Morbid

Lazy & Morbid Seeks Same

Sometimes I find myself stuck in a morbid frame of mind. Usually, this can be blamed on my Aunt Flo; she always comes by for like A WEEK and she has no problem inconveniencing me or making me feel fat. That said, this is one of those times. And everywhere I look, there is something that makes me sad, or there is something that makes me think of death, and then I GET sad.

For instance, I was spooning my cat Ember this afternoon, on the couch, underneath a blanket; like you do when you're unemployed, lazy, and your Aunt Flo is visiting. There we were, the two of us, the world's Greatest Lazy Assholes.
Ember was purring insanely loudly, and I could feel it vibrating in my tummy. It was a warm, happy feeling.

Then I thought to myself, self: OMG, what will you do when she dies or has to be put down one day?! You're going to die! How will you survive it?! You might be in your mid to late 30s by then! You could be married! You could have a KID. She will have been with you since Berkeley! OMG WHY MUST SHE DIE ONE DAY?!!?!?!?!

That's what I did. I went and took this beautiful, cozy, love moment…and turned it into that.

And I do this a lot.

Like, the other day… wait… let me transport you there:

It's 68 degrees out, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, birds are chirping, and you totally haven't stepped in ANY dogshit or gum. It's THAT kind of day. And you're walking and smiling and every building looks like it's made of graham crackers and marshmallows. You're practically stopping to gnaw on the buildings, just in case they actually ARE made of graham crackers and marshmallows, in which case you definitely need to be eating those bitches.

Then, if you're me, you think: I love it here. It's so beautiful. I could see me and Adam buying a home here and making our lives here.

THEN, if you're me, it goes here: BUT, omg, how could I ever be that far from my mom?! And my friends?! And my sister?! What if my mom gets sick?! What if my mom is going to die, and I'm here, and I don't get to see her ever again?!

And then that mood is totally ruined.

So you go home, and you stare at your computer for three hours, drink some lemon tea, and stare at your computer screen for three more hours.

Because that's called coping.
And when you're a lady, sometimes that's a lot to cope with.

It's a TRAP: Dating the DSM* Manual Way! (Pt. 9)

Pregnant with Discontent OR The End is the Beginning is the End

If you've gotten this far, major props. I am amazed at how long this story is, particularly given that it only spans about 1.5 years. Writing this has been tremendously cathartic for me, and has helped me to further clarify that I didn't do anything wrong except love too much. That is, I spent a long time being told there was something wrong with me, that I was ruining things, and I definitely took a lot of that to heart. I'm still incredibly sensitive to being told that I am overreacting, which makes it hard to have an honest conversation about when I am ACTUALLY overreacting (I can do that, just like everyone else). I get defensive, I get scared, and I withdraw into myself when someone tries to indicate that I am in ANY way being ridiculous. It's something I carry with me, and it's something I hope to work on.

That said: EG (remember, Ex-Girlfriend) got pregnant. Yup, you heard me right. That "one" (who knows, coulda been more) night of lust while I was crying in FWBs bed led to an unwanted pregnancy. [side note] At the time, I had a lot of anger toward EG, and that anger was sorely misplaced. Now, I feel very sorry for her and realize that she may have received an even more RAW deal than I had. Sure, she was not a very kind or good person. She had been cruel to some of my closest friends, and even Mr. Kite had described her as mean, even vicious.[/side note] But she was pregnant! With his child! That's some serious business.

According to Mr. Kite, she was using this as relationship leverage. Be with me, she said, and I will abort this child. Don't be with me? I'll make your life hell. Let's be honest: I don't believe that, I don't believe it one bit. I don't care how horrible you are, I know there are very few women in this world who would actually use a pregnancy as leverage. That shit is messed up. Is it possible? Yes. But Mr. Kite lies like he's being honest -- lying is his world, it's his CURRENCY, it's how he carries on with his dishonesty and his betrayal as if it's all good.

