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The Notorious MOM Crosses the Line

2004-12-27 - 2:08 p.m.

First of all, thoughts of love to Newgyptian, who has the blues. Sweetheart, if I were with you we'd be watching Sex and the City episodes on DVD and feeling grateful that, no matter how psychotic and emotional either of us get, neither one of us will ever be as annoying as Carrie. Either that, or we'd be smoking shisha and gettin' drunk.

Now onto a story of horror guaranteed to chill you all to your very cores. Those out there who are weak of heart and stomach might want to go read a happier-go-luckier diary. This one is not for the timid.

As my last entry might indicate, I am not one of those kids who refuses to mention the word "sex" to their parents. I am willing to acknowledge that my mom and dad had to have had sex at least once, and it is my hope that they had a better average than that. I am even well aware that they had sex before marriage, and that both of them had sex with other people before they met one another. This makes me happy. I cannot imagine what it must be like to have parents who have only ever slept with one another. That would mess with my head. I'm not saying that my mother was the Samantha Jones of her day--far from it--but she came of age alongside the feminist revolution and acted accordingly.

The Notorious DAD, on the other hand, was, is, and probably always will be a bit of a hound. Well, make that a lot of a hound. I have inherited my slutiness from him, which he inherited from both sides of his family. The result has been that there are plenty of things that my dad has told me that I am hoping were spoken in jest, because while I am willing to internalize the realization that my parents are sexual beings, I am not quite ready to accept the more exotic aspects of his upbringing. Nothing too scandalous, just things that I don't want to think about.

However, this is not a story about him. This is a story about The Notorious MOM.

Since I graduated high school, I've been hoping for my mom to meet a guy. She dated a man for a year or two after she and my dad broke up, but since that guy there hasn't been anyone special. For a while, I thought that it would be great if she found herself a new husband, a man to share her life with. The more I spoke with her--and the more I realized some of the dodgier aspects of love and life--the more I understood that a husband wouldn't be the best option. My mom likes her life, and doesn't need some guy to come in and tell her how to do things. What she needs is a man to go out with and, let's face it, to mess around with. My hope is that it is romantic and tender messing around, but if that doesn't work, I hope she gets herself a man stallion.

I've talked about this with her, although not in so many words. My Fag Hag, of course, has indeed put it in so many words. The problem is that most of the men her age are married, or interested in younger women, or, not to put too fine a point on it, not worth her time. My mom and I are both picky people, and my mom has said that most of the guys who are actually available and interested are dumb as toast. This does not bode well for my love life, mind you, another reason why I want her to find someone. It means that I have half a shot.

As my last entry should indicate, I have no problem joking about her love life, and neither does she. I'm usually the one screaming at her for not getting a guy's number. However, yesterday we were in the car, and my mom revealed to me that she was no longer lacking in confidence. She said that she was in a place in her life where she felt successful and powerful, where she felt like she was exactly where she wanted to be. She said that she also felt beautiful and desirable, and was finally realizing that men wanted her, and that she could take them or leave them. I said she should get on the ball and take a couple of them, but she said that none of them were available, or worth taking, except a certain guy she had met at a party. She'd told me about this guy before, and I am about to tell you now that this is your last chance to turn back. If you value your life and your sanity, please stop reading.

Then my mother says, "You know, we danced the whole night, and he has a hard-on the entire time! It's been so long since I danced with a man who had a hard-on because of me, and he has it the whole night!"

At which point I drove the car off the highway, where it crashed into the pavement in a fiery explosion, incinerating both of us instantly. Or I would have, had I been the one driving.

Instead, I just took a deep breath and said, very calmly and evenly, "Mom, there's a line. I know it's a lot farther off than it is with most parents and their kids, but it's there. And you? Just crossed it."

She looked a bit embarrassed. "TMI, huh?"


I still shudder sometimes because of that incident. I think I will shudder for the rest of my life.

I went to go see Meet the Fockers the other night. It was okay, not something I ever need to see again. In the movie, Barbra Streisand plays a sex therapist; Ben Stiller, her son, tries to keep her profession secret from his in-laws. I'm usually annoyed by moments like these in movies, because I know that, in many ways, my family is unconventional. I also know that I myself will be part of a very unconventional family when I have one. I hate these movies where weird families have to be explained or hidden or gradually introduced to the more straight-laced family, which is invariable white, upper-middle class, and Protestant. I really hope that if I ever bring someone home, I won't try to sell out my family out of the need to conform to someone else's image of what a family should be.

However, I was reminded that everyone has a line, and that, before you can erase a person's line, you have to respect it. Sometimes, my crazy family and I tend to cross those lines. If we have done this to you, I am sorry.

And as for any developments between my mother and Mr. Boner, I'll keep everyone posted. Although, I will keep the nature of those developments suitably vague.

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