nevermarried

Talk To Your Doctor About Your GD ED

Posted on by akiwifreund

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.

Time’s “Ten Things You Didn’t Know About Men, Backed By Research”

Posted on by akiwifreund

By Eric Barker (writes Barking Up the Wrong Tree.)

Scientific studies show:

— Being too rich and good-looking can actually hurt a man. Then again, marriage may be a bad deal for handsome guys.

— You can predict how many women a man has slept with by how funny he is.

— Yes, most TV commercials make men look like morons.

— Companies pay women more if a male CEO has a daughter.

— Poor and hungry men prefer heavier women. Rich and full guys like skinny girls.

— Attractive TV anchors make men unable to remember the news.

— What’s the chance that a man’s kids are not really his, biologically?

— Punching things does make men feel better.

— If men’s jobs didn’t affect their ability to attract women they’d be far less ambitious.

— Men fake orgasms too.

 

The first item that caught my eye was the second on the list, predicting how many women a guy has banged according to how funny he is. Testify! But what is harder to match up is the type of humor. I deeply value humor, but I’m a snob. I can’t watch The Simpsons or Family Guy. I just can’t. Even if the satire might be something I admire, I can’t relate to cartoons with moving mouths. I was cured of that by age 10.

Second item of note: Attractive TV anchors. I mean, we’ve all seen the “naked news” spots, right? Usually it’s the damn Russians putting porn stars in front of a camera. Apparently, they don’t have to be naked for dudes to lose their minds.

Third item of note: If men’s jobs didn’t affect their ability to attract women, they’d be far less ambitious. I know some guys who are there already. They are not currently camping out in my bed, nor will it be likely that they will. I have never gone around with the attitude of “I’m lazy” but I’ve heard so many men say that. More importantly, after they say it, they demonstrate it. I believe them, I have no grand illusions of changing them, and they need to stay far away from me.

I was hit up on OKCupid last night by the I’m-separated-but-probably-going-back-to-my-wife-and-kids guy. He got a new screen name.
Him: Still horny?
Me: You got a new screen name and you ghosted me. (I wanted to say, “No, fucker, I have a new hole in my ass, and not by choice.” This whole bedsore thing is really cramping my style.)
Him: I got fooled into giving my phone number out to women who live in Russia and the Philippines so I decided to start new
Did you meet someone
Me: Doesn’t matter if I did or not. No one wants to hear they are a consolation prize.
Him: just asking
Me: No you weren’t. You were trying to make a bootie call, I am just not picking up.
Him: sorry just asking

Oh, yes, he’s just so innocent! He disappeared after November and he thinks the best, most innocuous way to greet me is “Still horny?” No wonder he has only slept with 4 people in his 39 years. (I was number 4.) I sure hope his wife lets him come back home soon. I’m done raising him.

‘Scuse me, I’m off to find my poor and hungry guy, I hear they like big asses on their ladies.

 

Can You Hear Me Now?

Posted on by akiwifreund

I recorded a 20-minute interview with Daniel (“Danny”) Levine about this blog and this crazy life. I’ve only been here for six months and already the Minnesota accent is creeping back in. There were a couple of times where the sound dropped, but you get the general idea.

The Unbearable Lightness of Saying No

Posted on by akiwifreund

I wish that saying “no” to suitors was taken seriously.

I feel like I should rename the Quiz Master to Mr. Up Your Ass. (https://thesickandthedating.com/2015/10/29/whats-going-on-with-your-face/) Like clockwork, he has contacted me on all of the major holidays; I fully expect a message wishing me a happy new year even though I had to resort to telling him to knock it off when he persisted.

I don’t like resorting to being blunt or nasty, but even more than that, I hate being cornered, forced, coerced or manipulated into agreeing to something that I truly have no desire to take part in.

Many years ago, a co-worker and I were having a casual conversation about dating and attraction. He said that when it came to women, even if they were shaking their tail feathers at him, he really had to be hit over the head with a mallet for a woman to get the message through to him that she was interested in him. After being told in no uncertain terms that she desired him, it was his green light to go.

It is his voice that I hear when I say “no.” Because he said he had to be hit over the head to get the message, I no longer hesitate to pull that out of my stash of tools.

