeland." " I replied weakly.

"I know we're not."

And yet, as we sat there silently watching the commercials, we both felt ourselves booking a reservation for "The Homeland" and all it's cultural pitfalls.
I won't even get a cool stamp on my Passport if I go the way of "The Homeland".
How is that fair I ask? How is it?????

Semi-Public Restrooms

I was wasting time with a co-worker today when she looks me in the eye and says, "Can I be mean for a sec?"

I considered her statement, wondering if the mean was going to be directed at me or not, "LOL, like you have to ask!" I'd decided to take a chance.

"Ok, so like when you are at work and you have to go "#2", don't you use the handicap stall?"

Let me explain about the female office restroom. We actually have a nice Ladiesroom, with a cupboard where each female has her own cubie to keep certain feminine products. There are 2 stalls like in any other public restroom, where you can go shoe-peeping without reprocusions, but we also have a handicaped "stall" which is like a real bathroom with real walls and a real door, there's no shoe-peeping going on here. What makes it the "Handicap" stall is that is has metal supports bolted to the walls. Because of it's Real Bathroom like set-up, and the obivous lack of a handicaped co-worker, this "stall" has the unwritten distinction of being the one to use for "#2".

"Well yes, of course."

"OK, so why doesn't GC use it? I mean, really."

"Yes, I know, it gives more..... containment, so everyone else doesn't have to, experience it."

"Right. Or use the one upfront."

"I don't think she's a washer either, I think she's just a wetter."
(Washer=Someone who uses soap & water after using the bathroom. Wetter=Someone who only rinses their hands, no soap is used. Walker=someone who just walks out, not a washer and not a wetter.)

"Oh! Don't say she's not a washer!" Insert grossed out face here.

I nod my head grimly.
I mean really, how can you sit across from someone at the meeting when you've just had a containmentless, walker experience with them?

Like Sands Through the Hour Glass....

The last few days were spent with Crazy Best friend in Cheese Head Country. I ate a horrifying amount of cheese and discovered a beer named after a small rodent like creature. I also realized I'm just not able to recover as quickly from drinking as I used to be. However, all was good until she started analysis my relationship with BF. "You have to break down the walls Adult. You have to let him in....blah blah blah." And as she was shuffling me off to the plane back home the next day,

"Remember Adult let down your walls where BF is concerned. Don't EVER CHANGE!"

Um, can we say Oxymoron? I realize the "Don't Ever Change" was meant along the same lines as "BFF" and "Stay Cool 4 Ever" yearbook type sayings, but, Seriously?

Upon my arrival home BF tells me he confronted his Rents about their lack of initiative when it comes to their visiting their out of state son.

"I talked to my Rents about coming out here. I dropped the F-Bomb on my mom I was so mad."

"Oh, ouch, how'd it go?"

"They're coming. I told them what you said about not going to visit them again until they come out here."

OMG! OMFG!!!!!!! HE DID WHAT!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!? I could feel the Rent hate vibing towards me across the thousands of miles. Mind you I imparted this bit of girlfriend advance after the visit out to see them and was dragged kicking and screaming to see countless, faceless, relatives to which I had barely 20 words to speak. They quite literally speak a different language, and I'm not talking one that would be covered by High School Spanish either. Upon listening to one of his many rants about the Rents and their non-visiting status I laid down the threat of all threats, We don't visit until they do. This threat of course was never to be linked to me. I was to be Kevin Spacey in The Usual Suspects, just limpin along to the music, smiling like the good girlfriend completely in the dark about how or why they finally decided to visit. Instead, he makes me Stephen Baldwin, and you know Stephen NEVER gets out alive.

"You did what???? You told who WHAT?!?!?! Are you crazy??!?!!?! Shit! Now I'm just not the wrong color(culture) I'm mouthy and opinionated to boot!!!!!!! "

My horror at my new label was met with laughter, and then he got out the macaroni and cheese to make for dinner.

Midnight Manhandling

There I was, curled up and hugging the edge of the bed while BF snored, and not lightly, next to me. The breathing became normal and I thought that I might actually be able to fall asleep within the next 30 seconds before he started up again, when I felt it, a warm man hand sneaking into my panties. It patted my hinny lovingly and rested there for several seconds. My mind raced, Is he awake? Is he trying to wake me up for some late night hanky-panky? Do I WANT to be awake for some late night hanky-panky? But before I could decide on which course of action to take, it retreated back to where it came from. I lay there, stunned, but then chuckled to myself before snuggling into my pillow to block out the snores which soon followed.
When morning broke I poised the inquiry, "So what was the deal with you last night?"

"Huh?"

"In the middle of the night you snaked your hand into my panties and
rubbed my tushy."

