Tag: sex

My murderversary

swipingmylifeaway2 Comments

Today is International Women’s Day?! I didn’t know that was a thing! Thanks to Facebook, yet again, for informing me about things that I would otherwise be entirely unaware of. Apparently, in other countries, like Russia, it’s an official national holiday. (Thanks for telling us, Anastasia!) I feel like it should be far more widely recognized here too. Learning this now has had a profound affect on me. Just a few days ago was the one year anniversary of the day my husband tried to take my life. The past year I’ve learned and grown a lot and become stronger than I ever was before in more ways than I knew were possible. There has also been a tremendous amount of attention and some controversy with women speaking out about harassment and assault, whether it’s sexual assault, physical violence or emotional abuse and also, the general inequalities we still face daily in our lives and in the workplace. It’s been a hell of a year for women and we’ve all spoken up for ourselves, shouted out for each other and are only getting stronger. So, fuck YOU, to the scumbags! We’re comin’ for ya!

This week has consisted of several days of reflection and thinking about how different things might be today if just a few decisions last year had been different. What if I let someone else’s “happiness” and desires dictate the rest of my life? Had I not asked for a divorce I would still be depressed and married to a man I had no love for, who only had love for himself. I’d still feel lonely even in his presence and my vagina would still have cobwebs. (The HORROR!!)

On the other hand, if I hadn’t asked for a divorce, I would maybe not have been beaten, thrown around my living room and strangled until I lost consciousness. (At least, not that day…It would have probably eventually happened though. I’m convinced of this after countless nightmares of being strangled to death or beaten with a hammer by my ex and being found in a shallow grave. No joke.)

Everyone who knows anything about my situation over the last year has asked, “What the fuck happened that day!?” (I may or may not have added the word “fuck” for dramatic effect.) It’s not something I’ve ever typed out and shared for all you sick bastards before but after my Murderversary and on International Women’s Day, seems like a perfect time, so here goes…

As I think I’ve made clear in earlier stories, I had been wanting to tell my husband I was leaving him for quite some time. I started thinking about it during the wedding planning process and I pushed the idea from my mind, trying to convince myself that marriage was a good idea. I kept pushing that idea as far out of my brain as possible for the whole year we were married but I couldn’t totally get rid of it, like I finally got rid of my husband. This idea kept pushing back at me, harder than I could push back, much like my husband, only stronger. (He ain’t that tough!)

Finally, on March 5th, 2017, we woke up in the morning and entirely ignored each other, per usual. I showered and listened to music and then got ready for brunch with friends and played with my dogs. He did dishes, made his coffee and sat down to check his bank accounts and the weather, as old men tend to do. I thought nothing of it since most of our time “together” was silent and separate. When I went to join him in the living room is when I realized his demeanor was off. He was angry. His clenched jaw and flared nostrils told me this. I tried to ask a question about the basketball game that was on the TV but he was staring through it, not watching it. He didn’t answer me. He took a low, deep breath and exhaled quickly, open-mouthed. Without looking at me, he tightened his fist and asked what I did the night before.

Should I tell him I went out with the one guy he loathed and was threatened by? We were with other friends but my husband would be enraged knowing I was with him without any of the other friends he knows. It was me, my “best friend” and all of his friends, celebrating two guys’ divorces. A lovely evening of debauchery and some casual flirting.

So, I left out the details and just said, “I went out with my friends…like I do every Saturday night while you’re working. Nothing special.” Another deep inhale and sharp exhale from him before he asked, “Where…did you go?” I listed the 47 places we popped into the night before but felt the way I did when I was little and was about to get yelled at or punished for something I didn’t feel was right. When I was younger I’d be too scared to speak up for myself and say how I felt so I’d just take the scolding or spanking and be angry and sad but never express it.

This day was different though. This day I was done. I’d had it with the emotional distance between us. I’d had it with the lack of sex and any physical affection. I was done with the lack of communication. “Did you eat dinner” and “have the dogs eaten” were our only topics of “conversation” besides, “Do you want to watch Criminal Minds?” The last time we had sex we had a black president and the Cubs were lovable losers. That was at least four months prior and our sex life the past two years had been a joke. I once caught him attempting to masturbate when I was in the shower but even that seemed to make him agitated so he quickly gave up. I know why the guy is so angry and violent now. I get it. I would be too if I was a loser with a Limp Bizkit.

I had planned to dump his sorry ass in our marriage counseling session the next morning but this felt like my moment. I was fed up and disgusted by him right then while he was acting like my father and I was a teenager who got caught riding in a car with boys or sneaking in after being out past curfew. I’m a grown ass woman and I’ll be damned if any mother fucker is going to tell me what I can or cannot do. Being a wife, or being in a relationship, does not mean I’m someone’s property. I’ll do what I want, with whomever I want, whenever and wherethefuckever I want.

I seized the moment. “Look, you know I want a divorce,” I said. It was the word we mentioned quietly and quickly every so often over the last few months. In my head, when I thought of this moment, every single day since November, I thought that all of the anger management counseling he had been in since 2012 would come into play and we’d have a civilized, mature, adult conversation. He would probably sob like a baby while I stayed firm and stoic in deciding divorce was the logical option for us. He would eventually agree and I would get a hotel with my dogs for a few nights while looking for a new apartment. We would agree on how to split our belongings and finances and we’d meet once every few months for lunch and remain friendly. That would all make sense and seem like the way it would go if you’re dealing with a normal human being. The one thing I forgot to factor into this whole scenario I envisioned, was he’s a violent, narcissistic psychopath. Well, shit…

