Pay The Toll To The Troll. The Price? Your Soul.

I don’t have any idea how often this happens, or who determines it, but supposedly, Mercury was in retrograde as of Thursday this week. Why don’t frogs just rain down from the skies and we can all just be done with it? No, the psychic attack is much more stealthy, I think. The back of my neck aches. My gums and mouth burns and everything tastes metallic. I fervently wish that Facebook incorporated a disgusted eye roll emoji in their current six options, up from the original singular thumbs-up option. My inner dialog changes: Get out of my way. Stop kicking my goddamn cane. Your perfume smells like cat piss. I’m not waiting 45 minutes this time before calling in to see if they forgot me again, I’m only waiting 30. I am going to scrub my fucking toilet until it fucking sparkles.

Even before Thursday hit I could feel the earth boiling, and my mood was cooking right along with it. I encountered my first troll on Tuesday night. A friend created a private Facebook group so that (mostly) she and the rest of us could say things that couldn’t be said unfiltered in front of a wider Facebook audience. The creator also uses the page to talk about her new grandchild, so obviously it’s not as restrictive as she originally intended. Anyway, a mutual friend was going through a rough patch with her boyfriend and had already talked about it at a coffee shop reunion the week prior, so when she posted in the group, she was just looking for further confirmation that she wasn’t being too harsh in her judgment; after all, when you are the one in the situation, it’s difficult to be objective. This jackass dude pipes in and starts criticizing her and tells her that she’s probably not communicating correctly or enough with the guy she’s in the relationship with – not at all helpful.

Knowing what I know of my friend, and knowing what I know of the guy she’s dating, I don’t hold back on the troll. First I tell him that she DOES and HAS communicated clearly what her boundaries are and that they have been violated repeatedly. Every point the poster or I bring up, the troll says we’re wrong. Then the troll starts talking about how this always happens to him, that he’s always attacked for having a “different viewpoint from most everyone else.” I told him then that it’s because he’s condescending and he has contradicted everything that the original poster and I have said. He said “No, I haven’t. Tell me where I have. I genuinely want to know.” So instead of turning the post into everything about him, I tell him to go back and read. His reaction is to laugh. Obviously there isn’t anything “genuine” about this jackass. The final straw is when the troll claims that we shouldn’t be “defensive, that he is only being inquisitive.” My response was, “You’re not inquisitive, you’re correcting both ___ and I, so that does not constitute a “different” perspective as if it somehow elevates you, it just makes you repulsive.

But then the owner of the group starts posting paragraphs about how we’re supposed to play nice. Then there’s more posts about how disappointed she is about our behavior and how she wants to shut the group down…but she doesn’t, because other people chime in that despite the fact that I’m a bad apple, the group is a “good idea” and some people claim it’s so great that she should “go global” with it – as if talking behind backs is a new concept. If that’s the case, I’ve got some oceanfront property in Arizona to sell to them. Lots of sand.

Troll #2 happens the next day, when I talk about this conversation. He listens for a few minutes, then bursts in with, “I HATE MEN!” As if I, Chelsea, hate men. I don’t. I do, however, hate men who: Lie, cheat, steal, are alcoholics/addicts, are abusive, are lazy, are filthy, are racist, are bigots, pollute, smoke, chew, are narcissists, and hate animals. I’m sure there’s more to the list, but that covers it for now. By the way, Troll #2 fits into quite a few of these categories. Hey, does someone smell butt hurt?

Troll #3 is on Thursday, the big retrograde day. I am pulled into a discussion about racism and white privilege. The person who tagged me is Native American, and the other person is white (and just happens to be an editor for Bloomberg and fancies himself to be an expert on the world and all experiences, like all white guys). The Native American wanted the privileged white dude to know that every other white person didn’t share his smugness. What it boils down to is that the white guy claims that no matter what, all people suffer, so racism, sexism and bigotry don’t actually exist, and we should just get over it. The examples I gave him – white men kick my cane when I’m in public, but women and just generally people of color don’t kick my cane; or white men shoulder check me – probably doesn’t happen, or if they do, they happen because people are just being shitty to me and it doesn’t have anything to do with privilege. He told me I needed to be friendlier (as in, “You are a woman, so you owe it to me, a privileged white male, to smile at me”), so I told him he needed to stop being a dick.

