Meet the Parents (or My Not-So-Great Evil Plan)

So. I'm dating this guy.

Let's call him The Professor.

We've been seeing each other for a few weeks - dinners, lunches, drinks after work. That sort of thing. And of course, if you've been reading this blog for any amount of time, you can guess that my family is all kinds of curious about this guy.

I've tried to maintain some boundaries, but you know, it gets exhausting.

So on Saturday night, when Mom, Dad and Anna decided to go out for Chinese, and Anna and Dad mocked me and suggested I call The Professor, one would think I would've brushed them off and readied myself for an endless supply of Mongolian beef.

But then...I had an idea. A brilliant, wonderful, awful idea. If I invited The Professor to dinner, I could get it out of the way - they could meet him, he could meet them, and like ripping off a band-aid, it would be quick and painless. They wouldn't have any opportunity to plan something horribly embarrassing - like an interrogation that would make the Spanish Inquisition look like a Q&A.

I didn't think about the fact that I might scare the poor professor out of his wits when I rang him up and asked him straight out if he wanted to join us. Nor did I think about how he might feel when I poo-pooed him when he said he hadn't shaved. Or scoffed at his insistence that he needed to jump in the shower. Or sent him a text telling him to keep it cas and throw on jeans and a t-shirt. Or gave him just about 20 minutes to be there.

What I did think about was the smug relief I felt when he arrived, well-groomed but not overly much. And when he offered everyone a nice handshake and a smile, I thought my evil plan had worked. And when Anna struck up a conversation with him about college football, and he made her laugh, I thought, I am a genius.

Ah, pride goeth before the fall.

In the parking lot, my mom invites The Professor back to our house. And that's where my plan - quickly but precisely executed thus far - began to show signs of failure.

I rode to the house with him and tried to brief him on what was most pertinent. Dad will tell you an embarrassing story about me. Oh, and he can't always hear, although he refuses to acknowledge it, so be prepared to repeat yourself. Anna's dogs are going to bark at you a lot - don't take it personally. Have I mentioned that we have a feral cat that no one can touch living in our house?

And then we arrived. And the dogs barked relentlessly, and The Professor seated himself stiffly on the edge of the recliner (whose sides have been torn to shreds by the feral cat). We realize that the other cat, Ranger, isn't at the door waiting for his dinner - probably because one of the dogs chased him into the woods earlier that day. Stay here, I tell The Professor. And I leave him in the den in the tattered recliner to watch the beginning of the football game with my dad, and I take a Maglite and go into the woods with Mom to search for Ranger.

A few minutes in, Mom suggests we get a can of food. I breeze through the door, and he half rises, "Can I help you?"

"Um, no. Thanks. But, um, Ranger is, like, an autistic cat? He's special. You know, and he's a little bit skittish around strangers." I dash out again with a can of Fancy Feast.

And we find the cat at long last - Anna and I climbing through the underbrush to get him and carry him in with his solemn little face peering at The Professor like, "Who's that guy?"

Anna heads home and there's the awkward moment where we're all hugging her and telling her we love her and he steps forward and I cringe, thinking, Don't do it! Don't hug her. And he extends a hand and says it's nice to meet her.

Back inside, I tour him through the house - which, of course, was in no shape to receive visitors. When I flipped on the light in my room, I saw two things: the bra hanging on the bedpost and the tampon on the nightstand.

At halftime of the football game, I ask if he wants to take a walk. I take a deep breath, "I'm sorry about...well, the craziness," I say. "Welcome to the looney bin!"

He kind of laughs and I wonder what he really wants to say.

"I wish I could tell you that it's not usually like this." I pause. "But...you know, it kind of is."

He left shortly after that, and I closed the door behind me, leaned against it, shut my eyes and fully admitted that, in light of the control I lost over a simple evening's circumstances, there's no career for me in world domination.

