In the Land of Losers: Vol 2

Yup, there are more of these guys out there. So now it’s mid-February and, due to kid-weekends, plus spending a “free” (non-kid) weekend with the Flu, it’s my first weekend out since the night involving Ass Grab Loser (from my last post). And it’s Girls’ Night Out. (*For those of you who’ve been following my story, my annulment had just come through. I got the letter in the mail on Monday, January 30. By the following Friday night I was sick as a dog. I watched the Superbowl that weekend, popping Tamiflu. I never get sick. I think – and my therapist agrees – that I was so relieved to have the annulment come through that I “relaxed” all my defenses… and got sick. Also, I’ve had a bit of a life-change, due to the fact that my 20 y.o. son began living with me, full-time, in January. I love him with all my heart, but it’s been a bit of an adjustment. More on all this in another post. Back to February….)

A new gf had invited a bunch of us to karaoke night at a local dive bar. As long as I don’t have to sing, I’m in. (GNO! Woohoo!) There are pool tables at this place, and I learn that my gf is a bit of a shark. Now, I’m no shark, but I enjoy pool, so I’m down for a game or two. Despite having recently been sick, I’ve managed to “clean up” decently – black tee, skinny jeans, black moto jacket, black boots, messy hair. I’m totally ready for a fun night with the girls. Early on, my gf points out a guy who she thinks is kind of hot – the one in the red shirt. He’s playing shuffleboard at a table adjacent to our pool table, and she’s flirting with him when she’s down there, taking a shot from that side. I check him out – he is totally not my type. For starters, he’s a bit too old for me – maybe in his late 50s, early 60s. And he has a beard. But she’s into him. C’est la vie, c’est l’amour. Okay, cool – I will totally be her wing-chick. But first, I need a drink. I go to the bar, wait five minutes in line, get a drink, and return. The game begins.

According to a recent study, most women seem to prefer men with facial hair. I am not one of those women.

When it’s my turn to go down to that side of the pool table to take my shot, the red-shirted guy says hey, and then comments on my pool-stance in a friendly/flirty way. I laugh and tell him that’s because I have no idea what I’m doing – but she does (I point at my gf). Then I focus, take my shot, miss (of course), and go back to the other side of the table. About five minutes (and two of her sunk-balls) later, I go back down the table to take another shot. Again, Red Shirt comments on my “sexy” pool-stance. (I’m wearing boots and have to lean over the table to take my shot.) His comments make me uncomfortable, as (a) I’m not trying to be sexy (I’m trying to win!), and (b) he seems to be flirting with me, and I haven’t “put anything out there” toward him – my gf has. So I take my shot, straighten up, and loudly declare how I don’t really know what I’m doing, but my friend is such an amazing player. “In fact,” I say to him, “she’s our queen!” I feel good about this, and the game goes forward in this fashion, with me continuing to “throw sunshine” (opposite of throwing shade, right?) at my gf, and she sinking all of her balls, plus the 8-ball shortly thereafter. Game over.

I take a break to go to the bar. I wait another five minutes in line, finally get a drink, and return. A pair of younger guys (late-20s/early 30s) approach us and want to play. My gf says sure, but let’s do doubles, so she splits us up into partner-teams. (“Um, hello? I’m not that good…?”) The game starts.

The young guys are relaxed and funny, and I’m actually playing well. Fortunately, I’m paired with the guy who is the better player of the two, and we’re having a lot of fun (i.e. winning). About halfway through the game, I’m down on the shuffleboard side of the table, and Red Shirt guy saunters over. He leans over while I’m taking a shot.

“Must be a real feather in your cap to have those younger guys hitting on you, eh?”

Huh?!?

Sooooo many things wrong with that, dude…!

