dating over 40

Well, That Was Unexpected

Posted on by akiwifreund

Today I got an offer of companionship.

But before you get out the pom poms, hang on. Just hang on.

Things have been a little, or a lot, rough. Right now I’m biting on a hunk of gauze, but it’s really something like my 8th hunk of gauze, trying not to think about the liquid that is building up and being captured by it. I had my first tooth pulled today outside of my wisdom teeth being removed when I was 19. It feels absolutely awful on a fundamental level, but I couldn’t avoid it. It’s number 18, a tooth that has had 6 crowns, basically enough to fund a car. This last time I was eating a piece of cornbread and it snapped off the stem, making it unsalvageable. So, bye bye, ridiculous, useless shell of a molar. I can’t get implants because I’m allergic to both metal and the industrial glue they would use to keep it in place. It’s the last tooth. Maybe it won’t be noticeable. Maybe I will have cheekbones like Cher when all of the swelling is done.

I’m getting ready to get diagnosed with my 8th rare disease. I had a few false starts. At first, I thought it was panniculitis. I have these crazy stretch marks and it really does look like what people get when they get that disease. But that was kind of ruled out. Then I looked at lymphedema (which I still may have because of all of the fluid buildup and some weird pockets of lymph drainage swelling) and lipedema. That led me to Dercum’s disease, which I’m almost certain I have; 99.9% certain. Basically my fat is exploding and dying, and creating these super painful, hard nodules. I actually have bruises on my legs and torso. That’s the big clue, the bruises and the pain. And I’ve been gaining weight, even though I eat somewhere between 4 to 8 veggies daily, plus lots of protein. My team of 11 doctors have been telling me that I’m lying, that I’m just fat and lazy, and I just need to be a better person. But this is showing up in my MRIs. I finally got one of my doctors to listen to me, and now I have a biopsy scheduled near the end of January. As crazy as it sounds, I have to tell the surgeon how to do the biopsy. I’m doing all the research. All of these doctors have never heard of this disease, it’s so rare. The radiologist even refused to talk about all of these swaths of diseased tissue that everyone can see, because he doesn’t know what is causing it. The diseased tissue is forming at a rapid rate now. I’m a lot more tired and in pain than usual. My body looks like a defensive tackle.

Besides all of that, of course the housing market is a nightmare. My lease is up at the end of June, and we were warned in the middle of summer that we would have a rent increase of $50. But then the complex was sold to a different owner, and I have been watching the units rent at a $300 increase in the past month. I have been on wait lists for 3 years for rent-controlled complexes. However, renters who were affected by the pandemic are given priority now, and my wait for most places is now up to 10 years. I already had a little bit of a scare earlier in the summer that I might end up homeless, but some friends surprised me with some badly-needed help. Then some other things suddenly happened to help me stay afloat. But I need a long-term solution. A friend that I have known for 15 years offered to rent to me when this lease is up in June, but he found out that I needed to change the faucets from turn knobs to levers, and has basically said that I am going to make the apartment unlivable for future tenants. I still don’t know what June will bring. Oh. Anxiety. June will bring anxiety.

So I have all of this shit going on. And this guy picks me up to take me to my appointment to have my tooth pulled. I’m nervous as hell. I have a few groceries with me because I plan on making lemon ricotta cookies for Christmas, and I grabbed a few ingredients on the way to the appointment. So we’re chatting, and he’s telling me he doesn’t do relationships. Man, I don’t either. Not right now. Maybe not ever again; too many liars. But he feels comfortable enough to tell me that he hires escorts. I don’t blink. I tell him that I have friends who work in the industry, and that I understand that it’s transactional. We talk about how he doesn’t really want to give up his variety, and I totally get it. I love men, a variety of men, for a variety of reasons. I don’t have a type. I tell him about my first year in Arizona and my 100 dates. I tell him that if I am going to date someone, I’d really like them to live a few blocks away, so they can go home to their own mess, and I don’t have to be their mother or their maid.

Now this guy, he’s handsome. He’s tall. He told me he’s half Native American (Navajo). He’s got a really good speaking voice, like he’s done radio or he should. And we have a similar sense of humor according to our interaction on our short ride. When we got to my appointment, he surprised me by handing me his card and suggesting I call him if I wanted to get together. Did I? Yes. I wanted to climb him like a fucking jungle gym. But will I call him? Probably not. My life is really, really complicated right now. Jesus H., man. I can’t even explain it to him without sounding like I want sympathy or a lot of help. I don’t. I just want to be able to have a booty call, and to drive myself to the booty call, and to drive myself home from the booty call, and not have to tell him not to touch my torso, or why he can’t touch my torso (which right now feels like kitty litter or ping pong balls, depending on where you grab it because of the freaky disease).

I was so nervous about getting my tooth pulled that I completely spaced out and I left my little bag of groceries in the back seat. He was very nice about turning around and bringing it to me two minutes later. I wondered if he regretted his offer and wanted to take back his card after all, but figured he would tell me if I ever got up the balls to call him anyway. Which I won’t.

The Offending Fixture

Bullies

Posted on by akiwifreund

I don’t know if I can really look back at this objectively, but I’m going to try.

Growing up, I had one parent out of four who really, really didn’t approve of me. I was always too fat. It made him really upset that my hair fell out in perfectly round circles – what was up with that? I must have been doing something to myself, I should just stop it! (But it was my body attacking itself.) He told me that he loved my sister more than me because she was the first born, and my brother more than me because he was the boy he always wanted.

While I was still in elementary school, we moved from a large city to a very tiny town of 300. This was right in the middle of my awkward years when I couldn’t figure out what to wear on my strange new body and my teeth were still crooked like I could eat a carrot through a fence because the dentist wanted to wait a few more years before recommending braces. Fifth grade was brutal. I had almost no friends the entire year because a girl from my class (who was tall, also awkward, with blond frizzy hair and shifty eyes) gave me a horrible nickname and meanly declared that no one could be friends with me or come near me. She got one of the boys in our class to write me love letters as a joke. He then made a big deal of “breaking up” with me, or as much as you can break up with someone after a few badly written letters, and their little group passed around what I wrote to him. (Imagine my surprise when I visited my step-cousin’s cousin’s house and it was HER house a few years later. I thought she was going to shit her pants. I had no idea where my step-aunt was taking us, I was just riding with everyone.)

