Ladies, Edumacate Your Men

In honor of TMI Thursdays, I bring you a topic which is likely to make some/all of you somewhat uncomfortable. But as I feel it is an important subject, I'm writing about it anyway.

Babe and I had a conversation last night that, honestly, left me slightly dumbfounded. TOM (as he calls it...isn't he cute?) was here this week and so our sexy-time activities of late had been limited to oral sex and above-the-waist groping. As recently as Monday, he was aware that I was "out of commission," and so when I went over there last night, he assumed that was still the state of things.

Well we started getting hot and heavy and I, thinking I was cleverly revealing that I was now able to get down and dirty without...well, getting dirty, asked whether he would prefer to...include me in the orgasm experience or enjoy a final "me me me" moment. He chose the latter, got his jollies, and was ready to go out and smoke a cigarette.

To which I replied "I'm not done yet." After confirming that, yes everything was cleared for take-off, he looks at me and says "well, aren't you supposed to wait a couple of days after that before you have sex?"

I'm not gonna lie y'all, I think I might have popped a few blood vessels trying not to laugh. "Who on earth told you that?" I asked him. "I dunno, I just thought that was how it worked." For serious?

Ladies, educate your men-folk! I know it's not fun to talk about periods, but this guy is 27 years old and he doesn't know enough to know when it's "safe" to have sex. He has plenty of girlfriends, some of them for long periods of time! How does this happen? I am truly baffled.

Also, it's perfectly safe to have sex on your period, if slightly gross. So there's definitely no harm in doing it on your first tampon-free day. I mean, come on.

So a few hours later, we did "it," just to prove to him that you could. Because I'm all about the oral sex, but I'm not a big fan of you get yours and I get nothing. And damn man, get your facts straight!

I Told You So

or, Why You Should Listen to Your Instincts When Travelling with Your Mother

My mom and I flew to Tucson this weekend to babysit my 14 month old niece while my sister and her husband went to Las Vegas for a vacation. My mom is still there actually, as they won't be back until late tomorrow, but I have a job that, you know, pays, so I figured maybe I'd better come back early.

I would like to preface the following story about our travels with this: I hate traveling with my mom. It consistently proves to be an infuriating/miserable experience. Like the time she nearly made all 4 of us miss our plane to Maine because she wouldn't get out of bed on time and then didn't understand why I was "power walking" through the airport. Or the time we drove to Arkansas to visit her family (just the two of us) and she ended up in the ER on Saturday night and nearly died of sepsis. Yeah, that was fun.

I should also probably point out that my mom LOVES Southwest Airlines. Love loves them. Would have tiny airplane babies at the age of 62 if that were biologically possible.

But I digress. I took a half day from work on Friday and was home in plenty of time to unload a bunch of shit out of her car so that Daddy could drive us to the airport in it (did I mention he bought a brand new BMW convertible last week? No, I'm not kidding). She was planning to leave work NO LATER than 2pm because we needed to be at the airport at 3 for our 3:55 flight. They got home right on schedule and we loaded up and headed to the airport.

Now my father, he is not a patient man. So when traffic stacked up for no apparent reason about halfway to the airport he proceeded to pitch a ridiculous fit, slamming on the brakes in my mom's already-hard-to-stop Durango and just generally acting like a total fucking jerk. By the time we arrived at the curb-side check in I was ready to slap him across the back of the head and tell him to chill the fuck out.

In between his ridiculous cursing and squealing breaks and thankGodtheseatbeltslock fun, he and my mom set about trying to convince me that I should check my bag, since my mom had to check hers and I wasn't going to save any time not having to wait at baggage claim. The conversation went something like this:

"How close is our connection?" I asked.

"We have an hour! Plenty of time!" my mom replied.

"No, we have 50 minutes, according to these boarding passes. If we're delayed at all it's going to be really tight." I hesitated.

"It's less than an hour before takeoff and the website says everything's on time!" she continued.

"Alright, fine. But I'm telling you, I've had to literally sprint through an airport to make a connection before. And guess what? My bag didn't make it." I pointed out.

"But this is Southwest!" she assured me.

