singlenokids

I Saw Another Ghost

Posted on by akiwifreund

First and foremost, my ass is healing. The hole used to be the size of an adult thumb, and now I think it’s more child-sized. I have been doing a daily bath with epsom salts, and my body has been doing the rest of the work with the superhealing mechanism that was triggered by the wound. The surgeon does not need to make any more hamburger.

Second, there was a lot of confusion surrounding my bed situation. I saw a doctor at the U of MN on January 4th, during which time I was “prescribed” a hospital-style bed that should also help me avoid further bed sores. I was handed the script and told to do the rest. I pulled a North Carolina and said, “Do what now?” I called my insurance company to find a durable equipment company; the insurance company told me that my doctor needed to call the insurance company first for a pre-authorization. I sent a message to the doctor who prescribed the bed, and got a message back late last Friday; when she called, the insurance company told her that I was supposed to go to the durable equipment company. So it took me a few days, but I finally tracked down a company that was contracted with my insurance company and might have what I need. I called them, the intake person laughed at me and told me that I was doing way more than I should have, and that she would work it out with the doctor and the insurance company.

Nothing is ever easy.

When I developed this issue and got the prescription for the bed, the first thought I had was, “How am I going to explain that to Nashville?” I mean, the surface area is going to be halved, but then again, it’s supposed to be adjustable, so……….

Turns out I worried for nothing. I called him over that first weekend in January and told him that I was due in the surgeon’s office Monday and that there was no way I could make a date happen on that day. We chatted for a while, and he told me about his neighbor attempting to steal his brand new puppy that he paid a breeder $1200 for. We talked about him setting up security cameras. I couldn’t seem to convince him that the neighbor “knowing Nashville was real, real mad” wasn’t enough of a deterrent from the neighbor trying again. Then Nashville made some excuse about it being late (even though he normally works 3rd shift and it was only 10 pm, so he was definitely used to being up then), and we hung up. He texted me the next day to tell me he hoped that I was feeling better, and I told him to give the puppy extra pets from me.

The day after that, I saw the surgeon again, so I had a better idea of the timeline with the healing of the hole in my ass. I called Nashville and left a message.

And then…nothing.

I waited about five days, and then I signed on to OKCupid to see when he last logged in. I hadn’t been on since Christmas, but the system told me that he was online in the wee hours of the morning on the same evening we traded texts. So in other words, Nashville was still cruising for chicks. He totally ghosted me.

I don’t know why exactly, but I’m not bothered enough to blast him. Instead I blocked him on Facebook and OKCupid, and automatically forwarded his texts to junk as well as marked his calls as automatically going to voice mail. I don’t expect him to call or text again since he cut off all communication, but I just wanted to be sure that he would have to go out of his way to figure out how to contact me.

I still have his Christmas gifts.

I couldn’t have been happier to be able to recycle his god-awful work calendar – which consisted of guys with hunting rifles hauling around the bloody animals they just shot.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to confirm this, but I’m wondering if he got sucked into talking to women in Russia or the Philippines like my former hookup did. He is definitely the kind to give them his last penny because of some sob story.

Nashville used to tell me that he thought I was too “high class” for him, or too smart. He also bemoaned the fact that I can’t drive, but as soon as he said that, he would tell me how much he loved my neighborhood and that he would like to move to this part of Minneapolis/Saint Paul. I told him that he had to make some decisions, that there were certain things I couldn’t change, no matter what.

Rather than speaking to me directly, he chose to ghost me. Nashville always used to say that he never, ever broke up with any women, they always were the ones to break it off.

Well, Nashville, those words better stop coming out of your mouth. By pretending I never existed, you broke off the relationship.

I’m still looking for my unicorn.

P.S. – time to recycle my Star Wars cup – Nashville was using it as his spit cup when he stuffed his face with chewing tobacco

 

 

Pain in the Ask

Posted on by akiwifreund

Every time I watch this clip, I giggle. I hope you will too.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5JRazx66c7c

 

Today I had a little procedure in the surgical area of the University of Minnesota. Truly, it was little. But since 1/1/2016, I’ve been in a lot of pain because I developed a boil near my tailbone as a result of laying in bed for 8 months straight. Sure, I get up once in a while, but I’m in bed at least 22 hours of every 24 hours.

