Archives For Relationships

The Phone Call

September 23, 2016 — 69 Comments

phone-call

 

“So, basically you just said anything so you could fuck me, is that it?”

He answered without hesitation.

“Yes. Of course!”

His blunt honesty dumbfounded me momentarily, the way an oncoming headlight blinds you. Disoriented by his unabashed admission, I blurted out a rhetorical, “But why?”

“Why do you think?” he said. “Because that’s what men DO. We tell you what we want to hear so we can have sex with you.”

I wanted this to not be true, despite the fact that I believed it was. I should have hung up on him right then. But now I felt like I had stumbled upon a tunnel into a secret room where All The Questions would finally be answered truthfully. And I am a truth seeker.

“All men, all the time? Or just you, because seriously, you were relentless!”

“Oh, you were definitely work,” he said, “but I knew if I kept feeding you what you wanted to hear, I’d get you eventually. But yeah, all men, all the time. Married, single, whatever. We say what we have to say so we can get laid. It doesn’t have to be true. It just has to work.”

I needed air.

I cracked my car window open and the cry of cicadas suddenly filled my car in surround-sound. They were louder than usual, and harsher, as if their haunting vibrato was the audio manifestation of my inner despair.

I was in my car driving home from open school night when I had called him to tell him that no, we weren’t going to be seeing each other anymore and that I didn’t like the way his behavior had changed. That he had gone from months of constant dogged attention to a more disinterested and sporadic communication.

After we had sex, that is.

Now I was pulled over on an unknown street, my car idling in the dark. Up ahead, I could see the lights of the stores still open on Route 9, and I fought the intense urge to drive to a nearby 7-Eleven and buy cigarettes. I hadn’t smoked in years, but suddenly I really, really needed one.

“So that whole first conversation we had, when we were on the phone for hours – was everything you said designed to get in my pants? I wasn’t even going to meet you, but you convinced me to have dinner with you that first night with all the shit you laid on me, about how women are emotional and sensitive and men need to be strong and supportive for them.”

“Yep. I knew that’s what you wanted to hear, so I said it. We had a great dinner didn’t we? We must have, because look where it led. I thought of it as an investment.”

“Dude, that is fucking cold! I mean, I’m jaded as fuck, but really?”

“Really.”

Fuck cigarettes. I needed tequila and opiates.

I said to him, “I don’t even want a relationship! Not a romantic relationship, but just friendship. So when I told you that I couldn’t commit to a relationship, but that I did want a man who would be there for me as a friend, you said you wanted to be that man just to fuck me?”

“Yep!” He laughed. “Why does this surprise you?’

I hated the way he sounded. Cold. Detached. The cruelty tingeing his voice gave him a hardness that didn’t even sound like the man I had spent time with.

“It doesn’t surprise me, ” I answered. “It’s just disappointing. Despite the fact that I think most people suck, I still want to believe that there might be a few decent human beings left. But this is exactly why I don’t get involved. This.”

“I thought you said you wanted to have this discussion in person,” he said. “Why don’t you come over?”

“Come over??!” I was aghast at his inane suggestion. “Because my kid is waiting for me at home, and also, I’d punch you in your face now if I came over!”

He chuckled. “I doubt that. How tall are you? I’m 6’4.”

“Are you drunk? You’re just shy of six feet! What, did you suddenly grow four-”

I stopped.
“Who is this??” I demanded.

“This is Michael. Who is this?”

I looked down at my phone.

I had dialed the wrong number.

 

Did you ever dial a wrong number and have a wake-up call?
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

 

Join me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, so I can have friends without leaving the house. For real, I am NOT leaving my house!

Samara In Tinderland

June 24, 2016 — 90 Comments

alice in tinderland

Tinder – lowering sexual standards since 2012.

Tinder is the fast food of online dating – quick, cheap, and temporarily curbs your hunger. Although I’m sure people have met their significant others on Tinder –  just given the sheer quantity using it – it has an undeniably sleazy quality to it.

No judgments here. I like the sleaze.

