A girl I know was dumped, hard, by her long-term boyfriend when he found someone new. Problem was, he still wanted to hit the familiar. Probably because she knew his kinks, it was easy, it was comfortable. So she gave it up, but it drove her nuts. And all of her friends frowned on her for it—and I’ll admit it, I was among their ranks.
Now take a man I know (I know this is way different, but bear with me): I went out with this Guy (Let’s call him Guy, but pronounce it the French way. Soft ‘g’ followed by a long ‘eeee.’ Try it: "Guy." Isn’t that nice? After all, he was an excellent kisser, just scruffy enough and he pulled away at the perfect moment) a few times, then I dumped him. Not hard, no. Ole June just told him that I didn’t really think we were compatible. I had fun going out, but in all honesty, he was a brute and a conversation hog when my friends were around. One on one with me? Perfectly charming. But it became a problem later. Oh and Guy drove a shitty car. Not sort of shitty, but very shitty, bad upholstery and a spider crack crawling across the windshield, and he didn’t even work full time.
But I digress: I dumped him. He was none too pleased, and tried to talk me out of it. No go, buddy boy. A couple of weeks later, I was checking my email and his little green available button popped up. He IM’d me. And I’ll admit it: I was pretty wasted (it was a Sex in the City watching and wine drinking party night), and pretty randy. Not sure how long it took for me to subtly invite him over—not long, though.
Now here’s the thing I like about men. Did he once complain that I didn’t like him and I was using him for his body when I dumped him and then invited him over for a late night bootie call? No. He hopped right into that godawful jalopy and right into my sateen sheets. Did he think that because I’d let him sleep over that we were ‘on again?’ No. And did his friends look down on him because I thought I was too good for him unless he had his pants off? I doubt it. Did it hurt his self-esteem to have meaningless sex with someone he was interested in for more? If so, he certainly didn’t act like it when he bounced out of my apartment the next morning, whistling Dixie.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Grand Theft Auto
**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from "Trodo." Who doesn't love a little crime with their dates?**
Around this time last year I broke up with my ex and was on the prowl for something new, exciting and distracting. A friend figured she would be kind and gave my name and number to a friend of hers. I should have known something was not right from the get-go when, instead of calling me, he messaged me on Facebook first. A day or two go by of us exchanging vague, non-specific pleasantries back and forth – him with the intent of wanting to meet up, me with the intent of being polite so he’d take the hint, shut the hell up and leave me alone.
But, as we all know with bad dates they just don’t get the hint. Car Boy eventually worked up the courage to ask me for coffee and I brushed him off with an ‘Oh sorry, too busy with work’ excuse. Then he text messaged me with another ‘Hey lets go for coffee!’ Me: ‘I’m sick.’
Next I get a flurry of determined (stalkerish) messages about how he’d do the nice thing and bring the coffee to me because I am so sick. Yeah, no, I can’t have him doing that so I eventually agree to meet up at a different time later that week.
The planned date time comes and goes and I don’t hear from him. Instead of being relieved, I have to admit I was somewhat curious that he let it drop after all his hard work so I text him.
Three days later he gets back to me. Apparently he was doing some ‘Training for work and blah blah blah blah.’ I hesitantly accept this line, and I agree to go out with him the next night.
Date night comes and he arrives at my place to pick me up. I have to admit he was kind of good-looking in the fierce bald way, but he totally blew it when he matched that look with a Christmas sweater. That had danglies on it. Dangling Christmas dangles—if that isn’t a red flag I don’t know what is. But: Car Boy had a great Jeep.
So I get in the jeep and we (he) decided that instead of going to sit inside a place full of potential witnesses, we’d hit a coffee drive thru and drive around. But despite everything, Car Boy is somewhat of an interesting guy to talk with (minus the fact that all he really did was talk about cars and I could only nod along, give doe eyes and act interested), so it was rather easy.
After a good hour of being parked down near a river that screamed ‘Make out point,’ he decides that he is in fact a horny teenager going to get some action! He puts the moves on me; leaning close, sliding arm around shoulders, puckering up his lips and attempting to look me longingly in the eyes. I wanted to vomit and this conversation followed:
Me: Yeah, time for me to head home.
Car Boy: Oh, okay, well have a good night.
Me: Um…you picked me up?
Car Boy: Yeah, I know.
Me: You’ve got to drive me back home.
Car Boy: Oh, right.
His astuteness astounds and stuns me into silence as he begins to take me home. But then! Instead of taking me home, he goes and picks up his friend instead! Even worse, I get shuffled to the BACK of the jeep for this to happen. I would have gotten out if I knew where exactly we were and found my own ride home but before I thought of that I was trapped in the back seat.
