Blacked Out Blunders with the Bruins: Part 1

It was a long, long weekend. I'm exhausted and I look/feel like I just got out of some back-alley bar brawl. No rest for the wicked, I suppose.

After work, I drove down to Torrance to meet up with the UCLA girls Ann and Lisa. I pick up a half g of Smirnoff and arrive in the hotel parking lot to wait for Ann (my hand-holding buddy). She's lost and it takes her about an hour for me to get her to the location. No big deal, people get lost all the time.

I help Ann check in and unload all the chips, beer, and ice that she brought. Waiting at the front counter, we start some friendly banter and I find out something interesting: she is just getting out of a six year relationship. That definitely piques my interest; what are the chances, seriously?? She mentions that she is a soccer player and listens to Beatles when she runs. This girl is scoring major points in my book.

Lisa arrives shortly after with 3 other girls and the reunion isn't as awkward as I was anticipating. She's very cute and she straightened her normally wavy blond hair. She gives me a hug, thanks me for coming out and her and Ana waste no time in cracking open the Bud Lights. Fine with me. I am still a little nervous being that I'm the only guy and I just met these girls. To calm my jangled nerves, I grab two complimentary hotel cups and fill one with vodka and one with juice.

They want to hurry though, Oktoberfest is the real reason we're here and we're burning precious time! Ann steps into the bathroom and comes out in an authentic Oktoberfest outfit she purchased in Germany; she's pretty damn cute. It's not like the equivalent to some slutty Halloween costume either. She looked something like this:

Lisa announces it's time to leave and Leo, Chad and Jack call me to let me know they are on their way (they were stuck at a dinner) and will meet us at the festival. The girls down the last of their beers and I finish off my cup of vodka. We cab it to the village and Oktoberfest is well under way.

It's not as cool as I had imagined. No one is really dressed for the occasion (except Ann, of course) and Oktoberfest is basically a bunch of picnic tables set in front of a live band. I'm not impressed, but I don't let it ruin the rest of the night. Leo, Chad and Jack find us easily and we all fill our cups with some German beer and cheers.

I never get a chance to really talk much with Ann since our chat in the lobby and I noticed that she's a bit of a wanderer when drunk. You know the type: the cute girl that likes to make friends with randoms dudes (I guess that makes sense, since that's how WE met). And she's not paying any attention to me, but my roommate Leo. Figures. All the girls go for Leo.

I'm not sure how long we stayed at Oktoberfest, drinking beers and wearing felt hats with feathers, but we make the decision to move the party back to the hotel. This is where things get hazy. I guess I started to take pulls of the Smirnoff straight from the bottle. Lisa and I sit on the bed for about 10 mins and she has a heart to heart with me about her "guy situation". I'm not sure why, but A LOT of girls tend to come to me about their "guy situations". I catch a few glances of Ann, now well beyond sloppy drunk, with her arms wrapped around Leo's. I'm drunk and bitter that her blatant advances are to him and not me. Motherfucker.

Not wanting to stick around for the inevitable hookup I'd have to try and sit through, I tap Jack on the shoulder and slur something along the lines of, "Can you give me a ride back?" I bid farewell goodbye to Leo, Chad and the girls and whisper to my roommate "don't forget to grab the half g!" Jack and his friend Kim toss me in the back seat and I pass out.

* * *

Suddenly, my eyes snap open and my body jerks erect. I'm wide awake now. I look out the window and I see that we're on the 10, but we're not at my exit. My eyes quickly dart over to Jack and Kim chatting in the front seat. It's inevitable. I discreetly unzip my track jacket, pull open the flap and puke something that Jack would later describe as "Nickelodeon orange". I wasn't as smooth as I thought, because Jack and Kim immediately stop talking and look back at me.

"I'm cool, I'm cool. Don't worry, it's all in my jacket. I'm a one time puker. Keep going. I'll be fine."

They decide to pull over anyway and I try to use the gas station air/water hose to clean myself up. I'm put back into the car and eventually make it back home. Jack is amazed that I was able to keep all my stomach contents out of the car and into my shirt/jacket.

