Searching for Yearbooks

First off, a little update since the last blog post. It’s not much of an update really. I still haven’t booked a flight to the Deep South. I’ve been putting it off. However, I’ve also had some more important items to take care of first which were required for my professional license to be renewed. For instance, I had to take a CPR course among other things. At any rate, I’ll have to book a flight soon in order to take care of the loose ends down there. Shy Boy might not be able to make it. He can’t get off work during the summer months.

Now, let get on to the topic of today’s blog. Today we will discuss school yearbooks. I didn’t buy my high school year book, not even in senior year, which I sort of regret. My sister and I love old yearbooks, even if we don’t know the people in them. We love the time capsule feeling. We love how carefree and happy everyone looks in a yearbook. School takes on a sort of mythical fairytale-like odyssey in a yearbook. Too bad my sister wasn’t there the moment I was sitting in Shy Boy’s apartment when he suddenly decided to fish out his old high school year book from the back of his bedroom closet.

Earlier that evening, over dinner, we sat at his kitchen table when the subject of previous relationships came up.  Out of the blue, he asked what was the worst date I had ever been on. When it comes to relationships, I am the opposite of him. I am constantly on my guard for red-flags. I absolutely refuse to let a man control or break my heart. Shy Boy, on the other hand, is very trusting. He’s willing to overlook a red-flag or shrug it off for fear of being hyper-critical. As a result, he has walked into numerous dating disasters and painful situations. As he went on in detail about his various past dating encounters, I realized his trusting, hopeful nature in dating extended into other aspects of his personal life as well, mainly in his career, his schooling prior to his career, and in his friendships. From the handful of early, embarrassing school and work related stories he had once told me combined with the crazy dating stories he was currently telling me, I could now visualize the early Shy Boy. Early Shy Boy had been a guy trying to find his way, wanting to give his teachers and his bosses the benefit of the doubt but constantly having it backfire. He was a man that learned from trial and error. Once his schooling was over and his career finally started to fall into place, he gained confidence in life, but not in love and so the trial and error cycle began again as he started the search for a good girlfriend. I recalled the timid, eager to please annoying Shy Boy of one year ago versus the calm, comfortable, confident Shy Boy I now knew and the puzzle of Shy Boy began to come together. There was a reason why the Shy Boy I initially knew almost a year ago was so timid and eager to please to the point of infuriating. He was a nice guy who wanted to be loved but it took time and experience for him to figure out who was worthy of that love and how to express that love.  I don’t think he understood why I had the sudden urge to throw down the chicken wing I was eating, grab him, and give him a kiss. I felt sorry that he had to go through so much heartache and trial and error to find the right career, find the right girl, figure out how to be a grown-up. I just melted for him.  

At any rate, after such a dinner, it was rather interesting that he should whip out his high school yearbook. Our entire dinner conversation had to do with dating horror stories. There was no mention of what he was like as a younger man. I got curious and brought up the subject of yearbooks and that’s when he mentioned he could go dig his out of the closet. I relish the lost-in-time feeling that washes over you when you look at a really old yearbook. Of course, “really old” is a relative term. Shy Boy graduated high school the same year I did, yet something about his year book felt decades old. The edges were worn. The spine was starting to crack along the inside front cover. All the pictures were in black and white. The art-work on the cover invoked the feeling of someone on an acid trip.

Shy Boy had told me very little about his adventures in high school. All I knew was he tended to develop crushes on his teachers rather than his classmates. He only had a small handful of close friends. He was clumsy and couldn’t see very well because he didn’t want to wear glasses. He didn’t talk to girls, and he wasn’t a great student. Based on what little Shy Boy had told me and how awkward and timid he acted when I first knew him, I was expecting a complete disaster when I opened his yearbook and searched for his picture. I was expecting a somewhat disheveled boy with poor posture, thin messy hair and a confused, bewildered expression on his face. If the three of us (my sister, Shy Boy, and I) went to school together, I was sure teenaged Shy Boy would be the type of guy my sister and I would want to be kind to, but would also want to lovingly joke about behind his back once we got home from school. I pictured him as a sort of project the teenaged versions of my sister and me would take on to improve.

At that moment, a heavy drenching heavy rain started to pour outside. Shy Boy got nervous about whether I should go home or not. We decided to wait a half hour and see if the rain would calm down. If it calmed down, I would go home at the usual time. It if continued or increased, he wanted me to spend the night. In the meantime, no more distractions! I had to see his yearbook picture already! He told me there were actually four different pictures to looks for: his senior picture, his group picture as a class, his group picture as a class posing and making silly faces, and a picture of him in one of the school clubs he belonged to. Yeah, yeah, yeah, alright already, let me see! I was surely expecting disaster now that there had been so many convenient distractions. 

What I discovered when I pulled opened and came to a page somewhere in the center of the book completely took me aback. I was astounded. It was incredible, amazing, utterly surprising…High School Shy Boy…was…not a disaster. High school Shy Boy was…he was…hot. He sat in the front row of his group shot, leaning forward with a silly, almost coy look on his face. He had a mound of nicely styled luscious brown hair combed to the side. Hair, so much lovely hair (I have a thing for a head of hair. I think it goes back to my love for the Beatles and 1960s rock stars). You mean I could be dating that hair?! Where is it all now?! Shy Boy isn’t terribly bald today, not as badly as say Prince William compared to when Prince William was a teen, but still. I couldn’t believe I was looking at the same person. High School Shy Boy had the same face, but it was thinner, longer, and more angular, a skinny somewhat lanky youth he was. He looked so innocent. His face was so smooth, although the black and white photography might have played a role in that. His face lacked all the deep lines and crevices he now has near his eyes. I saw a wide-eyed, hopeful face unaware of the grueling school work, unappreciative women, and years of difficulty finding the right career path it would soon encounter. High school was rough and awkward for him. He once said he had no interest in ever going to a high school reunion. He hated high school. As a quiet kid, I supposed he felt like an odd-man out, or maybe even a little like an outcast in a school with its fair share of self-absorbed classmates.

