Last Saturday Night Was Wild

Last week I did something that I have not done in a really long time.  I don’t feel bad about it.  Why should I? I am a single, adult woman.  I work hard, take my responsibilities seriously and rarely do anything for myself.  I decided that it was time to do something for ME.  Here’s how it went.…

It was Saturday night and I was restless.  I had not been out in a really long time and I’ve had little contact with the opposite sex of late. I needed a change in a bad way.

I don’t know what hit me but I was lying on my bed reading a book and I looked at the clock. Nine o’clock on a Saturday night and I am home alone reading?? What the hell is wrong with me? So I jumped out of bed and threw open my closet doors with purpose.  I start flinging clothing onto my bed like closet-vomit until I found the perfect outfit.  Small, comfortable, displayed the parts I wanted to display and hid the parts I didn’t.  Satisfied, I walked out.

I chose a place I hadn’t been to in as long as I could remember.   The last time I was there it hadn’t ended well and I left disappointed.  I knew that would NOT be the case on this night.  I admit I did open the door a little tentatively; but I put on a brave face and ventured inside.  The place smelled a little funny.  Pungent, a little like incense and a little like a kind of cheese that I couldn’t put a name to.  I assumed it was all the dinners they serve and decided to ignore it.  Eventually I got used to it and couldn’t smell it at all.

I started to relax and finished my beverage while I looked around the place and took in the sights when I decided to go outside for a smoke.   I hesitated, perhaps for a bit too long, when I spotted what would eventually be my trouble of the night. The first thing that popped into my head was “a cool drink of water”.  I don’t know why, but it did.

I was a little taken aback.  The entire thing was fast and furious and completely unexpected - particularly in that place.  But, I wasn’t complaining and I wasn’t looking back!

By the end of the night, after the sweating and the grunting, the rubbing and the caressing, the dirty talk and the sweet talk, I was completely satisfied and happy! I didn’t regret what I had done, didn’t care what people thought!  I smiled as I looked back over my shining clean refrigerator, complimented myself on a job well done, shut the door and went to bed.  I had even killed an hour. 

I’ve said it before and I will say it again: I like to live my life with no regrets.

Phuket is Not Just a City in Thailand

So clearly the dating game has hit a brick wall. A brick fire wall. You know the kind that keeps fire on the other side of the wall? Yeah, that kind. Granted, I may be a little gun-shy after the last guy (that I almost dated) who couldn’t even remember which chick I was; but the point is, things have been a little slow. On the other hand, I have been very busy adjusting to my new life as an empty nester. I have been filling my days with such life-changing things as cleaning out closets, reorganizing bathrooms and making a Facebook page for my dog (true story).

My most recent venture (and as it turns out much more interactive than my dog’s Facebook page): a neighborhood book club.

Two years ago I belonged to a book club that I enjoyed a great deal. It allowed me to read books that I would not normally read, and the women involved had vastly different viewpoints (conservative) than the people with which I usually hangout (not conservative). It was a very diverse group that brought interesting input to the discussions. They even put up with my crazy antics and choice of mindless books (usually of a sexual nature). What I didn’t like about it was driving all over God’s creation to go to the meetings (which left drinking to a minimum. Boooo! ). Eventually the vast differences in the members created bickering and in-fighting that led to the club’s demise. I believe it’s still active, but many of the original members are gone.

I remember on one particular evening we were finished discussing the book and somehow the talk turned to sex and then, our number of sexual partners. Normally I know better than to share that information but Of COURSE the conversation began with “you can be honest” and “no one will judge you”. So when I said my number (or the closest I can get), one of the girls (who has been married for many years and whose number is supposedly 4) said, “Wow. You were a real slut, weren’t you?” Typically name calling doesn’t bother me. No one is surprised by the fact that I enjoy sex and when you enjoy something, why would you want to have the same kind every day? It’s kinda like eating cookies. If you really like cookies do you want the same kind of cookie day after day? No. You want a variety of cookies so they don’t get boring. But it wasn’t so much the words coming out of the girl’s mouth that bothered me, but rather whose mouth out of which they came. I never suspected this woman to be judgmental until that night and I never looked at her the same way again in the future.

