Is It Time For A Vacation Yet?

I’d like to take some time off from my daily life. I’m not sure if that’s allowed, since I have loads of time off already – my only job is to rest and get ready for the next doctor appointment. But still, I’d like to look at something other than these four walls. In fact, I’d like my old life back and a reason to take a vacation. 

Anyway, yesterday was my birthday, and a couple of friends flew up from Colorado, and we decided to brave the largest art event in the U.S. – the Art-a-Whirl in Northeast Minneapolis. What was happening in one warehouse would have covered what most cities considered an arts festival, but this event takes over miles. We just stayed within the limits of where the complimentary trolley traveled. Even with the trolley my phone tracked 7,000 steps for me yesterday. That’s a personal record (and comes with a cost, because I’ll be in bed for most of the week with the exception of one appointment tomorrow morning and Wednesday morning). My legs were having none of it. They were starting to spasm in the last building we visited.

I did pick up one little piece of art, which reminds me of a line I’ve heard over and over in my dating life:
20170522_132754

Failure Or Fun? You Choose

I get a lot of flak for my dating life. Well-meaning friends and family have tried to keep up with the names of the men I’m dating, and I tell them not to bother, because they won’t be around long. I also deliberately avoid family photos. It means that I’m often the butt of many jokes, which admittedly sting from time to time. But my refusal to settle means that I continue to avoid divorce, too. I always end up with good stories.

Here’s the perfect museum for me, and people like me: The Museum of Failure. Of course this has to do with the world’s worst innovations and not relationships, but these are gloriously bad. That shocking facial mask?? OUCH. I had my face tased for a test, it’s not pleasant. I would not buy a device and do it willingly on a regular basis. What the what…?

And the Colgate lasagna…well, this year there was an ad for toothpaste that tastes just like a Burger King Whopper, but that was an April Fool’s joke. Trust me, you do not want this unless you are going to be single forever. And not talk to anyone. Ever. And not get laid. EVER. No.

If you haven’t had the pleasure yet, one of the items included in the Museum of Failure is the Bic for Her pens. It’s not because the pen itself is dysfunctional. Bitch, please – why the fuck would you market a pen as only “for her”? Talk about trolling, Amazon couldn’t keep up with erasing the “reviews” fast enough, so there’s a ton of material out there that you can search for, but here’s a taste.

Protected: The Flame

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V-Day

I ran into my next-door neighbor yesterday as I was coming back from the pharmacy up the street and she was heading out to her car. We usually only exchange a “hey” and weak smiles. Instead, I said, “Did you hear the downstairs couple screaming for eight and a half hours Saturday???”

She said, “Oh, I guess he has PTSD, so that’s why he’s violent.”

I said, “That’s NO excuse. None.”

She walked away from me quickly and snidely said over her shoulder, “Well, stuff happens in relationships.” 

Yeah, it does. I can tell you all about the relationship downstairs. There’s a lot of crying. The guy rages and screams and says that he CAN’T EXPRESS HIMSELF LIKE SHE CAN and SHE’S GOT IT EASY and EVERYONE LETS HER TALK BUT NO ONE LETS HIM TALK and I can’t hear her response clearly because he’s raging and screaming and telling her to shut the fuck up. Sometimes he tells her she’s stupid for touching his stuff. Sometimes he tells her she’s stupid for cleaning a certain way and that no one else cleans that way in the entire world. THE ENTIRE WORLD DOES IT BETTER THAN SHE DOES. If she would just LISTEN TO HIM THEN THINGS WOULD BE BETTER, but NO, SHE’S GOT TO BE FUCKING SELFISH, and WHY DOES SHE MAKE IT SO HARD ON HIM? She’s so self-centered!

This went on for eight and a half hours Saturday night. The only break was when they had visitors at around 7 pm to sing one of them – I think the husband – happy birthday. Just a half hour beforehand there was sobbing, so someone had to get cleaned up before the friends came over. Then when the visitors left, there was a huge, audible sigh, and the fighting resumed. 

Is this what my next-door neighbor really believes is the norm? Is this really what is healthy in her eyes?