I also had bullies on my bus. They didn’t just pick on me, my sister was a target too. Our bus ride was a long one, nearly an hour in the mornings and about 40 minutes in the afternoons. The worst of them was the stop immediately before ours but still quite a distance from our house because we’re talking farm country. She was MEAN. ROTTEN. The others were further along the route. One was a girl in my class who has always been very mean spirited. Her whole family has taken on the same persona as her mom; her dad busted his ass, but it seems that her mom was never happy with that and was always focused on appearances and putting her dad down. So that’s what she embraced. So I was an easy target. Fat, awkward, and crooked teeth. There was a scrawny boy, I think he may have been a year younger than me, also part of their little group, that my sister ended up punching because he lifted her skirt. It’s too bad she didn’t break his nose. And then the last regular in that group was another girl, who, again, was spiteful. She was good friends with the girl with the nasty mom and she seemed to thrive on the nastiness herself. (As a side note, I have become friends with some of these people on Facebook to see if anything has changed. It hasn’t.)

I’m just going to skip way ahead here, to the bullies online. First there’s the guys who have dating profiles on the various dating websites. After a few decades of doing online dating between being in relationships, I have decided to not use online dating anymore as a means to find connections, because it can be pretty brutal. In my 20s and into my 30s, there were times when I would take things that were said to me very personally. It was really tough to let stuff go. This was also the time when I was in the process of losing all of my hair, so I was really self-conscious of my appearance and didn’t really know how to initiate the conversation about looking like Mr. Clean to prospective dates (or guys that I had already been out with a bunch of times). But everything nasty that was said to me was excused by the guys as being in the interest of not wanting to waste time. They HAD to say it. They couldn’t wait. They couldn’t filter. I had to take it or they would move on. They had to be shitty. If I couldn’t handle it, then it was my problem and not theirs. How can you reason with that anyway?

Now of course we’re in the era of Facebook. We thought this would be a fad that lasted maybe 5 years, maybe a bit more. But they keep changing the algorithms so we stay hooked. I try to take breaks, but they usually only last 4 of my waking hours. Facebook is filled with all kinds of ills. I belong to some rare disease patient groups because I know it’s likely I will hear something I’m not aware of, and it’s also a good way for me to keep track of doctors and medications. I don’t often comment, though. I will see the same people posting – sometimes daily. I know that some people need to find any reason to connect. It drives me a little batty because sometimes they ask, “Has anyone tried ______?” and of course there was just a long discussion about it the day before. If I have something different and useful to say, I will add to the discussion.

Recently in one of the groups, a guy posted that he was taking hydroxychloroquine for our condition, the same as what “cures the virus.” That really upset me, because first of all, no one takes that medication for our condition. It’s the wrong medication. Second, that medication also does not treat COVID-19. So I posted that along with scientific journal articles, plus the CDC directive stating that that med should not be used because it has caused people to die. Suddenly 4 guys jumped on and said all kinds of personal things about me, including one who said he hoped I didn’t have children – as if that related to me correcting this misinformation that this guy put up in the first place. So a few days later he came back on and said he did indeed put the wrong medicine up, that he was actually given an antibiotic of a completely (not even close) name. No one apologized to me for being shitty to me. Then two days ago from today, a woman jumped on and was shitty to me, telling me I was off topic and I should apologize for that. I wrote back and told her that ignoring all of the other posts and focusing on me for correcting misinformation, misinformation that the original guy admitted he was responsible for, was shitty. Then she just wrote another line saying, “Well, it was off topic.” Yep, it sure was, initiated by the original guy. But I’m going to correct it with science every time if someone else is going to put the wrong info out there.

Just yesterday, I was in another patient group for another rare disease. It’s a little more difficult for me to describe everything that happened or is happening with my brain and cerebrospinal fluid in a short enough paragraph that will make sense. Part of that is conveying this understanding that my symptoms are unusual and disarming to the doctors, to say the least. A fellow patient basically called me a liar. My fuse is pretty short these days, so I tend to stomp and snort once as warning, and that’s all you get. After that I will cut a bitch. I explained how many doctors I had encountered (over 100 in 10 years) and being banned from the Mayo in writing, and added that Barrow had just told me to go to a “neighborhood neurologist” because they didn’t know who to send me to in their own organization. This other patient continued on her crusade to tell me that I didn’t know what I was talking about and there was no way I could guess that doctors hadn’t seen my symptoms before. So I told her congratulations on deciding to be a bully to a fellow patient. In fact, all of the doctors were stumped by my symptoms, their words.

Also not too long ago was the issue with my cousin who lives on the east coast. He told me to get off my lazy ass when I became disabled after the ten failed brain surgeries (but before the issues with my vertebrae and the bones in my hands starting to fuse together). I did mention this before, but I didn’t hesitate to tell him to eat a bag of dicks. He is a drunk bully, and I just kind of feel sorry for his wife and daughters.

I’m 46 years of age now. There’s certain things you stop caring about, I suppose, but I think my thing is bullies. I mean, really, I think I’ve experienced them all. My feelings just aren’t getting hurt anymore. After the most recent exchanges, I did a temperature check and I felt nothing. That parental bullying is gone. My cousin hasn’t ever really been in my life. Elementary school is long done. I haven’t ridden a school bus since 10th grade. I’m definitely not doing online dating anymore, I think I gave that the old college try and then some. And those patient groups…well, now I can just scroll past them. Sometimes I get random comments online because of articles that have been posted that I respond to. Those are usually the lowest of the low. I think I remember one lady telling me to “get that thing in the middle of your forehead fixed.” I still have no idea what she was trying to say. It seems no one else did either because she didn’t get any responses or reactions.

I think one of the truest tests was after an exchange with complete strangers in a comment section, a stranger sent me a message that said, “Have you been drinking? You must be lol” and I was thinking, wow, he came all the way over here just to say that. No imagination. He’s the laziest bully ever.

Sayonara, Senor Shorty

Posted on by akiwifreund

Have you ever dated one of those people who blamed everyone else when something bad happened?

The last time we were naked together, all Senor Shorty (height: best guess is 5’1″, I’m 5’5.5″) did was complain about his first long-term girlfriend, and why he was justified in cheating on her. The son they had together is now 12 years old. I tried to steer him away from that topic, because 1. (and I said this): I didn’t want to talk about another woman while we were doing what we were doing, and 2. He has never taken responsibility for cheating. It’s a choice.