We thought it was the trucker’s cyst, but luckily it wasn’t – it would have taken a lot more cutting to pop that meatball out. First I met a PA who turned out to be very, very new (I’m thinking it was his first day or first week because he was asking where everything was for supplies). I didn’t joke with him because I realized how new he was and I didn’t want him to lose his place in asking me questions; a memorized script that one can skip around out of order comes with experience, and he obviously wasn’t at that point yet.

The general surgeon came in, and damn, he was cute. He took a look at my ass, and I made a joke about having to show my ass to everyone. Hey, I worked my way through St. Joseph’s Hospital in Phoenix – may as well start on Minneapolis now. He asked me how I felt about them cutting and draining the problem area. Of course I agreed – I told him to exorcise the demon. Everyone stepped out of the room to enter notes in my chart.

The nurse came in with the PA and she and I chatted while they got all of the supplies ready. Then the PA had the task of shooting me up with Lidocaine. His hands were shaking like the dickens. I honestly don’t know if it was because he was making an effort to spread the juice while the needle was inserted, or if he was just scared shitless of shooting up my left cheek. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt; besides, whenever I get Novocaine in my mouth when I’m getting worked on by a dentist, they do this crazy thing where they flap my mouth around while doing the injection – maybe to avoid getting a big old bubble of juice and instead encouraging it to go into the surrounding area? I got about 8 shots.

They left again, and in about 15 minutes they returned to do the cutting. The doctor talked the PA through doing the incisions. When he said, “You’re going to need to go deeper,” I was just at the point of yelling. They had warned me that the acidity of the bacteria that was pooling in this spot would make the Lidocaine less effective, and they were right. The nurse told me I could swear. I told her that my inner truck driver was coming out and I was getting ready to recite every nasty term I could think of.

They packed the area and then covered it with a large patch. The doctor asked me where I lived and then told me it would be a good idea to return to his office every day and his nurse could repack the wound, at least for the next week. At some point they may even try to get me to pack it myself, but it’s in a spot I can’t exactly see, so that will be a challenge.

In the end, they only got about 5 ccs of fluid out. What??? That tiny bit of junk made me feel as if an ostrich egg had been laid under my skin.

This is going to be a problem for date #3 with Nashville. We were supposed to get together Monday for a day date after he finished his overnight shift, but instead, I have to get my ass packed. By Monday it will have been three weeks since we last saw each other and I don’t want to delay another week, but I don’t think I have a choice. Plus there’s going to be no monkey business while I’m dealing with this wound. I can’t get laid and it makes me want to kick some ask.

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

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.

It’s That Time Again

Posted on by akiwifreund

I’m not talking about Daylight Savings Time (I really think that should be done away with). I’m not talking about burning a yule log and sipping a hot toddy. I’m talking about putting on the most ridiculous paper “gown” and having my girl parts checked.

Five years ago this month I made the best decision I ever could have made and that was to push for a hysterectomy. I had had many, many problems since the age of 19, including some fast-growing fibroids that had taken over my uterus and prompted a quickie biopsy (without any anesthesia or numbing). I remember the doctor coaching me through the pain of that biopsy and at one point saying, “You’re doing good, we’re halfway done.” And like Satan’s wife, a deep, hideous voice came out of my mouth that said, “Only HALFWAY??” By the end of 2010, if I was lucky I had a whole week off every month from bleeding, rather than the reverse being true. So at age 36, I kissed my uterus goodbye – or rather, I gave it a good shove and told it to kiss my ass.

