...things haven't changed much...

Manners (Part 2)

The cigarette smoking John is primarily what inspired me to review the laundry list of piss poor manners I've seen displayed over my dating history. But no story sticks out more than the blatant disrespect of John and his inability to use a tissue...

He has been mentioned previously, so don't think that these are all different men that I've dated. I might enjoy the more nocturnal activities, but I'm not a total whore.

John and I had been broken up for awhile. As part of my efforts to clean the slate and start fresh, I decided to purchase a new bed, from start to finish. Bed, box spring, frame, headboard...the whole nine yards. And as a declaration of my independence and ability to invest in my new bed, I paid for delivery and mattress removal (much to my father's delight)

On the day that the mattress set was to be delivered, I stripped down my old mattress in preparation of the men to haul it away. I tossed the sheets in the laundr and the mattress protector in the trash (no, it's not a rubber sheet - stop that!) and discovered, to my horror, a quarter sized collection of boogers, stuck securely in a nearly hidden location on my mattress. It would have been under the protector thingy.

It was John's side of the bed from when he'd stay the night.

I can only summise that each night while I was fast asleep, dreaming of better things, John would pick his nose and, for lack of a tissue, he'd simply wipe the offending booger on my bed.

Because the bathroom was so far away.

Because I didn't keep tissue or toilet paper on my nightstand.

Because he felt that he was within his rights to wipe his excrement on my bed. When is it within anyone's rights to do such an offending thing? And why would you think that something like that would possibly be okay? I guess I was raised differently because an action like that is never in the realm of possibility.

I don't know if it's a lack of a proper upbringing with manners or that he simply didn't care about my property (and me). But when I confronted John (because at this point I was so pissed off that I didn't really give two shits about what he had to say about it) he denied it all. I reminded him of the numerous times I've busted him picking his nose in front of me as well as the handkerchief he carries with him (except when he's in bed and you know, the hankie in his pocket in his pants on the floor is too far away to simply reach down and pick up to use....much more convenient and sensible to simply wipe your nose guts on my bed...duh). Not surprisingly, he wasn't able to admit fault nor was he able to apologize.

And the manners (or lackthereof) continue...boys, boys, boys....

Manners? (Part 1)

It's been a busy week between work, family, and friends. There's been quite a bit of internal rearranging and I have to say, I attribute part of my new found confidence to the relief I get when I crank out another disgusting story from my dating history.

With the development of technology and how it applies to our dating and love lives (or one-night-stand, hook up, fuck buddy lives), manners seem to have fallen by the wayside. No more are the days when a nice man smiles at the pretty girl as he holds open the door. When do lashes bat as an invitation to continue conversation or engage in flirtation? It's been at least a decade since I met someone face to face in a comfortable, sweet sort of way.

John was a friend of friends. I had known of him for several years and was interested in getting to know him more. We had seen each other and exchanged conversation from time to time but it wasn't until after an evening at the theater that we were able to talk and get to know each other. It certainly helps to invite alcohol into the situation, especially when there's an obvious tension.

We argued, something that continued to carry on in our painfully long relationship. In particular he was telling me how much he hates children. I don't very much care for children myself but I don't vehemently hate them. Especially when they're not interfering with my life; bad parenting, on the other hand, well...we won't go there. Not today.

I told John that if he hated children so much he should resign himself to the idea of ever having sex again. He proclaimed he was going to get a vasectomy; I replied that he shouldn't have sex until he's had the procedure done. And round and round we went.

I was still interested despite the argument and told him I wanted to get to know him further. I'm sure it didn't sound as put together and eloquent as that but you get the idea. Rather than set a date, the man slapped me across the face.

He laughed and I slapped him back. And again, he slapped me. I left.

The next morning there was a drunken email in my facebook telling me how he didn't think I was a "bitch" (because he called me that during our argument and not surprisingly it isn't the first time I'd heard that applied to myself) and that he wanted to hang out. So we hung out. For far too long. But he never slapped me again.