Senor Shorty was angry with her because she didn’t service him enough. She was staying at home to take care of their kid, who was born with cystic fibrosis and a host of developmental disabilities, and she also takes care of this guy’s mom, whose house they lived in (and she and the kid still live there). So this woman is taking care of a child and an elderly woman all day, every day. Senor Shorty gets home and demands that she make herself more available for sex. She doesn’t make it happen, and he starts screwing around on her. He also controls her money and transportation. Classic abusive move right there.

Besides being a shit to his ex, Senor Shorty also bullies his 12-year-old. Because the kid has sensory issues, he has a hard time standing and peeing. So I found out this guy has been calling him a mama’s boy and telling the ex she’s doing a bad job of raising him. But this guy lives in my state, and these two live in New York. He tells everyone else this kid is his mini version, but he’s a total dick to the kid and the ex. I can’t convince Senor Shorty to stop bullying his kid. He thinks that he’s a great dad because he says he is. Of course, his actions say otherwise.

He says he “fell in love” with another woman and he got her pregnant while he was still with girlfriend #1, which resulted in his second son. He definitely favors Kid #2, 5 years old, because the little one misses him terribly and tells him so. Kid #2 is also in New York, though far away from Kid #1. Senor Shorty has given him very expensive gifts to make up for his absence, which Kid #2 really doesn’t want any part of. He just wants his dad. Of course, Senor Shorty cheated on this woman too, and punished her by taking away her transportation and controlling her money. It’s a common theme.

So, this guy. Within a week and a half of agreeing to date exclusively, he cheated on me. He tried to blame me for being hurt, saying it was my imagination, and he never said anything about dating me. I’m just gonna leave this screen shot right here.
Cheating1

I swear like a truck driver on the regular anyway, but I tore him a new asshole.

After a while, because when he’s not lying or manipulating, we can get along decently well, we decided to try friendship. The lines got blurred a few times and we did have sex, but it wasn’t a regular thing – maybe two more times at most over the span of five months? Anyway, I told Senor Shorty that I would help him get his life on track, and it would be better for the next woman. I meant it too. And his life is better, when he does things the right way.

But it always drove me fucking nuts whenever I’d catch him in a lie (which was every day, big and small). Like when he insisted he didn’t watch TV. We were talking about his budget, and he has this very fancy laptop that he only knows how to turn on and off. He doesn’t even know what an address bar is. I was telling him he didn’t need to buy a TV for his little studio apartment, he could just watch his laptop, and after I explained everything he agreed. Trust me when I say that he didn’t even have enough money to buy toilet paper. A couple of months later he was complaining about the fact that he was still paying off a TV that he didn’t even have for a week. I asked him to repeat himself and then told him I didn’t understand. I realized that he had been lying and that he had in fact gotten a TV and he immediately broke it – but it wasn’t his fault!!!! Oh god, just wait. He had put up a little shelf over his head and the bed, and put a 55″ TV on the shelf, that he bought on installment payments. But he just put it the shelf in the drywall. He didn’t look for studs in the wall. Basically, the shelf just peeled off the wall like an orange peel. So it was the shelf’s fault, it was the TV’s fault, how was he supposed to know that there was a right way to put it up? Now he’s going to be paying those installments for forever, because he doesn’t have enough cash to pay off what he owes. 

This guy decided he needed to sell this brand new iPhone he had no business buying in the first place because he couldn’t afford it. He told me he was going to be paying off the bill. Of course, he didn’t. He texted me in a panic saying that he got a notice stating that the phone was going to be disconnected and the buyers were upset. So I was concerned. I said, “So you sold the phone, and you had no intention of paying off the phone?” He said he didn’t know the phone company was going to expect to be paid. It was their fault the phone was cut off. Now he had to hurry and figure something out. He was looking for sympathy, but I shut that shit down real quick.

This guy. Senor Shorty goes through jobs like candy. It’s always the employer’s fault. He was getting one new job a month, or so it seemed, all the way through 2019.  His jobs are based on road and highway travel, and he some has very specific skills. It’s their fault that he can’t stay on budget if they pay every other week instead of every week, though. Nevermind that it’s the same pay, and the taxes work out the same. He doesn’t know how to budget. He blows the money if it is in his account for too long. He has told me this is the first time in his life he has been in financial trouble, but I think that’s a lie too. He’s only a year older than me, so he’s been old enough to work for 28 years. He’s been fucking up his bills for decades.

The lying is exhausting. Whenever I caught him lying, he would tell me it was just his personality flaw and I had to be okay with it. 

Last week, I had enough. He was posting high school, feeling-bad-for-himself-shit. We’re smack in the middle of this virus and he’s whining and crying on Facebook about how lonely he is and he wants to “find a woman he can trust, who is beautiful, who will cook and clean for him and make him feel special.” First of all, no one should be dating right now. Second of all, no woman should be signing up to be his slave. He just wants someone to control. Boy, did that post ever put me over the edge. And why the fuck would he demand someone he can trust, when absolutely no one can trust him? He has cheated on every single woman he has dated for the last two decades.

My response was, “All a woman wants is a guy who won’t fuck around or expect her to be a sex slave, have no life, and perform like a porno star while he lays back like a lazy ass pillow princess.” Which, by the way, describes him nearly perfectly. The other parts I haven’t told you is that he’s the worst kisser ever (he just sticks his tongue out like a dead fish), he’s a premature ejaculator, he doesn’t know anything about female anatomy, and he’s very rough in a not-fun way (he tore the skin under my boobs, took about 10 days for me to heal). This relationship was not destined for long term anyway. I tried to get him to discuss with me what he enjoyed about sex, and he couldn’t say one word. Then he said that I clammed up and it was funny. Talk about gaslighting! He was unable to tell me one single thing he liked. The last time that happened, the guy ended up coming out as gay a short time later. 