I’m not sure what the cure is. I don’t know how long this shit storm Mercury started lasts. Mercury is an asshole.

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Valentine’s Day is 80% Off

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I’m going to do a little update on Walks with Wood (https://thesickandthedating.com/2015/06/10/hello-world/) because as I stated before, I snoop to keep track of exes. Though he and I no longer live in the same state, he did try to contact me out of the blue at the end of March of 2015 because he wanted sympathy for driving drunk without his seat belt and crashing his car (and his head in the process).

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Diamond Dust Necklace (I’m assuming. He claimed he spent “a lot” on it.) WwW gave it to me on Feb. 11, 2015.

So this is their post confirming one year:

WWWandOphelia

The last time we saw each other was February 28th when he showed up late and drunk. Either Ophelia has no idea there was an overlap, or she has forgiven him because he is a project to fix. Either way she has not had it easy; he told me his friends assumed that I was ugly without even meeting me. That didn’t exactly endear them (or him) to me. Maybe they are kinder to her because she was already part of the circle.

In other news, Walgreen’s has all of their candy on deep discount. Unfortunately, just like my love life, I am being forced to clean up my diet before it maims or kills me, so no sugar, soy, gluten or dairy. Welcome to February 15th, where the chocolate is 80% off, and so are the relationships.

A Step In The Right Direction

There’s a little release party going on for Barbie, and it signals a change in awareness and acceptance. Hooray for that! All of those years of articles explaining that Barbie’s measurements would leave her on all fours with missing ribs to account for her mind-blowing tiny waist have finally been heard. Barbie will come in petite, tall and curvy, as well as different hair colors and skin tones to be a more realistic reflection of our American society.

http://nytlive.nytimes.com/womenintheworld/2016/01/28/meet-barbie-in-her-new-forms-petite-tall-curvy/

I quite like Quartz in general for human interest stories, including the Barbie makeover. Here is their take on it (and incidentally, whomever dressed Barbie in the first shot should be shot, because the cutesy tank top says “Be Your Self,” with no hyphen to indicate that it should be “yourself,” as in, one word with a hard return between syllables):

Curvy, petite, and tall Barbies will do nothing to empower our girls

I think they may have felt a little pressure and saw true competition from the Lammily doll, which was created through a crowd funding site and is now going into large-scale production. The Lamilly has far more realistic measurements, flat feet and honorable career outfits. I hope that the “new” Barbie doesn’t push the Lammily out of the market. Options must be celebrated, and small businesses supported. It shouldn’t take crowd funding to get a sensible role model to girls and boys for mass consumption. Every little message we send out into the universe regarding women’s bodies, who owns them and who has a right to dictate what they should look like makes a difference in how children create their own values. Why not embrace inclusive standards rather than exclusive? (BTW, some of the pics on the Lammily site depict girls reflecting on periods – something you’ll never see Barbie doing, but every female with a functioning uterus and ovaries goes through. Why not make it a safe and open topic?)

http://lammily.com/

Just as a side note, I happened to access my blocked call list today because I had to add another solicitor in my phone (they always find a way to get around the “Do Not Call” government list), and I noticed that Nashville called yesterday. That was the first time in three weeks. I guess he got tired of being milked for money by the fake profile Russian and Chinese “girls.” He’s going to keep singing the same song about how he’s never broken up with anyone, and he just doesn’t understand what’s going on. Sure ya do, Nashville. You got caught jerking off. Here, I’ll get you a Barbie doll…………

Where Have All The Good Men Gone?

Yesterday I posted an article on Twitter from The Good Men Project site.

http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/bots-wedding-feminism-marriage-cost-jrmk/

With the post, I said, “If men are butt hurt by women having careers and their own income, they’re not worth marrying.” Then I included the hashtag #feminism.

I always, always hesitate to include this hashtag. It’s not because I don’t believe in equal rights – I do – but some days I’m just not up to being attacked. There are a multitude of men on Twitter who create mask accounts and watch hashtags like “feminism” because they immediately jump on that thread of conversation to argue with women and tell us we don’t know what we’re talking about, and that we’re stupid, and that we don’t know how to read, and that we are emotional, and that we are fat, and that we just need a good dick to stick it to us.

