Oh Crap, Am I Ready for This? A Guy that Actually Speaks My Language?

So I mentioned some posts ago about a Luke Wilson look-alike. And, we’ve been dating for about a month. He is all the things that I wanted “Sippy Cup” to be. Attractive, outgoing, but most importantly, able to have a conversation with me.

And when I say, able to have a conversation with ME, I mean this… I’m most likely an undiagnosed ADD person. If I didn’t schedule my life out day by day, hour by hour, I would be lost. Seriously, I always write out a list before I leave the house for more than one day. If I don’t, well, I’ve ended up on a trip without pajamas and a shower cap because I left them folded right on the bed. That’s what happens when I try to do that list in my head…

So back to conversations… friends and family have learned… my conversations are not linear. I know they say women have more than one conversation going on at once already, but times that by about 3 and you’ll see the way my brain works. Right now typing this I am watching TV, planning my grocery list in my head (which I will have to write down later or I’ll forget half of those things) texting LW-lookalike, thinking about working out in the morning, and working on a poem. In conversation, I switch randomly between subjects, in the middle of conversation. Most likely I have connected one or two conversations together and just start in the middle. The one person in my life that has been able to follow that train of thought was my best friend Florida. No male ever has, not when I’m actually going full throttle and not even trying to stay at one point.

LW-lookalike could.

I fell instantly in lust with his brain.

Any guy that can on the spur of the moment add the next line to an idea of a poem that I’m writing in my head makes DT5’s panties just… is it raining? Raining in my pants? The forecast didn’t say anything about that.

An intelligent mind can trump good looks any day.

And then, after only 2 dates and a couple of weeks of talking and getting to know each other, he wants serious.

My first thought? “Too good to be true.”
My second thought? “Squeeeeee!”
My third thought? “Crap I need to phone a friend. Because I have no idea on how to move forward with this, other than to say: let me think about it.”

So, I did phone a friend, who told me that things were moving kind of fast and maybe dude was too needy. And I needed to make sure I wasn’t going to jump in just because I wanted a relationship. After that I looked into the dating/relationship books I’ve been reading to see what they’ve said. All conflicting.

And I looked inside myself. Did I want to be with this dude because I wanted a relationship and didn’t care who it was with? Was I just getting horny and since it’s been some kinda looooong time since sex and was just ready for the first guy that was passable?

And…

No. I wanted the look-a-like because of his mental smexiness… I had a small fantasy of being able to talk with him, to trade back and forth entertaining conversations until I was old and grey and my giggles and bits were shriveled.

So… I agreed to the terms of this new membership of one on one dating.

I changed my status to the online dating sites to “Seeing Someone.”

Frack, I’m in a real relationship.

There’s no need to keep it secret like some guys I’ve dated in the past. We don’t work together, he’s not in the middle of a divorce, and I’m not ashamed. He’s smart, a great kisser, and tells me I’m beautiful every chance he gets. And how much he enjoys my brain. He watches anime, and knows to answer 42 when you ask the most important question the universe.

Frack me, frack me, frack me.

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Um, yeah… I’d Rather You Had Herpes… and I May Be a Prude

I thought I was pretty open-minded when it comes to sexuality.

But nooooooope, I’m a prude when it comes to some things.

And that’s a very weird feeling for me…

I mean, in my past I’ve been pretty wild and freeloving. And even if it wasn’t something I wasn’t into, I would accept it of people I knew. Hey, as long as you weren’t raping or molesting (and by the way, animals can’t say no you weirdos) and everything was consensual, I wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

I must be getting old.

Because there’s a guy that knowing his situation makes it very hard for me to look him in the eye. And he makes my skin crawl.

Funny that I had a crush on him some months ago.

See, here’s the deal. I had one of those random attractions that I didn’t want and was doing my best to get rid of. You know how it is, some dude or dudette is not your type, you’d kind of feel ashamed if anyone knew and you just wanted the horror of your brain/attraction factor going wonky to STOP. There must have been pheromones involved. Because I finally broke it, but there was still a weird flutter. Until… The yuckiness factor.

Having a conversation one day with Mr. Not My Type led to him expressing that he was not single (still probably under the assumption that I was attracted, ugh). Instead, he (drunkenly) decided to tell me about his girlfriend. And her husband. And his girlfriend. And how they pretty much lived together.

I did what I do when I have no choice but to deal with a small child’s puke. Blank your mind DT5, this is NOT happening.

My inside face was like this. JUST LIKE THIS.