I signed up for the site datemyschool.com a year and a half ago in Phoenix while I was still getting surgeries and there was a better possibility that I could eventually resume normal activities. I had a conversation going with a guy down in Tuscon for about a month, but I got the overwhelming feeling that he would try to go back to his ex and reconcile. His profile disappeared and since it was abrupt, I’m pretty sure I called it right. I didn’t have any communications with anyone else.

A year ago I received this huge message that was obviously copied and pasted. It started with, “Hello Sweetie!!!!!….how are you today?….i just want you to know that I am soo intrest in you…” and so forth. After about the fourth sentence I stopped reading. He was going on and on and on and on about himself. There was nothing in there to indicate that he actually read about me and wanted to discuss whatever it was he thought would make us a good match.

Yesterday I received the EXACT SAME message from this guy. This is a clear red flag to me that he’s not going to be easy to communicate with because he is obsessed with telling women all about himself, and does not seem to care that he is copying and pasting and sending the message to the same people repeatedly. He also didn’t want an actual back-and-forth conversation.

Yesterday I was also interviewed for a rare disease podcast. My interviewer, Danny, asked me if I ever used my disease as an excuse not to date anyone. At the time, my answer was no. Today my answer is yes.

Here is our exchange. I was trying to be nice, to subtly send dude on his way.

Me:  Hi. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I am currently going through a health crisis and so cannot travel. I wish you luck in your quest.

Him:  hello thanks for your msg .. hope you are doing good .. well i dont have any problem .. i can travel to meet you . but i 1st want to get to know you well .. so plz let me know how you feel ok ?

Okay, so he missed the message about the fact that I’m going through some major health issues. I decided to try another tactic.

Me: Thanks for your well wishes. I don’t feel well enough to carry on a long-distance relationship. Right now I have to concentrate on doctor appointments and rest.

Him: hello hope you are doing good there ?.. yes Oregon, Roseburg is where i live now… but i enjoy travel to anywhere, so I am willing to relocate so you don’t have to worry about the distance at all… but for now i just want to get to know you well i think that’s the best start…

Nope. Ignored my reply about not wanting to carry on a long-distance relationship. Well, that and he keeps asking me if I am doing good. Um, no, Bubba Gump, there is nothing in my replies that everything is just peachy. So….

Me: I’m telling you in the nicest way possible “no.” No means no. You are putting more stress on me by ignoring what I am saying, and when I get stressed, I feel even worse. Stop now. [My blood pressure is up at this point.]

Him: ok im sorry .. thanks

In his big, long monologue that he sent to me twice, he had some line in there saying, “I am not the jealous type but I do believe in being honest and you have to earn the trust of others. I have been burned in the past so my heart is fragile, so handle with care.”

I don’t see anything in his actions that indicate he is fragile. On the contrary, he completely bulldozes my replies and continues on his merry way. This DOES ring of the jealous type too – he feels entitled (to whatever is in his circle, be it a woman or whatever), and that immediately eliminates trust. He wants attention, he wants it now, he wants it on his terms.

What happens when men don’t accept “no” as an answer? Guys like this one thrive in our community, ordered by a court to keep a distance of 10 blocks away from his target at all times and pay her restitution of $9,000. He also got a restraining order placed on him for 5 years. Seriously, what does a restraining order and parole do? They certainly don’t stop him from killing her, if he decides that’s a solution for being spurned. I don’t see anything indicating he’s been ordered to take meds or go to counseling, but he’s obviously unstable. So basically he’s been told that this behavior is not very nice, and he’s been sent on his way with a pat on his head. Now he’s sitting at home and obsessing over how he’s going to try to get around the restraining order – I mean, if she receives a severed goat’s head with no return address, she won’t really know it’s from him, right?

http://www.startribune.com/the-stalker-of-the-current-s-mary-lucia-receives-probation-and-five-year-restraining-order/363852911/

Let’s change our dialogue. Let’s stop saying that women must have done something or worn something to invite violence against them. It is not criminal just to be a woman. It’s not criminal to turn down the advances of a man.

