Tag Archives: psycho

He Lives With His Mother?

It’s sad but true, women will put up with a lot of crap.  But it seems like one thing is very universally unacceptable — when an adult man lives with his mother.

Carrie and “Power Lad” who lived with his parents in a New York classic six apartment on the Upper East Side with a terrace overlooking the park.

Remember in Sex and The City when Carrie discovered that her latest guy shared a beautiful apartment with his parents?

Samantha He lives with his parents?
CarrieIt’s their apartment.
SamanthaSo not sexy honey.  Dump him immediately.  Here — use my cell phone.

Season Three, Episode 15.

Carrie didn’t dump him immediately, because she liked him, his parents were friendly and brought them food and he was a struggling business owner.

Once she realized, however, that Power Lad was still a child in the household, governed by his parents’ rules,  and that he was not saving money but actually spending it on really good pot, well it eventually ended.

I have some experience with this, the momma dwellers.  I hesitate to call these men out, even if I don’t use their real names, but I feel it’s a topic worth dancing around.  My momma dwellers are educated, well-spoken men.  I didn’t write them off immediately because  I’d known them since they lived in dorms.  Plus, there are certain category of momma dwellers that deserve a chance.
No Dumping Allowed
In my humble opinion, the following momma dwellers should not be immediately discarded:
1. Twenty Something Guy

I haven’t had one of these, but this  guy  is just out of school, has his  first real  job or is looking for one.  He’s recently discovered,  “Dude, they want first and last month’s rent and security before I move in?  That’s a lot of money.”  Yeah dude, better get a bank account.

Acceptable:  If he is saving for his own place.

Unacceptable : If his Mom still does all his laundry, cooks all his meals, he drives her car and he routinely buys rounds for everybody at the local bar.

2.  Break Up Guy

So the marriage/relationship didn’t work and he moved out of the  home, leaving the kids (if any) with their mother.  Suddenly he’s  homeless.  You can’t sleep on somebody’s couch forever and his married buddies are not taking him in long-term  . . . so . . .  he moves in with his mom.

Acceptable:  If he is providing financial support to his kids, someone has filed for divorce, and he is actively looking for his own place.

Unacceptable:  If he visits the kids at the marital home  “overnight.”

3.  Norman?    Older guy taking care of his elderly or sick mother.

A boy's best friend is his mother.

“A boy’s best friend is his mother.” Psycho

This guy still lives in his home town, and may even  have a good job and  his own place.   But his mother is getting older, or has taken ill. Maybe she’s widowed or divorced, either way she’s alone and probably should not live that way.  So he, like a champ, gives up, sublets, or keeps his place — but  he moves in with this mother.  He is probably a good guy, but depending on his mother’s condition, this could go on  indefinitely.

Acceptable:  If the mom is really sick.

Unacceptable:  If the mom goes out more often than he does.

4. Ethnic/Large family/family business guy or filthy rich blue blood guy

The heir to the family fortune and estate might still live with his mum.

The heir to the family fortune and estate might still live with his mum.

This guy works in his family business.  So does everybody else.  They all live in the large family home.  If you were to marry him, you might live there too for a bit. Ironically, this also happens in blue blood very rich families or royalty, “Chad” will move back to the main house while interning for “Daddy’s” company.  Except in that case Chad’s bedroom could probably accommodate most of the ethnic guy’s family and their business.

Acceptable:  If he wants to have his own family one day.

Unacceptable: If he buys a dog.  (There’s no way he’s thinking about leaving if he’s recently acquired a dog.)

If he’s a Prince, yeah, he can live with this mom.

5.  Grad school student guy.   This is a guy getting an advanced degree, perhaps a professional degree.   He studies all the time.  He lives with his parents because he can’t justify paying rent only to be conscious there a couple of hours a day.   He reasons, “Why pay for a city apartment just to study and occasionally sleep there?”   — especially true for medical students or interns.   This arrangement is almost always  temporary, and, frankly,  worth the investment.  One day he’ll graduate — and probably get a damn good job.

Acceptable:  If he is actually in school.

Unacceptable:  If he is merely planning to get back to school.  Look for that acceptance letter.

George lived with his parents before moving in with Meredith and the gang on Grey’s Anatomy

You see, a guy living with his momma should be given an opportunity to explain.   It should not be a deal breaker– at least not  until you know the underlying reasons and can access the likely duration of the living “arrangement.”

Enough Red Flags for a Communist Parade

But here are the red flags I don’t believe anyone should ignore:

1. He has a basement “room” completely set up where he pursues his personal interests — music, computers, lifting weights.  Yeah, this dude has set up house.  He ain’t going nowhere.