I consented, grudgingly, and went back to being scared for my life. We got there, checked our bags curb-side, and went in to the airport. Where we discovered, can it be?!, that our flight was delayed. 45 minutes, so far. No joke. At which point I said to my mother, "See? Now the connection is going to be really close if we're really that late! Didn't I tell you?" and etc. She continued to brush me off. We worked a crossword puzzle. I was having an awesome crossword puzzle day and was kicking some serious difficult-clue ass. We boarded the plane 30 minutes behind schedule.

The ride was pleasant, we sat with a 33 year old guy from San Diego. My mom bought all 3 of us drinks with her years-expired drink coupons ("Southwest is so great!"). The flight attendants came over the loud speaker to tell us we were making our descent into Albuqueque and some of us had some pretty tight connections, could everyone else please let them off the plane first. They're holding the planes for us but they'd like us to board as quickly as possible. I looked at my mom and she said "Calm down Mare, I'm sure it will be fine!"

So we power walked through the tiny Albuqueque airport, boarded the plane, and took off. A very short flight later, we were on the ground in Tucson, deplaning and making our way to the baggage claim.

I would say that I don't have to tell you what happened next, but I do. Because it was epic in the I Told You So department. It was an eat-shit-and-die I Told You So. It was a you-had-sure-as-hell-better-listen-to-me-next-time I told you so.

I waited at the carousel while mom went out to see if Brandon was on the curb waiting for us yet. I pulled mom's bag off the carousel (YES. HER BAG MADE IT.) I watched several very similar 20" rolling black suitcases make their way off the conveyor and get snatched up by other people. And then there were no more bags. And my mom walked back up and I said "It's not here. I TOLD YOU SO."

And then we stood in the baggage office where the Southwest employee DID NOT ACKNOWLEDGE OUR PRESENCE for a solid 10 minutes. I'm not even kidding you, that bitch didn't even look up and say "I'll be with you in just a minute." She typed and she answered the phone and she radioed someone and not once did she look up until, after 10 WHOLE MINUTES she looked and me and said "OK, how can I help you?" with a smile that I wanted to slap off her stupid face.

(I should point out here that I am not a hypocrite. I also lack patience, like my father, but I was perfectly calm and nice to her when she finally helped me, unlike my father who would have stuck his hand in her face 2 minutes in and demanded she help him right this instant).

So I registered my bag and was informed that it would most likely be in on the 10:40 flight from Albuqueque. Since we had to come back to the airport the next morning to drop off Adrianne and Brandon, I told her I'd pick it up (also, we didn't know their address. So that was helpful). She promised me a $50 travel voucher for picking it up instead of having it delivered. My mom was instantly pleased with the outcome of the debacle ("Only Southwest would do that!"). Me, not so much.

I should also mention that when I went back Saturday morning (in the same clothes I'd had on the afternoon before, only now I had nice cheesy baby handprints on my white shirt), there was no one in the baggage office. So I waited for 20 minutes to speak to someone at the ticketing counter who radioed down and found out that there was already someone down there. So that was fun.

Needless to say, I was thoroughly annoyed at this whole thing and made sure to tell my mom many, many times, that I was right and she was wrong. And then when my dad picked me up at the airport last night, I made sure to tell him a few times too. Because that was way more satisfying than the $50 travel voucher, let's be honest.

Proving LiLu's Theory

Before you yell at me for not updating since Wednesday, here are my excuses: I didn't blog Thursday because I was all "one day off is no big deal!" Then I didn't blog Friday-Saturday because I was too busy being all honeymoon phase-y with the boy. I could have blogged last night, but then it occurred to me that, why would I spend time I could be catching up on sleep Sunday night when I could spend time I will desperately need something to do at work on Monday?

OK, now you can yell.

Feel better? Good. Now that we've got that out of the way, on to the post I could have written last night but put off until today.

Oh, also, before you start, if you'd like the title of this post to make any sense to you, you should go read LiLu's theory on relationships if you haven't already. That chick's a genius (and also fall out of your office chair, snort in your cube funny).

For those of you too lazy/lame to read the post, LiLu's theory is that the person you're meant to be with is the one who can tolerate your kind of crazy. Because we are all a little crazy. Past experiences inevitably leave us a lot smarter but also a little bit scarred. It's as true for men as it is for women, but most men are a little bit better at keeping their crazy under wraps.