His immediate response to me saying I wanted the divorce was, “Are you cheating on me?” (Because a person like this can’t fathom that anyone would just not want to be with them. There had to be another factor at play here.) To which, I replied, “No, but I feel a stronger emotional connection to pretty much any other man I meet.” “Like who then,” he asked. I went on to list my clients, my friends’ significant others, my “best friend”. Holy hell, there it is. I said the trigger word. He hated my best guy friend with the power of 1000 suns and an army of 12 billion soldiers. (That’s a lot.) “I can’t believe you’re fucking cheating on ME!!! You FUCKING whore. You FUCKING bitch!!!!” He got up and destroyed everything in our kitchen. I still don’t know what he was throwing and hitting and stomping on but I’m fairly certain he was crushing everything and picturing himself crushing my skull while he was doing it. In the meantime, I was still lounging on the couch and started texting my friends to let them know I finally did it. I finally told him I wanted that ‘D’. I also mentioned he was a little angry. I was pretty desensitized by his violent fits of rage at this point so I didn’t think this one would be bigger than all the others. Telling them that he was “a little angry” was surely an understatement.

He came back to the living room to demand that I get out. He wanted me gone “IMMEDIATELY” and again he called me a “fucking WHORE!!!” I smirked and laughed a little because at that moment I was thinking that my hymen had likely regrown itself with this sex drought and also, it was MY apartment that he moved into before we were married so if anyone would be leaving now, it would be him since this “conversation” was not going the way I’d imagined. My response did not please him. In just a quick blink, he had gone from the doorway, spitting on himself and screaming like a goddamn lunatic to right in front of me, hands around my throat, still screaming at me and bashing my head into the wall. The next thing I knew, I was flying – actually fucking flying through the air. I saw myself hitting my head on the corner of the mantel and I knew it was all over. Instead I landed between the mantel and the radiator somehow, likely by the grace of God and sweet, baby Jesus. (Although, if they existed and had any grace, I think they would have teleported Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson in at that moment to flick my ex gently and send him soaring to Lichtenstein or Kazakhstan so none of the rest of this story would have happened.) I tried to get up to run or fight back but he grabbed me before I could move and he threw me again…and again. After the last time, he grabbed my by my neck again and repeatedly slammed the side of my head against the wooden arm of a loveseat until he wrestled me to the floor.

Once he got me on my back, all six feet and two inches of him got on top of me and with both knees in my chest and both hands around my throat, he screamed over and over, “I’m going to fucking kill you, you whore! I want you dead, you whore!” The whole time he’s red and shaking, spitting on me and my dogs are shrieking to the point that they too are losing their breath and voices. The few short minutes this was happening, I only remember repeating, “Rob, I never cheated on you” and “Babies, it’s ok. No barking.” I wasn’t even shouting any of it. I just said it all in a normal, conversational tone because I think it still had not dawned on me the severity of what was happening. It wasn’t until I was on my back like this with my hands grasping and pulling and scratching at his arms to get him away, that I realized this really might be the end of my life. He was not budging. He was still yelling but I couldn’t hear his words anymore. He was squeezing my neck tighter and tighter and I remember seeing so many veins popping from his arms and neck. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t dead yet. Quickly though, I started seeing black spots in front of me and I noticed my arms were heavy and weak. I couldn’t fight back anymore. I couldn’t talk or scream or cry out. My eyes were heavy and then…darkness and silence. I still wanted to fight him. I wanted to run away. I wanted to live my life away from him and create things and feel energized and more like myself again instead of a shell of a person. I wanted to be more than the happy couple in the picture on Facebook that was secretly the dysfunctional couple that was good at playing pretend for the public. I was done though. I was dead. I was turning into dust faster than I could imagine possible. I could feel it. All of my energy was gone and I barely had any fight in me. My body was still there but I couldn’t move it. I was so tired. There was a teeny flicker of light that I could see but I could not move toward it. It was fading so quickly and getting away from me.

After who knows how long, my limp, almost-dead body twitched and my eyes opened. I was lying there, blinking for a few seconds before I realized I was alive. I could see again. I stared between blinks at the blank, white ceiling. Slowly, my hearing came back and I heard my husband cleaning up the mess he made in the kitchen. All of the life and energy and electricity came back into my body and I jumped up when my brain processed what was now happening. I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. My dogs had pooped all over the living room rug, as my husband had literally scared the shit out of them. I sneakily opened the front door so if he came back in the room, the dogs could run out of the apartment and not get hurt, but I knew they probably wouldn’t leave me. My call was answered and I started to explain to the dispatcher the scenario and give him my information and address. As I was doing this, my husband came back in the room and calmly , peered down at the spot on the floor where I’m sure he thought my dead body would be and when he saw an empty carpet, he looked up at me, crouching in the corner by the window, talking on the phone. “I can’t BELIEVE you’re calling the police on ME!!! On ME?!?!?” He was hysterical again now. I stood up straight and pulled my shoulders back, staring at him in his eyes. He looked like a rabid animal and I never thought I could feel more disgust toward a person in my life. I still don’t think I can. This time, I clenched MY jaw and My nostrils were flaring. I was ready fight again.

He stormed off to get dressed and flee the scene, as he has done time and time again in his over 20 years of abusing women. He’s been here before. This is a rerun for him. He’s been in worse situations before. He’s comfortable in this chaos and violence. He has control. He also thinks he has done no wrong. In his head, I’m the cheating whore and I got what I deserved. No, I deserved to die, actually, in his mind, and he’s furious that I didn’t. He shouted more foul things at me before storming out, moments before the police showed up.

I stood there in what had been a war zone and a crime scene moments before. I stood there in silence, holding my phone. I stood there knowing he wasn’t coming back to hurt me. I stood there waiting for the police. I stood there. Shaken. Shaking. Confused. Heart racing. Heart. Beating. I was alive.