He also used this pregnancy as leverage with me. He told me that, as soon as things were "taken care of" with her, he was going to be ready for a relationship with me. I kind of bought it, but at this point I was definitely becoming more skeptical and less interested. Oh, and jaded. I was totally jaded.

In the interest of speeding this story along: she had a miscarriage. And he did not want to be with me. Or her. Despite the notes of love she left strewn about (what was now) his apartment. And despite my infinite patience and trust. What he wanted was to go on OK Cupid dates, like any other sane and single man. What he wanted was for us all to GO AWAY. And after a little bit of trying (hey, he said as soon as it was over we'd be together! Right?) I gave up. I moved on.

He still held some sway over me, some magical power. I tried to be friends with him. I tried to include him in my life. I don't even know why now...because when I have run into him in the recent past (in the last 4 years) I have found him so completely pathetic, false, and annoying. He tries too hard with everyone, and he tries too hard to convince himself that he's AWESOME. I finally stopped even remotely attempting friendship when I re-connected with a person (that's a great story, for another time) I'd been extremely into, the person who is now my boyfriend, and with whom I've been ridiculously happy for almost 4 years now.

When I started "dating" A, Mr. Kite was furious. Here's a direct quote from an e-mail he sent me during that time:

"And I finally reached this place, the mental place where yo were
hoping I would get to, so we could work things out mutually, this
place where I'm willing to actually talk about things and work through
them, a place where I'm willing to work to be happy, and you're dating
someone a thousand miles away who looks like abe lincoln. And you
like to tell me about it all the time. And tell me you're emotional
because you miss him. And tell me how I could never be anything for
you because I'm not the person you thought you knew. And tell me I'm
not a good person. And tell me all these things, all the time, every
day, about what and how I am that make me want to just run away to a
place where peple don't know me because obviouslty I'm haeed here.e" (sic, clearly)

Manipulative much? He insults my relationship by trying to insult how A looks (he does resemble Honest Abe somewhat - but what's wrong with that?), the distance (at the time, 3,000 miles), etc. But the most amazing part of it is his attempt at being the victim. His attempt to make me feel bad for his current state of loneliness and isolation. As if he didn't create this world for himself. And in his mind, he didn't.

To this day he tells people that I was crazy, that these stories are inaccurate. I know that there are two sides to everything, but cheating, lying, etc...those aren't matters of opinion. Those are his actions. The subjective is only how they caused me to lose my mind, to hate myself, and to become a groveling mess. Because I loved him, and I was prepared to do anything for love.

And he still preys on women like that. Not long after A had moved out to California to be with me, Mr. Kite started to casually date another, younger woman. She was crazy about him, but when Mr. Kite was asked about his relationship with her, he would say that it was nothing. In fact, during a time while he was telling her she was his girlfriend, he messaged me asking: "If you and A ever break up, do you think we could get back together?" I shit you not. Here he was asking me if I'd consider giving him a beventeenth chance and, If you asked the other girl: they were together and in love.

Soon thereafter, he began seeing another woman in San Francisco and even moved in with her. He kept the two of them separate, and kept the two of them under the illusion that they were his one-and-only. Almost everyone knew what he was doing, and some of us even told the young one what was up, but as I know from experience: you have to figure this shit out for yourself. And eventually they did, but being under his spell they chose to try an open relationship. In the end, that didn't work, and everything exploded on him once again. Kind of. He's still with the younger one, who probably feels like she Won! He chose her! I hope so, so hard, that she figures him out sooner rather than later. But I know from conversations with her that it's unlikely. He's already done about 10 times more awful stuff to her than he did to me, and she still swoons for him.