The first kid that jumped in wasn’t using very strong language. In fact, he was a lot less forceful than the others, but I am thinking this is because of his age; as he gets older and continues to buy into this thought process that men are the “victims” of feminism – rather than understanding that a more equalized and emotionally connected society brings happiness and contentment to most rather than just a select few – he will become more and more angry and disillusioned about his life. When I remarked upon the fact that the ex Dumb and Angry wanted to shoot me because he felt threatened by me earning my own income (that was behind the fight I had to call the cops on), at first the kid said he didn’t know if that was true, but if it was, he wouldn’t continue discussing this topic because I would only be able to see my own experience. I keep saying “kid” because I’m guessing this one can’t be a day over 19. His next argument was that his dad wanted to be the breadwinner and his mom wanted to stay at home, though she ended up having to work. Did I deny those people exist? On the contrary, I absolutely know they do, and told him he can still find them in the 1950’s household fetish group on FetLife. I’m not speaking for them. I’m speaking directly about the men who feel threatened about women earning their own wages.

Another guy jumped in. I’m not sure if his picture was actually of him, but I’m guessing him to be about 27. His first statement was something like, “What if men won’t marry because when they divorce, the ex gets custody?” My reply was, “What if you’re assuming the sole purpose everyone gets married is to procreate and overpopulate the earth?” Then he started MANSPLAINING. He was alternately condescending and insulting. I could tell that he’s been hating on women for a very long time and participating in these “manosphere” groups and picking up their vocabulary. At one point he told me I must be “thick” if I didn’t understand what he was saying. I had restated his argument as “Marriage = children = divorce = custody.” He also pulled up some statistics saying that men work harder and longer than women (not taking into account, of course, that the imaginary children he was so worried about would be taken care of first by his imaginary wife – meaning, if the imaginary children got sick at school, the imaginary wife is traditionally the first one called if she can be reached to pick them up from school, therefore she misses work. We were also missing a chart that allotted time for each spouse for household chores like laundry, cleaning and yard work. Guys, the work doesn’t end when you leave your job). Then he started using the ultimate phrase that is the favorite of all white men from ages 18-60, and that is “strawman.” It didn’t matter what I said, he made sure that became a regular part of the exchange. Then he started calling me pet names (adding to the condescension), so of course, I used them right back. At one point I said something like, “Oh, Bunny, it will be okay. I’m sure some women will worship you – or at least you will tell them they do.”

A third man jumped in. My guess is that he is, again, white and probably around age 47. He said he would never ask “her” because if they got divorced, she would get custody of the kids and he would be ruined financially. He did not use any punctuation. Basically, his argument was the same as the 27-year-old’s: Marriage = children = divorce = custody (with a little child support thrown in). My guess is that he has already procreated with a long-term girlfriend and works at a job that he greatly dislikes; he’s one step away from living in mama’s basement.

A fourth kid (again, maybe 19-22) jumped in and said to me, “You’re a fucking retard.”

A fifth guy cutely said I just needed to get shagged. The 27-year-old agreed, then crowed about how happy he was being a white guy living in Asia (thereby revealing his oh-so-common fetish for Asian women as complacent sexual servants).

So a couple of accounts were reported for being abusive. Keep in mind I didn’t know these guys before they jumped my shit for including the hashtag #feminism. I wasn’t hanging out on the hashtags they use to talk about how stupid women are. They came over to my side to call me an idiot and a retard.

Today a friend sent an article without knowing what had transpired on Twitter. It very well could have been written about these guys. Why it resonates so deeply with me is because it seems to be EVERY man I encounter on OKCupid: not a single one I have interacted with has been interested in a relationship and commitment; rather, they want to fuck as many women as they can, and they are constantly on the lookout for a better choice. It happened most recently with Nashville, and with the guy who is currently separated and probably going to go back to his wife, and with countless others before them. Motherfucking internet.

“The systematic, quantified pursuit of women tends to make men bitter and resentful.”

