This is why I don't date!

On July 19 I was walking home, up some ungodly hill, from a soccer game. A boy chased me up this hill, out of breath, to chat me up and gives me his card. Flattering.  And the texting tourettes begins:

July 29: 5:43pm Me: “Hello. How is Maple Ridge. This is Klassy the girl you chased up the hill after the ManCity game last week.  Are you going to the game tomorrow?  I am going early with a few friends. So if you are game we can meet up and you can buy me a beer”

July 30: 6:12pm Mr. Texting Tourettes: “The Ridge is fine. Pretty sure I was chasing my friend up the hill.  Was really drunk. Can’t”

Aug 7: 11:32am: Mr.TT: “Do you think we are going to win today”

Aug 7: 4:12pm: Mr.TT: “Are you going to the game?”

Aug 7: 5:30pm: Klassy: “Unfortunately I am in Edmonton working this week trying to avoid the tornadoes. Have a great time at the game”

Aug 10: 12:02 am: Mr.TT: “Wat’s up?”

Aug 11: 6:34pm: Mr.TT: “Can I call you sometime?”

Aug 11: 7:53pm: “That could be acceptable”

Aug 11: 8:12pm: Mr.TT: “What do you do for a living?”

Aug 11: 8:14pm: Mr.TT: “Need any painting done?”

Aug 11: 8:23pm: Me: “Wow aren’t we full of questions”

Aug 11: 8:28pm: Mr.TT: “I could give you an estimate”

Aug 26: 6:38pm: Mr.TT: “Hi”

Sept 9: 11:40pm: Mr.TT: “Are you on facebook”

Sept 15:12:34am: Mr.TT: “I am scared to call yous”

Now I know why I don’t date! Are men really that touched?  Argh!  They are infuriating.  The irony of it all is that they think WE are the crazy ones.  In many ways, we have become the crazy ones because their stupidity makes us go insane.  Does common sense not land on the Y chromosome?

I feel that once you are of a certain age you should be… I don’t know… mature!  You should have a basic understanding of what is appropriate and inappropriate behavior.  Example: Texting a girl you just met at 7pm and asking how her day went.   Inappropriate behaviour is as demonstrated above: Texting her at midnight on a weeknight and asking her if she is on Facebook!  I truly do not believe my expectations are THAT HIGH.  Actually, I gave Mr.Texting Tourettes the benefit of the doubt in the beginning because of the whole lost in textation, which just begs another question: why not just call?  Which as you read ,  he actually asked me if he could do!  Who asks that? Have I been watching too many chick flicks that I think asking permission to call me is lame?  This guy is in his mid-thirties – you’ve got to be kidding me. Is it not safe to say that by thirty you should know to call a girl?   After I let him know calling me would be acceptable, he thinks continuing to text me questions about painting my house and giving me an estimate is OK.  I later find his card in the bottom of the “why do I keep this shit pile” and low and behold, he is a painter which might explain the behavior. Toxic fumes.  It was at this point of strangeness and still no phone call that I quit cordially returning texts.  Yet texts continued to persist after an inappropriate hour. But my favourite text was the last: “I am too scared to call yous.” I repeat: You have got to be kidding!

Then there is the Irishman – who is not Irish, though he is convinced he is.  If your grandparents, grandparents, grandparents came to the new world on a boat with scurvy during the first potato famine you are NOT IRISH, whatever your last name is.  You are CANADIAN!  I was able to overlook this because he was hot. And 6’4 – YUM!  He asked me out for drinks last Friday. Drinks. I’m not sure when I stopped eating dinner but whatever.  Again, he’s 6’4 and has the most beautiful hands I have ever seen! Now I am not sure if it is me, if he thought I was arrogant, but it was an aggressive evening at times.  And not the “I want to rip your clothes off and do dirty things to you” kind of aggression. It was the George Costanza kind of aggression.  Not only did Mr. Not So Irish (NSI) psychoanalyze me all evening, as though he could figure me out in one evening (yes NSI, I am one dimensional and have zero layers, thanks for the compliment) but he also challenged seemingly everything I said.  “I donated blood last week.” “No you didn’t.”  Who would lie about something like that?  It was as though he was trying to prove something to me.  At one point he told me I was lucky to get a weekend date because he never gives away his weekends for a first date.  Was I supposed to take that as a compliment?  What does one mean when they say crap like that?  Looking back, I actually think he was trying to impress me.  He kept telling me these stories about meeting people and them loving him and him getting a free mug from Starbucks. Yeah, I know.  Random.   At one point, he even called himself charming. No lie!  The same guy comes out with the oh so original comment of women are crazy and men are simple, just feed them beer and compliment them.  How is one supposed to compliment someone when that person is doing such a great job of blowing smoke up their own ass.  I could no longer hold my tongue at the charming comment.  It was my duty to let him know:  “You’re arrogant, not charming and the reason you got the free mug is because you are hot.”  How is that for a back handed compliment!

