It never ceases to amaze me how we can make such bad decisions in choosing partners and fail to a. learn from our mistakes, and b. listen to our friends' advice. You can always see the mistakes your friends are making, but when it comes to evaluating your own, many of us have horse blinders firmly attached to the sides of our heads and the sage advice from people who care about us falls on deaf ears. When fall hits, I always have a sense of needing to take stock of my life and since it's fall now, that inevitably means talking to my friends about our dating and marriage disasters, and this year, hopefully learning from their mistakes as well as my own. As Lauren says, "I've been dating the same guy my entire life, he just keeps changing his name," but I think we all want to break the pattern.
I called Ava on Saturday and we had a chat about her latest dating disaster. It wasn't actually dating, since the guy tried to pick her up in a very sneaky fashion, although she certainly has had her share of traumatic moments with men. She went out with Stavros (who turned out to be bisexual, if not truly gay) for two years, and the only fight we've ever had in our long friendship was about him. She also dated one guy who, when we were all out to dinner together, began clapping out of the blue. I asked him why he was clapping and he said, "Handclap to God! I gotta give props to God. He was having a really good day when he made me." He was serious, too.
Back to the story at hand, though, Ava had gone out to dinner last week with a friend of hers to a new spot in their city. The waiter asked them if they wanted to be on the VIP list for future events, and both replied in the affirmative. Ava didn't have a business card on her, so she wrote down her phone number. The next morning, she received a voicemail from the waiter, asking her to have drinks with him over the weekend. Realizing that the VIP list didn't exist, she called her friend with whom she'd gone to dinner and they jointly decided that this guy was sketchy. They set about Googling and checking offender databases and discovered that the waiter had several convictions for assault and battery, as well as a lengthy prison term for road rage in which he attacked a driver with brass knuckles, leaving the victim with metal plates and screws in his face. (Really, who drives around with brass knuckles in their car?) Adding to the absurdity is the fact that you can easily rhyme his last name with "retarded."
"Poor MODI," I told her. "You really do know how to pick them, don't you?"
She laughed. "First I turn guys gay, and now I'm attracting felons. Who do you think wins the Worst Boyfriend Lifetime Achievement Award, me or Lauren?"
That made me hoot, because Lauren has a couple of felons in her past, as well as the gay porn loving ex-husband. For a time, she dated a guy with a very long rap sheet who had schizophrenia to boot. When he wasn't taking his meds, he'd go for weeks without showers or brushing his teeth, but Lauren loved the person that he had been in the beginning and she stuck it out for a time. (Again, the only fight I've ever gotten in with Lauren was over this dude. I think there's a pattern here.) He continued his nefarious activities and, though Lauren wasn't involved, she was aware of it. Once they were driving in the car together and she was putting on lipstick in the mirror. He asked, "What are you doing, getting ready for your mugshot?" When she was finally ready to date again, she put up a profile on a dating website and ended it with, "I'd prefer if you didn't have a rap sheet long enough to wallpaper the Great Wall of China."
Of course, I'm in the running for the Worst Boyfriend Lifetime Achievement Award myself. On top of my painfully apparent poor decision making skills in choosing a marriage partner and a stubborn refusal to listen to my friends' concerns, I dated a sociopath before Ex who was my first real heartbreak. I was so anxiety-ridden over him that I couldn't eat for months. I lost a tremendous amount of weight, becoming so skeletal that when I got on the scale it would just flash, "Eat a sandwich!!" I also briefly dated a much older dethroned mayor and talk show host with a history of bouncing checks at massage parlors. His first line to me when he picked me up for our first date was, "Am I older than your father?" He is. Oh, and did I mention the Senate hopeful whose dreams were dashed when his divorce records were unsealed, revealing that he'd forced his beautiful and famous ex-wife to attend sex clubs with him? I see that award looming on my personal horizon.
All of this to say that despite the collective mistakes that Ava, Lauren and I have committed and continue to commit, I still believe in learning experiences. The arduous divorce process, which is stalled for me until the end of the month when I have a conference with Ex, is teaching me that even serious lapses in judgment that result in litigation transpire for a reason. I just hope I can detach my blinders on the next go-around. This time, I'll listen when my friends give me advice.
Showing posts with label Dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dating. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
I wasn't going to talk about this but....
A couple of weeks ago I spent the evening at Lauren's house. It was Girls' Night, but the other girls were busy and Lauren's mom, Double D, was in town visiting and staying with her daughter. I love Double D so it was the perfect opportunity to catch up with her on a low-key evening and hang with Lauren's son TC, whom I adore.
After TC went to bed, the conversation eventually turned to (put on your big surprise face) sex. It all started because Lauren and I were rehashing a recent conversation we'd had with Anastasia for Double D.
"D, Anastasia still hasn't had the sex talk with her kids and she's freaking out," I said.
"How old are her kids?" Double D asked.
"Fourteen and twelve," Lauren answered.
"And Anastasia asked us to have the birds and the bees talk for her," I added, gesturing between Lauren and myself, "because she's afraid that she's going to be too, 'It's all about YOU, not the other person, so make sure YOUR needs are taken care of,' and she doesn't want to give them the wrong idea."
"Uh, Mom," Lauren announced. Loudly. I knew something was coming. "Speaking of which, you never gave me the birds and the bees talk. Almost, did you get that talk from your parents?"
I almost spit out a mouthful of wine as I looked at Double D's eyes widen with each passing moment. "Oh, geez, my Dad would never have talked about that, but my mom gave me that talk when I was 5 because I asked where babies came from. It was pretty clinical. She even went and got a book from the library. I remember the first page had a dot on it and said, 'You started out smaller than this pencil dot.' Then it detailed the procreation process with clothed stick figures lying in bed together. I swear, I thought I'd get pregnant lying fully clothed next to a guy until I was in college."
