Mommy Issues

In honor of Mother's Day, I'm giving a shoutout to all the guys I have ever known who never successfully untied themselves from their mothers' apron strings.

I have a general rule: if a guy talks to me about his mom within the first hour of meeting me, I'm outta there.

Why?

Oh, because nothing scares me more than a guy who has mommy issues.

These guys are all over the place, blending in with all the other normal folk, pretending that their mothers don't still run their lives.

They're the ones that are usually the firstborn or the only son in a family, and therefore their mothers coddle them from birth and never really stop. Therefore, no girl they bring home is ever good enough, and they never get over being their mother's son.

I was once in a car with a boyfriend at the time, and his mother actually asked him if his bowel movements were regular, because she was worried he wasn't getting enough fiber in his diet. Even more worrisome was the fact that he answered her like it was a normal conversation topic. Yes, mom, I've been pooping on schedule.

She also still did all his laundry, despite the fact that he was in his mid-twenties. She would wash his underwear and fold it into perfect little squares. He had no idea how to do his own laundry; he once looked at my fabric softener like it was an magical.

In college, I dated a guy who was so incapable of feeding himself that his mother had to make him meals for a week, and put them in his freezer, so that he would only have to pop them in a microwave to have a full, nutritious meal.

Terrifying, I know.

I've known a handful of other guys, Dry Cleaner Guy included, who told me upfront that their moms tell them how special and smart they are. I don't even want to drag poor old Oedipus into this, but the psychological ramifications seem to be that these guys are overly arrogant and simultaneously needy.

Which is one of the reasons that as soon as my friend P started talking about his mother's menopause, R and I knew that she was in for trouble. And why I'm pretty terrified of guys that still live at home with their parents.

I have nothing against people who are close to their families. I am the first one to admit that my father still sees me as a four year-old and spoils me rotten. He called me a week ago to remind me to wash my hands before I eat because of the swine flu outbreak. Because normally, I'm so dirty and unsanitary that I don't wash my hands before I eat. Thanks Dad. Appreciate that.

And no, I don't find this hypocritical, because my father is the second person to point out my faults (my mother would be the first), so I have no problem letting him get away with playing the overprotective father role once in a while.

Plus, I've been doing my own laundry for over ten years now, so go me.

Now, if I could only remember to wash my hands before I eat...

True Romance

There was a time when my definition of romance was flowers and over-the-top gestures. I literally demanded jewelry and chocolate from boyfriends on every significant occasion, from anniversaries to Valentine's Day to my half birthday.

And let me just say it upfront, guys love it when you request that they shower you with gifts. They like it even more when you withhold sex until said gifts are given.

So basically I was every guy's worst nightmare and could have been seen as, oh I don't know, a manipulative gold-digging bitch.

I don't know if it's being older, actual maturity, lowered expectations, that being a material girl living in a material world has gone out of style, or just not being able to get away with acting like a spoiled brat anymore, but my idea of romance these days is completely different.

It's also possibly because I finally came to the realization that flowers die, chocolate gets eaten, and jewelry gets pawned post-breakup.

(But the cocktails I bought with the money I made from selling the jewelry? Priceless.)

The things I actually kept are the ones that really matter. The note that said, “I fixed your heater so you wouldn’t be cold all weekend." The stuffed animal that he drove twenty miles out of his way to surprise me with. That time he gave me his favorite t-shirt because he knew I liked to sleep in it.

Nowadays, all I require to be swept off my feet is a small act of consideration that shows you care and were thinking about me. I think we've been so conditioned to think that romance requires showering a girl in dozens of roses, or closing down Tiffany's for the night and telling Reese Witherspoon to pick a ring, that the tiny things are overshadowed and underappreciated.

One of my friends recently told me that she makes a list of demands from a guy when he wants to prove himself to her, which consists of fancy dinners and presents she wants. And most of these guys actually comply with these stringent demands.

And I remember thinking to myself that even though that is awesome and I give her mad props, that my list would consist of things like always being honest to me, giving me your jacket when I'm cold, buying my favorite snacks at the movie theater, being respectful and kind to my friends and family, etc, etc.

They're not quite as glamorous as dinners at Per Se or a Gucci handbag, but hey, that's just how I roll.

That's not too much to ask, is it?

Let's Be Friends

So as I've previously stated on multiple occasions, I am really bad at being friends with my ex-boyfriends.

First of all, a giant percentage of them are assholes and/or douchebags (shocker, I know), which means we had ugly breakups, which aren't very conducive to any sort of communication or friendship afterwards.

Secondly, I keep a pretty tight circle around me of people that I trust and enjoy spending time with, so I usually write off anyone that I used to date. Obviously, if you couldn't keep me as a girlfriend I see little reason to keep you as a friend.

On the few occasions that I have been able to be friends with an ex, it usually took many years for us to get past any weirdness and just be pals.

But I am now wondering about this policy because I saw an ex this past weekend that I still care for deeply, and it was a relief that we could be together again without awkwardness (for the most part), and fall back into the rhythm we had before we started dating.

And it was really nice to know that I can still keep him in my life, that he's still there for me. After all, he was a major part of my life for a period of time, he knows me better than a lot of people out there, he gets me, and he accepts me for who I am. I've found that people like that, outside of relatives who have no choice but to love you, are few and far between.

But on the other hand, things aren't quite the same as they were between us when we were friends before our relationship. Back then, I would talk to him about the guys I was dating and ask him for guy advice. And we had no problem joking to each other about every topic under the sun, including inappropriate ones like sex.

Now, there could not be a topic more off-limits than sex and other people. Even seemingly innocuous jokes told by third-party friends made me blush with embarrassment. Which is entirely out of character for me. Totes bizarre.

Worse, whenever I found myself about to tell him a funny story about something that happened, but I realized I was about to talk about someone I had dated since him, I found myself stumbling over my words as if I had something to hide.

From the people I know who do manage to remain friends with their exes, the key is being able to talk about these things and be honest with one another. But for some reason, I can't wrap my head around this. I worry that it's too hurtful and uncomfortable, but maybe in this case it's just too soon.

Or perhaps, it's because given the circumstances under which we ended our relationship, it's not entirely out of the question that someday we get back together. And if this were to happen, I'm sure he wouldn't want to know about my escapades during the time we were apart.

Nor would it be very fair not to disclose to him important details about what I've been up to. Which leaves me in a bit of a quandary, but I'll worry about that when the time comes; there's little point in stressing about it now.

In the meantime, I am collecting tips from people who have managed to maintain positive, healthy friendships with their exes after a breakup. Because I have a newfound respect for those who manage to pull that off. Props!