Drunk or not, playful or not, I am puzzled why a slap across the face should be interpreted as an invitation for flirtation. Is that flirtation? I won't put the blame entirely on John; he gave me negative attention which I sucked up. I tolerated the slap. I tolerated a lot of stuff in that relationship. I lowered the bar of what is tolerable in a relationship and I will own that to my dying day. I am not the first woman who has done this, sadly...and it seems almost as if men are allowed to behave like children and women are their toys. It's my fault, women's faults, media's fault, men's fault...whatever. Fortunately, however, it seems as though the older I get, the more confident I get, and the less bullshit I'll tolerate.

And I'll certainly not allow a man to ever strike me again.

You Want...What??

While most of my tales of woe are from years past, this entry comes from a very recent episode. It leaves me wondering what kind of message I put out towards men. However, I was assured, by a male friend, that his request was merely a last-ditch effort for some fun.

Last week I was scheduled to go out on a date (I know, totally going back on what I have said in the past, but to be perfectly honest here, I'm lonely...and I haven't given up hope completely). About a half hour or so before said date, the gentleman texted me to let me know he was a smoker. A bit of a heavy smoker. I replied, asking him what "heavy smoker" meant. Apparently that encompasses a half pack to a pack a day.

As a former "heavy smoker" myself (I could have out-smoked him back in my Milwaukee days, easily), I can appreciate the stress relief that cigarettes provide. I can also appreciate the struggle it can be to get away from those cigarettes. And even I, now, cannot claim to be a one hundred percent non-smoker. I like to have a cigarette in the evenings before bed.

But I cannot get involved with a heavy smoker. It's just a lifestyle choice.

It would have been different had he indicated that he was trying to quit and so on. But that wasn't ever mentioned. I told him that I couldn't get involved and on his merry way he went. I cast no judgment (I didn't say "ewww you're sick" or better, "ewwww ur sik) but just let him know that his choice was incompatible with my choices.

I thought nothing of it all weekend.

But it's not the weekend anymore, now is it? No, it's Monday. A cool, rainy, muddy, overcast crappy Monday. So all bets are off. Bring on the jerks!

Shortly before lunch, a text message came through on my phone. Generally I don't really pay much attention to this but this one caught my attention. It was from this John, asking me how my weekend was. I replied that it was fine and asked him if he needed something.

Ladies. Never, ever ask a man if he NEEDS something. We all know what they "need."

"Wanna be FWB?" For the layperson, FWB means "friends with benefits." Aka, no strings attached sex.

I was flabbergasted.

Okay, so everyone has their sexual needs, right? But what part of "I can't get involved with you because you're a heavy smoker" indicates "lets have free-range sex"? I guess this must be part of the strange world of men, because I don't understand (nor do I speak) that code.

Okay, look. I'm no spring chick here. I'm overweight, I'm crass, and I'm a mom. I'm bitter about plenty of stuff and I hardly "giggle". I'm nearly 32. This doesn't make me "old" but I'm not a horny teenager either. Even if I was as horny as a person would need to be for this kind of arrangement to work, who the hell has the time? Kid, work, household, cooking, laundry, bathing, mowing/shoveling, car maintenance...oh yes...sign me up for an at-your-leisure fuck fest. I'll squeeze that in there sometime.

As a hint, boys, if you want to get into the pants of a tired, single mom with sarcasm dripping from her pores and a bit of neurosis, asking for a lay is not the way to do it. Try offering to make or deliver dinner. Try handing out back and/or foot rubs (preferably both). Chocolate is good. Give your intended a special night out...AFTER she's had a nap and a glass of wine. But for heaven's sake, don't ask her to screw you!

Whether this guy was making a last ditch effort to get some lovin, it doesn't excuse his crude behavior. If you cannot say something to a woman...to her face, don't think that hiding behind a computer or text messages somehow justifies you being a complete wanker. It doesn't. In fact, it just makes you look even more creepy.

Otherness

I can't claim to be the nicest person. I'm not. I, just like others, will cast judgement on "otherness" though most of the time I try to keep it to myself. I'm sure that I'm judged as much as the next person; my hair is greasy or not shiny enough; I'm too fat and too short. I'm this, that, or the other. It's human nature. I used to feel incredibly guilty about casting judgment on others but really, how else do we weed out folks we would rather not associate with? The statement is not meant to be elitist but rather as a reflection on how nature works. We prefer to associate with folks who have similar customs, likes and dislikes, hobbies, and so on. It's just the way things are. And just because we are different it does not make some folks better or worse than others. Just different.

