Back in Black

You know, it's weird being the black sheep of the family. Did you ever see the movie Parenthood? There is that sister who just can't get it together; her husband abandons her, the kids walk all over her, she can't hold a relationship together with spit or glue?

When I went back East for a visit with my family this past weekend, I found myself feeling like her. I also found myself getting a lot of those, "what a damn shame" looks from my relatives. You know, because once upon a time, I had such potential. Then I went and frigged it all up.

I don't know what to say about all that. Except that I pretty much agree with their assessment. Back in the day, I did show a lot of potential. But somewhere along the line, I played Let's Make a Deal. I admit it. I made a few bargains and I settled for less - less than what I wanted, less than what I deserved, and less than what I needed. And now, here I am. Sorting it all out. Payback.

Oh well. I'm not the first woman in my family to sell herself short. I happen to know for a fact that being Irish (with a strong family history of alcoholism, depression, myopia, baldness, and Catholicism, I might add) that I come from a long line of frustrated and angry women. It has to do with bad decisions. All of it. And no forgiveness.

And the Tradition continues. We had quite a marathon of eye-rolling and head shaking this past weekend. The grimacing was unparalleled. I think I even caught my 2-year-old niece wagging her finger at me.

Ok. Whatever. But it ain't over yet.

Lowest Common Denominator

I’ve been sick these past few weeks. I’m pretty sure it’s the Chinese Bird Flu. I know because I’ve been consistently craving poultry. Turkey, chicken, Cornish game hens. It’s driving me around the bend.

I finally went to the doctor and got antibiotics. Something called a z-pack and a spray gel to put up my nose. I don’t care much for the spray. It strikes me as unnatural to put things up my nose. I am too conditioned to expel matter from that part of my body.

Along those lines, it is really starting to get on my nerves that I am the only one of four people in this apartment (two of whom are adults) who knows how to flush. It’s bad enough that I have two children who don’t do it. There is also an adult woman living here who has not yet adopted this tidy habit. It’s maddening. It’s not as if I am some kind of uptight clean freak, either; it’s just something of a traumatic surprise to be confronted by someone else’s forgotten personal effects, if you know what I mean.

What’s even weirder is that I live next door to people who like to cook. They are an Indian couple, and their kitchen abuts my bathroom. I often smell Indian food through the vent in my bathroom. It’s such an unnatural feeling – so contrary to every instinct I’ve ever had in my entire life – to walk into the bathroom and wonder what smells so freaking yummy. And then, voila! Room mate surprise!

Sometimes I hate my life. And sometimes I can laugh at it. I am not sure which it is today.

Mystery Date

Remember the old board game from the 1970's, Mystery Date? My mother wouldn't buy it for me, which may explain why my social life is so screwed up right now. Really.

The other night I went out on a blind ("mystery") date with a guy who looked like a lobster. He didn't try to pinch me or anything, but he had those beady eyes and gigantic claw-like arms like a lobster. He worked out, that's why. Anyway, as I sat across from him eating dinner, I kept picturing him with antennae coming out of the top of his head. Sometimes, when the conversation got really lively, I would imagine that for emphasis he tapped me on the forehead with one of his antenna.

I know this is unusual, but I've hit a rough patch in my personal life. Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly artsy or stressed out, I will picture people as dogs or fishes. You know, their faces are all floppy (Beagle! Basset Hound! Monkfish!) or their eyes are big and watery (Catfish! Flounder! Bulldog!). But I've never before delved into the realm of crustaceans. Odd. And the guy ordered shrimp, too.

I've gone out a few times with a man named Preston. That's not his real name, in case you were wondering. He is 61 years old - never been married. I keep telling myself that it's not all that strange that he talks softly, has a flare for interior decorating, and loves antiques and musical theatre. It's not, right?

I've been out with him four or five times and he's never kissed me or held my hand. In fact, the last time he walked me to the door - his manners are impeccable - he backed away very quickly, as if he were frightened almost, with this quirky sort of "namaste" bowing motion as he said goodnight. Once, when we were crossing the street, I reached out and grabbed his hand. He let me touch it at first, but then pulled away. He seemed a little repulsed. Now that I write it, I see that the words "a little" and "repulsed" don't belong together. But at least he didn't say, "eeeewwwww", or anything like that.

Preston has told me several times that I am very attractive. He has mentioned women that he's dated in the past. In particular, he mentioned that he was almost married once. I haven't gotten the full story on this, as Preston's cat passed away last week, and he has gone into a very profound period of mourning. It is difficult to watch, particularly in light of Jack's sister dying and Jack being so stoic about it all.

I don't know. My gut tells me that Preston is gay. If I met him on the street, that would be my call. And I don't give a toss if he is or isn't - it's just the last thing I need right now is a gay boyfriend.

Talk about not getting your needs met:

* I have an ex-husband who couldn't find my errogenous zones with a flashlight and a GPS device.

* I have a boyfriend in Germany who has nicknamed my lowlands "Honig Topf".

* I have a gay boyfriend in the next town who is grieving a dead pussy.

* I have a mutant lobster boyfriend who keeps whacking me with his antennae.

Maybe I need to take a break from dating. But it's like the slot machines; you don't dare stop. You just keep putting in your quarters, thinking the next one will bring the jackpot. But so far: Bupkis. Bupkis mit Kuduchas!