Month: October 2017

Introduction to “breadcrumbing”

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How do you know when you’re in an exclusive relationship and should stop going on shit dates with other guys? Do you really have to have the conversation or pass the note like in 8th grade? ” Do you like me? Circle one: Yes or No.” Or, do you just know? What if you’ve been seeing someone for over four months and are still clueless about what’s going on? One week you talk daily and see each other once or twice. The next week you barely hear from the guy and all of a sudden you haven’t seen each other in weeks. At what point do you just say, “Fuck it,” and forget about him? It’s hard when the times you’re actually together are so awesome. Not a wild, intense, passionate time, but fun and comfortable and exciting. If you have to ask, “what are we” or “where is this going”, the answers are, “nothing” and “nowhere.”

It took me almost five months to realize things were going nowhere with the guy I was “dating”. If you’re that into him or he’s that into you, there should be no question. You shouldn’t have to practically beg for this person to come see you on a Saturday night. If it is a good thing, you’d have plans already and it would not be an impromptu meeting with his friends and yours. If you have to contact him first or invite him anywhere, he’s not feeling it. He’s more into himself and his friends than he is to you. Sorry to say it. Sorry you have to read it here first. Sorry I experienced it and let it go on so long when I knew all along that all my friends were right and I was holding on to an illusion. It’s awkward and embarrassing when you realize it. It fucking sucks actually.

Sometimes though, you just create a scenario in your own head. You think things are going well.  You think you might be great partners. You talk yourself into liking him because of a lot of factors but you don’t stop and think about all the things wrong with the “relationship”. You ignore your friends who don’t like him because “they don’t understand your relationship” with him. You found something fun and good at first but over the next few months they deteriorate because he got what he wanted and he’s over it. He temporarily put on a front to get you and then he got bored. You sit and dwell on the beginning and make excuses for what’s happening now. You don’t want to see it because you’ve painted a masterpiece in your head and it won’t change. I can’t even be mad. I’ve done it a ton of times to people. You try them on and realize they don’t fit and rather than admit that to them, you let it drag on and grow distant. That’s what he did to me.

Unfortunately, no one else saw this masterpiece you painted. Not even the person you created it for. It was never real. You never put the paint to the canvas. It was all just an idea. No truth. Never actually happened and it never actually will. You got fucking breadcrumbed for months. Don’t know what that is? Google that shit. We’ll talk about it later in further detail another time.

Is it necessarily your fault for falling into this head first? I don’t think so. People, as grown adults at this point, should have no problem talking one on one to say how they feel, I think. Unfortunately, That’s not how it is. It’s rare to find someone open and honest and upfront. You have to play games and beg and pry for information on their thoughts and feelings oftentimes. Even then, you don’t always get answers. Grown ups are like little clams or turtles who close up when you try and get them to open up. Children behave more the way you’d expect adults to be with their feelings. They hide nothing. They hold nothing back. I’m no longer looking for guys in their late 30’s or early 40’s. My next boyfriend will be an 8 year old.*

*Disclaimer: I’m kidding. That’s disgusting but, fucking damn it, if it’s not refreshing to talk to someone brutally honest.

You can make a living in midget wrestling

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I started talking with a guy who seemed ambitious and fun. His job description on his profile said “entrepreneur” which could mean he’s successful in his business endeavors, he’s a jobless loser, or he’s just a drug dealer. This guy, among having other sources of income, runs a midget wrestling company. I’m not lying. I don’t know why my curiosity and love for the strange possess me to meet people like this. I can’t explain the attraction. I wanted to meet this freak show of a guy.

We met on a Sunday afternoon at George Street Pub. He had been to brunch with friends hours before and got a little buzzed from drinking morning beers. I figured the buzz would have worn off by the time we met up. I was wrong. He was wasted. I didn’t realize this right away though. I’m not the quickest or best judge of people and their behaviors. I usually give people the benefit of the doubt, unfortunately. He bragged nonstop about how successful he was. He bragged about people thinking he’s from Europe because he dresses so well. He did not dress so well and his half British accent was so forced and fake, I was distracted by that and barely heard him bragging about his awesomeness and all the people he knows who are “REAL big deals”. I was also distracted by his big, brown, dead tooth.

Throughout our encounter he was getting more and more uncomfortable and drunk and angry. Apparently I have a “don’t give a fuck” attitude and my casual confidence was mistaken as aggressive cockiness. I’ve found, yet another, insecure little man who is intimidated by an independent and assertive woman. At one point he became so upset with something I said that he put his hands inches from my face and said, “Shut the fuck up when I’m talking to you.” Since he joked so much when we chatted on the phone and online, I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or being serious. I sat there shocked and confused when a man sitting next to us stepped in and told him, “If you talk like that to her one more time, I’m going to have some things to say to you that you really won’t like.” My date had a look of shock and disgust on his face over this comment. “Was that weird, or what,” he asked me. At this point I think everything is “weird, or what” so I just nod and sip my beer.

