But I’m A Nice Guy

I have grown to dread this self-proclamation: “But I’m a nice guy.” In fact, I have grown to develop a specific distaste for OKCupid profiles that are like “Niceguy4U” and “niceguy69” and “goodguy98787.”

Why? Well, if someone has to keep telling others that he is “nice” or “good,” it’s likely he’s not. The key is to get past the words and watch the actions. 

For about a week I was chatting back and forth with a guy who claimed he wanted a real relationship. His screen name was something like “Love4You” – red flag right there. We messaged for a few days and then he asked if we could text, so I agreed and gave him my phone number. Then he asked if we could get on the phone, so we chatted that way. He told me it was really great to talk to me, and that he felt at ease with me, and that thinking about me and our conversation made him smile. I thought he was really friendly and enjoyed our conversation too.

We made a date for last Saturday, but it fell through because he had to have work done on his truck. He suggested we make a date for the next Saturday. Between that afternoon and this evening, we spoke on the phone a few times, and we texted multiple times each day. Mr. Nice Guy said that he wasn’t interested in sexting at all. I told him that I thought that was refreshing. I also told him – multiple times – that I don’t want to talk about anything like that until after we met, because it puts unrealistic expectations on us when we do meet for the first time. He agreed and told me he was much more interested in sharing his life with someone – specifically, me – and he was already talking future plans, like what he was going to cook for me and where we could go, even with my physical challenges.

Again, through all of this, Mr. Nice Guy repeatedly told me that he liked my sense of humor and that he smiled when he thought of me. He told me that I had a very positive attitude. I told him that I was looking forward to our date on Saturday. He said he was too, that he thought we’d have a great time.

Another red flag: On Tuesday (Super Tuesday for voting!), I got a message from Mr. Nice Guy saying, “Can we meet Sunday instead of Saturday? Busy day.” I told him that would work for me, and he thanked me. This was the second time in less than a week that he changed the date.

We had gotten into the habit of saying good night every night. On this particular night, I told him sweet dreams, and asked him what he would like to dream about that night. Mr. Nice Guy answered, “You.” I said, “Thank you. Where would you like to go in your dream?” He said, “In my dream with you?” I said, “Yes. Pick a place and we’ll go there. I’ll see you in your dreams.” He said, “In bed.”

I didn’t see this right away because I was still trying to change for bed as well as wash my face and brush and floss, so he noticed the big pause and said, “Too direct?” When I saw his messages, I said, “Didn’t we say we weren’t going to go there at this point?” He said, “Yes very sorry.” I said, “I just don’t want to jump the gun.” Mr. Nice Guy said, “That sounds good to me. Falling asleep” and he ended his text with a very enthusiastic smiley face. The trouble is, he didn’t go to bed. OKCupid showed him logged into the system until 9:40 pm, later than our interaction. That reeks of looking for a piece of ass, in my book.

The next evening I sent Mr. Nice Guy a text greeting him by name and asked him how his day was. He answered, “Very busy. Had a 5 minute lunch. Stayed 45 minutes on overtime. Gonna get much more busy.” And then he said, “Good night” – at 7:45 pm. You bet your sweet ass he was logged on for a few more hours on OKCupid.

Then at 6:05 pm tonight, I got a message that said, “I met someone. Good luck in your seach” (bad spelling included).  How did I respond? “Nice.” How did I want to respond? “You’re a dick” would have been appropo; so would have “You’re a fraud.” I mean, for someone turning 50 in a month, you would think he would have the manners and integrity to be truthful with me and call me instead of texting this ridiculous made-up story. I am pretty sure that’s why he’s still single.

I have his number and messages blocked on my phone and I blocked him from seeing my profile or messaging me on OKC. However, I can still see his, and he was logged on for three and a half hours this evening. With as quickly as he wanted to move to chatting on the phone, Mr. Nice Guy’s claim that he met someone is obviously false because he’s still trying to hook up with someone.

A couple things could be happening here:

1) Mr. Nice Guy really does just want sex and is not interested in a relationship;
2) Mr. Nice Guy is still married;
3) Mr. Nice Guy is embarrassed that I turned him down;
4) Mr. Nice Guy is pissed that I turned him down.

Whatever the reason, that’s one less man-child for me to raise. Mr. Nice Guy isn’t so nice after all.

 

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Is It Hot In Here, Or Is It Just You?