"Well," Lauren said dryly, taking a sip of wine and arranging her face into the I'm-about-to-drop-a-Lauren-line-on-you-bitches face. "Thanks to neither of my parents giving me The Talk, I didn't have my first orgasm until I was 35, MOM!!! Thanks a lot."
Double D hooted with laughter while she delivered a line right back, "Well, HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW??"
Poor Double D.... although her line cracked me up, I do know her plight. You see, sex with Ex was not that great. Frankly, most of the time it was downright lame. It wasn't that bad before the wedding (it might have actually been good then, but I shudder to think about it as I choke back some bile), but starting Day 2 of the honeymoon, the tracks shifted, directing the bedroom compartment of the marital train through Dullsville with a layover in Rarely City, final destination: Nevertown.
There are specific reasons for this, which I'll discuss soon, but at the time I was simply shocked that a man would reject his new wife for such (to me) insignificant reasons. To be brutally honest (and totally TMI, so Mom, if you're reading this, you can skip over the rest of the paragraph), in our first year of marriage I once went into his office in the house specifically to give him *ahem* uh, non-reciprocated pleasure, and he actually pushed me off of his lap. With force. I landed unceremoniously on my ass and I can only imagine the look of shock on my face. Reliving the memory now makes me giggle, but frankly, at the time it was a tad humiliating.
I had a health scare one year to the day after we were married and that picked things up a bit since he was grateful that I wasn't ill, but the sex dropped off again shortly thereafter and I was once again left to ponder what was wrong with me. (As I said in my first post, did I grow a third nipple? No!)
The evening with Lauren and Double D ended up with D proclaiming that she'd just had a very informative education. This was after the detailed description of what my friend Sarah calls "the battery operated boyfriend." D's face was priceless as we detailed the different models, functions, prices, and places in which you could obtain such "boyfriends."
But the conversation left me wondering about the importance of sex in a relationship. Perhaps in our parents' time it didn't assume the role it does now, for whatever reason. But at this point it's certainly of primary importance. I can say with clarity that deprivation on either party's part is the beginning of the slippery slope. After that transpired, at least in my case (and I'm not assigning directionality, i.e., did the deprivation lead to the dissolve or did the dissolve lead to the deprivation?), the end was nigh.
Well, at least I know what I'm getting Double D for Christmas this year. It's easy to pick out, since I know personally all too well.
After TC went to bed, the conversation eventually turned to (put on your big surprise face) sex. It all started because Lauren and I were rehashing a recent conversation we'd had with Anastasia for Double D.
"D, Anastasia still hasn't had the sex talk with her kids and she's freaking out," I said.
"How old are her kids?" Double D asked.
"Fourteen and twelve," Lauren answered.
"And Anastasia asked us to have the birds and the bees talk for her," I added, gesturing between Lauren and myself, "because she's afraid that she's going to be too, 'It's all about YOU, not the other person, so make sure YOUR needs are taken care of,' and she doesn't want to give them the wrong idea."
"Uh, Mom," Lauren announced. Loudly. I knew something was coming. "Speaking of which, you never gave me the birds and the bees talk. Almost, did you get that talk from your parents?"
I almost spit out a mouthful of wine as I looked at Double D's eyes widen with each passing moment. "Oh, geez, my Dad would never have talked about that, but my mom gave me that talk when I was 5 because I asked where babies came from. It was pretty clinical. She even went and got a book from the library. I remember the first page had a dot on it and said, 'You started out smaller than this pencil dot.' Then it detailed the procreation process with clothed stick figures lying in bed together. I swear, I thought I'd get pregnant lying fully clothed next to a guy until I was in college."
"Well," Lauren said dryly, taking a sip of wine and arranging her face into the I'm-about-to-drop-a-Lauren-line-on-you-bitches face. "Thanks to neither of my parents giving me The Talk, I didn't have my first orgasm until I was 35, MOM!!! Thanks a lot."
Double D hooted with laughter while she delivered a line right back, "Well, HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW??"
Poor Double D.... although her line cracked me up, I do know her plight. You see, sex with Ex was not that great. Frankly, most of the time it was downright lame. It wasn't that bad before the wedding (it might have actually been good then, but I shudder to think about it as I choke back some bile), but starting Day 2 of the honeymoon, the tracks shifted, directing the bedroom compartment of the marital train through Dullsville with a layover in Rarely City, final destination: Nevertown.
There are specific reasons for this, which I'll discuss soon, but at the time I was simply shocked that a man would reject his new wife for such (to me) insignificant reasons. To be brutally honest (and totally TMI, so Mom, if you're reading this, you can skip over the rest of the paragraph), in our first year of marriage I once went into his office in the house specifically to give him *ahem* uh, non-reciprocated pleasure, and he actually pushed me off of his lap. With force. I landed unceremoniously on my ass and I can only imagine the look of shock on my face. Reliving the memory now makes me giggle, but frankly, at the time it was a tad humiliating.
I had a health scare one year to the day after we were married and that picked things up a bit since he was grateful that I wasn't ill, but the sex dropped off again shortly thereafter and I was once again left to ponder what was wrong with me. (As I said in my first post, did I grow a third nipple? No!)
The evening with Lauren and Double D ended up with D proclaiming that she'd just had a very informative education. This was after the detailed description of what my friend Sarah calls "the battery operated boyfriend." D's face was priceless as we detailed the different models, functions, prices, and places in which you could obtain such "boyfriends."
But the conversation left me wondering about the importance of sex in a relationship. Perhaps in our parents' time it didn't assume the role it does now, for whatever reason. But at this point it's certainly of primary importance. I can say with clarity that deprivation on either party's part is the beginning of the slippery slope. After that transpired, at least in my case (and I'm not assigning directionality, i.e., did the deprivation lead to the dissolve or did the dissolve lead to the deprivation?), the end was nigh.