I finally told him to clean up his shit and stop claiming to be a good guy while he was cheating on everyone he dated. I knew there were other women after me and he was screwing around on them too. One of his jerky friends piped up and said he should “run, because it was obvious [I] was bitter.” Not about him dating other women, believe me. I just want him to not keep doing this shit and then feeling sorry for himself, so that was my response. So that got me unfriended on Facebook. Boo hoo. Good luck to whomever is next. He loves to dump his shit on you and then say that you won’t ever get close to him – meaning he doesn’t want to hear about you or support you, he only wants to talk about himself. (Pro tip: at least you don’t have to do a marathon BJ session ever.) 

Also, he wants to get a penis implant to make his penis larger. He thinks it will make sex better for him. He doesn’t care if it will for whomever is having sex with him. I asked him if he thought it would change his sensation, and he said no, but he still wanted it. And if it isn’t happening to his penis, he isn’t interested. 

I definitely should have vetted him better before jumping into a relationship. That’s on me. Sometimes I am blinded by the promise of fun and adventure. I’ve changed from my 20’s, though, and don’t let things drag on for years.

Why I Won’t Do Internet Dating Anymore

Posted on by akiwifreund

I’m a veteran. I was in the trenches for 20 years, on and off. But I retired in 2016, when the last one turned out to be a binge alcoholic-hoarder-gambler.

My first exposure to the internet was when my father had his brother-in-law set it up at his house around 1991; back then it looked like a bunch of links to articles that talked about space exploration, and it took forever to connect. It was boring as fuck. But as we know, technology doubles every 18 months, so by 1996 I was set up with chat room names and “meeting people.” Then everyone figured out how to meet in person besides meeting virtually.

Then came the dating sites. Oh, Lavalife. You were my gateway to my Saturday night sugar daddy. (Don’t judge; I only let him buy me dinner. But he was so much fun.) Lavalife gave us the option to just look for friends, look for serious relationships, or look for casual hookups. We were all kind of winging it. Some people had very strict rules. If you were on the casual hookups, then no way did you have a chance in the serious relationships. I also met the sweetest man in Atlanta who used to write me actual literature, but because I had to stop traveling to his area because of work, it killed our relationship. The curse of the internet. I know I can’t survive long on long distance. I can barely survive someone living 15 or more miles away.

I went through the quizzes on eHarmony. The response I got was, “Only 3% of the population would be interested in dating you. It might take a while for us to find a match for you.” The internet will either make you or break you.

And then of course later came Match.com, OKCupid.com and PlentyofFish.com. To pay or not to pay, that was the question. Then very specific sites got in on the action, like dating farmers, dating millionaires, dating BBWs, dating amputees…

There was a guy that I met through OKCupid and very briefly dated in Minnesota who I seemed to have a lot in common with and we had fun when we were together…or so I thought. But then he started acting like a total loser. He couldn’t even talk to me like a human. He would just send me a message that said, “Anal?” Not even hello. Or, “Bukake?” Or, “Swallow?” No other words, no other conversation. It was like he was having an entire exchange in his head and he would just send the end of it to me and expect me to say yes. When I called him out on it, all he did was send me more single words, and then change his profile to say that he needed someone to “keep up with him.” Except that isn’t keeping up with him. That isn’t even interesting. What did he need me for? Just to finish his sentences? He’d do fine with one of those real dolls, created just for jizz. It won’t talk back. It certainly won’t tell him to take care of the nasty stripe of fungal infection running along his waist and balls.

And now instant gratification is the preferred experience. Or is it? Because fuck these guys. Reporting women so they are forever banned from Tinder because they aren’t interested? And no one can dispute being banned? Where is the option for “I turned down his laziness, so I call bullshit”?

Guys Are Reporting Women on Tinder for the Crime of Not Being Into Them

 

My Milkshake

Posted on by akiwifreund

Just a little update: I was finally diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis in May, and my case is fairly advanced. I have growths all along my spine and just got confirmation on Friday that all of the difficulties I’m having with my hands (horrible pain, swelling, tenosynovitis in every tendon, and cysts) is also likely from the AS, as I have grown to suspect. Humira is out for treatment because it accelerated my hidradenitis suppurativa, so I’m going through testing and trying to get approved for a different injectable. I’ve already been denied by my insurance company because the co-pay is $1,523/month so we’ve started the paperwork for a patient assistance program.

I also flew back to Minnesota twice to get two different laser treatments for my hidradenitis suppurativa. The dermatologist who is treating me started experimenting on another patient and mentioned it to me when I was moving away last year. I tried this as a last-ditch effort because absolutely nothing was working. Boy, what a difference! After the first round I got about 60% improvement, but it took about 3 months to see it. I’ve got about 75% improvement now after the second treatment. I know I’ll have to go for a third treatment but I’m hoping to wait until after the snowy season, which means I’ll have to postpone at least until April/May. This is a really, really difficult disease. I couldn’t convince any of the local Phoenix dermatologists to use the same method, so now I have to spend a fortune in travel and hotels (can’t stay with family because I’m allergic to their animals).

During all of this I had to fire my pain doctor for dropping the ball in a major way. I finally got into Barrow again with a new neurologist (I really liked the resident and I hope he doesn’t burn out; the doctor seemed suspicious of me because all of my stuff is so weird, but hey, I think neurologists are pretty much useless, so right back at ya, buddy). The next thing I think I have coming up is my teeth. I’m having a lot of issues with the gums and pain with two teeth, and I noticed a growth that I thought was just some swelling initially. Mast cell activation syndrome really fucks with all of this.

So just in the past week, I had some perverts knocking on my virtual door.

I still have a notice on my FetLife profile that I’m not participating in any activities because of health issues; that includes parties, one-on-ones, texting, role-playing, etc. I will say hello and that is it. In all honesty, I’m sick to death of online stuff anyway. I much prefer real life. But this is what I got in my inbox:

“A nice smile nice conversation nice lips nice eyes nice hair nice tits nice pussy nice ass nice personality all boils down to one thing. Can this person make me orgasm and use rope to tie me up and take advantage? After having long stressful days and weeks and unfulfilled sexual satisfaction a person just wants one thing. With me it’s just straight to the point. No need she pretending to be the princess or the dominated woman that you pretend to be and your outside personal business and work life. I didn’t know what what’s going on until I made her come and orgasm over and over again until she blanked out several times. Are you then figure out what was going on, suggest a few commands and before you know it she was coming on command. I’m straight to the point very blunt. I host everything. I get a hotel or motel room here in Tucson You show up in the proper attire and the session begins just that simple. No strings attached just you and I and you getting what you want. All I ask is give it one try. After that if this is something that you don’t want then you cut the string and this is all forgotten about.”

