"To the Bat Cave Oedipus"

"My mom is good enough, smart enough, and doggone it, I love her. As for my girlfriend...well, she's okay...

Joe Lust

So you say you can't find a suitable girlfriend...

Just when you think she is the "perfect one" and you're ready to annoint her goddess extrodinairre and about to pledge your undying faith (on weekends) and commit to her on an almost full time basis--and then ask her if she can invite her best friend over for a tri-bangathon--a major red flag goes up and she commits a major faux pas (e.g. she won't sew your name tags on your basketball shorts before you go to summer camp).

You toss her back in the sea and throw the proverbial line back in the water for another fishy, complaining to your friends that she..."just wasn't enough like my mom."

Alert! Warning! Stop, not in the name of love, but in the name of some kind of shit that goes down in the South every day. Proceed to the nearest shrink, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, or a half-way healthy relationship. Yes, you have crossed over into Oedipusville--you want to murder your father so you can sleep with your mother. Can you say: Springer material?

You don't want to know how Oedipus' story ended...yet.

Chances are, your dirt is buried so deep you may not even know it exists. But if you go through a quiver of women as fast as George W. Bush lacerates the English syntax, "Houston, we may have a problem." Yeah, your rocket wants to blast off in the wrong direction and the command post needs to turn your ship around and de-program that incest-infested vessel before you end up challenging Pa to a Battle of the Foreskins and wind up being tried in a court of "your peers." (I don't know about you, but my peers speak perfect English and are clever enough to never have to serve on a jury.)

It's a fact, some of us like our mothers, others of us despise them.

Actually let me put it in an equation for those of you who excelled at math better than English:

You + Older Women = You did not get enough mommy-ing (read: love) in your life, you are seeking compensation; therefore the incessant hanging out at the Nursing Home.

You + Any Woman who is "not enough" = Chances are you actually liked your mom and have set your expectations far too high for an average woman. By average, I mean, psychotic, of course.

Okay, okay, so now you're asking me: Is there any way to make it a healthy relationship, Joe? And I say, yes, but you need to constantly repeat these affirmations to yourself:

1) My mom is good enough, smart enough, and doggone it, I love her. As for my girlfriend...well she's okay, and that's...okay...for now.

2) No matter how many wombs I spend a lifetime trying to climb into, I will never emerge out again from my mommy's and have free passage to ride the nipple of my choice.

3) Click your heels three times: There is no such thing as perfection, there is no such thing as perfection, there is no such thing as...a Maude for you Harold, a Mrs. Robinson for you Benjamin, a Siefried for you Roy.

If all the above fails to help you, then g'head, make your own bed, again, Oeddy: Slay your father, marry your mother, and then when you find her hung in the bedroom, you can use her broaches to blind yourself; not how you used to blind yourself in junior high--with the National Geographics in the bathroom--nope, this one will be ugly and make your self-imposed exile to the bat cave a dark and disturbing experience. But have no fear, no hugs from mommy, but maybe you'll find an Al Qaeda freedom fucker there to comfort you in your doom.

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