Next, he drives to the opposite end of town from where I live. I’m now a good 40 minutes from home. In the industrial park. With Car Boy and his friend. Trapped in the back seat.
Soon we find ourselves parked outside of a locked, chain link fence that is keeping us out of a darkened parking lot. It was at the point his friend got out of the Jeep, reached into the back (where I’m sitting) to grab a pair of chain cutters that were under the seat, and he goes to the fence. I dig through my purse to find my phone and SOS some help, but it’s dead. Great.
His friend cuts the lock on the fence and pushes the gates open only for us to drive right on through. I just witnessed by first up close and personal B&E. Car Boy jumps out of the vehicle after parking, telling me to wait there.
Five Minutes go by.
Ten Minutes go by.
He finally comes back around the 15-minute mark. He doesn’t come back alone. Nope, he’s bearing gifts! Greasy, oily headlight gifts. Which he promptly dumps in my lap asking, ‘Hey, can you hold this?’ This repeats over and over until the back is littered with car parts. Seriously, car parts. He’s stealing car parts from an auto shop parking lot.
You know what makes this all sweeter? About the fifth time he starts talking about his sexual powers, but he starts talking as if we were in mid conversation about it already. So while he’s stealing vehicles I’m learning he’s got a dick that is just ‘made to tickle the girls the right way.’ Is stealing an aphrodisiac?
Just when I think things can’t get any worse, I hear the sound of an engine start. His friend had hotwired a vehicle and peeled out of the parking lot. Cue for us to leave. We peel out of there and I finally get a ride home. He expects a good night kiss; I stare at him as if he’s grown two heads that each has a dick flopping from his forehead.
Next day at work – extremely paranoid by then – I get a call from my friend. Car Boy and his friend have skipped town. Apparently they had some trouble with the law. My paranoia goes into overdrive and for the next two weeks I refuse to leave the house without giant sunglasses to hide my identity and believe I’m being followed.
I deleted his number from my phone. He still tries to get in touch with me today. But hey, we made it into the newspaper.
Around this time last year I broke up with my ex and was on the prowl for something new, exciting and distracting. A friend figured she would be kind and gave my name and number to a friend of hers. I should have known something was not right from the get-go when, instead of calling me, he messaged me on Facebook first. A day or two go by of us exchanging vague, non-specific pleasantries back and forth – him with the intent of wanting to meet up, me with the intent of being polite so he’d take the hint, shut the hell up and leave me alone.
But, as we all know with bad dates they just don’t get the hint. Car Boy eventually worked up the courage to ask me for coffee and I brushed him off with an ‘Oh sorry, too busy with work’ excuse. Then he text messaged me with another ‘Hey lets go for coffee!’ Me: ‘I’m sick.’
Next I get a flurry of determined (stalkerish) messages about how he’d do the nice thing and bring the coffee to me because I am so sick. Yeah, no, I can’t have him doing that so I eventually agree to meet up at a different time later that week.
The planned date time comes and goes and I don’t hear from him. Instead of being relieved, I have to admit I was somewhat curious that he let it drop after all his hard work so I text him.
Three days later he gets back to me. Apparently he was doing some ‘Training for work and blah blah blah blah.’ I hesitantly accept this line, and I agree to go out with him the next night.
Date night comes and he arrives at my place to pick me up. I have to admit he was kind of good-looking in the fierce bald way, but he totally blew it when he matched that look with a Christmas sweater. That had danglies on it. Dangling Christmas dangles—if that isn’t a red flag I don’t know what is. But: Car Boy had a great Jeep.
So I get in the jeep and we (he) decided that instead of going to sit inside a place full of potential witnesses, we’d hit a coffee drive thru and drive around. But despite everything, Car Boy is somewhat of an interesting guy to talk with (minus the fact that all he really did was talk about cars and I could only nod along, give doe eyes and act interested), so it was rather easy.
After a good hour of being parked down near a river that screamed ‘Make out point,’ he decides that he is in fact a horny teenager going to get some action! He puts the moves on me; leaning close, sliding arm around shoulders, puckering up his lips and attempting to look me longingly in the eyes. I wanted to vomit and this conversation followed:
Me: Yeah, time for me to head home.
Car Boy: Oh, okay, well have a good night.
Me: Um…you picked me up?
Car Boy: Yeah, I know.
Me: You’ve got to drive me back home.
Car Boy: Oh, right.
His astuteness astounds and stuns me into silence as he begins to take me home. But then! Instead of taking me home, he goes and picks up his friend instead! Even worse, I get shuffled to the BACK of the jeep for this to happen. I would have gotten out if I knew where exactly we were and found my own ride home but before I thought of that I was trapped in the back seat.