Anyway, eventually I quit that book club but I did miss the camaraderie and discussion so I thought I would start one in my own neighborhood (where I can just stagger home after an enlightening evening of profound discussion and massive quantities of wine). I already had a few women in mind to invite but I know these women well and we are all pretty likeminded. I wanted some real differences of opinion so I thought of an older woman that lives in my hood. She is probably in her 70’s, is a lot of fun and seems young at heart. (Come on! She even got her first tattoo at 60!) So I assumed she would be okay with our group. I phoned and invited her to join telling her I thought she would be a great addition and would bring some different perspective to the club.She told me she was interested but the only thing holding her back was that she “didn’t like the ‘F’ word”. Uh-oh.

Anyone who knows me (or reads my blog) knows the love affair I have with the word “fuck”. The way it rolls of the tongue when used in the middle of a fucking sentence; the harshness of it when it’s over annunciated as an expletive. FUCK! It’s awesome! And don’t even get me started on its versatility. Furthermore, it’s become so main-stream with so many variations used - even in freaking television these days - I just assumed that it was no longer offensive in casual conversation. Obviously I wouldn’t use it in business; but, that girl in the suit speaking in a professional voice and acting like she cares what you have to say isn’t the real me anyway.

Needless to say, I was pretty surprised by my friend’s reaction to the word and the fact that she hated it so much it would keep her from joining our group. What happens if someone chooses a book that uses the word freely? Would that offend her too? I needed to know more. “Really? Why?”, I asked. She didn’t really give me a specific reason but rather told me a story of a bunch of women with whom she used to go camping that used the word freely. She said that she eventually confessed her disdain for the word and in lieu of using the word they started calling it the “PH” word. Wait, what?? It’s one thing not to use the word or to call it the “F” word in lieu of that, but even the acronym for it has to change? WHAT THE PHUK IS THAT???

Of course I love words and I have always been of the belief that words are only powerful if you empower them. I mean, let’s say someone calls me an idiot. I know I am not an idiot and therefore those words are powerless. On the other hand, let’s say someone calls me a slob. I don’t consider myself a slob but if I am honest with myself, I would have to admit that I do have a tendency to be messy; so that may hit a nerve. Another example: a famous politician is giving a speech. If you lean toward that candidate’s way of thinking, you find it to be powerful. But, if you don’t agree with the candidate and you don’t believe a word that is coming out of his mouth, then his speech doesn’t mean shit to you. So why give so much power to one particular word?

Some of my friends have issues with certain words and I find it amusing (and totally use it against them). One of them doesn’t like the word “panties” and another hates the word “moist”. I can annoy them both in one fell swoop by saying “My panties are moist.” BAM! As for me, I can only think of one word that can physically make me flinch when someone uses it: the “N” word. I don’t believe that word should be used by anyone be they white or black. I do however believe that I have good reason; having seen the movie Roots as a child and having been impacted by the horror of that movie, it takes me back every time I hear it. Other than that, words don’t bother me.

Anyway, as there is no way for me to curb the entire group’s language, much less my own (nor would I want to), unfortunately there is one less addition to our book club. What a shame that one word can be given so much power as to keep a woman that doesn’t get out much from having a fun evening out. We do, however, have a great name for our club: it’s a Fucking Book Club.

So now I am curious if there any words in particular that my readers can’t stand? If so, is there a reason behind the disdain for the word or is it just the way it sounds?

Dating and the Internet: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

The Good:

You can meet a shitload of people these days over the internet.  Back in the day you met potential mates at a bar, church, a party, etc.  It required you to remove your ass from the couch, get all gussied-up, and actually walk out of your house if you wanted to meet someone (unless you were looking for a nice Jehovah Witness, in which case you just needed to answer the door).  There were far less potential partners to choose from.  Maybe you met one or two at a party, three or four at church and a half a dozen at a club. This is not the case anymore.  I can sit on my couch in my pajamas with bedhead and no makeup and meet dozens of guys online. Based on their profiles, I can also determine their level of literacy (kind of a deal-breaker for me) before the sappy love-notes even start (that I would feel the need to correct for spelling and grammatical errors and return to them).  I can “ignore” them if I choose, or email them if I want more information.  It’s awesome in an incredibly lazy kind of way.

