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Unwanted Gifts from My Ex

I've received a recent spate of letters from an ex. They don't actually include anything written. The only way I can identify they are from him is by the ever changing return addresses, all of which include some pot reference or something similarly lame in the street name.

The first one was a crushed penny with a stamp of the lady and the tramp. You know those machines where you put in a penny plus a few quarters and you get back a now worthless piece of currency? I wish I had thought of that business model. Fucking brilliant.

But lady and the tramp? What? Did I miss some romantic memory where we watched the Disney movie over a plate of spaghetti? I don't get it.

The second was his driver's license, which actually has meaning in that he knows I collect other people's identification cards. Ok, that one gave me a small pang. Until I realized his driver's license photo looked a lot like his mugshot they showed on the news.. Yeah. Don't ask.

The third letter was a bumper sticker from a bicycle shop in his home town. It said "Share the road with a cyclist" and had the shop's name and address. I like bikes, sure. I even ride them frequently. But I'm not a "cyclist" by any stretch of the definition. If it had been something about a motorcycle, maybe, but again, what?

I was telling a friend about it over breakfast and he asked if I sent anything back. Thus far I've taken the silent approach but his question sparked an idea:

Send him my hair that collects in the shower drain.

Sports Obsessions Are NOT Sexy Time

**Editors' Note: The same gal who sent us Where Were You in 1983? sent us this lovely bit about internet dating.**

I was lonely and bored, and my ex had just changed his facebook to "in a relationship" with the stripper he dumped me for. So I decided to give internet dating a try. And thus the story of Sex Blanket, as I now refer to him when warning others against internet dating.

SB seemed like a cool guy at first. Then it quickly became clear that his obsessive love of sports took up all the places in his personality where "intelligence" "humor" and "charm" should be. Then it became clear (from the multiple bumper stickers, posters and flags plastered all over his apartment, and lastly, enormous back tattoo of the school's logo) that he was a little TOO obsessed with his alma mater, a la Andy Bernard (Cornell) from The Office.

I was unimpressed and disinterested, but said loneliness and boredom convinced me that sleeping with him was an okay decision to make. I won't go into detail about exactly how and why, but it was THE. WORST. EVER. and multiple times I had to close my eyes and imagine that I was someplace else so I didn't throw up. No exaggeration, it was awful. And very, very sweaty. Him, not me.

Afterward, while I debated high-tailing it out of there and risking a DUI or trying to find a non-sweaty spot on the bed, he went to his closet and pulled out a blanket that was fuzzy on one side and kind of satin-y on the other.

"Do you know what this is?" He asked, in the wannabe suave voice that had added to my nausea.

"Um, no" I replied, terrified at what the answer might be.

"It's a Sex Blanket... you put it down before or after you have sex so you don't have to sleep in the mess afterward"

"Oh super" I replied, hoping to sweet jesus that the blanket had been washed since its last use, and wondering how the F this guy was having enough disgusting sweaty sex to necessitate a blanket of this kind.

So tell me, DiW friends... are sex blankets for real? Are all blankets with one fuzzy side and one satin-y side intended for this purpose? I received one as a Christmas gift from a female friend a few years ago and use it as a throw for my couch...

Anyway, SB and I haven't kept in touch since then, and so far all of my other internet dating prospects have produced similarly unappealing/creepy results. So for now I'm re-dating people from real life that I have dated in the past, cause at least I know what mistakes I'm making beforehand.

Inside jokes

This is kind of insider baseball, but maybe it'll amuse someone. This is a note to my best friend, one of the sexiest women on the planet:

"So we were just having dinner with The New One's roommate (and his tiny son, Twain, who I think has a major crush on me), and the convo turned to exchange students. We talked about the Japanese kid who kept on saying, "Howdy partner" and the eastern european girl who cried when she had her first root beer float. Then I told them about the German kid who I was stoked to make out with until he asked me to "teach (him) the ways of the American woman," at which point I was all, "uhh ... way to ruin the makeout sesh, dude," and then I left and re-joined you and Noah in the party room.