I know there's this whole culture of being completely tolerating and accepting of everyone and that we are all love and we should all pretty much be totally in love with others. That sort of culture is not for me. There is some stuff that I just do not care for. There are some lifestyle choices that are not for me.

However, that being said, I must reiterate that just because it's not to my preference or taste and that I might have a negative association with "it", it doesn't make it wrong. It's just not for me.

John, recently in and out of my life faster than...whatever metaphor expresses a quick experience, had sexual preferences that were beyond what I was capable of engaging. While I never wanted him to feel uncomfortable with expressing his sexual preferences towards me, I also had no desire to share those sexual preferences with him. He noted, several times, how great it was that he was comfortable in sharing with me his desires as his previous relationships never left room for conversations such as those, let alone expanding on those preferences.

Being one who understands the complex nature of sexuality and one who comprehends that there is a vast array of sexual choices across the globe, I am certainly not one to judge. Quite simply. And I would not want one to judge my sexual preferences (though they have been judged time and time again. And no, for the last time, bare feet are sexy but that does not mean that I have a foot FETISH).

John had a marriage that, according to him, was hell on earth. His ex wife was hardly the type to change the sexual situation from missionary to anything creative or, heaven forbid, more fulfilling (for both him as well as her). I run the risk on bagging on a woman that I don't even know, but I have to question a woman who refuses to engage in oral sex. I know, I know...it's a PREFERENCE. But sometimes we ignore our preferences in order to provide pleasure to our partners, correct? Apparently the excuse was that her mouth was too small and it "hurt" to "do that disgusting thing." (I don't think it's disgusting).

After John explained all of that, I completely understand why he was did not ever share his tranny pegging fantasy with this woman. If she viewed oral sex as disgusting, then putting on a strap on and drilling him in the ass wasn't about to happen either.

I can honestly say that I can appreciate a slightly depraved sexual fantasy life. However, I had no desire to dress up like a man dressing up like a woman, wear a strap on and dominate my partner. I did not want to show him how to apply makeup and select the perfect shade of lipstick. I did not want to share my knickers with him. He can do that all on his own but I wasn't going to participate.

At one point in my hesitation - no, refusal - to engage in that sort of lifestyle I was told that in order to have a good relationship, I'd be required of me to increase my sex drive for him. For him.

I guess I missed that bit in sex ed, but I've always thought that my sex drive was my sex drive for me to share with others as I choose and see fit. I've been wrong before, according to him, this would be another instance where I was wrong.

While I was busy understanding and accepting his choices he spent a lot of time telling me how and what I should do..how I should feel...and what I should do. It felt incredibly hypocritical. I felt that while I need to accept his desires, he didn't have to accept the fact that I didn't want to.

I never did venture down that path with him. After learning of the "requirements" of our sexual relationship my sex drive pretty much dropped off (and frankly, has yet to recover). We broke up not too long after that.

We exchanged the few things we had left at each others homes. I put his, ahem, items, in a bag and tied the bag shut. I left his stuff at his doorstep...where I found my items. Enclosed was a lengthy letter pointing out all of my faults, true or not, with one particular slander that continues to haunt me, in that I am, apparently, a tremendous whore. Whore.

Tranny Pegging Fantasy and MORE!

...some of you readers have been waiting to hear the weird whacky world of the fetishes I've encountered...

Stay tuned....this one is going to take a bit ;)

I am Definitely Crazy

The term "crazy" gets tossed around quite a bit. I've had it applied to me a handful of times, right at the end of the relationship. I personally prefer it when there is laughter attached to the label "hahaha, you're fucking crazy Tessa!" Am I really? Or are you just emotionally lazy.

My sister was home for spring break, up from Austin Texas. She and I had decided to head to the Science Museum of MN on a Friday as I was also on a spring break. It felt like an enjoyable way to spend a very early spring day.

John had expressed an interest of joining us the previous week and a half or so. I told him that he was welcome to join us. He explained that he'd have to find out what his work schedule would be like on that Friday and that he'd let me know.

Usually he knew what his work schedule was like the Sunday before the start of the week. So Sunday evening I called him and he said he wasn't sure yet but that he'd let me know. Knowing that John was notorious for NOT letting me know (especially when it came to my time -- more times than I can count had I been waiting on him for hours, without even so much as a returned text message. This after I had arranged babysitting for my daughter and turning down plans with other, more reliable friends. But it's my fault - I tolerated it! Maybe that's the real part that made me crazy...).

