Happy Mother's Day! By the way, who's my father?

People tell me I'm still stuck in the 90's.
Call me old fashioned, but I'd probably be carrying around a clunky CD player if I wasn't given an iPod; probably still be carrying around a pager if they still made 'em. If someone else didn't open me up a Facebook page, social networking would be done - in person - on Friday and Saturday night.
I knew I had it right the first time.
I recently found out (via Facebook) my mom has a few hollow bones in her closet.
Apparently, mama was a promiscuous one.
At first, I thought the occasional random lady wanted to be my FB friend.
Apparently not.
Along with her friend request was a message saying that she grew up with my mom and that her brother thinks he's my father. No big deal. (Gulp).
Ahhh life and all of its surprises..
So me and mommy had a wittle talk that went a wittle something like this:

Me: So, mom.... Some lady told me that her brother thinks he's my father.
Mom: (Pause) Gosh...He's not your father.
Me: So there was another guy you were seeing while you were with my father?!?
Mom: Well...Yeah, but he's not your father.
Me: How do you know?
Mom: We took a blood test.
Me: (Jaws dropped) Gah.

I can see it now. Jan. 7, 1988. 5:48 p.m. Wailuku Memorial Hospital. Little bastard baby Rhys is born. Mother in tears of joy. Father in disbelief - footlong cell phone in hand - searching for his lawyer's digits.
Me and my father were never really close. As a child he'd visit me but once a year. And that one day, my birthday, is the day the doubt began.
I don't blame him either.
Saw a picture of my "so-called" father in his hay-day.
Turns out this guy's got my coffee-colored skin. My $1,000,000 smile. Bold eyebrows. Wavy hair.
Damn, this guy is a stud!
This guy looks more like my father than my father looks like me! Or I look like my father?
Either way, I'm pretty sure this guy IS my father!
Oh God... this means that I don't belong to the family I thought I was a part of. This means that I wasn't conceived in a green plantation house just steps away from the beach.
But ah, what can I do about it? I came out fine. Well, at least I think so. So my love for you will remain the same.
Oh mama... the one person I've spent my entire life with yet know nothing about. I love you. Thank you for sticking by my side - even when my father didn't. Whoever that is.
Oh Technology... how I wish you would mind your own business. Some things are better left unsaid.
Facebook: Just another way to spread the drama.
I miss the 90s.

Happy Mother's Day.

P.S. I haven't told my "real" father about the Facebook encounter. He may truly disown me if reminded. Figure somewhat of a father is better than none.

Gone searching for his side of the story...

The Rebound Theory

I fall in love too easy.
That's what my brother tells me.
Not like L-O-V-E, but more like deep affection.
After exiting a long-term relationship last September, my brother's never been happier.
"You're free at last," he said.
Only three months after breaking up, however, I met this girl. (Gulp)
She gave me a ride home one day. Then she was my New Year's kiss. Then my birthday gift. Then my Valentine. When we're together we talk, we laugh, we get lost, we watch the Denver Nuggets win, we sip wine and we dance 'til no one else is on the floor.
Most would say I've entered a rebound relationship.
According to wikianswers.com, a rebound relationship is "one in which a person becomes overly quick to commit to a new partner after having experienced an upsetting breakup or divorce. People who have breakups and then immediatley involved themselves with someone else seem to feel the need to prove to themselves they are worthy of love and affection. They may miss the comfort and affection of a regular relationship."
One problem: The description fits me a little too well.
I'm the sentimental type who thinks she's more than just a rebound. She's the spontaneous type that's here one day and gone the next.
Yet I've continued to chase. Always wanting what I can't have...
Now we've agreed to be "once in a while." We're both young and she's confused with what she wants. And I understand. But the more I see this girl, the more I like her.
So seeing each other "once in a while," is just setting me up for failure.
My last relationship was a disaster - and the contamination was on my behalf. It lasted four years but should have ended after two.
I was a cheater. I lived a double life. On one end, I was the caring boyfriend who would do anything for this girl. On the other, I was the smooth-operating player who would wreck things so that I could want her back again. Call it my Achilles heel: Always finding a way to wreck a good thing.
No doubt she was a great girl. We just finally mustered up the courage to tell each other that the relationship was broken into too many pieces to put back together.
Now that I'm single, my brother tells me I should enjoy that freedom.
But since I've met this brown-eyed brunette, my interest in other women has faded. In Santa Barbara, that shouldn't be possible. There's no such thing as a recession on pretty gals in this town. Yet her rich character sets her apart.
So I've found myself trying to be the person I wasn't in my last relationship.
While I've waited for the moments I'd see her again, I've turned a cheek on many-a-drunken kiss and let go when other women attempt to hold my hand.
What's wrong with me!? Why can't I just be cool with "once in a while"? This should be the ideal situation, right? 'The Book' says I shouldn't have to feel guilty hitting on other women.
Maybe I'm just an amateur to the single life. Maybe I'm playing a fool. Maybe I'm fascinated by this girl because it's been so long since I've been single. Or maybe I'm not numb like many of my seasoned college-aged peers who have no problem moving onto the next one. Maybe...
Amongst the confusion, what I do know is this:
I'm not taking it further with other women because I'd rather just be me with this girl, even if she may be a rebound. The me with nothing to hide. The me without the taste of guilt sitting at the tip of my tongue. The me that kisses her - and means it. The me I'd like to be. And that's who I've been.
So I'm gonna do what makes me happy, and ride this one 'til the wheels fall off. Even if I may be at failure's front door.
Damn, I'm a sucker for love.