[I’m just going to say here that it’s every man’s fantasy that his dick has magic juice. Seriously. Every guy thinks he can make a woman black out or blank out. Hahahahaha! Or this Jedi mind trick shit – cum on command. Fuck you. Fucking lazy shit.]

Me: Kind of a bummer you went through all the trouble of copying and pasting that without reading my profile.

Him: Sweetheart I read your profile, how was I or anyone to know how you are now? Your last entry was 5 months ago. 
Note: [His thought process is that my request to be left alone doesn’t matter. His dick has magic juice. P.S. – I hate being called sweetheart when I’m calling him out on shitty behavior and we don’t know each other.]

Me: That should be a clear indication that nothing has changed. Sweetheart.

Him: Maybe a person got off FetLife because they lost their account information. Maybe the person wanting a break. Maybe a person was in a certain situation but things got better but just never updated.
[Translation: Maybe I have a magic dick and if you get some of my magic dick juice, you’ll be cured. I will then claim that on my profile – and in this copied and pasted paragraph for the next victim. Whatever is going on, though, I’m not listening, I’m not listening, I’m not listening, I’m not listening, I’m not listening, I’m not listening…]

Me: Maybe we’re done talking now.

* * * * * * * * * * * *
Crickets after that.
* * * * * * * * * * * *

I accepted a friend request from a friend of a friend on Facebook. It seemed like we had the same political leanings (something I ALWAYS check for now) and he might possibly know my mom and stepdad – he knows one of their friends, at least. I don’t accept a lot of strangers. So he messaged me immediately.

Him: I couldn’t resist your beautiful eyes! And I am working on my hesitancy with beautiful red headed women. Frightens me some….love to look, but never touch.

[Jesus H. So he puts redheads up on a pedestal of weirdness. I wasn’t even going to bother telling him that I’m bald. None of his fucking business. I’m pretty sure he had already printed off a picture of me at work and was taking my picture into the bathroom with him to wank off.]

Me: I appreciate that you want to appreciate certain features, but you should do that on FetLife. Once you fetishize a person, you miss the red flags and seeing them as a whole person.

Him: That’s your first conclusion of me based on one comment? Kind of discriminatory!

[WTF. He immediately opened up with his fetish.]

Me: You don’t understand discrimination. You approached me. Redheads aren’t different beasts.

Him: I did not say you or they are…I only indicated my opinion.

Me:  Look, you obviously have a fetish. It’s okay. Own it. This whole thing about being injured because I recognize it is weird. Go out and explore all of your kink.

Him:  I do. It’s the enjoyment of discovering all kinds of people and their diversity.

Me: Fine. But I’m not on FB for fetish.

Him: Fantastic, me either and I will happily delete contact with you, while at the same time reinforcing my fear of redheads.

Me: Haha! Baby.

[So, he hit me up regarding his fetish, then claimed he didn’t have a fetish, then told me that our only purpose of contact was for his fetish and redheads are back up on the pedestal. Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker.]

I Don’t Recommend It

Posted on by akiwifreund

Disclaimer: This post contains very descriptive accounts of doctor appointments.

I’ve had quite a long break from posting. My right hand is still giving me quite a bit of trouble and likely will for the rest of my life; the diagnosis is CRPS (complex regional pain syndrome). I’m in the 10% of patients who haven’t experienced a trauma or surgery and the disease developed spontaneously. I go to occupational therapy twice a week, which includes such strange things as identifying right hands and left hands in flash cards and hiding my right hand behind a mirror while I perform tasks with my healthy left hand and trick my brain into thinking it’s my right hand doing them. The idea is to try to keep my brain from shutting down the right side of my body. On really bad days, even air hurts when it blows across my hand. It’s a really fucked up disease.

For the past two months I have also been getting treatments for my hidradenitis suppurativa – acronym of HS (otherwise known as horseshit). It is known as the worst (strictly) dermatological disease, and normally it occurs in areas where skin touches skin. However, mine also appears on my face, neck and back of my head. You’re welcome to look up this condition if you aren’t familiar with it, but every patient is different. It’s an autoimmune condition that causes inflammation and tunnels of infection and lots of scarring. My worst area by far is in my groin. I have stage II because it’s in two or more areas of my body and I’m getting some bigger tracts. Every day I have between 20 and 50 infections. The bacteria is generally strep bacteria that forms anaerobically under the skin in tunnels that can be as small as a grain of rice or as big as a grapefruit. Sometimes I can’t walk.

My HS wasn’t too bad until I started on Humira shots, which I was taking for 15 months. I was allergic to those, and it actually accelerated the disease for me, which I am now hearing from a lot of patients, especially stage I and II. From what I can tell, the medication is actually accelerating the disease for about 30% of patients, not helping or hurting about 40%, and helping about 30%, and the majority of those helped are stage III, the worst stage.

So the first treatment was a topical acid I had to wear for 24 hours, and then sit under a blue light. I had a male nurse who asked if I preferred a female nurse, but I told him fuck it, nearly everyone has seen my ass by now. He didn’t know the proper name for stirrups. I got propped up in the stirrups, and then he set an old-fashioned tap bell beside me, saying, “If it gets to be too much, you can ring this and I’ll come and turn this off, but try to get through it.” I also got a dollar store hand fan, I think to make me feel better psychologically. He’s trying to be all nice and polite while my girl parts are all on display and ready to be cooked, and I told him, “Look, I’m going to sing. I have a feeling this is going to hurt. I have to sing.” He said that was fine and stepped out after turning on the timer, automatically 16 minutes.

So, the first minute was fine. No big deal. Dollar store fan? Who needs that? Not me!

By minute two, I felt like everyone had turned on their curling irons and then set them on my girl parts. Jesus god. What to sing?

At minute four, the nurse came back in and asked how I was doing. Somehow Satan had slipped into my vocal cords and I told him I was done. I can tap out, right? He said almost everyone didn’t notice as much when they got past minute seven. FINE. FINE. THREE MORE MINUTES AND IT WON’T BE A BIG DEAL.

He totally lied to me. Fuck, fuckity fuck fuck. Singing, still singing. I can’t remember what.

