Fuck Apples; Eat Me Instead!

(this is from a while ago--but I never posted it--and I got to see him at Christmas, and it was awkward.  However, my bed remains piss-free.  Yaayyyy!!!)

You know how sometimes you get the feeling something in your life is missing?  Well, I can tell you what isn't missing.  A man who pees in my bed.

However, I'm prettttttttty sure he missed that memo, because guess who contacted me tonight?  That's right, Sir PEES a lot in the flesh.  Seriously.  This man peed in my bed, ON ME, while I slept, and he has the cajones even after I dumped his piss soaked ass, to ask to see me again.  He said he missed me, which by all accounts, I have to assume means that he hasn't found any bed as nice as mine to piss in.  That must be it.  Shit, I do have awesome sheets, and this Sterns and Foster mattress is the shizzle.

Bottom line:  Pee in your own fucking bed.  

Unbelievable. 

You know what, I should invite him over.  And make him sleep in the kitchen on a dog bed.  Now, now, don't get all offended, I'll even put down a bowl of water, a chew toy (bottle of vodka), and a potty pad.  See, I'm so thoughtful.  It is a wonder someone hasn't snatched me up yet.  Right?  Right. lol.   I'm a fucking catch.  Ask Explode-a-buttinski, he'll tell you (anonymously, like his comments, of course). lol.

*

So, it has been a while, but don't worry, I was still "dating" (can we really call it that at this point?  It's more like self-inflicted torture.  One of my fav readers emailed me that I either have the worst luck ever or I am the bravest person he knows.  I'm going to go with both.  I clearly put out a sonar for every mouthbreathing, capslock writing, dating reject in a 20 mile radius, and then, I go out with them).  I think the problem, really, is that I give people a chance--even when I probably shouldn't.  I try to find the good in people, and understand that first impressions are often hard due to nerves etc.  Dating isn't easy, and I cut the men out there in the world some slack.  I'm not perfect, not by a long shot, so I accept them with their faults and give them a shot.

I gotta stop doing that shit.

Seriously.

I mean, so far it's got me harassed, bitched at, peed on, dumped for a bathroom, and bored to tears.  Talk about win-win.  I think the tampon insult was like the highlight of last week!  Awesomeness.  My gut is, sadly, always right.  Problem is, sometimes I hate what it tells me. 

So, that being said, you know there are a few more men who I gave a chance to (against all good judgment), and you know since this is me we are talking about, they didn't disappoint...or, well, they did, but you know, in a my-life-is-a-shitshow kinda way.  Get comfy, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

***

The Candidates. . .drum roll please...


Innocence [not] Lost

Now, I mentioned I was introducing a carrot to my date in a past blog.  I wasn't kidding.  Not even a little.  Pick a fruit, a vegetable, a food, almost anything--and I can promise you, fuck that I can guarantee, that this guy hasn't tried it.  Sure, not everyone has tried a kumquat, or a lychee, or even a pomegranate.  I get that.  But an apple?  AN APPLE?  A FREAKING APPLE???? Who the fuck hasn't tried an apple?  Or a carrot?  Or lettuce?  LETTUCE!!!!  Seriously, pick anything--he hasn't had it.  I made him try a cherry--he almost puked.  Then I forced some lettuce, a cherry tomato (which his face when it squirted was hilarious--but I guess, if you never had a tomato before, how the hell would you know they are juicy inside? RIDICULOUS!!!), and a baby carrot.

He told me this info, and I was speechless (a rarity as you might imagine).  I mean, who hasn't had an orange?  A grape?  How do you even respond to that?????   Unbelievable. 

So here's the run down.  He's a nice guy, a really nice guy.  A little awkward, and not very hung (like, not. even. a. little.), and very sheltered (as evidenced by never having a strawberry, EVER).  He lives at home, he's my age, and while that isn't terrible, he seems to have gotten himself stuck in a job rut and being at home has created a situation where he is kind of immature emotionally and responsibility-wise.  Moving out, paying bills, handling your own life, you know, without mom to do the laundry or have dinner on the table, really makes you grow up.  My ex didn't have this growing up experience--which totally explains why he expected me to be his mommy (he would say, why can't we have kids--I was like, newsflash, we have kids--it's you buddy).  Anyway, I don't want another ex-man-child, so I don't think there is future potential, but he does have some redeeming qualities, like he is super nice, fun to hang out with, nearby, and oh, he gives great oral.  Like, really, really great.  Like even though I'm only the second woman he has been with (ever, I know, crazzzzzy), he is great at it.  And he loves doing it. Soooo, yeah, keeping him around.

Hey, don't judge.  A girl has needs, yo.  And shit, why not.  And hell, for all the head I've given without reciprocation, I deserve some fun below the belt.

