collegiate diversion

I’ll write this one about my Mom tonight, or start off with that at least.

She told me about this sexy guy in college she went out with, that all the girls on her floor wanted to be with. He would buy her very expensive gifts, expecting something, and she would hold his hand and on particularly fun nights, kiss him goodnight.

She told me she never regretted getting more involved with him, she just liked his company.

“He looked like Jesus, but with blue eyes and very dark hair.”

But my Mom would say that.

I am always so critical of my mother, for being so critical of me. For her judgements of my supposed oversexed personality (which she could blame on my culture but instead blames on me), for my high risk endeavors(with my 2+ drink intake at parties and occasional light cigarette)… but mostly justfor being anything less than wholesome.

My mother had maybe three serious boyfriends in her life, and the third was my father. She loved him, loves him, and they’ve been together for almost 30 years.

So I should really heed that advice at some point, I mean, her advice on men. I mean, it’s true, we come from very different backgrounds really, and she was brought up like the good catholic school girl, and me, not so much,

BUT

I called her tonight, pretty downtrodden. I started off with my usual bitch and moan, told her about the booty call text I got last night, and then explained to her what that actually meant. It was sweet, explaining how sometimes those nice boys call expecting only one thing – the booty.

Poor Mom, and her underdeveloped urban dictionary jargon.

She’s usually very encouraging about them all, but that’s what I’ve always disliked. Don’t be encouraging Mom, be on my side. Tell me he’s an asshole, not that someday he’ll see the error of his ways and then we’ll get married.

But tonight was surprising.

ME: “Maybe I just have high expectations.” (after another very disappointing call)
Mom: “No, you should have high expectations…”
ME: “Yes but I have very low standards, that way the men I expect such high things from never ever live up to them…”
Mom: “Well then sometimes, you just have to assume that they’ll all be assholes and shrug it off when they are.”

Thanks Mom, really.
It was her idea really, a spring break to Chicago to see the premiere of my uncle’s play at the prestigious Goodman. And then she was like “Remember that guy you really really liked in high school? Call him up! Ask him if you can stay for a couple of days.”

It sounded really nice, and yes, my friend in Chicago and I had somehow recently connected. But when I called him and told him the happy news, it just seemed awkward, I really should have just stuck with my gut: I know no men who I would feel happy spending a few days with in my favorite city.

High expectations.

Clearly, my mom’s expectations of my exceedingly exciting spring break were a little too high. But then again, maybe my standards for singularity are too low. A week alone in Chicago could be magical.

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