I manage to shed my orangey clothes, toss them in the shower and pass out face down in my bed.

I wake up to Leo's voice booming the next morning, "WHAT THE FUCK!?" He must have found my clothes.

Part II to be follow...


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Now playing: Asia - Heat of the Moment

Lone Cowboy

I knew this was going to happen. I fucking knew it.

The plans for this weekend are falling apart like Golden Grahams after sitting in milk for more than 20 seconds.

Leo and Chad have a dinner he has to attend and said that he would meet us down in Torrance. Translation: I'm going to have a late meal, drink too much, and not answer my cell phone for the rest of the evening. Good luck.

David has an employee going away party tonight, but wants to meet up tomorrow. He asked me, "Don't drink too much tonight so that I can have a pint with you tomorrow morning!" I laughed in his face.

Chris wants to wait until tomorrow morning; he has a friend in town that doesn't want to spend the night in a foreign area.

Which leaves just me. Me to tackle this Oktoberfest all by myself like some lone cowboy in a strange land. Should I do it? I just met these girls and I know nothing about them except they enjoy a good shotgun before a football game. They went to UCLA. That's pretty much it.

I fear that if I go alone that I'll be "the guy who had nothing else to do but leech onto us"; especially if they are expecting Leo, Chad and all the other guys. I'd be shooting myself in the foot before I even got a chance.

However, I feel like I have to do this. Something bold and out of my comfort zone. A great story could come out of it, right? Besides, I'd just be sitting at home pacing back and forth until the guys came back from dinner (IF they come back).

*Just got a call from one of the girls* I told her the situation and she told me to come down anyway. Whew. Alright, fuck it.

I'm stopping by the nearest Ralphs. Using the last of my funds to pick up a half g of Smirnoff vodka, some kind of juice, and gas money.

This could be a coin toss, kiddos. Pray it isn't awkward as hell.

Leaving the Nest (with a kick in the ass)

I believe that every circle of friends has one person I call "The Organizer". They are the ones that get everyone together every weekend, the only ones that can convince the I'm-Going-To-Stay-In-Tonights to come out and party, the ones that if they didn't make plans... everyone would be sitting around watching reruns of Quantum Leap. If you sit and think about it, you can pick out that very person.

My roommate Leo has always been that person. And today he's passed the reigns.

Leo: I need some deets on this Oktoberfest thing
So@24: We both do. And why are you asking me?
Leo: You're the pointman.
So@24: Me?!
Leo: Yes.
So@24: You're the one who talked to them after the game and was texting
Leo: Perhaps you need a reminder which one of us is the driving force behind this endeavor.
So@24: You're the charming one!
Leo: I am kicking your motherfucking ass out of the nest. Take point. Get er done.
So@24: I'm going to blow this!
Leo: No you're not! You're way in control!
So@24: -grabs empty lunch sack- -breathes heavily-
Leo: Dude, listen. Play it casual. You'll be fine. You're on point. That's final.
So@24: Alright, what's less douchey? Asking via MySpace, Facebook, or cell phone?
Leo: Facebook first, Cell 2nd, MySpace never.
So@24: It's good to know these things.
Leo: I mean, for this situation. If you had met her at a bar or party, flirted a lot and then exchanged numbers, then cell. And only cell.
Leo: Be funny and witty.
So@24: -grabs bag again-
Leo: and when you get home tonight, check behind the dryer for your confidence. Either that or under the porch. I swear it ran under there last November.





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Now playing: The Beatles - A Day in the Life

For the Love of Lederhosen, Of Course!

Remember the UCLA hunnies?

New shit has come to light. Our friend Chris has done some research and found out exactly where we are meeting them this weekend. The power of the internet led us here.

If you took the time to peruse the link (which I don't blame you if you didn't, I skip them over all the time), you'll see that Oktoberfest is in Torrance, CA. A little ways outside of our usual stomping grounds. Which means we had some obvious concerns about drinking and then having to drive...

"Don't worry about drinking and driving! We have a hotel!"

-blink blink-
-deep breath-

This could either be epic or be an event in which I'd rather shove my genitals in a salad shooter.