I managed to get out:

“Well, whatever floats your boat. If you’re happy, then good for you.” I am lying out of my bunghole!!!

He says “But it’s not. I’m ashamed, and want something better.” Dude, you just made my brain hurt on a day I was supposed to be enjoying myself.

See, here’s the deal. This is where my line is drawn and then underlined:

1. Call me old-fashioned but I believe in the sanctity of marriage.

2. “Love as thou will” is a philosophy that I live by. That means, as long as you’re not hurting yourself or others mentally/physically/emotionally. I got it from the book series Kushiel’s Dart. I have it tattooed on me. I live it.

And this guy is involved in something that hurts him. He says so. He is ashamed of his relationship. If they were all involved and saw nothing wrong, nothing to hide, then whoop-dee-frackin-doo. But they’re not. They are empty souls filling themselves with behaviors that excite the body, but do nothing for their hearts and spirits.

And I believe consensual caring sex to be one of the most spiritual acts you have. Yes, you heard me, good sex is right up there with getting the holy ghost. *Looks up* if I’m wrong, don’t worry, someone will correct me one day.

Anyways, I’m a prude. And I don’t want to know this information that dude friend has heaped upon me. And my crush was already gone though I still found him somewhat physically attractive. Now… Now it’s like if he came up to me and decided to mention to me that he has multiple STDs. He is the kind of guy I would touch with a ten foot pole. Even if I was drowning and that was the only way to save me. Even if there were sharks and crocodiles and clowns in that treacherous water. I’d just have to fight until my last breath.

The Death of a Disliked Family Member

I got into a car accident the day before yesterday. I think it may be karma beating my *ss.

 

See….

 

My uncle died the day before my accident.

And I could care less.

And I feel somewhat ashamed of that.

See, this man tortured and molested his siblings. He did drugs and even at one time was a pimp that prostituted his own cousin. He’d been in and out of jail, in and out of drug rehab programs.

His stint as a reformed preacher didn’t last long.

He beat the crap out of his sister’s children and who knows what else.

Some years ago when my son was staying with my mom (and I was away at training) I found out he was living there. That my mom was allowing him to stay, but the kids had to keep their doors locked at night. That she kept a bat for if he came in “crazy” off of alcohol and stolen/bought prescription drugs.

At my grandmother’s wake he stood on a pew and took pictures laughing as he put his baseball cap on her dead body.

“I gotta laugh or I’ll cry.” But he still did. From guilt of how he treated her and others that for better or worse were his family.

I’m praying that the funeral is during the week so that I’m not expected to show (can’t take the time off). I don’t want to have to show up, and pretend that I don’t feel relieved that my cousins don’t have to deal with a horrible excuse for a father.

I ashamed, but it doesn’t change anything. My eyes are dry. I can laugh and joke with people. I’ve only mentioned his passing to my son and my boss. My day has not stopped, or changed course.

Am I horrible? Or just being true?

Attack of the E-Ciggies; Fighting the Addictions

This is a long one….

(That’s what she said. Thank you inner 14-year-old boy. Now shut up.)

 

Recently, I’ve switched from my regular Newports to e-cigarrettes. Not those retarded meth/science experiment contraptions, but one of the brands that look like an actual cigarette. I have this awesome feeling that with this, I may be able to break away from the last addiction that’s held me for years.

See, I have an addictive personality combated by a stubborn one. And small addictions that may not have killed me, did give me have a hard time being who I really wanted to be in life.

I refuse to cosplay her, because this is one of my girl crushes… I just can’t do her any justice.

What do you do when you have a heavy smoking/ heavy drinking father, who of course is your role model of cool? It’s not like your mom is someone who you look up to early on, since she’s treated more like a Maid, housekeeper than your father’s wife, and your mother (and you assume what your father tells her is the word of God – that she’s not very smart and less than you).

I remember making a huge class project on the dangers of smoking, and my father smoking and laughing as I practiced my presentation for him. I remember plenty of times that he drove with way too many under his belt. The best times were during the day, him and I in the car, and having to take the wheel when he needed to juggle both cigarette and beer. And of course this was during the time when little kids rode in the front seat with no seat belt. Was I scared? Of course not. Eighties babies aren’t coddled punks like the children of today, pffft.