He came back in at ten minutes. Very cheerful. He must have felt my look of betrayal and mistrust. He told me that I had made it this far, I shouldn’t tap out now.

Still really hot. Fire of a thousand suns. The dollar store fan is just making everything feel like I’m having sparks from welding fall on my delicate bits. How do people do this to their faces? Still singing. Could have been the Star Spangled Banner for all I remember.

Finally the blue light went dead and the very cheerful nurse came back in. Turkey’s done! He got everything put away and let me down off the stirrups, but it was so fucking painful. I told him he gave me fire crotch. He laughed but stayed more than arm’s length away.

This all went faster than was anticipated, so I had to wait a few hours for my transportation (we can’t make changes day of). Sitting was torture. Oh. My. God. I basically had a 2nd degree burn and it felt like I took a brillo pad to it besides. I had to go into the bathroom to pat cold water on it once because oh my god. And I was still 35 miles from home. That was a really uncomfortable ride home. I had an ice pack on my goodies for 3 days. After going through all that, I was told I wouldn’t know if it was helpful until 3-4 weeks after the procedure.

Oh, but we’re not done.

I don’t think the blue light worked. I contacted my dermatologist in St. Paul because she had recommended laser sessions right before I moved, but I never got the chance. I had to fly up to see another doctor, so I scheduled an appointment with her as well to get treated.

Unfortunately, anything in the Lidocaine/Novocaine family doesn’t work on me, or at least, not very well. They had a topical for me that sat for about 20 minutes that was a combination of meds, but unfortunately, it didn’t really do a whole lot.

They didn’t have enough goggles for everyone, so I had stickers over my eyes. The first laser basically acts as an aerator, poking a bunch of holes in my skin. My doc thought it would be the more painful of the two. But no, it was the second one that made me swear. A LOT. The second one was like a light saber. Or some kind of a hot knife. There may have been a patient in the room next to mine who heard way more than they ever wanted to.

The doc and nurse were worried that I would be in pain for a few days after, but honestly I was okay as soon as those damned lasers stopped searing my skin. I didn’t get the same fire crotch that I did with the blue light.

The doctor indicated that if I wanted to try another session, I could book at another office where they had nitrous. Yes, please! I had that for my dental work when I was a kiddo, I know at least that will get some of me numb(er). And I do want another session because after only one week my lesions are smaller and I’m not getting new ones. It’s a motherfucking miracle.

I really, truly resent having to go through this. None of this was a problem before I took the Humira injections. I have had to completely change my wardrobe, buy tons of medical supplies, and halt my sex life. Everything is made even harder because I only have one fully functional hand.

Protected: Why Are You Still Single?

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Co-Dependency: I’ll Scratch Your Back If You’ll Scratch Mine

Posted on by akiwifreund

Co-dependent: I’m quick to use the term. It’s not so easy to define, though. I’ve been trying for better than a decade to find just the right words. It seems most psychology publications are in the same boat as me.

PsychCentral defines it as “a person belonging to a dysfunctional, one-sided relationship where one person relies on the other for meeting nearly all of their emotional and self-esteem needs. It also describes a relationship that enables another person to maintain their irresponsible, addictive, or underachieving behavior.” So really, they provided two definitions, not just one.

GoodTherapy.org breaks it down with a good ol’ list (because we love bullets) and explains that the “old” way of thinking was that everyone’s feelings were centered on one person’s addictive behaviors. Now co-dependence is recognized in much broader terms to include the role of caregiving, denial of personal problems, low self-esteem, feelings of guilt when offered help or attention from others, sensitivity to criticism, perfectionism and fear of failure, a projection of competence and a need to control others.

But the definition from GoodTherapy.org doesn’t make clear that there has to be at least two people in the relationship to make it co-dependent. At least one of the parties has to have low self-esteem and be sensitive to criticism and project a false sense of competence, and have support and attention from another party to continue carrying on with those behaviors. And let’s be clear, here: both or all parties can be co-dependent upon each other. Mothers and daughters, friends, teachers and students, lovers. Of course, some relationships are much more intimate and lasting than others.

Here is a comprehensive list from CoDA.org (Co-Dependents Anonymous.org):

Patterns and Characteristics of Co-Dependence; Co-dependents often:
• have difficulty identifying what they are feeling.
• minimize, alter, or deny how they truly feel.
• perceive themselves as completely unselfish and dedicated to the well-being of others.
• lack empathy for the feelings and needs of others.
• label others with their negative traits.
• think they can take care of themselves without any help from others.
• mask pain in various ways such as anger, humor, or isolation.
• express negativity or aggression in indirect and passive ways.
• do not recognize the unavailability of those people to whom they are attracted.

Low self-esteem patterns; Co-dependents often:
• are extremely loyal, remaining in harmful situations too long.
• compromise their own values and integrity to avoid rejection or anger.
• put aside their own interests in order to do what others want.
• are hypervigilant regarding the feelings of others and take on those feelings.
• are afraid to express their beliefs, opinions, and feelings when they differ from those of others.
• accept sexual attention when they want love.
• make decisions without regard to the consequences.
• give up their truth to gain the approval of others or to avoid change.

Control patterns; Co-dependents often:
• believe people are incapable of taking care of themselves.
• attempt to convince others what to think, do, or feel.
• freely offer advice and direction without being asked.
• become resentful when others decline their help or reject their advice.
• lavish gifts and favors on those they want to influence.
• use sexual attention to gain approval and acceptance.
• have to feel needed in order to have a relationship with others.
• demand that their needs be met by others.
• use charm and charisma to convince others of their capacity to be caring and compassionate.
• use blame and shame to exploit others emotionally.
• refuse to cooperate, compromise, or negotiate.
• adopt an attitude of indifference, helplessness, authority, or rage to manipulate outcomes.
• use recovery jargon in an attempt to control the behavior of others.
• pretend to agree with others to get what they want.

Avoidance patterns; Co-dependents often:
• act in ways that invite others to reject, shame, or express anger toward them.
• judge harshly what others think, say, or do.
• avoid emotional, physical, or sexual intimacy as a way to maintain distance.
• allow addictions to people, places, and things to distract them from achieving intimacy in relationships.
• use indirect or evasive communication to avoid conflict or confrontation.
• diminish their capacity to have healthy relationships by declining to use the tools of recovery.
• suppress their feelings or needs to avoid feeling vulnerable.
• pull people toward them, but when others get close, push them away.
• refuse to give up their self-will to avoid surrendering to a power greater than themselves.
• believe displays of emotion are a sign of weakness.
• withhold expressions of appreciation.