This statement was written by the author of “The Game” as well as the most recent book, “The Truth: An Uncomfortable Book About Relationships.” He’s a male who has fallen into the trap of fucking around and always looking for the next best thing, never placing any value on the person he is with, and he has fought his way out of that harmful thinking multiple times. There’s a whole subset of vocabulary used in the manosphere. I invite you to read the article below. It’s the most enlightening thing I’ve read in a very long time – mostly because I realize that it’s not my imagination, and that men are actually congregating and deciding to be heartless, nasty, promiscuous, belittling, dissatisfied, condescending, derogatory and abusive. As was pointed out in the article, all of them have missed the conclusion of each book where the writer talks about how all of that behavior is destructive to the man (and women).

As one of the guy’s grandmothers pointed out, “We’re women too.” Women are not anonymous islands; we are just as interconnected as men in our roles in this society. We are mothers, daughters, aunts, granddaughters, friends. Violence carried out on women affects ALL women. It’s not okay to punch your girlfriend and then turn around and kiss your mother.

It’s a long article, but I promise you, it’s absolutely worth the read from beginning to end:

http://nymag.com/thecut/2016/01/jared-rutledge-pickup-artist-c-v-r.html#

As a side note, no one – male or female – joined in this conversation to speak up and say, “Hey, it’s not okay to call her “thick” or a fucking retard or say she just needs some dick.”

Face Forward

I have been listening to Pandora and catching up on correspondence, and this song by Hinder came on:

 

Lemme interrupt and say that the advertisement that ran for me immediately preceding this song was for cat food. If we think about placement algorithms, I personally would draw the conclusion that the advertisers assumed that the people most interested in this song/video would be single spinsters with 20 cats for company.

Here’s my beef with this song: The singer is talking about how he wants to fuck around with his ex. He wishes his current girlfriend was actually the ex he is talking to. His “girl is in the next room.” Some of my acquaintances have never paid attention to the entire song, just hearing the chorus, which goes:

“It’s really good to hear your voice saying my name, it sound so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing thoseĀ  words, it makes me weak”

Sounds hot, right? I mean, who wouldn’t want to know you’re turning someone on just because you’re speaking to them?

Here’s a quote for you:

“Stop looking for happiness in the same place you lost it.”

I always told all of my friends to never go back. There was a reason for breaking up, and the reason didn’t change. In my 30’s, I did exactly what I was preaching not to do – I went back. I went back to Drummer #2 and ended up having to call the cops on him. I went back to Dumb and Angry and ended up having to call the cops on HIM too. I went back to Ping Pong, many times, and nothing ever changed. I am fully aware that a lot of the problem rests on my feelings of being unattractive and inadequate. My inner voice tells me that if they wanted me, then I must settle, because that’s as good as it gets. I am only worth men who control me, or threaten to kill me, or tell me they never want me to meet their parents or children, and I should just be happy that they want to stick their penises in me.

Of course this isn’t true, but that inner voice can be louder than anything else.

The other topic addressed in this song is cheating. Cheating takes a lot of effort. You have to keep track of your lies. You have to make sure you don’t see someone who knows your official significant other while you are out messing around. You have to constantly worry about being caught.

I went to a concert in Phoenix at the Musical Instrument Museum, and by pure chance, I caught someone cheating. I had been at his house a week or two prior to this concert and I met his very cute, very friendly girlfriend. He did not bring that girlfriend with him to this concert. Instead, he concerned himself with sneaking around ME, trying not to hold his date’s hand while I was turned in his direction. I played dumb. He made out with the other woman in a corner that they thought was hidden from my eyes. I saw everything.

Since I had only met him once, I didn’t feel like I knew enough about him and his personal life to call him out on his obvious side dish.

This song really gets under my skin and makes me see red. I want the singer to stop whining about what he has and wishing for something/someone else. Instead, just commit to something, whether it’s to respect and love his current girl fully, or to go back to his ex and and respect and love her fully. I see this all of the time, the indecision, the whining, the keeping the options open in case someone better comes along.