I'm searching for some of these in preparation for this weekend:


*cough* The lederhosen. Not the dudes.





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Now playing: Mike & The Mechanics - Silent Running

UW VS. UCLA: A Tailgate Story

Four of my undergraduate years I spent at the beautiful University of Washington, up in Seattle.

In those four years, I never made it to a single football game. Not one. Lord knows I tried to. I woke up at 8:00 am like the rest of my fraternal brothers to wear our purple and gold and guzzle enough shots of Barcardi 151 to kill a small elephant. The tailgate parties were legendary, but I would either get too sick or pass out in a bush when it was time for kick off. I'm a great catch, what can I say?

But not this time. This last weekend was my first Husky football game and I made it through the entire game!

Our usual crew bought the necessities for a great tailgate: packed the bbq, 30 pack of suds, half g of some random vodka, a tattered football.

We got a good spot on the Rosebowl fairway. And to our surprise, 3 cute UCLA girls randomly stumbled upon our site and set up camp a few feet away. We told them to come party with us and they fit in quite nicely with us.

Tacos were consumed. Beers were shotgunned. "Go DAWGS!" was bellowed.

But I digress. This blog isn't about my drunken college football escapades. It's about starting over in the dating world at 24 years old. That part of the story came much later game.

When we got our seats, we got separated from our new UCLA friends. But at halftime, I stumbled (literally) into one of the girls. Cute, little blonde. Funny. My height (hollah!). We exchanged words and at this point she grabs my hand and at our combined height of 10'5", we swerved in and out of the crowd to go back to her seats.

Here's the thing. A girl hasn't held my hand since... well, my ex-girlfriend. And I'm not looking into it like it's a big deal; it was two drunk people trying to find their way back to their seats. But I'd be lying to myself if I didn't at least acknowledge that I had a some kind sensation: A cute girl was holding MY hand.

I thought to myself, even in my inebriated state, "Oh shit. Is she holding hands with me? Or did I just boldly grab her hand? Am I creeping her out? Maybe I'll let go of her hand and see if she re-grabs mine; that'll confirm it. No wait, that'll just show that I'm not interested. Oh fuck. Whatever."

My thought process hasn't matured since elementary school. What a boner.

My tip-toe-through-the-tulips moment lasted about 2 mins before we found our seats. Phone numbers were exchanged; I'm a bit fuzzy about how that happened. And "nice to meet you, we'll call you next weekend" texts followed the next morning during a pounding hangover.

It's always fun making new friends, right?




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Now playing: BloodHound Gang - A Lapdance is So Much Better When The Stripper Is Crying

A Glimpse Into My Life

During one of our rare Saturday house cleans, Leo stepped into my room and immediately started cracking up.

Confused and curious as to what was making my roommate hold his sides from splitting while tears of laughter swelled in his eyes, I looked over my shoulder to what he was pointing at.

It was my dresser which sits right next to my bed. Hasn't been touched in months. I share with you a photo of it, in its original form:


Allow me to describe the contents individually.

1. An unopened can of Natural Light Beer. Not sure how that got there. Perhaps it was forgotten on some random party night. Perhaps I was hoping for a little extra boost of liquid courage when I hit the sheets. That'll swoon the ladies. clASSy.
   
2. A very used, very beaten up copy of Nick Hornby's High Fidelity. My best friend Rick let me borrow his copy years ago and I haven't given it back. One of my all time favorite books and it was extremely comforting to read during the first few months of my break up. You can't see it from this angle, but there are about 100 sticky notes crammed in between pages, put there when I came across parts in which I thought, "Fuck yeah."
3. A copy of JD Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. That speaks for itself.
4. Half consumed box of Gobstoppers. I love candy. Usually always have some kind of candy near me at all time. I'm a 24 year old stuck in the body of a 16 year old with the interests of a 12 year old.
5. A pile of unused Durex condoms. There's a thick layer of dust building on those bad boys.

So@24: Is that what you're laughing at, you son of a bitch? My dresser?
Leo: Dude, no wonder you don't get laid. Clean up your shit.