 

Face Forward

Posted on by akiwifreund

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

 

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

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

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

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

Here’s a quote for you:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here’s a better anthem:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Abb0z_fLuIs

A Prayer Before Dating

Posted on by akiwifreund

Today, a good friend posted a surprising quote from her Christmas Eve church service: “Lord, touch us where we need to be touched.”

Amen to that!!! I mean, that’s almost exactly, word-for-word, the prayer I say before each date. Well, okay, mine is a little more elaborate: “Lord, please let him have clean teeth, pleasant breath, an unsloppy kiss, magic hands, a great personality and recently bathed bits.”

This holiday is a bit rough. First, I’m no longer in Arizona and gathering with friends to feed ourselves silly and play games like Cards Against Humanity. They are all my “other” family. I have hosted as few as one and as many as ten friends at my house, depending on if they had already been extended an invitation or they had family in the area. I have always made sure they had presents under the tree. I try not to think about this or any aspect of my former life, because it inevitably causes tears.

There is also a gap with our sister passing in July. Her absence also brings tears. This is the first time in about 23 years that I, my other sister and our half-brother are in the same city around Christmastime, and it would have been perfect to have our oldest sister here too. We are still scattering a bit – our brother is heading back to Wisconsin to be with his girlfriend and her family for the holiday. I wonder if we will all ever be in sync; none of us has experience in how to act like siblings as adults living in the same area, and I watch friends who have mastered this skill with envy.

And of course, there is no soul mate under the tree. Santa baby, what the hell???? It’s too soon for me to be able to tell if the person I recently met is a match; we have a few strikes, including my inability to drive, our distance (50 minutes on a good day) and his recent purchase of a puppy (since I’m deathly allergic). He has a good heart, though. Right now we are enjoying each others’ company.

This is a difficult holiday for a lot of my friends who are struggling with illness, loneliness, isolation or job loss. I don’t have any words of wisdom to pass along. All we can do is get through the next week. Maybe what we have wished for this Christmas – a job paying a living wage, gatherings with friends, a loving partner – will show up, but just a little late.

Below is a picture from my house in Phoenix when I had two living rooms and decorated two Christmas trees. Again, tears. God, I loved that house and the life I made in Phoenix. But happy holidays to you, wherever you may be.

2ChristmasTrees

Initiation to Rare Disease – Not My Own

Posted on by akiwifreund

Back in 2005, I worked in the tech department of a very large mortgage company whose CEO was the tannest, slimiest, shiftiest man I’ve ever seen. The tech department was overrun with men, so naturally, the few of us women tried to bond as best we could. One such woman, whom I will call Blondie, was a trip. She was born and raised in an Eastern bloc country and knew how to speak her native tongue and Russian first, so English was a third language.

In meetings, of course, we were outnumbered greatly by the guys. I remember our group being called in to discuss something. Blondie said, “Well, let me stick my chest out and say this.” Of course, she meant that tricky little saying, “Let me get this off my chest.” There were a few snickers around the room, so I leaned over to her and said, “Blondie, you mean, ‘Let me get this off my chest.” She nodded and practiced saying it a few times. When she spoke up again, she said, “Let me just take off my shirt and say this.” There was no hope of recovering after that one, the whole room lost it.

Blondie was a great person to socialize with. She was unafraid to talk to anyone, whereas despite my theater training, sometimes I hang back (but I think it’s mostly my desire not to be seen as a bore or a weirdo). It was because of her that I went to a swing dancing event and met a woman who introduced me to her good friend whom I dated for four months.

It was a big event with a 20-piece orchestra and every seat in the ballroom was filled. We were seated at a large round table with about twelve other guests, and it wasn’t long before we were all spinning around the dance floor. Blondie started talking to K. first when we were resting between songs, but then K. and I started talking. I revealed I was single and having a hard time with dating because I had to wear wigs to “pass” in public. K. excitedly told me that she had the perfect guy for me, someone who had been her good friend since childhood.

Never one to pass up an opportunity, I told her I was game. She warned me that her friend had a pronounced limp because he had a rare disease – neurofibromatosis, or NF – and he had many surgeries and successfully beat cancer. I didn’t mind at all. I was more worried about finding someone who was compatible emotionally than whether he could chase me across a field.