I am convinced now that Mr. Kite is either an A.) Psychopath or suffers from B.) Narcissistic Personality Disorder (recently removed from the DSM, actually). Here's a brief on these two diagnoses that I proffer:

A.) Psychopath: a mental disorder characterized primarily by a lack of empathy and remorse, shallow emotions, egocentricity, and deceptiveness. Psychopaths are highly prone to antisocial behavior and abusive treatment of others, and are very disproportionately responsible for violent crime. Though lacking empathy and emotional depth, they often manage to pass themselves off as average individuals by feigning emotions and lying about their past. (wikipedia)

B.) Narcissistic Personality Disorder:
A pervasive pattern of grandiosity (in fantasy or behavior), need for admiration, and lack of empathy, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:

--Has a grandiose sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements)

--Is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love

--Believes that he or she is "special" and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions)

--Requires excessive admiration

--Has a sense of entitlement, i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations

--Is interpersonally exploitative, i.e., takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends

--Lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others

--Is often envious of others or believes others are envious of him or her

--Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes


I leave it up to you to figure out where he fits. Honestly, the two are so similar that it's hard to know. A few things are very clear to me: he lacks empathy, his emotions are shallow, he is arrogant, he often makes grandiose/unrealistic business plans and does not follow through, and he is incredibly interpersonally exploitative.

I will never, ever, let someone exploit me like that again.

It's a TRAP: Dating the DSM* Manual Way! (Pt. 8)

Face the Music, Kid
So, what does it mean to finally face the music? How have I ignored the music THIS long? I mean, it's like, this blaring, terrible, piece of shit misogynistic song and SOMEHOW I've been like "lalalala," just singing along with it for a year-and-a-half? What could finally (and this is far from final) compel a woman such as myself to start seeing things straight?

Woah, woah, woah, I'm getting ahead of myself. I didn't start to see things straight for several months AFTER these events. And you, dear reader, might not even KNOW what happened next! So, here it is: I came back to "our" apartment and found evidence of EG everywhere. There were TIES on our BED POSTS (for ze kinky secks). She left clothes. There was gum on our windowsill (she had a disgusting habit of chewing gum and leaving it on windowsills...). There was a giant can of Rockstar in our garbage can (she had another disgusting habit of drinking like beventeethreeve Rockstars/day). OH, and a pair of my underwear and a pair of my tights had been HACKED TO BITS and thrown in the bathroom garbage. All that, and he still played things off as if she hadn't been there! Here's a sample conversation: "Oh hey, why are there ties on our bed posts?" Mr. Kite: "Oh, I thought maybe we'd try something new tonight". No. That was a big ol' lie. He'd never tied me up, he hardly so much as even TOUCHED me these days, so those were leftover. F'real.

And I'm not just postulating on this, lovelies. Aside from the evidence she left behind, she posted pictures to FB of the two of them canoodling in our apartment. Yes, indeed. And he continued to lie through his smelly-ass teeth about it. Incredible. OH and when he finally did come clean (which, honestly, I don't think ever happened) he claimed it was because: "You went off and fucked your FWB." Yes, that was his logic. I was with my FWB, so clearly I was having the intercourses with him, and clearly it meant he should have EG over to the apartment we were renting TOGETHER. Logics! Even if I WAS having sex with FWB (which, I did not, although there may have been some physical contact), there is NO excuse for having her over to OUR place. Also, I was the one he had already at the very least emotionally cheated on. I was the hurt one! He completely turned it around into: you broke my heart by leaving me that night for your FWB. Manipulative. Bastard.

So I moved back to Sonoma County, my friends. It wasn't immediate, and it wasn't until after a lot of weird and uncomfortable conversations. It wasn't until after he told me that, hey, maybe we should try being in an open relationship! Yea, maybe then he could be with me! It wasn't until AFTER I had actively sought out weird swingers activities that I had no interest in. It wasn't. Right. Away. It should have been.

When I moved home, he continued to mess with my mind. He'd periodically come and stay at my apartment, he'd sleep in my bed, and he'd try and get naughty with me at night *in his sleep*. You see, he had sleep-sex-somnia or whatever, he always had, but it's a lot weirder when you're super-duper not a couple. But I liked the comfort of a warm body, and I was insane. A glutton for punishment. Lest ye ever love so deeply, take heed you do not end up with someone who LIVES for manipulating sad little girls. Because, some more crazy shit happens next, in the final installment...
Tune in for pt. IX: Pregnant With Discontent

*=DSM still stands for Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, criteria for classifying mental disorders.

