how i met mr. whatever.

Not that anyone cares really but I'd like to tell you the story of how I met Mr. Whatever. I call him that because he is seriously "whatever" about everything. It's annoying, really. Amusing. But more annoying than funny.

Anyway . . .

My sissy HH and bro-in-law Illini live in a sweet lil suburb about 20 minutes away from downtown Chi-town. Hence, I am there every few months. That is, if my perpetual status as a princess on a budget permits. So, that's where we first met.

I met Mr. Whatever last September when Madear and I were renting a car to drive to Mizzou to see Sissy MD. He got assigned to pick us up from Sissy HH's house and drove us to the rental car office. Honestly, I didn't even notice that he was cute at first. To tell you the truth, I thought he was kinda a little bit weird because he kept interrupting my conversation with my mom (random insert: He says it's because he thought I was talking to him but hello, I was kinda talking in Tagalog which he, obviously, doesn't understand. Psssh.) To top it off, while he was processing my papers he mentions that he thought I lived on a mountain or something. Ummm, okaaaay. No idea where he got that from. Not that I have anything against mountain dwellers. I think it's really cool how . . . free . . . they are about nudity but I'd rather have my lady bits covered. Especially in public. I nicely informed him that Filipinos don't live in the mountains. And we do wear clothes and have internet. Srsly, what a weirdo.

i would so rock this outfit. maybe if i was drunk enough.

Anyhoo, on the way to Mizzou (oh, it rhymes!) my mom suddenly says to me in the car . . .

Madear: He was cute.
Me: (bobbing my head to Gaga) Po-po-po-poker face. Wha? Huh? Who are you talking about?!
Madear: That guy who picked us up. He was cute.
Me: The weird rental dude?
Madear: Yep. That one.

You see, one thing about my mom . . . she NEVER says stuff like that. She practically single-handedly destroyed the self-esteem of many of my boyfriends with her passive-aggressive insinuations about how un-cute they were, which may or may not be true. Yes, mom, I stand by what I said when I was a naive teenager bent on breaking the rules: HE WASN'T THAT BAD. Which basically translates into "He looks really gross but I would rather hang myself first before admitting that to my mom but seriously, what the f*ck did I see in him?!". Not that my mom's mean-spirited or anything. She didn't actually say it straight to their face. Just to my face. Which isn't really a nice thing, either.

But truthfully, my mom's a sweetheart. She just has high standards when it comes to how her future grandchildren will look, so she never fails to remind us to marry, or at least go out with, just good-looking men. Oh, mother, always looking out for me.

i wonder if my mother will approve of this one. yum.

Back to what I was saying, she thought Mr. Whatever was cute. Not that I could do anything about it, but I filed away this tidbit for future reference.

So, Madear and I spent a week in Mizzou with sissy MD. . . blah blah blah . . .

When we got back to Chicago, I was secretly hoping Mr. Whatever would be at the rental car place when I came to return the car so I could see for myself what Madear was talking about. I guess the fates decided that I've been behaving myself because not only was he there, his boss asked him to drive me back to my sissy's place after I had paid an exorbitant amount for their crappy car signed all the papers. And yes, Madear was right. Mr. Whatever was definitely a cutie patootie.

So there we were in the car, talking about random things like Manny Pacquiao (a Filipino boxer who is really popular right now and who, Mr. Whatever assumes, every Filipino knows or knows of) when he suddenly mentions out of the blue that he really likes this Filipino candy that his co-worker let him try one time. He said it was called Botan Rice Candy or something like that. I told him I grew up in the Philippines and I've never heard of said candy, but I said I'd look it up.

So I did.

And it was a Japanese candy.

Wow.

This guy not only insulted me by calling me a Yeti, he also obviously can't distinguish one Asian race from the other. Yowza.

Don't ask me why but this totally got me more interested. Yup, I'm weird like that. And since I was feeling a little bold at the time, I ordered a few boxes of the candy online and sent it to him at work with the note: "Yummy but definitely not Filipino."

I mean, what did I have to lose, right?  He'd find it cute or creepy. Either way, I was never seeing him again. It would just be that thing I did that one time that was totally out of character.

I guess he found it cute because he looked my number up in their system (which, by the way, is totes illegal) and called me when he got the package. I was already back in LA by then and was busy studying for my board exam so I wasn't able to answer the phone. He left a message saying, and I quote, "That was the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me" and that I should call him next time I was in town.

So, since I went back to Chicago in November for Thanksgiving, I gave him a call.

And we went out a few times. And made out a few times. And talked on the phone a lot of times.

I've been back once and we hung out again. And made out again.

And talked on the phone a lot again.

And here we are, 6 months later, still friends.

Or maybe more than that.

Don't ask me because I really wouldn't know.

Because like I mentioned earlier, he's Mr. Whatever.

We'll see where this goes. Whatever.

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