Requiem for An Internet Boyfriend

[sniff sniff]

I’m sad to report that My Internet Boyfriend is no more. I would link you up, but he has taken down his WordPress blog.

The Internet is a wonderful place where you can meet people. They become your friends in Cyber Life, and sometimes if you’re lucky, in Real Life. I am lucky to have made a good friend in MIB.

I wish I could tell you a juicy tale of how we fought and broke up. That’s not the case. I still like MIB. In fact, we email regularly, although not so regularly these days. That’s because it’s summer time and he has obligations. I have obligations. In fact, I am totally amazed that I even have ten minutes of time to devote to this blog. If you saw my plate, you’d know that it was piled over with things to do. I have so much stuff on my plate, I’m not sure what china pattern is under there.

I wish I could tell you that he died. Well, he didn’t die, really. He died an Internet death, which means he has gone to a better place. NO! Really! I myself have committed web suicide. It was from another site that had a bunch of weirdos in it (some of whom are over here… ha ha ha…) and was time sucking. I made a boatload of cash from the place but it was unsatisfying. I planned my G suicide with panache and style. I don’t miss the place though. I’ve gone on to better things.

Anyway, some of you have been asking me what has happened to MIB. He’s around, but he’s not around.

Since he’s not around, I thought I would take this opportunity to detach myself from him. Only online though.

Now that I’m single again, I think I will take the time to mourn my loss. If any of you would like to add any words of encouragement, please feel free to do so. Or, if you would like to leave a touching eulogy for My Internet Boyfriend, I’m sure he would appreciate your sentiment. Perhaps someone can tape themselves singing “Oh Canada!” and post it here. (Oh. I think I did that before.)

Rest In Peace, Internet Boyfriend.

Plenty of Teen Angst, Damn It

Ms. Mini-Demonic thinks she is 17 going on 25. There are some days when I can see that in her; however, there are far more days when I see her as 17 going on 12. She is very comely; nice hourglass shape (which I’ve never had), long thick hair and long legs (also accoutrements that I don’t possess). We resemble each other in the face, but don’t tell that to her, or she will run off screaming hysterically.

Ms. Mini-Demonic has a two-part dream. It’s a dream that reaches far beyond what I would wish for her. The first part of the dream is that she wants to become a psychiatrist. Not a psychologist, but a bona fide head-shrinking doctor. Ms. Mini-D suffers from dyslexia and ADD and her grades in high school haven’t exactly been stellar as a result. She’s having a difficult time getting into college, but did get the nod from three schools so far, two in our state and one in California. There are three other schools in California that she hasn’t heard from yet. Oh, that’s the second part of the dream. Mini-D wants to live in California, SoCal, to be exact.

Mini-D has been dating a very nice boy for almost a year. He seemed like such a nice boy that I hired him to work for us. I paid him $2 an hour more than what he was getting at the grocery store he was working at, and thought he could use the office/customer service experience on his resume. I thought he was a very nice boy until just recently. While I was in San Francisco a few weeks ago, I learned they had broken up. Both were very hush-mouthed about the entire thing.

My first thought was that Mini-D was responsible for the break-up. Sure, she can be happy, upbeat and personable, but she can also be caustic, moody and mean. (I think she takes after me.) The day I came home from the Left Coast, they were in negotiations in our upstairs spare bedroom. I tried to pump her for information, but she didn’t want to divulge. The next day was his birthday, and she treated him to dinner. This was a surprise to us after all the crying that was going on the night before. Mini-D explained that it was a mini-break up, in preparation for her leaving for California this summer.

All has been hunky-dory until a few days ago, when her school had their winter break which doesn’t coincide with his school’s winter break. She spent time with her girlfriends, who she had sadly been neglecting, and her flute, which she had also been sadly neglecting.

The Boyfriend called into work on Wednesday, which wasn’t a big deal. Except my daughter, Ms. Mini-D, came home from her flute lesson begging me to fire him for leaving us in the lurch. I couldn’t understand her vitriol, but stayed out of it. The next day, I received our company cell phone bill. Her number was 866 text messages over her limit, but considering that the time in question was during that break up weekend and 679 of them were from him, I told her I would split the difference. Later that day, she and her friend informed me that the night before he texted her 30 times in an hour, with the same five letter derogatory word. It appears that he flipped out over her winter break re-association with her high school chums.

Thursday, he showed up to work but feigned sickness and left.

This scenario leaves me with many problems.

1. I liked the kid, but I certainly can’t stay on his side if he’s texting my daughter the five-letter derogatory word.

2. I need the kid to work here, to show up daily. Sure, he’s just a part time high school kid, but Mr. Demonic impressed upon him during the interview process that we expected him to do a good job no matter what the relationship was between the two of them. I also had big plans for him, maybe kicking him up to a more full-time position once he entered the local college.

3. This puts an incredible strain on me, because if he doesn’t show up, I must. If he quits, that’s even worse. It will mean training someone else, and that takes time. This also may put a damper on our spring break plans, which was to go back to the Left Coast to check out the potential colleges.

4. On the other hand, I don’t like the stalker-immature-weirdo-flakiness of the entire situation.

Damn. I’m going to have to take an aspirin or two now. Or maybe a margarita.

Trouble in Paradise

After returning to the pandemonic homesite today, after my extended weekend on the Left Coast, I learned that there is a bit of drama going on.

Mini-Ms-Demonic is having boyfriend troubles.

She refuses to talk to anyone about it.

The Boyfriend just left here, after some loud shedding of tears. I wasn’t spying, I could hear it from downstairs.

She’s young, but one of these days she will figure out that there always has to be some trouble in paradise. Life isn’t fair; it never has been. Missteps are the only way of learning anything. Besides, we humans need this angst in order to create. Without trouble, there’d be no poetry, no sonnets, no love songs, no artistic endeavors, no tall skyscrapers, no novels, nothing.

If she wants to talk, I will be here. I can tell that right now she is wallowing in pity and pain.