The Spark and Vagina Issues

Well friends, it’s July and you know what that means...  Yep, I’m back at my favorite summer pastime: Online Dating!  And boy, do I have some stories for you!

In light of my new mindset to just make things happen myself and stop waiting for things to happen to me, I have spent several drunken nights over the past month on OkCupid, checking out dude’s profiles and messaging those that stood out to me.  I heard back from a couple of guys, one of whom I really enjoyed chatting with.  He lives in Kalamazoo but whatever.  This is all just for fun, right?  We made plans to see a concert on a Sunday, which was an unconventional but exciting first date idea.  I was nervous, and anxious to get my first first date of the summer over with.  So down I drove, with every intention of staying the night with a friend when the concert was over. 

You guys.  It was like straight out of a freakin’ rom-com!  He was adorable, funny, and he laughed at my jokes.  We shared stupid stories and sweet little kisses.  It rained during the outside concert, so we bought ponchos and danced in the rain while drinking beer.  I agreed to stay the night at his house (oops).  We had sex (double oops).  It was… terrible.  OK, no worries, maybe it was just the beer.

The next night, we hung out again, this time in GR.  More of the same; good conversation, lots of laughs and just as much beer.  Then sex.  Again, it was the worst.

Later in the week, I drove to his house to cook dinner.  Food was eaten, drinks were had, laughs were laughed.  Bad sex happened.

OK, what the fuck?  I don’t get it.  I mean, the guy is great!  The conversation is never lacking, he has a cat whom he lovingly refers to as Kitty Man.  He’s a good looking dude.  He has a house, a job, friends, etc.  He’s spontaneous and comes up with the best date ideas.  So what’s the problem??

There’s no chemistry, no real connection.  Something is missing.  What is it??  Ah, I see now.  We’re missing The Spark.  Without that, we may as well just have a platonic relationship and perhaps become roommates someday.  We can be friends, but nothing more.

What constitutes The Spark?  If I look back on the men with whom I have felt The Spark, I would say that it’s an intense, almost cocky air of confidence.  It’s being assertive, almost aggressive, in his desire to shower me with affection.  Domineering.  Romantic.  Looking at me like I’m magic.  And me reciprocating that urgent desire, that thirst for affection.

So why was it missing here with Kzoo Man?  Well, for starters, he wasn’t very affectionate.  No kiss hello, no holding hands, no scooching closer on the couch so that our legs/arms/faces touched, not-so-accidentally.   And clearly no one has ever informed him of the importance of foreplay.  I felt like he wasn’t trying very hard to impress me.  I’m not trying to play games here, bro; you just need to put some work in.

I dwelled on this for days, as every encounter with Kzoo Man became more and more platonic.  Can you teach someone The Spark?  Like, give him lessons on how to be affectionate towards the person you’re interested in?  Should that even be my responsibility, after only two weeks of knowing this dude?  I mean, I was hoping for the best here, but swiftly realizing that this just isn’t going to work out.  I discussed my concern with my two closest girls and, of course, my counselor. 

“So, you think you need that spark for a relationship to work?”

All three of them said this, almost verbatim.

OF COURSE I NEED THE SPARK!!!  What the hell did you think we were talking about here??  Of course I need The Spark.  Doesn’t everybody?  Don’t you?  Have you ever even felt The Spark???

Wait. 

Doesn’t everybody need the spark?  Or did I make that up?  Am I searching for an illusion, a figment of my own delusional creation??  This perfect emotion that may not even exist?  It’s the thing; the chemistry, the desire, the lust, the connection.  The thing.  The mother-fucking Spark.  I KNOW it exists, I just know it.  (Unfortunately, the last two dudes with whom I felt The Spark were total goddamn douchebags [see the Enigma and the Sociopath].)

So, called it quits with Kzoo Man.  I’m bummed, but not heart-broken.  We had fun; I can appreciate that for what it is.  And honestly, the timing kind of sucked.  I’ve got some other shit going on that is going to seriously fuck with my dating attempts. 

**If you’ve never had any desire to know my deepest, darkest health secrets, especially those related to my reproductive organs, I suggest you stop reading now. 

About 7 years ago, I found out that I had contracted HPV.  But not just any HPV, no; the high-risk kind that could eventually lead to cervical cancer *insert sarcastic cheer here*.  Since then, I’ve had two abnormal Paps, both of which led to a colposcopy; a not-so-fun procedure where they rip out chunks of your cervix in order to biopsy the tissue to see if the cells are abnormal.  The first was fine.  The second, which was performed a few months ago, was less than fine.  I was told that the tissue was at like a grade 2 of abnormalcy (Not a word?  Well it is now, fuckers.).  So yesterday, I had another procedure done, this time to take more tissue to biopsy and to burn off the abnormal tissue with an electrical current.  [Wait, is this real life or a goddamn sci-fi movie plot??]  Anyhow, the procedure sucked, I cried, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  But it’s done and over with (and no one is discussing the possibility of cancer at this point (yet)).  However, in my patient after-care notes, it was laid out- like this is a completely acceptable condition of terms- that I am not to insert anything in my vagina for 6 weeks.