My Cousin: The Internet Matchmaker

Mimi: when are you getting on match.com
So@24: what!?
Mimi: why not
So@24: uh... i dont know. it's weird
Mimi: i think it's interesting
So@24: dude, no way.
Mimi: i'm just perusing the girls in your area, to see if it's even worth it
So@24: "enjoys sleeping in, singing weezer when drunk, cartoons, and videogames"
Mimi: tagline "Choose me if you want to marry your little brother!"
So@24: I hate you.
Mimi: if you were a boy looking for a girl, what username would catch your eye? "SlutMachine69" hahahahaha
So@24: HAHAHAH!
Mimi: tagline "I just want to fuck"
So@24: LilCuteySunshine83
Mimi: Blondeboobies4U
So@24: Cartoonsnpenis4me. Dream girl! Dream girl!

I'm Just Not That Into "He's Just Not That Into You"

There are certain times in my line of work where I need to deal with "celebrities" and today I had to do something indirectly for Greg Behrendt. For those of you who don't know Greg as a stand up comedian, you probably know him better as a writer for Sex & The City and the author of the book He's Just Not That Into You.

I suppose I can save another blog posting for everything I think is wrong about Sex & The City for some other time, but for now I'll focus on Greg's "self-help" phenomenon. I don't even know where to start on why I loathe the advice that book spews out.

Greg might be a nice guy. He might even have some good stand-up. But he seriously lacks in credentials when it comes to hundreds (maybe thousands) of girls like look to his book like the bible. A majority of girls I have met swear by this guy's view on relationships and it never really sat right with me.

I'll admit, I haven't had the stomach to sit through an entire reading, but I gave it the benefit of the doubt and read bits and pieces:

If a guy would rather have a guy's night than spend it with you; he's just not that into you.

If a guy doesn't speak his feelings for you or approach you first; he's just not that into you.

Really Greg? A guy can't have a guy's night? What happens if your best friend comes in from out of town and surprises you when you had plans to watch a movie with your girlfriend? What happens for guys who are extremely shy and have intense fears of rejection? Nothing is so black and white and I hate how that book dishes it out that way.

Girls, you really want to know how guys work? I'd recommend picking up Raising Cain by Michael Thompson and Dan Kindlon. Even though a majority of the book discusses more "troubled" boys; it provides great insight to why some guys just grow out of their immature stage, why it's hard for guys to express themselves 100% of the time, etc. etc. They're child psychologists. Doctors. Might have a little more weight to their analysis.

Find me a girl who thinks that He's Not That Into You is full of shit and I'll be happy.

As for doing that task for Greg; I feel like I sold out. I need a shower.

Jane Leeves (1024x768)

Where The Party At?

No. Seriously.

I remember a keg was present. Lots of people I haven't seen in quite sometime. Loud music. Shots of Jameson whiskey. Cigarettes. Two police officers warning us to keep it down.

I woke up with a parched throat, a throbbing headache and tons of pictures strewn all over my bedroom floor. A bomb must have gone off in my old photo album. I'll have to get that story from someone.

I wish this was a better update.






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Now playing: Alkaline Trio - Crawl

My Affair with Tylenol PM

I don't normally take long naps. The obvious reason being that I can't go to sleep later on in the evening. But yesterday I was exhausted and couldn't keep my eyelids open any longer. Waking up an hour and a half later, I knew I would need the help of my good friend Tylenol PM to give me that extra shove into Slumber Land.

I opened up the medicine cabinet and had myself a little moment while staring at the bottle. I thought back to when Leo bought it for me back in December. Sleep was close to impossible; my thoughts were focused only on Lynn and images of her and her new boyfriend. I remember staring at the ceiling pleading with myself to go to sleep. And when I finally was able to rest my mind, I would dream about her constantly.

Coming home from another day of work, I found a bottle of Tylenol PM sitting on the kitchen table with a sticky note attached.

Take two of these and see if you can even TRY to stay awake
- Leo

I popped two and within 20 mins found myself groggy and for the first time in weeks, looked forward to bed.

My tango with Tylenol PM was fairly consistent for the next couple months. I only took them when I really couldn't sleep. And then some random day I can't recall the exact date of, I didn't need them anymore.