Here’s a better anthem:

Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word

When I was 21, I worked two jobs with the goal of saving up enough cash to travel for a while. I also wanted to pick a new place to live, but I wasn’t sure where. My best friend and I packed up my car, converted most of our cash to traveler’s checks, borrowed my dad’s 6-person tent and took off. We stayed for a month on Mackinac Island to earn some more cash. After that, we cut across Canada and started at Niagara Falls and camped our way down the entire east coast. It was my first encounter with the ocean.

I almost set up residence in Hilton Head Island, but I kept seeing all of the hurricane evacuation signs and they freaked me out. As we looped back up and cut through Tennessee, I considered Nashville, but then I figured all of the country music would make me want to jump off a tall building. Later we cut back through Missouri and headed to the southwest, and I finally ran out of money in Albuquerque, so there I stayed. Within a short amount of time I landed two jobs and a place to live. My friend opted to go to the Everglades in Florida to live and work.

A year later, she made her way back to New Mexico, and I was happy to have a good friend so close after floundering for a year with trying to make friends. We decided to take on dating together. Back in 1996, the best way to meet the opposite sex besides getting tanked at a bar was either posting or answering personal ads published in newspapers. Let me take just a little time out and post an ad that I found, clipped and saved for these almost 20 years:

SPM, 31, seeking female amputee, age 18-99, for romance. Your beauty and grace astounds me. Box ID 23394.

Talk about a fetish!

My friend and I placed an ad saying something to the effect that we were looking for double dates. The ad was free, but to initiate a call to someone is where the fee kicked in. We got a couple of bites but they were from men who didn’t have single buddies. One was a guy I will call Bear; he had a really deep voice and was very articulate, so after talking to him we agreed on a date.

Bear was tall, 6’2, with glasses and a bookish manner – or if you prefer, he was geeky or nerdy in general. Our first date was right after Christmas that year. Immediately, we hit it off. We hardly spent any days apart and were on the phone constantly. I remember telling him one time that I couldn’t get close enough – I wished that I could crawl under his skin and live there.

A month after we started dating, we were at a restaurant eating dinner in the middle of some serious winter weather. We looked around the place and noted all of the kids having meltdowns and said, “I’m so glad we don’t have kids.” Bear then said, “Why don’t we go to Las Vegas?” We both had never been and Bear liked to play blackjack. He revealed that he had saved up a wad of cash (something like $600, which was a pretty good chunk in early 1997) and decided he wanted to use it to take a short trip with me. We ran to our respective places and quickly packed backpacks and called for tickets. We didn’t even take time to book a hotel.

When we arrived, we realized our mistake – it was the electronics convention, and EVERY hotel room was booked. However, our chain smoking cabby with the biggest, flashiest earrings told us that the Happi Inn was a sure thing – she always took people there for situations like these. Sure enough, they had a room. And what a room it was! Mirror on the ceiling, garish orange bedding with a bed sagging horribly in the middle, one TV station and cockroaches in the bathroom. We were also being price gouged because of the convention, $80 for the night. We did the best we could because we were flying out the next day.

It was a fun day. We played slots, and Bear got three blackjacks in a row, which was noticed by the pit boss, and we were rewarded with two tickets to the Ceaser’s Palace buffet. We took many pictures around the strip and visited M&M World. We even saw our first Cirque du Soleil show, “Mystere.” It was a fun little trip…or so we thought, until we tried to fly back. Because of snow storms all over the U.S., we couldn’t get a flight home until the next day at 1 p.m. I left a message on the work answering machine to tell everyone I was momentarily stranded and that I would be back to work Tuesday. The managers didn’t think to check the messages when I didn’t show up to work Monday morning, and they were in the process of calling the police to do a wellness check on me when I called in to make sure they got my message.

It didn’t take long for Bear and I to move in together. He was my first love (though he had had other loves before me). I loved him deeply. He was a patron of the arts. He wrote me love letters. He talked about the future.

However, there were problems at his workplace, and he decided to try to land a job closer to the Midwest or east coast. He almost took a job in Allentown, PA, but decided to take an offer in Cincinnati, OH instead. It was still early in our relationship and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, so I moved with him. I figured I would get a job after we relocated. We rented an apartment on a short lease without seeing it first on the Kentucky side of the Ohio River.