And did I mention he likes it?  And he's good?

Fuck apples, eat me instead.  haahaaaaaaa.  no, seriously.   

  

Keep Your Briefs On, Counselor

Then there is the newest love of my life (um, no).  He's a 44 year old attorney, and right off the bat tells me that he is into dating younger women so there is no "baby clock" ticking.  Ok, I can understand that.  Then he quickly moves the convo along to tell me that in the past he has dated women who were less than enthused about sex (see, frigidbitches), and he wants to make sure I'm not like that.  During the first phone conversation.  FIRST.  PHONE.  CONVO.  Yeah, ok, and now my gut is light up and blinking "this man wants ass."  Sad, because he seems fun.  However, if he tells me he is an "Irish Teddy Bear" one more freaking time, I'm going to meet him and tear out all his fluffy stuffing while pouring a Guinness on him.  Seriously, I get it, you drink too much and you're a little chubby.  It's fine, I'm cool with it.  Because, let's be honest, that is exactly what he meant.  (I even saw pics to confirm).  But, I think a little chub isn't horrible, in fact, could even be cute.  I mean, I'm no stick thin bitch.  I'm an equal opportunity fuck.  Chub, skinny, tall, short, bring it.  And shit, I like beer.  And redheads, fuck yeah.  Yum.  (unless they come with an explosive ass, then negatory on the yum). 

But alas, every freaking conversation turns to sex, and of course, how he is an Irish teddy bear that, as he put it so eloquently, "worships at the altar of DDDs."  Listen up sunshine, I haven't been a DDD since like 9th grade, and I have cleavage for miles.  One look at me in person and he's probably start convulsing and tithing his 10% to the church (or to the shop where I buy bras).  And don't get me wrong, I like sex.  In fact, I love sex.  I have a higher libido than most (read: all) of the men I've dated.  But I was looking to date someone and have sex in that relationship, not just random sex with an irish teddy bear.  Who wants to end up covered in beer with bear stuffing stuck to their ass?  No gracias, ya compre.

Either way, I hate that my gut tells me he isn't dating material, but I know he isn't.  Right now I'm trying to convince myself that my gut might feel different after meeting in person, but I'm pretty sure all my gut will feel after meeting him is reassured.  The rest of me, however, may either be turned on (I do like guinness....) or totally repulsed.  Since this is my life we are talking about, smart money's on "repulsed."

Sigh.



Wait, didn't I see this movie already?

The 36 year old Virgin.  He's a story for another time.  Suffice to say, the name says it all.  Unbelievable, for serious.  The best part, he wants me to wax his hairy back.  Come on, you saw the movie.  haahaa.  NICE.  Hold on to your nips, I'm firing up the wax!!!!

*

Must you PEE on everything?

Oh, apparently you must.  Now, at first glance you might assume I'm talking to my little dogs, one of which enjoys nothing more than peeing on a post, chair, or other item found outdoors.  And I mean he relishes it!   Although, to be honest, his life is not perfect either.  He is smitten with my other little dog, who alternatively lets him hump her (they are both fixed, don't worry), or snaps at him for it.  Not that he is even nearby, he usually humps her arm, or leg, or side.  But they do have a little romance.  I think she secretly likes him, but just puts out a cold front sometimes.  I always catch them cuddling and him licking her ears and eyes--which in dog world, must be like foreplay. 

So, who was really peeing you ask?  Well, I guess I wasn't totally forthcoming in my first blog about what prompted my online dating attempt.  Sure it was that I was sick of who I was meeting (or not meeting) at bars, and being in school a lot, I rarely go elsewhere, so where was I going to meet some hombres?  Well there were also two other things that caused this disaster of an idea to occur.  Brace yourself.

