Audition for the lead role of "Mrs...." part 1-

So there was I one evening with my friends filming a movie in Old Town, Alexandria. My life was one laundry basketful of activities: business and Spanish classes at the community college, skiing with friends and little Kris in the winter, taking him to the park, looking for Easter eggs, the stuff that a family does. Except Kris and I only had each other in our "family." In one of these activities with my friends, I announced, "Can someone find me a boyfriend?!"
One of them said to another, "Hey, she needs a boyfriend!" My friend Tess said, "I have a candidate for you but you might not like him."

I asked, " Why?" "Because he is nice! And he is Snow White's brother!"Laughter. She said in a stage whisper, "But he is very nice and he likes sexy women!" "Ok," I said, "He should look in a strip bar! Hahahaha!" "No he really is nice, we have known him for many years. My sister used to work with him." "Okay, he is now my boyfriend. Does he have a name, Snow White's brother?"

A few weeks later, I asked Tess, "So, where is MY boyfriend?" "Well, I told him that you are not shy so he said you should make the first move." "Ok! What is his email address?"

I wrote: Hi, this is .... I was with our mutual friends last night working on a film. Okay, so I am over 35 years old and a single mom to a six year old boy. I am 120 lbs, 5.5" and I have great legs. Cheers!

He wrote: "Wow, I have not met anyone with your confidence. Cheers!"
Cheers to my legs? My weight? My confidence? Cheers! What, cheers that he has not met anyone? You know, I am a normal woman. I dissect a guy's statement

We e-mailed each other a lot afterwards. We both love words and maybe I impressed him with my vocabulary. He liked that I used words like "splendid, brilliant, unconscionable, inevitable, lamentable." And I liked his "go figure" and the "you are so articulate, you are so wise, you are so sarcastic, you are, you are ...." so beautiful? Okay, he did not say that.

One evening, I left my son with his baby sitter, put on the black skirt, sheer black hose, my best-kept-secret Loehman's $28 killer blazer, and the fire engine red lipstick. I was finally meeting the white guy in person (WG) aka as Boyfriend (BF) and used alternately in this document. :-)

A few days before the meeting:
"How will I know it is you?" I asked.
"I am 6 foot-tall and blonde." Oh--kay. And so is the rest of the Caucasian male population in the United States!

"I am Filipino." Black hair, brown skin. Like there is any chance of finding a Filipino woman with blonde hair. She will be easy to spot-- she will be blonde with a flat nose. But I did not tell him that. Let him imagine me with great legs and flat nose.

We said goodbyes. Then I realized that I did not ask where we were going to meet. I called again. I was having a Filipino "blondina" moment. "Hello, excuse me, but where are we meeting?"

The meeting: I did a quick check of the men seated at the tables. Actually, he was staring at me. So I approached, "Are you my boyfriend?"

We went to the Cafe and ordered drinks. Then we began the chatter marathon. I do not remember what we talked about but I am sure we asked things like "Are you a coffee drinker?" "No, how about you?" "Yes, I am." "Oh that's nice. Do you take sugar and cream in your coffee." "No, I take it black." You know, important things like that. There was an older lady seated behind him, facing me. She caught my eye. She pointed to him and gave me a grin and two thumbs up! Was this an "e-harmonydotcom" moment or what?

I was tired and it was getting late so I made him an offer. If I go home with him, would he watch a movie while I take a short nap on his couch, and in consideration, I would wake up and socialize before I go home. He agreed. The Contract was in full force.

I forgot about the weird noises. My own. As I dozed off into bliss, I started my noises. Mabel, an old friend of mine told me that I sound like a rice cooker. My rice cooker was missing one of its legs, it is propped up by a crab mallet, it made a weird sound and boils over. That was probably accurate - I was boiling over - because the BF came near me, nudged me, and asked, "Are you okay?" Busted!