However, the sweet, gentle, good looking, nicely dressed boy in those pictures didn’t look like he suffered from any of the horror stories I was told of. The only indication I could find was that he stood and sat alone in all his pictures. The people around him didn’t look to be his friends. Everyone was in their own little world...

And then I wondered would he have dated me if we had gone to high school together? He wasn’t the complete disaster project I was expecting. He looked very sweet. I wasn’t very confident in high school. I wondered what that boy in the picture would have thought of 17 year old me. We would have had a lot in common when it came to our love of 1960s pop culture and music, but would he have noticed? Would he have talked to me? Before I could get too sentimental or pining for a completely impossible scenario, grown-up Shy Boy stepped in with some logic. He pointed out that he didn’t think we would have dated. He was far too shy at the time to approach girls his age, and he was far too busy fantasizing about teachers much past his age. Well, thank you for bursting my image of what that cute faced lanky high schooler was like!

Incidentally, is it wrong to be drooling over a picture of a 17 year old? And oh by the way, is it illegal to be over a certain age and say a 17 year old is hot? I mean there are middle aged Twilight obsessed ladies who do the same thing.

I’m not sure why seeing an early picture of him amazed me so much. It felt sort of like looking at a picture of your parents when they were kids—sorry that didn’t sound right, what I meant is a relative you know very well in the present time, but didn’t know at all when you were a kid. You look at the picture. You are fully aware of who the person is in the picture, but at the same time, you can’t quite grasp that it’s the same person. You stare at the picture in wonderment. You see all the hope and innocence in their face, a naïve youthful glow unaware of what was to come both good and bad.

Outside, the rain kept coming down and I really wanted to stay. Rain! Rain! Rain! Keep going. I didn’t want to go home. If it cleared up, it meant it was time to go home. I wanted to spend the night with Shy Boy. No, I didn’t want to sleep with him. I just felt really close to him and I didn’t want the night to end. Come on, keep raining. He didn’t have to work in the morning. I should add, something strange has come over me over the past few weeks. I love Shy Boy, but it’s always been a very comfortable, steady love. I’ve never felt the madly in love excited feeling that most people feel early on in a relationship. Sometimes I used to wonder if that meant I didn’t truly love him and as a result I wondered if I was forcing myself into a relationship. I wanted to feel that wild crush sort of feeling that people say makes love so exciting and I wondered why it never showed up. A couple of weeks ago, it finally showed up. It’s not a feeling of lust, it’s a feeling of wild crazy love from the heart not from the groin. Its steady love sprinkled with the crazy love. I’m guessing that’s a much better place to be in, to have crazy love slowly develop and simmer rather than have an initial impact of it that gradually fades. Now, he’d better not do something stupid to annoy me and make me take back those feelings in a future blog post. Eh, you know he will. Boys are idiots.  

Searching for Pictures

I deleted the post that was here and am replacing it with the following far more entertaining rant. The post that I had up previously was in regards to Shy Boy’s mother. She’s a very nice lady, crazy in a good way, which is right up my alley. However, she’s been acting strange lately in neurotic anticipation of a grandchild that should soon be born (in fact, he is being born as I write this post). I mistook her nervous craziness for intrusiveness. It was a pointless post really. I just needed to vent, but it had little entertainment value and didn’t make me look very nice either. I soon realized it’s waaaaaay more fun to make fun of Shy Boy himself rather than his close relatives, the innocent bystanders in his life (unless it’s truly called for of course). With that being said, onto today’s post, which is far more appropriate because it highlights my insanity...

I have a key to Shy Boy’s apartment. On weeknights, he tells me to let myself in if I arrive before he comes home from work. Now of course being the nosey James Bond loving spy (oops, fan, I mean fan) that I am, I’ve been through his medicine cabinet and I’ve peaked in his hall closet. There was nothing exciting in any of those places. No fungicidal medications or suspicious ointments I should be aware of. Tonight, however, there was something far more interesting to nose through. He left his bedroom door open and it looked as if he was in the process of cleaning out his bedroom closet. I peaked inside the room, but didn’t actually step into the room at first. Then, a Carrie Bradshaw moment overtook me. His personal items beckoned me to them, challenging me to find something sneaky, something interesting that Shy Boy might be hiding or not telling me. I say Carrie Bradshaw because there’s a moment in the “Sex and the City” series where Carrie finds a suspicious box in her boyfriend’s closet and goes crazy trying to open it and figure out what’s inside of it before her boyfriend comes home. During her desperate attempt, he comes home and finds her stooped on his bed trying to pry open the mystery box with a screw driver. I was just anticipating Shy Boy walking in on me as I greedily went through some sort of secret treasure.

