The Bachelor Party Rears Its Ugly Head Into Yet Another Relationship That Was Going Well

It was a sneak-attack bachelor party. "I'm going away for a female friends' wedding, I'll only be gone for three days...." turns into, "Hey baby, what's up?! I just called to say hello, but I gotta run! Going out with the Groom and a bunch of guys right now! Yeah, its the bachelor party! (guys' loud, excited, somewhat drunk voices in the background, calling out to each other) There'll be lots of drinking! But no funny stuff, the groom is not that kind of guy."

On the inside: The groom is not what kind of guy? The kind of guy that likes to go out and drink? Not the kind of guy that enjoys sex? Not the kind of guy that's attracted to women? Not the kind of guy that's out for his last hoorah? Oh, so the groom is either GAY or a EUNUCH. OR, more appropriately, you think I'm a MORON.

Lurid images floated through my head of things good friends have told me, have warned me about that go on at bachelor parties. Wonderful fathers and loving husbands turn into maniacs, boyfriends and fiances wouldn't recognize their partners if she's the one that jumped out of the cake and into their laps (or was the girl shooting hard-boiled eggs out of her...well, you get the picture). Unless the bachelor party involves a day of golf, camping, or sequestering on a fishing boat, I was warned NOT to trust anything I heard, and to be very very wary.

This is the sort of situation that makes me want to go out and have sex with someone else. Get-back-at-him-for-going-to-a-sneak-attack-bachelor-party-and-doing-god-knows-what-sex.

Yes, yes, very small minded and petty. But please PLEASE spare me the whole trust speech. That's crap. And you know it. Put a man in any situation where he can't get caught and the object of the evening is to get drunk, whoop it up, and have a last hoorah as a single man, and booze, women, illicit behavior, and penetration of some sort will take place. Especially in a place where prostitution is legal, and they have a very casual, Amsterdam-type attitude towards it.

He heard the surprise in my voice (um, maybe because it was the sneak-attack bachelor party!?), and told me to call him every five minutes if I wanted to, you know, just to prove to me that he's trustworthy. Of course, I couldn't let him see how much this bothered me, so I laughed, and told him to go out and have a great time with the boys. I told him of course I'm not going to call because I don't want to interrupt him while he's out, and that if in the next few days, he has a minute in between the wedding festivities, to give me a call if he wants to chat.

And then I hung up, and went through a mental roster of men that would be available for a night out, you know, drinking, whooping it up, maybe a last hoorah. And quickly discarded the idea because I know I wouldn't have the guts to do anything, even if I wanted to.

I hate this about myself. I hate that something like a sneak-attack bachelor party can make me suddenly feel like the ground disappeared from under my feet. I don't understand the weakness, the insecurity, I don't know where it comes from, or why it's so overwhelming. I hate that he could hear the surprise and fear in my voice, even when I tried to cover it up. And I hate that he offered for me to call him "every five minutes" because it made me feel humiliated and small and patronized. "Aawww, don't wowy wittle girw, you pathetic little insecure girl, if it'll make your booboo hurt less, you can call me whenever you want..." Like he's taking pity on me even though a rational mind understands that he's just trying to alleviate my concerns by making himself available to me.

So now I have to make an adult decision: Do I act like a normal person and just let this go? Or do I act like a neurotic wack-job, and become withdrawn, and play the passive-aggressive get-both-of-you-nowhere-fast, shoulder-shrug, nothing's-wrong game?

I think I will attempt (I said attempt, I can't make any promises) to behave like an adult, and keep the passive-aggressive, nothing's-wrong shtick to a minimum.

Maybe behaving like an adult will enable me to actually have the semblance of an adult-ish relationship. That, and letting go of the woobie.

So what are we going to do today, Brain? Same thing we do everyday, Pinky. Plan to take over the world.

At what age is it no longer appropriate to go out with co-workers, get blindingly drunk, fall asleep on the train and miss your stop, wake up and stumble outside, find a cab, slobber your way up the steps to your apartment, strip naked in the doorway, trip over your clothes on the way to the bathroom, puke up things you ate last Tuesday, pass out naked on your bed, and wake up holding your keys and your pocketbook as if you were about to leave for the day.

Thirty you say?

Oh good.

Why Don't We Just Talk About the Weather

I try to keep myself on a need to know basis about your past relationships. Because in all honesty, I really don't want to know about them, any of them. And I'm not just being polite, you know, the whole, "you share when you're ready to share" bullshit.

I don't want to know that it was love at first sight with her, and that she's the only one it ever happened with. I don't want to know you had sex with her in the ocean, or in your car. I don't want to know that she was tall, or petite, or beautiful, or sexy, or brilliant, or charming, or stylish or a even a bitch. Every time you say something about one of them, every time I hear about a vacation, or a party, or a memory, it makes a little crack in my heart. If you inflict too many cracks in my heart, eventually it will fall apart, breaking into tiny pieces.

