This Christmas was awkward as ass

This Christmas was awkward as ass. No other way to describe it. Egads it was trying.

A little background before I set this up: am divorced now for 5 years and for the most part get along well with my ex. We share custody and try to make things nice for our daughter. He recently got married to a woman who lives 4 hours away with her kids of her own from two previous marriages. Whom he met, I might add, a mere few weeks before I met began dating Ivy League.

I did the following things over Christmas Eve/Christmas Day to please my daughter and yet torture myself:

Christmas Eve Day - spent time with my daughter and her new stepsister
Christmas Eve- Mass with my ex, his new wife, her kids, my daughter. One big family. Confusing as hell the other parishoners.
Christmas Eve- Party at my ex in-laws (my ex's father and stepmother) with the above mentioned folks and more from my ex's family. Introductions at the party were a lesson in detante.
Christmas -Opening presents with my ex, his wife, her kids and my daughter in a hotel suite. (My true what the fuck moment...)
Christmas -Two more hours with my ex in-laws (without my ex husband and his new family) so that my daughter could open all her presents. Nicest part of the the two days, but upon reflection seems odd.
Christmas - 30 min conversation with my ex's MOTHER who quite honestly never liked me but now dislikes her son, my ex, so much that she calls me to talk.

I am fucking WORN OUT. This postmodern extended family crap is highly overrated and very very tiring. Foreign service protocol work is easier than these two days.

One non-ex bright spot: Christmas afternoon with my rock star, shared-birthday friend and her family. That girl rocks (in so many ways!) and saved my sanity that day, and it was truly truly generous of her to open her family celebration to us.

It all began when my ex husband and his brand new family came into town - unexpectedly- at the last minute. I was planning on going to church at 7 and then going to a party at my ex husband's father's house (obviously still get along well with the ex-in-laws) on Christmas Eve. I offered to back out of the party and let them attend with my daughter, but they both (he and his new wife) insisted that I go.

So Christmas Eve day. My daughter returns to the house to get ready for church with her new step sister in tow. I tell my ex that this is fine - as long my daughter is happy I am glad to watch both girls and bring them to church.

But it hits me 30 minutes later. I am babysitting my ex's new stepdaughter. This is just weird.

Sooo we head out to chuch, me, the daughter and the stepsister. 1 hour early because Christmas Eve masses are so crowded at this church. We take a seat in the back row and I proceed to daydream and people watch. I am not that into mass. I have serious issues with organized religion in general and my own separate issues with the Catholic Church. But I like the incense and creepy Saints statues and crucifixes, the rituals oh the rituals, and man I really dug that DaVinci Code. Oh that was about an alternate view of the church and christianity wasn't it? Hmmm. Whatevah. Anyway, I digress.

Observation 1: Catholics do not dress well.

Observation 2: Catholics at this chuch are, for the most part, not attractive people.

Let me begin by saying there were no hotties anywhere except for a 17 year old boy in a suit about three rows away. Barely legal and I am, unfortunately, truly old enough to be his mother. This church holds hundreds and no cuties in sight.

And the clothing! Catholics look uncomfortable in their dress up clothes. Its like they try, and they are on the right path, but they just don't quite look good enough. (Squint your eyes for effect while saying this - like they come sooo close but ahhh sad to say bless your heart, no.) Like the cute girl in high school AP English - cute but not hot, the hair not quite right but not wrong either, the clothes very Kohl's or Target, and the walk in high heels is not up to par. She dates the football kicker perhaps, or a soccer player, but never the quarterback.

I think Episcopalians and Jews dress the best (more money and taste) and Baptists the worse (those horrible uptight suits that still have shoulder pads in them from Belk.)

I am thinking of these things to keep my mind off the fact that I am saving seats for my ex husband and his new wife, due to arrive at church at any moment.

So they arrive, and we all hug and say hi and the kids are all lined up and I am, very tactfully, sitting next to the new wife. (BTW I purposely dressed up and looked hot for this. I was not very interested in my ex when I was married to him, and even less so after I left him, but I am indeed competitive. It was a good look too, by the way the suburban dad in the other back row was staring.)