Thank goodness I don’t have to worry about birth control or how to control a flow. But I still worry about diseases, so I requested a full workup from my doctor – peeing in a cup, scraping the “pouch” that was left behind where the cervix used to be, and a couple of vials of blood took care of all of the testing. The person I saw today was new to me, so it was kind of odd that I had to convince her to check me for everything, as if she was thinking I was too old, too disabled or too nice to have had multiple partners – or all of the above. What I didn’t say was, “Yes, I’m still sexually active even though I look like Quasimodo right now. You’d be surprised what guys will overlook with the promise of getting a piece of ass.” A couple of times she paused as if she was waiting for a number. I finally said, “Look, I’ve never been married, and I’ve been single a lot, so yeah, test for everything.” I don’t like to leave anything to chance.

Then we had a conversation about the hair “down there.” She wants all ladies to go back to the ’80’s, when porn didn’t dictate the majority of women under a certain age shaving. She was singing the praises of how the hair kept pollutants out when women weren’t punishing themselves for being adults rather than little girls. I reminded her that I really didn’t grow hair ANYWHERE, and she said that she didn’t want me to get rid of anything – that I should try to keep whatever I could get. I snicker now because the next logical progression if I made that choice would be explaining crop circles in my kitty hair when I’m naked with my next partner. Alopecia makes hair fall out in perfectly round circles; when you have universalis, most or all of the circles have melded into one universal loss of hair everywhere, but I sometimes have some patches. If you have ever thought to yourself, “That dude should just give up trying to grow a beard because it ain’t happening,” that would apply to my situation too.

Today I remembered a doctor’s visit a few months ago when I was waiting in line to check out. There was a kid in his early 20’s who didn’t have much experience with going to the doctor or the intricacies of dealing with insurance. He was bounced back and forth between the front desk and the back one because he really just wanted an appointment for STD testing, but it wasn’t included in his “free” yearly exam as he had hoped; he finally left the office without getting anything done. I could tell he was worried about paying his co-pay and co-insurance. I wanted to step up and offer to pay for it, but I would have violated what little privacy he tried to keep – I didn’t want him to know I heard everything, but I also didn’t want him to walk away without getting tested. In the end I had to let him go. I sure hope he was able to take care of it sooner rather than later.

Today is World AIDS Day. The prognosis has changed greatly since the early ’80s thanks to advancements in medicine, but I’m more than happy to get tested regularly so I don’t end up being part of that demographic. I’ve got enough going on as is.

Paper Doll

Posted on by akiwifreund

Warning: Read at your own risk. Adult situations discussed.

Okay, so we know about Mr. Friday Night and his toe and pantyhose fetish. I did him a solid and dressed up and painted my toenails to his specifications. It wasn’t that big of a deal as far as fetishes go – not like he asked me to shear a sheep so we could screw on some real lambswool.

Another guy on OKCupid caught my eye. I was actually looking forward to chatting with him because according to the algorithm, we answered over 90% of our questions the same (or similar enough). His profile had enough funny stuff to show that he had a good sense of humor, and we had a love of the arts, board games and museums in common. Pretty promising, right? So I struck up a conversation with him, and during the course of chatting, I discovered he was a brass player. I’m going to christen him Gabriel.

Gabriel wasn’t very forthcoming with info about himself when I would ask him open-ended questions. He would give me one or two-word answers, or it would take him a long time to answer. Then he started dipping his toe into the sex pond, and he couldn’t stop talking.

At first Gabriel wanted to know if I liked to cuddle, and I answered yes. Then he started asking me about my favorite sexual acts. I informed him that I had a FetLife page and he revealed to me that he did as well, so we checked out each others’ pages. Gabriel then confessed to me that he wasn’t really single, like his profile said – he was separated, and he claimed that he was living with his parents and his wife and kids were living in the house. However, he assured me that there was no going back and that divorce was a sure thing. We talked more about our likes and dislikes, and Gabriel admitted that he had only been intimate with three women. My number is nowhere near his – I mean, I have never been married, and for the majority of my adulthood I haven’t been in a relationship. We had a chat about STDs.

Eventually we worked out a date night. At first it was on the premise of cuddling and a movie. Then it evolved into him asking if we could do certain things. Gabriel also specified what he would like me to wear – which included a skirt, pantyhose and heels. Luckily for him I had gotten two pairs of pantyhose because of Mr. Friday Night, so I could accommodate that request. I told Gabriel that if his penis was going anywhere near me, he had to tell me his last name.