But with that beautiful example, along with catching my father and his friends snorting suspicious white powder, I couldn’t help but to think that this might be okay. I learned early on that just because you see dear old dad sniffing white powder, you should not try to emulate by sniffing baby powder up your nose when playing by yourself. That mess burns like the dickens! I learned just because ammo was left all around the house, you should not put vaseline on them and pretend they are lipstick while playing. Not because it did anything to me, but that’s just weird.

I also learned to ignore what the schools had taught me about smoking and drinking. Hey, my dad smoked like a chimney, and still had nice bright white teeth, and no cancer. Hmmm. So I picked up my first cigarette at 13. My dad left singles all over the house and would never miss it. I was home alone one weekend. I smoked a cigarette and got dizzy. Ooooh, I got a buzz. So of course, I wanted another. And another. I branched out when I could get black n milds. And then of course, the ghetto cousins came along with marijuana. Luckily for me (or unlucky) I could not deal with the high, and stopped doing it. When your friends are turning into demons and jumping out windows a room away, and cows nod their heads to music that is only in your head, well, yeah, you shouldn’t be smoking that ish.

But alcohol was easy, too easy. By 14 I could also pilfer my dad’s alcohol without him noticing. When my parents separated, and I lived with only my father, he was never home and I had an apartment to myself. And I would drink every morning before heading to school. And later… I would have nights like this:

Age 17, New Years Eve. Went out to the club with my cousin. Hadn’t ate all day except for a snack bag of Fritos. Started drinking wine and wine coolers by about 5pm. From there get to the club using a fake ID and drinking many (lost count) long island iced teas. Got so drunk that apparently my cousin dragged me away from the dance floor because I was surrounded by 3 or 4 guys and one has his hand up under my dress. Put on a bar stool at the bar. Too drunk to sit and fall on my face off the bar stool. Given warning by guard, puke right there by the bar. Dragged out by security and put by the door while I wait for my cousin to get her mom’s car. Puke again. Kicked completely out into the December weather in nothing but a skimpy dress. Cousin gets me in the car. On the way home think I’ve rolled down the window, but just puke some MORE all over the inside of the window and door of my aunts car. Dragged myself into my mother’s house to be told that I was just like my father.

But, that’s just teenage shenanigans. It didn’t get bad until I joined the military some years later.

The military lends itself to an alcoholic mentality, especially to the weak-willed. To those already dealing with self-esteem issues, with depression like I’ve dealt with since 13. And you’re sent out overseas away from all support that you used to have. I’m not blaming the military. I’m blaming my own personal weakness. Depression of being away from my toddler son, the responsibilities that I had, the world I knew, felt like it could easily be filled with alcohol and sex. It wasn’t teenage shenanigans anymore. It was waking up and having a drink before morning physical training formation. Coming back afterwards and drinking before starting the actual workday. Drinking during lunch, and heading out to a local bar after work. And rinse and repeat. I lost a lot of weight because I was probably on a 75 percent liquid diet. Who knows if it was more or less, I suck at math.

My best friend, who is known as Florida in these posts, went to our command to help me get help. And to people I tell the story to, it worked. For the depression anyway. For a couple of months anyway.

The alcohol phase for me didn’t really end until about 2 years later. When you black out and wake up in what you thought was a guy friend’s room, when that friend (that yes, was a friend’s w/ benefits guy) takes advantage of the fact that you’ve had way too many shots of 151. When you wake up and places hurt that shouldn’t because of things you hadn’t allowed when sober, you know you’ve reached a horizon.

After that, I did have one last long slip up with the horrible evil ex fiance whose name is never said in my presence. But I finally learned while breaking free of him that I was using alcohol as a crutch. I had to learn how to be myself without it.

But I never really gave up my cigs. For 2 years I tried, having crazier than normal dreams from Wellbutrin, chewing my way through a box of toothpicks satisfy my oral fixation. Heck, I was trying to abstain from sex at the same time too. It’s a wonder I didn’t lose my daggone mind.

But I went back right along. And years passed without me even thinking about trying. Even when my doctors tried to guilt trip me with my upped chances of cancer from my medical condition. Even as I got bronchial asthmatic more in the winter. I was stubborn… Screw it I’m going to die, dangit, I’m going to die doing whatever the frack I want to do.

If someone asked me today why I switched to the e-cigs, I have a whole bunch of canned answers. But honestly I got tired of being ashamed when someone sees me smoking for the first time and says “I didn’t know, you don’t look like a person who smokes.” I’m tired of being ashamed that I feel bad if I have to be close to a nonsmoker and they have to smell my leftover smoke funk. Or trying to spray and spritz the smell from my clothes and mouth before a date, or close talking. I’m not judging anyone for smoking, heck, I haven’t quit, I just switched a cleaner method.