It doesn’t feel good to me. It makes my skin crawl. Specifically, it affects me because I have been in it before. The worst was Drummer #2, the guy who would write me hate letters in dry erase marker on the kitchen tile counter overnight and cover the entire counter and I would wake up to chaos. Our fights would last hours and days, and the scripts were the same: he couldn’t talk about his feelings (while screaming at me), if I would only do things his way then he wouldn’t get pissed off at me (but the rules were always changing), and by the way, why was I so selfish?

But I didn’t learn my lesson with him. The most recent live-in boyfriend that I had turned violent after we moved in together. He became very unhappy after realizing that I wouldn’t be able to wait on him hand and foot because I’d be recovering from one of my many surgeries, and it really pissed him off that I made twice as much money as him. He shoved me three weeks after one of my surgeries. I broke up with him five months after we moved in together, but I still kick myself for even letting it go that long.

Eve Ensler, the creator of “The Vagina Monologues,” came up with a brilliant movement: V-Day. On Valentine’s Day, it’s important to remember that it’s not always roses and chocolates – sometimes it’s booze and bruises, or worse.

http://www.vday.org/homepage.html

And of course a block down the road from us in St. Paul is the oldest women’s shelter in the U.S.

But even though we have these wonderful resources, and we have the women’s march in D.C. and around the globe, and we can say “pussy” and “vagina” without raising an eyebrow, there is still such a huge disconnect.

Why is my neighbor so flip about “stuff” happening in relationships? Is she just so fucking grateful that it’s all about pleasing the guy? And is her assumption that I’ve never been in a relationship so I don’t have a clue? Oh, honey, let me direct you to my blog…

But I feel like it is such a never-ending battle, for me, and for all women, to be considered equal and to not be slut shamed or used as punching bags, and to make sure we are not buying into some patriarchal and misogynistic vomit.

Fake It ‘Til You Make It Out Of There Alive

A few minutes ago I was standing in the middle of my kitchen, trying to figure out if the married couple downstairs was fighting again, and whether I should reach for my phone. Last Saturday the husband, whom I have nicknamed The Leprechaun because he’s shorter than my 5’6″ height and sports a red beard, had a 3-hour meltdown. One of many, I’d like to point out. He rages. He hits the wall. He hits furniture. He may even hit his wife. I hear her crying all the time.

I notified the apartment managers the week they moved in, and they told me to call the cops. On Saturday, I did. I got tired of the screaming and my walls shaking. The cops came and went, and The Leprechaun took it upon himself to immediately knock on my door afterwards and demand that I talk to him about why it’s acceptable for him to be abusive. You see, he has a traumatic brain injury. You see, he can’t drive. You see, it’s none of my business if he makes his wife cry. I didn’t open my door. I simply put my headphones back in and eventually he went away.

I drafted a letter to the apartment managers. In it, I recapped what happened in the past, including The Leprechaun knocking on my door right before New Year’s because I had dropped a bottle of lotion on the floor, because it had “caused a huge ruckus” (like that’s the same as 15 hours of his screaming rage) – and by the way, I hadn’t opened my door to him that time either. I also indicated that he had knocked on my door and demanded we talk after the cops had left on Saturday. I was told that the managers were going to have a meeting with him as well as talk to their attorneys to find out how to handle him because he had a disability (traumatic brain injury from serving in the Navy) and they have to “accommodate” him – though I’m not sure why his TBI overrides my disabilities. Also, let’s face it: no one has ever called the cops on me for being violent and threatening, because I’m not.

I got a text from one of the managers Wednesday night that they were setting up a meeting with him Thursday morning. Fifteen minutes later, The Leprechaun knocked on my door again and demanded that I open the door and talk to him. I told him through the door that I wasn’t dressed to open the door (which was the truth – I was resting in bed), and he said very forcefully, “I’LL WAIT.” Then I said that I was also on the phone (which was true – I was talking to someone out of state, and that friend could hear the entire exchange). Eventually The Leprechaun went away again, but I had to text the manager and tell him what happened, and he told me to call the cops if The Leprechaun came back.

I know the meeting happened on Thursday morning. I heard The Leprechaun return back to the apartment because he slammed the door as hard as he could. I didn’t hear him start packing boxes though, so I have no idea what the verdict was. Looks like I’ll have to pursue that answer Monday.