6 WEEKS.  6 weeks before anything may enter my vagina.  DO YOU REALIZE HOW LONG THAT IS???  My vagina is going to atrophy and wither away to nothing and I’ll never have sex again.  Not that I’m actively having or seeking out sex at the moment, but to know it’s not even an option for 6 weeks is discouraging, to say the least. 

I’m still trying to get back into the dating scene, but can you imagine how that conversation would go?  “You know Steve, I really like you, and considering this is our 4^th date and all, normally I would totally fuck the shit out of you at this point.  Unfortunately, I still have to wait 3 ½ weeks before I can stick anything up my vagina.  You understand, don’t you?”

**Side note: There’s a question on OkCupid that asks how many dates you would have to go on with a person before having sex with them.  I answered 3-5, because I want that to be true.  But the reality is, the last two guys I dated, I slept with on the first night.  Oops.

August 30.  Goddamn.  How am I ever going to find The Spark with a limitation like this???

Not to be deterred, I actually have a date this weekend.  Maybe I’ll find The Spark with this dude, maybe I won’t.  Maybe he’ll be a weirdo loser about whom I can write an amusing blog post, maybe he’ll be charming and witty and everything I hoped for and more.  Maybe I’ll want to bone him on the first date- and if The Spark is there, I will- but I absolutely cannot, and I’ll have to figure out how and when to disclose my vagina issues with him.  [And also learn self-control.]  But I’m on a mission, guys.  I WILL find The Spark again.  I just have to.

 

Drinking Champagne In My Underwear

Remember when I told you that my counselor encouraged me to do things by myself that I would normally prefer to do with other people?  Well, I’ve been challenging myself to do more of it lately.  I think I’m making progress, because it doesn’t suck as bad as it used to.  In fact, I was relieved to find out that both roomies would be gone all weekend, and I would have the house to myself for the holiday.

I had to work in Muskegon Friday night, but had decided not to stay the whole weekend.  I’ve been spending a lot of time in Muskegon lately, and I’m over it.  I could have done family stuff for the holiday, but I honestly just didn't want to.  May is a super busy month, with birthdays, anniversaries, Mother’s Day…  Every weekend there’s some kind of family get-together.  But I just wasn’t feeling it this weekend.  I didn’t want to feel obligated to see my family.  In fact, it occurred to me that I didn’t want to feel obligated to do anything I didn’t want to do.  So when a friend asked me Friday night what my weekend plans were, I told him I didn’t have any, and that maybe I would just spend the holiday drinking champagne in my underwear, because I do what I want. 

And so I gave myself permission to skip the family picnic and not feel one ounce of guilt about it.  It’s about foregoing perceived obligations and not giving a fuck about the consequences.  Would I have enjoyed spending time with my folks and my siblings?  Of course.  But would the children (nieces and nephews) and in-laws have annoyed the piss out of me?  Yep.  So I chose to just do my thing. 

This is not to say that it’s easy to give myself permission to not do shit I don’t want to do, nor does it come naturally.  I don’t often put myself first because it doesn’t seem like the right time.  I find myself always waiting for something.  Waiting until I have time.  Waiting until I’m motivated.  Waiting for someone else to make the first move.  Waiting until I’m happy.  Waiting for the right opportunity.  Waiting for the right time.    But… it’s never the right time.  I have too many other things to do.  Too many responsibilities, too many obligations.  I don’t have time to do the things I want to do, I’m too busy doing the things I have to do.

Wait. 

What the fuck? 

Whose life am I living here??  I can’t possibly be living my own life if I allow it to be dictated by the desires of others.  So fuck ‘em.  I’m not living by anyone’s standards but my own.  So what if I want to drink champagne in my underwear, dance to Buena Vista Social Club in the kitchen with Kitty, and have full on conversations with all three cats, out loud, at 11 pm?  It’s my goddamn choice.  And that’s what I did this weekend, and it was glorious.