I was getting caught up on some episodes of the Tonight Show hosted by my secret boyfriend Jimmy Fallon (because he doesn’t know about our relationship). The musical guests were Joe Perry (whom I used to be hot for in the ’90’s – anyone remember the “Rock the Vote” campaign in the 1990’s on MTV??), Robin Thicke (who seems to be the ultimate misogynist) and Pitbull (who makes questionable sunglasses choices but seems to be a fun guy).

I noticed Pitbull was packing some serious heat. I mean, I don’t know if he gets an erection every time he performs (new meaning to getting pumped up??) or if he was a little excited because he had a lot of curvy women prancing around him. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. I imagined the producer or whomever was calling the show yelling into everyone’s headset, “Pan up! Tighten the shot! Jesus H., he’s got a chub!” The camera shots were pulled way back, or they shot only from the waistband up when they realized that wasn’t a sweat sock stuffed down his pants.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Jimmy Fallon will never ask Pitbull to be in a “Tight Pants” sketch.

I don’t usually look at men’s crotches. This might be old-fashioned of me, like I am having a hard time accepting the concept of the skinny jean or fitted suit pants. Sometimes I feel sorry for men having their goods on display as a direct result of these particular clothing trends being popular. But then again, my girls are often propped up and accentuated for everyone’s perusal, and I lose some of my pity when I remember that.

Valentine’s Day is 80% Off

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

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

So this is their post confirming one year:

WWWandOphelia

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

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

We’ve Got a Live One Here

Just as a reminder, this is the very first few lines of my slimmed-down, to-the-point profile:

*******I’M ALLERGIC TO:********

– Hookups, FWB, DTF

Got a message from a guy with a picture of a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
Him: Interested in something casual?
Me: In the first line of my profile, I said I’m not into FWB or DTF.
Him:  Okay. I just found you attractive and wanted to make sure I wasn’t an exception. I will leave you alone.

Did you catch that? I’m not sure if he thought he could be the exception because he found me attractive (is it too much to ask that every man who wants to bang me finds me at least moderately attractive?), or if he thought waving his penis as bait was going to change my mind, because so many men don’t think to do that?

This also seems to be a case of, “Oh, you don’t really mean ‘no.’ I mean, there’s no way you could actually know what you want, because you haven’t met my penis yet.”

Lemme Tell You a Wake-Up Story

Warning: Adult Language

The Shit Theory

Nashville (https://thesickandthedating.com/2016/01/18/i-saw-another-ghost/) sent me messages saying, “I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me.” When I asked him why he ghosted me, he just said, “Don’t be mad” again. He “hates to fight.” Then he said he didn’t call me back for a few weeks because he “had his dog.” Zero explanation, unless that dog dials his phone for him. No response at all to my repeated asking of why he disappeared. I even resorted to saying, “Did my infection make you uncomfortable?” I mean, seriously, I would say the words for him if he couldn’t. But he couldn’t even respond to that. So I told him that if he can’t communicate with me, then there’s no point in seeing each other anymore.

I know he’s sleeping right now because he wakes up right before he has to go in for his third shift hours. When he wakes up, if he gets all whiny again, I’ve decided I’ll have to lay the shit theory on him. It’s something I’ve thought up just this afternoon that I think will explain what I see happening and what I think he needs to do.

Most of us who have had chronic illnesses for years (or even decades) are familiar with the “spoon theory” that a very clever woman came up with on the fly to teach her good friend about what it’s like to have a chronic condition that greatly affects the quality of life. Sufferers have even self-identified as “spoonies,” which makes it hella easy to find each other online.

I don’t expect this theory to find the same fame, but it would be funny if it did.

Okay, let’s say Nashville got up from a full 7 hours of sleep and did his business in the toilet, including a #2. (I know dudes are super regular like that, all of them that I’ve lived with are like clockwork.) But instead of flushing his shit down the toilet, he reaches down into the bowl and picks up the shit. He looks around the bathroom, and then he starts smearing. He gets a good amount on the floor and the shit cakes up a bit in the grout between the tiles. He also goes for the walls – big smears, maybe some letters. He even saves some shit for the sink and the dookie gets into the joints of the faucet handle. Nashville stands there for a minute, looks at the shit on his hands and fingers, and then yells for me. I come to the door, take one look and I say, “What the fuck, Nashville? Why did you smear shit all over the bathroom?” He says, “Don’t be mad at me. I have to go watch my dog wag her tail.” I say again, “Why the fuck did you smear shit all over every single part of the bathroom instead of just flushing it down the toilet like a healthy person?” Nashville says, “I don’t want you to be mad at me. Can you stop being mad at me? I love my dog.”