It had been quite sometime since I shook hands with the sleep aid. I smiled to myself, tossed two down the hatch and guzzled some water. It's weird what objects can make you remember.

Remember, Remember the 15th of September

For the past 2 years, early in September shit goes down. Leo celebrates the day he escaped his mother's womb and everyone comes out for it. These parties are epic and people fly in from as far as Seattle and Portland to partake in the activities.

Leslie summed up last year's party pretty well:

"Leo totally puked in the sink and it was green for some reason. You picked up Lynn and carried her around the entire apartment. The Noodler puked in some pots. Mimi puked in some bushes and peed in front of the apartment. Oh snaaaaaps!"

Leo's invites are also worth reading; I posted it below for your enjoyment.

All,

Apparently I have turned 24 years old. Back when I was six and the rigors of life involved playing with koosh balls and slap-braclets, I had this notion that at the ripe old age of 24 I'd be a tall man with an imposing stature--the paragon of success and accomplishment. I am currently sitting my room in a pair of tattered boxers, sans employment, drinking Mickeys orange juice out of the jug and writing my own birthday invitation.

Guess it's time to throw a party. A big one. By the end of the night I plan on owing Andrew WK a royalty check. We shall fight for whatever right to paaaaaarty the LA County civil code allows.

In addition, this isn't just my birthday party… it's Dave's as well. We're like Ken and Ryu. Haduken, bitches. The deets--

Where: Our house. It'll be off the chain, then we'll depart to bars.

Who: You. Bring some friends, as long as they're cool. Morally casual females for my roommate are appreciated as well.

When: This coming Saturday. Arrive anytime after dark. For those who care to partake in that age-old drinking game that rhymes with "shmaps", come around 7.

Bring: Merriment, booze, a mix CD, baklava, morally casu… er, repeating myself.

We're getting lots of life-blood alcohol and throwing it down, so join us.

-Leo

And if I forgot anyone, please forward this on.

I'm crossing my fingers that I wake up de-virginized on Sunday morning.

Cockblockin' Dreams

Ever since the break up, I have had really bizarre sex dreams. Some dreams involving Lynn, others not. But for the most part they are your standard sex dream, until it actually gets down to sealing the deal.

I woke up at 5:14 this morning after waking up from one of these gems. It involved one of my friends from college (pretty random). We're in the midst of ripping eachother's shirts off and suddenly she suddenly decides she needs to take a shower. Right at that moment. It needs to happen. And she doesnt even offer me to join. Suddenly, my cousin Mimi and some of our friends come back from the bar. I'm shirtless in my lucky Polar Bear boxers and my face is red as a rooster.

This isnt an abnormal. I have been having these awkward dreams with this same outcome for months now. I'm cockblocked in my own sex dream every single time.

What would Freud say about that?





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Now playing: Hawk Nelson - The One Thing I Have Left
via FoxyTunes

A Refreshing Change of Pace

Something happened yesterday that I haven't experienced in quite sometime. My good friend Craig from high school came down to Los Angeles for a visit and asked that I meet him out on the west side for drinks. I rarely make it out to the west side, let alone Hermosa Beach, but meeting an old friend is an exception.

After hugs and "how have you beens" were exchanged, we ordered some pints by the boardwalk. Shortly afterward, our friend Tina and her friends joined us. We somehow were able cram in about 10 of us by joining 3 tables together; a bit uncomfortable, but well worth it.

We ordered shots, more beers and spirits. Craig, myself, and seven other females testing the limits of our livers at 2:00 pm on Hermosa's pier. Then heading back to one of the girl's house to polish off a fifth of tequila and a half gallon of Smirnoff. Our mini party raged on until midnight and waned when the alcohol flow dried up. An ideal situation when you're a budding bachelor, but I didn't find myself in that mindset of "checking out the girls". I haven't felt that way in quite awhile; and to be honest, it was really nice.

Don't get me wrong, all the girls we were with were attractive, but the thought of "trying to get on" any one of them didn't cross my mind. No one was on the prowl. It was as simple as just enjoying being around fun people with a sense of humor I could relate to. To have a goal of embracing the night for what it was and having no other intention. It was refreshing to not have that pressure of having to present myself in a certain/attractive way.

Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be.



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Now playing: They Might Be Giants - Birdhouse in Your Soul

Sign Me Up for AA!

Leo: dude, I'm going to have to put you on suicide watch if you don't get this
So@24: seriously. seriously.
Leo: i mean you still have the [insert name of A-list actor here], which is a to-die-for gig.
So@24: true.
Leo: remember back in the day when you'd come home, buy a pack of Coors and get drunk by yourself? You'd wear a parka around.
So@24: hahaha! I'd sit on the porch and drink a six pack.
Leo: you were tan pathetico.
So@24: i wasn't that bad. there are a lot worse cases and trust me, i didn't call her or text her nearly as many times as i wanted to.
Leo: ... you hit it pretty hard man. You're a chin-up sally forth guy, but from a third party; you were pretty wrecked. Not nearly as bad as others would be, but I've never seen you like that.

My Roommate's Smitten

Leo came back from Burning Man all smiles. Of course he did. After he said, "Dude, it was fucking crazy" about 50 times, he finally got down to telling me something substantial about the trip. He had, in fact, hooked up with a "burner" as I had predicted he would. But what I didn't expect was...

... she's actually attractive.

Leo and I are known to not have the same tastes in women, based on their physical appearance at all. We often get into childish, playground arguments all the time about it. This goes for girls in general, but I can give you a few examples of celebrities we've debated over:

I think Keira Knightley is too skinny and she has "rake teeth" (what can I say? i'm a teeth guy) ; Leo's boxers get a little damp just hearing her name.

I think Ashley Tisdale* is extremely cute ; Leo would rather bite down on a cyanide pill.

He thinks Scarlett Johansson is drop-dead gorgeous ; I think she has a flat face.

We both lose our shit over Monica Bellucci though. We can agree on somethings, but it's rare. I knew there was a reason we were friends.

It's really a blessing in disguise since we aren't ever in the situation where we are fighting over the affection of the same girl. I've never found any of Leo's interests attractive (no offense, buddy). Except for this new waif. It will be interesting to see where this goes, since I've never seem him so giddy over a girl before. I'm almost, in a weird way, proud of him.

Kudos, dear roomie. Kudos. Don't fucking blow it!




* I know there's no reason for me to post a picture of Ashley Tisdale on this post. It's not even really about her. If anything, I should be posting something of Leo's new boo. But, well... I don't have one. I guess I just wanted an excuse to post a picture of Ashley Tisdale on my blog. Sue me. And she's 22 people, calm down.

Hook. It. Up.

What's with my friends and their lack of "hooking it up"? I mean, seriously. What's a guy supposed to do to get a date around here?

I was discussing with a friend the other day about how it's hard to actually meet new people. You wouldn't think so, living in Los Angeles, but it's surprisingly difficult. I don't want to date any of the people in my immediate social circle for multiple reasons a few being:

a. they are my friends (yes, I believe that guys and girls can strictly be friends)
b. my friends in my social circle are extremely incestuous, in that they all have hooked up with one another at some point. Not my bag.
c. just simply not attracted to any of them in either a sexual or romantic form

That being said, my friend and I concluded that the only real feasible way to meet people is through your friends.

I've dropped some hints to my friends by saying things like, "Oh hey, your friend ____ is pretty cute. What's her deal?"

Nothing. No love from my friends. How many times can I things similar to that of, "Is she single?"

Leslie: there. i forwarded you some of the pics of her
So@24: throw me a fucking bone!
Leslie: i hate all those la kids though.
So@24: put your pride aside for the greater good!
Leslie: meh. i have other things to worry about

Thanks "pal".

My Turn

Once I got sick of sitting on the leather couch, staring at the ceiling in my underoos, begging the Weather Gods to take the Los Angeles heat away, I decided it was time to crack my knuckles and get to some serious writing. My favorite section in Newsweek magazine is "My Turn". It's where readers can submit a personal essay of any topic they choose and if Newsweek likes it, it gets published. I've wanted to write one for awhile, but was never sure what to write about. After a phone call on Saturday, I had an idea. I present it to you in its entirety. It's a long one.