Well, at least I know what I'm getting Double D for Christmas this year. It's easy to pick out, since I know personally all too well.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Inappropriate Touching
I had a quite entertaining phone conversation with Regan the other night. What did we talk about? After catching up on the minutiae of our working lives we talked about boys, of course.
"Dude, I've met someone," she said.
"Really, who? And where?"
"We met at a coffee shop and then I went on a date with him. I really like him."
"Tell me about him!"
"A semi-retired tech guy, nice house, does photography for a hobby, and is an Iron Man triathlete. Can you Google him? You don't think he's a stalker, do you?"
So while I was Googling and reading New Boyfriend's marathon and triathlon stats to her while trying to stifle my laughter over her stalker concerns, I asked her one more crucial question.
"So, Regs, is he a good kisser?"
"Oh.... my.... gosh..... yes. And he doesn't make me itch."
"Uh, what?"
"He doesn't make me itch!"
"What do you mean, itch?" I asked.
"You know, when a guy kisses you and then your face itches? I mean, I'm like, dude, I just put foundation on and now it's flaking. That's not cool."
Thus began a conversation about unnecessary kissing, inappropriate touching and personal space invaders. Regan lives much of the time in Italy where she encounters people who constantly want to kiss on both cheeks and touch entirely too much for our more staid American upbringing. It bothers her that people constantly kiss her, leaving stringy drool stains on her cheeks, and I don't blame her.
"I mean, seriously, is it necessary to constantly kiss everyone? It's just so.... gross! Unhygienic or something," she groaned.
Our conversation reminded me of my own thoroughly unpleasant encounters with saliva-ridden kisses, inappropriate touching and personal space invading during my marriage to Ex.
Ex's family, being from a foreign culture, had a habit of always kissing on both cheeks and touching inappropriately even if you had never met the person before. Literally, I would witness his family members meeting someone on the street for the first time, and while still holding the person's right hand in the handshake, planting wet kisses on each cheek of the newfound acquaintance. I have nothing at all against other cultures' practices, but I'm originally from the northeast. We don't do that there. Ever.
I told Regan that I knew with great pain exactly what she was talking about and could actually one-up her on that score. During the first month that Ex and I were married, we had Christmas at his aunt's house. I walked into the house when his aunt, whom I'd not met until that time, opened the door and I was immediately barraged with wet kisses on both of my cheeks. In and of itself, that wasn't so bad despite my surprise at the kissing thing, but what followed truly horrified me. As I entered the front hallway, Ex's aunt put her hand on my uterus. My uterus!
She exclaimed, "You too skinny! Are you pregnant yet? I know my brother wants to be grandpa!"
I froze in awe-struck shock. Not only was I just one month into the already deteriorating marriage, but I have never wanted children and a strange, beehive-haired woman had her hand dangerously close to The Goods and I was still wiping saliva off of my face, bringing along with it my makeup. In retrospect, I believe that I must have stood there with my jaw literally hanging open as I swiped at my cheeks with the back of my hand because the aunt looked at me with what I can only guess was suspicious consternation and meandered off to the kitchen, never to speak to me again during the evening (except when I almost shattered her ice bucket, but that's another story).
Later in the relationship, I was forced to go to a holiday BBQ at Ex's parents' house. The home was filled with random people I'd never met, but all were apparently relatives. I was inevitably the odd person out at these gatherings because I didn't speak their language, so I usually sat at the kitchen table alone and waited the day out. At this particular gathering, one of Ex's many cousins came over and sat with me. After the unavoidable sloppy kiss on each cheek, she put her hand on my stomach and admonished, "You have been married way too long to not have baby. Why you no have baby? You have problem with plumbing?"
"I don't want a baby." I was too astonished to even address the plumbing comment.
At this revelation, she practically fainted. "How you don't want baby? Every woman want baby! Look at my beautiful baby here. He's three months. Isn't he most gorgeous thing you ever see?"
I'm pretty sure that my attempt at an "I like babies" face fell flat.
Later in the marriage, I attended one of Ex's family functions in which his grandmother approached me. Obligatory wet kisses ensued, after which she grabbed my right boob and, manipulating it while I was sewn to the floor in shock, announced, "Is good for to make milk for baby."
I told Regan these stories on the phone as she laughed uproariously and said, "Shut up! You're making this up!"
File this under I Couldn't Make This Up if I Tried, because it's all true. When Regan soon returns to Italy and faces the inevitable kissing onslaught, I hope she remembers that at least she isn't getting felt up by New Boyfriend's family for baby making potential. Wiping a bit of drool off of your cheek? Child's play. Graciously excusing yourself when your in-laws are your personal space invaders with a penchant for grabbing your baby maker? That takes some skill.
"Dude, I've met someone," she said.
"Really, who? And where?"
"We met at a coffee shop and then I went on a date with him. I really like him."
"Tell me about him!"
"A semi-retired tech guy, nice house, does photography for a hobby, and is an Iron Man triathlete. Can you Google him? You don't think he's a stalker, do you?"
So while I was Googling and reading New Boyfriend's marathon and triathlon stats to her while trying to stifle my laughter over her stalker concerns, I asked her one more crucial question.
"So, Regs, is he a good kisser?"
"Oh.... my.... gosh..... yes. And he doesn't make me itch."
"Uh, what?"
"He doesn't make me itch!"
"What do you mean, itch?" I asked.
"You know, when a guy kisses you and then your face itches? I mean, I'm like, dude, I just put foundation on and now it's flaking. That's not cool."
Thus began a conversation about unnecessary kissing, inappropriate touching and personal space invaders. Regan lives much of the time in Italy where she encounters people who constantly want to kiss on both cheeks and touch entirely too much for our more staid American upbringing. It bothers her that people constantly kiss her, leaving stringy drool stains on her cheeks, and I don't blame her.