The irony of this is that earlier this year before my world fell apart I would have loved any attention at all from the opposite sex.  Really it was quite sad.  I would have probably just dealt with the stupidity out of desperation.  Well, I have proven this point.  I once followed around a chubby little longshoreman with rosy cheeks like a lost puppy, who only called when he needed something.  I thought he must really like me because he texted me at midnight to come pick him up from work and take him home. Talk about touched, Klassy!  I am thankful to report that this has changed. It might be because of me dropping 15 lbs (ah Tony Horton, I HATE YOU, but I LOVE YOU).  Well, it’s 200 lbs if you count the 185 lbs of emotional baggage that is my former father.   Normally, attention from Mr.Texting Tourettes or NSI would have me desperately trying to maintain communication, meet up for a date on his terms, all for the hope that eventually he would call me his girlfriend – GUSH ! We would get married – maybe even buy a house with a white picket fence, which of course Mr. Texting Tourrettes could paint.  And I would have deluded myself into believing I liked him, just as long as it was someone, anyone who in my twisted definition of a relationship, liked me.  I know, messed up.  But you have to remember that I grew up in a household where the man was dominant. Through an environment contrived by the manipulative personality of my father, it was instilled in me that men only wanted tall, skinny pretty women who cooked and cleaned.  It was clear from early on that my father’s worth of a woman was based on her looking good, cooking, cleaning and waiting on him.  Personality mattered not, because her job was to simply listen to all the wonderful things he did in a day.  I would like to say I am exaggerating but, sadly I am not. For years I was told “You would be so pretty if you lost 20 lbs.” Talk about tearing away at my self-esteem.  I still remember in my early twenties I made some flippant comment around him about wanting to marry a Croatian footballer – to which he looked at me and said “That will never happen.  They only marry gorgeous models.”  I once asked him if he did not know where the dishwasher was (as I was tired of having to come home from school and clean his lunch dishes off of the kitchen table). His response? “That is why I had girls.”  I could go on and on, which is not therapeutic to my new goal of letting the anger go.  But as you can tell, I had/have some issues to work through.  However, I am happy to report that I have grown some element of self-esteem and no longer think “Why would they like me?” “What can I bring to the table” and now think “Do I actually even like you?”

 Now despite all this higher learning, I did end up sleeping with NSI and we have texted since (so pathetic this is considered a positive thing in the dating world). So despite the fact that he irritated me, I would be willing to go on another date with him.  Maybe it is my ego wanting to crush his arrogance, or maybe I misinterpreted everything he was saying and I need to work through some of my baggage.  After all this, maybe it is my fault that I get all agro about the idiotic things men say and do, because I am obviously willing to put up with it (to a certain extent).

Just in – 2 min before I was about to post – Mr.TT strikes again:

Mr.TT: “Sorry for the previous random texts”

Me: “Ya they were a little random”

Mr.TT: “Well my life is complicated. I was very flattered by your invite to buy you a beer”

Me: “Nice to know”

Mr.TT: Do you have an open mind? I have a feeling we know mutual people”

Me: “Ummm….I’ll bite – who?”

Mr.TT:  “Well all I know when I searched Klassy on facebook five came up mutual friends”

Mr.TT:  “with mutual friends”

Mr.TT: “Are you going to whitecaps game?”

