Hard as Nails

Most of my friends from middle school and high school stuck around the area for college. Not me. I went really far away. Consequently, I did not see my friends very often. The summer before my junior year, I spent at school, so by the time Christmas break rolled around, I had not seen my best friend from childhood for 8 months. We were both very eager for me to come home and had made plans to do several things. One of those things was to go to a New Year's Eve party together, as well as spend the day before the party together.

Fred showed up at my house the day after Christmas on very short notice and insisted that I come up to New York with him. I explained that I absolutely had to be back by Dec 30 because I had plans for early in the morning on the 31st. He acknowledged that I had made this request, so I assumed that he was OK with this arrangement and I went to see his parents. On the morning of Dec 30, he suddenly remembered that his family was going to have a dinner that night (they did this every night, so it really was no occasion) and he insisted that I stay. I reminded him of our original agreement and reminded him that I had made these plans with my friend several weeks ago, so it would be inappropriate to cancel on her now. Furthermore, I would see Fred at school, but I would not see my friend again until summer vacation.

He flipped out at me for "refusing to spend time with his family." Then he demanded to know what my plans even consisted of. Ok, so look, when I hang out with my friends, we aren't exactly saving children from burning buildings, or finding a cure for cancer. My plans in this particular case involved brunch, nail appointments and shopping. Yes, I will admit that none of these are really important on their own, but it was the fact that it was a day that both me and my friend had off and were willing to set aside for each other that made this important to me. I honestly don't care about brunch or nails or shopping very much, but I do care about spending time with my friends.

Fred seemed to miss the point in a lot of the things I did or said. Fred failed to see the whole bit about wanting to see my friend. And instead flipped the fuck out that I was "so superficial" and it was going to be so embarrassing for him to have to tell his family that I couldn't come over because I was "getting my nails done."

He really could have saved himself the embarrassment if he just told his family that I had made plans over three weeks ago, and this entire trip was sprung on me at the last minute and under the agreement that it would work around the plans I had already made, but Fred never did want to do things the unembarassing way.

Five. Five Dollar. Five Dollar...Ribs?

Meeting your significant other's parents for the first time totally sucks. Meeting them subsequent times also totally sucks. There is a great deal of pressure to seem responsible, but not controlling. To be polite, but not stuffy. To be fun, but not obnoxious. As if that's not enough, the odds are stacked against you from the beginning because every parent is convinced that no person in the world is worthy of dating their little snowflake.

For guys, there's the added pressure of what to do when the check comes. If you offer to pay, does it look like you're implying that the parents can't afford to? Does it send the message that you are trying to buy their daughter off of them? If you don't offer to pay, do you look cheap? While I would usually advise offering, I would say that depending on the situation, either could be the right answer to the check conundrum.

Then there is that hidden third route which is never the right answer. That is the one which Fred chose to take.

Fred came to visit me at my parents' house. Since he only packed jorts, this limited our dining options, but my parents still wanted to take us out to dinner. So, we went to a casual restaurant which served mainly burgers and such. My parents ordered wraps (they're health-conscious) and I ordered a burger (I am not so health-conscious). Fred decided that he just couldn't resist ordering ribs.

This was a little annoying to me since it is such a fussy and messy meal and no one else was eating it. I was a little shocked that he wanted to eat something that was so sloppy in front of my parents. But, I didn't say anything. I didn't even give him a dirty look when he proceeded to get barbecue sauce and bits of meat all over his face and his ugly ass Hawaiian shirt.

When the check came, Fred decided that he should offer to pay. But rather than offer to split the bill with my parents, he presented them with a barbecue sauce soaked five dollar bill. Why? Because he figured his meal was about five dollars more than everyone else's. I wish I were joking about this.

I can understand that he would not offer to pay for everyone's meal. He was 22 and at 22, taking four people out to dinner, even to a burger joint, is a big investment.