I hadn't heard from him by Wednesday so I shot him a quick text to say "hey, what's up for Friday - are you coming?" which was responded with a two hour verbal lashing about how I was nagging, bitchy, bossy, and so on. It got so bad that I turned off my phone and held back the tears until I could get home from work.

The very next day I had joined him and some friends to go out and have drinks. I was speaking with one girlfriend and telling her how my sister was home for the week and how the following day we were going to the Science Museum.

Keep in mind that I still did not know if John was joining us.

On our way walking home, John asked me why I hadn't included him in the plans to the museum while talking to our friend about it. (This was not a good way to start the conversation).

"Because I don't know if you're joining us."

"Well, it made me feel left out and I thought it was rude."

"I didn't want to ask you if you were coming because of what happened on Wednesday; I wasn't interested in being dragged through that again."

"It was rude."

"Well, we're going with or without you. So are you coming with us tomorrow?"

Long pause.

"No, I have to work."

I'm pretty sure my heart was going to explode; I was furious. He dared to tell me that not including him in the plans was insulting and rude and it hurt his feelings but he didn't bother to tell me he wasn't going to be joining us?

"When did you find out that you are working tomorrow?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"After our text conversation? I thought you were going to let me know right away?"

I felt I had full grounds to lay into him about how dare he attempt to make me feel guilty over something I had no idea about...because he had made me feel guilty about asking about it...even though he had the answer.

But I'm crazy. I'm crazy because I expressed my feelings about this situation.

I found and article (Labeling Women Crazy) that expresses my thoughts better than I can about the label "crazy." If you have ever been called crazy or have used this term to hurt someone, I employ you to read this article. You might learn something about yourself (I did -- as in, I started to believe that I was "crazy" because my emotions were inconvenient for my father, my brother, and nearly every relationship I've had since...)

I have never felt more sane and stable in my entire life than I do right now because I simply refuse to listen to the intellectually and emotionally lazy label that so many men like to apply to women...feel free to call me crazy...but beware...refusing to consider that I'm any emotion other than the one you're capable of dealing with makes you...lazy...

Is It Me or Is It Men?

I'm in my thirties and no closer to a successful relationship than I was in my early twenties. And forget teens; the only wonderful relationship I had back then was with a man who came out of the closet several years later. And all that time I thought he was just very respectful and didn't want to push me into something I wasn't ready for. In a way, it was a blessing in disguise that he didn't pressure me into sex. Too many kids are having sex these days, way too young. That's just my little opinion (because, you know, my opinions are so sparse).

While I reflect on my disastrous dating history I see that the majority of the men I have chosen to spend time with...attempt to become intimate with...have all had a few things in common. Aside from me, of course. But stripping away all of their own personal little nuances, the common theme seems to be selfishness. Maybe not so selfish but more or less oblivious.

Like the previous entry...the man who couldn't bring himself to go camping with me that it caused a car accident. What is so painfully difficult about setting aside a weekend for something that your partner would like to do?

My ex husband had a serious selfish streak in him. At one point he actually requested that I pick up a second job so I could support his car hobby. Needless to say, I put my foot down on that situation and he was the one who picked up a second job. The second job came complete with a willing mistress and eventually divorce.

But it really is all the little things. I'm a pretty tough cookie when it comes to taking care of myself. That doesn't exempt me from the needs and wants of nearly every human being on the planet. For instance, while ill, I like a little coddling -- some tea and footrubs, soup served up, etc. I recall one time when I was horribly sick with a cold or the flu, I had asked my then boyfriend to come by and bring me some soup and company. Several hours later, a text message comes in from him to let me know that soup was in a jar outside of my door; he didn't want to come in and catch the plague. He did include that he hopes I would feel better.

Soup in a jar on my doorstep. I cried.

It seems as though all the niceties...all the reasons for being in a relationship are elusive and escape my eager and often too desperate grasp. Christmas gifts with highly vulgar statements...car accidents to avoid a camping trip...soup on the doorstep....