The Gambler and I started trading emails, and then chatted on the phone. He decided he didn’t want to waste any time meeting me, so he talked me into bringing my friends who were visiting from England up to the interactive zoo in the extreme northwest of Phoenix. This was also in July in the dead heat of summer. So picture this: my cold-weather friends are tagging along with me in 115 degree (F) heat to maybe pet a giraffe and meet this stranger.

The Gambler was very friendly and used to talking to people he didn’t know well. As it turns out, he was the NFF (Neurofibromatosis Foundation) ambassador for the region, and had traveled a few times over to Europe as well. So my friends thought he was friendly and seemed a decent sort.

The Gambler and I had our first relationship test very early, at about the two-week mark. Neurofibromatosis causes tumors to grow on the ends of nerves, so he had had many, many surgeries at that point to cut the tumors off of the nerves. The tumors can be benign or cancerous. This round of surgery, however, resulted in about 15 benign tumors being removed in both forearms.

I was in the waiting room during the surgery. I helped him get dressed and also with wrapping up his surgical sites so he could bathe. I scrubbed his back. We hadn’t even been intimate at that point, but as a nurse, you are not supposed to be checking out someone’s junk, so I did my best to avert my eyes.

Because I immediately started spending a lot of time with him, there were things I learned that may have not come up for a few months in a relationship that progresses a lot slower. The first is that he was hooked on gambling. This was back in the day when you could play online poker and bet real money. It was how he brought in extra income to supplement his disability pay. The second is that he was a sports whore. He actually rigged 4 TVs and 2 computers so he could simultaneously watch multiple games – basketball was his favorite. The third is that The Gambler’s family was very, very dysfunctional. His father was this giant of a man who drank all day and all night and beat his mother. They lived in a subdivision for retirees and owned a golf cart, and his dad would get fall-down drunk, take the family dog and go for a ride. He had already killed two family dogs on separate occasions from turning the cart over. His mother always tried to not make her husband mad. They kept getting more dogs.

Obviously this family dynamic greatly flavored how The Gambler interacted with me. He would fight to the death to get his way, whether it was where to eat or how to spend our free time. He would bully me first, then he would bargain. The Gambler would tell me that I had to do what he wanted to do because he had NF; if that didn’t work, he would tell me he would make it up to me later. All of our timelines revolved around sports schedules and online poker tournaments.

I learned a lot about the NFF and about rare disease in general. Networking with other people, grant writing and summer camps were all foreign concepts to me, but after driving him to a few locations, I started connecting with the value. The Gambler’s cause became my cause, at least in becoming more aware of the disease and the many manifestations. I know of two celebrities who (probably) have it and that’s the first thing that pops into mind when I see them – then I spend most of a movie looking for the signs, now that I know how to spot them.

The Gambler begged me to go shopping with him for clothes in anticipation for his next European trip for the NFF. He had been wearing size XXL, but really, his body was more like M. I talked him into a compromise so that his pants and jumpers weren’t dragging on the ground.

When he returned he told me that all of his friends made fun of him because his clothes fit, so what I made him buy was embarrassing and he was never going to take my advice again.

I didn’t feel like I was in a loving relationship at all. I called The Gambler to end it, and of course he tried to bully me into staying with him, then tried bargaining. He told me we could break up but that we should still go on our Las Vegas trip that we had planned. I kept telling him that I wasn’t interested in acting like a couple if we were no longer together. Finally I set a date and time for us to meet so I could get my belongings back (I had lent him an air mattress for a guest, plus various other items like sheets and towels). The Gambler rescheduled the meetup at the last minute a total of four times. Each time I had driven in rush hour traffic an hour each way. The fifth time he didn’t call and didn’t show, so I sent him an email saying he could keep everything because it wasn’t worth me chasing all over the city. Oh, but he tried to get me to come back to him, calling me constantly.

I kept the emails. I keep everything! This was our exchange:

ME: You and I are no longer dating.  This means that we won’t be going to Vegas together.  My decision to not be in a relationship with you is NOT your queue to follow in your parents’ footsteps and alternately bargain with and bully me into changing my mind.  The fact that you are not accepting of my reasons and choose to completely ignore them prompts me to follow my instincts and say that we should NOT meet up.