My alone time isn’t all sunshine and unicorns, though.  I still struggle with being alone, the unbearable weight of loneliness.  I’ve been thinking about past relationships a lot, and getting down on myself for not being capable of developing successful ones.  I secretly wish that I would hear from the Sociopath (what the hell is wrong with me??).  I’m resentful that I don’t get invited to do things.  Anxiety over my financial instability is nearly all-consuming.  However, these thoughts are becoming much more temporary than permanent, the more I allow myself time to work through the labyrinth in my mind. And honestly, with all of the negativity that comes along with being solitary, I’m learning a lot about myself, what I want, what I don’t want.  And you know what?  I’ve decided I don’t want to wait anymore.  I don’t want to waste my life doing things I don’t want to do.  And, I don't want to miss out on stuff because it's not the right time.

And on that note, I just booked a room in the UP for my friend’s wedding!  Maybe it’ll be a one-of-a-kind solo adventure, maybe I’ll have a boyfriend by then.  Who knows?  Who cares??  I just decided that I can’t wait until I know if I’ll have a date or not.  Maybe I will (unlikely), maybe I won’t (most likely), doesn’t matter.  I’m going, and it’s gonna be awesome.

Mindfulness?? More like Mindlessness...

Everyone’s been talking about mindfulness lately.  Literally everyone.  My counselor mentioned it during our first session and explained that she would be using mindfulness techniques during my therapy.  I had mentioned that I hate doing things alone, and she encouraged me to dig deeper into that, to challenge myself to spend time doing activities alone that I would normally prefer do with other people.  Mmmmk lady, I get what you’re saying, but I think you have seriously underestimated just how needy I am.  I prefer to do all of the activities with other people.  Doing stuff by myself is lame as shit.

Anyhow, I have a wedding to go to this summer, waaaayyyy up in the U.P.  I still haven’t booked a hotel room or anything, because let’s face it; we ALL know I’m not going to have a date by then.  So the thought of driving 10 hours by myself, staying in a hotel by myself, going to the wedding by myself, and then driving 10 hours back home by myself sounds like the absolute fucking worst way to spend a weekend.  But, on the other hand, I could try to make it a fun, solo vacation doing all kinds of awesome things I’ve always wanted to do.  So I tried to put a positive spin on planning this trip, but immediately started feeling resentful that I don’t have anyone to do these kinds of things with.  (Why am I so sad and alone???  Waaahhhhh!!)

My counselor suggested that maybe I do a little test-run before committing to the whole weekend experience (good call).  So, I decided to take a short day trip to check out a diner I’ve been meaning to visit for years.  And that’s how I ended up spending the day in Paw Paw.

The experience was… meh.  Unpleasant, maybe, and uncomfortable.  Dissatisfying.  But I didn’t die.  I also didn’t really enjoy eating by myself.  The food was good, but as it turns out, I suck hard core at this mindfulness bullshit.  Instead of appreciating my meal and staying “in the moment,” I found myself narrating in my head everything that I was doing, and what I would tell my counselor about my experience.  And then a group of teenagers came in and I immediately felt self-conscious.  Teenagers are assholes, and I imagined that they were whispering about the weird old lady sitting alone, not reading, not playing on her phone.  Just eating alone like a loser.  [I’m talking about myself here.  There was not another old woman at the restaurant.  In fact, until the kids showed up, I was the only customer.]  At that point, I hurried to finish my lunch and headed out for the next leg of my adventure.

I was going to check out an antique store I found online, but they were closed.  So I went to Paw Paw Brewing Co. instead.  Hey, they were right next door to each other, can you blame me??  Much more enjoyable than eating alone, I had three beers there and chatted with the regulars.  OK, I wasn’t exactly practicing mindfulness at the bar, but I was still exploring the city on my own, which must count for something, right?

When it was time to head back home, I decided to get myself back on the mindfulness track by turning off the radio in the car.  The first ten minutes were painful; the deafening silence felt like ringing in my ears, like when you leave a bar where the band was playing way too fucking loud.  Then my mind slipped back into “narrator” mode, and I replayed in my head everything I had done during the day and how it made me feel.  I tried to step out of the past and into the present, so I focused on the other cars driving, and how the steering wheel felt in my hands.  And then, inexplicably, my brain starts playing “Two trailer park girls go ‘round the outside, ‘round the outside, ‘round the outside…”  The fuck is going on here, brain?  Eminem???  Come on, that’s not even a good song!!!  But so it was, for almost 50 miles, Slim Shady played the soundtrack to my “mindful” drive home.  Pretty sure I’m doing this wrong…

My counselor congratulated me, though, for sticking with it.  Even if it was uncomfortable, even if I didn’t enjoy it, I remained faithful to my mindfulness quest by keeping the radio off until I got home. So I’ve got that going for me.

