The Torture Test

This past weekend was a big weekend – or so I’ve been told. I brought the SO home to spend two days with my beautifully loud, chaotic family. I never really got nervous about it (minus the whole ceramics thing my mother insisted on making for him) though I was a bit anxious to see how he would hold up. The last time I brought a guy home for the parents, my freshmen year of college, we broke up driving down to see them. The family still hasn’t let me live down calling from a gas station bathroom carelessly stating “we just broke up so don’t be nice to him while we’re there.” Needless to say, that weekend (and that relationship) didn’t end so well for the poor guy.

But to really understand the demands of this weekend, you’d first have to understand my family.

My parents are getting ready to celebrate their 29th year of marriage. My sister and her husband just celebrated three years – after dating seven years since high school. My point being that my family is all about longevity in relationships and, well, my dating record of several light-hearted, painfully meaningless relationships thus far has cast me as the black sheep. It came to my attention this weekend that my family (mom, dad, sister and grandma) are incapable of speaking of relationships in the short-term. They would never dream to put pressure on me but they just simply aren’t programmed to think in terms of months instead of years, boyfriends instead of husbands. But you know what? I’m actually kind of thankful for that – it’s constantly kept my standards high.

So, after two days of playing too much golf and drinking too much beer, I’m happy to report that we left Florida with my mom and sister glowing with approval. My dad leaned over and told me he wanted to play golf with the SO again soon (which is his way of saying he approved, too). And grandma, well she’s just happy she has another boy in the family to brag to her friends about – those grandmas are really competitive like that.

And the best part? As we drove back home after a long, trying weekend – he still was able to laugh and hold my hand the whole way. I guess its going to take more than a psychotic family to scare this one away.

Bless His Heart

The Olympics have officially taken over my life and I’ve spent a better part of the past week curled up on a couch watching/crying/screaming for the USA (or really any athlete that has a good profile story). I’ve never been into the Olympics quite like I have this year but I've latched on to them with such enthusiasm this year. I’ve found myself up until the wee hours of the morning watching (note: they should really consider time differences when they pick host cities!).

I’ve loved making comparisons between different countries – the physical beauty, cultures and pride from each country is so unique and captivating. And, as you know, I wish I were a bit more worldly and less Americanized but it’s something I’m working on and seems to be improving. I became more confident in my progress the other night as I watched synchronized diving with the SO. The below transcript is not exaggerated nor changed for effect – it simply describes my delightfully simple, ultra-American, desperately southern boyfriend. Bless his heart.

SO: “I can’t believe how American they’ve made everything in China for these Olympics.”
Me: “What do you mean?”
SO: “Even the numbers are in English – look at the section numbers in the stands, they're clearly American.”
Me: (waiting for him to say he’s joking) “Honey – numbers are universal, they are just pronounced differently in other languages.”
SO: “So you’re saying numbers in, say, Germany look just like numbers in the US?”
Me: (Laughing hysterically) “YES! That’s exactly what I’m saying”

Like I said, bless his heart.

I love my job

Kelly [8:54 AM]: morning!
Kelly [8:54 AM]: coffee?

Ginny [8:54 AM]: dear lord -- hi
Ginny [8:54 AM]: Hold on -- I'm sorting out Vietnam issue

Kelly [8:54 AM]: hahaha oh dear

Ginny [8:54 AM]: Give me 3 minutes

PMS: An emotional tale

Every girl can relate to the time of the month where the universe shifts and you have no control, whatsoever over your emotions. Last week was said time for me and I fought back tears, anger and even plotting a murder (its extreme people) all while trying to live a normal, functional life. Since becoming newly relationed (yep, I just made that up) I can now see clearly two sides of the PMS argument in relationships.

One side: Poor guy. I’ve never had such an easy target for my emotions when they swirl uncontrollably as I do now with a SO (significant other, get with it people). Suddenly everything about this new love is obnoxious and wrong. He doesn’t care enough about me. He wants to spend way too much time together. He puts everything before me. He loves me too much. It’s expressed by short, snappy comments and an unexplained hatred that is soon replaced by irrefutable love. Poor guy – he’s probably second guessing this relationship as we speak.

Other side: Poor girl. As much as guys think this PMS thing sucks for them, I’d argue (quite aggressively in this state) that it is a million times worse in my head. I’m continuously trying to decipher between real emotions and hormone induced hatred. I over analyze for hours and tear myself apart with all that is messed up in the world. I am not a crier so having to fight back tears because I came across a YouTube video about an elephant reuniting with its long-lost circus elephant friend is just frustrating (I feel ya, Kate). Note: I did actually sob in my cube watching this the other day, ridiculous.

This all came to light yesterday as I ate dinner with the SO and his friends. Somehow this topic gets brought up and one of the guys says that he’s heard girls can start to get on the same schedule if they are around each other long enough (poor boys – they really have no clue). To which I chime in “Yes, its rather entertaining at my house when all three of us will cry at a Publix commercial.”

(Side note: Are those not the WORSE when you’re hormonal? The little boy baking that heart shape cake for his ‘girlfriend’ which in the end he really made for his mom!! Bring on the tissues.)

Anyway – the SO turns to me and says “Yeah, but why would you cry at that?” Having passed the dead zone a couple days before, I simply laughed and said, “we just can’t help it.”

Oh PMS – you really are a foul little devil.