HIM:  you are sooooooooooooooo wrong about everything

what do my parents have to do with this anyway. you should not even mention them

bullying you into being with me  oh come on. you just missed out on the greatest guy in the world. you will regret this. i already regret opening up to you and sharing things about myself that only very few have ever known and will know for that matter. as from a famous movie wasting hugs and kisses on you too, when in the end it ment nothing to you. you have only just begun to see an ounce of me. as for your safety lol come on there is not a mean bone in my body. you hurt yourself more by not being with me. i am not like your other boy friends and i am a lot smarter and mean when it would come down to things like that. but truth of the matter is by doing something to you or your prized stuff would just bring me down to your level, and that surely is a place i don’t want to be. i rather have cancer again rather than be down there!
when i get home we should have dinner and at least be friends. we have tickets to use anyhow. i thought you should know to i have already taken 5 lessons in dancing to surprise you (even before marcos) k. just slipped up the surprise, and i like it so i am sure we are going to running into each other anyway at whatever dance events that i might like to go to.

i am not going to hurt you or your stuff. again like i said it would just bring me down to your level and that’s a place i don’t want to be because from all this and looking back on it i can tell already that’s a place i don’t want to be. but when we were together i would have gone there for you in heart beat. i am sure the person your with now would appreciate being told now if you are going to hurt them in the end. i also can assure they wont be half of what i am.

i hope in the future when,who,what (ever) you decide to be with, you don’t hurt them as much as me because it will come back to you i will assure  you. if i do see you with some one i will pray that you don’t hurt them. then again maybe it will be your turn whether or not they want to be with you.

hope ur new job is going well and hope all is well for you
hope your health is fine too

best wishes and will talk to you soon

ME: Read your words.  Maybe it will take a few years for what I am trying to explain to you to sink in, but I’m going to try one more time.

I mention your parents because your dad drinks, beats your mom, begs her to come back and says he will quit drinking/beating her, etc., and she takes him back.

If you go back and read your words to me, you tell me that you hope that I get hurt, that I’m the lowest of the low and you would rather have cancer again than to be on the same level as me.  THAT’S THE BULLYING PART.   Then immediately after that you say let’s be friends, and no one is going to treat me as well as you do, and you would have done anything for me.  THAT’S THE BARGAINING PART.  You’ve watched this cycle with your parents happen over and over and somehow you have come to the conclusion that this is acceptable behavior. I, on the other hand, do not allow my friends to say horrible things to me and then try to win me back.

And what have I done to be the scum of the earth? I’ve acknowledged that I honestly couldn’t live with our differences and decided to end the relationship. I didn’t stay to hope that things would change.  I didn’t stay to make your life and mine miserable by fighting with you or resenting you for things that I ultimately couldn’t tolerate.  Instead of sitting back and saying “I don’t understand, but I respect your feelings”, you have discounted everything I’ve tried to say and have said some very nasty things besides.

I’m tired of fighting to be heard, which I’ve had to do throughout our time together.  I still believe you have a bright future and I wish you a happy life, but I will not be a part of it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Three years later, he sent me a friend request on Facebook (I declined).

I snooped around and discovered that he was engaged to a psychology student. I figured either she wanted a project or she was fucked up herself.

In 2012, The Gambler succumbed to cancer. I have no idea if he married that young woman.

The moral of the story? We are, after all, humans first, and NOT just our diseases. I don’t have to stay with someone who doesn’t treat me well, and neither do you. And just because a person has a disease does not mean that he or she cannot do the work to learn to be a better person and break some bad familial cycles.

 

 

 

Hope for the Hopeless

Posted on by akiwifreund

I had a date yesterday.

We met on OKCupid. He complained that women weren’t responding to his attempts to start conversations. I complained that men were opening with sexual demands. I’ll call him Nashville, since he is from Tennessee and still has quite a pronounced twang to his speech (which I think is adorable).