The Bad:

Choose a previous Antics blog post.  Read it.  Insert story here.

 

The Ugly:

When I was younger and fell head over heels in love with a guy (and it ended in a fiery inferno), I admit that a few times I would show up at his work or his house to see if he was (a) where he said he was going to be and (b) with someone else in that place he said he was going to be.  Some people would call that stalking.  Stalking is such an ugly word.  I prefer “Curious As To His Whereabouts And Company” (or CATH WAC).  Doesn’t that sound better??

Whatever you want to call it, back in the day before Facebook and cell phones, one could only CATH WAC someone for a relatively short period of time before they had to be at work or do their laundry or get other shit done.   These days, with all of the technology we have at our disposal, you can CATH WAC someone from the comfort of your own home, or car, or sitting on the fucking toilet for God’s sake. Sometimes, it is whether you choose to not. 

For example:

 A good friend of my daughter’s broke up with her long-term boyfriend when she left for college.  She was pretty upset that the relationship had ended.  She did her best to put on a brave face but her first mistake was remaining friends with him on Facebook. Inevitably, every time he made friends with a new chick, it came up on her news feed (Hello, Salt! Please jump into my wound!).  Then of course, she would creep on those girls’ FB profiles (let this be a lesson to you, HIDE YOUR FB PROFILE FROM PUBLIC VIEW!!)  She tortured herself daily, hourly and even secondly at times; literally watching him move on from halfway across the country! (Clearly we have come a long way from sitting in our cars in front of someone’s house.)  To make matters worse, when she wasn’t creeping on FB, she would get text messages from “friends” telling her all of the shitty things he had done/was doing while she was away. She couldn’t get away from it even if she had wanted to.  

Eventually she got smart and blocked his ass on Facebook and told her friends to knock it the fuck off, but the damage had been done.  What should have taken a few weeks to get over and begin to heal took a lot longer because technology kept pulling the scab off.  (Yes.  That would be the ugly part.)

Seriously, how many people do we know that may have stalkerish tendencies that soon turn into full on get-a-retraining-order-whack-jobs because of the ease of technology? My guess is that it is far more today than ever before.

And don’t even get me started on camera phones and camcorders!  I am forever looking for holes in the walls of department store dressing rooms…

So what do you think? Has technology helped or hurt the dating scene? Has anyone had any similar experiences with break-ups and technology?

Problem Solved

This blog is an update to “The Quandry” posted on 08/25/2012, so if you haven’t read that one yet, I encourage you to do so.  Go ahead. I’ll wait….

At the time that I wrote that previous blog, I skipped a portion of our conversation due to my perceived lack of relevance to the story.  Ultimately, it did become relevant so I will have to back up a minute and fill you in:

During our original meeting, somehow the topic of vacation homes was brought up.  He stated that he was on the look-out for a home near the beach where his parents live in a different state. I stated that I was hunting for one near my parents’ beach house as well, which ended up being not too far away from his parents’ home.   (See? Doesn’t seem real relevant does it?)

So when he called me a bit later to ask me to the ballgame (and informed me of the many girls that he dates), he brought up the fact that he had found a home very close to his parents and that he was looking for someone to invest in a property with him. He then began a small “interview process” to see if we might be compatible business partners (Wait. What?).  Call me a cynic (it’s okay, everyone else does) but I barely know this guy and he is “interviewing” me for an investment opportunity?

He begins his interview with the question “are you a clean/neat person?”  I answer that cleanliness is a relative term and that if you were to ask my friends with kids, they would probably say that I am. However, if you were to ask my mother (a certified clean-freak) she would probably say “No”.   

He goes on to say that we would have to agree on which dates/weekends each of us would get use of the place (of course, this is after he had already informed me of his other two women, and all I can think of is that I would have to anti-bacterial all of the counters each time I went there for fear he was banging some girl in the kitchen).

