Relationship Stupidity Disease… Do We Have a Drug For That?


I’ve been enjoying my new relationship. And being a completely disgusting loveydovey couple with the Luke Wilson look-a-like. But when moving forward, sometimes you have to look back at your past just a bit…


Relationship stupidity should be an actual disease. I mean, if we’ve gotten to the point in America to call obesity a disease, why can’t we do it for those that let themselves become verbally, mentally, and physically abused all for the sake of a relationship? I may be on the right track now with much soul-searching, self-improvement, and self-study, but I WAS an absolute mess… with no clue how to get out. Some call that growing up. I call it the Evil Ex fiance and the nightmare years.


The other day I was going through boxes of stuff in my guest bedroom… things I hadn’t opened in many years. I came across a letter about 10 years old. I remember that back then I liked to write things out before discussing them (you know, before you could write out and rewrite a text message before pressing SEND).

This is not my hand. For one it is not chocolatey. And… my fingernails and polish are so much more awesomer 😛


The conversation that I needed to have with the Evil Ex shows just how naive, mentally abused, and under his control I was.


Here in all it’s cringeworthy glory:


“Evil Ex,

I have no clue as to why you are upset with me. Why you decided that you couldn’t even sleep in the same bed with me. What did I do last night to piss you off? I was a little drunk, but I don’t remember saying or doing anything. All I was trying to do is what you wanted. You’ve kept saying that you wished I would drink because I’m more fun when I’m drunk. But still it seems I did something wrong. Every time I try to do what you want, I do it wrong by your standards, or you change your mind about what you wanted. I am constantly trying to live up to your expectations, your ideals, but I keep coming up short. And then you can’t talk to me, look at me, because I’ve hurt or pissed you off in some way. But when you hurt me, somehow I always end up comforting you because you feel bad. If I mess up, you close yourself off from me like I make you sick.

Is this how it’s going to be? Someone constantly telling me I’m not good enough… oh excuse me, not being the best YOU know I can be> Tell me this: do you ever comfort me when I’m hurt? Or do you just turn it around and say that you’re hurting more than me. You want control. To dominate someone. I just want to love and be loved. Can’t we see eye to eye on anything? Can’t you just love me?”


*gagging sounds*


There are days I want to go back and slap myself into an alternate reality. And other days all I can do is thank the heavens at how far I’ve come. But the mental/emotional abuse I received from the so-called man who would make me write such a childish crazy letter… well, this letter was just a drop in the bucket of crazy, and not my fun natural crazy. He preyed on my insecurities, my youth (Evil Ex was old enough to be my father), my introverted-ness, my want of a relationship, companionship. He used my secrets against me instead of holding them as a gift that I shared with him. He took my issues with women from a childhood molestation and tried to live out his fantasies and fetishes as a way for me to “let go of the past”. He took my beliefs, ideas, and personal studies on submissiveness and what it meant to me, and twisted it into having complete control over what I wore, who I talked to, the decisions I made, my life. And he took my ongoing depression and exploited me and my feelings and my sanity until my family didn’t recognize me.


Do I blame him for everything? No, I actively pursued him and ignored all the warning signs. I was still learning what a real relationship should be like and thought he would work because he wasn’t the “type” I had in the past. But those rose-tinted glasses of like/love/lust had me to the point of cutting myself to escape the pain of dealing with a twisted relationship. And I couldn’t figure out how to get out. I couldn’t just break up with him, he’d sit in my parking lot, constantly calling until I talked to him… and accepted him back. Somehow that behavior made me believe he truly loved me. Until the cycle of “you must do what I say to make me happy” began again.


So…. I ran. I had a job related offer/excuse and I took it and ran. I knew that if I stayed in the same vicinity I might let weakness and loneliness keep those rose-tinted glasses on my visage of what was really real.


Now, I use my experience to talk to friends/ acquaintances that may be headed for, or have experienced the same thing if I can. And I’ve been pretty good at running the other way from any men that give me the vibe of the Evil Ex. I dodged a bullet in more ways than one. No lasting damage really… except the scars to my soul. But hey, you haven’t really lived until you have battle scars to prove what you’ve survived.