But I tell you one daggone thing. I feel so much better about myself.

The Swirling Problem… or I Can’t Help The Flavor of Nookie?

I apologize for writing so much about dating lately… wait, no I don’t, pfffft. Almost everyone is always thinking about nookie whether it’s dating to get nookie, marrying to get nookie, cheating to get nookie, or just daydreaming about nookie. If you don’t think about nookie… there’s something wrong with the baby-maker between your legs. You should get it checked out. Moving on… something that has always been an issue of mine.. race and nookie:

Oh yeeeeeah!!!!!

It’s not that I dislike black men. I’ve dated plenty.

But I’m not really attracted to that many. It has nothing to do with attractiveness as a whole. I’ve dated wonderful black men. I dated horrible. I’ve dated good and bad white, Hispanic, Asian. I’m interracial and international with what attracts me. But mostly, it’s the peach crayon crowd that attracts me.

Its funny. I remember my first serious crush. The dude was very peach crayon with a mullet. A mullet, for cheezits sake! I think it was 1st grade. I can’t remember his name, so we’ll call him Redneck Jr. He probably wasn’t one, but that’s what we’ll call him.

 

Yeah… something like this… sweet baby Hey-soos.

So my school was mostly all peach, with a couple of chocolate drops like me dripped here and there. The same was for the neighborhood we lived in. So it was only natural to like the guys that my friends liked, which were very much not my color. And so Redneck Junior was my crush. But he didn’t like me. Not with all those blond hair blue-eyed (non-birth control glasses glasses up) peachy girls. And although that’s not the problem as much anymore, I still have a problem or 2.

Much like women who don’t have a gaydar and can’t tell when their best bud doesn’t want them out of their dress unless it’s so they can try it on, I don’t have a peach-dar. I have no clue when a guy is actually interested in me, except for the ugly guys. And when it comes to my peach crayon men, I’m as clueless as an Amish virgin in a whorehouse. Knowing the basics, but no finesse,and terrified of getting it all wrong.

At least that what I THINK an Amish virgin would feel like.

I’ve never hung around with any Amish dudes or chicks.

I should quit while I’m ahead.

Hmmm, guess they DO know how to party…

Anyway, case in point, I end up on a date with a dude I’ve known for probably 2 years. And I just found out that he’d been attracted to me the whole time, and I was completely missing the cues. But he was a dog anyway, and that one date was one enough.

It should be mandatory for me that guys have to put it in writing that they find me attractive. In plain words too. I’d hope I’d get the hint then.

Problem 2 is that I become a complete basket case trying to make the first move if I do find someone attractive and really want to see if we’re on the same wavelength. Because my peach-dar is on the frizz, I end up having to do this a lot. Which means nothing gets done. Much like cleaning my house. I have no idea why, but it feels like getting turned down by another race is even worse. It’s like, instead of just staying in the safe pool, you decide that maybe your swim skills are good enough to go surfing. During a hurricane. With one arm tied behind your back. So I punk out. Me, fearless dimensionthe5th who drop kicks fear in the throat usually.

I have come close to anxiety attacks on this. But I’m adamant about trying because, what if I let a good guy get away? Why can’t I just make sure at least that HE knows I’m interested? Well that kind of goes against my new lease on dating life through self-help books (ugh, no shame DT5, no shame!). Relationship gurus say like Confucious, man must make first move or leave woman’s goodies dry. I don’t like dry. And… I’m rambling.

I’ve recently had a date with a dude that looks like Luke Wilson’s broke cousin from Iowa. Which means he’s quirky and adorable. The cool thing about online dating is that I don’t really have to suffer for my lack of peach-dar. So I can meet generic Luke Wilsons. Yay!

Droooooool at non fluffyfied Luke Wilson… I always thought he was the sexier brother… well, as long as he doesn’t look like he’s smuggling a picnic in his cheeks and gut :-p

 

Now, throw some generic Morris Chestnut in there and then no one can complain that I’m discriminating.

Mmmm, now that is one chocolatey nut I would mind… um, ahem… let’s just keep those thoughts inside 😉

I’m a Dating Alien… but not dating aliens

So I’ve been reading a lot, I mean A LOT of dating books. I tend to read the ones written by men, because seriously, another chick? She probably only THINKS she knows how men think. Just like the assumption I was under. I’ve realized after many of these books kept saying the same daggone thing, that I’ve been going about things 50% wrong. I wasn’t completely dense, but I was allowing my emotions to rule me.