Tinder combines everything that is wrong with society – hook up culture, chatting with people without real interaction, the desire for instant gratification, making snap judgments, rejecting people solely upon their looks – into one convenient online shopping-type app!

A veritable smorgasbord of single (ha!) people! Swipe and go!

 

In a recent article that I made up, the CEO of Tinder argued that Tinder is a progressive social construct which gives legitimacy to the online dating phenomenon.

They left out the part where you don’t need to have even $5 in your pocket to leave the house and purchase a beer somewhere. Or the ability to hold even the most rudimentary of real-life conversations.

And yet, people everywhere are getting laid off this app. It’s the cyber version of grunting, clubbing a woman over the head, and dragging her back to your cave for hot troglodyte sex.

It’s also free. That gives you an idea of the financial status of many Tinderonis. I’m not saying it’s teeming with broke-ass motherfuckers, but apparently, I appeal to a great many of them.

Perhaps because I look kinda funky in my profile pics, and am holding a guitar in one, I attract a lot of artist-writer-musician types. No one should give up his dream. However, if you’re approaching 50 and your artsy dream doesn’t include being able to afford a studio apartment, perhaps it’s time to modify your dream? To one that includes a steady paycheck, and perhaps a dental plan because OMG are you kidding with those teeth?

 

There are men who actually open with gross sexual overtures, like “Hi! Spit, or swallow?” Oh, WOW, it’s like Sophie’s Choice, how can I make that decision?! I will probably want to do both, you suave devil, you!

Some men are either trying desperately to be quirky, or English is not their first language. I don’t want to meet “I’m half a camel, I once tipped a stripper in McNuggets.”

There are quite a few men with that “restraining order” look in their eyes. Their profiles tend to go something like, “BOOM! YOU BITCHES CAN’T HANDLE THIS. THE PARTY’S ALL UP IN HERE. POW!” (And other cartoon fight sounds. Kapow!)

I don’t understand what motivates someone to pose shirtless in a club, guzzling a bottle of vodka, with his arm around another chick. The 1995 rave called, it wants its sweaty chest picture back.

Some men put up only picture of their face, then FIVE pictures of random objects. Like, 5 car pics. Their profiles say things like “Love cars, weed, partying.” Fabulous! Let’s get stoned and DRIVE AROUND, SHALL WE? I would love to court death with a guy who describes himself as a “SWAGASAURUS.”

 

I may need to join a different online dating service, one that costs actual money to join and requires that you have reasonable proficiency with the use of your opposable thumbs.

I did meet a handsome, sweet, funny guy. He made me laugh, which is always a plus. I was about to give him my number when he asked me if he could tell me about a certain “fetish” he has.
I’m pretty open, so I was curious.

He has a “crush” fetish. DON’T GOOGLE THIS. YOU CANNOT UNSEE THIS.

There are two levels. Level 1 is getting turned on by insects and other invertebrates being crushed. Level 2 is getting sexually turned by small vertebrates, like kittens or bunny rabbits, getting crushed to death.

WTF? Is this Tinder, or an episode of Criminal Minds? That night I wept for humanity and slept with a Bible under my pillow.

 

There are so many bizarre encounters on Tinder…

…people MUST be using it for the entertainment. I know I do.

This dude is one of my favorites. His picture is from a Purina Puppy Chow ad. He loves to hold conversations with me that make ZERO sense. He rarely responds to anything I say, so I’ve just begun saying random things – to see if he’s even reading what I wrote.

I’m pretty sure he’s a bot.

tinder 3

Another man rambled on and on about what we would do, once we were a “couple,” despite the fact that we hadn’t even MET yet. Here’s an excerpt:

tinder 2

What a fun-filled night! Perhaps I’ll even get to squeeze a few of his blackheads!

 

Despite the fact that Tinder is yet another nail in the coffin of Western civilization,

it’s a fun app and I’m keeping it because hey – I’M on there, right? So it can’t be ALL bad.

Now I just need to find the male version of myself. Although, some might argue I’m already the male version of myself.

It might be the fast food of online dating, but I won’t deny that even I crave some Micky D’s once in a while.