"I mean, seriously, is it necessary to constantly kiss everyone? It's just so.... gross! Unhygienic or something," she groaned.
Our conversation reminded me of my own thoroughly unpleasant encounters with saliva-ridden kisses, inappropriate touching and personal space invading during my marriage to Ex.
Ex's family, being from a foreign culture, had a habit of always kissing on both cheeks and touching inappropriately even if you had never met the person before. Literally, I would witness his family members meeting someone on the street for the first time, and while still holding the person's right hand in the handshake, planting wet kisses on each cheek of the newfound acquaintance. I have nothing at all against other cultures' practices, but I'm originally from the northeast. We don't do that there. Ever.
I told Regan that I knew with great pain exactly what she was talking about and could actually one-up her on that score. During the first month that Ex and I were married, we had Christmas at his aunt's house. I walked into the house when his aunt, whom I'd not met until that time, opened the door and I was immediately barraged with wet kisses on both of my cheeks. In and of itself, that wasn't so bad despite my surprise at the kissing thing, but what followed truly horrified me. As I entered the front hallway, Ex's aunt put her hand on my uterus. My uterus!
She exclaimed, "You too skinny! Are you pregnant yet? I know my brother wants to be grandpa!"
I froze in awe-struck shock. Not only was I just one month into the already deteriorating marriage, but I have never wanted children and a strange, beehive-haired woman had her hand dangerously close to The Goods and I was still wiping saliva off of my face, bringing along with it my makeup. In retrospect, I believe that I must have stood there with my jaw literally hanging open as I swiped at my cheeks with the back of my hand because the aunt looked at me with what I can only guess was suspicious consternation and meandered off to the kitchen, never to speak to me again during the evening (except when I almost shattered her ice bucket, but that's another story).
Later in the relationship, I was forced to go to a holiday BBQ at Ex's parents' house. The home was filled with random people I'd never met, but all were apparently relatives. I was inevitably the odd person out at these gatherings because I didn't speak their language, so I usually sat at the kitchen table alone and waited the day out. At this particular gathering, one of Ex's many cousins came over and sat with me. After the unavoidable sloppy kiss on each cheek, she put her hand on my stomach and admonished, "You have been married way too long to not have baby. Why you no have baby? You have problem with plumbing?"
"I don't want a baby." I was too astonished to even address the plumbing comment.
At this revelation, she practically fainted. "How you don't want baby? Every woman want baby! Look at my beautiful baby here. He's three months. Isn't he most gorgeous thing you ever see?"
I'm pretty sure that my attempt at an "I like babies" face fell flat.
Later in the marriage, I attended one of Ex's family functions in which his grandmother approached me. Obligatory wet kisses ensued, after which she grabbed my right boob and, manipulating it while I was sewn to the floor in shock, announced, "Is good for to make milk for baby."
I told Regan these stories on the phone as she laughed uproariously and said, "Shut up! You're making this up!"
File this under I Couldn't Make This Up if I Tried, because it's all true. When Regan soon returns to Italy and faces the inevitable kissing onslaught, I hope she remembers that at least she isn't getting felt up by New Boyfriend's family for baby making potential. Wiping a bit of drool off of your cheek? Child's play. Graciously excusing yourself when your in-laws are your personal space invaders with a penchant for grabbing your baby maker? That takes some skill.
Monday, July 23, 2007
If you tap too much, your hair falls out.
My Godson's 8th birthday was on Saturday, and we had a party at Lauren's ex-boyfriend's house. All of the adults sat around a big table, drinking margaritas and laughing, while the kids contented themselves with jumping on the trampoline and swimming in the pool next door.
I sat next to Tracy, who is, if you recall, the girl with whom Lauren first went to see Pascal. Tracy is a whole bog of her own, but she made me double over in fits of laughter with her story of the demise of the relationship with her last boyfriend, the Tapmaster.
I call him the Tapmaster because he can't seem to get out a sentence without tapping himself in some odd place. He's not even college educated, but this dude is so self-aggrandizing that he told me that he knows more about the psychology of everyone than anyone else. (A little self-disclosure - the Ph.D. I'm working on is in Clinical Psychology. I don't think I know everything about anyone, but I'm not busting my ass in grad school for nothing.) Oh, yeah, and after telling me that "you're spending years in a program to learn about what I know naturally," he told me to secure my tickets to Oprah, because he was going to be on it very soon for his groundbreaking book. He actually sort of was on the Oprah show. Only, he was on Oprah in the capacity of "Over 35 and Single." And his segment was edited out. So he wasn't really even on Oprah.
The one and only time that I met the Tapmaster was an evening of sheer torture. I looked at his long hair, hanging in somewhat greasy strings around his face, and was immediately turned off, but he was clearly proud of his hair since he kept flipping it around. Tracy was really into him at this point, and for her sake I wanted to give him some respect and listen to his sheer and utter soliloquy on the benefits of EFT. (If you don't want to click on the link, and I don't blame you, it's one of those weird things that supposedly cures all of your life's ailments through tapping yourself in odd places.) OMG, was this painful! He truly commandeered this conversation, and none of us were interested while he seemed to tap himself to death. In my academic community, EFT is not only frowned upon, but rather, we laugh at it. It's one of those things like the Raelians. You can claim science until you're blue-faced, but we all know that science seriously thinks you're a nutjob.
So Tracy was telling me at my Godson's party that she'd had enough. She'd found out that the Tapmaster had been cheating on her and grossly enough, had been double dipping. Twice she went to his house when he was gone to pick up her things, first with Lynn, at which time she gathered the dildos. Because the Tapmaster liked to be f*cked in the ass. Sweet.
The second time, she went with Lauren, at which time she took a piece of furniture that she had given him to refurbish. They removed the piece of furniture and left.
