sarahntastic

OK, a question for my friends:  is it better to have caught a tiny glimpse of a person you **know** would make a good partner or remain ignorant that such a person exists?

I’m not trying to be all dramatic, you know I suck at choosing partners, and I don’t have a clue what it’s like to be with someone who adores me, who I adore equally.  It just has never happened for me.

Right now I’m thinking ignorance is what I would have preferred, but that might just be the PMS poopy-head talking.

Tell me what you think.

His profile listed going to The Blank as one of his passtimes.  I was going that night.  I okcupid’ed him to tell him to meet me there.  No biggie.  He wasn’t terribly good looking but I thought it might be fun.

He ignored me the whole night, but texted me.  How old are we? He was less cute in person.  But I had to start somewhere.

Some events will remain un-described here, but let’s just say, after he came over a few times, he is now known as Three Strikes.

He texted and called many times.  I ignored him.  I was, after all, by this time, all gushy over a real man I met in the in between time.  But then lonliness got the best of me and I agreed to a real date.  One that includes dinner, talking, being nice to me.

The Night of The Date arrived and Three Strikes leaves work late, then has hot water problems at home (“I am NOT going out if I have to take a cold shower” he texted me.  Very romantic.), then finally picks me up at 9pm.  I was nearly passed out from too much wine and irritation and just plain old disinterest.

He has no plan for dinner.  Mind you, dude has lived here all his life like me.  He knows the goddam restaurant line-up around here.  He only says “It’s WAY too late to go to a movie.”  Don’t treat me too right, motherfucker.  So, I’m trying to be on my best behavior ever, and you all know me.  This kind of shit from anyone usually results in some kind of demerit.  Like sending the fucker home, say.  I suggest a number of restaurants.  He won’t choose.  He pretends he’s never heard of the moderately priced places.  The man who makes $150k can’t deal with a $100 dinner, apparently.  So I jokingly suggest a coffee shop with a bar.  The one that has half-price appetizers and well drinks.  Dude jumps on this.

I do not kid here, people.  The Flames on a Friday night.  This means two grown-ups are going where kids go for $4 nachos after the movies.  Fuck. Me.

But I’m starving.  So we go.  We take a cab.  I tell him he is paying for everything.  This is so out of character for me.  I never allow anyone to pay for anything.  But I’m furious now.

We sit. I drink. I order mini corn dogs and a salad. He complains about how ENORMOUS the portions are.  I say “motherfucker, if you talk about the food one more time, I will throw this mustard in your face.” By now my manners are gone.  I eat, he eats (mind you, dude is NOT a small man, he can pack it in, but has some need to discuss portion size). I try to have a conversation about his job, my previous work.  He wants to talk about the things he wants to cook for me.  I’m thinking, fuck if I’m going anywhere else with you or near you again.

He paid.  I said I would pay.  The bill was 24 bucks.  He said “you don’t have a JOB, Sarah.”  Look, cocksucker, I already have a dad, thank you very much.

We leave, walking back to my place, I ask him about work again, since he continues to complain about it.  Then, the clincher.  He goes “it’s not like you can have a SERIOUS conversation right now, Sarah.”  What. The. Fuck.  So I can’t take it anymore.  I start saying, loudly “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t inform you that I’m retarded BEFORE we left the house.” and “I can’t exactly use my brain after you take me to The Flames for dinner.” and “YOU’RE A MOTHERFUCKING MOTHERFUCKER.”  I tell him he’s abrasive and rude and his answer is “everyone always tells me that, I’m me, I am what I am.”

I wanted to just go home, but I stopped at a bar for a last drink.  I was hoping someone I knew would be there.  I know the bartender.  She gave me sad eyes and nodded to Three Strikes like “what happened to you and why are you out with this fucktard?”

In the lounge he softens a bit, telling me that “maybe he should change since everyone tells him he’s an asshole.” And that I should help him with it.  My answer?  “No, you are 39 years old, I am not running a How to Be A Grown-Up Man Service here.”  He gets grabby.  I get stabby.

We take a cab home.  Because Mr The Portions Are Too Big can’t walk a mile.  I run inside yelling “PEACE OUT, BITCHES” to him.

What has happened since?  Texts.  Bazillions of texts.

“I miss you, what are you doing?” me: “that’s weird, we obviously are not compatible. You’re a dick and I’m nice.” him: “I don’t want to believe that’s true.”

And who texts just now as I write this? Weeks later?  Three Strikes.  Like he has it like that with me.