Nashville (as well as many people in general) claims he hates chaos. Chaos = shit, in this story. He could have just flushed the shit down the pipes. In other words, if you don’t want chaos, then don’t bring it into your world. You have a choice. If you choose to reach down into the bowl, cradle it in your hands and start smearing it around, it’s not okay to 1. Keep doing it until it’s in every nook and cranny of your life (no matter how much you B.S. yourself that you’re keeping it separate), and 2. Ask for someone to clean up the shit that you chose to spread. Certainly don’t ignore it (as Nashville did when he ignored my questions). All it’s gonna do is dry where it sits and be even harder to clean (aka all I’m going to do is get pissed, and he’s STILL going to have to deal with it). Sometimes a person has to hire a plumber (psychiatrist, psychologist or counselor) to help figure out clogs in the pipes (brain), but it’s better to take care of that sort of thing before the problem becomes completely out of control.

So, Nashville, the moral of the story is: Clean up your own shit.

The End

 

 

Talk To Your Doctor About Your GD ED

A week or so ago, when I was being driven to my daily appointment to get the dressing on my wound changed, the cabbie asked me if I was single. He was Somalian and he told me how if I visited his village, I would have many offers of marriage within the first hour. In his culture, it’s important to visit your neighbors and check on them. They value personal bonds. They also obviously have a serious gossip network, which explains why everyone would know I’m single in a very short amount of time. I secretly wondered if I could demand goats as my bride price.

I didn’t ask, but I wondered if he was mistaking me to be about 10 years younger than I am – that happens often. I think that the paralysis of my face actually works like Botox gone bad. I also didn’t tell him that I am not able to have children (thanks to my hysterectomy 5 years ago – BEST DECISION EVER). That aside, I’m already at an age where bearing children would be very risky. I didn’t bring up the fact that I’m also completely bald, as I think that would be the last on a long list of deterrents.

I was hit up by a 24-year-old on OKCupid today asking if 24 was too young. I wrote back that it was. It’s another somewhat terrible reminder that I am middle-aged.

Another reminder that I am middle aged: I date middle-aged men. I seem to have hit the bubble where their penises don’t stay hard or even get hard. We get to the awkward point where they are trying to shake the shit out of their dicks to force the blood to go down there, or they are trying to stuff their very soft unit in me and get pissy if it just flops out.

Then they blame me. I’m “too excited.” I’m “in the wrong position.” My “legs aren’t the right length.”

Physiologically, I am not the problem. I’m 5’5″and not considered short. Even though I had a hysterectomy, I kept my ovaries, which means that my hormones are still coursing through my body – I haven’t gone through “the change” yet. Believe me when I say that I am more than sufficiently able to welcome a foreign object.

What’s the problem with these guys? Well, weight is an issue. I fully acknowledge that I am overweight, and I notice the difference in my ability to perform bedroom gymnastics according to how overweight I am (my weight fluctuates). These guys are sporting the full pregnant belly, though. I imagine a big elastic band resting at their hips, cutting off the blood supply.  They also huff and puff from the effort; I often have to ask if they are getting tired and if they would like to change things up.

One guy was overweight (6’1″ and over 300 lbs) and insulin-dependent. Diabetes affects blood flow greatly – that’s why doctors recommend that diabetics stay away from pedicures. Any tiny nick to the skin could cause a huge wound because a lack of blood flow stymies our body’s repair mechanisms. So, yeah, his penis was definitely having blood flow issues.

I hate the smell of cigarettes and I’m allergic to the smoke, but smoking also affects blood flow to the extremities.

Some men are very accustomed to jacking off to porn. It’s alarming how much they abuse their poor penises. It’s like angry jacking off, or jackrabbit fast. There’s no way my very human body is going to be able to replicate that. It gets to the point where the men only respond to this violent kind of touch. One of my exes was a smoker AND could only do the jackrabbit thing, so when he was ready, I just had to make sure my arms and legs didn’t touch him so he could pound away. You know in movies when EMTs or doctors are trying to use the paddles to revive a patient and they yell “Clear!” to make sure no one is touching the patient when the current goes out? That’s pretty much what I had to do for the jackrabbit guy. Clear!

So guys, talk to your doctor about your goddamn erectile dysfunction. You might hear something you don’t want to about lifestyle changes. But if you want to screw like that 24-year-old who wants to bang me, then you might have to make some changes. Hell, the rest of your body may feel better too.

If you’re not willing to put in the work, then learn how to do other things that don’t involve the penis.

Don’t ever, EVER, blame me for your ED.