Mama's Boy

One of the most poignant memories from my childhood is from when I was four years old and my father got a rather unexpected call from his ex girlfriend. She was visiting the United States and wanted a ride from the airport. About twenty some odd years earlier, she had broken up with my father, leaving him heartbroken, and one must assume, still the slightest bit in love. My mother flew into a rage. Storming to the basement to retrieve two large, black suitcases. She tossed them onto her bed and began packing clothes. I wandered into the room, asking her where she was going. "Nowhere. I'm trying to scare your father."

Sure enough, he never went to the airport and my parents are still together (for better or for worse).

I have a theory that my eyes and lips were inherited from my mother through nature while my need for love and flair for the dramatic, through nurture. Traumatic events defined my childhood and I became like her in many ways. I fall in love easily and get hurt easily. I recall both of us gasping with giddiness during the dance scene between Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis and then sobbing uncontrollably when they part ways at the end of the movie. The slightest bit of emotional letdown sends me spinning and I too, take guilty pleasure in "scaring" people back into loving me.

The recent barrage of dates was rather pointless, something my mother would do. An effort to feel something, anything, other than lonely, it was as ill-conceived as TLC's search for a Left-Eye replacement. I found myself comparing each and every guy to him, wondering if I was trading up or trading down. It was unhealthy. And I also discovered that all the guys in DC are really self absorbed; but unlike the self absorbed gays in NYC, they're ugly. And a little bit mentally insane.

I was about to give up on men and relegate myself to dying alone, sexually inactive, and surrounded by cats (which I am allergic to so you can add "with sinus problems" to that depressing list), when I got one last message from OKCupid. I figured I could listen to one more guy tell me I'm cute only to confess, after getting to know me, "Sorry, I have HPV. Bye."

Unfortunately, this guy turned out to be genuine and sweet. The bastard texts me in the morning, apologizing for falling asleep while we were Skyping at 2am. This asshole talks about taking care of me when I'm drunk and listens patiently while I freak out about my "lost" wallet that I drunkenly stuffed into the glove compartment of my car. He has the nerve to worry about me getting home safely after a night out. And like the douchebag that he is, he tells me that thinking about me gets him hard at work.

I could forgive all that shit if it weren't for one thing: he is straight.

Well, he is as straight as a man looking for other men on the internet can be. But he's never done anything with a guy and has only recently developed feelings for men. I mean, he plays lacrosse and drives a Nissan Sentra... what more can I say? Do I know what I'm getting myself into? Probably not. Do I think anything will come of this? Probably not. Do I think he will marry me? I'm not sure. No, like, I actually asked him, and he said, "I'm not sure." 

I sensed he was uncomfortable with my awkward and personal line of questioning, and I was worried that he too, would end up telling me had HPV. So I told him that I was sorry for asking and that we should stop talking because I was having feelings for him that he couldn't reciprocate. He just laughed and said, "I dunno, I'm pretty into you."

A play right out of my mother's book. Worked like a charm.