But prior to leaving, Tracy went to his computer. She forwarded all of his incriminating emails to herself and deleted all of the evidence that she had done so. I am now in possession of the emails he sent to his other girlfriend, and I believe that Tracy will soon be handing those over to his other girl with a sweet smile and a pretty face with the words, "Honey, we're in the girls' club. If I were in your position, I'd want to know." I'll be with her when this happens, which will be in about a week. I don't take pleasure in others' pain, but I do know that if I were in the Other Woman's position, I'd want to know. This girl, who seems to me to be a truly sweet person, needs to get out of this man's grip.
But the best thing about their raid? When Lauren and Tracy left the Tapmaster's house, Lauren whispered something in Tracy's ear.....
"Tracy, there's Nair in his hair conditioner now."
I sat next to Tracy, who is, if you recall, the girl with whom Lauren first went to see Pascal. Tracy is a whole bog of her own, but she made me double over in fits of laughter with her story of the demise of the relationship with her last boyfriend, the Tapmaster.
I call him the Tapmaster because he can't seem to get out a sentence without tapping himself in some odd place. He's not even college educated, but this dude is so self-aggrandizing that he told me that he knows more about the psychology of everyone than anyone else. (A little self-disclosure - the Ph.D. I'm working on is in Clinical Psychology. I don't think I know everything about anyone, but I'm not busting my ass in grad school for nothing.) Oh, yeah, and after telling me that "you're spending years in a program to learn about what I know naturally," he told me to secure my tickets to Oprah, because he was going to be on it very soon for his groundbreaking book. He actually sort of was on the Oprah show. Only, he was on Oprah in the capacity of "Over 35 and Single." And his segment was edited out. So he wasn't really even on Oprah.
The one and only time that I met the Tapmaster was an evening of sheer torture. I looked at his long hair, hanging in somewhat greasy strings around his face, and was immediately turned off, but he was clearly proud of his hair since he kept flipping it around. Tracy was really into him at this point, and for her sake I wanted to give him some respect and listen to his sheer and utter soliloquy on the benefits of EFT. (If you don't want to click on the link, and I don't blame you, it's one of those weird things that supposedly cures all of your life's ailments through tapping yourself in odd places.) OMG, was this painful! He truly commandeered this conversation, and none of us were interested while he seemed to tap himself to death. In my academic community, EFT is not only frowned upon, but rather, we laugh at it. It's one of those things like the Raelians. You can claim science until you're blue-faced, but we all know that science seriously thinks you're a nutjob.
So Tracy was telling me at my Godson's party that she'd had enough. She'd found out that the Tapmaster had been cheating on her and grossly enough, had been double dipping. Twice she went to his house when he was gone to pick up her things, first with Lynn, at which time she gathered the dildos. Because the Tapmaster liked to be f*cked in the ass. Sweet.
The second time, she went with Lauren, at which time she took a piece of furniture that she had given him to refurbish. They removed the piece of furniture and left.
But prior to leaving, Tracy went to his computer. She forwarded all of his incriminating emails to herself and deleted all of the evidence that she had done so. I am now in possession of the emails he sent to his other girlfriend, and I believe that Tracy will soon be handing those over to his other girl with a sweet smile and a pretty face with the words, "Honey, we're in the girls' club. If I were in your position, I'd want to know." I'll be with her when this happens, which will be in about a week. I don't take pleasure in others' pain, but I do know that if I were in the Other Woman's position, I'd want to know. This girl, who seems to me to be a truly sweet person, needs to get out of this man's grip.
But the best thing about their raid? When Lauren and Tracy left the Tapmaster's house, Lauren whispered something in Tracy's ear.....
"Tracy, there's Nair in his hair conditioner now."
Friday, July 20, 2007
Priceless
This week I've had a lot of time to contemplate the impetus behind my marriage's flaming death. Perhaps too much time. My ultimate conclusion? Ex was an ass. (Profound, I know.) I, of course, had my own participation in The End and I would never be so pious as to suggest otherwise, but those are stories for the future. And believe me, those stories pack a big bang. I admire Barmaid and at some point in the future, I'll have her sense of candor, but I just can't write about that right now. So in the meantime, I've been forced, through this profundity of silence and nature, to mull over the reasons that I really wanted out.
As a distraction, I've been thinking of my friends' funny stories. Of course, Lauren is at the forefront. Months ago, before she was involved with Pascal, she had met a local guy on a dating site and began to see him. His name was Matthew and he truly seemed nice. They had grown quite close in the several months they saw each other and he was already talking serious commitment. I met him once at her house and he struck me as a good person. His mother is a cop in my city and I figured that the son of a single mom cop has to be a decent guy, right? Not so much.
After these months of dating, Matthew had invited Lauren to his company's Christmas party and she was excited. She bought a fabulous new dress that looked ridiculously hot on her, new stilettos, and tried on the ensemble for me. I was drop-jawed. She looked amazing and I told her as much.
Two days before the party, she still hadn't heard from Matthew about the details of the party - when he was picking her up, if she needed to bring a bottle of wine, and whether she needed to pack an overnight bag. Sure enough, he never even called. He did send her a text message in which he indicated that he was "pissed off" for work reasons, but she received no communication from him after that. The evening of the party came and went, at which time we girls went out in our finest, determined to have a fabulous evening despite the fact that Matthew turned out to be a super tool.
The next day, my favorite Queen of Redress pulled one of her classic revenge tactics. Based upon the Mastercard "Priceless" campaigns, she wrote a "Priceless" piece of her own. And faxed it to his company's main fax machine. The one that everyone sees.