Next, he drives to the opposite end of town from where I live. I’m now a good 40 minutes from home. In the industrial park. With Car Boy and his friend. Trapped in the back seat.
Soon we find ourselves parked outside of a locked, chain link fence that is keeping us out of a darkened parking lot. It was at the point his friend got out of the Jeep, reached into the back (where I’m sitting) to grab a pair of chain cutters that were under the seat, and he goes to the fence. I dig through my purse to find my phone and SOS some help, but it’s dead. Great.
His friend cuts the lock on the fence and pushes the gates open only for us to drive right on through. I just witnessed by first up close and personal B&E. Car Boy jumps out of the vehicle after parking, telling me to wait there.
Five Minutes go by.
Ten Minutes go by.
He finally comes back around the 15-minute mark. He doesn’t come back alone. Nope, he’s bearing gifts! Greasy, oily headlight gifts. Which he promptly dumps in my lap asking, ‘Hey, can you hold this?’ This repeats over and over until the back is littered with car parts. Seriously, car parts. He’s stealing car parts from an auto shop parking lot.
You know what makes this all sweeter? About the fifth time he starts talking about his sexual powers, but he starts talking as if we were in mid conversation about it already. So while he’s stealing vehicles I’m learning he’s got a dick that is just ‘made to tickle the girls the right way.’ Is stealing an aphrodisiac?
Just when I think things can’t get any worse, I hear the sound of an engine start. His friend had hotwired a vehicle and peeled out of the parking lot. Cue for us to leave. We peel out of there and I finally get a ride home. He expects a good night kiss; I stare at him as if he’s grown two heads that each has a dick flopping from his forehead.
Next day at work – extremely paranoid by then – I get a call from my friend. Car Boy and his friend have skipped town. Apparently they had some trouble with the law. My paranoia goes into overdrive and for the next two weeks I refuse to leave the house without giant sunglasses to hide my identity and believe I’m being followed.
I deleted his number from my phone. He still tries to get in touch with me today. But hey, we made it into the newspaper.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tarzan Responds
**Editors' Note: Last week a guest submission from "Jane" came in about the first time she saw her boyfriend too drunk. Her boyfriend, Tarzan, responded this week.**
I must admit I was amazed at the response I received by your friends when I (drunkenly, I admit) made my pubic hair preferences public knowledge. Aghast looks, dropped jaws, smirks of derision. Since when did an attraction to a natural and beautiful thatch of luxuriant pubic hair become a sexual deviance? I argue that a sculpted and manipulated bush, or god forbid, a fully shaved one is much more strange and freakish.
I must admit I was amazed at the response I received by your friends when I (drunkenly, I admit) made my pubic hair preferences public knowledge. Aghast looks, dropped jaws, smirks of derision. Since when did an attraction to a natural and beautiful thatch of luxuriant pubic hair become a sexual deviance? I argue that a sculpted and manipulated bush, or god forbid, a fully shaved one is much more strange and freakish.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Dating a Banker Anonymous
There was an article in the NYTimes recently about a support group started by some women living in NYC whose relationships went in the shitter due to the recession:
Are you fucking kidding me?
The one common thread among them is their romances with high powered, financial wankers have all suffered as their men have come under the stress of a market collapse and economic recession. No more credit cards or $250 eye brow waxings. No more unhindered consumerism at their boyfriend's and/or husband's expense.
Here's a quote from the article:
"In addition to meeting once or twice weekly for brunch or drinks at a bar or restaurant, the group has a blog, billed as “free from the scrutiny of feminists,” that invites women to join “if your monthly Bergdorf’s allowance has been halved and bottle service has all but disappeared from your life.”
I know I'm a freak who would rather wear elastic waistbands and baggy socks, but what is the fuck is bottle service and how fucking lame do you have to be to pay for it?
Are you fucking kidding me?
The one common thread among them is their romances with high powered, financial wankers have all suffered as their men have come under the stress of a market collapse and economic recession. No more credit cards or $250 eye brow waxings. No more unhindered consumerism at their boyfriend's and/or husband's expense.
Here's a quote from the article:
"In addition to meeting once or twice weekly for brunch or drinks at a bar or restaurant, the group has a blog, billed as “free from the scrutiny of feminists,” that invites women to join “if your monthly Bergdorf’s allowance has been halved and bottle service has all but disappeared from your life.”
I know I'm a freak who would rather wear elastic waistbands and baggy socks, but what is the fuck is bottle service and how fucking lame do you have to be to pay for it?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
Atom Feed (xml)