1.  So, being newly divorced, (yet emotionally been there for quite some time), I wasn't sure I was ready to date, but was ready to try some fun on for size.  Hey, it had been a while, and I'm a grown woman, and if I want to go around banging the town, dammit I will.  Ok, so it wasn't the town.  But I found a guy I became close friends with.  We're so compatible.  Similar careers, close in age, we just get each other so well.  I see him so well, and he sees me too.  You know what I mean.  The deep, really seeing me thing.  I can be sappy too.  What, you thought I was just bitchy?  damm.  Anyway, we get along great, and the sex is hot.  The thing is, we came into this as fuckfriends, boomboom buddies, friends with benefits, whatever you want to call it.  And we are actually friends on top of the good lovin.'  Normally I am excellent at separating sex and love.  I don't start generating feelings if I'm in a benefits only relationship.  I can compartmentalize well, and it is never really an issue for me.  I know most of my friends have trouble with this, and it is true, it can be hard to not start having feelings for someone you are intimate with, even if you try not to.  But me?  Never.  It just isn't an issue.  Until now.  I guess because we are so close otherwise, which usually isn't the case with a friend who is just around for some friendship (which isn't usually the heavy kind), and some benefitos.  But there it is.  When I get a text from him, I smile.  When I see him, I just want him and get butterflies in my heart.  And there is no way in hell I'd EVER tell him. Ever.  We came into this as friends with benefits, and I, my dear, am certainly not going to be the one to change things, or ruin what we have (that I really enjoy) by professing feelings.  Oh.  Hell.  No.  He would have to say something first.  Granted, lately he is more cuddly at night, and the last two times felt more like making love than some hot boomboom, but I could also be just impressing my feelings on my interpretation of how it was.  Honestly, he has always been a little cuddly, but he is single, and maybe on a human level, he misses that kind of soft touch too.  So maybe he has zero feelings for me besides caring and friendship.  We may never know.  What I do know, is that I'm starting to really like him too much--too much to keep it hidden and be happy with what we have, if that is all there is.  Which means I need to be distracted otherwise, and have my heart and head on other things.  Namely, other penises.  Uhh, I mean, men.  6 of one....

2.  So, here's what happened.  There was a cute waiter.  He was tall, kind of big in that throw you around, excuding manliness, beat down a waterbuffalo kind of way.  He was funny and attentive, and definitely flirty.  After a few times of flirting, he asked me for my number.  Claiming he came down to where I lived "all the time" (lie #1), and that he would love to take me out (lie #2).  He said he would call, and shockingly, after making me wait on nails for a while, he did.  We talked, joked, and generally had some fun conversation.  I was sympathetic to his needs, his issues, and listened as he talked about how the reason he broke it off with his long term ex was that she wasn't sympathetic enough. (lie #3)  Now, at the time, that seemed like a reasonable complaint.  He wanted kids someday, and so someone who wasn't nurturing and sympathetic might not be idea mommy material.  Got it.  Anyway, we talked for over a month, and this being one of my first freedom romps, I was open for anything.  I went up to visit.  I had told him that nothing would happen, and then it snowed.  I had to stay over, and well, after midnight, we count that as date number 2 right?  And that isn't nearly as unrespectable as banging him on date number 1, right?  Right.  Rationalized and hot and heavy, I jumped in.  He was pretty good in bed.  However, then he wanted to perform oral sex on me.  Now, who am I to turn that down, and considering I'd already pre-returned the favor, hell yeah.  So, he heads south.  About 3 minutes later I'm starting to worry he got lost (made a wrong turn at my navel, perhaps?) and never made it to his target.  I was wrong.  Oh, no, he was there alright.  But just so gentle I couldn't feel a thing!  Now, maybe he was new at it, or never had a girlfriend who liked it before, or maybe his last gf was made of tissue paper an felt every last flick of the tongue.  Nope, no way.  It was that bad.  It was like he had NEVER done it before, or had at the least, never been corrected.  He could have been blowing on my lady parts through a coffee stirrer straw and I would have felt more.  Seriously, get a book, or go online, or anything. I tried to direct him, which resulted in him being mad and insulted, and finally I was like, yeah, enough.  He asked if I didn't like it, at which point my humanity kicked in, and I felt bad crushing him by saying that that was hands down the worst oral ever, so instead I smiled and said it was fine, I just wanted him instead at that moment.  Feigning being overcome with rapture isn't easy.  I give those porn stars some credit.  Anyway, long story short, I thought hey, good guy, fun in bed, needs some work, but I'm up for the challenge.  Can't win em all you know.  3 out of 4 wasn't bad.  And then he opened his mouth.