The main thing that drew me into the room were some pictures scattered on Shy Boy’s night stand. At first I thought they were pictures I had given him because I recognized the first one, but then, hello…what’s this I found? Behind my picture there were two other pictures of a woman I did not know. In one picture, Shy Boy was standing next to the woman with his arm around her and his head tilted toward her with a smile on his face. In the other picture, the same woman was posing next to a former President of the United States. Judging by the picture of this mystery woman standing next to Shy Boy, I knew exactly who she was. But you, gentle reader, probably have no idea what I’m talking about. You see, Shy Boy was in a serious relationship before he knew me. A year and half before we met, he was engaged to a girl he had known for six months. After the seventh month, they broke it off. When he first told me the news about four or five months ago, I was surprised. I mean, he’s old enough to have had at least one serious relationship before he knew me, but at the same time, he used to be far more timid and shier than I am (hence his nickname in this blog), so the thought that he was almost married off while I remained a hip single girl searching for a nice Jewish boy seemed cosmically unfair. Yes, I am selfish. Keep in mind when he told me the news, I was not as committed to Shy Boy as I am now. On the other hand, maybe I was jealous at the time. I didn’t like the thought of someone else kissing him or him holding some other girl or him wanting some other girl. I hated hearing him say “my ex” even though he hardly ever said it. It felt unfair that I didn’t have a similar story about an ex to make him feel jealous over. Then again, I’m much more cautious about who I’ll date. I absolutely refuse to be with someone who might break my heart. At any rate, the months went on and Shy Boy recently felt more comfortable about telling me more about her. A few weeks ago, he asked me what’s the worst date I’ve ever been on and that led into a discussion about the ex and why it broke off. Apparently, her parents were too involved in their relationship. She wasn’t very loving. She hardly ever let him kiss her (makes sense, actually. He’s a great kisser now, but when we first kissed, he didn’t quite know how to respond). She was a very serious person. She never wanted to be zany like he sometimes likes to be. His job hours had been cut for a time and she insisted he get a second job even though he had a lot of difficulty doing so. She had wild mood swings and when he finally realized it wouldn’t work out and broke off the engagement, she threw the ring at him. She started prank calling him at odd hours after the break up as well.

I know he’d never go back to her. Nevertheless, the curiosity of what she looks like, what she sounds like, what her name is sometimes goes round my head. So when I found that picture of Shy Boy with his arm around a woman’s shoulder, I knew exactly who that woman was. I nearly dropped the photos out of shock. I don’t want to be mean, or should I? She hurt Shy Boy badly so why not be mean? Alright I’ll be cruel to be kind: the woman’s a horse. Wait, that was too blunt, too Sophia Petrillo ala “The Golden Girls.” The woman was visually astounding. How’s that? Sounds pretty good. You can’t tell if I’m saying it in a good way or a bad way (bad, bad way of course!) Was my Shy Boy desperate?? I guess that shows what a good person he is. He’s not interested in looks. He wants to get to know the person…wait, am I actually dating a man here? A person with a Y-chromosome? A person with testosterone? Maybe he’s a person who can’t see well. I’m not normally this mean, but if she couldn’t appreciate Shy Boy and hurt him to the point where he felt a fool and felt depressed after their split, I’m going to have a good jab at her. Call it a roast if you like. She had a very long chin, eyes that didn’t go in the same direction, a crooked face, frizzy hair, a physique that appeared a lot older than her age. In a contest of her versus me, I’d win hands down. It wouldn’t be a contest. She’d never stand a chance. Now, of course, I should be fair. I don’t know her side of the story. But Shy Boy is a very decent, extremely honest person, so I’m going to believe him when he described her personality to me.

In just a nick of time, I peaked out Shy Boy’s bedroom window and saw his car pulling into it’s parking spot. I placed the pictures back exactly as I found them on the nightstand. When he gave me a kiss as he came in through the door, I wanted to giggle at him. What did he see in that woman that made him want to propose after six months? I certainly could understand what he saw in me. But my goodness, Shy Boy must fall in love pretty easily to have allowed her to get so close to him. Or maybe he was just far younger and more naïve at the time. Who knows. I won’t dare bring it up.

Dixie for Schmooie

Something has burst my happy little Shy Boy bubble. Just as I was preparing to write up a blog post complaining about the annoying things Shy Boy does and wondering if I could really put up with it, I received a letter in the mail--a letter from that wretched State in the Deep South I had abandoned so many months ago in the quest to find myself again and to find myself a nice Jewish boy. The home owners association in that State in the Deep South was not happy with condition of my BACKYARD lawn. My backyard lawn faces a forest. There are no neighbors around it, and yet, the HOA is not happy that my back patio floor has a huge crack in it. This particular huge crack has been there since the day I moved in. They are also unhappy that two small cedar wood shutters on the front of the house are discoloring from age. Those particular cedar shudders have been discolored since the day I moved in. Although I’ve been away from the home, I have kept the place in tip top shape. My next door neighbor is a good decent woman. She’s like a mother figure. She’s had her son take care of the lawn and keep the place tidy. She and I keep in constant contact. I still pay all my bills, including my HOA fees, on time. I truly believe the HOA has nothing better to do than to nitpick in their stupidity!

My mother called the President of the HOA (now that must be an exciting job!) and explained how the crack and the shutters have always been the way that they are. She also explained how we intend to come down there and take care of the matter as soon as possible. In this situation, it was best for my mom to do the talking. She has the patience to sweet talk nitpickers, such talent goes back to her days as a store owner. Also, I sound very immature on the phone. I think an HOA appreciates more the voice of a sophisticated woman such as my mother’s. (As an interesting side note, the President of the HOA said she personally came by and cut the lawn. My mom thanked her and said she’d send her a $50 check for going to the trouble. After the check was in the mail, however, my very honest motherly neighbor corresponded with us and said she never saw the HOA president at the house cutting the grass. Umm. Who’s telling the truth? Most likely my sweet honest motherly neighbor. Looks like all we were really doing was giving the HOA president some hush money.)

At any rate, it looks as if I will soon have to return to that State in the Deep South and finally tie up the loose ends there.