***

Whenever The Beatles' 8 Days a Week erupts from my cell phone, I immediately step outside and allot a good chunk of time for this particular call. My roommates roll their eyes; they know exactly who it is and do not approve. I don't blame them. I'm sure many would raise an eyebrow at the idea of someone who still keeps in touch with his ex-girlfriend's mother.

I suppose that when a relationship ends, there are certain ties that inevitably sever besides the most obvious one. The places both of you would always go together, her friends, her family. But how do you forget a woman who was like a second mother to you for six years? Andy was with me during the most important times of my life: from the end of high school, through college, and the first tumultuous years when I was thrown into the working world. Which, despite popular belief, made it extremely difficult to let that part of me go. And I venture to say, it was for her too.

After the devastating break up, Andy continued to call me on occasion. The phone calls were frequent for the first few weeks, just to see how I was coping. At some point however, our conversations drifted away from my feelings of heartbreak regarding the now former relationship with her daughter, to life in general. We discussed my career goals, trade movie recommendations, and even went so far as laughed together at the horror stories of dates I had recently been on. She sent me care packages on my birthday, Valentine's Day, and we met at a small coffee shop during Christmas break. As if nothing had ever changed. We had fallen right back in stride; the subject of conversations became the trivial, banal occurrences that happen in anyone's life. Our conversations no longer focused on the standing between Lynn and me, but have transformed into that of a surrogate mother checking up on her adopted son. How could I, or she for that matter, forget someone who had played such a vital and intimate role in our respective lives?

My contact with Andy has had its fair share of critics. My ex-girlfriend certainly wasn't the biggest fan that we were still in contact, not to mention her new boyfriend. Lynn considered it a betrayal and was understandably concerned for her boyfriend's feelings. What I could not make her realize, was that it was no longer about her. My bolder friends have confronted me, implicating a sort of hidden agenda; a plan to somehow resurrect my relationship to Lynn through her mother. I can tell you, nothing could be farther from the truth. People have a hard time swallowing that my friendship with Andy to be something as simple as it truly is; they cannot accept that there are no underlying motives lurking beneath the surface. I suppose the greater question is, why do we so willingly accept this fallout of associated relationships following a break up as inevitable?

Even though things didn't quite work out between her daughter and me, I know Andy wasn't able to end our unique relationship either. Even after mother and daughter had an earnest discussion and Lynn explained she was uncomfortable with the situation, Andy would call me when she was alone. Or at least beyond the scrutinizing eyes of her daughter. She went to great lengths to check up on me; often using a land line to eliminate the evidence of our clandestine rendezvous from cell phone call logs. Eventually Lynn turned a blind eye to the situation and they now follow a strict “don’t ask, don’t tell” maxim.

I once asked Andy, "Why do you continue to stay in touch with me? Don’t you get sick of people giving you a hard time about it?"

There was a brief pause and finally she responded, "I don't care what people think. I like to talk to you and I like to see how you're doing. I guess I'm just too much of a mom." That was good enough for me. Good enough for the both of us, I suppose.

I'm sure psychologists would have a field day with this relationship. Or perhaps they would quickly dismiss me as another case of someone who can't let go. Is this kind of pseudo-mother/son relationship conventional? Probably not. Will anyone ever really understand it? Unlikely. Is it healthy? Honestly? I don't know. I think it is. But before you decide, consider my perspective: how do you cut off contact with the person who sent you funny magazine clippings because she thought it would get a laugh during your lonely periods of college? Or who picked you up with nothing more than a gas can and a smile when you were stranded 30 miles outside of town in the middle of the night? Or when you napped Christmas morning, laid an extra blanket over you and kissed your forehead?

Maybe you think it's weird. I've yet to come across someone with a similar relationship with their ex's parents, but I like to think that they exist. I will handle the snickers and the sighs, as long as I continue doing what I feel is, "okay." It is too rare to come across those people in your life who genuinely and sincerely care about you a great deal. Much too rare to simply forget.