"I DID? Seriously?"

"Oh yeah you did. You don't remember it?"

"No."

"You didn't do it on purpose?"

"Ha, no I didn't."

We both laughed it off. Little did I know.
A week passes. Once again, hugging the edge of BF's King sized bed, I felt the sheet begin to move. And there it was, another Midnight Manhandling was occurring! This time I think my left cheek was squeezed.

Again as daylight shone through the window I say to him, "You did it again last
night."

"Did what?"

"Rubbed my tushy."

"Again???? Wow, I just don't remember doing it." He shook his head puzzled.
I smiled and kissed his nose.
The next night I was Manhandled twice. I'm beginning to grow suspicious of his memory loss.

Conspiracy Solved

Diary conspiracy has been solved. Diary was left laying on footstool in guest room.

Thank You Watson.

Mistakes Have Been Made

So the BF discovered the Diary. And he keeps asking what I've written about him. Not good. I've been keeping a Diary since the ripe old literary age of nine. I'm putting my trust in him that he has not actually read said Diary, even though it was left out in the open. Of course said Diary is now missing........
Upon inquiries about past Diaries I hauled them out, about 12 in all, so that he might discover the "juicy stuff" about my life before he came along. I figured that reading items of my life B.B. (before bf) wouldn't harm anything. Since I barely have enough juice in my life time to flesh out a small mandarin orange. Ah, how wrong I was. He cracked open the first Diary and "Love Letters" began falling out. Do you feel the room beginning to spin?

Oh, but wait, grab a wall, it gets better. There was an actual stack of love letters and cards from the most recent Ex stacked neatly between the Diaries, and they screamed for his attention:

"What are these?"

"Oh, wow, I'd forgotten about those." (holy shit, holy shit hid them! This could be trouble)

"Who are they from?" as he flips over the envelope examining the word play concerning my given name.

"Those are from Ex. He liked to write me. " (give them back! Stop reading!!! Thank the gods I refrained from wrapping them with pink ribbon and a bow.) I gather them up and toss them across the bed.

"Here, this Diary is from my college years, that should have some juice."(Deflect! Distract! Look at the shiny gold leaf pages!!!!)

"Why are you keeping something from someone you claim to dislike so much??"

(Insert Bridget Jones' : FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK subtitle here)

"I forgot they were there, I should burn them." ( please don't ask the light the match.)

"Do I need to write you love letters too?"

"If you want to, that's up to you. He liked to write while he was away working at camp." (Let it go, please please please)
I shove them farther away and cozy up with BF and the shiny Diary.... "Let's see what kinda juice we have here."

He seemed to be deterred, for the moment. How do you explain to BF that ExBF was the first man who not only Told you he Loved you but also put it in Writing? That's something I just can't seem to let go, am I wrong here? Am I tempting fate by keeping proof that someone outside my bloodline loved me at one time?

So let's reflect on the mistakes: 1) Left Diary out in the open for BF to discover.
2) In order to distract BF from current Diary containing info about him, old Diaries are unearthed, along with Love Letters from Ex.
3) Telling BF that said Love Letters are from the Ex.

What we shall NOT do is tell BF about Blog. No No No NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Who Dressed You?

Do you ever have those days when you go to use the restroom and you go to undo your pants or skirt and you don’t remember getting dressed that morning? I refer to it as “dressing haze”. You are so preoccupied with thoughts about what needs to be done that day, issues at work, home, school, you name it, that you pull things on that “match”, or don’t need to be ironed, well, TOO badly, and when you finally get where you are going you look down and think, “When did I put THIS on?” This often goes hand in hand with the “deodorant sniff”, the same thing happens, but you can’t recall slathering on the anti-smell cream. “Deodorant Sniff” test ensues.

Things I’ve learned since becoming an “Adult”

("Adult" : having a mortgage)

1) Being a “blonde” is not cost effective. I have been demoted to a lemon juice blonde, and that only works during the summer. Forgive me my roots in the dead of winter.

2) Using a credit card to buy groceries is as sad a state of affairs as I thought it was when I was in my 20’s and all I EVER needed to get chips and Vodka was my Debt card.

3) Living in the “Burbs” means parking in the street so that your neighbor is completely cluster fucked when trying to back out of her extremely narrow new driveway onto an even narrower street.

4) Having school aged (high school that is) kids in the neighbor is a complete bitch when you are grasping the last bits of sleep before dragging yourself to work, and their carpool buddies thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to lay on the horn at 7am. *Clue* It’s not acceptable.

5) Having “Shade Trees” in my yard is great in the summer, a complete raking horror in the fall.

6) Being an “Independent woman” means cleaning out your own gutters because you can’t afford to have someone do it for you.