It's a TRAP: Dating the DSM* Manual Way! (Pt. 7)

We're All Crazy Here

I should have known that this was a bad idea, because it didn't feel right. He wanted to be together all the time, but he was completely withdrawn physically. I was so excited about being back in his graces, that I just figured it was OK, it would take time to get back to a place where we could be physically comfortable with each other. Patience, young Jodi.

Turns out he was weird because he was still dating his Ex Girlfriend. I learned this one fateful morning when she showed up to "surprise" him and, using her key to his place, came sneaking into the bedroom. Where I was sleeping. Where we were sleeping (and just sleeping, remember, nothing physical). To make this whole thing even BETTER, he did not wake up, I did. I woke up and stared at her. She yelled, screamed, took off down the stairs, and I told him "WAKE UP! EG is here and you need to care of this!" And you know what? He wouldn't, at first. He finally decided to go talk to her when he heard her throwing shit about.

When he came back upstairs and she was gone, he told me she was crazy! They had broken up! He couldn't believe he didn't get the key back from her! And I bought it. Because I clearly would buy ANYTHING during this time. You defs could have sold me the frackin' London Bridge, I'd have BOUGHT THAT SHIT. I mean, I had seen something recently on her FB about going to the movies in RoPo, on the motorcycle, and I just assumed it meant she had a NEW boyfriend with a motorcycle. Bridge. London. Mine.

And that was that. I got an angry message on FB from her best friend, accusing me of being a whore and whatnot. But that was it. She went, she was gone, we were together, everything was going to be otay!

For reals, it had to be great. He got a job. A GOOD job. And we moved to the South Bay, into an awesome apartment in the same complex where my sister was living! How ideal! How could this not be win? He was being nice, for the most part, if still a bit weird and distant. But not mean, and we weren't tearing it up like crazy people, so I was feeling pretty OK about things. Not good though. I never felt good.

I probably never felt good, because he was still definitely involved with EG. This came to the fore at our housewarming party when I happened to look over his shoulder and see him texting EG with, "I miss you, too, baby." Uh, baby? Excuse me? So I brought this shit up as soon as our guests had left (shouldn't have waited), and his sole response was to get in bed, tell me I was being out of control/crazy/irrational, and tune me out. I could have beaten him in the head with a rock and he would have continued to just pretend I wasn't there. So I left.

I left and went to visit my FWB. I didn't know where else to go. I couldn't go home and admit to my mom what was going on...what if we worked through things?! Then she'd hate him forever! I couldn't risk her opinion of him (which probably was already total shit). So FWB and I walked out to the beach and we sat there, and he held me, listened while I cried, smoothed my hair, and took care of me. I proceeded to spend the next 2 (3?) days curled up in his bed, crying off and on, until I finally got the gumption to go back to my apartment and face the problem. That was a hard thing to do after several days of being with a kind, warm person...plus his mom makes these incredible quilts...and I was pretty fucking cozy. Anyway, I had to go face the music.

Tune in for Part VIII: Face the Music
*=DSM still stands for Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, criteria for classifying mental disorders.

It's a TRAP: Dating the DSM* Manual Way! (Pt. 6)

I'll Couch it Like This...

Eventually, he found his own place and I moved home with mom. For some reason, he still kept in touch with me off and on. Enough that I found myself with him at Jennifer Convertibles looking at couches for his Awesome New Bachelor Pad. He seriously said something to me along the lines of, "I want you to help pick, so if we get back together..." Which is a cruel ass thing to say to a sad, lonely, and desperate lady. The truth of the matter was this: he needed furniture, I had money and was desperate enough to spend it on him. So yea, that's the story of how I bought him furniture. Like, seriously, a leather couch, a loveseat and two chairs. It hurts my currently totally poor and frugal soul so much to admit all this.