The first time we got together was very nice. We did cuddle, and we both got some action. He reminded me a lot of the guy who plays Kelly Severide on the show “Chicago Fire,” though a bit beefier. When we were done messing around, we laid in bed and laughed and talked, and Gabriel did his impression of Christopher Cross/Michael McDonald/Peter Cetera, which he admitted sounded like the same guy. We discussed his frustration at not being able to find a job that matched his degree, and I offered to put some feelers out with my friends. It’s just the sort of exchange you’d expect with friends with benefits, which is what I assumed this would be, since I couldn’t go on real dates with him.

The second time he came over, Gabriel asked if I could do some very specific things he wanted to try that he had listed on his Fet page. I will just be clear and say that it was stuff he wanted me to do to him, not with him. Gabriel also asked me if I could wear a specific undergarment, and since I had it in my possession already, I obliged. He asked me if I would ever try some of the things that he wanted to, including three-or-moresomes and anal sex, and I told him I had tried them – many times – and I wouldn’t do them anymore. First, I’m not attracted to women. Second, my health problems extend to my bowels and anal sex is painful. So keep in mind that this conversation about my hard limits happened face to face. Gabriel left after what he wanted to happen happened. I gave him a smooch and told him it was okay, he’d get me the next time.

Between the second and third dates, we chatted via text a few times, but it was only late at night, and he would only talk about sex. Gabriel would ask things like, “Do you ever just walk around your apartment naked for no reason?” I told him no, it was never for no reason – usually I was changing clothes or hopping in the shower. Then he would ask me if I was playing with myself. I get weary of being asked the same questions every time a guy talks to me, so I stopped playing along – I didn’t pretend that I was doing that just to make him happy. I even reminded him a couple of times that I was a whole person, not just interested in sexual acts. I mean, for Pete’s sake, we had a lot of common interests.

For our third get-together I didn’t have to wear any specific clothing, thank goodness. We messed around (no p-in-the-v, but honestly, that’s not the only sex act as far as I am concerned), and had another talk about my hard limits. Gabriel said that the next time he came over, he thought it would be nice to just watch a movie, and I agreed.

Gabriel’s texts became further spaced out; sometimes I would send him a quick note to joke about something that popped up in the news that we had discussed. He would only text me to ask me if I was playing with myself. Then he started only asking me one word at a time: “Anal?” “FFM?” “Swallow?” My tolerance level is pretty low, especially if I have to repeat myself. I know what guys think, which is that if they ask the same question enough times, eventually they will wear us women down into agreeing to do stuff. After I said no, Gabriel had the balls to tell me that maybe I would like that stuff if I tried it – as if our numbers were reversed and I had had three partners, and he had…not three.

I finally texted him back to say, “Look, I have tried what you have listed, and I’m not going to do it.” Then I told him, “I feel like we get along well enough, but now you’re listing stuff that we have talked about that I’ve already told you that I am not interested in revisiting. I don’t want to hold you back if you want to find someone to help you check these things off your list.” Gabriel hates anything that is not “Minnesota Nice,” meaning he would have preferred me to agree to do these things to fulfill his porn-driven fantasies, or to lie to him and tell him that I would do them eventually. So Gabriel has cut off all communication to me.

My prediction for Gabriel: He and his wife are going to resume their marriage “for the sake of the kids” after he has checked everything off his list. And they’re going to hate each other.

I have been chatting with another guy from OKCupid who had actually hit me up on FetLife first. Here’s the kicker: he has a foot fetish too. So one of the first things he asked me to wear if we met is a skirt, pantyhose and heels.

My only conclusion I can come to is the reason these poor, deprived men in Minnesota crave heels and pantyhose is because it’s thirty below zero all of the time and it’s not safe to walk in heels in snow and ice. Snow boots are decidedly less sexy.

Please enjoy this song by one of my favorite singers, Rachael Yamagata. Every time a man asks me to dress up to his specifications, I feel like a paper doll.