First we were chatting through messages on OKCupid. Then we graduated to texting on our phones. Though I haven’t asked him, he must have wondered if I was being flaky because I didn’t start texting right away, but I was worn out from a couple of doctor appointments. Then we graduated to actually talking on the phone; the first time we talked we were on for 3.5 hours, then we got on later in the evening and chatted for another 3.5 hours. Then we made a date.

It was just supposed to be a lunch date, and really just a coffee date, no food involved. I picked a spot two blocks from my apartment. We walked from my place, and luckily I didn’t end up getting the droopy face by the time we got back to my flat. Nashville asked if I had any plans for the remainder of the day, and if not, would I like to do dinner as well? I was totally game since we seemed to be getting on so well. We got comfortable in my little shoe box flat – he on the couch and I laying flat on my bed – and we spent the afternoon watching music videos from the ’80’s. Wham!, David Bowie, Scorpions, Psychedelic Furs and Def Leppard all got heavy play.

Nashville and I bundled back up and walked two blocks to a pizza place where we had the most flavorful pie we agreed we’ve had in a long time. Then we went back to my little flat and made out for about an hour. Nashville and I had a very frank conversation about how neither one of us wanted to immediately jump into having sex because we both had a history of picking partners who were a poor match for our values and lifestyles. He also asked if he could see me with my wig off, but immediately my sphincter tightened up and I asked if we could wait for a later date (it’s like being doused with cold water from what I understand, seeing me like that). I wanted to hang onto some of the attraction in case Nashville decided he couldn’t handle my baldness after all because I don’t want every dating experience to be colored by my need for wigs.

When it was time for him to leave, Nashville and I discussed his work schedule and agreed that we both wanted to see the other person again as soon as we could figure out a time, which will be next week.

I’m realistic about my challenges. He is getting a puppy on December 27th – something he already planned and paid for – but he knows I’m deathly allergic. Nashville also voiced concern about having to commute to my place and the fact that I’m not able to share in the burden of driving back and forth. He lives about 50 minutes north of me. Driving that in winter weather will probably stretch that to more like 90 minutes. But we also have some things going for us, including our age and desire to have a mutually respectful relationship, and neither of us has children. Nashville also doesn’t mind that I swear like a truck driver and it seems he has been raised right – he sees women as his equal, not princesses on pedestals and not second-class citizens either.

We traded texts this morning. Nashville said, “I really like you.” I wrote back, “I really like you too.” I meant it, too. I said it without hesitation and reservation.

European Vacation

Posted on by akiwifreund

I’ve been able to make three trips to Europe thanks to the generosity of my friends who live in the U.K. – I met C. when he was a foreign exchange student at the university we attended in 1992-1993. C. has always been really good about keeping in touch with me, so our friendship has weathered 23 years with an ocean separating us. He and his family have graciously played host and tour guide every time.

The first time I was there, C. was still a bachelor, and he and his father shared the house in which C. grew up. Unfortunately C. was not able to request time off from work, so his father A. was my tour guide. A. was a charming Welshman who liked one particular pub, so every day, we went to The Cricketers Pub.

It was mostly older, retired folks gathering midday for their whiskey and beer, but I became acquainted with two men who were a bit closer to me in age. One was Michael; I remember he wore a blue and tan sweater and blushed like a choir boy, and I’m thinking he was in his mid-30s. The other was Barry, who was around age 45, and had an unfortunate run-in with burgundy hair dye that he had hoped would make him look younger, but instead gave him an unnatural purple halo. The other regulars at the pub teased him mercilessly.

While the older patrons and I chatted, I tried to draw Michael into the conversation, but with my brash American loudness, I think I might have been too much of a bulldozer for him. However, I discovered that I unknowingly caught Barry’s eye.

The next day we entered The Cricketers, the barkeep held up an envelope and sang out gleefully, “I have a note for you!” That set all of the elder patrons into squawks and chirps – it seems it was the topic of the pub, something to break up the mundane. It was a love note from Barry. He was requesting the pleasure of my company if I had time during my holiday to join him for dinner.

I left A. at his table and went to a shop to purchase blank notes to reply back. When I returned I sat with A.’s cronies and I wrote back to him that I was flattered, but I had a boyfriend and wasn’t available to date, and wished him well. I think the elders were hoping for a little more juiciness. I left the note with the barkeep.