Jumping the Gun

jump the gun (idiom) - to begin prematurely; act too hastily

@ Blockbuster - Selected Feast of Love based on the co-starring power of Greg Kinnear and Morgan Freeman and assumed from the description that it was a Love Actually-esque film with multiple story lines - or as the box suggested, "A romantic feast for anyone who loves love." We decided to watch this film while enjoying delectable birthday treats like ice cream cones and brownies. Within the first fifteen minutes, there was a naked-to-the-waist lesbian sex scene. Um. Did I mention I was watching with my parents?

@ Work - After lamenting the neglectful behavior of my co-workers last Thursday, I had to consume an enormous slice of humble pie today. They marched in at 4 p.m. to The Beatles "Birthday" with an ice cream cake and a gift of Notable Author Finger Puppets. We enjoyed said ice cream cake while the Rockstar's birthday mix played on in the background. (It included Lil' Wayne and Kansas.) I felt incredible remiss in having been so irrationally upset.

@ the Mental Level - Right now, I'm deep breathing through what I'm hoping is indigestion. I've been hoping that I've had indigestion a lot lately. I just chewed up a Pecid AC...and the taste took me back to the place my brain seems to be wanting to go. Like a little this-time-last-year party trick. With the shrink and the doctor and the medication - let's face it: I thought I was done with all this. Perhaps it's just an allergic reaction to getting old.

Tuesday's Littany

* My toenails are currently painted white. I'm trying it out. For Mom. Who bought the nail polish for herself but wanted to see if it looked too hip for her. I love that woman.

* Suspect that STGD may no longer be reading my blog for lack of posts containing reference to him. BUT, here he is, and as always, my heart beats for no one else. PLUS, will see him in a month which will surely spur posting.

* Which brings me to the fact that I will likely be wearing a swimsuit with former coworkers. Is that weird?

* Contacted on Friday by a Slightly Creepy Single (i.e. not the Creepy Single). Attempted GREAT diplomacy in saying that I'm not interested.

* Currently considering solitary travel - I know, I know. My mother will have a stroke. But surely I can handle three days in New England by myself?

* Had I remembered that Women's Murder Club is set in San Fran, I would've tried harder to set up a meeting with the girls.

* I love this post that I wrote about Kudzu at the Smartini Bar.

* Never EVER try to upload 385 photos to Shutterfly at one time.

* Currently on download list - Toad the Wet Sprocket, Better than Ezra, Soul Asylum. Yes, I'm totally having a "recover your 8th grade year" moment.

He Said/She Said/They Said: Company Retreat Version

At dinner Friday night

Me: "It reminds me of Max Headroom."

The rest of the dinner table: "Who?"

Me: "Max Headroom? He was...wait. How old are you guys?"

A chorus of 22s and 23s.

____________
Standing outside of a very chic shoe store in Savannah.

Possible Connection Person: I wish...I wish I could stomach spending that much for shoes. They were really cute.

Me: Yeah, me, too.

Possible Connection Person: Sometimes I hate being so responsible.
____________
On the elevator

ATown Coworker (to The Rockstar): "Hey did you know you're the only single guy at the firm?"

The Rockstar: I guess I'd never thought about it...

Me: What about (ATL coworker)?

The Rockstar: Well, um...yeah. I mean. He's...he's single. But he doesn't like girls."

(How did I miss this??)
_____________

At lunch at Lady & Sons, Paula Deen's restaurant

ATL Coworker: I'm disappointed. I can't believe the menu. This food is so bad for you.

Me: Do you know who Paula Deen is?
____________
In the lobby, preparing to depart and a female coworker from ATL who sat with me at breakfast approaches. She holds out one arm.

Her: Hey, Ashley!

Me (leaning in slightly awkwardly to hug her): It was great to meet you this weekend.

Her: Um, yeah. I was hoping you could take me and my husband to the airport.

Oops, I hugged a coworker.
___________
Yesterday out shopping, we run into one of the two owners of the company. The rest of the crowd with me goes into the Marc Jacobs store. I stand on the sidewalk talking to The Boss.

The Boss: We sure are glad you joined the company.

Me: Thank you. I'm excited to be here.