Then I admitted to the boys that it was, as far as I remember, the one time a dude we both wanted picked me over you. Finally, 15 years later, I got it.

"Yeah. The fucking German kid picked the blonde with tits over the redheaded Jew. Go figure."

In praise of Monday night nookie

This note from "Old Married Hag" (she came up with that name, not me) came in as a response to my latest Dear Serial column.

As Serial pointed out a few days ago, married life can be unkind to the old sex life. Kids, cooking, mortgages, soccer practice - who has the time for sex? Or the energy?

Which is why marriages like mine descend into the deadly rut of Saturday-night sexcapades. Sure, we throw on a porno occasionally or bust out a dildo. But sex on Saturdays after the kids were in bed had taken on a distinctively dull feeling. Yawn, is it Saturday night again? OK, you get the KY.

Which is why my new solution is so much fun: Monday night nookie!

I know it seems like not such a groundbreaking notion, but Monday night nookie has freshened up my week considerably. Sex outside the humdrum routine of a 15-year-relationship adds a spice that's all to rare for those of us who are old enough to have voted for Clinton. And who knows what a day-of-the-week shakeup could lead to? This week, adding Monday sex also introduced a new location to the repertoire. Nothing like a carpet burn on the ass to remind you that sex is fun even when it's not in bed or on the couch.

Getting out of the sex rut may also lead to other firsts: It's surprising how open to experimentation both of you will be if you just step outside the normal screwing 'schedule.'

Dating may be weird, but marriage can be weirder. And hotter.

Serial here. You got a question for me, dating (or, apparently marriage)-related? Or do you have feedback on my advice? C'mon. I know at least some of y'all think I'm full of shit. E-mail me at seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com.

MySpace Sucks

I had forgotten all about the hellish side of MySpace until I was cleaning out my messages last night.

Let me back up.

Once upon a time long long ago in a living room of a house I used to live in, I drunkenly hooked up with a guy I knew from firefighting. We used to work together. He was my boss. Of sorts. He was also rather attractive and knew it. We both did. Of course there was sexual tension the whole summer fighting fires. Of course he had a girlfriend. Of course she hated me even though I'd been nothing but pleasant and respectful.

Of course he didn't tell me they were still "on again off again dating" until the next morning.

"Huh. Interesting. So is the switch on or off this morning?" I asked.

"Uhhh. On. Yeah, on I guess. She would say on, so yeah. On," he replied.

Awesome.

Let me also back up to give some character development of this on-again-off-again girlfriend: She liked attention. She was loud. She was abrasive. She was attractive. She had a flair for drama. And if we had to go to blows, I might put my money on her and I don't often say that about other chicks.

In short, don't fuck with her man.

Which, I wouldn't have done had I known. But, he conveniently waited to tell until after the point of no return. Fucker.

So back to last night's mailbox cleaning.

I found the series of messages she sent in the weeks after. Oh boy. Here's a taste:

"Subject: O.P.P.

It has been brought to my attention that you had sex with the man who had been my partner for over four years. What's amusing is that he's been telling me for the last year that I'm gonna marry him and have his children. Fortunately for me, I learned (before making a big mistake) that I can't trust him.

While I primarily blame him (after all, he was my boyfriend)I also find you guilty of serious misconduct. Apparently you haven't learned or just aren't grown up enough to realise that you don't go around fucking other people's boyfriends. I must be honest, I never liked or trusted you from the beginning. It's too bad (for me at least) that I was right about you.

Let's face it, you wanted ___ from the beginning and I never tried to keep him from being your friend cause he always said he didn't find you the least bit attractive. Interesting how men can do that, screw woman they think aren't appealing. I guess one hole is as good as another if you're drunk enough and the lights are off so you don't have to see their face.

If this message hurts you in any way, I can't say that I'm sorry because nothing could describe the pain that I feel. Maybe you are laughing as you read this, or maybe you could give a shit; but on the chance that you have a shred of decency, I hope you take this to heart and realise the damage you have done. I would also take a moment to think about the fact that no bad deed goes unpunished, meaning that things have a way of coming back to you."