It’s one of those WTF moments, where several answers are sparring in my brain to get to be said: everything from defensive: “They’re not actually hitting on us, we’re all just having fun,” to condescending: “Oh, sugar, you  have no idea – I get hit on by 20-somethings all the time, in the most obnoxious ways!” to defensive (again): “I’m not actually into younger guys. In fact, they’re a turnoff for me, because I’m a mom,” to angry/offensive: “‘Must be a real feather in my cap?’ Oh, really? Must it? Because you know what’s in my head?!?” to incredulous/affronted: “Are you seriously going to sit here and give me passive-aggressive attitude, and pout about how I’m not flirting back with you, and in the meantime pass up the chance to get to be with my beautiful-fun-feisty gf, who, for God-knows-what reason, actually likes you?” I run the gamut from wanting to explode to wanting to smack this guy. Instead, I take a breath, decide this guy’s not worth it, and go the least-incendiary route with my response:

“It’s the mom-vibe. Younger guys pick up on it and feel comfortable around me.”

Oh, snap! I’ve just been modest and put him in his place at the same time. Double-snap! (Maybe that’s not hip anymore, but it fits.)

I walk away and don’t even know if the guy exists for the rest of the evening. The next night I tell my gf what he said, and she is then sooooo glad she didn’t waste extra energy on him, either. Hey, Red Shirt Loser Guy: if this were a Star Trek episode, you’d have died off with no one to mourn you. Maybe consider revamping your attitude – on life, and on women.

In the Land of Losers: Vol 1

t-shirt - inappropriate

I’ve been told (by a young, gay man, whom I absolutely adore) that I need to spice up my life. Oh, sugar – if you only knew. Here’s just one example of what I’ve been dealing with, in the interim since my last blog post, months ago….

So I muddle my way through Christmas, and it’s January. I’m stir-crazy. I go to a club to party with a Meetup group I’ve been to before. The theme is “Inappropriate T-shirts,” and — oh, boy — they are. Everything from “I heard what you did for a Klondike bar. (Call me!)” to “Are you tighter than a 5th grader?” Yeah, some of the t-shirts went there, and then some. That was the point, though, right? Inappropriate. (My own shirt, “CAKE,” was mild by comparison, I thought, but when I told the guys what it stood for they shifted uncomfortably and moved away. Conversely, when I told the women, they threw their arms around me, told me they loved me, and said they wanted a shirt like that of their own. Hmm…. )

cake t-shirt

So the night moves forward. There’s a t-shirt winner (who literally brought my gf to tears, that’s how offended she was by the shirt), and there’s dancing. The DJ was great. Of course I hit the floor.

So I’m dancing with a bunch of other people from the Meetup group, including this one guy, whom I’d met that night. Actually, I think I vaguely remembered him from a previous Meetup, but whatever. I wasn’t into him, I just wanted to dance. If he did, too, great.

So we’re all dancing, and I’m feeling the pulse, dancing with everyone around me. The song shifts, and I’m facing this guy, shimmying along with the beat. All of a sudden, out of the blue, he reaches his arms around me…

and double-fist grabs my ass

Huh….??? Um, wait a minute, did that guy just…?

In the space of a sharp intake I mentally reassessed: yeah, he’d just full-on taken a swift, two-palmed, very large squeeze.

Double-huh…!!!???!!!

I immediately jerked backward, away from him — stunned, but in a confused way. My brain was still trying to keep the happy-vibe from a second earlier. Whoa! This guy doesn’t even know me, and we’re in public! He just did that in front of all these people! WTF?! Does he think that’s okay? He wasn’t American (he had an accent), so I tried to rationalize that maybe that behavior was copacetic in his world. Did I send some sort of “wrong” signal? No, I totally wasn’t into him, so I’d been careful not to “put that out there.” I’d just been dancing. WTF?!!? In the moment, though, I was so baffled, I wasn’t even allowing myself to get angry. There had to be some logical explanation; I just hadn’t figured it out.

