Cliff Diving, Or How I Became 0 for 7

Friday, I leave work early to spend time at the pool. Uh-oh, here comes my neighbor, a muscle-bound gym junkie, who's pretty adorable. Alas, he's too young for me, and he says things like, WE could do this, and WE could do that. But—and this is kind of important—we just met. I am always surprised by this. I think, Don't you want to get to know what you're not going to like about me first, before you dive in?

Couple weeks ago, I met International Sales Guy Michael online. Holy shit, we hadn't even had our first face-to-face and I felt like a mail-order bride. Don't get me wrong. Michael is model handsome, physically fit, intelligent, fun, yada yada. Of note, we'd both been dumped by people we adored and trusted, so why he wanted to talk exclusivity is beyond my emotional IQ. But I was 0 for 6 with nothing to lose. Might as well check him out, right?

Date #1, Friday. The wining and dining commenced, followed by a walk down Sixth Street where we ducked into Pete's piano bar—always a good venue for revealing my true colors with a boisterous sing-along to the crudest songs known to man, wherein my date either gets me or he doesn't, or he's tormented by the thought of introducing me to his mother. I do come with a warning, which I should wear on my boobs so when he loses focus and is startled to hear profanities from the sweet and petite girl, he is reminded, "Oh yeah, she did mention a proficiency in sailor talk," which is NOT the same as, Me love you long time. However, enter the Disney Whore.

Date #2, Saturday. Great time, good chemistry, and Michael danced me around the room like Fred Astaire. Didn't make me laugh (vital if you want to get to first base), but I mused, if anybody could breathe new life into this broken heart, maybe . . . Still, my gut instinct had already assessed the situation and blinded me with flashing neon lights:  What up with this "I'm only seeing you" expectation, cuz—I'm just tossing this out there—WE JUST MET!  He went from "Call Me Maybe" to "Hey Baby, Let's Go to Vegas."

Some people meet and instantly fall in love, and maybe when I was much younger I did too. But with experience comes reservation, and usually I'm a toes-in-the-water girl before I cannonball in. So, barely wet, this guy's rush to cliff-dive into a relationship scared the livin' shit out of me.

So sorry, you are not for me. So sorry, c'est la vie!

And so it goes, the count rises. I'm 0 for 7 now, with one in the batter's box and one on deck. Let's see if this season at least somebody gets on base.
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Warning to New Moms, Or, How I Asked For It

I have four daughters, and I always encouraged an open and candid communication exchange with them. We actually talked about stuff when they were growing up—highly personal stuff. That's how I gained a freakish knowledge of all things catty, hormonal, and melodramatic. While not for the faint of ego, this up-frontness takes a whole lot of complications OUT of the mother/daughter dynamic. Now that they're adults, saying pretty much whatever comes to mind is an ingrained practice. All topics, including the bat-shit crazy, gory, juicy details, are fair game. I know this isn't every mom's cup o' whiskey, but I prefer it. Let that be a lesson to you.

Take my 29-year-old, who feels competent and entitled now to pay back all the sage dating and relationship advice I gave her, lo those many moons ago when she was still sneaking smokes in the garage, ditching first period, and pretending to have cramps. I was on a "first" date the other night, when she texted me and told me to "do" something to him, which I cannot actually repeat here because MY mother reads this blog, and well, she is a little more old fashioned about conversations concerning men and sex. Anyway, I later replied to my daughter, and the convo went like this:

Me:  You're gross.

Daughter:  U did it, didn't u??!! LOL

Me:  My lips are sealed. (A) because you don't really want to know, since I'm your mother, and (B) because, well, see A.

Daughter:  LOL. I know we are past the mother/daughter privacy thing, so I have to assume it was all rated "G". Booooooooo.

Me:  Yeah, it was all G. Except when he . . . and then I . . . and then he . . . which made this thing happen . . . and then OMG! PLUS, then he did . . . and so I couldn't help myself, and I . . . Well, it's all too much to put in a text message. Let's just say it was, um, not G.

Daughter:  So in other words, he kissed u goodnight and u like him a lot. Glad I had a good time, Disney. LOL.

Me:  He sure did kiss me goodnight. He likes to say goodnight. I mean, he could not stop saying it. And pretty soon I thought, if he doesn't stop saying goodnight, somebody's gonna be saying good morning!

Daughter:  So UR the Disney whore.

Sigh. Your efforts to actively engage your children WILL come back on you like a well-chugged cerveza. Still, for me, it does feel good to be able to express myself to loved ones, knowing they will return the favor when they need to confide something important or just express something outrageously inappropriate. See, I don't judge them nor make them feel like total idiot savants for offering their unsolicited and misguided opinions, which I do accept wholeheartedly, out of pure unconditional love. And it's what makes being a mom so fun.

Just think, my daughter's probably passing all my parental wisdom down to her own two daughters right now. Aaahhh, let me just sit back and bask in the sunny glow of my greatest accomplishments.

Love you, Critter.
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