I had my first mini-meltdown of my relationship with Babe this weekend. Now, I don't want to go into the gory details for a lot of reasons including his privacy, but suffice it to say that there was some major drama involved in his last relationship before me and I am the first girl he's really dated since then (1.5 years ago). Said drama has...slightly amplified my otherwise "normal" early-relationship jitters. So really, it's saying something that I kept my shit together as long as I did. Especially since our favorite activity involves consuming lots of alcohol (ok, it IS consuming lots of alcohol).

When I got over to his place on Friday, he was super sweet. We cuddled on the couch watching TV and he played with my hair and scratched my back, things he knows I like and therefore made me very happy. When we were ready for dinner, we walked over and got some pizza, and then when we heard from our friends, we headed out for a night of drinking games.

Now. I am no longer the lightweight I once was when it comes to alcohol, especially beer. I can now put that shit away without suffering too thoroughly most of the time. However. We played Fuck the Dealer and guess who was the dealer at the end of the game? I think I consumed 2 whole beers in about 5 minutes. Which wouldn't be too terrible, except that kind of drinking takes a little while to catch up with you (and also they were probably beers 5 and 6 of the evening). I won't mention any names, but somebody flashed the guys she was playing in beer pong to distract them later that evening. She was pretty wasted.

When it was time to go home, Babe (who had stopped drinking a while before so he could drive and was, therefore, significantly more sober than I was) packed me up and hauled me away. And for some reason I'm not even sure my drunk self could figure out, I started a fight. About politics. On a Friday night, while drunk, with my new boyfriend. Because I had been bottling up a lot of crazy, I guess, and it got the better of me. He had some personal experience with the topic at hand and was not 1) too sure why I felt the need to bring it up or 2) why I was so upset with him when, at no point, had he disagreed with me. I cannot answer either of these questions. Because I'm special, I guess.

So we got home and, despite the fact that I had stormed away from the car and was still very hostile, he made me cinnamon toast (probably in an effort to sober me up some). And then I continued to argue/cry and generally be a supreme pain in the ass until he finally fought back a little and made me feel really awful for bringing it up at all (which was totally legitimate, let's be honest). Then he left me on the couch and went upstairs.

I sat there trying to get my shit together and decide whether I was going to go upstairs and try to fix it or stay mad and let him go to bed or whatever. About 5 mins later I went up and, still a little sniffley, told him that I was sorry if I upset him and that wasn't my intention, but at the same time, the points I had made were important to me and if that was an issue for him, then maybe we weren't supposed to work out. Because I have totally been that girl who takes it all back and just wants to fix it, and that doesn't end well. So I went with the middle ground, and hoped for the best.

He came over and gave me a big hug and suggested we go back downstairs and finish a movie we'd been watching earlier. That it was ok that I'd lost it a little, he had his moments too, and maybe I should have quit drinking after Fuck the Dealer. I nodded my head and we went downstairs. Where I proceeded to watch the movie with my head on his shoulder and one eye closed because otherwise I had double vision. Yeah, a little too much to drink.

About 15 minutes after we'd gone back downstairs, while he stroked my hair with my head on his shoulder, he kissed my forehead and told me "don't worry, I don't give up that easily. It's going to take a lot more than that to run me off." And I swallowed away some more tears and told him "I'm really glad to hear you say that."

And so, my friends, example 57,348,941 of LiLu's Love Theory. He gets my kind of crazy. And he knows exactly what to do to make it better.

Thank God. Cause I would have been pretty bummed if I'd sent him packing.

We spent the rest of the weekend being a ridiculously cute couple. We went to see District 9 on Saturday night and he held my hand/had his arm around me through the whole movie. And he was worried when I kept looking away from all the icky alien grossness that I didn't like the movie (which I did, it was excellent, if a little vomit-y/violent).

Tonight I'm going over to make lasagna for him, his brother and his brother's roommate, the Social Broker. In case you didn't know, I make the best lasagna you'll ever eat. I'm pretty psyched.

Because I am Drunkish and Jamming Out

A selection of my favorite lyrics from 2 of my favorite artists...5 points to the first person in the comments to identify the artists and every song (because then I don't have to do it).

"I can't be her angel now, 

you know it's not my place to hold her down.

And it's hard for me to take a stand

when I would take her any way I can."

"Fear is a friend who's misunderstood."

"You may have your reasons

but you will never have my rhyme."

"Whatever happened to my lunchbox?