I tried to keep dancing. Didn’t work. My night was ruined. I stopped dancing shortly thereafter and left. But — me being me, and the slow-emotional-processor that I am — it took me until the next day for me to realize I was downright pissed at this guy for treating me like an object, like a piece of meat. I wished I’d have realized it then, when it happened, and caused a scene. I wish I’d screamed and yelled and called him out on his demoralizing, disrespectful behavior. I wished I’d punched him, that’s how angry I was in retrospect.

But I didn’t.

I never manage to figure these things out “in the moment.” *sigh!* And since then I haven’t even had the nerve to tell the leader of the Meetup group, whom I know fairly well, that this happened. What would be the point? I’m afraid of coming across as a whiny, overly-sensitive female. And what would he do about it, anyway? Say he was sorry it happened? (He probably would. He’s a nice guy. But he uses the group partly as a way to market his business, and I don’t want to make waves for him.) So I just chalk another line on the “Genuine Losers I’ve Met” side of the board. Oh, this side of the board has so many stories to tell…!

I saw Ass-Grab Loser at another Meetup event about a month later, and he seemed to actually not realize that he’d done anything wrong. In fact, he seemed to not even recognize me at first, but then came over and apologized for not recognizing me. Whatever. I told him it was fine and then blew him off. But that night, any time I had to pass near him, I made sure to circle around far out of reach. Ugh!

 

Repeat Offender: A(nother) Walmart Story

CTJJ5N Front view of a Walmart supercentre store exterior sign logo Ontario Canada  KATHY DEWITT. Image shot 05/2012. Exact date unknown.

I don’t always get hit-on at Walmart, but I don’t get hit-on anywhere else. Must be the lighting.

Last weekend I got hit-on at Walmart again. I was standing there, trying to figure out if I should climb on the bottom shelf to try to reach the last 2 jars of marshmallow fluff on a higher shelf, all the way in the back. (I need marshmallow fluff for the fudge I make every Christmas.) Out of nowhere this guy comes up next to me, touches my arm in a familiar/flirting way, and says in a low voice, “Excuse me, are you married?” Whaaaa…??

creepy-gjyI instantly recoiled and stumbled a few steps back. “I’m divorced,” I mumbled. But I also remember thinking, Who are you? Why is my marital status any of your business? Then I turned and got a good look at him: he was a guy who’d hit on me exactly a year before, in the same store!

He kept talking. “That was my son I was with back there.” I gave him a blank look. (I vaguely remembered passing him and a younger guy a moment before, but I didn’t feel like adding any fuel to the idea that I might have actually “noticed” him, or that I was interested in anything other than finishing my shopping.) Undeterred, he continued: “I saw you walk past, and I said to my son how beautiful you were, and he said I should go talk to you.”

“Uh–.”

He then launched into the same story he’d told me a year earlier, about how his wife had walked out him 20 years ago, and he’d been a single father all this time. He talked (again) about how hard it was to be a single dad, having to do all the cleaning, all the mopping, all the household chores all alone, and how he was looking for someone to share the everyday part of life with – pretty much the exact same sob-story he’d

THIS is what you want!

No, not a girlfriend. THIS is what you want!

told me then, too. I wanted to tell him to google Merry Maids, but bit my tongue. (And he kept bringing up mopping – must have mentioned it at least three times. Why doesn’t he just get a mop-version of a Roomba?)
Clearly he didn’t remember me. Maybe I should’ve been offended. Instead, I was just relieved. All I wanted to do was get away from him, because he was giving me the creeps, just like a year ago. As soon as he let me speak, I said, “Sorry, I’m not in a place where I’m dating right now. Good luck finding whoever you’re looking for.” And went on my way.

I never did get that marshmallow fluff....

I never did get the marshmallow fluff….

The Rules #11: If it’s Plug-and-Play, it isn’t a real relationship. It’s you, avoiding yourself.