I always try to figure out families around me - who is the dad, who is the uncle, etc. - while mass is going on as it keeps me from thinking about the mindless banter of the liturgy, and I would imagine the parishoners around us were confused if they play that game too. Who belongs to who?

My mind wanders to Ivy League. Mmm mmm good. What is that absolutely delicious guy doing with me??? That boy can eat crackers in my bed anytime. Amen! Sex on the kitchen island. Pray for me lord! Making out in a parking lot. I am not worthy! It goes on from there - I had a lot to choose from to think about where he is concerned.

I expect lightening to strike me at any time.

What Happens in Cary Stays in Cary

Hello Wednesday!

Yeah...facing the regrets of a night like that on a Wednesday morning. Tough. Tough. Makes for a long week.

Ivy League had gotten mad. Rightfully so on most things but on others I think he overreacted. All of that aside, I should not have played that game and we should not have gone to the strip club.

We did not go to bed angry that night though. Won't bore you with the details but he is a very very very sweet man. Emphasis on sweet.

I woke up sheepishly the next morning thinking OMG I went to a strip club and played pass the Altoid. In the cold, sobering light of day the previous night's activities seemed very stupid.

This horrible feeling of regret did not last long. The phone texts and instant messages from the game players started before 9am:

Me texting my birthday friend: Dude wake up and get on IM...
Birthday friend: Shit that was nuts last night

Birthday Friend: This was a case of WGOOTRSOTR
Me: Wha???

What goes on on the road stays on the road

Me: So Cary is now the road for us? We were four miles from home...

PTA Male player 1:U there?
Me: Yup
PTA1: Wow you girls are rock stars. This is the most fun I have had on a Tuesday night ever.
PTA1: We must take this show on the road...

Ugh.

PTA Male Player 2: Got mints?
Me: LOL. Glad you can laugh.
PTA 2: Laugh - last night was great. Pass the Altoid should be an olympic sport in 2008.

Funny how reconnecting with the players was cathartic and made everything seem a little better and little funnier. However, I was still filled with regret.

Got mints?

Birthday celebration last week. Lots of fun. You only turn 29 as many times as you can claim. I share the exact birthday of one of my close work friends - down to the half hour. Same day, same year, same hour. Do we ever get along! And we celebrated together last week with some work friends.

So we did shots at a local place with a pretty good size group. That was tame enough. Jager shots. My friend did tequila. She nursed tequila shots, but I digress.

There was a small group of us - about 10 - that wanted to go to a gentlemen's club. This is tricky with co-workers, especially at such a conservative company - but the small group seemed game and the two birthday girls were up for it, as well as two other girls. So with a 40%/60% ratio of women to men in our group we headed out.

All of us girls were good and drunk heading there. This should have been a warning as to what was coming later in the night.

The guys were excited to be going - and to be going with women co-workers. Somehow I think this was exotic for them. Most of them are married. Hell everyone in the group but me, Ivy League and another guy is married. So a trip to a strip club is welcome hedonistic fun. A trip there with attractive co-workers has the potential to be downright erotic.

Not sure it was erotic. It was fun and perhaps weird.

So we get there. The dancers were hot. And they really dance at this club. These girls work it and I respect that. We got seats right up front, and proceeded to buy shots (which came with a short lap dance) right away. Both Ivy League and I got shots from the same brown haired hottie in bra and panties.

Ivy League purchased a lap dance for my birthday friend. She thoroughly enjoyed. That was fun for the co-workers to watch. A little girl on girl action. Yum!

Ivy League was into the whole place, and jonesing for a lap dance. I was a bit jealous, but not so much so that I wouldn't buy him a lap dance. I think its just an equality thing.