Let me tell ya ’bout my best friend…

swipingmylifeaway1 Comment

Somewhere in the middle of me discovering that I hated the living shit out of my husband, I started to realize my attraction to my best guy friend was getting stronger. Whenever the weekend came around, I would hang out with my best friend and her husband and his best friend. My husband and I had opposite schedules so he was never involved in any of our activities. Also, no one really liked hanging out with him, including myself, because he was so awkward and negative and could bore the hell right out of you. If my husband was to come around for whatever reason, I dreaded it but, when I thought about hanging out with my best guy friend, I would look forward to it. Once I realized this, the “D-word” was on my mind like crazy. Okay, two D-words: divorce and dick. My husband and I stopped having any kind of sex when the Cubs were still lovable losers and our president was black instead of orange. A girl needed the “D” in a bad way.

Once I finally did the deed and told my husband we should separate, my friends and coworkers were cheering me on for the weekend because with divorce shit started, dick was the next step for my well-being and I made it clear to all of them that I knew which one I wanted. My “best” guy friend and I texted all day, every day for months prior, whether it was private texts between the two of us or group texts with us and my best friend and her husband. Most everything was platonic before I told my husband I was ready to leave. He and I had drunkenly kissed twice and drunkenly made our attraction known a couple times as well but most of our conversations were on the friendship level.

The day I left my husband and he put me in the hospital though, I should have taken the cues from this guy and stayed away from him immediately. I texted him before, during and after the violent madness and after I left the hospital, I didn’t hear from him. I texted him hours later, after moving some of my belongings and my dogs out of the apartment I shared with my husband. I said something along the lines of, “Well, I fucking survived, in case you were wondering.” He made some flimsy excuse for why he didn’t call or text or show any concern at all, and I accepted it and still wanted to bone him that weekend.

With my girl friends as cheerleaders, I easily forgot about the violent rage the Sunday before with my soon-to-be ex-husband, and I quickly moved in to a new apartment and ordered furniture, excited for the upcoming weekend ridiculousness. I literally had friends congratulating me for potentially getting laid that Saturday. I felt like I was the entire 2016 Cubs team, about to win the World Series. It had been over a hundred years for them and myself! This was huge. I was so geeked out I could explode. I was hoping I did exactly that on the weekend. At this point, five whole fucking months had gone by that I slept next to a man who avoided touching me in any way so I was feeling very much like my 17 year old virgin self all over again.

Saturday came and I obviously hung out with my best guy friend. At this point I cannot remember the details. I can’t tell you where we went or who we were with. That honestly doesn’t matter anyway, does it? At the end of the night, we did what we aimed to do. I was at his place. He touched me. He kissed me. He paid attention to me. It had been so long since anyone had done any of those things that nothing was going to stop the things that happened next.

Needless to say, if you know me at all, the weekend consisted of intense drinking. The details on the night are obviously weak, with that fact, and the fact that it’s been months since this all happened. All I do know is that I woke up at his place, not wearing clothes, remembering that we definitely had sex but my body felt like it might not have happened.  After 5 months of no sex with your husband, you’d think you might feel SOMETHING after a night like this, but, nope. I still felt like a virgin. Tight as a Chinese finger trap over here. All of my friends were quite disappointed upon hearing the news, and I was too. All the build-up. All these months of no affection. All this flirtation with my friend. The next day felt like nothing happened.

I told myself that it was because I was drunk, and it couldn’t possibly have to do with the fact that he was hiding a dick the size of a baby carrot in his jeans. My friend was widely known as a player in our friend group. He had a new girl every week but all of our friends swore he wouldn’t dispose of me the same way he disposed of these other girls. We had a real connection and strong friendship and we all believed he couldn’t possibly jeopardize or ruin that. I was wrong. We were all wrong.

The next weekend I tried again. The cheers and encouragement from friends for my potential Saturday sexing were loud and proud. I prepped myself as any girl would and made sure to pace myself with drinks and eat at least 400 calories of food that day so I could fully remember the main event but also look skinny enough that I would still look good naked. Here we go. Again. When we were sufficiently buzzed, we headed back to his place. His friend was staying over too. He lived in what was basically a large studio apartment. No walls. No doors. His friend, Dusty, was sleeping 5 feet away from us but that was NOT going to stop me from reaching my goal for the night.

The night went exactly how it went the week before. I finally realized I felt nothing because there was…nothing. He was packing as much as a male chihuahua puppy down there. HUGE disappointment. Still, if I could endure a sexless marriage for a long period of time, I could work with baby wiener and show him how to work it. I was confident. I was sure. I was motivated. He was over it.

Despite everyone we knew thinking that we had such a strong connection and friendship that nothing could shake it, he immediately became weird and distant. Daily messages ceased and things became awkward between us. I felt that I was irritating him by talking to him the same way I had for the past couple years. Normally he would joke with me back and forth but now I’d barely get replies. Not being afraid of confrontation or initiating communication, I called him out on his strange behavior.

I was basically told that he wanted to be friends and he did want to sleep with me but that was it. He did not see himself dating me in any way, so that was that. It was done. Here I am, willing to work with a baby carrot penis but he’s not willing to date me. Was he really pinkie-sized in the penile department or did I have a gigantic, cavernous vagina? Hmmm….

Now, I must admit, I was more emotionally fucked in the head over this than I was over the physical abuse and separation from my husband. I was emotionally detached from that situation before it even started I think. This relationship though, was one I was emotionally very invested in. I immediately knew this would change the dynamic of our friendship with his best friend and my best friend. We would never hang out the way we had before. He would go from being a big part of my life to nothing. It’s usually surprisingly easy for me to eliminate people from my life. Although, in the two weeks prior, my life had already turned upside down, this was a whole new level.