As I revisit the definitions, I evaluate first my own behavior, but also a few specific relationships near me (that I have to be careful not to become too invested in, though I tend to become protective and outraged when I spot misbehavior). I think that the actual name “co-dependency” will be adjusted within the next 5-10 years, though what it will morph into will be a great mystery.

Missed Opportunities Brought To You By Creeptastic

Posted on by akiwifreund

This is another post from my MySpace days.

The Sick and the Dating:  The Weirdo in Mesa  4/17/07

Back in high school, I had a friend named Rachel who was a plus-sized girl that liked to wear trashy clothes.  She had bleach-fried hair, and wore those day-glo green colored contacts because she wanted her eyes to stand out.  One day we went down to a store on Hennepin Ave. (where all the hookers hang out, if you’re not familiar with Minneapolis) to visit a trashy outfit store, and a guy held the door open.  He said “There you go, Green Eyes” and she said “Oh, they’re not real” and he looked her up and down like she was his next meal and said “I bet the rest of you is”.  Thankfully, I didn’t get his attention – I certainly wasn’t going to pipe up that MY eyes were green naturally.  Sleazeball who hits on teenagers, get thee gone!

I’m telling you this story because I found these postings in the “Missed Opportunities” section of the free alternative paper, Phoenix New Times, and it reminded me of THAT GUY.  You know, the weirdo that you laugh with while he says something really disgusting and overt, and you’re planning your escape.  This is the same guy posting these ads.  They are all in Mesa, and he keeps imagining these hot encounters with random women.  Notice how his age changes.

Friday, March 9th – Circkle K main and greenfield mesa – 43 (Mesa)

you are a gorgeous gal driving a station wagon with 3 ribbons on the back! you buy Marlboro reds 100’s between 730 and 745 weekdays!! in am. You have gorgoeus auburn longer hair!! and great body!! I drive a white Ford ranger and parked next to you on this past thursday!! I get smokes too! could I get some fries to go with that SHAKE? hope you read this!! its an older wagon you drive! and you wear tight jeans!! hope you are there monday am! hit me back if you think your it

Location: Mesa
Poster’s age: 43

 

Thursday, March 22nd – circle K on lindsay and baseline Mon. 7 pm – 41 (Mesa)

you were driving a white blazer was at the pumps! you bought an 18 pak of Bud! and asked for a pack of THESES? I bought keystone lite! you have longer auburn hair and tight LEVIS!! that looked so goo around your hips!! no ring seen on your finger!! WOW!!!!

Location: Mesa
Poster’s age: 41

 

Thursday, April 5th – circle K at main and val-vista wed at 4;45 pm mesa – 38 (Mesa)

you were a gorgeous blonde coming in the store as I was leaving!! you held the door and I said thanks! you said anytime!! think u drive a red grand am! wow!! long legs and beautiful hair!!

Location: Mesa
Poster’s age: 38

 

Monday, April 9th – circle K on lindsay and baseline Mon. 7 pm – 38 (Mesa)

thanks for gettin back to me!! but your e-mail address does not work!! or the phone number!! please get bak to me

Location: Mesa
Poster’s age: 38

 

Monday, April 9th – circle k on main and val-vista last week 445 pm – 38 (Mesa)

hey get back to me!! you e-mailed me but yuor e-mila wont go thru!! nor the number you gave me! gorgoues blonde!! jengirl??

Location: Mesa
Poster’s age: 38

 

Sunday, April 15th – hot brunette at Macayos on fri nite in parkin lot – 38 (Mesa)

I was walkin out out with another couple and you were outside with a nother gal havin a smoke!! you said Where do I know you from!! you have a smokin body and great smile!! wished I would have stopped!

Location: Mesa
Poster’s age: 38

 

Okay, buddy, none of these chicks are writing back to you – at least not with legitimate phone numbers or e-mails – because they can smell a lunatic a mile away.  Are you stalking all of the Circle Ks in Mesa?  I knew there was a reason I didn’t like that city. Everything bad happens at Circle K. I remember that from my court reporting days.

The Great Debate

Posted on by akiwifreund

When I was 14, I was visiting my dad’s house for the weekend and sleeping on the couch, which was the normal – I didn’t have a bedroom there. I’m a light sleeper. So it was a surprise that somehow between 12:30 a.m., when I fell asleep, and 7:00 a.m., when my stepmom answered a phone call from a stranger alerting her to the fact that her purse was scattered on the stranger’s front lawn, that the house had been robbed – and the burglar had somehow gotten past me. Three hunting rifles had been taken off of the wall along with a video camera and tripod, and of course, the purse.

The next night my dad took my place on the couch with his handgun in case anyone decided to come back. We used all of my babysitting cash to re-key the locks. But this story demonstrates many points: I grew up around guns (that were never locked up), the hunting rifles made it somewhere into the wide world to be used for who knows what, and that we are a violent society. The cops were surprised I was still alive and unharmed.

Not many years later, when my brother was five and a half, he was given his first gun for Christmas. His first few minutes alone with it and he shot out his bedroom light. I was never given a gun because I was a girl. Mind you, I never felt as if I missed out. But my dad and my brother perpetuated craving violence and guns. Even though I was the one who was on the couch, exposed, they were the ones who wanted to kill, kill, kill. At least, that’s what they projected.

My dad’s own father died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. In fact, Dad was the one who found him. Included in the three rifles that were stolen was the one that Grandpa used to do the deed. It had a strange sort of sentimental value that I couldn’t relate to. Who would want to cradle that weapon, and use it over and over, knowing its history?

Fast forward a few decades to when I lived with violent men. One was the guy who grew up in Manhattan in a household whose own siblings stabbed each other. The last day I saw him was the last time I called the cops on him, when he was supposed to be gone at work while I moved my things out of the house we were renting. Instead he was hiding in one of the back rooms and came out when I set down some moving boxes and attacked me. I struggled to get back out to my car in my stocking feet and he was restraining me and pinning my arms, telling me that if I would just do what he told me to do, we would be happy. I finally wrestled free and got in my car and called 911. The responding police officers bought his big-eyed innocent act and told me that if I called them again that I would be arrested.