We spent time together on and off. He would sometimes say things to the effect of our future, other times he'd tell me that I was insane and that he was never getting back together with me. If I withdrew at all, he would start sending me instant messages or e-mails about how he missed me. As soon as I came back, he'd revert to his usual charming soulless personality. I took a trip to London for a week, by myself (I'd never left the country, let alone on my own), and I spent the entire time crying and mourning our relationship. When I got back, I withdrew from CAL for a semester. At that point, it was too late to get any of my money back. But I had fallen so far behind and I was so overwhelmed that it just wasn't worth staying. I tried my best to put him out of my mind.

Finally, I moved back to Berkeley to finish my degree in the summer of 2007. I was still a mess over the relationship, but I started to have fun again. I was spending a ton of time with my best friend, Jenn, and I was having sex with a guy I'd had a crush on since high school. Fun, casual sex -- but he really took care of me. I spent a lot of time with this duder, and while it was just as friends-with-benefits, he always made sure I felt safe, loved, and beautiful. I'm thankful for that experience to this day. And regretful that I easily threw it away the minute Mr. Kite came back into my life.

By the way, this is from a message Mr. Kite sent me about my FWB: "Why am I so upset?  It really has most to do with something I thought was special, and this has happened before.  I felt ugly and stupid
when I got close to someone else, so I didn't follow through.  I didn't sleep with someone else because it felt disengenuous (sic) and hollow and ugly.  I'm supposed to be the one with the history, the one
capable of drowning my real emotions in shallow fucking.  The one able to get over things.  But this time you were, and I guess now I know how that feels."

Which is only a small fraction of all the angry shit he said to me about the fact that I was trying to move on. The guilt trips were ENDLESS. The "I didn't sleep with..." was a lie by the way, he had slept with the person he references in this. I learned of it later. VERY weird. And this is not about the next person to enter our drama:

Mr. Kite had been dating an ex-girlfriend of his. One I knew only for being fond of physical abuse (she had a fucked up past), three-ways, and drugs. One day, out of the blue, he started to IM me. His messages were super sexually charged. I mentioned going to yoga and my hot instructor, and he started positing about how sexy it would be to see me and my instructor in tiny yoga shorts going at it. He was not discrete AT ALL. He was like HEY WHAT'S UP SEX SEX SEX. And I was like, uh, aren't you dating someone? And he was like: not really. WRONG. SO WRONG. I went to visit him, we got really close to totally getting physical and he was like, no no no, this is wrong. He totally denied me. But after that, he kept messaging me, he kept inviting me over, he kept on with the inappropriate messages. He stopped by on more than one occasion. And finally, one day, he told me that he had actually broken up with Ex Girlfriend and that I should come by. And that's how I got sucked right back down into the fucking rabbit hole...

Tune in for Part VII: We're All Crazy

*=DSM still stands for Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, criteria for classifying mental disorders.

It's a TRAP: Dating the DSM* Manual Way! (Pt. 5)

Medication for the Soul

Seeing as I was clearly a crazy person, I started to take Paxil. Truth is, I definitely needed medication, but I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. I continued to feel like I was hitting my head against a wall. My OCD (obsessive thoughts...look it up...me and Maria Bamford) got worse than ever. I started to have full-fledged panic attacks during class. I developed a tick -- I would tap the fingers of my hand against my palm constantly, speeding up as my anxiety rose. I had always had problems, but I kept them in check, I worked thru my crazy. I had never been out of control. I found myself thinking about cutting, about punching walls. It was fight or flight, and I was running from some huge fucking lion CONSTANTLY.

But no matter what, he remained calm, cold, and composed. He never comforted me, not once. He never tried to help. He just told me I was crazy and tuned me out. So what did I do? I continued to pay all the bills, take care of him, and work my ass off trying to make him love me like he had. I continued to ignore his total sloth, his lack of personal hygiene (dude never brushed), and I collapsed into total desperate depression.