Looking back on all this now, I clearly see that I was absolutely not “dateable” as a good friend put it. I laughed at her and said she was insane because I swore I was in my right mind. I know now that at that time I probably needed constant psychological therapy, as I was most positively out of my mother fucking mind with the stress of everything I was going through. Throughout my life though, it’s been a roller coaster with the most insane situations so trauma and drama and chaos are things I feel comfortable in, whether they are healthy or not. Something is wrong though, with a grown man who knowingly takes advantage of a woman who just experienced the most traumatic incident of her life. He knew I was in a bad marriage and was nearly murdered by my husband. He knew acting on his physical desires would destroy friendships. He knew how he felt and what he was doing to me were wrong and he did it all anyway.

Throughout the few weeks and months afterward, I had gotten over my baby carrot penis “best” friend. We stopped talking and spending time together immediately. I started going on dates with every loser on Tinder and Bumble. When you want to get over someone, just get under someone else, right? I have seen him on occasion with our mutual friends and things are fine. It’s likely they won’t be so fine after I post this but these days, I have zero fucks to give. The truth and only the truth forever. Welcome to 2018.

G.I. Joe aka Tristan the Christian

swipingmylifeawayLeave a comment

After my painful first date with the elf who smelled like an onion and a wet dog, I’m surprised I ever kept swiping right and accepting date offers. As always though, I picked myself back up and moved on in search of more punishment for whatever horrible thing I must have done in a past life. I made plans to meet a guy that Friday who looked like my kind of douchebag. He was the kind of guy who definitely wore Affliction brand clothing when that shit was popular. He liked going to clubs and dancing and I could tell from his pictures he was ripped like a Greek god. This year that’s all I was looking for anyway; fun guys with hot bods. I didn’t want to fall in love with anyone.

Our plans to meet and get ice cream, naturally turned into us just meeting at a bar for drinks. Fine with me. He made me laugh a ton but I remember thinking he looked like he had been hit in the face a LOT and he was holding on to about 5 hairs on the top of his head when he needed to give up and just shave that shit. He wore too much cologne which normally I’d find unattractive but after the smelly guy, I didn’t mind this.

The date was going ridiculously well so I had to do something to ruin it. I said to him, “Ok, so far this is the complete opposite of my first Bumble date. There’s got to be something wrong with you. Are you a murderer? A Jesus freak? A Trump supporter?” I could tell by the silence and look on his face that I said something wrong. It turns out he’s ALL of those things. It was then that I noticed all the religious tattoos and the cross on his necklace. Then he goes on to tell me how great of a president Trump is going to be. Lastly, he says he’s in the Special Ops in the military so killing people is not something he’s opposed to. Fucking wonderful. We could not be more different as I’m as liberal, atheist, feminist and anti-violence as they come.

bible gun.jpg
‘Merica

We both said we had plans with friends later that night so we had two drinks each and hugged goodbye to get into our Ubers. I saw him checking out my butt when I walked away so I was sure there would be a second date despite our huge differences. Like I said, I wasn’t looking to fall in love with anyone this summer. I just wanted to have fun.

We went on to talk to each other everyday over the next month. Sometimes we’d be on the phone for four hours, other times we were texting all night long and sending each other pictures and videos. The only days we didn’t talk were when he had to leave town for an operation. I met his friends and he met some of mine. We hung at least once or twice a week over the next 5 weeks. I stopped swiping and meeting guys during this time. I was so into him. It was freaking me out since the last thing I wanted was a serious boyfriend, especially one whose second favorite president behind Trump is George W. Bush. I liked this guy though and also did not how I was supposed to act and what I should expect in dating.

During my weeks with Tristan the Christian, we never had sex. We had two nights of half naked making out but no D in the V. I assumed he wanted our first time together to be really special and beautiful. I envisioned candles lit all over the room and rose petals leading to the bed. He’d pick me up and passionately but gently kiss me before lying me down in his bed next to a giant bible and a few of his guns. Ew, just kidding. I just assumed he had some erectile issues and I really just didn’t want to ask him about it. Apparently all this time he  had been dropping (very) subtle hints about his penis size and one night he spelled it all out for me via text. G.I. Joe had a foot-long penis and didn’t want to scare me off with it right away. This I had to see to believe so, obviously, I requested dick pics. Sure as shit, that thing went down to his knee and curved a bit to the right. I was excited. I was scared. I was curious. I also had to show all of my friends these pics immediately.

I’m not sure if this was a good thing or not but I never got to experience this weapon of mass destruction. Shortly after this picture exchange, things seemed normal between us. For the next few days we talked and made plans to make plans for the weekend. Then I didn’t hear from him for five days. I tried to not be a psycho and assume he hated my guts or died. I told myself he had an operation to go on so could not message me. Saturday night I was out causing trouble and dancing like a maniac in River North with my coworkers. The girls were ready to go to another bar or club so I messaged G.I. Joe with the twelve incher to see where he and his friends were, assuming they were out drinking and dancing at Mercer if he was back from the operation that I made up in my head. “Mercer?” was the last text I ever sent him. He never replied.