He continues, “So ummm…let me ask you,  your voice sounds a little scratchy. Do you smoke?” 
“Yes.  Yes I do.”  (I wanted to follow this answer up with the fact that I do an incredible Kim Carnes impersonation of “Betty Davis Eyes” but thought better of it.)

He continues, “Do you smoke in the house?” 

This seems like a legitimate question for a potential housemate so I answer, “No.  I do not smoke in my house.”

Next question: “So you don’t smoke in your car?” 

Huh?? What the hell does my car have to do with this??  But I answer anyway, “Oh no, I totally smoke in my car. I drive around all day for a living. My car is a rolling ashtray.” 

At this point, fully expecting his next question to be if he can see my financial portfolio, I changed the subject.  Basically, I have no interest in sharing my potential beach house with anyone; as I have stated before, I am not a good sharer.

Three weeks go by and I don’t hear from this guy at all.  Nada. Nothing. Zilch.

Saturday night I am out with some friends and my phone rings: it’s him.  I let it go to voice mail because (1) I am out; and (2) even if I were home I wouldn’t have answered it because it’s Saturday night and I wouldn’t want him to KNOW that I was home on a Saturday night. When I get home, I check my voice mail.  His message goes something like this,  “Hi Gina. I don’t remember whether you said you like baseball or not, but I have these two tickets for tomorrow’s game and I was wondering if you’d like to go?”  

Seriously dude?? We had a 10 minute conversation about my disdain for baseball and your disdain for country line dance which you compared to my disdain for baseball and you can’t remember that?  Clearly I have left an impression.   

It was late so I answered via text:

                Me:   I was the one that wasn’t too keen on baseball. Thanks anyway.

                Him:  Oh ok. Thanks.

                Me:  No problem. So just out of curiosity, are you having a hard time keeping all of the girls straight?

                Him: No, Smarty pants. Just was hoping not to go by myself.

                Me: I gotta be honest.  I have heard from you twice in 3 weeks and both times it was to find out if I would accompany you to a baseball game so you “didn’t have to go alone”.  Not incredibly flattering.

Him: Good point. Sorry but I normally go with my daughter and she has to get ready to go somewhere… (blah, blah, fucking blah).  I do remember now asking you before and not at the last minute and you did mention not liking baseball.  Good night.

                Me: Night

Him: You know the truth is I do have a lot of women that I see but when she said she couldn’t make it earlier today it didn’t cross my mind that I had invited you to another game. (Gee, thanks)  I just was interested in taking you to something that meant something to me and didn’t think. Guess that’s selfish of me. Not intentional to hurt you. Sorry.

Awww. Poor forgetful little martyr. Let's get down to nuts and bolts...

Me: It’s ok. The ball game thing isn’t a huge deal. I am just not the kind of woman that chases a man.  Call me old fashioned in that regard. I thought I saw something, interest in both of our parts during our appointment. So I pursued it, which I rarely do, and I don’t feel it’s very reciprocated.  Clearly you are busy, I get that.  But it’s one thing to be busy with work and volunteer stuff and quite another to be busy with a bunch of different women.  I don’t stand in line well and frankly, I don’t have to. 

And then he finally gets honest:

Him: I was interested up until I asked you if you smoke.

Now, I actually knew this and I have no problem with it.  I myself have certain standards (like not dating a guy with 9 other girlfriends) and I don’t fault others for having them too.  But I will tell you this: if and when I ever figure out how to quit this stupid habit, it will NOT be to get a man.  It will be for ME.  Furthermore, why didn’t he just say this during our original phone conversation?  Was he trying to keep his options open for a potential ballgame buddy?  It really chaps my ass that I am not good enough to date but I am good enough to be company to a ball game “so he doesn’t have to go alone” because his 27 other women don’t want to go with him either.   Nice, dude, real nice.

Me:  I guessed that.  Full disclosure is a lovely thing.

Him:  Never mind.  See ya Gina.

Me:  Or not.  