He was like:
You are okay with this?
And my response was:
As okay as I can be when a mostly naked girl who is younger than me, who has a better body than me is dancing all over you.
Him: You need to be bigger than this.
Me: I think I am pretty big. I am purchasing this dance. But give me a little jealousy. Damn.
Him: You brought me here.
Me: Yes, and I am buying you a dance. But don't condescend to me about being big about having this woman who is SO HOT and SO SEXY and SO NAKED and SO YOUNG and who clearly has NOT had a baby dance all over you. I will be big when you can be big about a younger stronger man with a better chest and a longer dick who can clearly kick your ass in a bar fight is dancing all over me naked.

He didn't really see my point at all. What he heard in that last comment was me saying that I could go out and find this man and sleep with him. This is not my point. My point was, give me some jealousy, understand it, empathize with it if you can imagine yourself in my shoes. I'll get over it quick if you can just respect it.

Again ladies and gentleman, I was there, in a strip club. Willingly. And willing to fund his private lap dance. And he wanted to enjoy it completely guilt free and I was mad at him for asking me to be bigger about it. I think quite frankly I was pretty fucking big about it to begin with. I let him pick out the girl too.

But again, I digress.

I goaded him into the dance. Called him a pussy which was so wrong but my point was, dude, me, your girlfriend, is buying. Take the private dance.

So he does.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, er the cocktail tables at main stage...someone in the group gets out an Altoid. Pops it in his mouth. And has a brilliant idea.

The official Pass the Altoid game begins.

It begins so quietly with a guy in the group passing it quickly via a tiny kiss to my birthday friend. She proceeds to pass it, more seductively, to the other girl in the group that is left at this point in the night. (Besides me... I am still there but not actively participating. Just watching.) It goes around to a few people, then one of the guys wants to pass it to me. By this time, this is full on french kissing while passing the mint. This has reached a certain unspoken level- that moment when enough people bought it and did it willingly that I was faced with being the party pooper to not continue the mint on its oral journey.

Do I do this?

These are my co-workers.

I barely know three of them. They are all married.

The man I love would not like this.

But....

The man I love is in a private room getting an extra long lap dance from a 22 year old hot brunette.

I jump in. I am not one to sit around and steam. I am also not one to turn down a dare, and this was a big ol dare.

So I kiss this inital person. It is a little funny, a little sexy, but it means nothing. I pass it to someone else. A little more interesting. One person in particular was almost erotic. I kissed every remaining person there - both women and the women were the best by far- and that mint was not getting any smaller.

At this point the crowd around us is cheering. Odd behaviour for a strip club. We had ALL our clothes on but we were having fun.

So in the course of 5 minutes I intimately and repeatedly kissed six co-workers. EGADS. Holy bad ideas Batman.

The crowd making noise got somebody's attention in the back booths. Apparently, Ivy League stood up in the middle of the lap dance - he said the stripper was like wha? - and looked out at our tables. The conversation, I would imagine, went like this:

Stripper: What's wrong - I am not done. I still have to grab my breast five more times and hover over you with this fantastic ass of mine for 3 more minutes for you to get the standard dance.
Ivy League: I have to go
Stripper: (Still gyrating, no doubt, but with a puzzled look on her face) Huh?
Ivy League: My girlfriend is kissing my co-workers
Stripper: Ah then. Have a good evening!

He returns to the table with his free Strip Club t-shirt and proceeds to get really really mad.

Really mad.

Did I say really mad? Well, he got really really mad. At me. He had seen me kiss two of the men.
The game ended because it was like dad returned home.

So, as he got mad ("What the fuck are you doing?????You are kissing coworkers!!!!????") I was like, dude you don't have a leg to stand on here. You just had a 10 minute lap dance with a mostly naked 22 year old in a private room. That your girlfriend paid for. Hello! Don't get mad about Pass the Altoid. I got over the lap dance real quick with help from these kisses. You should be thanking these guys. And girls. I am in a better frame of mind in just 5 minutes. Brilliant game, really. Brilliant mint.

He didn't think so.

Will write more about the aftermath later. But it wasn't pretty and involved a lot of yelling at me.