But it seems silly that I had to point out to the apartment managers in my letter to them that I don’t condone spousal abuse, I am not okay with him retaliating against me, I’m not his wife, he doesn’t pay my rent, and it doesn’t say anywhere in my lease that I’m required to accept abuse from the tenant who lives in the basement apartment. So now I’m on alert and ready to call the cops. C’mon, Leprechaun, your box of Lucky Charms is gonna run out sooner or later.

This ties into another subject that I was discussing with a friend about why women fake orgasms. Specifically, why do women who are having a one-night stand fake orgasms. Mainly because there’s so many douchebags like The Leprechaun running around. The worst are the ones who like to proclaim that they’re nice. No really, they’re nice! But then get any of your bits naked around them and they’ll make your nipples bleed or tell you that you like anal sex, you just don’t know it, and they’re going to show you how right they are.

I actually had the privilege of talking this process of faking it through with a man who was willing to listen rather than becoming defensive or angry. Think about it; when you talk about having one night stands as a single woman, you get the pious lecture about how you don’t deserve anything nice because you gave a man your body for only one night, you dirty whore. No lecture for the other party, though. He did nothing worse than stick his dick in another hole. But I digress.

We talked about the various reasons why women fake orgasms. But there’s a specific reason that isn’t talked about much that comes up from time to time on first dates/first-time or only-time sexual encounters, and that is personal safety. Sometimes you don’t know that things are going to go badly until you are both naked and the fucker has stopped listening, and it dawns on you that he simply wants a porno show. His script is running and you had better perform. The light bulb goes on over your head.

Of course, some men love the whole resistance and crying thing. That’s not what I’m talking about. The guys who can’t tell if a woman is faking are the ones who rely solely on porn for the cues of orgasm: “Oh” sounds, clenched hands, clamped jaw (or maybe even gaping open, whatever your preference). They want to dig a hole to China through your clit. If you complain that the pressure hurts, they push your hands away, tell you that you should stop being shy or that you really like it, and wrench your legs back open after they have closed to protect your most tender flesh. Same for anything that they want to do to you rather than do with you.

The light goes on. You give him his show, make all the right noises, tell him he is king, and get the fuck out of there before he rips your skin any more or gives you additional bruises and you have excruciating pain every time you pee because the urine is passing over open wounds.

I’m just saying, it’s okay to fake it sometimes. There’s a lot of Leprechauns out there.

Have a G’Day Every Day with Oska Pulse

People often ask me just what it is that I do with all of my time now that I’m stuck in bed. I love writing and I count myself lucky to have been included in the Chronic Illness Bloggers network, and given many opportunities to try products I wouldn’t otherwise have access to. I have been given this product as part of a product review through the Chronic Illness Bloggers network. Although the product was a gift, all opinions in this review remain my own and I was in no way influenced by the company.

First, let’s talk about pain. I’m an expert on it. I’ve been an old lady since about the age of 23, when I got my first diagnosis of fibromyalgia.

It hasn’t stopped there. Now that I’ve had 10 brain surgeries and have been bedridden for 6.5 years, I have some very specific challenges. Staying in bed triggers the fibromyalgia. But I have to lay flat because when I’m upright, fluid pools in my brain and presses on my midbrain and spinal cord and causes all kinds of balance, vision, and pressure issues, and puts me at risk for seizures and strokes.

For three years I had surgeries on the right side of my body and could only lay on my left side. That put tremendous pressure on my left shoulder. Twice before I had to go through physical therapy to treat an impinged (“pinched”) nerve in the shoulder. For this last year, however, the pain was much, much worse – so bad, in fact, that I broke six teeth because I was clenching my jaw in pain. My doctors finally figured out that I had torn tendons and the actual capsule that houses the shoulder bones from all of the time I spent on that side of my body.

We tried everything: ice, heat, anti-inflammatory meds, low-grade opioids, muscle relaxants, meditation, stretching, a brace during waking hours, a brace during sleeping hours, multiple injections, light weights, joint manipulations…everything except sacrificing a chicken. For an entire year, I was in incredible pain. I couldn’t even close a cupboard door.