It read:
"Priceless
3 MONTH MEMBERSHIP TO AMERICAN SINGLES $ 97.85
TALKING FOR 3 MONTHS TO A "GOOD GUY" $ UPLIFTING
GAS TO GET TO FIRST MEETING AND BABYSITTER FOR CHILD $ 57.23
BEST BLOW JOB HE EVER HAD $ 6 MINUTES
CATCHING HIM ACTIVELY ON AMERICAN SINGLES
WHEN IT HAD BEEN ESTABLISHED THAT WE WERE
TALKING ONLY TO EACH OTHER
$ FEELINGS HURT
BUYING INTO HIS BULLSHIT $ 94 PHONE HOURS
2 YEAR SUBSRIPTION TO GQ (CHRISTMAS PRESENT) $ 25.89
FINDING OUT HE HAS AN OVER INFLATED OPINION
OF HIS SEXUAL PERFORMANCE AND MAN TOOL $ HAHAHAHAHA
DRESS FOR CHRISTMAS PARTY $ 249.37
HAVING HIM BE "PISSED OFF" AND BLOWING ME OFF WHILE
NOT LETTING ME KNOW WHY $ ANNOYING
GIVING HIM A VALID REASON TO BE PISSED OFF. . .
PRICELESS"
Needless to say, Matthew was indeed pissed off and a relationship certainly did not bloom thereafter. Matthew was decidedly embarrassed, but his coworkers loved it. The fax still hangs in the main area of his office.
As a distraction, I've been thinking of my friends' funny stories. Of course, Lauren is at the forefront. Months ago, before she was involved with Pascal, she had met a local guy on a dating site and began to see him. His name was Matthew and he truly seemed nice. They had grown quite close in the several months they saw each other and he was already talking serious commitment. I met him once at her house and he struck me as a good person. His mother is a cop in my city and I figured that the son of a single mom cop has to be a decent guy, right? Not so much.
After these months of dating, Matthew had invited Lauren to his company's Christmas party and she was excited. She bought a fabulous new dress that looked ridiculously hot on her, new stilettos, and tried on the ensemble for me. I was drop-jawed. She looked amazing and I told her as much.
Two days before the party, she still hadn't heard from Matthew about the details of the party - when he was picking her up, if she needed to bring a bottle of wine, and whether she needed to pack an overnight bag. Sure enough, he never even called. He did send her a text message in which he indicated that he was "pissed off" for work reasons, but she received no communication from him after that. The evening of the party came and went, at which time we girls went out in our finest, determined to have a fabulous evening despite the fact that Matthew turned out to be a super tool.
The next day, my favorite Queen of Redress pulled one of her classic revenge tactics. Based upon the Mastercard "Priceless" campaigns, she wrote a "Priceless" piece of her own. And faxed it to his company's main fax machine. The one that everyone sees.
It read:
"Priceless
3 MONTH MEMBERSHIP TO AMERICAN SINGLES $ 97.85
TALKING FOR 3 MONTHS TO A "GOOD GUY" $ UPLIFTING
GAS TO GET TO FIRST MEETING AND BABYSITTER FOR CHILD $ 57.23
BEST BLOW JOB HE EVER HAD $ 6 MINUTES
CATCHING HIM ACTIVELY ON AMERICAN SINGLES
WHEN IT HAD BEEN ESTABLISHED THAT WE WERE
TALKING ONLY TO EACH OTHER
$ FEELINGS HURT
BUYING INTO HIS BULLSHIT $ 94 PHONE HOURS
2 YEAR SUBSRIPTION TO GQ (CHRISTMAS PRESENT) $ 25.89
FINDING OUT HE HAS AN OVER INFLATED OPINION
OF HIS SEXUAL PERFORMANCE AND MAN TOOL $ HAHAHAHAHA
DRESS FOR CHRISTMAS PARTY $ 249.37
HAVING HIM BE "PISSED OFF" AND BLOWING ME OFF WHILE
NOT LETTING ME KNOW WHY $ ANNOYING
GIVING HIM A VALID REASON TO BE PISSED OFF. . .
PRICELESS"
Needless to say, Matthew was indeed pissed off and a relationship certainly did not bloom thereafter. Matthew was decidedly embarrassed, but his coworkers loved it. The fax still hangs in the main area of his office.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
"Hi, boys! Remember me?"
I have a pretty important court date coming up on Monday and frankly, I'm really nervous, so I need to tell a story that's making me laugh and that isn't about Ex.
Lauren has been talking to this guy online for about 6 or 7 months now. He lives several states away and until last week, they hadn't met. They had already become quite intimate via IM and video chatting, but she has wanted a face-to-face meeting for months now. When I say that they've become intimate, I don't mean just talk. I mean down and dirty naked intimacy, complete with adult toys with which I'm completely unfamiliar. Lauren had to explain their uses detail by detail to me because they are not your run of the mill Rabbit.
A couple of months ago, she went for a long weekend to his state with her girlfriend Tracy and Tracy's boyfriend, at which time she was supposed to meet up with Internet Man, who we'll call Pascal. He had asked Lauren to pack all of her various exotic toys for the weekend and she agreed. I was incredulous, not because of the fact that she was taking them, but rather because I was wondering about the logistics of getting through security.
"You're not carrying your baggage on the plane, are you?" I asked.
"No, of course not! Don't you remember that story with the woman whose vibrator went off in the security line and the guard had to fish it out and hold it up for the whole airport? I'm checking bags."
That weekend Pascal had a family emergency and they never ended up meeting, so she packed the toys for naught. However, when Lauren arrived in his state and unzipped the bag she had checked, she found a note from the ATF indicating that her entire bag had been emptied and the contents inspected. I laughed so hard at the thought, I could barely breathe.
"Can you imagine the faces on those security guys when they saw what you'd packed?"
"I don't even want to think of it."
"What do you want to bet that they took pictures with your toys that are now hanging on the wall at City Airport Security Office?"
We were both in hysterics with the mental image of Butch from the ATF posing with a strap-on and giving the old thumbs-up.
