TMB-That's My Boyfriend

Hallie made a sign out of used creamsickle sticks (yes, we rock them year 'round) and Eben's picture.

Ahhhhhh....Love

So, Hallie....How are you feeling about Eben making the cut, tonight?

So, my girls (the older two, Hallie and Mills) and I, are totally into American Idol, and we watch it together every Wednesday and Thursday.  Hallie has picked out HER boyfriend of the season, and I have picked out mine.  Hers is the ubiquitous, Justin Beiber look-alike, Eben. No, that is NOT a misspelling. ( I am suspecting that he is Mormon, but nowadays, I think everyone is Mormon.)  MINE is Phillip Phillips.  Yes, that is his name.  Of all of the names in the whole wide World that his parents could have chosen...and they settled on Phillip.  Somebody was smokin' the Salvia, again, peeps.  Oh, don't worry it's totally legal, so it's safe for pregnancy, too, I'm just SURE of it.

Reeeeeeeeaaaaarrrrrrrr.

Hallie's new crush.  Appropriate, AND attainable, I might add.

I am pleasantly surprised that Hallie has chosen a 15-year-old ingenue as her flavor of the season, as her last "boyfriend" was Victor, of Project Runway, who is an openly homosexual, Puerto Rican male with a long-time partner, with whom he regularly Skyped with on the show.  Hallie seemed to completely glaze over this fact, and would announce to any and all of her classmates that would listen, that she is  "not interested in boys her age, because she is in love with a 33-year-old Puerto Rican Designer," and that they "have a very bright future together. "


Fantasy is a big part of their upbringing, natch.

Here's Victor.  He usually dons a bow tie.  Not that that makes you gay, or anything.

Waaaaiiiittt a minute.

There we go.  Niiicccceeee.

Recently, as I thought I was "breaking the news" to her that Victor does not play for her team, but she shrugged it off, as she said, "Oh, I totally know that he is gay.  It doesn't matter.  I have moved on.  He is soooo last season of a different show."  Wow.  Okay.  I have no response to that.  Except that it was actually Mills, my almost 8-year-old, that enlightened Hallie, my 10 1/2 year-old, as to what homosexuality actually entails.

Here's how that conversation went:

Me:  Mills, what EXACTLY do you think gay means?

Mills:  (giggles)  I don't wanna tell you or you'll get mad at me.

Me:  NO, I won't.  Just be honest.  What kind of barbarian do you think I am?

Mills:  What's a barbarian?

Me:  What's a homosexual?

Mills:  You tell me, and then I'll tell you.

Me:  Mills!  Tell me what you know NOW, or I am taking away your ITouch.

Mills:  See.  I told you, you'd get mad.

Me:  MILLS!!!

Mills:  (giggling) Okaaaayyy.  It's when boys like boys and girls like girls.  THERE.  And Hallie liked Victor and Victor likes his boyfriend.  And that's funny ANY way you look at it.

Me:  Okay.  That's enough.  Now go away and let me watch my stories.

ANNNNDDDD  scene.


Before Mills came along, Hallie was practically on her path to being Omish.  But, I digress.

Anyway, it is a ritual of ours, when we see our prospective boyfriends on the television, to poke one another in the ribs and say - TYB, as in "that's your boyfriend."  This was coined by my friend, Angela, in Texas, that I just told you about, but she would do it when some homeless person who was talking to himself while he dug through the trashcan at a stoplight.  "TYB," she'd say under her breath as she took a long drink from the straw of her newly acquired Raspberry slushy from The Sonic.

"Daaauummmnnn," I would respond as I turned the corner because she spotted him first.   I always drove.

ANYWAY.  With my children, this tradition has also morphed into "TMB," as our excitement grows with each cut on American Idol.  For instance, I exclaimed, "TMB!" last night after Phil Phillips made the final 24.

Cut to Phil Phillips.  He is FIIINNNEEE, y'all.  Basically, he is a Southern version of Dave Matthews, only better looking.  YOWWZZZA.  Did I say he is from Georgia? And now lives in Nashville?  I know, right?  Oh, and he plays the acoustic guitar.  Perfection.

I realize that this may be considered UNHEALTHY to openly talk about a man other than their father that I am attracted to, but you must forgive me, I grew up in an era where I vividly remember my Aunt and my Mother sobbing when they learned of the death of Elvis.

I also remember my mother squeezing into the black "jumpsuit" trimmed in thick white stitching that she had worn to his concert a few months before, in Memoriam, but I am working on blocking that part of the memory out, because it is obviously very painful.

Seriously, I remember her pulling it up over her hips, as she wriggled back and forth because she had put on a few pounds, and they hadn't yet invented Lycra, just thick polyester, and as she bit her lip and pulled up on the fabric, so as to reach her hands into the armholes, she kept shaking her head saying, "But I just SAW him. He looked FINE."

Okay, I don't know if you have ever seen some of the last footage of Elvis, so I am providing it for you here, but he looked about as far away from FINE, as anyone can get.  In fact, he looked like the antithesis of fine.  What about sweaty, bloated and forgetting lyrics you've sung your entire life says "fine" to you, Mom?

So, anyway, my recommendation today is to get yourself involved in American Idol, if you haven't already and pick yo'self a boyfriend, so you can text TMB or TYB to your friends as you watch it.  Like their mother, my kids are super into television, so we usually shed tears when our favorites are extracted from the program.

Also, check out Phil Phillips and tell me you do not think he is fantastic.  I mean, seriously, I would be all over that if I were still in college, not married, and had no chillens.  I'm afraid that ship has sailed, though, and I am carrying far too much baggage (braces, college, weddings, rehab) for ol' Phil to take on at this point in his career, as tempting as it is, though!