 

the-rules-11-post-divorce

This one might seem a bit harsh. Oh, well. (Sorry?) I’ve got nothing new going on in my life, so I’m back to dishing out my own perspective. (On the other hand, I’ve got a few blog posts backed up inside me. Time to get them out. 😉 ) On this Rule I gotta say, I’ve met a lot of guys in the above boat, and I just don’t understand it. How can anyone go from a long-term marriage, straight into another “big relationship” with no serious, personal-assessment period? Okay, yeah, I know – everyone jumps into the water and “dates” right after divorce. It’s kind of a rite of passage. But going right into the next long-term thing, no downtime, like it’s plug-and-play? No way. If you don’t stop and figure out what went wrong, and admit that you’ve changed, you’ll make the exact same mistakes as before. Simple math, right? (This is why I won’t even give a second thought to dating guys who are separated, and not yet divorced. Tried that once – got fooled into it – thought he was divorced, at first. Tried to be open-minded. Turned out to be a bad situation.) The point is: something was f-u-n-d-a-m-e-n-t-a-l-l-y wrong in your marriage, and you’ve got to figure out why you went down that road. And also: what road do YOU want to take in the future? (i.e. Who are you? Hard question, I know!)

Full disclosure: I’ve got a bit of a personal stake in believing that this is all correct and true. I was “replaced” before my divorce was even final. It stung. *understatement* And they’re still together. All in all, I don’t really care – we weren’t right for each other, among other things. My ego, however, would like to believe that it would’ve taken more time for someone to whom I was faithfully married for 22 years to get over no longer having me in his life. Guess I didn’t really impact him that much. Or… maybe he’s like those other guys I’ve met, who haven’t ever woken up and stopped to figure out who they are, and plug-and-play is the easy way to avoid doing the tough, uncomfortable work of taking a long, hard look at yourself. Hmmmm….?

I may never know the answer to what was in my ex’s head. But I’ve taken the long, winding path to figuring out what’s in mine. And I’d be lying if I told you I hadn’t changed as a result. I’m a different person now than I was, on the path that led to my divorce. Hugs to my fellow truth-seekers; peace to those of you still struggling to wake up – fight for it, even when you’re scared. You’re worth it! 🙂

“Oh, no – I read your blog! I’ve got this!” (and other quick updates)

Quick updates:

1) Well, color me Wrong! about my election predictions from my last post – wow!

2) It’s now been more-than two months since the judge (from my Catholic annulment process) has had my case. Even my spiritual adviser is like what the heck? I give up.

3) Multiple guy “friends” (who also seem to want to be more-than) continue to text, but at a lesser-rate. This is a good thing: means my point is getting across that I don’t want to date.

Nothing more fun than realizing you’re training passive-aggressive puppets.

4) My blog-readership is up. I’m not sure this is a good thing. I had a number of guys over the past few months (as I was edging my way out of dating) who insisted on doing a few things, like buying me a drink (when I didn’t even want one) or paying the bill, because, “Oh, no – I read your blog! I’ve got this!” Ugh. Nothing more fun than realizing you’re training passive-aggressive puppets, eh? (No, this is not all of the men in my life. Just a few, who’ve literally said those words to me. Maybe that was a good thing, though: helps me separate out my true friends from the ones who just see me as a challenge they want to overcome.)

5) I’m almost through D-day week (4 years, now) and I’ve only had minor “echoes” – just some overall panicky feelings, and general “down-ness.” But it’s way better than last year, which was better than the year before (and obviously light-years better than the year before that!).