Last week, Lauren did meet Pascal. Before she left, I asked her if she was packing the same items and she responded in the affirmative. I have yet to hear all of the details of the encounter, but I did hear what is probably the funniest bit of information. Because she was flying out of the same airport on the same airline as she did previously and figured that her luggage would inevitably be searched again, she decided to include a note inside her checked bag.
It read, "Hi, boys, remember me?"
When she arrived at her destination and unzipped her bag, she had yet another ATF notice. This time, it had a handwritten addition.
"Sure do. Nice to see you again!"
Lauren has been talking to this guy online for about 6 or 7 months now. He lives several states away and until last week, they hadn't met. They had already become quite intimate via IM and video chatting, but she has wanted a face-to-face meeting for months now. When I say that they've become intimate, I don't mean just talk. I mean down and dirty naked intimacy, complete with adult toys with which I'm completely unfamiliar. Lauren had to explain their uses detail by detail to me because they are not your run of the mill Rabbit.
A couple of months ago, she went for a long weekend to his state with her girlfriend Tracy and Tracy's boyfriend, at which time she was supposed to meet up with Internet Man, who we'll call Pascal. He had asked Lauren to pack all of her various exotic toys for the weekend and she agreed. I was incredulous, not because of the fact that she was taking them, but rather because I was wondering about the logistics of getting through security.
"You're not carrying your baggage on the plane, are you?" I asked.
"No, of course not! Don't you remember that story with the woman whose vibrator went off in the security line and the guard had to fish it out and hold it up for the whole airport? I'm checking bags."
That weekend Pascal had a family emergency and they never ended up meeting, so she packed the toys for naught. However, when Lauren arrived in his state and unzipped the bag she had checked, she found a note from the ATF indicating that her entire bag had been emptied and the contents inspected. I laughed so hard at the thought, I could barely breathe.
"Can you imagine the faces on those security guys when they saw what you'd packed?"
"I don't even want to think of it."
"What do you want to bet that they took pictures with your toys that are now hanging on the wall at City Airport Security Office?"
We were both in hysterics with the mental image of Butch from the ATF posing with a strap-on and giving the old thumbs-up.
Last week, Lauren did meet Pascal. Before she left, I asked her if she was packing the same items and she responded in the affirmative. I have yet to hear all of the details of the encounter, but I did hear what is probably the funniest bit of information. Because she was flying out of the same airport on the same airline as she did previously and figured that her luggage would inevitably be searched again, she decided to include a note inside her checked bag.
It read, "Hi, boys, remember me?"
When she arrived at her destination and unzipped her bag, she had yet another ATF notice. This time, it had a handwritten addition.
"Sure do. Nice to see you again!"
Monday, July 2, 2007
Dating Rules
I returned Sunday night from my cousin J.'s funeral after several days that were fraught with emotion. It was a difficult weekend, but all of us cousins managed to have some fun on Saturday night at Random Bar catching up on each other's lives and exchanging the good memories we have of J. I was wiped out when I finally arrived back home, probably thanks in part to the tequila shots we drank in J.'s honor.
Since I'm off from work until Thursday for the holiday and I really needed to decompress from the weekend, I went to have a leisurely outdoor lunch today with my girlfriend Jasmine with whom I used to bartend. She bears a striking resemblance to Gabrielle Union and she's gorgeous, so when men would walk into our bar they would often exclaim, "Ebony and Ivory! Something for everyone!" I would recoil at comments like that because they struck me as racist, but Jasmine would just laugh and get them to buy bottle upon bottle of Cristal as our tip jar grew increasingly full.
Jasmine is now the sidekick on our city's most popular morning radio show and she's a local celebrity. We went out about a month ago, and our cab driver nearly drove off the road when he realized that this was the Jasmine of the X and X Show. She still bartends once in awhile, only now it's in the capacity of "startender," and she's nice enough to give all of her tips to the regular bartenders at each place. Listening to her on the radio is a bizarre experience for me. She still mouths off the same way she did when we worked together, only now I can't toast her with a glass of champagne when she says something witty.
But today I was able to toast her with many (and I do mean many) glasses of champagne as we sat outside at a restaurant located on our city's most popular corner. We ended up being joined by several friends, which is what typically happens in our city when the weather is warm and you're sitting outside at one of the country's most famous restaurants. First, The Mayor joined us. He isn't actually our mayor, he's simply the most connected man in town. It's not unusual to hear him say, "Honey, you having problems? Tell me the problem, I'll take care of him," and when a garbage truck passes, he'll laugh and say, "I'll put him in one of those." Then we were joined by Jake, a former NHL player with whom I have a long and somewhat sordid history, but we're just friends now and he's a fabulous person. A few cocktails later, Silvia joined us. She's Jasmine's best friend and now an attorney, but she also used to be a bartender when Jasmine and I were working together.
The conversation turned to marriage, divorce, love and sex. The sex part came when Jake burst out and said, "I just had sex 2 hours ago!" The rest of us looked at him with slack jaws. The Mayor responded with a toast and said, "Here's to you, kid!"
Jasmine bragged, "I had sex last night."
Silvia and I looked around the table and I think we both had a look of disgust. She shook her head and said, "I hate you people."
The Mayor, Jake, and I are divorced (OK, I'm not yet, but I really hope to be soon), Jasmine just happily celebrated her 1 year wedding anniversary, and Silvia is an old maid.
When I say that Silvia is an old maid, I'm repeating her words exactly even though she's only 27. Silvia, like Ava, is Indian and their parents were born and raised in India. Their parents expected them to be married by the age of 25 and thought they'd have at least one child by now. I asked Silvia if her parents had tried to introduce her to acceptable men and marry her off, as have Ava's parents.
"Yes, they tried introducing me to several guys who would come over to our house and bring their entire families."