Dating over.  The End.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I like you

Hurry up and like me

Roses are red

Violets are blue

No, taking me to The Flames is not an appropriate date.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Don’t imply that I am stupid

I won’t kick you in your junk

I read this today and all my insecurites are running wild.  Not that they are normally under control.  Certainly not.  However, on days like today when I’m already planning to take a risk, I read about nasty men and just want to stay home.  I’m not perfect.  I have work to do on myself, on my body, on my health.  I’ve backtracked steadily the last few months, creating a brain space that is not conducive to realigning, restarting, re-Getting The Fuck Back Together.  But I’m almost there.  I’ve mostly stopped the self-hate talk.  I’ve gone back to the gym.  I’m not pushing it, but I’m keeping my routine.

But guess what, motherfuckers?  I don’t need YOU to contribute to my mind-fucking.

I commented on ST’s post that men’s idea of body and beauty perfection is pervasive and transcends ethnic groups.  Read any white dude’s personal ad and you’d think they live a life of X Games and humping skinny chicks – no matter if their own appearance is none too pleasing.

Boys, I SEE you out with chunky girls and you are HAPPY.

It’s not that we should be attracted to things we aren’t, but the idea that men, simply because they own a dick, can cut a woman to her knees by ticking off all of the things he finds physically unattractive has got to stop.  Because you know what?  That penis you have between your legs?  The thing that society tells you gives you the power to behave this way?  It’s not even cute.  Sometimes it’s tinier than Pepper’s. One beer and it doesn’t even work!  Sometimes it doesn’t work if we asked you to take out the trash one too many times and now your feelings are hurt.

Look, I want a boyfriend, a partner, someone to love, to adore, who adores me.  But I’m not putting up with this crap anymore.  Go away, shallow, empty men.  Or I might have to figure out a way to marry my dogs and Charles Shaw.

I got married when I was 19 because I must have been in Bizarro World….doing the opposite of anything normal. Right when we should have broken up, we got married. I walked down the aisle SOBBING, everyone under the impression I was  happy, but really I couldn’t believe the mess I was about to get myself into. (Come on, adults, did you really think a 19-year old should be marrying an idiot?) But I tried, I worked, I was a good wife, a good cook, a good housekeeper (this last one might be a lie). I survived many plates of food thrown over my head, the remote thrown at me many times, being called pretty much every nasty name in the book, until the day, four years into all this, he tells me he’s not in love and we need to get a divorce.

Are you fucking kidding me?  YOU, Asshole of the Planet, want to divorce ME?

I was unimaginably relieved. Thankfully he came from a broken home so divorce was an acceptable solution to him.  I knew nothing of divorce, I had no idea it was an option.  I mean, my parents have been mostly happily married for forty years, for chrissakes.

So right when we are going to go our separate ways, the fucker tells me that, by the way, he cheated on me a few times over the last year. Really? This was necessary?  Now is the time for honesty and clearing the air?  No, I say no, it’s not.  I prefer naivety.

However, it became apparent I needed this punch in the gut in order to deal with the next 10 years of cheating.

About a year after my divorce, C was my next cheater boyfriend. It took me a while to realize it, caught up as I was in adoring this fucking gorgeous, sweet, generous, smart man. It was a bit more difficult to figure it out considering he was at my apartment every night. Well, of course, not every night. There were a few times here and there he couldn’t make it, couldn’t get away from work. This is the man who helped me develop my theory about a personality trait in certain men:  Men Who Love You Infinitely When They Are With You And Forget About You Immediately When They Are With Their Other Girlfriends.

J was a fucked up fucktard piece of work. He was afflicted by the aforementioned personality disorder, too, but it was a bit more complex. His wife cheated on him, now his ex-wife, the woman he adored until the end of time. So, his solution? You got it…right when he connected emotionally with a new woman, he found another to fuck, then, sad and guilty, tell girlfriend #1 he didn’t know what came over him & it’s only because wife #1 ruined him, and can you ever forgive him, please?  Also?  Not cool to tell your new girlfriends your wife was the love of your life.

Random other cheaters B, M, J…you get the picture.

But the best yet, the one that will take a miracle the likes of finding Jesus’ face on a potato chip for me to recover, went over like this:

The One, the one I thought was The One, the one who most definitely was not The One?

We got married, albeit hastily and for all the wrong reasons, but married nonetheless.  He moved to California to be with me, and on or around Day 3 of his settling into my our apartment, he began posting personal ad profiles everywhere. Match.com, yahoo personals, craigslist…name it, his shit-ass was on there. So I ask him about it and he tells me it’s just for fun, he messes around with his friends this way.

Let me be clear.