Since then, I’ve been trying to give myself brief mindfulness “time outs” to practice sitting quietly with my thoughts.  What I have come to realize is that, when left to my own devices, I’m quite sad.  When I practice mindfulness, and take away all the things that distract me from my true thoughts, all I want to do is cry.  I don’t like that one bit.  Loneliness and anxiety rear their ugly heads, and I have to make a conscious effort to turn off the negative self-talk.  Between that and sobbing uncontrollably, this shit is exhausting.

Scott (the ex-boyfriend-turned-best-friend) gave me a book on mindfulness and in it, the author admits that meditating is hard, and sometimes it sucks balls.  But he promises that it will get easier and it will be worth it.  We shall see.  At this point, I can't even focus on my "conscious breathing" past the count of one without my brain wandering to all kinds of nonsense, like "I wonder what kind of food they eat in Zanzibar..." and then crying because I hate being alone.  *sigh*

Still, I'm trying to stay optimistic about all of this.  Between the mindful self-compassion, meditation, and breathing techniques, I may just become an emotionally stable and functioning human being one day!  One can only hope.

If You Give A Sociopath A Cookie...

He’s probably going to want to fuck up your whole life.

This is a story of a whirlwind romance between a boy and a girl who met, fell in love, and crashed and burned in the most phenomenally dysfunctional way possible.  All in the span of 34 days.

If you give a sociopath a cookie,

He’s probably going to make you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.  Well, at first, anyway.

He was perfect.  I’m not even exaggerating; this man was my dream come true.  Charming, devilishly handsome, spontaneous, outgoing, funny, intelligent, fun-loving and carefree.  It was obvious from the start that he was broken, but I was willing to work with that, because I saw so much potential.  We both fell hard and fast.  I suppose I should have known better, but I was just so enamored with this man, I couldn’t help myself!  All reason and common sense flew out the window on the first night I met him.  Despite the warnings from a mutual friend; despite the warnings from a “friend” I hardly knew, but who knew him well; despite his shady past and tendency to refer to women in his life as “sociopaths.”  (That’s what sociopaths do, you know; claim that everyone else has a problem, not him.)

Oh boy, I was head over fucking heels for this guy!  I was willing to look past the negative and focus on the positive, because, ohmygod, he may be THE ONE.

And if he makes you feel like the luckiest girl in the world,

You’re going to remain in blissful ignorance for about 10 days.

Every day was exciting.  The sex was amazing!!!  Best I’ve ever had, hands down.  The chemistry between us was explosive.  He worshipped me and I adored him.  Some of my favorite days I’ve ever had in my life were spent with him.  We danced and we talked and we laughed and we made love.  

 But then… his insecurity reared its ugly head.  I had spent an evening with my sister and didn’t call him to say goodnight like he asked me to.  He was all suspicious why I wouldn’t call when I said I would, and why I didn’t answer any of his calls (because I had gotten drunk with my sister and passed out on the couch, that’s why).  He pointed out that I always have my phone with me, I must have chosen to ignore him on purpose.  Irritating, but I apologized for breaking a promise, and we were able to work through the issue.  But two days later…

When the blissful ignorance ends,

He’s going to start accusing you of lying.

This is the part where I should have started to hear the warning bells going off.  But I was so captivated by him, I refused to believe that he was an insecure, jealous psychopath.  However, when he called me a liar, I took offense and threatened to cut things off (I don't care how sexy you are, you don't just get to call me a liar).  He accused me of not paying attention to him, of not wanting to communicate with him, of not taking him seriously.  All because, according to him, I took too long to respond to his messages.  Seriously.  The accusations were unjustified, and I felt that it was disrespectful to me.  I tried to talk to him reasonably, but he started saying hurtful things and attacking my character, saying that I was selfish and stubborn and had obviously lied about my feelings for him.  I blocked his number and stopped talking to him for a couple of days.   

But when I finally agreed to let him come over to talk things out, I was once again blinded by my infatuation with him.  And so we went on for a few more days, madly in love and barely leaving the bedroom.  Every minute with him was exciting and stimulating and like nothing I had ever experienced before.  However, this period of bliss would be short-lived, because…

After he accuses you of lying,

His crazy will manifest itself even crazier than you could have ever imagined.

Sixteen days after we first met, shit hit the motherfucking fan.  I drove to Muskegon for my youngest nephew’s birthday party, and for a customer appreciation party at my bar there (two separate parties, I promise).  He had been texting me throughout the day, how much he loved me and missed me and wanted to see me.  Little did I know, he had schemed up a plan to actually come to the bar I was at to “surprise” me.  While there, he managed to make a disaster of everything.  [I’m not going into detail about what exactly went down, because there’s just so much to cover.  Maybe this incident will get its own blog post in the future.]  We got into a huge drunken fight which led me to make some really poor life choices, not the least of which was to drive 40 minutes to his house (because he had stormed off, angry, and said that if I really wanted to be with him, I would drive to his house to talk) and then, after not being able to remember where he lived (thanks to my drunken state), continue to drive 30 minutes back to MY house on the verge of black-out drunk.