Side note: when we moved in together, I suggested we talk about a good way to balance out chores. His response was, "This is exactly what I was worried about, I don't want to talk about this." Uh? What? You don't want to talk about an equitable division of chores? Are you serious?

So where was I? Ah yes, total desperation. Thank GOD something came up that was totes going to cure everything that ailed us. He needed student loan money for school, and I had just the kind of good credit that could get it for him! This will totally bring him back around! Yup, I co-signed that 30k sucker of a private loan. I mean, I knew it meant he'd start to be nice again! How awesome would that shit be? STUPIDEST MOVE I'VE EVER MADE. Continues to haunt me to this day as he continues to pursue nonsense degree after useless degree just to avoid becoming a functional, working adult. So every month he defers his payments, and every month the interest grows, and it's a ticking time bomb that keeps this whole fucked up story fresh like some smelly ass paint.

Shit, this story is getting long, and the fuck of it is that I'm not even half way through! So lemme speed it up. We stayed together for awhile longer. At one point, my mom got breast cancer. I had lost my dad, and my grandparents (who I was closer to than my dad), to cancer. My mom is my LIFE. I was fucking scared shitless. And do you know what he did? When I cried and told him how scared I was? He told me he couldn't deal with my drama and LEFT. Ugh. I kick myself as I spill this out onto the page. Who does that? Not even a friend. Not even a SHITTY friend. I'm not even sure an ENEMY does that.

When we finally DID break up, it was because we had another ridiculous fight and when he said he wasn't going to listen to/talk to/engage me in any way I said, "FINE. I'M DONE." The next day, he went to some conference thing (he had finally gotten a job -- which lasted like two seconds) and did not come home. Eventually, he contacted me to say that he was not coming home, because I had broken up with him. We didn't actually have any sort of conversation about this. That was it. And I began my pathetic clawing mess of trying to convince him to come back because...uh...I was totally in love or happy with him or something? Who EVEN KNOWS why now, but then, it felt VERY important.
But there was no conversation. There was nothing. It was done. And he was going to stay in our apartment, while I was going to go home and cry on my mom's couch. Even though the apartment was mine... uh. Yea. I finally told him he had to leave (when I learned that, the day we broke up, he was already back scamming OKCupid), and eventually he did. And so did I. I couldn't stay there.

Tune in for Pt. VI: I'll Couch it Like This

*=DSM still stands for Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, criteria for classifying mental disorders.

It's a TRAP: Dating the DSM* Manual Way! (Pt. 4)

Doom Spiral

Like every good doom spiral, mine began with ignorance. I ignored his chronic unemployment and flagrant abuse of the unemployment system (which I find particularly disgusting now). I tried to ignore the endless hours of World of Warcraft and his increasing inability to ever get out of bed. That one was difficult, since he often chose to play or go on "raids" instead of hanging out with our real friends. I ignored that I was, essentially, living in his room under a pile of dirty dishes and dirty laundry. No surprise here: I found myself emotionally spiraling out of control very quickly.

Oh, and I was still a student. Therefore, I found myself commuting to class more often, missing class more often due to the commute, paying for an awesome apartment I never slept in, and trying not to get the botulism from the rotting food left in dishes all over his bedroom. We didn't do much of anything anymore. He never "took me out," there were no more cute surprises, and all effort on his end came to a halting, jerking stop. But wait a second, it's a lie to say we didn't do much of anything. We fought. OH and I cried. A LOT. Like, constantly.

I was so confused. He has been passionate, he had worked so hard for me, and now that he had me he paid almost no attention to me. When he DID pay attention to me, it was usually out of annoyance. He told me I was crazy, and I believe him. However, I kept fighting for those golden moments where he seemed to care. I practically moved in with him, thinking that it might draw us closer together, only going home to Berkeley when our fights spiraled far enough out of control that he would tell me to leave.