Of course, McDonald’s won’t give you herpes…

 

Have you been on Tinder? Or other online dating services?
Did you meet your significant other that way? IS THERE HOPE? 

Talk to me. I’m listening. 

 

Join me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, so I can have friends without leaving the house. 

guys-flirting-with-girl

Why is a married man out on a Saturday night, drinking and talking to me, instead of home with his family?

 

Saturday night, I went out with Donna, who I met in a Facebook group, lives near me, and is awesome.

We went to a new local place and sat at the bar. We’re both single moms but we weren’t specifically on the prowl for men. However, we have pulses and don’t look like Quasimodo so I assumed men would talk to us.

They did.

Initially, Donna and I got involved in conversation with two other women. Eventually, three men joined us. It didn’t take long for the men to split up and focus on the women separately (or in our case, on Donna and I together.)

The man talking to us was super nice. He was not inappropriate in any way. He made it very clear that he was married, and spoke about his wife in glowing terms.

She’s a stay at home mom to their three kids, which he acknowledged is a tough job. But he also spoke of how his wife gets to go to the gym and shop, every day. And how “nice” her closet is. He presented this as a way to justify why he goes out on Saturdays without her. That, and the fact that he puts in very long hours.

Like the majority of the men where we live, he’s very successful. Because I work later in the day, I used to go to the gym at prime “stay at home mom” hour – 9 am. Many of these women spend their days grooming – gym, hair, nails, waxing, facials, tanning. They have people who clean their homes. They spring into action between the hours of 3 pm and 9 pm, when the have to supervise homework/activities/dinner/bedtime.

Those six hours are hard, and if they choose to spend the six hours prior to that grooming, it’s their prerogative. I would spend that time writing, but I have the “Lindsay Lohan on drugs” chipped-nails look and I think It was February the last time I washed my hair.

 

I wasn’t sure what this man’s agenda was. He had taken his family out earlier. Now, he needed his going out time. Why didn’t he want to go out with this wife? Or stay in with her?

I posted this query on Facebook, and it opened up a debate that went on for two days.

 

Perhaps he’s just a hard-working guy, who enjoys time away from the family. I get that. But why not just go to a baseball game? Or play poker with the guys, like my Ex used to? Should a night out include going to a bar and talking with women who are obviously single?

It could be that he enjoys the ego boost of talking to women. A few people on Facebook mentioned that you can’t get everything you need in a marriage, and if you go outside it for some innocent validation, no harm, no foul.

Is there something inherently missing in a marriage if a man needs to spend a lot of time talking to other women? And is it okay to continue to look for that missing element outside the marriage, instead of investing energy IN the marriage to address this?

I’m not sure.

 

I’m an incorrigible flirt. My Ex used to say I would flirt with a piece of wood. But I’m an equal opportunity flirt. I flirt with men, women, grandmas, little kids, dogs. When I was married, I was more likely to flirt with a man in broad daylight in a supermarket than in a bar at night.

I went out without my husband, but my ‘girls nights out’ did not include drinking and flirting with men in bars. That seemed like a bad idea. My super ego is solvent in alcohol, and many of my bad decisions have been fueled by drinking.

 

I’m really not sure where I stand on this issue. My marriage had problems, but having fun and feeling very attracted to one another was never one of them. While we were married, my Ex was my favorite person to go out with – AND my favorite man to flirt with.

 

Saturday night, I was definitely buzzed. I appreciated this man’s attention to both of us. He made no overt moves on me, but I felt a definite vibe that he found me attractive.

Which is why, just before midnight, my fairy godmother whispered into my ear to get the fuck out of there. I wasn’t comfortable bantering with a 40-year-old married guy  who lives 5 minutes from me, who made it clear he had TONS of disposable income. It smelled of “looking for a little something on the side.”