However, given that he had chosen to offer to pay part of the check, I feel like the minimum offer he should have made would have been for his full meal. The preferred would have been to just split the damn check -- maybe offering to throw in a few extra bucks if he were truly concerned about his meal costing more.

But just paying the difference between his meal and the table average? How did this seem like a good idea? I tried to whisper discreetly to him to just not offer at all. This would have been a lot less awkward than offering up five dollars.

My parents were confused and annoyed by the offer and politely refused. But they never let me forget it, despite my attempts to block that night out of my memory.

Merry Christmas!

Now that I’ve gotten the annual “bad gift” post out of the way, I can put up my 2007 holiday post. This year, I got together with BJA and decided to make this years’ entry about family...more specifically, uncomfortable holiday experiences with our exes’ families (or our own, whatever). If you have any good stories to add, post in the comments section, or email me.

So, I will kick things off:


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I had just met Fred (we weren’t really even dating at this point) when a hurricane was heading toward the city I went to college in. Class was going to be canceled for several days, giving us plenty of time to leave campus and go wherever for a while. This was about a week after things ended with Shrek, so I was feeling particularly awful and just wanted to go home (I should mention home was 1200 miles away. Clearly this wasn’t one of my most rational decisions). I had planned to take a flight back home, but Fred told me that he was going to drive out of town and was willing to take a 1200 mile detour and he would drive up to his house (another 500 miles) after that.

Somehow during the 18 hour car ride, Fred managed to convince me to spend a day at my house, then ride up to his with him.

By the time we had made it to Fred's house, I was completely drained from my recent break up, a long road trip, and the stress of having to leave school so suddenly. When we got to Fred’s neighborhood, he called his parents to tell them we were close. They were over at Fred’s uncle’s house and told him to just come over there.

When we got to the uncle’s house, there was a full family party going on. Parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors, friends, EVERYONE was there. So, not only did I have the stress of meeting parents, I had the stress of meeting the whole extended family. Seriously.

Luckily, everyone was really nice, but there were a few VERY awkward moments. The one that sticks out in my mind the most is when Fred’s uncle, after having talked with me for 3 minutes, gave me a very sincere look and asked if I had considered marrying into the family. I was completely caught off guard, and frankly, a little frightened by the question. I responded that it was not something that I had considered. I was then invited to marry into the family. Definitely the most intense meeting of an ex’s family I’ve ever had.

BJA

Holidays are just the time for family, friends, fun, and festivities. Unless you're dating a loser. Then you can toss in a little mortification.

I was dating Neanderthal for... well in hindsight a lot longer than some of the others. He wasn't as bad as many of the guys featured in this blog. In fact, on a whole he was a good boyfriend. But his manners were deplorable. And after his behavior in front of my parents during the holidays... well it didn't last much longer.

Guys, may I stress that you must learn how to hold a fork before you dine outside of your home? You hold it as you would a pencil, or at least that's the closest approximation I can come up with. You do NOT hold it, as Neanderthal did, in a full fisted grip that enables you to shovel food in your mouth. It is gross. And it's ineffective. I can tell because the food is falling off of your fork in different directions. I remember my Granny, who was an impeccably mannered woman, trained by Mrs. Manners, nearly dropped her jaw. Please do NOT mortify me in front of my grandmother.

Food shoveler. Gross.

A Little Less Talk...

Sasquatch spoke like Shakespeare. Don't get me wrong, Sasquatch is actually a great guy. But he always spoke as if someone was listening and writing down every word that came from his mouth. Sorry buddy, I don't carry a voice recorder in my pocket. And typically, what he would say has either been said before or is not nearly as deep as he thought. Although, I have to say, sometimes the poetic thought and rituals were endearing... but they simply wore me out. There's only so long you can date someone who reminds you of Edgar Allen Poe or Ernest Hemingway, without the creepster part.