Then there was the live-in boyfriend who threatened to shoot me – twice. He also talked about taking his guns to work to shoot all of his co-workers constantly. The cops reassured me there was absolutely nothing I could do until he actually followed through and hurt one or all of us. 

Most recently of course was my downstairs neighbor who moved out the last weekend of July, 2017. He used to beat his wife and abuse their cat. Whenever I had visitors I was a nervous wreck, because I had no idea if he would pound down the door while they were here, falsely claiming that we were too loud, or take it out on me later, screaming and raging and dreaming up reasons to call the cops on me. Worse yet he could of course physically pulverize his wife and cat for revenge, just for existing. He was ex-military so I knew it was likely there was a gun or two or seven in his apartment.

So here we are in the U.S. with our easy access to the worst kinds of weapons and ammunition. I am the one who was laying on a couch while a stranger or two crept past me to rob our house; you would think I would fall into the category of wanting a gun for home protection. I grew up around them; you would think I would relax around them. I’ve lived with and around plenty of assholes who have wanted me dead; you would think that I would feel safer armed.

Fuck that.

First of all, we have over 7 billion people on the planet. We are no longer hunting strictly for food supply. Anyone who claims that is an outright liar. And hunting season is so abbreviated that there’s no need to keep guns out for the entire year to make them accessible to every man, woman and child on the planet. Second, home invasions do not happen with the regularity that the NRA has somehow convinced the gun lovers they do. I remember reading from one guy a quote last week that Texas experiences 800,000 home invasions a year. My answer was, “Are you talking about bugs?” I mean, c’mon. If that were true, Texas would be experiencing a mass exodus.

The biggest and hottest debate that has resurfaced is the arming of school staff. I cannot stress this enough, but there are so, SO many reasons why this is a bad idea. Right now I live in the city where Philando Castille was shot. He had a permit to carry a concealed weapon and told the cops, and was shot and killed anyway. If for some reason some idiots decided arming school staff members would be a good idea, the staff members had better be lily white, because we Americans cannot be trusted to be color blind. Even black cops have proven to have prejudice against black suspects without meaning to.

I posted this article on Facebook regarding an armed officer who never engaged in the shootout that was happening in Florida. He simply hung back while all of those kids were getting shot. I pointed out that if an officer did this, why would we expect teachers to uniformly charge without fear or hesitation, and to act correctly? A friend of 27 years, whom I considered a decently good friend, didn’t like that I used this as an example of why we shouldn’t arm teachers and staff. He also didn’t like that I proposed that we have stricter gun laws regarding background checks, wait times, amount of ammunition sold, amount of ammunition guns could fire, types of guns that could be sold on the market, and age of buyers/operators. He resorted to calling me an idiot. Finally, he just outright blocked me. 

But am I an idiot? I’ve just been trying to stay alive. I have all of this violence swirling around me, and all of these men are insisting that they have a right to violate me. I’m saying no. I will continue to say no. I’m good with saying no.

Lastly, here is a comprehensive list from a woman named Karen Nichols in Ottawa Center, Michigan; she had many questions regarding arming teachers and staff, and did a great job of articulating them:

Which teachers get guns?
Where will the guns be stored?
Who decides when guns can be brandished?
What penalties will apply if teachers mishandle a weapon?
Will teachers volunteer for gun duty?
Can teachers refuse it?
Who will audit their adherence to regulations?
Will students know which teachers have weapons?
Who will be liable if the teacher with the gun becomes the shooter?
What will be the consequences when students are accidentally shot by a teacher?
How will armed teachers communicate in a tactical situation?
Will teachers with a history of mental illness be allowed to use weapons?
Will teachers be required to disclose any history of mental illness?
Will teachers be issued a weapon? Reimbursed for purchase? For ammunition?
How will administrators conduct non-weapon-related discipline against a teacher?
Will there be armed assistance available to deter workplace shootings?
Who will shepherd the armed teacher’s classroom while the teacher is attempting to locate the active shooter?
What happens when a teacher misidentifies a student as a threat in good faith?
Will teachers who do not carry lethal weapons be offered non lethal alternatives?
If an armed teacher is shot, can another teacher employ his or her weapon?
How will armed teachers identify themselves to arriving first responders?
Will armed teachers be required to learn how to give first-response medicine?
Will armed teachers be required to attempt an arrest before using lethal force? Under what circumstances?
Will proficiency training on weapons count for teachers’ continuing education and professional development?
How will insurers adjust health and other rates to account for the presence of armed employees?
Will teachers receive additional pay for being armed?
how often will armed teachers be re-evaluated for licensing purposes?
Will armed teachers leading field trips deposit their weapons in a personally owned vehicle or school-owned transport?
Will one teacher per wing of a school building receive weapons? Two? Three?
Exactly which standards will count for proficiency—greater than a big-city police department, State Police, FBI, hobbyist, marksman?
In training scenarios, how will using force against innocents be penalized?
Will racial sensitivity courses be required?
Do parents have a right to refuse to send their kids to schools with guns?
Will students have to sign waivers? Will parents? What if a parent signs a waiver for a minor student who, when that student turns 18, refuses to abide by its provisions?
Will teachers on probation be allowed to carry weapons?
What about teachers with active union grievances? Complaints about sexual harassment? Anger management? Divorce proceedings?
Will armed teachers wear holsters?
Will they be stationed strategically during pep rallies or other gatherings?
Will they participate in lockdown drills as if they were armed or unarmed?
Will funding for the policies outlined above be distributed according to local budgets, statewide formulas, or national formulas?
Will schools in high-risk neighborhoods receive more or less funding? Suburban schools?
What is the right ratio of armed:unarmed teachers by grade level?
What is the procedure for debriefing and assessing armed teachers’ performance during a crisis?
Can an armed teacher who flinches be fired? Can an armed teacher who breaks protocol be rewarded?
Will preschool teachers have guns?
Will teachers in “juvie” (high risk) schools have guns?
Will the teacher or the school be liable if their gun is stolen?
Can administrators carry weapons? Can they do so in disciplinary situations?

Think about this: I quit playing clarinet after 8th grade because my band teacher was an outright asshole. After I quit, he was fired for punching a student. But let’s give him a gun, right?