The rest of us were curious and asked what had happened.
Silvia said, "Thankfully, my mom gave me the heads-up and I made sure I was never there."
We all laughed and started talking about reasons to get married and who not to date, since 4 of the 5 of us are single and do have to think about dating strategies. We all pretty much agreed that the only reason to get married is to have children and other than that, just dating is preferable.
Jasmine said, "My dad told me not to date athletes, no offense, Jake."
He replied, "None taken. If I had a daughter, I wouldn't want her dating one of us either. The opportunity with other women is just too great. I'm glad I have a son."
I said, "My Dad forbade me from dating Actor after he looked him up on Wikipedia."
Silvia said, "I don't think my parents care who I date as long as I get married."
"I date anyone I can as long as they have a great ass. Hey, you two look good on my arms," The Mayor exclaimed while clasping Silvia and Jasmine around their shoulders.
Again, we were all laughing and I asked Jasmine, "Who else did your dad say you could never date?"
We girls started comparing our dads' rules and along with input from Jake and The Mayor, we compiled a list.
1. Never date an athlete.
2. Never date an actor.
3. Never date a club DJ.
4. Never date a military man.
5. Never date a cop.
6. Never date a trader.
Though this really narrowed the selection of men, the final dating rule expanded it by one since it came from The Mayor.
7. Dating The Mayor is the way to go.
We ended up being joined later in the afternoon by the latest American Idol's father and another retired NFLer who used to be a regular at my bar, but that's a story for another time.
Oh, and P.S., many thanks to The Mayor for footing the hefty bill.
Since I'm off from work until Thursday for the holiday and I really needed to decompress from the weekend, I went to have a leisurely outdoor lunch today with my girlfriend Jasmine with whom I used to bartend. She bears a striking resemblance to Gabrielle Union and she's gorgeous, so when men would walk into our bar they would often exclaim, "Ebony and Ivory! Something for everyone!" I would recoil at comments like that because they struck me as racist, but Jasmine would just laugh and get them to buy bottle upon bottle of Cristal as our tip jar grew increasingly full.
Jasmine is now the sidekick on our city's most popular morning radio show and she's a local celebrity. We went out about a month ago, and our cab driver nearly drove off the road when he realized that this was the Jasmine of the X and X Show. She still bartends once in awhile, only now it's in the capacity of "startender," and she's nice enough to give all of her tips to the regular bartenders at each place. Listening to her on the radio is a bizarre experience for me. She still mouths off the same way she did when we worked together, only now I can't toast her with a glass of champagne when she says something witty.
But today I was able to toast her with many (and I do mean many) glasses of champagne as we sat outside at a restaurant located on our city's most popular corner. We ended up being joined by several friends, which is what typically happens in our city when the weather is warm and you're sitting outside at one of the country's most famous restaurants. First, The Mayor joined us. He isn't actually our mayor, he's simply the most connected man in town. It's not unusual to hear him say, "Honey, you having problems? Tell me the problem, I'll take care of him," and when a garbage truck passes, he'll laugh and say, "I'll put him in one of those." Then we were joined by Jake, a former NHL player with whom I have a long and somewhat sordid history, but we're just friends now and he's a fabulous person. A few cocktails later, Silvia joined us. She's Jasmine's best friend and now an attorney, but she also used to be a bartender when Jasmine and I were working together.
The conversation turned to marriage, divorce, love and sex. The sex part came when Jake burst out and said, "I just had sex 2 hours ago!" The rest of us looked at him with slack jaws. The Mayor responded with a toast and said, "Here's to you, kid!"
Jasmine bragged, "I had sex last night."
Silvia and I looked around the table and I think we both had a look of disgust. She shook her head and said, "I hate you people."
The Mayor, Jake, and I are divorced (OK, I'm not yet, but I really hope to be soon), Jasmine just happily celebrated her 1 year wedding anniversary, and Silvia is an old maid.
When I say that Silvia is an old maid, I'm repeating her words exactly even though she's only 27. Silvia, like Ava, is Indian and their parents were born and raised in India. Their parents expected them to be married by the age of 25 and thought they'd have at least one child by now. I asked Silvia if her parents had tried to introduce her to acceptable men and marry her off, as have Ava's parents.
"Yes, they tried introducing me to several guys who would come over to our house and bring their entire families."
The rest of us were curious and asked what had happened.
Silvia said, "Thankfully, my mom gave me the heads-up and I made sure I was never there."
We all laughed and started talking about reasons to get married and who not to date, since 4 of the 5 of us are single and do have to think about dating strategies. We all pretty much agreed that the only reason to get married is to have children and other than that, just dating is preferable.
Jasmine said, "My dad told me not to date athletes, no offense, Jake."
He replied, "None taken. If I had a daughter, I wouldn't want her dating one of us either. The opportunity with other women is just too great. I'm glad I have a son."
I said, "My Dad forbade me from dating Actor after he looked him up on Wikipedia."
Silvia said, "I don't think my parents care who I date as long as I get married."
"I date anyone I can as long as they have a great ass. Hey, you two look good on my arms," The Mayor exclaimed while clasping Silvia and Jasmine around their shoulders.
Again, we were all laughing and I asked Jasmine, "Who else did your dad say you could never date?"
We girls started comparing our dads' rules and along with input from Jake and The Mayor, we compiled a list.
1. Never date an athlete.
2. Never date an actor.
3. Never date a club DJ.
4. Never date a military man.
5. Never date a cop.
6. Never date a trader.
Though this really narrowed the selection of men, the final dating rule expanded it by one since it came from The Mayor.
7. Dating The Mayor is the way to go.
We ended up being joined later in the afternoon by the latest American Idol's father and another retired NFLer who used to be a regular at my bar, but that's a story for another time.
Oh, and P.S., many thanks to The Mayor for footing the hefty bill.
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