Admittedly that last comment was kind of a dick move on my part, but I had had enough.

Anyway, problem solved.  

Dating the Smoker

Dating a smoker can be a real drag.  Get it??

When I was younger, I usually ended up dating a guy that smoked. The fact that I, too, was a smoker probably had something to do with it; but more so I think it was his bad boy image of the smoker. He was a little bit dirty (minded, not hygiene!), a little rough around the edges, and he just looked like he knew his way around the bedroom.

Overall, I have found this bad-boy image to be pretty true.  Smokers (and/or ex-smokers) are typically much wilder in bed than lifelong non-smokers. (You non-smokers can relax; it’s not true with ALL of you. I’m just speaking generally here. If you are a lifelong non-smoker and you are reading this, I am sure I am not talking about YOU.)  Anyway, I am not sure why smokers are mostly less conservative in bed than non-smokers.  Perhaps it is a certain devil-may-care, rebel attitude.  Or maybe it’s because smokers have a tendency to be orally obsessed.  Whatever the reason, I’ll take it.

Personally, I have been smoking since I was 15 years old and have tried to quit hundreds of times.  I have journals that I wrote in my 20’s in which I would write on certain dates:  1. Go to the Laundromat.  2: Get groceries.  3: Quit smoking (just in case I forgot).  I used to announce the fact that I was quitting in dramatic fashion “I AM QUITTING SMOKING!  Tomorrow is the first day of my smoke-free life!”   I stopped doing that when the following two things happened when I quit:  the first was that my daughter would blame every moment of anger I had on the fact that I had quit smoking.  It typically went something like this, “You are just angry that I got black nail polish on the brand new couch because you quit smoking.”   Yeah. That’s it.  I am not finished paying for the couch yet, but had she ruined it while I was still smoking, I would be ok with it.  The second reason that I stopped announcing that I had quit was that I would, inevitably, go back to smoking.

Which leads me (via the scenic route) to my story:  While filling out my information on the dating sites, they all have the question of “Are you a Smoker?”  You then chose from (something similar to) the following options:

1.       Yes.

2.       Yes, but I am trying to quit.

3.       Socially

4.       No Way!

The obvious answer would be #1 but I never go with the obvious. So I went with #2 Yes, but I am trying to quit.  My reasoning behind this answer is as follows:  occasionally I think “I really should quit”.   Since admitting that you have a problem is the first step to dealing with the problem the answer is #2. Yes, but I am trying to quit.

On a side note, answer #3 confounds me.  What is a social smoker? Is that like being “kind of pregnant”.  Either you are a smoker or you aren’t.  There is no in-between.  I want to punch the social smokers in the face and say, “Pick a side, Asshole!”, but, I digress….

One day I logged onto the dating site (because I am a glutton for punishment) and some older man, that was way past my selected age range, sent me the following message (and I quote):

 “Quit Smoking!!”

He was definitely direct and to the point, I’ll give him that; as was my response:

“I will quit smoking when you quit telling strangers what to do.”  Oddly, I never head back from him.

There was another guy that I met on the site that I actually ended up speaking with on the phone.  Prior to our conversation, I had read his profile and he had chosen the “NO Way” response to the smoking question.  As we discussed possible plans to get together, I mentioned the fact that I smoke and he responded with “I can tell you smoke by the sound of your voice”.   Huh.  I wasn’t really sure how to respond to that.  Was that supposed to be a compliment?  I am not sure how it would be unless he followed it up with “…and it’s sultry and sexy.”  Damn! And here I was going to give him my best rendition of Kim Carnes’ “Betty Davis Eyes.”   Bye-Bye.