There are stacks and stacks of records of this sort of thing throughout my dating history. While I seem to pick up these types, I'm not so concerned with the individual man with his individual needs. Hell, I'm plenty selfish! But what I'm concerned with is exactly what is it that attracts me to this particular type? I could go into it, it's all very Freudian. But what's the point?

I dated a guy back when I was a vegan. A hardcore vegan. I really enjoyed not eating any animal products and while the choices that other people make are certainly up to them, I also would like my choices to be respected.

John invited me over for dinner; I thought it was quite sweet! I arrived only to notice the smell of beef wafting through the air. He made us meatloaf. I cannot excuse this as anything other than a seriously jerk move as he knew I was a vegan.

I can't blame them all for treating me like that; after all, I'm the one who stuck around. I tolerated some of that nonsense. And why would anyone want to bother with caring about my needs when I wasn't caring about my needs? Rather, I was more concerned with making sure I wasn't making them uncomfortable.

A little while ago I was very sick with pneumonia and a nasty ear infection. I stayed home but asked John to swing by and make me some tea and whatnot. He refused as his socks were wet from earlier at work. He refused any night that week as it was this or that or the other. But this time, I did not tolerate it when I was told that I was being selfish for wanting tea and comfort. No, I was not going to listen to that.

Wet socks will never trump pneumonia.

Vroom Vroom CRASH!

Today at lunch a coworker made a jest towards me; she asked me if I had been in a cruddy mood yesterday (I had) and went on to tell me that it had influenced her mood. She was taking a walk with her hubby and picked a fight. I told her that I wasn't going to take responsibility for her fighting. Don't worry though, as far as I know, it was all in good fun.

It made me reflect upon the catalyst for a breakup. A BIG breakup.

Ohhh, I loved John. I wanted to marry him and spend the rest of my life with him! I'd enthusiastically join in with his hobbies, regardless of whether or not I found them interesting. I embraced his lifestyle and attempted to get to know his family. I am, in fact, still friends with his family and we have many mutual friends.

But talk about the blame game. In the last six months or so of our relationship I had started to become far more assertive. Some of my big hobbies include traveling and camping, both are activities that he did not care for. That's perfectly acceptable, of course, though disappointing because getting him to go traveling or camping with me was like pulling teeth. I would travel all over for his solar powered electric car stuff but a camping trip? Forget it.

The autumn before my second year back at school I had gone ahead and scheduled a late summer trip for myself up to my (hands down) favorite place on earth. It's fabulous that my favorite place on earth is a five hour drive along Lake Superior, especially since I've lived in Alaska, traveled around Europe a little bit and spent several weeks in Australia. Grand Marais MN is my recharging station; it fills my heart and soothes my soul. However ridiculous that sounds.

I had extended the invitation to John but insisted that it wasn't necessary that he join me. I explained that this trip was something I had to do for myself, regardless of his company. I did thoroughly explain to him that camping in Grand Marais is very, VERY laid back; I haul my sweet queen sized air mattress (complete with battery operated pump -- you won't get my blowing that thing up with my mouth!), I read a lot, I draw and sometimes bring watercolors. I like to hit the trails and indulge in a little Lake Superior trout caviar. There is no agenda other than to rest and relax. Sleep. Make great food. Stay up late and drink. He said he'd like to join me. Granted.

A month before the trip he expressed how he wasn't interested in going. I said that it was perfectly okay if he decided to stay back. No, he insisted that he wanted to join me, acknowledging that it was important to me. Then a few weeks before the trip, the same conversation came up again. I, again, told him he did not have to go. He told me he had spoken with a mutual friend and that she said that it was respectful that he join me up there and that it was special to me; he should be happy that I'd want to share that with him.

The Tuesday (how could I EVER forget what's about to happen) before the trip, I received a phone call from him. He'd been in a car accident. I immediately asked if he was okay, he was. I couldn't talk long due to being at work. But that even, thy shit hitteth thy fan...

John explained to me that he'd blacked out (oh, I should insert that no one was hurt but his work van was totaled and there was some property damage) and had driven off the road. I asked him how and why it happened -- it was explained to me that he'd been thinking about the camping trip and it stressed him out so badly that he blacked out.

...my camping trip stressed him out so badly that he blacked out and totaled his van...

...