Shortly after we moved to yet another city where I didn’t know anyone else, Bear told me to make my own friends because he wasn’t going to be my entertainment. So I did. First I went out a few times and partied with a lady I met while working a temp job as a proofreader. Later I partied a lot with the people who worked with me at the large law firm. It seemed that his declaration was the turning point in our relationship, and nothing was ever the same after that.

Bear also became somewhat addicted to the internet. His nerd side was strong – his mind was blown with the potential the internet held at that point – and that meant that he was on it constantly. Part of the problem was that resources were available that never had been before, like being able to buy video games that weren’t always sold in the immediate vicinity. Oh, and the porn…

So the problem was that money that was supposed to go for rent was being used up by video games and porn. I was unhappy because there were a few times when Bear would blow his portion of the rent on games and I would have to pay for everything. He also spent money and time on porn instead of joining me. There were so many times I would beg him to come to bed, and he would refuse. I felt ugly and undesirable. Since I was living with a nerd, I was becoming more computer and internet savvy myself. I started to go to chat rooms, and then I began talking to men in private chat sessions.

My first trip to Europe was in May of 1999. I was visiting a university friend who lives in England for ten days. I had been saving and saving, knowing that even though I had a free place to stay, there would still be lots of expenses. A week before leaving, Bear revealed to me that he didn’t have the rent money again because he had purchased video games. I was absolutely furious. Like a true daughter of an alcoholic, my brain went into dissociation mode and I completely forgot what Bear’s face looked like. In fact, when he picked me up from the airport at the end of my trip with a fist full of flowers, I walked straight past him like he was a stranger – he had to call out my name and grab my arm.

A few weeks later I met up with one of the men from the chats while Bear was working. I was so eager that I failed to properly turn off the computer, so the message box was still there for Bear to see when he got home from work and the house was empty. Of course he read it, all of it. When I got home, he was sitting on the edge of our bed, looking absolutely crushed.

We broke up but continued to live in the same apartment and sleep in the same bed because we were still obligated to the lease we signed. Luckily it ran its course within two months and we could move on. We actually stayed friendly through the breakup – he helped me move into my new apartment, and he joined me at a friend’s house for Thanksgiving (my friend’s mom introduced us as, “This is Kiwi and this is Bear and they were dating and now they’re not, so I don’t know”).

Bear later went on to marry one of our mutual friends and have two sons – the two sons we used to discuss when we were a couple and talking about our future. He even named them the names he had picked out then.

Today I had a chance to trade messages with him and catch up. Bear is now divorced and in a relationship with another woman, and his sons have adjusted well to the major shift in the household. We exchanged information about our families and friends. I also sincerely apologized for cheating on him, acknowledging that I did not have the best tools at age 25-26 to deal with my anger and disappointment, and I hurt him deeply. He very graciously told me that it was forgiven and forgotten. I cried big, fat tears.

The Broad Squad

CutBanana

The internet is a fantastic invention and I don’t know what I would do without it in my life at this point. I use it to search for rare health cases and symptoms like mine. I use it to communicate with my friends around the world. I watch movies and TV shows via four different streaming services while my laptop is propped over me at a tilt. I’m talking to you stranger dangers, for Pete’s sake.

One of the first ways the internet was initially used for “evil” was that producers and distributors suddenly realized how they could reach a much larger audience to pander their porn.

Another is that it is super, super easy to create a profile and an entire backstory for a person that is not at all based in truth.

Hulu has every episode for the show “Catfish: The TV Show,” produced and distributed by MTV. I was a fan of the movie, and now that I have loads of time on my hands, I am watching that show like I’m loading it up on an IV leading directly to my veins. The movie “Catfish” was made because a guy in his mid-20’s, Nev (pronounced “neev”) started an online romance with a woman long distance, and his brother and their friend taped the progress of his relationship. He is a good looking guy (dark hair and eyes, strong jaw, lovely constant 5 o’clock shadow), and the woman he thought he was talking to was gorgeous with caramel-colored hair and big turquoise eyes. Thought. Nev was crushed and confused when his journey that ended with him meeting this mystery person face-to-face. This is not how he imagined his fairy-tale story would end. Turns out the woman was a middle-aged housewife with special-needs kids who wanted to momentarily escape from her life.