The man next to us left and the entrepreneur’s alcohol was really kicking in. He decided now was a good time to make a crude joke and aggressively grab me and squeeze me until he left bruises on my arms when I didn’t laugh. It hurt and I yelled at him to chill out which made him laugh and say, “Cunt bitches like you need to be taught lessons. I want to bend you over my knee to teach you.” At this point I’m planning my escape. Many of my friends have asked why I didn’t get up and storm out immediately. I’ve had far too many experiences with aggressive and violent men. I’ve gotten to the point, sadly, where I know how to play the game so I can safely get away instead of letting an already heated situation get worse.

I let him ramble on and on about how great he is for a bit longer. I asked questions about his dating past and he went on to tell me about two past restraining orders he had against him from “dumb whores.” I tell him I had to go take my dogs for a walk before it got dark so he went to pay our tab while I went to the restroom. When I came back he was signing the check. He told me more about how I should worship him and I said it was time for me to leave. He leaned over the bar and screamed at the bartender that he wanted to pay the tab. I tried to interject and let him know he had already done that when he shoved me away and informed me that HE was the man and was going to pay for us. The bartender then reminded him that we were all paid up. I said goodbye and walked out.

When I was about 15 feet from the door I noticed he was right behind me, insisting that he was going to get me a car and pay for me to go home. I saw a cab turn the corner near us and insisted it was for me and I was going to just take that home. The last thing I wanted was for this guy to know where I lived. I already have one restraining order on someone and didn’t want the hassle of going to get another one. The domestic violence courthouse is not a fun place and lately it’s begun to feel like it’s my second home. He leaned in to drunkenly suck my face off I’m assuming and I firmly pushed him away. It was then that I learned that “it’s unattractive when a little bitch doesn’t want to kiss back.” He also let me know that he wasn’t “feeling this” all night and we would likely never meet again. Through my obvious sadness, I said goodbye and went home. I saw him duck back into the bar, presumably to pay our tab again.

Within two minutes he started texting me and calling me. I ignored the calls and most of the texts but this went on for hours. The first message said, “You left??” He followed up with, “Where are you?? I’ll meet you.” After that I got, “Fuck thanks. We need to jhang our. lol, I can’t your. Those. Type. Hahaha. Yes or no?” These messages were all after repeated phone calls that I ignored. I finally replied and said that I was home and not leaving again. Rather than give up, he said, “Come over. To my house. I’m going there now. No worries. You should come over. Lol Call me. Call me. It’s only 8. You’re a fucking dick. What the fuck. So lame. Good hanging out.” The next string of texts and phone calls came later when he said, “It’s only 9. Legs go out. Let’s. Lol. Ugh you’re such a dick. I won’t call you again.” I responded this time with, “Good!”

He lied though. He called several more times and sent texts until 11pm. Finally I thought he was done for good. Twelve hours later I got a message from him saying that he was having a rough day and not getting much work done but thankfully he could force his peasants (employees) to do the work for him. I can’t say I was at all surprised by any of that. I know you’re all shocked, but I did not respond to that last text either. Finally the entrepreneur got the subtle hints I dropped and the messages and calls stopped.

Why do some guys get so angry and intimidated by girls? Why can’t they handle rejection? Why do they lash out if you don’t act the way they want you to or you voice your opinion? Why is there a need to control a girl or try to be dominant? Where does this anger or violence or possessiveness come from? Why are we “bitches” or “cunts” for not falling in line with what men want us to do?

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month and since so many “men” have abused me personally one way or another, whether it was sexually, physically, or verbally, I think this is a good time to share some places to get help if you’re ever put in abusive situations. With the “me too” hashtag popping up all over social media lately, I know I’m not the only one who has experienced abuse in dating and relationships. It seems it’s more likely that women have dealt with abuse than not.

After my soon-to-be ex-husband beat me and tried to kill me, I speak up more now and have never felt such a strong need to be transparent and open about everything from my experiences to my feelings on any topic. Call it a “don’t give a fuck attitude” if you want but we’re not here for long and you never know how quickly situations could escalate or who could hear your messages and stories and make changes to remove themselves from violence.

If you need help in Illinois:

Information, Options, Counseling, Legal and Shelter Services

Toll-Free. 24-hour. Confidential. Multilingual.

