Monday, March 21, 2005

mother, may i?

My mother baffles me sometimes.

I noticed sometime after I moved back to San Diego last year, a ways past all the crazy Jerry angst, that she'd stopped asking me about boys. And me in relationships with them.

Usually with my mom, at least in college, a conversation between us might go something like this:
L: I might have to go soon, because my friend (Chris, Mikey, Jason, Dan, etc) is coming over and we're going to dinner.
M: So who is this boy. A friend? Eh? Eh?
L: Yes, mom, a friend.
M: Oh.

But then there was this priceless conversation we had when I started dating Jerry:
L: Mom! Guess what! I have some funny coincidental irony for you. Remember when I was little and you told me I could never bring home a boy with a nose ring? [see, what I'm doing here is mistakenly thinking that, being now a responsible and proven adult, my parents will be able to join me in finding the humor in their past admonitions]
M: A nose ring! Is he dangerous?
D: When he comes to visit, he can just leave the nose ring at home.
M: Is he a nice boy? Does he do drugs? Why does he have a nose ring?

But anyway, that all worked out. She loves Jerry. She has no idea that the main reason we broke up is because he's gay, and still thinks, maybe, that we'll be back together someday? Far be it for me to say.

My personal favorite is the veiled "are you a lesbian" question attempt, not answered in any truthfulness by me because it came in the midst of our discussion on same-sex marriage during last year's State of the Union address.
M: Gay people can't get married! It's tradition for straight people! Save something for the straight people! I don't care who you love! I don't care if our neighbors are lesbians! I don't care if you're a lesbian! [She proceeds to peer at me as though searching my soul for shameful truth of my lesbian tendencies]
L: This is ridiculous.

So anyway. She stopped asking. Even if I dropped hints* like a madwoman.
*Or in some cases, blatant advertising
L: So I went on this date last night!
M: Oh, that's nice. How's your weather?

Maybe she doesn't want me to date. Is it possible that all the times I feigned interest in things I "was supposed to learn" for when I "had children of my own someday" I was in fact transparent in my disgust? Has she given up all hope of seeing me happily partnered and tucked away cozily into traditional society?

That's perhaps healthier for her, as I have no intention of doing these things myself.

But you'd think that she'd at least be happier for me than the following conversation suggests:
L: So, guess what? I started seeing this guy last weekend. His name is Chuck, and he plays the trombone too. He's from Houston, blah blah blah.
M: OH! Houston! Does he have an accent?
L: (laughs) Only when he's drunk.
M: (cautiously) Is he drunk a lot?
L: Yes mom, and he beats me. No, what do you think? Here, I'll send you a cute picture.
M: Is he drunk in the picture?

Mommikins, I love you, but you are so weird sometimes.