I threw the letter away. I don’t need it to remember where I will never let myself go again.



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 😉

Here’s Another Dribble of Poetry: Stalemate

Again, here’s a bit of poetry that I’m not sure I want people who know me to know about. Just a-writing out my frustrations with relationships. Pffft, I mean the absence of relationships.


By dimensionthe5th

I play a game in my head
Where I’m not gun-shy
Or unafraid of getting my feelings trampled
Even though I can barely make eye-contact
Without stuttering when it comes to attraction

I play a game
That I am confident in my romantic thoughts
When it’s more bumbling cowardice
You never know until you try
But over the years…
Trying has become so hard
Bloody inside emotions
Battered, never completely healing

My heart may never again be
Pure and Green like a spring blooming

It wants what it wants
But doesn’t want the hassle
The trial and error
The re-dos
Of feeling out the other hearts motivation
Of hoping not to go down in the flames of lust, love, and like

Can’t live without it,
But can’t live with more disappointment
So instead
A miserable stalemate rules

Smexy Times and Sugar, both bad, but oh so tasty!

So today after work was spent running around trying to get some replacement pieces to my costume for the anime convention I’m heading to tomorrow. *Sigh* Another downside to being extra curvy, couldn’t comfortably fit into the costume I ordered. Luckily, the alternative I found is actually more comfortable than the one I bought, even if it had fit right. I’m going as Medusa from Soul Eater. It looks soooo awesome. The Monster Teen is going to be rocking out in a full Ezio costume from Assassin’s Creed. We are proud geeks and our flag is gonna wave HIGH tomorrow!!! Lets see how much fun my back can take without me falling to pieces in pain. Percocet is my friend, Flexeril is my friend. Rinse and repeat. Anyways, on to what’s been bothering me lately.

I miss smexy times. Not enough to leg hump the nearest male, but my hand gets a work out *waggles eyebrows* if you know what I mean. I just hate the baggage that comes with it. Smexy times without a valid relationship doesn’t work for me. When you literally get sick to the stomach from a 1-nighter in your young and dumb years, you learn never to do it again. And that your conscience is a strong evil monster.

So I can’t have smexy time without a relationship. And a relationship that I feel is actually going somewhere. I made a mistake a couple of months ago of smexin with a friend I thought could be something more. Though I don’t regret it, I do. Yeah, doesn’t make sense, but I have no other way to explain it. Before that, I hadn’t been with someone for a loooong time. We’re talking more than months. And that last relationship wasn’t a good choice either. Never go backwards to a relationship that’s ended, is usually my motto, but there’s one man who I let back into my heart over and over. He trashed it plenty of times (after I first trashed his many years ago), to the point where after he told me he had a new girlfriend while I was deployed and miserable… Well let’s just say my knickers will never talk for my heart with him anymore.

So smexy times… I love them, and can’t have them without someone I really care about. New online guy seems cool, but I can’t yet see myself letting him get anywhere near my giggles n bits. But I have to be careful. I know myself. My giggles n bits have seriously rewired my brain when they feel they’re gathering dust. They’ll convince me that someone is worth letting in to my knickers, when my brain and all those wonderful kittens in my head are screaming No! I guess I’m somewhat like a guy in that moment because the wrong body part is doing the thinking for me. I even have two guys from the job already starring in random fantasies when I have those rare moments of free brain wandering.

Its better to be alone than miserable with someone, right? And I am happy with myself, about 90 percent anyway (the other ten is about my health issues and weight woes). So no smexy times for me in the near future… The giggle n bits brigade can just sit there and become a classic. Won’t they become worth more that way? 😉

And I’ll try to release as much genetic awesome contained in me as I can with geeking out tomorrow. Maybe it’ll take my time off of the missing of a nice set of twig n berries. Oh if only I could combine the two… Kinky role-play anyone? 😉