I’ve been propositioned many times by wealthy married men who would like to spoil me and “keep me” on the side. If it’s Anthony Kiedis from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, oh hell yes (he sleeps with 22-year-old models, so there goes that idea.)  Rock stars fuck women all over the country, so I wouldn’t feel guilty. I would just be his New Jersey piece. (Ugh, I hate that I would be anyone’s ‘New Jersey’ anything)

But if it’s Joe Shmoe who owns a contracting company, no thanks. I’m not interested in scratching some married guy’s itch.

 

Before Donna and I left, our friend asked us to meet him back at the same place in two weeks.

I’m such a trouble maker. I almost want to go to see if he’s there…

 

Should married people go out and banter with people of the opposites sex?
Can it be purely innocent conversation, or is there always a subtext?

Should I go back to that bar?
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

Join me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter  so I can have friends without leaving the house. 

Uber

 

My BFF Troublemaker and I spend way too much time talking about sex.

We have pretty much the same issues regarding the procurement of it. We’re both single moms, who do NOT want to be in any kind of committed relationship.

Which is not to say that we want cheap meaningless sex with randos, although that is surprisingly difficult to find in the suburbs.

We’re also not into online hookups, since neither of us wants to end up with a serial killer who has oral sex with our severed heads.

But we know lots of single chicks who have all the zany exploits we used to once have.

When she told me the story of her girlfriend who gave the Uber driver a handjob, I laughed like a hyena. I thought it made a great title for a story, even though it wasn’t mine. As a matter of fact, this was supposed to be published HOURS ago, but every time I try to proofread it, I look at the post image and start laughing till I cry.

It’s click-baity. I’m well aware of that.

 

A recent story went viral, a story whose title implied that a woman divorced her husband because he left dishes in the sink. Because I’ve read this blog before, there was nothing very interesting about it. It’s pretty much the same story this blogger has been writing for years.

It’s all about how men are the real reason marriages fail; stupid, stupid men who just don’t understand that women want, no NEED, you to put your dirty clothes in the hamper in order to keep our marriages alive.

The title was total click bait. He admits that isn’t why his wife left him.

Kind of like me titling this story “I Gave My Uber Driver a Hand Job” when that never happened.

 

The blogger purports himself to be some kind of self appointed expert on how to help people not get divorced.

Yes, I know he is preaching from his exalted place of “now enlightened” male. What’s REALLY interesting about this story, is the way he behaves in his comment section. EVERY differing opinion sends him in a tail spin of page long responses defending his position, insisting that he is RIGHT. That leads me to speculate about the person he is in a relationship.

And then, in a ploy to come off self-aware and oh-so-endearing, he even admits to being incredibly self defensive. It’s the relationship version of an Escher painting. You go round and round until you finally just hang a tire around your neck, fill it with gasoline, and light yourself on fire.

Men. WE DON’T CARE HOW AWARE YOU ARE OF ALL THE STUPID SHIT YOU DO.

WE NEED YOU TO STOP DOING IT.

You know. BE THE CHANGE.

Otherwise, you’re just going to spend the next decade driving some poor women insane, by acting like an asshole and THEN owning up to it.

 

I also completely disagree with the premise of the article. I’m not going to comment on his blog because I don’t want THE WRATH OF BLOG unleashed at me. If I want to engage in pointless debates, I’ll call my Ex husband.

I personally am guilty of doing things that drove my Ex nuts; would, in fact, drive many partners nuts. For example, I often forgot to check in with him if I wasn’t coming home after work.

It drove him crazy. It often worried him. And I TRIED to remember to text him and let him know. The fact that it was super important to him should have motivated me to remember.

But I live in my head. I get so absent-minded, that try as I might, I STILL sometimes forgot. It was NOT a symptom of my lack of devotion to the marriage. It was more about the fact that I’m a space cadet, combined with how independent I was used to being, prior to the marriage.

Life is much too precious and complicated for people to view dishes as a symptom of deeper issues. The sink’s dishes are the sink’s problem.

WE INTERRUPT THIS STORY FOR A MOMENT OF FULL DISCLOSURE

I’m the first one to admit, always have, that who I am in my blog is not 100% who I am in real life.