The surgical site side was changed to my left, so I started having to sleep only on my right. That gave my left shoulder a break, but then I started having problems in my right hip. I have to use a cane for walking because of my terrible vertigo and I walk with the cane in my right hand because I’m right-dominant, and I knew I was really going to be in trouble if both sides of my body were going to be rendered useless by pain.

Then I was contacted by Oska Wellness, Inc. to try the Oska Pulse.

Where do I begin? First, it actually physically looks too good to be true. That was my first, honest thought. How could something so small and seemingly simple do what nothing else that doctors were trying to achieve for an entire year, throwing everything they had at me? I mean, come on – a little space ship? And we all know about those devices from those ads on TV that never amount to anything but you can get them for 3 easy payments of $29.99, and they sit in the back of your closet until you move or you divorce…

But the Oska Pulse isn’t that.
2016-11-21-13-16-08“Oska” – Australian for Oscar, the name of koala who was helped by this device after he was badly burned by a fire!

The Oska Pulse is a battery-operated, rechargeable device that gives off a pulsed, electromagnetic field to treat pain and edema. That’s the very simple explanation.

So the Oska Pulse turned into my chicken sacrifice, if you will. The note card that came with it suggested that for chronic pain, I should wear it 4-6 times at the site of pain for the first week. I immediately pushed the little round button that you see at the bottom of that picture above and placed it on my shoulder.

Now, the Oska Pulse comes with a stretchy sleeve with Velcro closure if you want to strap it on and have it stay in place. I tried that, but since I don’t get up and move around much, I quickly determined that I didn’t need to do that. You can see by the fuzz on the device that there is some grippy rubberized material on the Oska Pulse that is good for keeping it in place. All I had to do is prop the Oska Pulse on my shoulder, press the button, and let it do its thing for a half hour until it beeped at me three times to indicate it was done.

After the fourth day, I started to notice a difference in my shoulder. I could pick up items heavier than a magazine or an empty toilet paper roll. People, this is huge: I already automatically lost the use of one hand because it was always occupied by the cane I had to use to assist me with walking. I can’t stress how bad this was, especially since only yesterday I got the last of my teeth replaced from all of those that I had broken in pain. I started being able to reach all the way over my head, and I was able to increase both my repetitions and the weights of my physical therapy exercises.

So after I saw success in my shoulder, I started moving the Oska Pulse around my body. This little guy was getting a workout! But that’s okay! The Oska Pulse stays charged for about 15 sessions lasting 30 minutes, and then it needs another charge. The charger can be hooked up to a laptop or it can be plugged into the wall socket, as it has both capabilities. 2016-11-21-13-17-132016-11-30-17-18-36Here is the Oska Pulse in action, in the elasticized sleeve with the blue pulsing light on. You won’t feel a thing, truly. There is no buzzing, so the blue light will be the only way you know that it’s on. Are you shocked? You shouldn’t be! This is a device where taking away your pain will be completely painless. That is the best part about the Oska Pulse.

I didn’t tell my physical therapist about the Oska Pulse when I went in for a visit after not seeing him for a month. He was expecting to see as much improvement as he had seen the previous months, which was zero. Instead, he was stunned to see me lifting my hands over my head, bearing weight, and best of all, wearing an underwire bra that clasped in the back (previously the girls had been relegated to a sports bra that I could twist into with one hand that left them sadly sagging and flopping like I’m undeniably 42, which I am, and does nothing for me being able to attract potential suitors, even under false pretenses). My physical therapist was ready to doubt me or tell me to back down, stop being so enthusiastic, to slow my roll; but he nearly fell over with how well I was doing. He was stuttering.

This is a long post, but hang with me a little longer. I gave up my Oska Pulse, and potential pain relief for a time, because I wanted to know if it was just me. Was I just thrilled to get this product and was I blinded by the blue light?

I had given the team at Oska Wellness a heads-up that I might be doing this, but I gave the Oska Pulse to my sister for a test drive. I didn’t tell her much – only that she needed to charge it if it didn’t stay on for at least 30 minutes when she turned it on, and that she should wear it on spots that she was having pain. I gave her the instructions, the charger, the unit, and the stretchy band with the sleeve, and set her free. I did tell her that it worked for the COO’s dog when the dog was in pain because I knew that would tug on my sister’s heart strings – her dogs come with her to work every day, and we are all suckers for their love. If the Oska Pulse objectively worked for the dog, why couldn’t it work for us?