The following morning, he couldn’t understand why I was so upset.  He felt that it was HE who had been wronged by my actions the night before, therefore I should apologize to him.   So I stopped talking to him for a week.  In between all of this, he said some pretty hurtful, spiteful, cruel things.  He called me a whore and a bitch, told me to fuck myself, and again accused me of being a liar.  In between all of the hate he spewed, he would tell me how much he loved me and could give me the world if I would just talk to him.  But then he reverted back to talking shit.  He would Jekyll and Hyde so fast it damn near gave me whiplash. 

Despite all of that bullshit, by the end of the week, I was dying to talk to him, to see him, to touch him...  So, I attempted to patch things up.  Again.

After his crazy manifests itself,

It will calm down just enough for you to fall madly back in love.

I apologized.  I promised him everything- the world, my loyalty, my love.  Despite the better judgment of literally everyone who knew us, I decided that I would be happier with him than without him.  And I was… for about a week.  Those days were pure magic.  We talked about moving in together.  We loved each other more voraciously than ever.  I didn’t want to spend a single day without him by my side.  The chemistry, the romance, the passion, they were all consuming!  To date, one of the best days of my life happened during this period.  We spent the day, enjoying each other, learning more about one another, exploring the city and each another.     

BUT, jealousy and insecurity, once again, destroyed our magic.

As soon as you fall back in love with him,

He will accuse you of lying, cheating, being an alcoholic (that may not be so far from the truth…), and fucking your roommate.

Yeah, that happened.   We were good for like two days, but then everything just felt off.  He was distant, made excuses why he couldn’t stay over.  He was working a lot (was he really working??).  Finally, he started accusing me of being an alcoholic and “choosing” alcohol over him.  He brought up one night when I decided to drink at home (to excess, I admit, but had owned up to that from the start), and asserted that I would rather get drunk than spend time with him.  And then, he accused me of fucking my roommate.  NOT Scott (the ex-boyfriend-turned-best-friend) but the other one.  Which is gross on so many levels.  And fucking offensive.  When I called him out on that, he began to say the most hurtful, cruel things, about how I’m a whore with no self-worth, that I don’t know how to manage my own life, that I’m basically untrustworthy and unworthy of love.   

For a while now, he had been “checking up” on me via facebook messenger, keeping track of when and how often I was active on there.  He had, multiple times during our month together, gotten into my phone to read my texts and messages, and check my call history.  I had nothing to hide, so I wasn’t worried about anything he had read, but I still felt violated.  He was trying to catch me in a lie, and when he couldn’t, he just made something up.  It was maddening because the lack of trust was unwarranted.  As was the accusation that I was actively looking for other partners, that I was not to be trusted alone, and that I would sleep with my fucking roommate!!!  That was the last straw.  He continued to berate me, degrade me, and generally disrespect me.  So I finally cut things off, for the last time. He told me he was done.  Fine, me too.  It’s been a week, and I haven’t heard from him.  And that’s that.

Even after he accuses you of lying and cheating…

You will be devastatingly heartbroken at the loss of the relationship and miss the shit out of him every day.

I know it’s stupid, but I miss him.  I miss the magic.  I miss the companionship.  I miss the passion.  I cry because I miss the good things, our highs were so euphorically high!  I weep knowing that I will never again meet anyone quite like him.  I grieve because I finally felt like someone loved me for the person I think I am, the person I want to be, the person I wish other people would see in me, and all of that’s gone.  Perhaps the worst of it all is that I feel lonelier now than I ever did before I met him. 

But I just cannot tolerate the disrespect or the emotional abuse.  I don’t know how or why I put up with it for as long as I did.  I allowed his words to poison me and it seriously affected my self-worth.  So along with the grieving process, I’m going through a healing process, to focus on loving myself and appreciating who I am and where I’m at in life.  It’s a tricky situation to maneuver, and I’m afraid I can’t do it on my own, so I am seeking professional help.  No shame.   

 
So, that’s it.  That’s what I’ve been up to for the past month and a half.  Conducting my own fucked up experiment of what it’s like to date a sociopath.  I wouldn’t recommend it.  It only ends in heartbreak and counseling fees.

And once you realize that the sociopath has fucked up your life,
You understand that there is a good chance he'll come running back to ask for a cookie.  And if he does that, you just tell him to go fuck himself.