2.  He works from home, yet there is no home office,  desk, or computer and he has no cell phone.

3.  He’s mentioned that he hopes to inherit the house.

4.  He has never actually said he plans to move.   Pay attention to the silences.  The silences are very important.

Just Me With . . .  no momma dwellers at the moment:   one is estranged,  “If I’d Married My Stalker,”  the other is a very  special friend, “We Thought You Were Dead, Mommy — Almost F*cked to Death”  

If I’d Married My Stalker

Weddings, Weddings, Weddings. They are everywhere this time of year.  But don’t feel sorry for me because I am without an intended.  I could be married now if I wanted. Really, I could.  I could have married the man I now refer to as my stalker.   Of course, he hadn’t completely evolved into  a true stalker when we were hanging out.   The true stalker nature of a person is only realized after the relationship has ended.   But I’ll just say that based on the events that transpired since we stopped seeing each other, well, I have reason, good reason,  to call him my stalker.

Still,  had things gone differently, had I been desperate for matrimony,  had I lost my mind,  I could be calling him my husband.   We talked about it.  Well, actually,  he talked to me about it.  He also talked  to a priest about it, and he talked to his invisible  friends about it, friends I never met.  To be fair, I admit that he didn’t formally get down on one knee and ask me,  because I was, at the time, still legally married (little issue), had not expressed any interest in remarrying anyone (bigger issue),  and had not professed love for him (the  biggest issue of all),   but these little complications did not deter  him from making plans for our life together, in holy matrimony.

So, since the wedding season is in full swing,  the following is a fanciful fictionalized account of what could have been if I had said ” I do” and become . . . Mrs. Stalker.   

If I’d married my stalker:

  • My house would be clean. Really clean. He had OCD (I believe) and liked to clean. Yes, things would be clean. Really. Clean.
  • My dogs would be well-groomed also. What am I saying ?  My dogs would be gone.  He couldn’t handle such four-legged walking germ festivals.
  • I would have sex, often and for prolonged periods of time. Then I’d have to talk about it.
  • I’d be clean, hands washed as if for surgery, often and for prolonged periods of time. We wouldn’t have to talk about that — so long as he saw me doing it.

 

  • I would have savings and new clothes. He liked me to look nice.  He’d buy me pretty dresses.
  • I would have an escort for everything.  He’d never let me go anywhere alone.
  • I’d be Episcopalian, because I’d have to be. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
  • I’d have a storage unit, possibly more than one, because he was incapable of throwing anything out. And we would visit our things stored there, often and for prolonged periods of time.
  • I would know I’m loved because he’d tell me, often and for prolonged periods of time.  And then I’d have to talk about it.
  • I’d be having surgery and/or looking into surrogacy and/or freezing eggs to see if someone could bear a child he could call his own.

  • I’d have someone to shop with, since he loved to shop. And no, my would-be-stalker-husband is not gay, but I’d spend a fair amount of time attempting to convince others of that— knowing in my heart of hearts that I could  not be successful.
  • I’d be on time, because he’d never allow tardiness.  To that end,  would call me  in 15 minute increments to make sure I was ready for whatever we had planned.
  • My computer would have the most up-to-date, state of the art, anti-virus software, because, you can never be too careful.
  • I may or may not have mother-in-law issues, because I’m not sure whether “mother” is still with us. Don’t ask, it may have been a Norman  Bates situation.

Norman’s mother in the Hitchcock’s classic, Psycho

  • To make him happy, I would  have to answer these questions, often and for prolonged periods of time:

“Are you happy”
“Are you thinking of me?”
“Do you love me?”

And,  the ever popular question that every girl wants to hear,

Do you think that’s wise?

   

 

Well,  it was wise to end that relationship. Even though it took quite a while and an exchange of letters from lawyers for that ending to take effect.   Actually,  I only just recently received a post-Rapture text.   Sigh.

In conclusion, while weddings are nice, and it’s good to feel loved and partner up,  I didn’t want a husband that badly (or not at all, really).   I don’t care that Mr. Stalker was good on paper, well endowed with stamina to back it up, wanted to be a provider for me and my brood,  and that he really, really, really, really, really . . .  loved  . . . me.   None of that matters, because if I’d married him for the sake of being married,   and allowed myself to be swept away  (swept, being the operative word), well,

. . . that would have been  bad —- clean,  but very bad.

And, if you’ve found my blog, Mr. Stalker,  and are  reading this, I  want  you  to know:

No, I do not love you.

No, I don’t want to be friends.

No, I do not want to know if you are thinking of me.

No, my lack of love for you cannot be explained by alleging  that I  have  lingering feelings for my Ex-Husband.  I don’t love him either.

No, I will not be paying you back for any money you spent on me.

and . . .

Are you sure I’m really talking about you?

And, by the by, I just played with my dog and I haven’t washed my hands in like an hour.

Just Me With . . . no rings on my only moderately clean left hand. 

Related, sadly, “He Lives With His Mother?”