Archive for the ‘Relationships & Valium’ Category

After my last horrid attempt at a relationship and against my  last slightly inebriated vow, I have started dating again. I thought at first that it was too soon, but I had waited the proper dating mourning period ( and by that I mean I deleted every picture we had taken together from Facebook, blocked and deleted him because he turned out crazier than even I can tolerate and briefly contemplated becoming a lesbian) and let a friend set me up because I realized again that I was right about what I said 3 and a half years ago …that I am not that good of  a judge of character and normalcy when it comes to relationships.

None-the-less, here I go again embarking on the relationship roller coaster. And so far, the ride is off to a great start..we’re on the incline. Our very first date was slightly chaotic and funny (a girl from Long Island rammed into the back of his car while we were waiting at the light behind a cab on the Williamsburg Bridge coming from Brooklyn to Manhattan….trust me, shit like this only happens to me). Seven dates later, he enjoys my company, so far I am not nauseated at the sight of him eating.  We both have the same sick sense of humor. My bitchiness excites him, his sweet nature and awesome pecs and biceps excite me. He’s a germa-phobe, so am I.To quote Charlie Sheen…… “Winning”.

Now, he wants me to meet the parental and units. And his six brothers and sisters. Have I mentioned that with the exception of three, they are all police officers? I’m sweating bullets (no pun intended) because I’ve never been on this side of the law before, (or under it for that matter….*tee hee*). And that’s where it gets tricky. One-on-one I am great, I can dazzle, giggle, and be completely at ease with being myself. But there is something about “meeting the family” that just turns me into a fucking moron. Seriously.

Ten seconds.I have basically have the  first ten seconds is all I have to either make mommy want to  really get to know me or dismiss me as the Jezebel who’s corrupting her son. And I’m nervous as fuck.  First of all, what the hell do I wear? I have to find or put together the perfect outfit that says “Yes, I’m shtupping your son every chance I get, but I’m totally not a whore.” Why? Because that’s what mothers look at. (I’m a mother, I know that’s what the hell I would be looking at.) Is there too much cleavage? Is she even wearing a bra? Does the make-up remind me of the women of the night and sometimes mid-afternoon on Hunts Point? (Or drag queens at best)? The Pants. Does the pants seem to be a rubber stamp of the vagina she’s imagining that I am trying to entice her son with? (I only wear those with him) Does it look like I poured on latex  body paint and tried to pass it off as clothing?

The next phase of my moronic tendencies is my mouth. I have a smart mouth which is a given and I tend to deliver some sort of dry comment.  I also somehow wind up inadvertently falling into the trap of answering a question with an honest answer. Because that’s what they want right? WRONG. They don’t want the honest answer. They want the Mother-Tested and Approved answer. A statement as completely innocuous as me stating that I have a severe allergy to ghost chili and could die would somehow translate into me insulting her cooking into the deepest fiery pits of hell. Strike Two.

Should I tone down my totally deviant and for the most part, socially unacceptable  brand of humor? Or will I for that matter? Will I mistakenly laugh at the fact that she lost her pet cockatoo when she was seven, not realizing that may have been her only friend at that time because she walked with a limp for weeks after stubbing her toe and people mistook her for gimpy legged? Will I look like a raging alcoholic if I pass on the wine and ask for the scotch? (If they even have wine) It is not a question of whether I really care if they like me, it’s more a matter of, if they don’t like me will that spell major chaos for us?

It goes without saying that meeting the family can be stress-inducing and nerve-wracking. And if they don’t like you, then sometimes that causes tension, unless the person genuinely doesn’t give a fuck what their family thinks. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if you are now married to the love of your existence. It goes beyond being yourself, it’s about possibly having to not totally be yourself because people don’t really make an attempt to understand you. I’m not in the business of conforming, but I also don’t want them to assume that I’m a sexually unsatisfiable hussy (not that there’s anything wrong with that.)

I have a few more weeks to get over my completely over-analytical thinking, and possibly enough money in the bank to get a different shirt other than the V-necks that I adore because they work fabulously together with Vicki’s Secrets bras.

To be continued….hopefully.