It’s something I’ve been putting off. And it’s a reality that’s come to slap me in the face. I just never wanted to go anywhere near the place again after the torment and humiliation I endured from my coworkers. At the hands of a terrible job that left me broken and questioning my skills, I completely forgot any reason why I moved to the Deep South and why I originally enjoyed living there in the first place. My malicious coworkers had made me feel undeserving of my career. My original choice to go to the Deep South came out of a sense for adventure and a naïve wide-eyed enthusiasm to treat underserved people. I put my career ahead of my social and romantic life. I knew in the back of my mind that by committing myself to the Deep South, I was cutting myself off from ever finding a nice Jewish boy. So in the end when things at work fell apart, I hated myself for it. I felt completely isolated, and took a flight as quickly as possible away from the Deep South, leaving what was left there in limbo. I knew in the back of my mind at some point I’d have to return in order to settle and close things up. I left work there, but I never left my residence there. I held on to my residence in the Deep South only because at the time, I wasn’t ready to deal with it and I had no idea what to do with it. I loved the dwelling itself and my neighbors. I had made good friends at the one meager synagogue in the area. But now that time has passed, and I have the contact information of everyone I want to and continue to keep in touch with, there’s no need to keep a residence in a place I just can’t see myself living.

While it’s a necessity that I finally return to the Deep South and sell the place, and while I needed some sort of push to finally make myself go forward with such a plan, it’s still a hard pill to swallow. I’ve spent the last eight, no, now nine months actually, cultivating a beautiful relationship with Shy Boy. Like a wee vegetable, I’ve watched him sprout into a real man. I started off not really liking him all that much, but now I have a deep attachment to him. He wants to move to my beloved State out West and is looking into jobs there. I’ve been in the process of looking for jobs there as well. I had this fantasy we would both get called for interviews at the same time. I’d introduce him to all my favorite places. He’d meet my friends. I’d show him that there really is a good Jewish deli in the heart of the West (since he loves a good New York style corned beef sandwich). And we’d never look back and never have to worry about anything again. Yeah, see, the Deep South never really factored into my fantasy.

I’m not dreading going back to the Deep South. Now that some time has passed, perhaps I can rekindle some sort of something which originally made the place so appealing to me. However, I am not looking forward to going there either, not one bit. I have to leave my Shy Boy cocoon. It saddens me to realize the happy early phase of a relationship where you’re trying to get to know one another, have fun with one another, and create your own little world together, must now come to an end. I knew it wouldn’t go on forever, but somehow I thought it would. We always knew our relationship would one day become long distance. We were lucky the day came later rather than sooner. Still, what happens next now that I have to fly out of the Shy Boy love nest I always used to kvetch (complain) about?

When I told Shy Boy about what was going on with the HOA in the Deep South and how I needed to return there, he was so supportive and sweet. He made jokes about it so I wouldn’t feel sad. He told me he would help in any way he could. He told me not to worry about things because they have a way of working out. He said he’d gladly work out some time in his schedule to come down to the Deep South to help pack up things if need, not to mention he’s immensely curious about what life is like in the Deep South. His only knowledge of the Deep South comes from films like “My Cousin Vinnie.” He's eager to discover what the hell a “grit” tastes like. (He’s much more adventurous than I originally realized, which gives him bonus points in my book.) He’s such a calming, rational person. When he connects with me on a deeper, more emotional level like this, when he helps make me feel better, and wants to plan, then I know I love him. Still, I don’t want him to see the Deep South. I want him to see my beloved State out West. I want him to fall in love with the West and come visit me and want to stay there. That’s where I belong. And if he wants me, the West is where he’ll need to belong as well, even if it's just for part of the year. After all, who needs grits when you can have cactus?

Passover for Schmooie

Last weekend, I spent my first Passover in nearly eight years with my family. Yep, I’d been traveling and at school for that many years. It was going to be an exciting event. One of my cousins was coming. The rest of the cousins would join us on Skype. We would be doing a significant amount of cooking, just like in the good old days. Plus and arguably most exciting of all, Shy Boy would be joining us for the festivities since he had no immediate family to spend the holiday with. For those of you reading who do not know how Passover works, it is an eight day holiday consisting of avoiding eating leavened bread and grains in commemoration of the Jews escaping slavery in Egypt. On the first two nights of the holiday, friends and family gather together in a Thanksgiving-style dinner setting to eat and read aloud the story of Passover as a family.

I spent most of the gathering feeling exhausted. My mother, sister, and I spent a lot of time early on into the wee hours of the morning in the days leading up to the festivities doing all the necessary baking and preparations. I was also a tad nervous to see how Shy Boy would interact and get along with the extended family. He knew my sister and my mother relatively well, but up until this point, he only met my uncle in passing and he never met my cousins. I was anxious to see how my uncle and Shy Boy would get along. They had never actually talked to each other before and I was worried either Shy Boy would become too shy or my uncle would come on too strong. I was eager to see what my cousin would think of him. She reads this blog, so she would be the first person who’s aware that this blog exists that would meet Shy Boy in the flesh. Interestingly, from reading this blog, she knew a lot about him, but he knew very little about her. And who knew if the paper version of him in her mind would be drastically different than what he is in real life.

Shy Boy considered taking the train because his town connects to my town and he’s not used to the suburbs where I live. I didn’t care one way or the other, but my sister was annoyed. She noted that on a weekly basis, I drive out to see him with no problems so why shouldn’t he do the same for just two nights? She didn’t express those feelings to him. However, he must have picked up on her cosmic rage because he called me the morning of the Seder to say he decided to drive over since I always do so for him (uncanny, it’s like he read her mind), plus he would be bringing cake and he didn’t want to accidentally drop it on the train.