(I know for certain this is at least the sixth time I've had this conversation with him.)
____________
Friday night at the 80s prom

ATown Coworker: You say you're an introvert, but I'll never believe you after tonight.

Me: Liking to dance and liking people are two very different things.

Good Old Fashioned Family Fun

On the way back from the North Carolina mountains, Justin was telling us about the gym where he works out in Atlanta.

"Some guys just let it all hang out - I don't understand it. And just for the record, there's one thing that I feel I should never see a naked man do in public."

Almost afraid to ask but too curious not to, I said, "What's that?"

"Brush his teeth."

I contemplated for just a moment before Mom chimed in. "Yeah," she said. "Tick tock, tick tock."

Threesdays: Musical Mortification

Three songs I'm a little (or a lot) embarrassed that I like...

"Let's See How Far We've Come" by Matchbox Twenty

"When Did Your Heart Go Missing" by Rooney

and...

total and complete humiliation...

"Rockstar" by Nickelback

The Georgia Identity

The reason I didn't start work this week is because a) I'm not insane and b) I am still an illegal alien in the state of Georgia. The time has come at long last for me to surrender my NC self and convert back to a true Georgian.

First step, the DL. Getting a driver's license in any state under any conditions is generally a pain. But this time around, it was downright humiliating. I had to provide proof of residence - you know, bank statement (not converted to GA yet), utility bill (not in my name), canceled rent check (nonexistent), or proof of employment (sighs...aha). So I was forced to email the HR director at my new job to request a letter of employment since I'm living with my parents and have no other proof of residence. Yes, I had to make it overtly clear to my new employer that I live at home. The experience itself was rather painless - even though I went to the DMV armed with the iPod, Northanger Abbey and a notebook for thoughts and observations during what I estimated would be an interminable wait. They called my number before I could even get the forms filled out.

I have to say that it was with some sadness and definite reluctance that I surrendered my NC driver's license to the examiner. That license is like a badge of honor, and I have a particularly fond memory of the day I got it (even though the NC examiner called me a cyclops because of my terrible vision in one eye). [An aside to the great state of Georgia - please improve your camera equipment. My license photo looks like it was taken with a bad camera phone in a bar. And the composition. It's not flattering to any lady to have a photo that cuts right across the middle of her bustline. But I digress.] Plus, the state requires me to send my plate back, too. The injustice!

As I trade in my planes for peaches, I can't shake the feeling that I'm surrendering a little bit too much. And perhaps it's horrible to admit, but I suddenly feel Just Like Everybody Else. Like somehow, having gone outside the bounds of Georgia qualified me as Being Different. It's like some sort of superhero who gives up her powers for the good of mankind and agrees to live like a mere mortal among them. I had taken the road less traveled and then I backtracked all that way to the most benign, most familiar of lanes. At least now, it's legal for me to drive on them.

Oops, I Hugged a Client!

I had an awkward moment at work today that I keep thinking about, and it alternately makes me laugh and wince. I had an event today at a country club/golf course. They wanted everything to be pretty and had wet down the greens, turning the whole place into a turf sauna. And for those of you who don't golf, there aren't many trees to be found, so there's NO SHADE. The heat index was around 105, and I found the heat threshold for both my makeup and my hair - both of which wilted instantly.

After our little course tour, we went inside. As my boss said, for a moment, it almost made you hotter when the air conditioner made you realize how hot you had gotten. At this point, I'm in a crowded room. Ripe with sweat. Completely overheated. Experiencing that strange darkness after your pupils over dilate. When a board member approaches. I wasn't angled properly to shake his hand. And without thinking, I kind of put my arm around him, leaned into him and half hugged him. Now let me clarify by saying this man is much older, could be my dad or under some circumstances, my grandfather, so it was awkward more in the sense that I don't know him very well and not because of sexual harrassment. But I hugged him. And he did seem kind of surprised. Agh. What was I thinking? And my boss was standing right there. I'm pretty sure that's going to be a mark against "professional behavior" on my next review.