She made an effort to religiously wear it for two weeks, during which time we didn’t discuss the Oska Pulse at all. She didn’t tell me where she was placing it or how often she was using it. At the end of the two weeks I asked for it back and checked in with her. She had decided that she needed help with her neck. The easiest way for her to wear the Oska Pulse was to slip it into the flipped down hood of her hoodie – she didn’t even have to strap on the elastic band, and no one had to know she had the Oska Pulse going. She opted not to try to sleep with the device going and just deal with it during waking hours.

Her conclusion: She has greater range of motion in her neck and less pain. She used it only on her neck and no other areas of her body. I’m not going to reveal her health conditions, but they are just as serious and chronic as any of my fellow chronic illness bloggers. I honestly don’t know if she’s going to be missing it in a few days, but I can tell you that I missed the Oska Pulse terribly while she had it, because pain started to creep back in. Now that it’s back with me, I pretty much have it duct taped to me – I’m not going to give it up again. I have it working on my right hip and the bursitis that has developed there.

Feel free to find out more info on their main website at Oska Wellness or on Facebook at Oska Wellness (Facebook).

Just released on June 13, 2017: A third-party, independent study showing that Oska Pulse can significantly reduce pain and improve mobility.

Benefits of ordering a Oska Pulse device:
$55 off with discount code sickdating by visiting Oska Wellness
– Drug free
– No known adverse side effects (but please keep away from medical devices affected by magnets including pacemakers and adjustable shunts)
– Financing is available through PayPal!
– Internal battery lasts up to 4 years
– 90-day money back guarantee!

No. Oh, Wait…Oh, That’s a Definite No.

Of course it’s been a while since I’ve logged on to OKCupid, but there are some guys who don’t pay attention to that and just like my pictures or check out my profile without looking at the last time I’ve logged in. I will admit that even I’ve been excited about a profile and then noticed too late that it’s been a month or three since the guy has logged in, signaling either 1) He found someone, or 2) He gave up, or 3) He’s in jail. I got a little notification in my email with a note from the guy saying, “I do have a German shepherd and a Siamese – otherwise I’m clean- list-wise”

I’ve heard this before. I logged in. We were a whopping 43% of a match. I looked over his profile, and the very first thing I saw is that he’s Christian, and it’s somewhat important. What did I specify in my profile? I won’t date someone who participates in organized religion. Why not? Because I’m not waiting to be saved or led or subjugated. I can lead a morally upright life without religion. I can lead a spiritually aware life without religion.

Some other tidbits from his profile: He admits he drinks regularly (at least 4-5 nights a week), he really, really wants to fuck anything that moves, and he’s a Dom. A little more from his questions: He doesn’t want women to have “too high self-esteem; he wants to date a slut; he would prefer to date only in his race; jealousy is healthy; he could be in an open relationship; he’s just looking for sex for the next few months.”

I started with the easiest one, and replied that we wouldn’t be a match because he has listed himself as a Christian and that it’s important to him.

His response: Really? I’m a barely attending Lutheran with doubts. And what is with intolerant people on all sides of the spectrum- Good luck with your godless utopia
Me: Since your profile says that you’re Christian and you’re getting pissy that I pointed it out, I’d say it’s pretty important to you. And since you’re offended that I don’t believe in organized religion, I’d say we’re not a match.

I didn’t even have to take it any further than that because he blocked me and so I blocked him (sometimes these jackwads come back later when they are drunk and looking for spank bank material). But really, he’s “questioning” his faith because he really, really wants to fuck around and he doesn’t want to feel guilty about it. It was such a weak insult to throw at me – “godless utopia”??? That’s only a horror to someone who believes it’s the worst kind of hell a soul can suffer. If he wasn’t strong in his faith, he wouldn’t have written it. I guarantee you he’s still trying to work out how to give himself blow jobs.

