Oh Come All Ye Faithful.....

so heres the situation.... my fantastically amazing (not to brag) boyfriend of the last two years, is a born and raised mennonite.  he himself left the church at the age of 16, as he didnt wholeheartedly agree with some of their rules and practices, and the mennonite faith is something you need to believe in with your whole heart. his parents continue to be practising new-order mennonites...meaning they dont have a horse and buggy nor do they live on a farm, but they are very good, god-fearing christians... his grandparents and most of his aunts and uncles are even more strictly devout in their faith, the women wear the bonnets and long dresses and the men wear dress pants and shirts, they live on farms, and they live humbly. my boyfriend grew up without a tv, without the use of profanity, without hearing his parents yell, and with the ever present thought of god, hovering above, watching over everything you do.

my family on the other hand, is a little more..... how shall we say? liberal. and by liberal i mean redneck as fuck.... my dads a trucker one credit short of a high school diploma, my mums a newfie one wine glass short of borderline alcoholism (not really though, she'll kill me when she reads that, haha!). my family house is nothing short of hectic, two eighty pound dogs who seem to think theyre lap poodles, two 200plus pound men who seem to think if it wont get out of your way, go through it.... someone is always yelling, laughing obnoxiously, or on occasion crying. fuck is an all-purpose word; noun, adjective, verb, its dexterous use in our house is nothing short of offensively impressive.... i love these people, good god do i love these people. but they are a lot to handle, and going from my rowdy bunch to his peaceful religious practictioners is a serious dose of culture shock.

anyways, now that ive set the background for my mixed relationship... let me now get to the story at hand.

it starts in the morning; he comes to my place to pick me up and i am, as per usual, running disastrously late. he takes in the sight of me, one eye mascara-ed, barefoot, clothes flung in every direction of my chaotic room, and does a hard roll of the eyes.... im frantic, ripping through my closet for something, anything, sutiable to wear to have dinner with 30 of his closest relatives.... i try on three different dress shirts which he tells me all look the same to him; "theyre fine", exasperated i rip each off my body and hurl them in opposite corners of the room... one is too summer-y, one is too see through, one shows too much cleavage....im no pam anderson but ive got a bit of a bust, and nothing short of some serious ducttaping is going to keep these pups at bay today... mocking him i pull out a turtleneck; too jazz-artist... by now im in tears and hes this close to giving up on me when i settle on a muted grey, conservative three quarter t shirt and black linen slacks (yes im aware i just said slacks).

that minor meltdown averted we now head to his parents place.... im frantically trying to rub off all the makeup i just so carefully applied, convinced that i must look like a crackhead... ive never been so aware of the bleach blonde in my hair as i am walking into the crowd of natural brunette bonnet wearers.. fuck. my. life.... everything about me screams high-maintenance heathen... the wine red polish on my nails to the gloss on that potty-mouthed pout of mine.... i half expect to be doused in holy water as i walk through the door.

but dinner goes well; i dont swear, i dont use the lords name in vain, mind you i cant contribute in any way to the cow conversation, but i laugh politely when everyone else laughs and i bow my head respectively when everyone else says grace before mealtime.

then mid-meal, my man looks to me and says,  "looking forward to the song portion of the evening later?" to which i laugh politely, thinking this is one of those times and reply; "hiiiiilarious, yea i cant wait to belt out some christmas carols".

turns out this is not one of those times to laugh, this is in fact not a joke. and an hour later we are in fact; all 30 of us, sitting in a circle, holding pamphlets with the words to 23 christmas carols and hyms.

this is unusual to me, my family is more likely to sit in a circle and take shots than to sing Silent Night... my boyfriend, bless his heart, knows this and begins to belt out, i mean really given'er, all the chirstmas hymms in a deep, twangy, country drawl.... and this is how we pass the next hour, going through the yuletide melodies with him singing his heart out like a regular alan jackson while i hide my fool-wide grin behind my pamphlet.

although it was strange, i have to admit it was nice, its a calming change of pace to be around his family.. the order and smooth contented way of life they live. the gentle tones of voice and the rated G sense of humour... a complete 360 from the functional dysfunction of my no-holds-barred household.

and there we are; my twangy mocking mennonite man, and his somewhat rough around the edges country girl, right there in the middle of it all; having a laugh and living in love.

random ramblings

while getting my nails done today; a treat to myself for being so great at blowing all my hard earned cash on selfless-ly and thoughtfully chosen christmas gifts for family and friends... we wont pay too much attention to the rocking new heels i bought myself... although if i do say so myself they are fanfuckingtastic... ANYWAYS, back to the topic literally at hand, haha, my nails... as i am getting them done by this asian gentleman he looks up at me mid-file and asks; "eyebrows done too, yes?" to which i slowly shake my head: "um, no thanks", "you sure? might wanna"... by this point i am all of the pouting in confusion. what in the bloody hell is wrong w my eyebrows?! i personally wasnt aware i had dropped the ball on that facial situation.. we spend the rest of the process in silence and i hastily pay and get the hell home to investigate.

the guy is on crack... has to be on crack, my fricken facial furry bits are fine. in proper arch form. perfectly proportioned... okay.... maybe a few strays... nothing a little plucking maintenance wont fix.

but then, i cant get his voice out of my head, the way he assessed my situation, his thoughts practically screaming CAVEWOMAN above the christmas music soundtrack.

and this is why... fifteen minutes later, i take a step back from my full length looking like someone just told me the secret to how they get the caramel in the center of the caramilk chocolate bars (i mean seriously though; mind-boggling mystery, kudos to you cadbury). anyways, i look fucking SHOCKED. like; just walked in on your 9th grade math teacher bumping uglies w the schools quarterback.... and the math teacher's name is Andy, not Andrea.

i dont know whether to laugh or cry, the arches on my face are higher than those on my new heels... which i wont be going out in public anytime soon to wear.

thank you tony banana; which seriously was this guys name... why i chose to listen to a man w a fruit as a surname is beyond me... you could even say im shocked at my own stupidity...judging by my facial expression, it sure looks that way.