I got fucking ghosted. How!? Things were going so well! There was no indication that anything was wrong. It all seemed great! So far I was definitely not a fan of online dating. Everyone I had met was awful in their own ways and I was shocked by things on a regular basis. How is it possible for people to have no respect for others or decency at all? Not responding to a text is beyond rude. Leading someone on for over a month and then never speaking to them again is just a total dick move. Online dating allows people to have so many options that we stop seeing people as human beings. Relationships are shallow and short-lived. Everyone is disposable because you can just match with a new person whenever you want. I wish the respect for others didn’t die when online dating gained momentum and popularity. How do people not have the balls to send a text or maybe sit down and talk to someone to tell them how they feel? As much as I dreaded it, I was back to swiping my life away in no time. On to the next one! It wasn’t until after all this happened, I realized who he looked like. He was like Sloth from The Goonies with a hot body. That just added insult to injury…

sloth goonies.jpg

The Underemployed One

swipingmylifeaway6 Comments

It’s Sunday morning and I’m doing the 30-something’s Walk-of-Shame from my Saturday night guy’s place, which is Ubering home, hung over, while texting my friends about the previous night. That’s when I get a Bumble message from a guy asking if I was interested in getting some brunch. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. The answer is always YES to brunch. We agree to meet at a brunch place my friend manages, as I’ve repeatedly promised to come check her new spot out and fail every time. I raced home to take care of the dogs and get cleaned up. When I’m almost there he texts to let me know there is an hour wait so he’s at the restaurant next door having a drink. It’s 11am. He’s drinking. We’re off to a good start.

I get there with my perfectly polished ponytail, giant sunglasses and pale yellow sundress that my friend Nikki just gave me, attempting my best (somewhat hung over, ‘I hope I don’t still smell like sex’) Audrey Hepburn look. I recognize him immediately from checking out his photos, even though it was clear his photos were quite old and he was a bit heftier than he was when they were taken. We hug and I order champagne; my drink for summer 2017. Hey, I’m celebrating being alive this summer! We get down to chatting and I notice he’s wearing very expensive, trendy, yet classic clothing but his eyes were glazed over and bloodshot. His shirt was unbuttoned a bit too far and his hair was wild. I asked how his night was and he told me he went to Cuvee, an upscale nightclub, the night before with friends. Despite having delayed responses to any of my questions, he responded and asked questions as well so I wasn’t leading the entire conversation. Something still seemed off about him but I guessed it was just his hang over.

On his profile he said he was a beverage director at a nice hotel. I asked him how he liked that job and he tells me he was fired from that place a year ago. Why the fuck does it still say it on your profile then, guy!? So I asked what he does now and why he was fired. He goes on to say he was fired for being “kind of an asshole and a drug addict”. LOVELY! He said he talked down to his staff and he didn’t realize other people didn’t use cocaine the same way he did. He basically did it all day and all night, in front of his coworkers and bosses, and was shocked that it was an issue when they brought it up to him and dismissed him from his role in the company. Now he claims to be underemployed, as he works as a bartender two nights a week at two different bars. This cocaine habit now explains his delayed responses and blood-shot eyes. This dude is still awake from partying last night!

Cocaine

I knew I wasn’t attracted to him but we were here already and I was hungry. After almost an hour, I asked if he wanted to check on our table status next door at my friend’s brunch restaurant. He then tells me he never put our names in so we had just been sitting around the whole time waiting for nothing. This guy needs an adult. I run over, climb over 30 hungry people who are sitting around, waiting for their names to be called. I pull the dick move of name-dropping at the host stand and hug my friend Sarah after the hostesses get her attention. She was running around like a mad woman but told me there are seats that will be available at the bar. I run over to tell the underemployed guy to drag him over before he orders another cocktail.

When I came back and told him, he then lets me know that he has no cards and no cash so if I could cover everything today, he could Venmo me or get me next time. I’m getting fucking PLAYED right now!! This broke-ass scammer got me! I ask why he wanted to invite me to brunch if he has no money but he assures me he has some in the bank, he just left his debit card at the nightclub last night. You’re a 30-something year old man who only has one card to his name and you leave it somewhere and invite a girl out?? What’s WRONG with you? Where did you go wrong in life? Shit, where did I go wrong in life if these are the guys I’m meeting!? I pay and we go next door, order food and a drink and continue on this “date”. I talked to my friend and the bartender now more than I talked to this guy. He picked at a salad and slowly sipped a bloody Mary while I crushed some eggs and veggies and two champagne cocktails.

We decide it’s time to go since I hate him and he has to actually go to one of his jobs soon. My friend kindly discounts half of our bill, I pay again and then decide to run to the restroom before we walk out. Before I go, he tells me to close my eyes and hold out my hand. I fear something bad will happen but I look around and realize we are elbow to elbow with people and there are hundreds of people there. What’s the worst he could do? I did as he asked and when I opened my eyes I saw a big bag of white powder in my palm. I gasped and clenched my fist, shoving the bag back in his hand. “What?”, he said, “Do a couple bumps in the bathroom.” Then he winked. Barf. It is 12:30pm on a Sunday, sir! And we are dining at a fine, family restaurant, where my friend is the manager! What’s wrong with you?

We leave and, unfortunately, have to walk the same direction to get to our destinations. While we walk, he repeatedly pulls this bag out to do bumps off of his key. Once he did it in front of a church. Once he did it in front of a playground, as a mother pushing a double-wide stroller walked by. We’re a block away from his job when he ducks into an alley and asks me to wait a minute. I glance over after a few seconds to catch him pissing behind a dumpster, cocaine in-hand. He zips up and we continue this romantic stroll to his job, where he leans toward me, open-mouthed, tongue-first. I put both arms between us, on his chest and push away. “K, this was fun! Talk to you later!”, I blurted out. I’m a fucking liar. Once again he tells me, “I’ll Venmo you!” and I briskly walked on. No look of longing as I left. No eye contact at all actually. I stared at the ground and moved my legs as fast as a girl can in wedge sandals. I’ll never forget you, Venmo guy.

cocaine face.jpg

Does that have calories? I don’t eat calories.

swipingmylifeaway1 Comment

When I ditched the ex I also moved and left everything I owned behind. It was stressful, whether I knew it at the time or not. When I’m stressed, I have ZERO appetite. I didn’t want to eat anything at all for two months. I only ate Dunkin’ Donuts Wakeup Wraps because I knew I had to eat something to stay alive. Those were fast, cheap and easy, much like myself. I dropped a lot of weight quickly and had friends asking me to eat more because I didn’t look well. I fucking loved it. I took more naked selfies in these two months than I ever had in my life. The more my ribs protruded, the happier I felt. It was not sustainable though. It was a wakeup call when I had two weeks of copper-colored urine with blood in it. I was killing myself. Quickly. I had to put more in my body than Dunkin’ and booze.

