15 Dec

I have completely left the blog die for 9 whole days. Do I have an excuse?

Hell if I do…

Other than the fact that I don’t have a computer at home and work has been a mad house, having so many projects in the burner just makes it impossible for me to slack off and use the computer (at work) to post on the blog. I’m ready to bring my bed and sleep in my cube, it will be just so much easier in the long run.

And this combined with all the other activities that the month of December springs up on us (without our consent!) – Christmas shopping (I’m still not done!), Christmas cards (which, I have sent to all and still have no clue how I accomplished that in the first place!), Christmas cooking, Christmas wrapping, it just never-ends! I have to agree with my fellow blogger: The Food Whore, Christmas is starting to feel like a big letter arriving from the IRS! I’m ready to start a campaign to just skip it (the month of Dec) all together, knock it off the calendar, because there is just not-enough-time-in-the-day people. And this is coming from someone (me) who is organized to the point of being anal about it. I live (and die) with to-do notes and in the past 2 weeks, I had more ToDo notes that sleep.

On top of all this, my birthday is taking place in 5 days… Yep, you read it right FIVE DAYS! How in the hell did that crawl up my butt? I never know, but as I was counting the amount of days I had the blog in involuntary (forced) siesta mode, there it was… the 20th, staring back at me, in all its glory, all nice and blacked circled (see how organized I am, that I put my own birthday in the calendar) and with big bold letters “MY BIRTHDAY” written across it.

So in FIVE DAYS, I will be 38 years old, Oh yes, THIRTY-EIGHT! And do I have anything planned? No, Nada! Which sucks! Normally (when I have the time) I love to celebrate my birthday, to the point that I throw a party together, invite lots and lots of friends and hope to get lots and lots of presents and in exchange, my guest get to eat yummy food, enjoy my company and of course get a big piece of yummy cake – because on my birthday, its all about the cake. This year? I simply do not have the time and my brain signals and dropped hints to my friends and family to throw me a surprise party are just falling on deaf ears … its just not happening.

I have given up, I’m assuming that it will be a nice working day (oh yes I’m f*** working), hopefully with a nice surprise from the BF (or else he is dead meat) and the duo will probably take me out to dinner. We will see what will go down in FIVE DAYS!!! Oiy!

And while all of this self pity has been going on… another thing that was circle on the calendar? “MEET BF PARENTS”. Because along with the big holidays Fa la la la la, la la la la, this season is also known as “getting to meet the boyfriend’s family for the first time” season. I been trying very, very hard to avoid this bit of activity since I meet the BF, but it seems that my 6-month free-you-can-pass-go pass was about to expired, and his parents had started to get antsy and were finally demanding that it was time “the-meeting” took place.

And boy did it took place – 2 days ago…and it was…it was… let’s say it was oh-so-good to blog about….and THIS is how it went down (honest to goodness people, it REALLY went down like this)

1 hour before going over to the ‘rent’s… (at BF house)

BF: So my mother confirmed, and they are expecting us
Me: ok.. guess we will head on out and get it over with
BF: (as an afterthought, he turns to me and tells me) oh yeah, they had a long day and she wanted to know if you would not mind if they are in their robes.
Me: (Laughing my head off) oh boy! .. good one, you got me going.. ha!ha!
BF: No, I’m not joking, for real… they are ready for bed.
Me: (with I-cannot-believe this is happening look on my face) You are serious?
BF: Yes, they are tired and that is just the way they are
Me: (very mad at this point) So, you mean to tell me that your parents are going to meet me and they are dressed in their bathrobes, because they are ready to go to bed?
BF: yes, do you mind?
Me: (thinking and almost ready – Do I kill him now?) Of course I mind, I’m insulted! YOU THINK????
BF: Oh, but that is normal, they are like that…
Me: (with my mouht wide open in shock) Ok, let me get this straight, your parents think so little of me, that they are meeting me in their bathrobes and you don’t think this is a bad thing?
BF: No, that is just the way they are (Oh Hell, Houston we have a problem!)
Me: (Re-thinking this whole relationship – crap)
BF: Do you want me to call them and tell them you don’t want to go?
Me: Oh no, I’m going, so I can get it over with (and see if this is for real, because o hell I’m going to blog about this shit), plus they are the ones being rude not me.
BF: Oh now you are making me feel bad now about this…
Me: (with innocent look on my face) Really? Well, mission accomplished, so lets just get this over and done with I mean they are YOUR parents, so its a reflection of you and them.

The silence was pretty much as think as cutting thru hard salami.

30 minutes later… at the ‘rent’s house:

We get to the ‘rent house. The father comes out in his fucking robe – OH yes! Up till now I was contemplating – no, actually hoped (against all hope) that it was a bad, bad joke.

But no…it was not to be, this was for oh so REAL and IT was happening!!! TO-ME! It got worse when his mother was right behind his father, in a matching robe – MATCHING! And, lest not forget, fuzzy slippers!

Other observations? The house décor? I just cannot find enough adjectives to give a description that will due it justice.

It was the most uncomfortable meeting EVER and that is saying A LOT, since I’m the QUEEN of meeting the parents… I’m good with parents. I’m a nice, sweet, funny, educated, innocent looking girl (ok, no so innocent, but at least I put a good front!), so parents usually want their sons with me.

The question was…do I want these “robe-people” as my in-laws? As the grandparents of my future babies?

And this folks is all I could think about as I took a sip of water in a coca-cola glass, making sure I used the plastic lime-green coaster, which was placed in front of me on the plastic Santa covered table.


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