Shy Boy arrived early, with little to no trouble finding the place except that he made a right instead of a left onto my uncle’s street. My uncle wasn’t home. He had to go pick up my cousin. My uncle’s girlfriend would be arriving soon as well. My mother gave Shy Boy a brief tour of the home and then told him to sit and relax while my sister and I finished slicing vegetables. At that moment, Shy Boy said he had to go to his car real quick to get some ibuprofen. He said had a slight headache. The headache part didn’t seem to register with my mom. It had been a long time since she’d seen Shy Boy and she was a bit giddy seeing him again. Without thinking, she heard the word “ibuprofen” and she blurted out, “Is it a penis problem?”

Well, that was an interesting first: casually dropping his guy parts into conversation.

“No!” I blurted out, not quite sure if I was answering the question for him or reprimanding my mother for going there.

He paused, blushed, and said, “No, unless you know something I don’t know.”

My mom added, “No, because when girls have to take ibuprofen it’s for period cramps.”

He laughed, “No, It’s nothing like that, I hope. I have a slight headache today.” 

When he returned, my mom gave him a slice of her world famous Passover sponge cake. He wanted to be helpful to us in the kitchen, but he wasn’t sure how. Then my uncle’s girlfriend arrived. She brought decorations for the table settings and some additional dishes of food. Shy Boy helped her unload her car. At the same moment, my uncle came home with my cousin and her boyfriend. Handshakes, introductions, and schmoozing (chatting) went on all around for the next twenty minutes. Then, Shy Boy took part with my uncle and cousin in a “search for the chametz” ceremony, a symbolic ceremony where the house is searched for any bread products and a piece of bread is then burned in recognition that Passover is beginning and bread will not be consumed or brought into the home for eight days. Shy Boy didn’t want to leave my mom or me alone in the kitchen, so he tried to come back and help. This was a good sign. When he was back home visiting his family in December, he was the complete opposite. He bragged to me over the phone that he wasn’t doing a damn thing to help his parents get ready for their holiday parties. He went to the movies instead. At that time, I was incensed. I kept picturing a lazy schlubby mama’s boy who would turn into a lazy schlubby manboy instead of acting like a quality boyfriend. Visions of being with him during important Jewish holidays swarmed in my head. Those visions had me working hard in the kitchen while he’d be off with his friends or he'd be at the movies. I was relieved to see today that he was behaving in the complete opposite way from my worrisome vision. Today he wanted to be helpful and he wanted to share in the burden of preparing for a family gathering.

While things in the kitchen settled down and the matzah balls went about in their cooking, most of the family was crowded in the living room socializing. My mom and my uncle were at the computer. My sister was engaged in conversation with my cousin. So Shy Boy and I went off to the quiet part of the house, a small alcove with a stairway. The alcove was decorated with subway maps on the wall for all the various cities my uncle had visited. We had a few spare bags of groceries we had brought with us at the far side of the alcove as well. Shy Boy sat on the staircase to rest his feet, well, he also wanted me to sit near him, but he used his feet as an excuse. Ha, his feet should hurt. My mom, sister, and I were the ones doing all the hard work. Hopefully now he realized how hard his parents worked when they had a large gathering of relatives. He was under the impression that during the course of the afternoon, we would actually have some quiet time to spend together. Did he realize that unlike him, I actually help my family prepare for a big family get-together? Anyway, at that moment, I wasn’t all that mad at him. I was actually quite proud of him. He looked very cute in his business casual dress wear. He was blending right in with my relatives. It felt like he really belonged there. My uncle having him join right in in the chamatez search was a great sign of this. He could joke and keep up with my whole family. It wasn’t like he was a stranger at all. It almost felt as if he had been to many of our past Passover Seders in the past. I sat close to him on the stairs and he put his arm around me. I was exhausted from staying up late the night before cooking, not to mention my girlie time had come (yep because it always comes during a busy get-together or during a vacation). He rubbed my shoulders and I wasn’t about to kiss him seeing as I had just put on my fancy purple lipstick. When I can’t kiss him in public, I rub my nose against his cheek which is just what I did. He has a deep fondness for a Simpson’s character called “Old Jewish Man” and will randomly jump into impersonations of him. He tweaked my nose and launched into his “Old Jewish Man” voice.

That’s when my uncle hurried by in the next room, glanced over at us through the doorway, and said, “Alright take it easy.”

It was embarrassingly hilarious. I think my uncle knew that we weren’t doing anything naughty but his reaction was priceless. I couldn’t sit next to Shy Boy on the stairwell after that, I was in a fit of giggles. It was always entertaining when my uncle did something hilarious that led to fits of giggles. It was even more entertaining that Shy Boy’s attempts at PDA led to an embarrassing moment with my uncle and fits of giggles on my part. I got up to study the subway maps on the walls, particularly the NYC subway map. Shy Boy wrapped his arms around me and held me while we discussed the NJ transit train map. Someone walked into the alcove to pick up a grocery bag at the far end of the room. I think it was my mother, but I didn’t mind. Normally, I didn’t want Shy Boy to be too affectionate in front of my mother or sister. I didn’t want my sister to get grossed out by mushiness, and I didn’t want my mom to wonder/worry about what Shy Boy and I were up to when we were alone. But at that moment, I don’t think my mom noticed us and even if she did glance at us for a second I didn’t mind her knowing that I really do dig Shy Boy more than I let on.

Dinner went well. There were lots of tasty things to eat. Shy Boy brought two Kosher for Passover chocolate cakes for all of us for dessert. My two favorite parts of the evening were having Shy Boy get better acquainted with my extended family and catching up with my favorite cousin. I’d forgotten how much I missed talking to her. We grew up together and are like sisters, so having her approve of Shy Boy was a big thing. Later after dinner, my mom and my cousin were talking about Shy Boy. My mother lamented to my cousin that I get mad when she brings up the subject of Shy Boy. It was great to finally admit to my mom that it’s not anger, it’s embarrassment. I keep a wall up about guys. I like to kvetch (complain) a lot about guy with her, but I don’t like to talk about mushy stuff with her. I was so glad my cousin helped me open up to my mother more about Shy Boy.

