••• Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Today my college boy turns 19. How can it be? Just yesterday, it seems, I was at Chuckie Jesus, celebrating a four year old's birthday.

Oh wait, that was yesterday. With the Cakers.

I was thinking of writing up a snarky review of the place, but the UpChuck Cheeses is simply too repugnant. It wouldn’t even be fun. I do, however, want to brag on myself for rolling a 450 in Skeeball, and winning the jackpot. That's right. 150 extra prize tickets, which allowed me to select a gift from the coveted middle shelf. I selected the tampon.

My son seems to be holding his own, away at college. We speak on the phone about once a week. Student initiated. We also communicate a few times a week, via the instant messenger. A tool with which, I confess, I keep track, of his comings and goings (i.e. if he's in his dorm room, or not).

Before labelling me Bad Chopper Momma, I think running into my son online is as innocent as running into a neighbor I'm stalking a neighbor at the grocery store. Right?

A couple of weeks ago, via Instant Messaging, my son mentioned that he has been seeing a girl. Okay, I can’t remember if he brought it up first, or if I happened to mention that I did not see him on-line all weekend and wondered what the hell he's been up to and went on to speculate that he finally succumbed to the demon beer bong and that pack of loose women with pierced cho-cho’s and diseased pelvic regions, who roam university towns of Northerm Michigan, preying on the unsuspecting, innocent offspring of mothers who did their best to raise their boys up right? It may have gone something like that.

Either way, the most important thing was that he told me he's been seeing a girl.

Boy: I met a girl.
Mom: Oh??? Who is she?
Boy: Someone who played summer ball with So and So, who told me to look her up.
::long pause::
Mom: So…
Boy: What?
Mom: What’s she like?
Boy: She’s a smartass. Funny.
::long pause::
Mom: So she plays basketball?
Boy: Yep.
Mom: Is she cute?
Boy: Yeah.
Mom: What’s her name?
Boy: Tracy
Mom: That’s a nice name.
Boy: Yeah.
Mom: Is she tall?
Boy: My height.
Mom: Where is she from?
Boy: ****ford (a suburb of our community).
Mom: We can have her folks over for Thanksgiving!
Boy: What??
Mom: It’s a joke, son.
Boy: Haha (he’s a firm non-lol-er. I love that about him.)
Mom: Are you going to see her again?
Boy: Yeah.
::more pause::
Mom: I don’t mean to be bugging you about this, but it’s kind of awkward to scrutinize you via the internet.
Boy: Haha, that’s fine.
Mom: All Righty then. I’ll let you go.
Boy: Bye.

Now, my son has never had a real girlfriend, with the exception of a four week steady in ninth grade. So, this was exciting for me. If he were at home, sharing this information, I’m sure I would’ve been able to ply a little more meaning from his mono syllabic responses, with the help of nonverbals.

Frustrated by what felt like a tease of information about what could be a very important developmental transition in my family’s collective life: A real, grown-up girlfriend. I did what any of you mothers would have done, in my position. I poured myself a Vernor’s and Vanilla, wiped the spittle from my chin, and proceeded to stalk her ass. All the way down to an aerial photo of her house. And I am not ashamed.

Of course, I was trying to be real cool about all this, and in subsequent IM’s, I never asked about her. And he didn’t offer.

Finally, last night, I asked. "Uh, we’re not seeing that much of each other right now. Things turned a little random." ::The new teen lingo thingo of the random use of "random" drives me nuts.::

Damn. I hope I didn't jinx it by casting on for a mother of the groom shawl.

(Please note that this post was intended to be published last night, but Blogger was down. Please play along. Also, I didn't get a chance to proof it my usual 6,437 times. Thank you for your patience in this matter).

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