But the high faluten speech wasn't just when we were alone. Sasquatch came to dinner with myself and my parents. When the waiter came by to take our order, I jokingly remarked that both he and my father would want something spicy. Hello, they both like spicy food! I didn't specify a dish, so I knew the waiter wouldn't write the order down, "something spicy." I know he doesn't speak English well, but goodness gracious, I'm sure he's not an idiot.

Instead of laughing or recognizing it was a joke, Sasquatch turned to me and deadpanned, "Do not speak for me, for I can speak for myself."

Excuse me? At first I was simply stunned. I wasn't sure how to respond. After all, my parents were across the table. To top it off, my father does the typical guy response, "OOOOOOOO!" I think daggers shot from my eyes at this crazy man who I'm apparently related to. I secretly hoped at this moment the milkman was actually my father.

The point of my outrage is that I felt as though Sasquatch was trying to put me in my place. Sasquatch knows what he wants and he's set in his ways. That might make him a spectacular catch for someone someday. But not for me. I'm too opinionated and driven to be spoken to as though I'm a child rather than a girlfriend.

Please know that Sasquatch is a good guy, he's not remotely as retarded as some of the exes highlighted in this blog. Yet some of his mannerisms and comments are most certainly the kind that are detrimental and... well really just awkward... and that makes some of these stories a perfect fit for Loser-ex.

Every rose has its thorn

The summer before I started college, I dated a "nice guy". He was nice--he had a job, he had a car and he could score beer from his older friends. What else does a girl need at 18? He wasn't exactly ambitious or particularly attractive but he probably had the best personality of any man I have dated--he was happy and funny and completely worshipped me. It was great.

To sweeten the deal, his parents had a time-share condo at the beach and he invited me on vacation with him. When you are 18, there is nothing better than a week at the beach. It wasn't a big condo so we would have to sleep on the pull-out couch in the living room, but other than going to dinner with the family a few times, we were free to do as we pleased. Everything was set for it to be the best summer ever.

That is, until we got to the beach and I realized that sleeping on the pull-out couch meant my suitcase stayed in the living room. And since the TV and VCR (this was when DVDs were still prohibitively expensive) were in the living room, as well as the door to the condo, people would be around my things all the time. This was before I was as meticulous (OCD) as I am now, but I made a real effort to repack my things every morning so I didn't make a mess in the common area.

One day, we returned from a morning of outlet shopping to find his mom and stepdad sitting on the couch watching TV. His dad was holding my round brush.

I should note that I had really short hair that summer. The day before graduation, I chopped my long hair to an earlobe-length messy/choppy style (this was about the same time Michelle Williams did it on Dawson's Creek). My stylist sold me a round brush for short hair that was more spherical than cylindrical--it sort of looked like a microphone with bristles.

I'll admit this brush was definitely interesting looking, but it had been packed in a closed suitcase! Meaning, someone had to open my suitcase and look through it to get my roundbrush. Someone being my boyfriend's stepfather.

I was so shocked I didn't know what to say. It was probably the creepiest thing I had experienced in my 18 years of living. It's not that I had anything scandalous in there--just some swimsuits and shorts and tshirts--I was much more low maintenance at this point in my life--but it still felt incredibly invasive. In fact, I think it was creepier because I had nothing scandalous in there so he was getting his jollies off some lip gloss, khaki shorts, pastel tshirts and just plain cotton underwear (like I said--I was much more low maintenance back then).

The worst thing about it though, is that the stepfather was completely unapologetic, as if it was completely normal to go through your son's girlfriend's things. He just looked at me and said "what's this?". My hairbrush, I told him. Oh. And then nothing, but not an awkward nothing that would suggest my boyfriend or his mom thought the stepdad was creepy, just an everyday occurrence nothing.

I told the boyfriend that I was hungry and wanted to go down to the boardwalk for lunch RIGHT NOW. After that, I started locking my suitcase in the car when we left the condo. I'm sure it looked weird as hell, but not nearly as weird as his perv stepdad sniffing my underwear. Besides, it was almost the end of the week anyways so I only had to do this two or three times.