All that happens by sharing such things is that you take a woman, who on the outside appears supremely confident and well put together and you expose her for the puddle of quivering self-doubt and insecurity she really is. I'm scared, I'm very very scared of coming up short. Of not quite measuring up to the last girl, the one that (in my head) you really loved, but couldn't be with. I don't want to know. I don't want to know because my insecure little brain will turn me into the consolation prize.

In the past, I wasn't cautious. I would pry and needle and poke and prod until all of my questions were answered. Even the most personal questions. I had to know, I needed to know. It would help me understand him as a person, I would lie, when all I wanted was to satisfy a sick need to compare, and maybe try to feel like I could even compete. Even though the only competition was the one I invented in my head. The problem was, I always came up short and lost. And over the years, I've learned that I don't want to play that game anymore.

Yes, it has something to do with my ex-husband as well. He picked up on this terrible insecurity, the feeling of being unlovable and unworthy. He knew I felt it. And he used it every chance he had. "Oh her, she was amazing in bed." "I'm really sorry you found pictures of me having sex with her, but you shouldn't have been on my computer." "Yes, I kind of miss having sex with other women." "My friends and family used to call her the Jackpot, they knew I would never get better than her."

So now I prefer radio silence. And god help you if I see any pictures. And no, I'm not a fan of the "we used to date, but we're just friends" bit. As far as I'm concerned, that's just recycling waiting to happen.

Maybe therapy will help, but I don't think a therapist is going to be able to convince me that I deserve to be loved. I'm not sure you can either to be quite honest, but at least, if you stop telling me about girls of relationships past, I can convince myself they don't compare to me, which is why you don't even bother mentioning them, and then maybe I'll have a chance to win the emotional edition of the special olympics I've created in my head.

Conversation by College JUNIORS, Yes, I said COLLEGE Juniors. Sober. And No, They're Not High Either.

"Hey, do the 15-trick again!"

"What 15-trick?"

"The one you did the other day. You know. Where you divided 45 by 15."

"45 divided by 15 is 3."

"Yeah...Wow. You're so smart."

"Oh my god."

This is the point when parents should consider selling their children into slave labor. The future of America might depend on it. And I have a feeling Darwin would approve.

Pros and Cons

PRO - I found somebody I'm crazy about.
CON - He lives in another country
PRO - He lives in another country
CON - I refuse to have long distance relationships.
PRO - If he lives far away, he doesn't know what I'm doing here.
CON - But I like him too much to date other people.
PRO - He wants to move here to be with me.
CON - He's probably using me to get a Green Card.
PRO - I get to live with someone I care about.
CON - I have to actually live with someone.
PRO - He's European, with all the European charm that implies.
CON - I have to worry that he's European and charming, and other women, like me, will fall for it.
PRO - He claims to want a serious relationship.
CON - He wants a serious relationship?!
PRO - He tells me he loves me.
CON - People think I'm a fool when I tell them he loves me because he's probably only using me to get a Green Card.
PRO - People don't know I've been a fool for much longer than this guy has been around.
CON - I think I'm crazy for wanting to believe him.
PRO - But I believe him anyway.
CON - This will never work out in the end.
PRO - I'll have good blogging material and can post my humiliation for the world to read. And that's all that really matters in life.

Definitions

Boozerholic

adj. - a person who drinks large quantities of alcohol to the point of humiliation, without feeling remorse about it the next day.

Boozerholicism

n. - basing personal religion on the mistaken belief that worshipping alcohol in all its glory will save you from the misery that is the life you've created for yourself.

Crapolicism

n. - basing a world dominating religion on the bastard child of a horny Jewish middle eastern woman from ancient times, who subscribes to the adage, "the bigger the lie, the more convincing it is."

• ex: "I can't believe I had premarital sex and got pregnant! My parents are going to kill me......I know! I'll say God did it!"

Shoulder-Shrug OK

adj. - the reaction you have when your friends ask you about the guy you're dating, but aren't that excited about.

• ex.: "Hey, MLIGCS, how's that guy you're dating?"
  *Shoulder-shrug* "He's OK I guess."

Birthday Ode to My Not-Such-a-Baby Baby Sister

The news of your impending arrival made me realize that our parents were still having sex. Ew.
When you were born, I became the designated babysitter for you.
This situation blew.

There was actually a time, you were shorter than me.
Over the years, this has ceased to be.
Now, I have to look up in order to see.
This has invoked some jealousy.

You used to be a total pain.
From trying to kill you, I would have to refrain.
And you may have something to do with the fact that I'm no longer sane.

But having you in my life has been only a boon.
You are the one who calls me all day starting at noon.
Because of the laughter you invoke, everyone here thinks I'm a loon.
And I'm always hoping to hear from you soon.

As a baby I only viewed you as a pest,
As you got older, you finally gave me a rest.
And today, of my friends, you are the best.
Even though I have a bigger chest.

So Happy Birthday to my darling Spawn,
Without you, my day would have no dawn.
From a child to a woman you have undergone,
With a future of success and happiness to look on.