Sleeping Single In A Single Bed

On Monday I finally had my bed delivered. It is an honest-to-goodness hospital bed complete with handrails and a hand control to raise and lower the head and foot areas. I actually got it because I’m in bed so much that I am wearing through my traditional mattresses in a matter of months and I’ve gotten a few bedsores. I was afraid that it was going to be super noisy – both the motor and the mattress itself – but the motor is completely silent and the mattress doesn’t crinkle at all (and maybe it helps that I folded up my foam topper from my queen mattress to add to the cushion of this one).

So of course my friends already suggested that things could get kinky with the handrails and the adjustable bed. Like I didn’t already think that. This shit was made for tying.

I had a few _______ exchanges on OKCupid (you can fill in your own adjectives). The first was from the guy from this post where we didn’t get very far before it got weird.

Him: Long time no hear.
Me: When we were trading messages, you said, “I just need to what hours are better for you.” (I presume you meant to say “I just need to know what hours are better for you.”) I told you that I don’t have a set schedule and that I wouldn’t be logging on the next day. You replied and said, “I’ll have some free time tomorrow, Chelsea.” I repeated myself and said that I wouldn’t be signing in and indicated why so that you would understand I was not simply ignoring you. Then you admonished me for telling you that I wouldn’t be logging in, saying, “You don’t have to alert me when you’re signing on.”

From this short exchange, my takeaway is that you are looking for someone to correct so that you feel intellectually superior. It doesn’t sound appealing to me, but maybe it’s your kink. Be happy, or be right, but you can’t be both.

Him: It was really so people know that I’m not a small-minded misogynist who is afraid of an intelligent woman. Sorry if you felt admonished. I should have been paying closer attention while messaging you.

Me: I wish you luck in finding someone who can capture your attention.

(At this point I blocked him.)

Then I got a message from a screen name that didn’t ring a bell. I saw the email first, and the message said, “Will you ever forgive me?” I logged on to see if I could figure it out. There were two messages. “Will you ever forgive me?” and “I hope I hear back from you…”

I looked at the profile picture. I recognized it as a picture a guy used for a profile and I met him a year ago, but the picture was nothing at all what he looked like. I actually did a reverse image lookup of him before we met but I couldn’t find the picture anywhere else so I still don’t know where he got it from, but it absolutely, positively is not him. He also has a home in France and before we were able to meet up for our date I asked him to take a few pictures from his rooftop, which he did. I did a reverse lookup and didn’t get any “hits,” so again, I had to take him for his word. But after our first date and his very enthusiastic insistence that he wanted to see me again the next day, he completely disappeared. You know, for the next YEAR. And then he comes back with this. No explanation, no apology. So this is how I replied:

Oh, do you mean about using a picture that is not a true representation of you, and then disappearing completely? Nope. You are free, petit cochon. (Note: “petit cochon” is French for “little pig.”)

I didn’t realize it but there has been a message in my inbox for four days now, but OKCupid didn’t send me a notification. It says:

I’m JOHN LOPES im here to date a woman that will make me happy till the end of life you can kindly reach me on my facebook i’d JOHN FILLIP LOPEZ……..or you can add me on my email adress johnfilliplopez23@gmail.com ……….you can also text me on my number …. 3155064755

And then immediately below it is a warning from OKCupid:
Never transfer funds to someone you met on the Internet and keep your conversations safely on OkCupid.

So kids, when you see this message, just know whomever is running this profile is from a foreign country and is running a scam. They like to post photos as military personnel (like this one did) and then quickly shift to a story about how their “work laptop” stopped working and they are in tears because they can’t work and they need money and can’t you send money? They are crying their eyes out, honey baby sweetie. Oh, and I like how this dude can’t decide how to spell his last name – Lopes or Lopez.

There’s a lot of weirdness rolling around right now. I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything at the moment, so I’m perfectly fine flying solo with my new little ugly bed.