Let me state for the record: The Samara on this blog is a version of me. It’s not fully who I am. I have met many, many online people in real life, who can attest to the fact that I am only part bad ass. In fact, I intend to write a story soon that reveals some of my worst flaws.

HOWEVER. I do not devote my blog to “How to Dress like a Grown Up.”  “How To Raise Your Tween Without Calling Him a Douchebag.”

I know not of these things.

 

The most interesting thing about his article was a comment someone left. She wrote that not only was it a click-baity title but also, the author knows his audience and it was an article designed to make women swoon.

YES SO MUCH THIS. The blogging world is filled with the walking wounded, most of them women. And when you finally find a man who writes all about how stupid men are, how culpable they are in divorce, it’s swoon-worthy material.

Girls – read the comment section! That’s who you’re going to be fighting with at Olive Garden.

 

 

I love click-baity titles. I try to use titles that will draw people in.  No, I DID not give an Uber driver a hand job. The only time I ever used Uber, I was in Portland with my 12-year-old. That would have been fucking awkward, as well as scarring him for life.

 

 

However, Troublemaker’s friend DID give HER Uber driver a handjob. It was quite the story.

Sorry, pervs. It’s not that kind of blog.

What do you think of click bait titles?

Is leaving dishes in the sink sometimes just LEAVING DISHES IN THE SINK?

Did you ever give an Uber driver a hand job?
Talk to me, I’m listening.
Join me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter so I can have friends without leaving the house.

This is what it feels like when it’s over and you have to feel it, every bit of it.

It feels like every corpuscle of blood is drained out of your body and you can’t move

or like your body is filled with shattered glass which stabs at your insides

and you can’t numb it, not with the usual suspects. Because you’re clean now, and you won’t throw that away this time.

 

This is what it feels like when you dream of them holding you

When in reality you never got to feel their arms around you, not once

and you feel so safe engulfed in their arms you weep bitterly when you wake

 

This is what it feels like when you can only remember that last phone call

And how you strained to say everything that needed to be said. And how impossible that was

The journey between you so complicated that by the time you get to this place

the twisted helix of your relationship snakes around and around until you end up

exactly where you were before

there is only so much that can be said in words

 

This is what it feels like to finally know you’re crazy.

Because when your neighbor found you in the street wild haired and barefoot

in pajamas and a tee shirt in 45 degree weather

she put you in her car and drove you home while you babbled that you just needed some air

But couldn’t tell her what day of the week it was.

She said you were in shock. which is the polite way of saying, “you are crazy.”

 

This is what it feels like when you try to remember the good times

And there were far less of them. Mostly you remember the bad

You struggle to remember that yes, there WAS love.

And you battle the ugly memories out of your brain because you want peaceful closure

Not anger. Not now. Not anymore

 

This is what it feels like when you try to etch out who you are

From what they made you into

You will not be that person. You are evolving into something much higher

You are only the product of what they did to you in that

it gave you a road map of what you will not be

 

This is what it feels like to not be a mother to your son

Ignoring his pain because you’re lost in your own

You hear him sobbing and can’t even go to him because you’re frozen in time

And you fail him.

Again.

 

This is what it feels like to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling

And tell yourself, THIS is where you will live now.

It’s really just a room in your brain but you have no reason to leave

Keep the shades drawn so the sun can’t get in and remind you that everyone else is still alive

After the sun goes down, pretend to sleep with the television left on all night long

Volume turned off

And replay your own series

of every time they hurt you or made you feel special. Sometimes simultaneously.

 

This is what it feels like when you can’t eat

Food tastes like ashes

So you drink tea

And wish it were Jack Daniels. At 8 am in the morning.

 

 

This is what it feels like when you’re cooking dinner for your kid

And planning his birthday party

That now he won’t get to have

And blasting the Black Keys

And dancing with him around the kitchen

And the phone rings

And your brother says

“mom just died.”

Out of nowhere. She wasn’t even sick.

This is what it feels like

It feels like

It feels.

 

It feels.

 

It feels.

 

I love you all for reading. But comments are closed
I can’t listen today. Another time, okay?