Not a week into a supposed life-long relationship, I am already breaking into his email, checking his cell phone history, web history, and all around not letting him out of my sight, ie, stalking my own damn husband.

The next clue was Sexy Tennis Partner. a) why the fuck does he need to play tennis with a woman? & b) what kind of fucko comes home to tell his wife his new sexy tennis partner asked him to go home with her? Many screaming fights later, the truth is revealed, not that it was a surprise, but at the very least I could stop feeling like a crazy person & know my fears were completely true. Then there were the random older women who wanted to know all about Morocco. No sex involved here, but certainly massive amounts of attention, home cooked meals, dinners out, gifts, parties in his fabulous Moroccan honor (say what?? why??). Oh, did I mention I wasn’t invited or welcome to any of this?

But pretty much the worst infidelity of all was his emotional affair, online of course, with a French woman in Boston. This is how I took my high school French to new levels of comprehension, via the hacked email translating, of course. This years-long affair consisted of hours online, chatting, phone calls all hours of the day and night. I’m pretty sure there were a couple clandestine meetings along the way, too. All under the guise she was an old family friend having a hard time adjusting to the U.S.

Of course I was at work all day, and he “worked” (read that, spent my 401k to start our business, which I also worked from the minute I got home from my real job until all hours of the morning) from home, so he had the freedom to do this, and clearly zero shame, embarrassment, or plain old respect for me.

I turned into a crazy person. Again with the breaking into email, checking phone calls, checking web history.  All this while I had 3 months of a cancer scare and then surgery to remove a tumor; while I worked a job I hated to support our business; while I allowed his younger brother to live with us no matter how much the kid drove me nuts; while I lived without a dog because the fucking Moroccan couldn’t handle an animal in the house; while I brought him into my family and pretended everything was peachy.  He spent all his time with her, gave her all his love, gave her his heart, his ear, his compassion, his secrets, all while I got disgusted looks & terrible fights. This is the most damaging and painful infidelity I’ve experienced.

So, Mom’s Old Lady Friend Who Keeps Asking Me Why I Haven’t Dated In Five Years, it’s because I cannot be trusted to find a normal man.  I am a huge idiot, apparently.  Are there classes for this?  I need some de-re-programming, Gitmo style.  I mean, without the torture.

Oh, and you read that right.  I am 37 and have been married and divorced.  Twice.  That’s super-fantastic to explain to people.

I have a temper, but I never really get angry.  If I throw a fit, it’s to protect myself, argue a position, or bitch about someone I don’t know, but never do I get angry at someone close to me, even when they hurt me.  I question myself, where I went wrong, how I can fix it, again, even if it’s their shit that caused them to emotionally sucker punch me.  I’m a dweller, a ruminator, an obsessor.  I can’t let things go.  And not in a grudge sort of way, just in the “OMGICAN’TBELIEVETHATHAPPENEDHOWCANIFIXITISWEARI’MNOTANASSHOLE” sort of way.

Right now—and for the last four months—I’ve been obsessing about He Who Shall Remain Nameless.  We were together for many years.  I loved him way more than he loved me.  He left me.  But all this isn’t the problem.  It’s been years since we’ve been together.  He’s moved on, has a new wife, has a baby.  But we have always stayed in touch and in fact, he promised he would repay me tens of thousands of dollars over a few years to help with bills and my investment in our company that is now closed.  And he kept that promise.  He gave me money when he could and started a new business that is likely to make a ton of money.  He has always been generous, and actually, money was the one thing we never fought about.  Until four months ago.

I’m unemployed but wanted to figure out how to start my own business, and I could afford to figure things out with money he gave me around the time I was laid off.  He knew this was my plan, he said he’d keep putting money in the account, he helped me edit our old business plan for my new business idea.   Then he decided he could make some money day trading with my little nest egg.  I let him.  I had no reason not to trust him.  He made a killing day trading several years ago, he knows what he’s doing, and he knew I needed the money accessible.

It started when I asked him for some of the money.   He made excuses about time and too much work but that he would get to it.  Then he stopped answering my emails, stopped taking my calls.  I knew something bad was going down, but I didn’t want to believe it.  Fast forward to the end of the month when the statement came in the mail:  Balance $2.97.

So for the first time in 12 years, I am out of touch with the person I wanted to be with forever.  And, he stole nearly ten thousand dollars from me.  And I’m scared and having anxiety attacks, and sleeping to much or too little, and eating too much, and crying too much.  And I even have a little hope (I know, I know!) he’s just trying to get the money together and he will pay me back.  But I’m not angry.  Why can’t I get angry?  I’m hurt, that is all.