And when the came the day that it got thrown away?

And don't you think I should have had some say in that decision?"

"Once in a while, when it's good, it'll feel like it should.

And there all still around and you're still safe and sound,

and you don't miss a thing til your driving away in the dark..."

"She thinks I can't see the smile that she's faking

and poses for pictures that aren't being taken."

"'Everything happens for a reason'

is no reason not to ask if I am living it right."

"I'll make the most of all the sadness.

You'll be a bitch because you can."

(fastest way to get me in bed = play this song)

"She looked out the window, 

rolling tiny balls of napkin paper.

I played a quick game of chess with the salt and pepper shakers."

"Belief is a beautiful armor

but makes for the heaviest sword,

like punching underwater

you never can hit who you're trying for."

"Well I may seem naive if I cry as you leave

like I'm just one more tortured heart.

These cracks that I show as I'm watching you go

aren't tearing me apart."

"Gonna sell my house and cross the border

cause somebody told me dreams live in Mexico."

"Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom

man made up a story, 

said that I should believe him."

"It's clear this conversation ain't doing a thing,

cause these boys these only listen to me when I sing.

And I don't feel like singing tonight

all the same songs."

"Too many things I haven't done yet,

too many sunsets I haven't seen.

Can't waste the day wishing it'd slow down,

you would've thought by now I'd learned something."

"You hold me without touch,

and you keep me without chains."

I could do this for hours...are you bored yet?

Dear Economy, Go F Yourself

Blah. Sorry for the negativity, but Babe got laid off today. Which makes no sense, since he was out of town 3 days last week helping set up their new office. They eliminated his position company-wide...but they can afford to open a new office. Brilliant (I can't say that without thinking of those Guiness commercials...).

This would be less scary if he a) wasn't already completely strapped this week, b) got any kind of notice or c) any form of severance. But such is life, and he has a positive attitude so far, so I am just trying to do my best to smile and be helpful as much as I can.

The good news is, I kick serious heiny at resume-writing and one of my close friends is the badassest recruiter and networker in the area. She's also Australian. And my future roommate. I know, you're jealous.

That's right, it's official. Mary is getting the hell out of dodge. And just in the nick of time, apparently.

I am a little bummed because Babe and I kind of have enough drama to work through without adding the stress of job hunting. But such is life, I suppose, and we'll make it or we won't. The major goal is not to turn into the same girl I was the last time I dated someone who was jobless. That would be the one that ended in the quarter-life crisis. So yeah.

Thoughts/prayers/Internet love and other such silliness, choose your flavor. He'll take all the good karma he can get.

Out of the Mouth of Babe

I went over to Babe's (the newly "official" boyfriend. This is mostly what I call him, so we'll go with that) last night for movies and cuddles. Only it was so f*ing hot in his room that by 10pm we had resolved to go buy a damn window A/C unit if it meant we didn't have to sleep drenched in sweat. Two trips to Walmart and the replacement of THE most disgusting air filter you've ever seen, and problem was mostly solved.

On the second trip to Walmart, we decided we needed some Junior Mints (both of our favorite movie theater candy...and we were watching movies...). Conversation in the parking lot:

Babe: Can I have some Junior Mints?

Mary: *opens box and places a Junior Mint in his hand* Sure!

Babe: *eats Junior Mint and puts hand out for more* Am I only allowed one at a time?

Mary: No! I just didn't want them to melt all over your hand.

Babe: Well I can put more than one in my mouth at a time! That's the best, when you suck on them and they meld into one big blob of mint chocolately goodness!

Mary: *dumps 3-5 Junior Mints in his hand* There! Sorry!

....about one minute later...

Babe: *opens mouth to reveal disgusting blob of chocolate* See?! Senior Mint!

Mary: Gross! Please never do that again.

It was pretty funny though.

Sassy Pants

Someone who has been very near and dear to me for a very long time has recently been going through some rough stuff in her marriage. Her husband, we'll call him Mr. Asshat McJerkface, recently informed her, in no uncertain terms, that he is seriously considering leaving her. That he is no longer attracted to her now that she's fat and older, that she is a pathetic shell of the woman he married, that he's had opportunities to cheat on her (but hasn't yet, supposedly), and that he's bored and wants to start over. So yes, Mr. Asshat McJerkface.