Inevitably, I gained weight back when I started taking better care of myself and consuming more than 300 calories in food a day. I also started working out again and developed a routine and (relatively) good habits. I became much more healthy physically and emotionally. I also rediscovered Reece’s cups which might not have been a good thing. Although I had been dating the entire time, it wasn’t until I got healthy again that I could say I was actually ready to be dating. My confidence now though was high with my body changing that way. With my ex-husband, I never felt confident about my body. I never felt skinny enough, toned enough or sexy enough. I couldn’t even tell if he was attracted to me physically at all. There was no indication that he was since he rarely looked at me, complimented me even less and we stopped having sex all together.

Everyone has some insecurities when dating but for women, body and appearance are the biggest worries. There is so much pressure to look a certain way and it’s overwhelming and impacts us in a big way. Self-confidence wanes and negative thoughts about ourselves creep in. Everyone is worried that a potential partner will look at us the same way we look at ourselves and get hyper-critical. They won’t like how our thighs touch. They will think the little bulge over our bra is disgusting. They’ll hate the peach fuzz on our cheeks. We look at ourselves under a microscope and panic at any imperfection. Even when I was at my smallest size, there were still things I disliked about my appearance. I was at my ideal weight but was still picking myself apart in other ways. I needed bigger boobs. I needed Botox. My skin was too pale. My belly button was ugly.

I know I’ll never be completely satisfied with how I look but I’ve been actively trying to change my negative mindset in regards to my appearance. Every time I judge myself too harshly, I force myself to look at pictures of people who are truly fat and ugly so I stop throwing myself a pity party. Someone always has it worse than we do, am I right? RELAX! I’m kidding. All we can do is take care of ourselves. Go for walks, eat well, workout, overindulge once in a while instead of everyday. We’ll probably never be our own idea of perfect but we have to accept that. Someone probably sees us and thinks we’re their idea of perfect, so let it go. Your wrinkles are fine. That belly roll is cute. Your thighs look like they’re trying to escape from your jeans? Fuckin’ work it. Show it off. People will always talk shit no matter what. They judge no matter what. When it comes to dating, you won’t always be everyone’s favorite flavor but you will be to some.

When you wanted to be the dumper but end up being the dumpee

swipingmylifeawayLeave a comment

I obviously was not a big fan of the guy who looked like a goldfish but I continued to see him when I was bored. He always showed up when I told him to and was a really good time when he wasn’t being annoying. It helped that he liked to always tell me that I look like the woman who plays the role of Wonder Woman in the new movie that was coming out. After our first week of hanging out, he sent me a text saying, “Happy one week anniversary!” I gagged. We got into a fight during that week too because he says really stupid things and interrupts people incessantly so I tell him to shut up and stop being a rude toddler.  He said that if we can get through that, we can get through anything.

He was also not a fan of the fact that I knew someone everywhere we went. He got jealous when I would talk to people I saw in public and started to resent me, I think. This lead to him picking on me for anything I said or did and he laughed about it when I got mad at him. When I asked him why he enjoyed pushing my buttons so much, he said I was just a spoiled princess who was used to everyone giving me everything I want and no one ever calls me out on my shit so he was going to continue to basically be a total dick.

Excuse me, Nemo!? I’ve worked my ass off for everything my whole life and never expect things from other people. No one calls me out on my shit because there’s no shit to call me out on! I can be a little (a lot) bossy sometimes but only when I need to be. Most of the time I get whatever I want from subtle manipulation so the bossiness doesn’t have to come out! I’m not a princess at all, either. How insulting! I’m a fucking goddess, dickwad.

I already planned to dump him that weekend when he would inevitably ask to see me. I would have done it sooner but I was in the middle of a 5 day drinking bender so it would have to wait. (Hey, it’s summer in Chicago and I’m single for the first time in years. I’m having fun! Don’t be a judgmental prick.) Saturday comes and he, of course, wanted to hang out when I got out of work. He spent the day on a boat with friends and told me he would meet me after he got cleaned up. I didn’t have to tell him where I was because after just a short time of knowing me, he assumed I’d be at my neighborhood bar since I didn’t have any plans. He assumed correctly.

By the time he showed up I was already hammered. I was not just drunk but straight up wasted. That’s what happens when you’re at the end of a 5 day bender, apparently. It doesn’t take much to get you there when you’re body is probably made up of about 90% alcohol at this point. Someone recently described this to me as the shampoo effect. A post in Urban Dictionary very eloquently explains this phenomenon. The fifth entry is my favorite.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=shampoo+effecthttp://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=shampoo+effect

My friend Alyssa met me as well and she had to explain the night to me a few days later since after they showed up, I remember nothing besides waking up on my toilet in the middle of the night with my phone in my hand. We apparently went to two other bars and Jon just kept picking fights with us and she and I did a lot of eye-rolling and had plans to ditch him. He started an argument about whether there were stray cats in the city of Chicago or not. (He doesn’t think they exist.) I think the topic was brought up because of  Alyssa’s bewilderment over pigeons who only have one leg and why they end up that way, but I’m not entirely sure. Either way, what a fucking stupid thing to argue over! Our plans to ditch him ended in failure. Somehow Alyssa ditched us instead and he ended up at my apartment around the corner.