Now Nev’s mission is to help others facing the same dilemma. People write to him because they have been carrying on long distance internet romances with someone who they aren’t sure is being truthful about their appearance, their job, their marital status, their gender, their location, their offspring, their names…you get the idea. “Catfish” is no longer a subject – it’s also a verb.

So, have you been catfished?

Internet dating sucks. I’ve said it many times and I’m sure I will again. At the very least, people don’t like to post their recent pictures, usually because their weight has changed from when they were 17. I get it – I would rather people see me at my best too. I actually haven’t taken any pictures of myself for the past few years because bed rest has not been kind. But I have never lied about my marital or relationship status, the city where I live, my age, my name, my gender, or any other item you can dream up. I don’t tell men up front that I’m bald, but those same men also don’t tell me if they have a 4″ dick that is bent at a right angle.

A good friend I’ll call Svetlana is still braving internet dating, and I am presenting you with just one of her stories with her permission. She had closed down a profile after feeling disgusted and defeated by the men who approached her, but she stayed in touch with a few, including one I’ll call Fernando. Up to this point she has not met him. Fernando had finally asked her out on a date, but Svetlana hadn’t had a chance to accept or decline; instead, she received this message:

Hello Svetlana, I am the girlfriend of Fernando and I don’t think you know anything about it. Since July I live in Germany. 10 days ago I came to his sister’s home in Skokie to visit him for a week, just yesterday I came home. I had seen in his phone and the text messages that he sent to you (unfortunately you are not the only one with who he communicate, at the same day another woman probably from Brasil because it was in Portugese language got from him a love message the same words that he said to me words that he said to me a lot of time, I know that because my friend translated it)…so sad because at that time I was with him, what he would do is ruthless,phony and disrespect. He used me just for his advantage and benefits, he needs european passport to stay legally in Europe and after that study in Amsterdam. He asked me to marry him, now I understand that he wanted just passport and then just cold bloody leave me for another woman. Now I know that he is just liar and cheater, he promised me never to hurt me because my ex boyfriend did it and he knew whats happened in the past to me. I am very angry, disappointed and upset what he did to me, everybody helped and like him cause he looks as innocent and lyal person but he is not like that…unfortunately not! I release my self from him. Why I send you this message? because I want to warn you, no woman deserves this pain. He promised me not to dating you when we stay together but I don’t want to share my life with somebody like him. So enjoy his company.”

First and foremost, Svetlana felt like this took a lot of courage for this woman to reach out to her and warn her. Svetlana has done the same thing when she has discovered men who have been lying and cheating, but sadly, she has had vitriol thrown back at her – other women calling her a slut, whore, desperate, and any other derogatory name you can think of. Second, she responded to the woman and thanked her for warning her, because she wanted nothing to do with men who conduct themselves in this manner. Third, she felt immense relief because this woman did not treat her badly, especially since she had not knowingly become one of many other women he was working on.

How would you react if someone contacted you to warn you that the person with whom you were conversing with or in a relationship with was being duplicitous or dishonest? Would you listen to them rationally, or would you call them names and try to shame them for telling the truth?

Svetlana suggested that she could send a message to Fernando saying, “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” But really, I thought it would leave much less room for him to wiggle out of if she asked him when he’s planning on moving and who he is going to marry in order to get the proper passport. She did and then blocked him.

My wish is that women would stop buying into this theory and practice that we should compete against each other for the attention of men. Every woman Svetlana warned should have thanked her and cut off all ties to the liars rather than turn against her. I would love to start up a Broad Squad, where we take the time to research things like marital status, number of offspring, jobs, cities, etc., using our favorite tool, the internet (because I can’t very well drive around in disguise and take pictures). Then we warn each other. Then we believe what the other women are saying with proof to back it up. Look, I know we don’t want to think the man who is sticking his dick in us and saying very pretty words could possibly be saying the same to other women, but it’s time for the women to stop hating other women for the lying that men do. And it’s time for men to change their internal recordings from “that bitch messed up my plan, now I have to find new victims” to “I’m sorry, and I will never be a shit again.” Really, wouldn’t we all be happier if we were trying to be our best selves?