The next day we returned to the pub, and the barkeep waved me over for another note. Barry said he understood that I was not available, but wondered if we could at least be pen pals. I left another note with my address. I did receive a few letters after I returned back to the states, but did not keep up correspondence on my end, so that was the end of that.

By the time I took my second trip, I had relocated to Arizona and had been working at a large international bank for three years. I worked in the tech area, which in 2006 was still greatly dominated by men. I managed to become acquainted with a woman in my area, S. (Her brother is the one that set me up with his work buddy who was still married and tried to assault me on our date.) We became closer when I changed from wearing blonde wigs to dark red ones; she walked past my cubicle and said, “Oh, that one girl is gone, and they hired another one with the same name.” Nope, I was the same person, just a different wig – but that’s hilarious and something she will never live down.

By the time I made it over for this visit, C. had gotten married to his wife E. and they had a little girl together, K.. C. encouraged us to go to the town center and see some live music or whatever entertainment we could find – the next day was a bank holiday, so he expected everyone to be out, even though it was a Sunday evening. He dropped S. and I off and told us to call when we were ready to come home.

We walked up and down the center, but it was very quiet, and most places were closed. We happened upon an old church that had been re-purposed as a bar; we asked the doorman if it was worth paying a cover to enter. He looked us up and down, told us we were too posh for the bug eating contest that was happening, and suggested we try to find a particular jazz bar.

We walked up and down that street and couldn’t find the jazz bar for about an hour until we realized it was closed for the evening. S. and I ended up at a pub, bought one rum & coke (no ice, of course, because Brits do not put ice in their beverages) and then called C. to pick us up. When C. got there he had a loaf of stale bread with him; he said he wanted to feed the ducks and geese while we were down there. C. pulled into a spot by the river and we grabbed the bread and ran down to the edge. By that time we were thoroughly cold and jetlagged, so instead of tearing off nice little hunks to feed the birds at 11 pm local time, we heaved the whole loaf into the river with a loud ker-plunk that sounded like an alligator made a landing. We were ready for that day and night to be over.

During the 2006 trip we also all hopped on a plane to visit C.’s friend J. in the Czech Republic. We planned it so C., his wife E., their daughter K., C.’s dad A., S. and I could spend some time in Prague in addition to being hosted by J. and her little family at their house.

By that time, A. was elderly and had to be pushed around in a wheelchair – no more pub hopping with him. My friends suggested that S. and I run around Prague on our own since it was our first time in that city, and we could meet up later in the restaurant below our hotel.

S. and I signed up for a tour of the palace grounds and cathedral, as we figured it would be a good introduction to some remarkable history. We bought our tickets and sat in a little bus that would take us to our starting point. After we sat, a man with four henchmen entered and sat directly behind me. They all stared openly at me; the main guy leaned forward and asked me where I was from, visibly trying to turn on the charm. I told him I was from the U.S. He smiled and told me he was from Jordan. Then the men rearranged themselves in the bus seats so we were surrounded on all sides. S. and I gave each other side eyes.

When we arrived at the palace gate to start the tour, S. and I lost all of our cool points because we started swooning over the guards. At one point she and I ran over to one who was standing still as a statue and we both attempted selfies without being too invasive. S.’s picture of the guard was of one eyeball and eyebrow, and my picture was of his very perfect lips and cleft chin. We didn’t feel bad about missing our own faces because he was so handsome. Our tour was timed perfectly because we actually got to see the changing of the guard as well.

Our tour guide was a very short German woman who gave the tour in German and English. At that point I remembered enough German to understand what she was saying.

The Jordanian man and his bodyguards became more bold with me. I’m not sure if he was fascinated because I looked to have green eyes and red hair, but he was convinced I was going to be his next wife. The bodyguards started snapping photos of him standing near me. Imagine if you can a very serious Jordanian man photobombing me to make it look like we were together.

S. and I were creeped out. We tried to stay close to the tiny tour guide, but as stern as she was, we knew she wouldn’t be able to physically help us if the bodyguards decided to snatch me. Susan and I linked elbows and kept moving out of the way of the men. Eventually they tired of the cat and mouse game and started mocking us and imitating us with our arms clasped together.