20170702_020755421_iOS

 

20170702_020719803_iOS
The only goldfish we like are our crackers.

 

When I woke up from my toilet nap, I shot him a text asking what the hell happened the night before and where he went. He explained to me that I irritated him because he knew I was in the bathroom ignoring him and he was positive I was not sleeping. So he left me in there and didn’t try to find out what’s going on!? Why the hell would anyone hide out in their own bathroom? I could have been dying! Maybe I was choking on my own vomit! Maybe I drowned! He just left me there to die like Elvis! Wonderful…Could you imagine how mortified you’d be in your casket after reading your obituary??

Just as I started typing my crushing dump message, he texts me to say we shouldn’t hang out anymore because together we are “explosive”. He goes on to tell me I’m like a hurricane or firecracker, and not in a good way. Also, I’m “terrifying” to him. I’m absolutely flattered by all of this but am PISSED I didn’t send my message first! It’s so unsatisfying when you’re looking forward to something so much and it’s taken from you in an instant! Either way it’s done though. I tell him good luck and to let me know if he ever wants me to destroy him in Pac-Man or Skee Ball again like I did on our first date. AS disappointed as I was for not getting to do the dumping, I never had to see Flounder again and that was a good thing.

(Side note: Does anyone else think it’s hilarious that I said “dump”, “pissed” and “explosive” in a story in which I slept on a toilet?? Literal tears are streaming down my face from laughing so hard. Also, I have a clogged tear duct right now so that might be why but, I still can’t stop laughing. Also, I swear I only peed before taking my toilet nap.)

Jesus, take the wheel…

swipingmylifeawayLeave a comment

Surprisingly, I was dateless on a Thursday night, so I went to my neighborhood bar for a drink after work. It was charity night with guest bartenders which sounds great but I usually dread it because I prefer my dive bar to be empty besides a handful of my closest alcoholic friends who are also regulars. I spotted two of them this night and plopped my ass right beside them. Bartender Doug slid my drink down before I even got settled and the guys and I started talking. Babes with Blades Theater Company was throwing the event for the night and had temporary tattoos for us to fuck around with. We made friends with Annie who was guest bartending and she and I talked about an old dive called the Oasis in Rogers Park and the badass woman named GiGi who has worked there for decades. One drink turns to two drinks and a shot and the boys and I chat back and forth about online dating while encouraging Annie to drink more Malort. We notice our beloved dive bar now is lacking their gorgeous 100 bottle Malort shrine and they’ve replaced it with a 20 bottle mystery shot shelf. (Not quite as impressive, Pat! Still cool though.) 20170526_235647167_iOS.jpg

20170714_002445902_iOS.jpg

Vik asks us which bottle appeals to us most based on appearance and number. All of the bottles are covered in brown paper bags and numbered 1-20. Immediately I compare it to online dating. I tell them it’s similar to all of the dating apps because you have to just pick a random and hope for the best. You’re going in blind really. All you know is you’re not picking the short, fat bottle because it looks dangerous, just like you’re not picking the short, fat guy because EW. We come up with our own ideas for dating apps that we think would be better than Tinder and Bumble and all the others. “Jesus Take the Wheel” was the name Vik gave to our app idea that you’re not allowed to swipe on at all. It’s guided and directed by your friends and family only. We plan to market that one in the Bible Belt first, of course. I’m not expecting that one to do as well in Chicago to start.

Then, Vik drops some life-changing truth on us:

Women are the gate-keepers to sex. Men are the gate-keepers to commitment.

This explains why he swipes right on everyone and waits to see which fish bite. The more chances of getting laid, the better! But he’s right, unless GHB is involved. (Sorry. Not funny. True though!) Women decide who they want to have a second date with usually or who they want to go on a date with in the first place. At least I do. When I left my husband I lined up dates every night. Mostly because I knew I had no idea what I was doing on dates. I’ve been in non-stop relationships since I was 24 pretty much. As soon as I’d lose a guy, another would steal me and keep me a while before he did something awful and we split up. I needed to practice and get good at this dating thing again. Out of all the dates I’ve been on the past few months, few have ended in a second date and, obviously, fewer have ended in sex. I AM the gate-keeper!!! (Of sex, at least.) Most of the guys I had dates with wanted to see me again which means they had a strong interest in penetration as well. Duh. I controlled the outcome.

Men are the controllers of commitment and relationships though. Once you’ve dated for a while and you’re in a sexual relationship with someone, it means (usually) that the woman has decided she likes you enough to have a relationship. What it means to guys is, “Fuck, yeah! I bang this chick!” And he probably bangs a few others as well. Guys have the ball on this one though. They decide if it’s a green light or red on being committed most of the time. I’m currently waiting for the light to change with the guy I’m dating. It’s been two months. I’m stuck at yellow. I’m impatient though and I want to know where this is going, like yesterday!

In the meantime, I’ll get the Jesus Take the Wheel app going and pray to Malort that my friends and family can choose my match better than I can if this gate-keeper of commitment gives me the red light.

Why not meet a guy the old-fashioned way?

swipingmylifeaway2 Comments

I’ve been asked multiple times why I’m on dating apps instead of just waiting around to meet a guy the “old-fashioned way”. First of all, what’s that? What exactly is the old-fashioned way? How old-fashioned are we talking? You want my parents to arrange my marriage to a strapping young lad who lives in our village and has plenty of cows and chickens? Should I let that jock from my chemistry class take me to a sock hop and then out to the diner for milkshakes? Old-fashioned for my generation is meeting a guy at a bar and drinking our faces off together all night, possibly exchanging numbers, making out or going to someone’s house to do the deed. I used to be REALLY good at meeting guys that old-fashioned way but things have changed and that doesn’t happen anymore.