Paperwork

One of the problems with being Jewish is our obsession with personal resumes. Is the person you're dating good on paper? Is the person they want you to go out with good on paper?

Start with the all important number one question that should be asked and answered in the affirmative, before you pass Go, before you collect $200, Are they Jewish. Check.

You can then move on to:
Educated. Check.
- Ivy League. Secret bonus check.
Doctor or Lawyer. Check.
- Medical or law student. Possible future check once they pass the boards or the bar.
CPA, podiatrist or real estate broker. Half a check.
Writer, artist, or teacher. You lose a previously awarded check.
- Writer with published books and steady income, artist with paintings in galleries with steady income, teacher who happens to be independently wealthy - check reinstated.
Comes from a good family. Check.
Comes from a ridiculously wealthy family. Secret bonus check-check.
Is a good boy (translation - you'll be having sex in the missionary position for the rest of your life...May God have mercy on you). Check.
Is a good girl (translation - kiss blow-jobs goodbye..You might as well just kill yourself now). Check.

Usually, parents don't understand why people with equally good resumes who go through the interview process (i.e., dating) don't just get along, fall madly in love, and get married already.

The problem is the intangible that isn't accounted for. That spark that makes you want to sit with them on your couch all day watching movies, having sex, ordering pizza and ignoring all incoming calls all the while, feeling completely content and happy.

I met two different men on my trip to Greece this summer, one that happens to be pretty perfect on paper, one that is not. And of course, in typical fashion, I fall madly for the one that is not. Neither one lives anywhere near me, because really, there are over 2 million eligible men in New York and I've already dated 1,999,996 of them.

Bachelor Number One is Jewish (Check - here's your $200, you may proceed); educated, graduating first in his medical school class and receiving an award from the President of his country (Check. Check-check). Comes from an amazingly good family comprised of wealthy, educated professionals with medical degrees and/or PhD's (Women and men included) (Check, check). Extra-curricular activities include: deep sea diving in the Maldives, rock-climbing in the Alps, visiting the rain forests in Costa Rica, and heli-skiing in Canada. He has his own practice, is the youngest University Professor in his country, and is the youngest professional lecturer on his medical specialty. (He is invited to lecture anywhere from one to five times a month all over the world).

He is 5'11", blue eyes, blond hair, with a receding hairline, small bald spot, and an athletic build. And he dresses better than any man I have ever seen. Conversation with him is shallow, making any kind of emotional connection difficult, and the thought of having sex with him makes me shudder. Literally. But overall, he is a nice guy, with very honorable intentions.

Bachelor Number Two is NOT Jewish (GO TO JAIL. GO DIRECTLY TO JAIL. DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT $200). Is an Engineer (HEY, where are you going?!), comes from a highly educated family comprised of professionals (doctors, lawyers, engineers - including ALL extended family) (Get back here, you don't have authority to move forward!), is independently wealthy (Wait a minute, did you say independently wealthy?), is NOT a good boy (Check for me!!! Yay!!!) and all we want to do is hang out doing nothing.

My poor mother, I felt so bad telling her. But she was surprisingly supportive. She just "wants me to be happy." She's betting Bachelor Number Two will go the way of most of my relationships, straight into the gutter. Crash and burn, baby. What she doesn't realize is that all those other relationships ended because the guys were good on paper. Now that there's someone not good on paper, he HAS to be the one I end up with. Any other scenario would just make too much sense.

Quote of the Day

I think you should follow your heart and not your head. You were never very smart anyway.

Pre-Holiday Prayer for Rosh-Hashana

Dear Lord, please give me the strength to be a good person and not fall prey to the nasty comments I will receive tonight from the women in my family.

Grant me the patience to not want to stab my mother in the neck when she, again, reminds me that I look terrible, and really should do something with my hair, or maybe buy a new outfit.

Let their evil words fall on deaf ears when they remind me that I’m still single, and almost 30, and I'm not as great as I think I am and should give the fat, older man at grandma's temple a chance.

Provide me with peace when the women comment on my need for plastic surgery, and ask why I don't buy myself brand name clothes instead of wearing regular clothes. Please Lord, allow me to hold my tongue and not tell them that I too would spend $1,500 on a handbag and $450 on shoes if I was a worthless shallow housewife who never did a real days work and instead mooched off my husband, while I lunched with my girlfriends, gave orders to the nanny and shopped all day.

Lord, make my countenance serene so that they do not see the bodily harm I will want to inflict upon them when they ask about my personal life, and try to set me up with men who are my "perfect match" until I discover their commitment/mommy/erectile-dysfunction/megalomania/financial/porn-addiction/drug-addiction/mental-incapacity/abusive issues that they've managed to hide from polite society but feel perfectly comfortable displaying to me within 15 minutes of our first meeting.

Grant me peace, oh Lord, to not commit murder or acts of reckless endangerment tonight and for the upcoming year to those you have so cunningly saddled me with as relatives.

May Your children rejoice in Your greatness oh Lord, and please, oh please, let me get through one damn holiday season unscathed and needing even more therapy.

Amen