 

97% Compatibility But The 3% Was Extra Bad

I was contacted by this guy on OKCupid, and his profile seemed very promising. A few things stuck out: first, he grew up in the bible belt and he is staunchly NON-religious like me; second, he’s able to construct sentences correctly; third, he’s handsome and tall so he can do things like see the top of the fridge without having to dig out a step stool. I was busy for most of the day yesterday so I didn’t log into OKC until it was after midnight. Here is our conversation from last night:

Him: I am very interested in having you proofread my profile. Seriously though, I spend a great deal of time lamenting how very few people have any idea what an apostrophe is for these days. I don’t know whether it was always the case, and Facebook just revealed it, or if this is a new issue.
Me: I think Facebook revealed the issue. I have a friend who was formerly a high school teacher and who is now home schooling her 7-year-old twins. Recently she posted something that said “Morning’s!”. I nearly lost my mind.
Him: I guess so. Most people don’t spend their high school years reading peers’ papers, so don’t notice until later in life.
Me: That sounds correct. I probably would have fallen out of my chair if I would have had to read some of my classmates’ material, or tried to. Do you write, or are you strictly a reader?
Him: I write on and off. I don’t do it regularly enough, but I always take it up again. I’m probably going to make the jump from fiction to nonfiction soon.
Me: I hate to do this so quickly after just starting to chat, but I have to get up fairly early tomorrow, so I need to call it a night. Would you care to try to chat soon?
Him: Of course. I didn’t realize that it was after midnight. Let’s try this earlier next time.
Me: Sounds great! Sleep well.
Him: Dobranac.

This appears to be a pretty sane exchange, correct? It’s reasonable that I didn’t realize how late it was, and that I said, “Hey, let’s try this again; for now I need to go to bed.”

This morning I received a message from him saying:

Him: Good morning. I hope you are having a good day. Yes I would like to chat. I just need to what hours are better for you. Last night, I was merely responding to your messages at the time that they came in.

Tonight I responded and said:

Me: I looked at the clock last night and was surprised by the late hour is all – I thought I would have been tired before then. Sometimes I have to get up early, I don’t always have a set schedule. I hope you have had a good day. Mine ended up being busy up to this minute, surprisingly. Tomorrow I won’t be on at all.
Him: I’ll have some free time tomorrow, Chelsea.
Me: Ah. Well, I have PT, then I have to take care of my young nephews all day until about 11 at night (we’re going to a concert since they’re off from school), so I won’t be signing in.
Him: You don’t have to alert me when you’re signing on.

So that didn’t take long at all for him to fly his freak flag. First he asks me for an idea of when I’ll be on so we can chat, then he tells me he doesn’t want to be “alerted.”

I typed a bunch of smart ass replies to him but in the end didn’t send any of them, because a nagging voice in my head was singing, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all,” so that guy gets radio silence. But if I would have responded, here’s some examples of what I had typed and ready to go:
– I was merely responding to your request to know when I would be logging into OKCupid to chat
– You mentioned you would be on tomorrow and I responded that I wouldn’t be as a normal flow of conversation
– Do people ever get tired of you starting fights with them even when you are in agreement with them?

 

The One That Got Away & Other Lies

There is a guy on Twitter that I started following who is a life coach and motivational speaker, but is definitely not a Joel Osteen/Tony Robbins type, though closer to Tony than Joel – he reminds me of the fast-talking Italian types that I think all of us have seen a time or two whenever guys in suits are interviewed about whatever happens on Wall Street. And they’re Italian. And they’re loud. And they say “fuck” a lot. And they have a lot of big, white teeth and they talk fast and they say “fuck” again, just for emphasis.

What Brenden says in 140 characters on a regular basis at least once a day is what I have said at least once myself, or maybe have taken a few more words to have said it, but the sentiment was there. One downside to Brenden is that he is a staunch supporter of Trump, so I have to sometimes decide if I have to walk away from what he’s saying for an entire day because he’s humping Trump. I wish he would leave the elections out of his life coaching, but it’s his choice, so I have to deal with it.

To be clear, I’m not following Brenden because I feel I need life coaching. I think I have a pretty good handle on who I am, and I think Brenden has a pretty good handle on who he is. For a good portion of my life people have come to me for my help and advice. I feel like Brenden should be my backup bitch. I haven’t got the energy for it. Actually, I need to reword that: I don’t have the fucking energy for it. I’m at doctor appointments nearly every day and worrying about where I’m going to live when my money runs out.

Anyway, one of his posts today was this: “You can’t move forward in life until you’ve got a proper context for the past and are completely at peace with it.”

I think proper context is something that a lot of people miss out on, especially if they are finding themselves stuck in the same patterns.