Walk into most bars now and everyone is staring at a screen, whether it’s a game they’re watching on the televisions or Facebook that they’re scrolling through on their phone. Hey, maybe they’re swiping around and matching with hot babes on Tinder! Technology consumes us all and meeting men in bars is just not something that happens often because no one looks up.

The few times I recently made eye contact with a man in a bar it has gone one of two ways. He either stares at me off and on throughout the night and never makes a move or it’s the kind of guy that I accidentally locked eyes with briefly and am not attracted to whatsoever. THAT guy always approaches! That guy is also pushy and gross and doesn’t get subtle or obvious hints. He usually is also the guy who will still insist you can be friends after you lie and tell him you have a boyfriend.

So why the off and on eye contact and no moves? Some people say that maybe the girl should make the move instead. While I used to agree, after dating for the past few months I feel like it’s the girl who puts forth all the effort now. I’m sick of it! I want to see that a guy has some balls and isn’t scared to approach me and initiate conversation. I feel like men have developed this strong fear of rejection in face to face interaction but can’t wait to send you a picture of their semi flaccid penis over a dating app! (Side note here: Does that ever work for you guys?? Girls, how often do you get pumped over a stranger sending his wiener to you?! Can this stop being a thing that guys do? For the love of dogs and wine, please??)

Now for everyone insisting I’m “pretty enough” that I don’t “need” to be on these apps and should meet someone the old-fashioned way, first explain to me what that means to you. Second, go out there and try to meet a potential love interest face to face. I know I’ve never met a guy at Whole Foods or the gym! And lastly, try and take everyone’s phones away at a bar so they’re forced to interact with other humans and tell me how well that works for you. I’ve tried it and I was immediately not well-liked. To everyone else who is trying to figure out this modern dating world, good luck! Keep swiping even if it leads nowhere 99%  of the time!

The Marathon Date

swipingmylifeawayLeave a comment

I met this guy after I did hair for a wedding on a Sunday. As I was leaving the job I got a message from him on Tinder or Bumble, asking if I wanted to meet and grab lunch. Yes, indeed, I did. I was hungry enough to eat a cow and that’s saying a lot coming from a vegetarian. We met at a taco place in Lincoln Park, had food and margaritas and laughed way too much and far too loudly. (Seriously, I think everyone hated us.) Usually that’s where I end first dates. Gotta leave ’em wanting more. Also, I don’t need them to see how much I can drink in a day. Two drinks with them. MAX.

Not today though! Despite the fact that I thought he resembled a goldfish, he was fun and I had nothing better to do with the rest of my Sunday than continue hanging out. That day we went to 8 different bars, played Pac-Man, Skee-ball, pool and trivia. He met several of my friends and they actually seemed to like him! He begged my friend and her husband to spill some dirt on me or tell an embarrassing story. Unfortunately for him, my friends are fucking loyal. Also, there’s nothing for them to tell. I already told him about the one time I peed my pants in high school. And the other time I peed my pants in high school…

The day went well enough but I was getting tired and fucking hammered. My friends dropped us off near my place and then I blinked and when I opened my eyes the goldfish look-alike was sweating profusely while humping me. He then thought it was a good idea to talk dirty to me during the sweatiest sex of my life. I’ve never had sex with someone before and gotten up soaked from head to toe in their sweat. My hair was even dripping wet! Also, gentlemen, please don’t ever talk about your “big dick” or my “tight, little pussy” while you’re humping me. It’s fucking gross, weird and it ruins everything!

I couldn’t take it anymore. The sweat, the “you like it like that, baby!?”, his weird fish face… I pushed his big, slimy body away and swam through his sweat to the other side of the bed. He asked me if I had any food. I pretended to look in my fridge for something he could eat, knowing I only had hard-boiled eggs, celery, carrots and yogurt, which are not foods that a heavy-breathing, drunk man wants. I glanced in my cupboard and avoided offering him my almonds. “Hmmm, nope. I forgot to go grocery shopping.” I crawled back into the dry spot in my bed and he got dressed, on a mission for pizza and ice cream. He waits briefly for me to see him out and say goodbye while I waved, said “Lock the bottom lock before you go!”.

 

No pizza

The Bobcat – 2nd date

swipingmylifeawayLeave a comment

The Bobcat and I chatted all day Tuesday and by Wednesday he wanted to see me again. Duh. Who wouldn’t want to see me multiple times in a week? His dad was in town and he let him have his condo while he stayed, so he got a hotel downtown and invited me to come hang out for a while. I hopped in a Lyft and met him in his room.

I love hotels and especially love showering in them. I had a couple drinks with friends prior to heading to the hotel and I was just buzzed enough to tell him I was taking a shower in his room. Despite how weird (and rude) that is, he lets me do it and has a drink waiting for me when I was finished and dressed. After less than an hour of chatting and drinking, he mumbles, “Oh shit. My girlfriend is coming. You have to leave.”

What in the mother fucking fuck!? I left out a few details about Monday. The Bobcat and I had sex. A lot of it. Now I’m standing in the middle of a hotel suite with this scummy little cheater, while his girlfriend is probably in the hallway, about to walk in any second. Saner girls might run. I stayed long enough to cuss him out and finish my cocktail before I grabbed my purse and headed for the door to go home.

The next day, as I’m telling the story to a client, it hit me. He did exactly what he said he wouldn’t do. He gave me a story for my blog! I text him and thank him for it. He again apologized and said he never meant to treat me that way and I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve most of what life has served me but I can take it. This was nothing. He also tells me it wasn’t his girlfriend but his EX-girlfriend that he invited over to the hotel and kicked me out for. How many girls did this guy invite over!? He’s not good-looking enough to have multiple women, quite frankly, but having a lot of money apparently brings you lots of ladies!