The following evening we had the second Seder. It was a much smaller, quieter affair consisting of my uncle, my mother, my sister, and Shy Boy as the guests. My uncle put Shy Boy to work helping him set the table and rearrange the dining room. I took that as a good sign that my uncle felt that Shy Boy was a part of the family. My uncle also complimented Shy Boy on his reading of the Hebrew parts of the Passover story. The weekend went so easily and smoothly that it was pretty amazing. It felt as if Shy Boy had always been a part of the family, even my cousin commented on something along those lines. My mother and sister interacted with him with such ease and they made such hilarious jokes with each other that it was somewhat astounding to watch. I’m so proud of him I’m almost speechless. I must be speechless, I'm starting to repeat myself. I'd better stop typing now. I'll only add that I dig this deeper connection I'm starting to feel with Shy Boy. He said something the other day that's both creepy and kind of cool. He said he can tell what I'm thinking. He's not exaggerating either. I don't know where or when we started to click so well, but it doesn't matter that he's not a night person, or that he complains about feeling old, or that he's not the perfect looking guy. He's got the rest of his act together quite well. Now if only there was a way to fix the fact that he's not a night person and fix the fact that he digs acting like an alta cocker (old fart) after a certain hour of the day, then things would be perfect.

Hotels for Schmooie

Shy Boy’s parents were visiting the area for a friend’s wedding. Their arrival coincided with their 35^th wedding anniversary as well as with Shy Boy’s father’s birthday. Shy Boy’s mother wanted Shy Boy and I to take a road trip to the town Shy Boy grew up in. She wanted Shy Boy, his brother, his sister in-law, and me to have a big family dinner with them in a restaurant in order to celebrate their 35^th anniversary. Therefore, Shy Boy and I hit the road to a hotel in Shy Boy’s hometown. On the way, we had to drive over a very famous bridge that’s been featured in several movies, including “Saturday Night Fever.” As we approached the bridge, Shy Boy switched on some Bee Gees music to commemorate the event. He was a very brave driver, navigating some of the busiest, narrowest, treacherous roadways I’d never want to touch.

When we got to the hotel, Shy Boy called his parents. Turned out they were staying at a different hotel. Even though he was taking good care of me, there was something strange about being in a hotel all alone with him. It felt very couple-like, very grown-up. He insisted on paying for everything, including the hotel and all the exorbitant tolls we had to drive through on the journey. The very bare minimum I could do at least was to pay for a soda at the vending machine. He almost didn’t even want me to do that. We were racing each other to pull quarters out of our wallets the fastest and get them in the machine before the other person did first. (Sick really. I’m glad no one was watching.)

We had a nice room with a lousy lock. At first we couldn’t even get into the room because the lock didn’t want to respond to any of the key cards. Inside the room, we had our own microwave and mini-fridge as well as HBO cable, a nice sized bathroom with fancy Neutrogenia bath supplies, a desk, an armchair, and two queen sized beds. Shy Boy looked like he really needed a nap. But he didn’t want to sleep knowing his parents were coming in fifteen minutes. Instead, he gave me a passionate kiss before we headed to the lobby to wait for his parents. His parents had already arrived and were waiting in the lobby of our nice hotel with its big band music coming from the loudspeakers and a teenaged looking concierge who couldn’t quite handle his job. I got to know his parents better as we chatted for a good twenty minutes. They were very sweet, upbeat people. Shy Boy’s father liked to playfully make fun of his wife. She liked to act slightly helpless about changing the time on the dinner reservation so that her husband would feel useful. She was completely capable of handling herself, but had to play the game with the male species. We talked about our families while Shy Boy looked ready to doze off from the long car ride. His mother kept insisting he go take a nap, but he didn’t want to. After around twenty minutes of chatting, Shy Boy and I went back to our room to change our clothes for dinner. We were going to be eating at a very fancy restaurant that was one of Shy Boy’s mother’s favorite places.

We embarked down a busy highway that led to a pretty little downtown area. Apparently, this restaurant was a place that Shy Boy and his family used to go to whenever there was a special occasion. The restaurant was packed with people. The entrance way looked right into kitchen where chickens were roasting on rotisserie grills and chefs were cooking meats on wide open wild flamed stoves. While we waited for our table, Shy Boy’s mother took us outside to take pictures. At that moment, Shy Boy’s brother and sister in-law arrived. Shy Boy’s mother took some more pictures. Then we went back inside the restaurant to look for Shy Boy’s father. 

Our table finally opened up and I was surprised to discover that this restaurant was one of those Portuguese places where the waiters come by and give you unlimited amounts of meats and food on skewers until you tell them to stop. We ate and ate. Shy Boy’s mother couldn’t get enough of the sister in-law and I showering her in complements about her sons. Shy Boy’s parents were darling people. Both Shy Boy and his brother are much quieter than their parents. Both parents were very sweet caring people and it was clear in the way they talked about their family that they weren’t trying to act bubbly just to impress me. I got the sense that they wanted to take good care of me and not just because I was new but because they genuinely cared. Shy Boy admitted to me several months ago that he once had a fiancé. He dated a girl for seven months and wanted to marry her, but it fizzled out because her parents were intrusive and she became increasingly cold toward him. As I’m typing now about Shy Boy’s family, I can’t believe how kind and caring they were to me and that there was some other girl at some point who didn’t appreciate this affection. Shy Boy’s family got along so well with my family because there was so much similarity. We all shared a very strong love for Judaism, Israel, food, and pop culture. Meanwhile, it was clear that while Shy Boy’s parents cared dearly about their children, they didn’t want to rule over their children or tell them how to lead their lives. To top it off, they were also great storytellers and a lot of fun to talk and to listen to.