Because I’ve been on OKCupid a few times in that past couple of weeks, I’ve seen old messages that were not previously deleted – even from a few years ago! Some exchanges cracked me up, some made me roll my eyes, some guys made me think of course you’re still on here, you’re just looking for someone to bang, not a relationship like you claim in your profile.

Of course, the messages between the most recent ex and I were in there too. He told me in the course of our exchange that he had taken expensive dance lessons to impress a woman who had no romantic interest in him and never would. I found out this happened sometime between age 38 and 44 for him, and he turned 45 when we dated. He was supposedly madly in love with this woman for five years while she said she only wanted friendship from him (and maybe once in a while emergency assistance like errands or bail-outs).

He told me, “She’s the closest thing to the one that got away, I guess.” This is not proper context. If one is going to use this Nicholas-Sparks-antiquated term, it refers to both parties loving each other and feeling as if they could, indeed, be in a long term or forever relationship, but distance or circumstances (like one of them is taking care of an ailing parent for 20 years and it’s the 1940’s and unmarried people don’t live under the same roof) keeps the couple from getting together. This woman could not imagine dating him. He was really, really trying hard to make her change her mind. For five years.

She does not owe the Ex-Saint because he really, really wanted her to change her mind. She is not, nor will she ever be, the one who got away.

Same goes for me. I am not one that “got away” – but I did call bullshit.

It’s weird and creepy how much of a departure from reality his imagination took him, but here’s a glimpse: He would tell everyone he managed a “call center.” Now, I’ve worked in call centers for 15 years. Hell, the campus I worked at in Arizona had 4500 people. His area has 3 people including him. He’s never worked in a call center in his life because this has been his only job in his entire adulthood besides the pizza place in college (which also wasn’t a call center, incidentally). My apartment has a cell phone and a VoIP phone. Do I live in a call center? No. But if he were describing it and it was his apartment, then yes, it would be a call center.

The Ex-Saint would get many calls that he wouldn’t answer while we were spending time together. I suspected that they were bill collectors, but he never admitted it.

The Ex-Saint had a gambling problem and would drop large bills on pull tabs. I only knew about it because the few times that we were at bars, he couldn’t pass by the pull tabs without spending a minimum of $50-100 in 5 minutes.

The Ex-Saint is a binge drinker. Every weekend, and even a few days a week, he gets stupid drunk. I estimate that he drinks somewhere around 50-70 12 oz. beers a month (but that might even be conservative). He’s also obsessed with putting jalapenos on all of his food, which has been identified as being an indicator that someone is an alcoholic – they seek out the spiciest food because they have fucked up their entire taste system.

The Ex-Saint is a binge eater. He slurps all of his food from his fork in a frenzied fashion as if it’s the first and last time he will ever eat, chews frantically with his mouth open and his eyes glaze over. He also eats 2-3 full plates at a time. This one is particularly hard for me because I have certain triggers myself, having struggled all my life with food addictions and seeking comfort emotionally through food. (Side thought: Where’s the damn gene that makes us addicted to vegetables??? WTF?)

The Ex-Saint is a hoarder. I was never allowed to see his apartment because apparently it was packed with junk and boxes.

The Ex-Saint is a compulsive liar. From the job description to the denial about drinking and gambling and just about anything else you can think of (too much to list here), lying is so much a part of his life because addiction is. I remember one time he tried to accuse me of lying about playing the violin, clarinet and piano; I told him that he had walked past my violin a few hundred times in my closet without realizing it, but it was there on the top shelf right in the open if he looked. No lie there. I’m musically inclined.

Proper context would happen if he actually got professional help to work through his issues. Unfortunately, he’s back on OKCupid (so now I can properly block him) – but that means he’s going to be telling his lies to a whole new audience. I’m sure his family feels sorry for him and has told him to get out there and try again. But if he’s lying to them, or worse, they are enabling him to continue to hoard and binge drink and gamble and wrack up debt, they’re not doing him a lick of good.

If he’s ready for some honesty, I’ve got Brenden’s info. Brenden will help him kick some fucking ass with truth and live an authentic life.

(Just don’t vote Trump or we will all die by February 2017.)