So ok. I felt bad. I mean, she has a point. And she even cleverly put a Naughty By Nature reference in the subject line. I didn't respond however; instead, I forwarded her message along to her "man" and said that perhaps he should look into it. He created the fucking mess after all. I thought he should be the one to clean it up.

But no. She didn't see it that way. Here's another:

"I want you to delete him as a friend from your myspace and never call him again. If you don't want to comply, I will show up on your doorstep and we can talk about it in person."

Show on my doorstep and talk about it in person? Um, no fucking way. Fuck you. Show up at my doorstep bitch?! That would be a bad idea. For both of us. Remember how I said I might put my money on you if it came to blows, yeah, not on my fucking doorstep. Bring it.

But again, I didn't respond. Simply forwarded it to her "man."

Thankfully all that died away. I haven't spoken much to him since, though he did text me a few weeks ago saying he'd be in town.

The best part? I found all the other messages from jilted girlfriends who felt it was my fault they were dating a shithead. Thank you MySpace. Thank you for allowing stupid bitches to send me ridiculous threats and for saving them for years.

Dear Serial Monogamist: Time to get freaky?

Dear Serial Monogamist,

Any recommendations for spicing up a lackluster sex life?

Signed,
A lady who thinks being married is weirder

OK, Weirder, you didn’t give me much to go on. I mean, what have you tried? Role play? S&M? Pegging? Watching porn together? Sex toys? Dirty talk? Sex in public? New positions? Dress-up? Sex games? Threesomes? Stripteases? A little ass play? Have you been doing your Kegels?

I kind of hope you haven’t tried all that, to be honest. Because I sometimes wonder how couples who start off with crazy rockstar monster sex deal once they get bored with THAT. “God, the sex swing and the midgets again? Snore.” What a nightmare.

However, if you’ve been having mellow, vanilla sex with your hubby, then there’s a long list of things you can introduce that can make things seem new again. The internet is full of ideas.

Of course, that advice assumes that you and your husband are willing to try. And that can be scary and weird. But you have to talk to your husband, and tell him that you’re not happy with the situation as it is and make sure he gets that it’s important that you guys fix the problem. Because it is important. Humping matters. And who knows, maybe there’s been something he’s been wanting to try that he was afraid to bring up. What if all you have to do is put on some high heels while you go at it, and suddenly he’s all wound up and the next thing you know you are, too?

Don’t forget this, though: Being negative in the conversation won’t help. You don’t want him to feel like a loser who can’t get you off, because then what’s his motivation to work on finding your G spot? The whole thing needs to be fun. “It’s an adventure, honey! An adventure that leads to more sex!” Who’s going to say no to that? If he does, after you approach it in a positive way, if he’s still hesitant, you could always tell him that satisfied wives give more BJs.

Love,

Serial



Got a dating question for Serial Monogamist? Let's hear it. Send it to seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com.

Quote of the day

I have a new pal who's just moved to town, and like many women in this situation who are regularly getting my own action, my mind immediately goes to who I can get into his pants. It just seems like the friendly thing to do. Plus, I think it reflects well on me as a friend and on my town if he starts getting some split-tail pronto.

I was telling a girlfriend about him (accent, big purdy eyes, loves his mama), but knowing that she's been more apt to cuddle up to bear-ish guys, I warned her that new pal is "skinny-cute."

"Well," she said, taking a deep breath and lifting her palms toward the sky, "I've fucked a few skinny guys lately, and it hasn't killed me."

Way to take one for the team, sister.




** Psst! You! You over there with the girlfriend who chews with her mouth open. Yeah, you. Or you, the guy who can't get past the third date and can't figure out why. Send your burning dating questions to seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com. Let me help you. Or tease you. You know you want it. **

The Joys of Online Dating: Part Deux

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post is the second installment from Kate in KC. You may remember her first story about getting into a fight about college sports on a first date from a few weeks ago.**

Adorable Nerd came along and seemed as if he would be the answer to my holy-crap-this-was-a-bad-idea prayers. He was smart, funny, interesting, cute in that Seth Cohen (yes, I’m dropping an OC reference in here) super-nerd kind of way and, best of all, seemed very interested in me. We sent a few novel-length messages to one another before trading in email for 3-hour long phone calls. We would talk about anything and everything while staying up so late that we would practically fall asleep on the phone because neither of us wanted to hang up the phone and end the conversation…we finally arranged to meet one night.