6) My PTSD has calmed down a lot, too. This is probably largely due to the fact that I’m working really hard at avoiding drama in my life, which basically means I don’t have a life. But still: the positives. 🙂 However, PTSD is something I will always have, and once in a while it lets me know it. Several weeks ago I woke up in the middle of the night: the wind was blowing, hard. It was making that awful whooooooh! sound in the eaves of my building – and I’d left my windows open. In addition to the wind, my vertical blinds clattered, and my bedroom door shook. The noise had reached my subconscious, and I’d woken terrified and shaking. (My kids were even home with me that night.) I managed to reach a level of cognizance that I realized what was going on – that I was having a PTSD reaction to the sound – but I was too scared to get out of bed and shut the darned windows. Eventually, somehow, maybe a combination of sleepy-logic and the wind calming down, I managed to fall back asleep. Good thing we’re getting into winter and I have to keep the windows shut. 😉

7) I still haven’t found my soul directive. Still searching for that one. I feel like I’m in limbo with so many other things in my life – my annulment, my financial situation (still have so much divorce-debt, and still can’t support myself without the alimony from my ex – hate that!), my apartment (will I stay here or move when my lease comes up again in March? Can I even afford to move?) – and nothing clear is coming to the surface. Oh, sure, in my head I want to be a writer, full-time. I know I’d love that. But my heart isn’t speaking to me about any of the storylines that I’ve either (a) got in the hopper, or (b) that are WIPs. I don’t know what my heart wants anymore.

The only good-looking, single guys at Mass… are seminarians.

8) And finally: I’ve accepted the fact that I will not meet a hot guy at church. This is because, first of all, guys only go to Mass because either their mom makes them or their wife makes them, depending on their age. Beyond that, the only good-looking, single guys at Mass… are seminarians. Yeah: the guy-pool at church is a lose-lose situation. Whatever. (I’m not dating. I’m not dating. I’m not dating.) Doesn’t even matter.

Things That Won’t Make Me Popular: #1 – My 2016 Election Conspiracy Theory

election-2016It’s not a secret that I’m not a fan of voting. I deliberately did not register to vote when I moved back to Colorado in 2012, I advocate against it, and encourage people, instead, to go give blood. (You will save up to three lives with one blood donation, whereas if you vote, it will mean nothing, because the system is a big setup to pacify the masses and make them think they’re making a difference.) But I’ve had this new theory since before Trump won the primaries, and the people with whom I’ve shared it have grudgingly admitted that it might hold water.

It begins in the ’90s. Remember Whitewater? The land-fraud scandal that rocked the (Bill) Clinton administration? People had begun mysteriously dying around D.C., including James McDougal, who had been in jail suffering the brunt of the heat from something that also implicated the Clintons. But before he could testify, James suffered a fatal heart attack. There were widespread rumors that James’s wife, Susan, had had an affair with and was still in love with Bill. The Monica Lewinsky-thing was also happening at the same time. Bill’s presidency was going down in flames. And then there was Vince Foster – remember him? He was a D.C. insider who reportedly knew some dirt on Bill, and he was also allegedly Hillary’s lover. Then he suddenly turned up dead, under “mysterious circumstances.” [This part is all true, or else was rumored to be true at the time. I didn’t make any of that up. This next bit is where I start to fill in the blanks with my theory:]

So anyway, people are dropping like flies to cover up Bill’s illegal crap, but there are a few people Bill can’t kill. Like his own wife. That would’ve been way too obvious. However, Hillary was pissed: why did all of Bill’s lovers get to live – even Susan McDougal, who knew as much about Whitewater as her husband had – but Hillary’s one dalliance had to be among the “offed”? She threatens to divorce Bill, which would mean she could then be forced to testify against him. So Bill makes a deal: he’ll get Hillary the one thing she really wants. Power, of the Oval Office-type. Using his leverage and popularity, he first helps her score the Senate seat. But when they go for the Big Cheese, in 2008, they get blocked by Obama. So they change tactics. They call in a favor from their good friend Donald Trump. [It’s widely accepted that Trump was good friends with the Clintons, and that he’d even donated money to Hillary’s campaign in the past.] Trump’s job is to divide the Republican party, thus blocking any “real” contender from swimming to the top. He does this, successfully, by making a complete clown-show of the race. (Anyone disagree?) He manages to divide the party enough to win the nomination, and has now proceeded to say the most outrageous things – always at a time when Hillary seems to be getting negative press. But Trump is a straw candidate, so that’s his job: to make Hillary look good. Or at least like the lesser of two evils.