Me: “Fun fact – but I am not on facebook.  Still undecided on the game – trying to figure out”

Mr.TT: “Are you alien everyone is on facebook. Wish I could get off”

Me: “Did you just call me an alien?”

Mr.TT: “Please abduct me ………….now!!!”

Mr.TT: “I am with someone but it is sketchy”

Me: “Ya you should sort that out”

Mr.TT: “’Ill meet you for a coffee”

Me: “Actually I think you should work out your relationship”

Mr.TT:  “Its never simple”

Mr.TT: “Beckham and Posh were in relationships when they met”

THIS IS WHY I DON’T DATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Rated X

Warning: The following post is explicit and entirely composed of “touch much detail.” It is not for   those with a conscience, the morally inclined or the squeamish.  If you choose to continue to read, you need not place judgment.  I’ve already been to church to pray for my soul.  Only 9,354 Hail Mary’s to go, while kneeling on rice and flagellating.

I F*CKED the groom! Yes, you read that right, I F*CKED the groom! Oh VEGAS!  Why do you make me such a bad person?  My moral compass and self-respect was left in Vancouver on this trip because it was no-where to be found early Sunday morning while the groom from the bachelor party next door tore off my clothes and ripped my tampon out! Oh ya, I got my period in Vegas – JOY! Though that obviously was not a deterrent for this particular groom. Neither was the fact that he was walking down the aisle in TWO WEEKS!

It began innocently enough. Fifteen guys for the groom’s stag. The guys kept on inviting Eva and I out.  I had my eye on a couple of the SINGLE ones. Note SINGLE. Then Saturday night rolls around and they invited us out to Excess . That’s where the innocence ends.  I am not sure if it is because all my guy friends are perverts and say rude things to me all the time, or that I have such low self-esteem that I don’t truly believe a guy would actually pursue me when there were so many hot women around, but whatever it was, the alarm bells did not start ringing once the groom started hitting on me and asking me about my favorite sexual position Ankles to ears, by the way.  Who doesn’t love that one…quickly followed by the declaration of “I want to f*ck you”. I am totally stunned.  It seemed like average cocky guy talk.  Not until he tried to kiss me did a red flag shoot up.  Actually yellow. I might have had significant amounts of Grey Goose by this point in the evening.  I was starting to get drawn in by the heavy persistence and attention. A girl can only take so much.  Eventually, I was in too deep (and later he was in a lot deeper) to walk away. Moral compass gone! Self-respect – dissipated! Clothes – no longer in reach! BAH!!  Am I really riding this guy right now?  More importantly did he just really have me sit on his face for 2 hours when I had my period?!  Funny enough, this is not my first experience with a guy eating me out on my period. It is actually the third.  I must have some serious pheromones while on my rag and it just draws the perverts in like magnets.  It was just all so dirty and raw, and kids I am not going to lie – It was F*CKEN HOT!!  Not sure if the guilt I felt on Monday when I landed back in reality was due to the entire engaged fiancé thing or the fact that I was so taken with the raunchy dirty forbidden sex.  But that is not the worst of it.  I know how can it get much worse.  It became apparent that not only did the groom have no moral crisis over nailing me two weeks before his wedding, but he also did not care about the state of his sheets which now had bloody handprints all over them.  What he did care about was the murder scene that was left on his stomach when he finally came and I crawled off.  How do I know this you ask? Because when I dismounted, he looked down at his stomach and ran to the bathroom and PUKED! Have you ever had a guy puke after sex? Talk about destroying your self-esteem.