We sat at a table in a small restaurant and talked and talked and talked…we were telling stories, laughing and having a fantastic time. We ended up closing the restaurant down and he suggested that we continue the night at a wine bar across the street. Sharing a bottle of wine, there was never an awkward silence or dull moment…it was like we had known each other forever and slipped into conversation with one another like it was the easiest thing on earth.

The end of the night rolled around and we strolled through the moonlight of the city streets until we got to my car. I had butterflies in my stomach as we turned to face each other to say good night…he told me that he had a wonderful time, looked deep into my eyes, leaned in…shook my hand and ran away.

He literally RAN the fuck away.

I never heard from him again.

A weird-o, a closeted gay and a guy with sports-related Tourettes…strike one, two and three. You win this one, online dating.

Where Were You in 1983?

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from a gal who said she loves DIW. Glad someone is actually reading this trash..**

I'm 23 and the guy I'm dating is 36. Despite the thirteen year age gap, we get along really well and have a lot in common... Aside from our memories associated with music from before about 2005.

The other day we were playing cards and drinking wine at his place, and he had a 90s station playing on the satellite radio. A song came on from 1996, and I told him how it reminded me being at Girl Scout Camp in third grade. A look of horror came over his face as he realized that while I was selling cookies and earning my Brownie Try-It badges, he was 23 and divorcing his first wife.

We switched the station to some current indie rock, and silently agreed not to tell stories from our childhood anymore.

More on internet dating

So Katie Ett, a woman whose blog I started reading only because her Livejournal user pic was a still from the original Grey Gardens, one of the best films of all time, writes about all matter of silliness over at Unapologetically Mundane. Topics range from piles of family pictures from back on the farm in Iowa to reviews of fancy schmancy pants restaurants in New York (which are generally funny because she clearly has a midwest palate, but she seems to try). Her main obsession, which she admits, is her boyfriend. Whom she calls Dr. Boyfriend. It's a tad out of hand (she has a "creepy boyfriend obsession" tag, people) but sort of charming, too.

Here's a recent post from UM, which is amusing in itself:

"I’m a member of the online dating site OkCupid.com in the hope that when Dr. Boyfriend and I break up some day, you’ll look me up on there and woo me hardcore. Due to the fact that I’m not supposed to appeal to anyone in my current state of relationshipness, I’ve agreed to not change my horrible photos and to fill my profile with totally unattractive drivel such as:

Nobody’s really just looking for friends and activity partners on here, right? But I am! Seriously! And just think of all the activities we can engage in! That don’t in any way involve our genitals! Except, like, if we specifically decide to engage in genital-related non-sexual activities! Like by joining a nudist colony and shaving our genitals! Together! To get to know each other a little better! And to have the best-looking genitals in the entire colony!

AND YET. I receive messages all of the time from men who make me feel sad for people who are actually looking for dates. Such as this one, from a user in his 50s:

I used to live in Brookyn, in the Bushwick area. I thought I would write and get to know you. I notice you say about joining a nude club and shaving each other’s genitals. I would love to do that with you. Or at least to join a nude club together. I would love to smell your vagina too. I am sure it smells sweet!!

I mean, thank you and all, but no. I think the rule should be that if you wouldn’t walk up to me in a bar and say it to my face, you shouldn’t say it online, either.

And now you should tell me about the even awesomer messages you’ve received."

OK, Serial again. Um, is it OK to leave your OKCupid or Match.com or whatever dating profiles up when you're in a relationship? I'd be seriously pissed if I found out that The New One had a dating profile up on one of those sites (Well, I would if I could get over the concept of The New One going near a the interwebs for such purposes, since he plans to be the last person on the planet to even join Facebook. Dude doesn't even read datingisweird.com, even when I tell him I write about him. On the internet. WTF?).