Phone: 1.877.863.6338

National Domestic Violence Hotline:

1(800) 779-7233

The Meatball

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Now most people ask if I have “must own a boat and invest in cryptocurrencies” as requirements on my Bumble and Tinder profiles. Not the case. I’ve just accidentally met a lot of guys who do one or both of those things. This time though, I swiped right because of the boat pictures. This guy was cute but not my normal style. My normal kind of guy is ridiculously gorgeous with a super hot bod. I could go for cute-ish and chubby though if he has a boat. We agreed to meet at RPM Italian for dinner and drinks, despite the fact that I told him I’d skip the carbs from pasta and just drink a couple Manhattans or tequila cocktails with him.

I was running early and he was running late. I popped into Ema to have a drink before he arrived. Two cocktails later, he still wasn’t there but said he was a few minutes away. I decided to walk over and grab our table at the restaurant so I asked what name the reservation was under. He didn’t make one. How the hell did he think we could casually walk into RPM Italian and get a table like it’s a fucking Applebee’s?! I did a walk-through of the bar area to see if any seats were available. Booked as hell. I told him I’d be standing outside on the corner like a prostitute waiting for him since we would have to go somewhere else. Moments later I heard some man screaming my name. I spotted him in his brand new Mercedes waving at me to come over. I hopped in the car and my nostrils were assaulted by an overwhelming dose of cologne. My date was about 30-40 pounds heavier than in his pictures and missed the top three buttons on his shirt, exposing his bushy chest hair and gold chain and giant cross. His hair was shaved on the sides and the top was long but cemented down with heavy duty, super strong hold hair gel. On his profile he said he was 31 but in person he looked like he was closer to 50. He started driving, never apologized for being almost an hour late and just repeatedly asked me where I wanted to go. Everything he said, he repeated 3 times in the strongest Jersey Shore accent I’ve ever heard. It was good that he did repeat everything multiple times because his accent was so strong I definitely couldn’t understand him the first time so it saved me the trouble of asking him “what” over and over.

We ended up heading to the rooftop at the Godfrey. He rudely chucked his keys at the valet guy’s chest and we continued to the elevator to the rooftop bar. While I was looking at the cocktail list, I heard him order a pitcher of strawberry mojitos from the bartender, despite telling me earlier he was avoiding sugary drinks so he could drop 10 pounds (or 30). I couldn’t believe he ordered for us without consulting me first. The bartender started to walk away and I put my menu down and this guy called the bartender back over saying, “Get mah lady’s ordah!” I asked for a Maker’s Manhattan up and was thoroughly confused as to why this guy needed 5 full strawberry mojitos to himself on a Tuesday night but I am not one to judge, especially on alcohol consumption.

He explains to me that he’s an only child, a momma’s boy and VERY Italian. I didn’t know you could be more than just plain old Italian so I was obviously intrigued. The reason he was late to our date (and not sorry about it in the least) was because his momma made him some meatballs and spaghetti. He tried to leave after one plate but she made him have another. His mother, the love of his VERY Italian life, is controlling everything in his life, but mostly his waistline it seems. Within about 20 minutes of this date, he tells me he wants me to meet his mother and she would love me. She loves a good, pretty Italian girl. I’m 6% Italian according Ancestry DNA but I didn’t tell him that. Let him create his own weird fantasies. Who am I to tell the truth? A bad move on a first date is to talk about the girl you just met meeting your mother. My boner was gone in a heartbeat.

Besides talking about being VERY Italian and a momma’s boy, he had a ton of other interesting topics of conversation. He loved talking about his money and his family’s money. Also fun, was talking about his friends’ money. We talked about his boat and expensive, fast cars. We talked about clubs and bottle service. My mind was so stimulated I could have exploded. This guy was dreamy. Listening to all of this coming from a guy with the accent of Pauly D or The Situation and the body of a slightly elongated Danny DeVito, was beyond my wildest fantasies. This was my guy. This was my next future ex husband.

I finished my second Manhattan and was pretty buzzed after the two drinks I had at Ema and because we never actually ate dinner. He offered to drive me home and I accepted because I’ve become stuck up as hell and would rather choke on my own vomit than take public transportation when I’ve been drinking. It wasn’t until the check came that I noticed he consumed two pitchers of strawberry mojitos. It wasn’t until I thought about the date the next day that I realized he drove me home after 10 cocktails and that was probably bad.

He insisted on walking me to my door, which was nice but, of course, after 10 cocktails, he had the balls to try and stick his tongue down my throat. That was gross. Momma’s spaghetti and meatballs were probably still in his teeth. We said goodnight and I went inside to my couch and my dogs. He sent me a few texts when he got home saying that he wished I was with him in his bed. I responded as I think most nice Italian girls would, by saying, “ha, thanks. nite.”

I’ll never understand how people can’t read body language, facial expressions or tone of voice. I don’t get how you can’t tell when you’re not connecting with someone. Maybe 10 mojitos had something to do with it. I don’t know. The Meatball and I will likely never see one another again. That’s what I get for swiping right for boats. No good can ever come of it.