Shy Boy’s mother insisted I take home any leftovers to bring to my own family. We were spending the night at the hotel, but our hotel had a fridge and she didn’t want anything to go to waste. She insisted on ordering me desert as well. The next day, she wanted Shy Boy and me to go to breakfast with her and some old friends of hers and that afterward we should drive past the house and old neighborhood where Shy Boy grew up. We all said our goodbyes for the evening and Shy Boy and I headed back to the hotel.

Now mind you, I’ve slept in Shy Boy’s apartment before, but never in the same room as him before. I guess it was good practice for going on that seven day cruise with him. We cuddled in his bed and watched some tv for awhile. He was as mushy and romantic as always. He joked that the double beds was just like being Rob and Laura Petrie. (The dude has an obsession with the Dick Van Dyke show.) When it was time to go to sleep, I discovered an alarming fact about him. I told him he could use the bathroom first to brush his teeth. And he replied that he doesn’t really brush his teeth at night.

…Whaaa???

Or as they say in animes: Eeehhhh?!? 

>_<     x.x     .0.

As a person in the oral health care field, I was aghast. I could not believe I had to give him the whole “brush twice a day especially at night” discussion like he was an eight year old kid! Seesh, no wonder he had so many fillings. My scientific reasoning or good Jewish guilt, what have you, broke him down and he went to brush his teeth. Meanwhile, I really digged the whole double beds thing. I loved cuddling with him for awhile, and then retreating to my own bed to spread out in for the night. I told him if we had to live together that we should have do the whole Rob and Laura Petrie double bed thing. “Hell no,” was his response. He was so cute and fun to talk to in the next bed over in the dark, even when he started making silly clicking sounds with his tongue because he couldn’t sleep. Finally, sleepiness hit him, and he turned over and said, “Before I lose consciousness, I just want to tell you I love you. Have a good night. And I’ll see you in the morning.” He was quiet for the whole night, no snoring, except for the fact that he blurted out something incoherent in his sleep. When I asked what was up, he said, “I don’t know I’ll go back to sleep and I’ll let you know.” He couldn’t remember even having such a conversation the next morning when he woke me up with a kiss before using the shower.

We had breakfast with his mother and her former colleagues at a cheap old fashioned diner while Shy Boy’s father was off having his own adventure with his rental car in another part of town. They were all adorable bubbly women. Shy Boy’s mother was clearly their leader making sure that they all got together with each other whenever they were all in town at the same time. Then we drove over to the house Shy Boy grew up in. He lived in the coolest development as a kid. Why? Because every street was named after a type of candy! He grew up on Candy Lane. We dropped off his mother at the mall. Traffic was already bad in the early mid-day, so Shy Boy decided it‘d be best to start the two hour drive home before traffic made it a three-plus hour drive. I come away from that weekend feeling a much stronger connection to Shy Boy. I enjoy hanging around his immediate family. I love that they treated me like family. Having him around doesn’t scare me as much as it used to. 

Diners for Schmooie

The meeting of Shy Boy’s parents with my mother and sister was a great success. The only irritating thing that occurred happened about an hour or so before we had to get ready to leave. Out of nowhere, my mother became antsy, restless and bemoaned to me, “Does Shy Boy have serious intentions or are you just wasting each other’s time?” I got irritated, and she responded begrudgingly, “I have to know so that I know how to behave tonight!”  What the heck did that mean? She had always gotten along well with Shy Boy. She got along great with his mother the one time they did meet each other. Just because his father was going to join us didn’t make things any different. It wasn’t meant to be a serious evening. It was a chance for both parents to meet to celebrate Shy Boy’s father’s birthday. I became annoyed and told her that Shy Boy was serious about a relationship, marriage minded, but that I wasn’t ready for that yet.

Did that put an end to the discussion? Of course not, I have a Jewish mother. Instead of being happy that I have a boy toy who wants to be in a serious relationship, she countered, “Your eggs are going to dry up. They’ll be dried up by the time you’re (age left out on purpose but I assure you it’s a young age). The chances of having a baby with physical or mental problems go up exponentially after a certain age.”

Doesn’t help that in a month, I will be the age she mentioned at which my eggs should be dried up. Should I throw a party? Or wait, am I going to experience burping, diarrhea, or any of those other symptoms people experience on those random medication commercials?

I was pretty damn annoyed at that point, so I went for a walk. I called Shy Boy and told him my eggs were about to dry up. His parents were in the room (not on speaker of course) and the sudden quiet on the other end of the line, the speechlessness on his part, was rather amusing. When everyone arrived at the designated restaurant, things turned around for the better. My mom loved his dad. Everyone had tons to schmooze (chit-chat) about. His mother was so excited about Shy Boy taking me on a cruise that my mother actually caught the enthusiasm and became gung-ho on the idea herself; but not before some mild embarrassment when his mother asked if I was excited to go and my mother injected that I didn’t want to go on a cruise. I hate it when my mother speaks for me in front of his mother. Afterall, I'm trying to make nice with his mother. The two mothers then began to speak for both Shy Boy and myself as they weighed the pros and cons of a cruise, as if neither of us was sitting right there in front of them, and both came to an agreement that a cruise was a great idea. Shy Boy later said that he was a bit disappointed the two mothers didn’t get all mushy about weddings. He was prepared for me to crush his hand under the table if the subject came up. The only other embarrassing thing that occurred that night was that his mother and my mother are on different sides of the political aisle. I was afraid they were going to talk about the economy, but Shy Boy steered his mother away from the topic just as quickly as she got onto the topic. He was being such a sweet, diplomatic boy that everyone at the table (except my sister of course) had to give him a complement and I felt compelled to kiss his cheek in front of everyone. It was the first public display of affection I've shown him in front of my mother, aside from a peck I usually give him to greet him hello if my family is present. My sister came from work starving and ended up liking the food much more than she anticipated. My mother was having such fun she managed to find something on the menu that pleased her as well. Although our waitress messed up my mother’s order and was rude about it at first, Shy Boy’s father smooth talked the waitress and by the end all were friends.