This is not a true election – not with only one actual candidate. It’s a game for Trump – a bored billionaire, who is helping his friends, whom he wants to win. It’s a joke, orchestrated for years, at the highest level. Even Trump has now started shouting about the system “being rigged.” Is he saying this to deter us from what we all already suspect is true? Well, he would know. If Trump wins this election, it will prove my theory wrong. If Hillary wins…. well, I won’t be surprised.

Him

Friday night I met him. Him. He’s everything, the whole package: tall, strong, kind of has a Channing Tatum thing going on in the looks department (I think – can’t remember his face, exactly). He’s ex-military, very smart, and it was like I’d known him my whole life. Everything just felt so comfortable. And then he picked me up into his arms and flew me to a mountaintop…. Oh, yeah – did I mention that he has a superpower?

And that I met the man of my dreams… in an actual dream? *insert innocent-grin emoji*

But it felt so real. I mean, I really felt his presence….

In the dream I had a superpower too — can you guess what mine was?

dash-incredible

I thought this was the superpower I wanted…

I often ask the question, “If you could have one power in the entire super-verse of powers, what would it be? My own answer is always super-speed: I love the idea of being able to get so much more done in a day. But in the dream, my power turned out to be force fields. Reflecting on this later, I realized that many of the guys I’ve dated since my divorce would probably say this was a no-brainer, but it had honestly never occurred to me before. (Isn’t the subconscious great?) In fact, after a recent

violet-incredible

…turns out this one is. Okay, cool. I can work with this.

date, one guy later told me that when he’d gone to hug me (I was pretty sure he was going to try to kiss me), I’d thrown up my walls so fast and hard, he said, “it would’ve hurt less if you’d slapped me.” Oops. (Sort of.) The other reason the force field superpower makes sense is because my overriding drive is to be safe. And let’s face it: paranoia only gets you so far. 😉

Anyway, I remember being securely in his strong arms, nuzzled against his neck while we flew. Even his scent was… safe. Shortly, my guy landed us on a grassy expanse on a mountaintop. It was beautiful – a crisp, clear day, the sky a vibrant blue. There was some church group on a camping trip in the distance. Suddenly, a 2-person plane crested a ridge on the far side of the plateau. Its engine sputtered once and cut. Silence. Then the plane dropped. A second later it crashed on the mountaintop.

Right next to a group of children from the church group.

mountaintop-james-peak-wilderness-cropped

The hideous, metallic groan vibrated in my ears as I watched in horror (completely forgetting I had force field powers which could’ve protected everyone), while the lone adult overseeing the kids tried to shield them. Then my mom-instincts kicked into overdrive. I tried to run for the kids, but He held me back, just for a moment. He was concerned about protecting me, keeping me away from the dangerous fuselage. But we both knew we had to help. He released me, and I bolted straight for the kids, while he darted to rescue the plane’s two passengers.

Then I woke up.

We’d never kissed (my lips may have brushed his neck while he was flying 😉 ), I didn’t know his name, and can’t even remember for sure what he looked like – just an impression. But I had the biggest, stupidest smile on my face for the rest of the morning. *sigh!* (In case you’re wondering, I also knew we’d succeeded in saving everyone – it was a happy dream.)

So this, apparently, is what/who I’m holding out for. Since my dream was perfect, I didn’t have to do anything threatening, like deal with emotions, or worry about trust. I wonder how that would’ve gone down. I also wonder what his flaws are, since I was so terribly interested in him, and in real life I’d be bored-to-tears by someone who was flawless. (Besides, everyone knows that all decent superheros have serious character flaws, which they’re constantly trying to overcome.)

But still, I don’t think I’ll ever have a more perfect first date. 🙂