A few months ago I ran into a (non-smoking) guy that I dated in the relatively recent past.  Since our break-up, he has taken up some kind of power-of-the-mind hypnotism stuff that has, apparently, helped people to quit smoking.  Having tried everything but something like that, I asked him in passing if he would be willing to give it a shot on me.  He agreed.   Neither of us pursued the matter further until a month or so after that when I ran into him again.  When he saw me he made it a point to pull his car over to me to inform me that should I pursue the matter further, he wouldn’t charge me the entire hefty fee that he was charging others.  I, because of our past relationship, would only have to pay a discounted hefty fee (which was still a hefty fee).  Lucky me.  Perhaps I had no right to be, but I was a little put off by this.  I guess I figured that because we had done dirty little things to each other in the past, and we are still friends,  I would get the  “I’ve Had You In My Mouth Discount” which would basically make it free since I didn’t charge him for his pleasure either.

What can I say?  I’m gifted.

Dating the Virgin

I dated a guy for a few months while living in Florida. He was tall, dark and handsome with a very large shoe size (if you know what I mean) and, as it turns out, he was a 28 year old virgin. 

He first disclosed this tidbit of information at a very inopportune moment. We had already been out on a few dates that had ended with the usual good night kisses.  One night we had gone out again and things were progressing along nicely as we were lying on the couch, getting hot and heavy, when everything grinds to a screeching halt as he sits up and inform me of his virginal status.  My first thought was “Awwww, poor guy! What terribly mean girls you have been dating! You have clearly been hanging around with the wrong crowd! It’s a good thing you met me when you did!”

When he told me that his virginity was by choice, I was more than a little confused.  Not only was he not overly religious, we had gotten to the point where we were already half way there! Dude!?!  A little disclosure in advance of this moment would have been nice.

At that point I was still convinced that the right girl just hadn’t come along to help him realize what he was missing, and that I was just the girl to do that (cause I am sweet like that - always trying to help others). As self-control is not really my strong suit (to say the least), I really thought that there was no way after dating me for a period of time, that he would be able to maintain it.  Not because I was the end all, be all (ok, back in those days I thought I was pretty close) but because he would allow us to do everything else other than the “final act”. I figured if we…I don’t know….slipped and fell into it, that it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I would really be doing him a favor….

Let me just stop here and say how cruel I think this is on his part.  Not the virginity part.  You want to keep your virginity, that’s great. If it means that much to you that you save yourself for your wedding night, having no idea whatsoever if the person you are about to spend eternity with (or hopefully, at least a couple of years) completely sucks in the sack (and I don’t mean that in a good way); I encourage you (and wish you luck) in doing that.  On the other hand, it’s not right to flaunt something in front of someone that they can’t have (especially something that large). That’s just rude! Seriously, pick a side. Either you are really good and virtuous or you aren’t. You are walking a very fine line convincing yourself that you are still moral while being planted firmly in someone’s mouth. Sorry, but I don’t think it works that way.

The way I see it is this: let’s say someone gives you a bus (drops it in your lap, so to speak), would YOU drive it around town alone and not invite any friends to ride along with you? Yeah. Me either.  It’s just selfish to show your awesome bus to the world and not share it.  Keep your stupid bus in the garage where we don’t all want to sit on it.

Anyway, after a few months of getting this close to showing him exactly what the hell it is that he’d been missing, and continually having him say “No” at the last minute, it became increasingly (and when I say increasingly, I mean frustratingly) apparent that he was serious about this virgin thing.  I even told him I could bring him closer to God (or at least make him call out to God a couple hundred times) but I was unable to convince him to give it up (I note here that if I believed in hell, I might be concerned at this point. But I don’t; so I’m good). He really was saving himself for marriage. Well good for him.

Don’t get me wrong, I did have a lot of respect for his willpower and the fact that he was holding out until marriage.  Having little willpower myself, I was somewhat in awe of his.  For….like… a minute. I was in my early 20’s and had no desire for marriage (there were oats that needed sowing) and as the “virgin boat” had already sailed for me, I had saw no reason (and had no desire) to re-dock it.  

Needless to say, after a few months, the whole thing just got old. I’m sure to some degree my ego had taken a hit in that, in all my awesomeness, I was unable to convince him to let it go.  So at that point, I ended it with him. Amazingly enough he had the nerve to be pissed about it!  What the hell did HE have to be pissed about?? Geez. Some virgins are so touchy.

Maybe if he’d gotten some he wouldn’t have had so much anger inside…