This person and I went out to dinner last night. She was feeling very blue and lonely, and so she needed to talk about it. She had thought things were getting back to normal, going better, and she'd confronted him about it the night before because she needed to hear from him that maybe things were getting better. And Asshat's response? "If you're getting impatient with my indecision, you won't like the decision I make." Are you fucking kidding me? Needless to say, she was feeling pretty beaten up.

Now I'd like to pause and say this: it is really easy to look at this situation and go "Run girl. Get the hell out! Why do you want to be with someone who would treat you this way anyway?" But the reality of life is that things are not always that simple. She still loves him. The truth is, he's always been kind of a McJerkface. But he's her McJerkface and she has invested a shit ton of time and energy into a relationship that has spanned quite a bit of time. While he is an asshole, he has never been physically abusive. And he hasn't been verbally abusive until recently. Finally, she has to consider her financial well-being. Divorce ain't cheap. And it's very messy and time consuming and emotionally draining. It's not something you rush into.

And so, Mrs. McJerkface needed the mother of all peptalks. And to my surprise, I was able to provide it. Perhaps because this is a situation that I can relate to in many ways. I have been the doormat girlfriend. The one who gets her shit together just long enough to keep him from leaving, only to push him further away with my own insecurities days later. The one who felt like she couldn't do it alone. She doesn't know how, she's forgotten. She just wants everything to go back to the way it used to be. Please, if she just pretends this isn't happening, won't it go away?

And so I looked this person straight in the face and I told her: you will not hold on to him if you continue to ask him what you can do for him. If you keep trying so hard to keep him here, you will eventually chase him away. You have to focus on improving yourself for YOU. Because you want to look better, feel better, be better. Because you know that you CAN do it on your own, that you WILL get through it, that you are NOT alone. Because you can, you will and you aren't.

I told her that she has to stop letting his opinion of her define her opinion of herself. Yes, his opinion matters. It matters to her more than anyone else's. But it shouldn't be the only one. There are plenty of people who think she's fabulous, even if she is "fat and older." In fact, that's one of the reasons he isn't gone already. Because everyone would look at him and go "what the fuck are you doing? She's awesome! You're an idiot." Because he is an idiot. An Asshat McJerkface.

And I told her she has to get mad. Put on her punching gloves and climb in the ring. She doesn't want to play games, but the reality is, he's already started the game without her. Is she going to just stand there and keep taking punches, or is she going to take a few swings herself?

"I know," she said, "I've got to put my sassy pants back on." You're damn right! You dig those spandex, sequin-covered fancy pants out of the back of your emotional closet and you pull those suckers on and zip them up!

And then you tell that sonuvabitch he's a fat, lazy asshole and who the hell does he think he is? Talking to you like that! It is not acceptable for him to talk to anyone like that, especially someone who has stood behind him through credit woes, substance abuse and job loss! His opinion has been registered, thank you, and now he can shut the hell up. He wants to leave? Fine. But you're not gonna make it any easier for him. You won't make that decision. You're gonna stay and fight. So how about he quit pointing his fat finger at you and they work on fixing this marriage TOGETHER.

And then you z-snap those pretty little fingers and turn around and walk away.

Cause here's the thing, ladies. To quote one of my new favorite bloggers, Doods are Dumb. The harder you try to please them, the less attractive you are to them. When Mrs. McJerkface and Mr. McJerkface met, she was way too good for him. She was an independent woman, smart and capable and sassy. She was way out of his league and she wasn't interested. And he loved it. That's what he's looking for, that woman in her sassy pants. And the reality is? She's still too good for him, but neither of them sees it.

Live for you, for your happiness. You can't take care of anyone else nearly as effectively if you don't take care of yourself first. Maybe she should run. Maybe it won't work out. But it doesn't change the fact that she has morphed into someone she doesn't want to be. She has to put herself back together before their marriage has any chance.

It's hard to be a wife, a mother, a full-time employee wearing sassy pants. As your role changes, so does your metaphorical outfit. But those sassy pants are still in a box in the closet somewhere, and it's time to whip them out. It's time to stand up and say "Fuck you, you don't get to treat me this way." It's time to say it to Mr. McJerkface and to herself. It's the very first step on their road to recovery.

And she'll find them and put them on, and she'll look absolutely fabulous.