And I don't feel like I'd want to negotiate on that point. But I guess it could be entertaining. As entertaining, as, say, writing up a craigslist personal about a friend of yours, just to see what the response might be ....

Friends With Benefits

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from our semi-regular guest, Terry Tucker.**

This was an Internet date match-up. When I entered Starbuck’s I saw a man sitting at a table on the far side, wearing the jade-green, U-of-Oregon cap that so many men wear in these parts. Signs of French Canadian ancestry could be discerned in his fine, virile features. He had an oval-shaped head, dark eyes, olive complexion and sharply defined bone structure. His eyes held yours, though not in an unpleasant way.

He spoke in a manner not quite like ours, an indeterminate accent all his own. His manner was calm and relaxed, and he spoke in a very picturesque way, without gesticulation. He paused occasionally, and you felt that each phrase was being carefully constructed in the moment, not at all like the mindless, ready-made jargon we normally use in conversation. You quickly grasped that he had a gift of assembling words expressively.

It was unclear at first exactly what he did for a living; it hardly seemed to matter. He was well traveled and engaging, overflowing with zest. As it turned out, he was Algerian, not Canadian, with a French connection. He had a wide range of interest and something to say on every topic. To be with him was very agreeable

Things were developing nicely, when he began talking about a Private Stock Offering he was putting together for the construction of a Wind Farm on a South Dakota Indian reservation. The first-round financing was fully subscribed to, he said, but a way could be found to include me and my friends, if there was interest. Sounded so good, the way he put it. Friends with benefits. Might have gone for it if the Bernie Madoff scam was not so fresh in the memory. Maybe if he had waited until the second date to make the pitch.

Keep It Casual

Dear Serial Monogamist: Gettin' Some

Dear Serial Monogamist,

What's the easiest way for a girl to get laid in this town?

Sincerely,

Tired-Of-Masturbating


Dear TOM,

I’ve believed for some time that nearly any woman who possesses at least average looks and charm can probably pull tail on any given night. I know a single gal or two, and I know that when they’re determined to bone down, they’re successful.

But so much depends on you, darling. I mean, have you checked out all the options at work? Interns maybe? They’re usually pretty easy. Do you pass out your phone number indiscriminately to any male who glances your direction? I mean, you’ve gotta keep casting if you want to catch one.

You know and I know that I can’t write you a recipe for action, but I wonder if you know the basic recipe for “getting laid.” (Which is, of course, a helluvalot different than the “meeting someone special” or “having good sex” recipe)

1) Go out.
2) Apply alcohol.
3) Make eye contact with a target.
4) Look away.
5) Look back.
6) Smile.

Repeat until your target approaches.

From there, it’s easy. Laugh at his jokes. Touch your hair, but not too much. Tease him. Drink more. One item that women sometimes make a mistake on: Don’t try to get him to buy you drinks, buy your own. This is about getting some nookie, not about getting free booze.

At some point, hopefully after a spell of making out in the corner, all that’s left to do is offer to pour him a drink at your place. Do not pass go, and do not, for the love of tits, ask if he has a girlfriend (remember, kids, this is a “get laid” course, not a “be a good person” tutorial).

I should say something about safety at this point, you know, carry a knife in your purse, have a fruitbowl of condoms on your nightstand at all times, have a safety “out” word if you play with S&M; but Jesus, I’m a dating blogger. I’m not your mother.

One more tip. If June has taught us anything, it’s this: Fly solo. You’re less intimidating when you’re not surrounded by a flock of women. If you’re too afraid to go out alone, at least go to the bar alone when you get a refill.

If all else fails, lower your standards. Ugly dudes, guys with one leg, guys wearing silk shirts, hell, they all need love. Grab a hold of a mullet and go to town. Imagine approaching a nerd and taking him home. He’d be so grateful. I won’t judge you.

Haha, just kidding. You know I will. But I tease because I love.

Got a question for the Serial Monogamist? Sure you do. E-mail it to seriallymonogamous@gmail.com