Turns out, he wasn't such a great guy.  College drop out, past 6 year drug problem, estranged family members, no drive or motivation careerwise, and he gets calls at weird hours to go bail his buddies out of jail.  Hmmm, keeper?  Then I learn that he has major dad guilt, and anxiety, for which he pops pills like they're candy, and sees a therapist (who he keeps on speed dial) for appointments he can't afford.  In fact, when I dumped him the first time, he got so upset, he had to hang up and while sobbing called for an emergency therapy appointment.  Emergency.  Appointment. Did I mention he can't afford these appointments.  Probably because he is spending all his money on snickers bars and prescription drugs, which Lord knows what they are.  All I know is that the way he pops them they aren't what he says they are.  You don't take zoloft 8 times a night yo.  not even a little.  Anyway, so I saw him a second time.  Again, I drove to his place, and we hung out.  Watched a little tv, hooked up, it was fun.  He got me some roses, and it was sweet.  So in spite of the ever growing list of why-you-should-not-date-this-man, I was giving him a chance.  He was fun to talk to, and newly divorced, I'll admit the attention felt nice.  So he asks me to be exclusive, and thinking that we were both adults and he could understand, I said I didn't think I was ready to get so serious, but that I was interested.  He promised he wouldn't back off and understood.  Which translates to bye, bye, bye.   He called less, and I knew something was up.  Either he had someone else, he was super busy with work (big dinner rush?), or he wasn't into me anymore.   2 out of the 3 were reasonable, and I'm a big girl, I get it.  Sometimes, he just isn't that into you.  I asked him and he assured me he was into me, he was just busy at work (lie #4).  I knew it was bullshit.  But what can you do.  So, I was surprised when a few days later he accepted my friend request on facebook.  I figured, if he was doing shit, he wouldn't want me to see.  That noble thought was immediately dispersed when I realized he must have NO idea that he friended me, b/c he just changed his status to "in a relationship" and the girlfriend, wasn't me.  Nice.  So, please add two timing jerk to the list.  Turns out he has a string of ladies, he's quite the ladies man.  Anyway, I called and confronted him, to which he said he had no idea what I was talking about (all the while I could totally hear him typing--most likely logging in furiously to facebook to figure out how I could see and delete the damage).  So, that was that.

But then, I reconsidered.  Remember how I can separate sex and love?  Well I knew that this wasn't going anywhere romantically, but the sex was fun.  It was new, if felt nice, oh hell, I just wanted to.  I don't need to rationalize it.  So I asked him if he wanted to just be friends with benefits, shockingly, and in spite of the women he was no doubt romancing, he said yes.  However, we didn't see each other for a while.  Long story short, he calls and after lots of last minute cancelling, he decides to come visit.  So, he is supposed to come on a tuesday, but calls on monday to ask if he can come early.  I picked him up at the train, and we headed to my place.  Fast forward to some boomboom, and it's 3 hours in and I wanted to duct tape his mouth shut and drop him back off at the train.  He talked about himself constantly.  How he's wonderful.  How everyone says so.  How his boss loves him.  How everything wishes they could be him.  I get it.  You're great.  DEEEEElusional.  I thought he was going to come by, and leave the next day or so, like I did.  He told me he was staying until thursday.  THURSDAY.  It was only MONDAY.  See the problem?  However, the real trouble began when we only had sex the first night.  He said his anxiety was acting up too much--all day every day--to have any more sex.  I'm going to point out that someone taking pills all day and night like crazy should have his anxiety under enough control to have some sex.  (Maybe he didnt get the memo, you know, the one that explained that boomboom was the reason he was here.)  He then proceeded to drink all my alcohol, eat all my food, asked me bring him more food, made a mess, and slept all day long.  It was like a preview to dating a huge loser.  My friends were telling me to pack him a sandwich and tell him to get the F out.  I felt kinda bad, why I don't know.  About the only time I find myself not standing up for myself is with men.  But I'm working on it.  Anyway, finally he got up one morning, said he was going to shower and check his voicemail after.  Kind of a weird announcement, especially since his phone never rang, but maybe he was expecting a call or psychic.  Either way, he showered, put the same clothes he was wearing all week back on, and got an emergency voicemail!  He had to leave immediately!  There was an emergency at home!  Let me tell you, I have never lept out of bed so fast.  He asked me if we could make the train, Hell yeah I said!  I didn't even get dressed, I ran out the door in flip flops, pjs, not even looking at my hair on the way out.  I even paid the higher toll to get him there faster.  He rewarded me by leaving his garbage in my car.  Awesome.

But that isn't the best part.  One night, he drank almost a whole bottle of kettle one (mine), and the next morning I woke up about 5:30am, probably because I felt something wet.  I checked, I was dry, but the bed behind me (and in front of him) was soaked.  Like 4 cups of water soaked.  My pjs were dry.  The dogs were behind the baby gate in the kitchen.  That's right.  This 36 year old man, PEED in my BED while I was IN it.  Yep.  I'm guessing he wet the bed in his sleep.  However, he PEEEEEEEED in my BED.  He woke up a few minutes later, and not realizing I was awake, he touched the wet bed, and then ROLLED OVER and went back to sleep.  Unfreakingbelievable.  It was like walking up in a twilight zone movie.  I laid there in complete shock.  

The irony is that my dog had been having accidents on the bed lately, and so they were sleeping in the kitchen.  Had I known, my lover boy could have joined them. 

I thought that was the end.  However, this man who peed in my bed, (and yes there was a stain and an outline on the lovely 600 count sheets), had the gall to call me a few days later.  I explained we were looking for different things.  I wanted a relationship with a housebroken guy.  Clearly, he wasn't a match.

and that is why I had to find a new place to meet (housebroken) men.