At the end of the tour, the Jordanian man confronted the tour guide and demanded a refund because he wasn’t allowed to enter a particular room in the cathedral. It ended with him being completely nasty to the guide but finally giving up his demand. After that he turned to me and put on his charm and asked if I enjoyed the tour as if he hadn’t at all been unpleasant seconds before. I simply said “yes” and S. and I linked arms again and took off. No one came after us, so we figured he gave up.

At the end of the day we all met up at the restaurant for some goulash. S. and I were sitting next to the window, and who did we spot? The Jordanian guy with the body guards – they were walking down the sidewalk towards the city center. S. and I immediately dove under the table. Our friends were completely flabbergasted and convinced we had lost our marbles. After peeking a number of times, we climbed back up and told our tale. Luckily, we didn’t see that guy any time after that.

S. and I tried to go clubbing in Prague. We left the rest of our friends at the hotel and went to a place that J.’s daughter recommended. We had to take an elevator to the top floor of a building to get to the club. When we arrived, no one was there, and it was approximately 10:30 at night. The doormen gave us wristbands and said we could leave and come back later when it was much busier. We did, but it hadn’t improved when we returned. S. and I decided we just wanted to dance, so we did. Out of the shadows men converged on the outer edge of the dance floor, basically forming a circle around S. and I as we were dancing. After about four songs we got creeped out and decided to give up and go back to the hotel.

After we returned to England, E. and her daughter K. brought us to London for another mini trip. We were one stop away from the infamous Leicester Square. E. encouraged us to go out to the clubs while she and K. stayed back at the hotel. We went to the square and received many solicitations for the various nightclubs, and we finally settled on one. It was the same as in Prague! Hardly no one was there, and when we decided to say screw it and take over the floor, men came out of the shadows and stood around us in a circle while we danced. That was the final straw. S. and I headed back to the hotel.

When we returned to the town where C., E., K. and A. lived, C. offered to drop us off again in the center for one last night out. We turned it down. S. and I agreed that we were not meant to have wild nights out on that trip, no matter how hard we tried.

I returned to England in July of 2012, three weeks before the Olympics. By that time, C. and E. added a son to the family, J. Little J. was young enough that that trip had to be planned around the needs of the family, so there was no chance of me venturing out for some clubbing. At that time I was more fit than I had been in decades. It’s too bad I couldn’t go out and become acquainted with some British future husband(s). It may have been my last European holiday.

Vacations overseas never turn out like they do in the movies, that’s for sure.

To Date or Not To Date, That Is the Question

Posted on by akiwifreund

I hear this sentiment often from fellow “spoonies”: They have given up on dating. They enjoy my stories (thanks, I try!), but they are not putting themselves out there in the dating pool. And why should they? It’s tough. You’re naked and vulnerable and your waves of pain crash into your body so that you can barely stay afloat. You get tired sometimes – exhausted, really – of paddling just to keep your head above water.

But to borrow from Mindy Kaling’s new book Why Not Me?, all I can say is, why not me?

This song from Andrew McMahon reminds me of my teenage years. I didn’t actually go on my first date until a week before I graduated high school, when I was already 18. I was a late bloomer. But I felt free, and I couldn’t wait to live my life and choose my own adventure.

When I finally did get into dating, it was just how I imagined it would be. And by “it,” I really mean the men. The kissing, the making out, the talking about nothing and everything, felt just like I thought it would. I felt passion and I felt heartbreak. I felt excitement. Sometimes I felt like I was on fire.

It has been a very long time – possibly a decade, if I think about it – since I have had a love who freely returned love to me and wasn’t afraid to say it. Though this rare disease has eaten away all of my supposed “good years,” when I am finally relaxed and confident in my own body, I’m not ready to give up. I still think I can have the same feelings I did at 18, even if I can no longer stay out till the wee hours of the morning with groups of people I’ve just met, and then crash on a random couch or floor or bed and trade secrets with a man who is enchanted with my eyes and just wants to hold me and see a little of my soul.

So, man whom I don’t know yet, I’ll meet you at the high dive. Take the leap with me. I promise that I’m worth it.