{REPEAT: I did thoroughly explain to him that camping in Grand Marais is very, VERY laid back; I haul my sweet queen sized air mattress (complete with battery operated pump -- you won't get my blowing that thing up with my mouth!), I read a lot, I draw and sometimes bring watercolors. I like to hit the trails and indulge in a little Lake Superior trout caviar. There is no agenda other than to rest and relax. Sleep. Make great food. Stay up late and drink.}

...my camping trip stressed him out so badly that he blacked out and totaled his van...

If your mouth is on the ground then you are reacting appropriately.

If you are at a loss for words, the appropriate phrase is "what the fuck?" Yes, "what the fuck."

I ended it that night.

(he's still single...but then again, so am I)

P.S. I went camping anyway, by myself, and had (hands down) one of the best experiences of my life. In a way, it was a blessing in disguise 

The Wild, Wild World of Online Dating

I feel that it's particularly important to bring up the subject of online dating on a day like today. The sun is out and shining and despite the biting wind, the snow continues to melt and you can simply FEEL spring in the air! So for those of us who find ourselves single, spring fever creeps in around the edges and the annoyance of being alone seems to stick out even more. Though I guess I can't say that any season is exempt...in the summer who can you make love to when you're out camping in the woods...sharing a bonfire and beers...a skinny dip; in the fall how beautiful are those autumn leaves when you are all alone? Hot cider and pumpkin patches are just not the same when you're flying solo. Then winter...the long, cold, dreary and snowy winter (especially this year!). Christmas presents, Valentines Day and even if you don't celebrate those holidays, there's always the longing to snuggle up under covers while watching the snow silently fall outside.

When you're single, you are painfully reminded of it during any of these events. It is easy for a coupled off person to say "you don't have to have a boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse; it's okay to be alone." Is it okay to be alone? With all the media bearing down on the events surrounding equality, I find myself thinking "I wish I had someone to fight for, whether they are a man or a woman." Obviously that's not the point and I'm feeling especially selfish about the whole thing but really. In our society, you're a freak if you're not coupled off by a certain age. And if you go past that age and you're not coupled off then the dating pool is just a puddle, mostly filled with oil spills, spit, and whatever refuse you see on the street.

To make matters even worse, a person like me, straddled with a child and divorced once, has been veritably marked with a scarlet A; it's assumed that since I'm a single mom, I'm lazy, on all sorts of assistance programs, there's a ton of baby-momma/daddy-drama, that I want a Mister with a wallet to bring home the bacon and so on. Thank you America, for making us the criminals! But I might want to save that soap box speech for a different kind of blog.

I have been trying out online dating for a numbers of years. It has proven to be mostly disappointing though I have to admit that I've made a few good friends through online dating. Though things didn't work out in the romance department, friendships were formed and I can actually ask for insight as to why I happen to struggle so damn much.

What I find disturbing about the online dating world is the high amount of dishonesty. I won't limit this one to men because I'm sure that women are just as bad as trying to pull the wool over someone's eyes as men. The disappointing part is that there are honest men and women on dating sites that are looking for companionship while juggling kids and career and all the other challenges that life offers. Sadly, though, there are enough dishonest jerk-faced crazy-pants idiots out there who ruin it for the truly honest folks.

I have rule about posting whether or not I have a child. I don't. I don't because there are some seriously messed up men on the internet (no way!) who are perfectly content to troll around for single vulnerable women with children to prey on. I don't keep my motherhood a secret but I do not make it well known...

...case en pointe...

For awhile I did display that I have a child. A man contacted me via an online dating site. He included his full name. Now, here in Wisconsin we have a great little online database where we can, for free, give our potential dates (and friends and employers and neighbors and anyone else...) a quickie background check This guy gave me his name, to which I immediately stuck in the database. Ping! He's a sex offender. A multi-offense sex offender. "Sexual assault to a minor." What? And he GAVE me his name; obviously not the brightest crayon in the box. But how many men (and women) are out there trolling with the intention of committing acts of crime? And what of the states (and countries) that don't have free online databases of criminal activity? How are those single parents supposed to protect themselves?

No, I choose to leave my parental status a private matter. I don't want to attract the aforementioned unsavory types and frankly, dating is my business until it needs to be her business as well, and it's my job to protect her to the best of my ability even if it means protecting her from my own bad choices.