The weekend with Shy Boy’s family was not over yet. Shy Boy’s parents arrived for a friend’s wedding. The wedding was taking place in Shy Boy’s hometown which was two hours away. His mother wanted Shy Boy and I to drive out there and spend the night at a hotel. She and her husband were celebrating their 35^th wedding anniversary. She wanted Shy Boy, his brother, his new sister in-law, and me to join her and her husband in a celebration at a fancy restaurant. More on that in the following blog post…..

Behave yourself! Just behave yourself!

Friday night will be a head bangingly eventful night. Shy Boy’s parents are coming to town for the weekend, and my family will be having dinner with Shy Boy’s family. This won’t be the first time my family has met Shy Boy’s mother. She came for a visit several months ago and met up with my mother and sister to get to know each other and go shopping. They enjoyed each other’s company for the most part.  However, this will be the first time Shy Boy’s father will be up for a visit, so now the whole families each will get to know one another. I’m not particularly nervous. What I am is annoyed. Why? Because of family nudgey (complainy) behavior! This will be part of a birthday celebration for Shy Boy’s father while he is visiting town. He’s a huge fan of a particular Food Network show involving diners and dives. When he discovered a diner near Shy Boy’s apartment was featured on that particular show, he decided that’s the place he wants us all to meet up at. A month ago, Shy Boy and I went to that diner to check it out. We picked up a take-home menu as well. My family is not big on diners, but Shy Boy’s family loves diners. I thought the food was okay, not stellar just average, and a tad pricey for a diner. Still, I figured the birthday boy should have his way and get to try out the place. Maybe he’ll like it, and seeing as I’m already somewhat anti-diner I might be biased anyway. It’s certainly not a bad enough place that it would ruin a birthday celebration.

All was well, until my family took a look at the menu and that’s where the annoyingness comes in. I’m certain they will embarrass me. My mother doesn’t dig the prices of anything on the menu. Sure, the place is sort of snobby. I hate that they make you pay extra to share a dish with someone or to get extra fixings on a burger or the fact that they don’t allow substitutions. But all in all, my family is usually not that fussy about asking for substitutions or extras anyway. My mother is now telling me we ought to share something and do it quietly so no one will notice and charge us extra. Where is this ridiculous stinginess coming from?! It’s not that expensive an eatery, it’s just a tad overpriced. More importantly, Shy Boy’s mother is very astute and she’ll surely notice that one of us doesn’t have our own entrée! Then my mother thinks aloud maybe instead it’d be best if we just ate a little bit ahead of time and ordered something extremely small. One of the biggest things my mother hated that her own mother would do was to eat ahead of time before going to a restaurant. So why is she suddenly channeling my grandmother?!  Can’t you please please just order a small sandwich or salad and not make a ridiculous deal of this? Most likely, we’ll split the bill between the families. Each of us is a family of three anyway. Mind you, we have the money to go out for an evening like this. If it were a fancy restaurant, I don’t think this would be a problem. Just because it’s a place my mother and sister can’t agree about eating at, they have to make trouble.

 
I tried to vent my embarrassment over the issue with my sister. Not a great idea. The sister is not a huge fan of Shy Boy to begin with. She likes him, but she’ll jump at any chance behind his back to tell me about something extremely minor and stupid he does. She says it’s all his fault I’m in this predicament. She says Shy Boy’s father is so excited to try a diner featured on tv, he’s probably not aware that it’s an overpriced place. He should show his father the menu. From what I know of Shy Boy’s father, that wouldn’t stop him from wanting to try the place. He’s very interested in trying new places for himself and forming his own opinion. My sister says I should persuade Shy Boy to show his parents the menu and encourage another restaurant. See, she has no idea what it’s like to be in a guy’s mind. Sure if it were my sister or I trying out a new restaurant, we’d think about whether or not our mom might like to go there and probably she’d just ignore us and make her own decision anyway. Boys don’t think like that! They just do what they’re told. They don’t go into restaurants and sit down all genteelly wondering, “Goodness me. Shall I take my parents here?” Unless the restaurant is supremely awful, a guy is just not going to think about things like that. For crying out loud! I am so supportive of my sister when she has guy trouble or has trouble getting along with my mom and this is how she decides to behave?! Why do we have to make this such an ordeal?! All I’m asking is for you two to dress nice and act nice to Shy Boy’s parents. Why do we have to make adjustments that suit the two of you for no reason?!

Well, after Friday night is through, I’m supposed to go with Shy Boy on a road trip to his hometown for the weekend. It’s going to be a Shy Boy filled frenzy. Not only am I spending the night in a hotel room with him for the first time, but we’re going to meet up with his parents at some point and have an evening with them and Shy Boy’s brother and sister in-law. It will be a heck of a lot to write up here, but it’s sure to be head bangingly eventful. Please excuse my absence if it takes me awhile to write up about the weekend events. I’ll either be busy or going into hiding. You understand, I’m sure.