I wiped the drool from my chin with the back of my hand. I was sure he would never ever ask me out again. But alas, I forgot, we made arrangements for two consecutive dates. I also told him that I had two categories for men I go out with. A man who I agree to meet for the first time can turn out to be one of the following:
1. An appointment.
2. A date.


And so, as I started to rejoin the world of the coherent , he asked if he was an appointment or a date. I told him I think he is a date. I told him that I, however, come with a "buyer's beware" clause. If my son does not like him, the deal is off. But for now, we decided that we would meet each other the next day to see "Tuna Christmas." Having talked for an hour or so, I went home.

Next day at the theater. Big problem.

I could not remember what the blond BF looked like. You know how some people think all Oriental people look alike? Well, I have news for you, to us Asians, all other people look alike.

Look, white blond guys bring back memories of missionaries who knocked at our doors when I was young. They wanted us to hear the word of God. "The only way. One way." They were so blond, their eyelashes were blond and their skin so white. They wore black pants, white shirts and always wore a necktie. We hid from them. They knock and they always tell us they want to share the "good news." But we pretended that we did not understand what they were saying. We never invited them in. Our house was too humble for God's entourage. I called them the "Jojoba witnesses." (Hohobuh) At this moment, I was looking for my date and he's a "Jojoba witness."

There was a sea of blonds. A tapestry of blondness punctuated with baldness and brunettes. Thank goodness, he had the good sense of making sure he was apart from the crowd. So we watched the play together and held hands. OMG, I was holding hands with a white guy!

By the way, the next time I went back to the Cafe , where I had my first date with him, I was approached by the waitress who served our drinks during my first date with BF. She asked me, actually, honest to God asked me, "So....are you going to see that guy you were with last Friday?" I laughed so hard and told her, "Yes, we are dating." She was very happy about that news. She wished me "great luck."

Now for the deal breaker/maker:

The day WG met my son was a hair-rising moment. It was going to be a pizza dinner. It would be Kris' treat- he had coupons given to him by his school for reading above grade level. He was in kindergarten. So, man, son, mom, and babysitter are meeting WG for pizzas. I took off my son's hat. His hair was sticking straight up in the air and WG said, "Who cut his hair?" I proudly announced, "I did!" WG joked, "Oh, please do not quit your day job!"

After pizza, he handed my son a comics book. My son was won over and said in a child's small but enthusiastic voice, "If you like, you can come to my house and look at my Christmas tree!"

Seizing the opportunity, WG readily agreed to come to our house. Once we got to our condo, my son proudly showed our Christmas tree, decorated with wooden ornaments and his presents under it. Then, Kris showed WG his room and said, "If you like, you can come back here next weekend and sleep over. You can sleep in my room and play with my toys!"

I knew the moment I and WG became serious. Let me tell you: he actually talked to my mechanic when I told him that I was having car problems. Not too many XY-chromosomes human want to get involved in some XX chromosome's car problems because it can lead to 1)fixing the car himself 2)lending his car to her.

Here is something about women: when a guy gets involved in a woman's car problem, he becomes one of the most significant beings in her life. Why? Because of all the things that a woman has, it is only the car that can, like a man, reduce her into tears. She takes the car's issues personally. First of all, she does not understand the car. She puts gas in it, she washes it, she drives it but in return it has seizures. The mechanic breaks the grim news to her.

For example, the mechanic says "the alternator is broken." "What! Ok, so what is the alternator? Did I do something wrong?" The mechanic explains the technicalities. Voice in her head: You are royally screwed. Your car is a piece of junk. You will take a bus on your way to Nordstrom, ha-ha. She cries.

Or the mechanic says: "The transmission needs to be replaced..." She loses it "What?! This piece of sh*t! I cannot believe it. Are you serious?" Voice in her head: You are totally screwed. Your car is a piece of junk. You maxed out your Visa. Guess, you are not buying the LV hobo. Ha-ha" She cries.

A few weeks later, he announced that he was going away to Hongkong for six months. But not before my car was fixed...haha!