Take the mistakes of the Sippy Cup situation (read here: http://wp.me/p2Jfjv-5p). That’s pretty much the last time I really wrote. And things went fine for a while. A very short while. But I made the mistake first of showing just how pretty Sippy Cup was to me. And then the second mistake was involving sensuality to early. Not to say that I went and had sex with him. But we started sexting pretty early on. Hey, my mind is in the gutter 24/7, and I tend to forget that not everyone lives there along with me. If they don’t, you just kind of come off as hard up and easy pickings apparently.

So he seemed to lose interest suddenly. And I made my 3rd mistake: asking about it. Doing the oh so girly lame “what did I doooooooo?” The “I really like yoooooou and I know I just met you but I’ve become an idiot and put all my eggs in one basket because you’re hot and funny.”

Slap yourself DT5. Slap yourself hard.

It wasn’t in those exactly, but I know I came off as a needy heffa, in texts no less. Sigh. Pffft. But you gotta move on. And I had to understand the basics of what I was doing wrong. I don’t want to play games, but I wanted to make sure I had clear in my mind when to put a chokehold on my impulse control and word vomit superpowers. With those great powers come great responsibility. And my responsibility is not to spit acid onto every possible relationship. Aw, look Ma, I’m learning!

I still feel somewhat of an alien though. Sippy Cup, although hot wasn’t what I wanted, he was the idea of what would be best for me. In reality… I’m always more turned on by the quirky underdog. The guy that may not be attractive in the general populace’s eyes. That’s when I’ve had the most fun, most comfortable relationships in the past. So no more being blinded by the num num men. Because as soon as the give me the confused dog look when I ask the meaning to “life, the universe, and everything” instead of just answering 42, I need to beat feet.

I’m back with some BS: Defamation of my Muthafrackin Character

So, work has been like insane asylum with the furlough situation. And on top of that, I haven’t felt my best. Maybe because we’ve been working with no air conditioning on and off during this stupid record heat. And now that it’s over, I can get back to the posting.

I was sick to my stomach about a month or so ago. But it wasn’t physical. It was straight up mental/emotional. And maybe I make too big of a deal with things, but I’m a overanalyzer. This is my sin.

Anyway, I’m minding my own business, having a meh week at work. Honestly it was crappy. I blame hormones and the AC being out. You’d think the military could get ish fixed in a sufficient amount of time, but no. So no sleep and no AC in 100 degree weather makes Dimensionthe5th a very grouchy kitty. And its Friday. All I want for Friday is Hector the couch and a bottle of Riesling. What do I get: gossip. Rumors. About me and my very married male boss.

I could care less about those that want to talk about me. People always want to talk about others, especially if you don’t share anything but the superficial. And military guys and gals gossip worse than a sewing circle in BumFrack, Nowheresville. But, I truly got upset about this.

Why? Because, for one thing, if someone thinks I’d mess with my supervisor who is very happily married that means they think I have no morals. What’s the icing on the cake is apparently they assumed this because we seemed very close and everyone knows I date only white guys.

Exqueeze me? No, I don’t. I date whatever race attracts me at the time. AND, since no one in that building has seen any of my ex boyfriends, where the frack do they get this nonsense from. Is it because of my anime/sci-fi/comic book hobbies? Not chocolatety enough for them right?

Or maybe it’s because I speak proper English, and don’t like BET and shows like Real Housewives of Atlanta and The Game. Heck, the only reason I know the names of the shows is because of friends/family members talking about it.

The other thing that punctures my frackin pickle is that this dude just had a child with his wife. A newborn. We’d have to be some pretty unsavory characters to do something like that. And yes, I know there are many that do. Heck my own aunt slept with my dad while my mom was pregnant with me and IN THE HOUSE. Said aunt shall now be known as Hobacca. But no matter how strongly Hobacca and I look-alike, I am not her. Sure, I did my stupid sleeping with the wrong guy when I was still a wet behind the ears/ not even legal drinking age hot pants hoochie mama. But guess what, I grew up, got out of my depression, worked on my self-worth, and became an adult. So no. I don’t feel like I’m overreacting to the rumor. I can’t find out who first said it and spread it, but I did tell the person who let me know about it just how angry I am. That if they have so many questions about my personal life and want to know who’s between my legs… That if inquiring minds want to frackin know, they know where to find me. Bastards.