Worst Case scenario: Scientist meets my Dad!

Upon reading yesterday's blog entry I realized how poorly it was written. Sorry guys. I've got a lot on my mind, and while I usually use this blog as a forum to vent and kick ideas around, this one is going to just have to rattle around a bit in my head before I come out with it. Until then my entries might seem a little forced or, distracted, I guess.

NO, I'm not pregnant, nor am I getting married (have you lost your fucking mind?!) or coming out of the closet (those of you who know me, know I've tried dating women in the past, so it's no secret--those of you who don't know... well, SURPRISE!).

No, this is something I need to decide on my own. Yes, it involves Scientistchik*. It also involves my future. It's a big step, a leap of faith and completely out-of-character. And that's all I'm going to say about it right now. Now you're dying to know what it is, aren't ya?

Tonight Scientistchik is going to meet my dad. I'm a little nervous; not because I don't think my dad will like Scientistchik (on the contrary, I think he'll like him a lot--how could he not?), but rather, my dad is a kinda weird and unusual guy-- which I've tried to prepare Scientist for-- and I never know how people are going to react to him. I mean, it's not like he's going to give Scientist the third degree on what his "intentions" are with me, or like, pick a fight with him over stem cell research or the fact that Scientist kills mice all day and then takes out their brains and spinal chords (now you know why I really find him so irresistible and sexy).

My worst case scenario goes down like this: we arrive 20 minutes late to find my boyfriend pacing outside Mondo's hungrily. Introductions are made and my Dad promptly starts making lame science jokes in an effort to buddy up to Scientist. Scientist laughs weakly and looks at me quizzically. I begin to feel a pit the size of Illinois open up in my stomach.

We saunter on in to Mondo's, sit down, my dad immediately lights up a cigarette and starts asking Scientist all these questions about his research. Then, in mid-sentence, between his third and fourth cigarette in 10 minutes, my dad interrupts Scientist and starts telling him stories about China (where my Dad lived for nearly three years until about 2 months ago and is trying to currently find work again) and blowing smoke in his face.

Once our food arrives, my Dad complains that his soup is cold, rudely tells the server "Sweetie, you need to take this back," and lights up his tenth cigarette. Scientist, still smiling and trying to impress my dad, has switched tactics. He's asking Dad about where's he's been and Dad launches into this painfully long story about all the places we've been together and how he was the one who first took me abroad. He peppers the story with "Squirt" this and "Squirt" that, motioning towards me (I endured him calling me Squirt until I finally flipped out on him once when I was 23 and had just come back from living in Russia by myself--true story, I swear). My mother is so fucking irritated her eyes are almost literally rolling out of her head. I'm biting my tongue so hard there's a slight trickle of saliva-blood running out of the side of my mouth and there is actual steam coming out of my ears.

For the next hour I try to gear the conversation towards some totally inane topic like tupperware, but fail miserably. My mother, who's been divorced from my father for over 10 years, keeps shrilly scolding my dad for making one faux pas after another. He's dropped food on the floor twice, and accidently put his cigarette out in Scientist's food. At this point I keep getting up to "go to the bathroom", but rather than using the loo I sneak outside and try to call Scientist to apologize my Dad's behavior.

Finally the end of meal comes, and somehow my Mom and I end up paying for everyone's food. My dad makes some completely off-color remark about my Mom and I being his and Scientist's respective sugar mommas, which really pisses my mom off. Trying to make our exit as quick as possible, I give my mom a hug, glower at my Dad and grimace as my father says, "Well, Scoliosis, it sure was nice to meet you. Take care of my daughter!" and winks.

I spent the entire car ride home, as well as the next two hours kissing Scientist's ass and trying to convince him I share only my crooked nose, my love of travel and the ability to make any story inordinately too long with my father. Alas, Scientist decides he can't imagine spending the next few months, let alone the next several years with someone who's family is as odd as mine and breaks up with me on the spot. I cry bitter tears all the back to my empty bed in Cedar Rapids.

*Adding "chik" (for men) or "inka" (for women) to the end of one's name forms what's called a"diminutive" in Russian or Ukrainian. A "diminuitive" is like a pet name, and is reserved for someone you really like, or conversely if you want something from someone and need to kiss their ass. Example: "Brianchik, could you bum me a cigarette?" or "Ellenka, thank you for writing that letter of recommendation to Peace Corps for me three years ago." No one, except maybe Brian, calls me Robinka, because no one really likes me. Boo hoo, me!

Update: Okay, so I'm adding this update a bit late, but, well, sue me. Anyway, dinner with my Dad, Mom and Scientist went very well. My Dad was extremely impressed with Scientist's scienceness and the fact that he infects mice with auto-immune diseases, kills them, grinds up their spinal chords and brains and then proceeds to stare at them under a microscope. My Dad even used the word "antigen" in a sentence to try and impress Scientist. Conversely, Scientist tried to impress my Dad with his travels to Columbia, Costa Rica, Mexico and Ireland.

Seriously though, the whole evening, including when my dad gave Scientist shit for voting for Bush (and Scientist just grinned and took it), just re-affirmed my belief that I'm totally with the right guy. No doubt in my mind. At all.