Now besides the obvious problem of infidelity and breaking one of the commandments (Thou shall not covet another’s husband), there is the additional issue of opening up the flood gates.  I am a bit of an 18 year old boy when it comes to getting laid, and once I get it I want it all the time.  At the moment I am going through complete withdrawal and am horny as f*ck which sucks because as a result I was prepared to hump a lamp post the other day.  So despite moral repercussions which,  let’s be honest, I was already going to hell because of Sunday morning, I dropped by his room early Monday morning before checkout to get another fix.  This is where my self-respect hit an all time low. Not only were his hotel mates in the room while he persistently asked me to put his balls in my mouth while trying to rip off my clothes, but there were also conversations with his roommates about lesbian experiences and the puking incident while I played tug and pull under the covers.  Then one of them turned on porn. I am not  sure why I drew the line at that given  everything else I was doing. Yes, my high standards included not nailing him in the room with the guys and hanging out with 4 guys watching porn while I was in my underwear.  I even picked out the porn episode entitled “Who is f*cking my hot wife?” I thought the theme of infidelity was appropriate! But after the jokes and the props for being cruel from the roommates, I decided that my self-respect was still high enough not to stick around for the circle jerk.  I assume that is what four guys do when they are sitting around together and watching porn. How I get myself into these situations, I will never know.  Oh wait I do know – I knocked on the door because I am an 18 year horny boy!  Eventually he concedes and comes back to my room.  Which was all good until , ah being a woman is tough sometimes! Stupid air getting trapped in certain holes, no control when it wants to escape. His face might have been right there at the time. Talk about destroying the mood. (I warned you, TOO MUCH DETAIL).  Whatever,  that will get him back for puking.  It was strange after we finished our romp. We lay there and talked about our jobs, finances and why New York over London.  Oh and the fact that we were going to hell.  Serious!

What has surprised me about this experience is not that I felt so little guilt about it afterwards (I am single!) but that many of my friends think it was fine.  And not just because it was me.  Some have even given me props, like a notch on my sexual belt.  You always assume that infidelity, no matter the circumstances, should be condemned and that people will judge you for bad behavior.  That doesn’t seem to be the case.  The general consensus was the responsibility was his and not mine, and I had done nothing wrong.  Why should I be the responsible one in Vegas?  It’s not like I was getting married.  In my years, I know more than one friend who has been the other women, or friends that have cheated. The membership list for TEAM HOME WRECKER is not a short one and some of the names on the list would floor you.  Is infidelity less of a sin today? If I said he was not just engaged but married with children and we were still talking, does that make what happened worse?  Is there a hierarchy of bad when it comes to cheating, or is cheating just cheating?  I grew up in a home where my Dad always had girlfriends, and it was always kinda of known.  My mother never made a big deal of it and when it was eventually confirmed to me, I wasn’t devastated.  Frankly, I was quite cavalier about it.  The issues with my father are not his infidelity, but his treatment of his family. The infidelity only added fuel to the fire.  Yet it would be stupid to think the family environment I grew up in did not warp my views on cheating.  I am not saying that I would totally be cool with my husband doing as the groom did – I most likely would break his nose – but  it does raise the question of whether I would stay.  And knowing myself sexually, and the need for the forbidden and exciting, will I one day get wrapped up in a moment and cheat on my husband, and would I expect him to stay if I did? To some it is cut and dry: cheating means the end of a marriage. Of course, your views on this are developed by watching your parent’s relationship, but the above mentioned friends came from a range of family upbringings including solid family units, among those with divorce.  

I figure all this uncertainty is why women (and men) stand on their spouses and breathe down their necks to ensure they do not get a moment to stray. To me, that seems exhausting and at times futile.  Because all it takes is one luncheon, one trip, one moment when you get carried away.  In no way am I saying cheating is OK!  I am simply pointing out that there is always a chance of it happening and if it does happen, on a scale of evils where does it happen to fall? I have always believed that if a man is going to cheat he will find a way, and now being the one that was cheated with, I have not changed my belief about trusting your spouse. If my fiancé wants a Vegas stag, strippers, etc,  I will in no way stand in his way because in turn I never want to be told I am not allowed to do something.  I guess what I am getting at is the cheating topic all depends on the person. Being who I am  (that is, not the tamest person in the world who tends to unwittingly push boundaries and get wrapped up in the moment), I may have to live with the fact that the man I do settle down with will be similar and infidelity could happen.  How I handle it at the time is a mystery.  All I know is, despite the revelation that men really do cheat on their stags, I will not become a controlling girl who nags and harps.  It is just not in me, even though there could be potential risks in not doing so.