So I thought, hey, I am never in Berkeley these days! Why am I paying for an apartment here?! I mean, duh, right?! So I got rid of my apartment and moved into his bedroom/my mom's house officially. Most of the time I was with him, but sometimes I went home to cool off. I begged him to get a place with me. For some reason, I thought that if he agreed to move in with just me, he'd remember how much he loved me. He'd remember how awesome I was. Or I'd remember why I was doing this. He did NOT want to move in with me (wisely) and so I did what any rational irrational girl would do, I badgered him constantly about it. Finally, he gave in!

He continued to sleep all day, play WoW, and collect unemployment dishonestly. I say dishonestly because he never truly looked for work. I mean, he thought he was a genius! He had so many creative business plans! It was only a matter of time before things worked out. He would just collect unemployment, claim he was looking for work, and use it to buy useless shit until his dream career fell out of the sky. On the other hand, I continued to commute to school and pay: rent (1125/month), PG&E, Comcast, you name a bill, I paid it all by myself out of my inheritance. I'm sure my grandpa would be happy to know I wasted all his money on a duder this awesome.

Also awesome? I was losing my mind. Slowly but surely. He ignored me, didn't do shit, and was generally a waste of space. Anytime I got upset about these things, about the inequities, he told me I was insane, that he couldn't deal with me, and that he was not going to talk to me. I'm not shitting you, dear readers, when I say that he never once had an adult conversation with me. He never even had a conversation with me of any kind. Period. If "we" had an issue, "I" had an issue, and he was definitely not going to care. I went to sleep in tears more often than not, and he just cold-shouldered me. It was clearly the most awesome relationship OF ALL TIME.

Tune in for Pt. 5: Medication for the Soul

*=DSM still stands for Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, criteria for classifying mental disorders.

It's a TRAP: Dating the DSM* Manual Way! (Pt. 3)

Hot Pursuit

After making me feel sufficiently shitty for dodging his kiss, he went back to pursuing the shit out of me. Ladies, dude took me to the ZOO. Not just that, he took me to the zoo and presented me with gifts of stuffed animals throughout the day. He decorated a cheap guitar with glitter spray and gave it to me because I had mentioned always wanting to learn how to play. He rode his Ducati over to see me anytime I wanted company. He laid it on THICK.

Despite all that, I had a hard time falling for him. It turns out, our bodies have a pretty good idea of what's up, but I just wouldn't listen. I thought he had bad breath, and I didn't particularly enjoy kissing him. I was excited by the flirtation and the compliments, by the gifts, by the company, by feeling wanted...but I wasn't sparking. I mean, I was horny, but I definitely waited like 2-months to sleep with him and, trust me, that's a lot. It's not like I've been around the block since, but I've had NO PROBLEM diving right in. That is to say, I know now what it feels like when I'm really interested in someone, and subsequent duders did not have to wait that long for me to put out. Oh, and when I did put out I was totally drunk (like 2 bottles of wine drunk), irresponsible, stupid and I regret it to this day.

ANYWAY, to the benefit of Mr. Kite, he did try to warn me about dating him. I believe he described himself as a tornado or a hurricane, destroying the lives of the women he encountered. But I think that just made him seem "bad" like "oh, how sexy" bad. Did I mention his extensive list of sexual partners? Did I mention I had one?! AND did I mention one of his included a 14-year old who he slept with when he was like 18 or 19 and DEFINITELY out of high school? How did that not creep me out or drive me away? Ah, now you're beginning to understand the depths of my need to be loved and appreciated. The depths of my low self-esteem.

My self-esteem was low enough to ignore the warnings. To ignore that his last girlfriend was in her 40s, one of his teachers at the community college, and, oh yea! MARRIED. Lonely enough to somehow not be turned off by this and lonely enough to finally give in and fall. Fall. FALL: head over heels in love with a total crazy person.

Almost as soon as I fell in love with him, he stopped trying and we started fighting. Seriously, fighting like cats and dogs. It's a cliche, but it's accurate, we fought non-stop. He would be loving and adoring one minute, cold and distant the next. Me? I was like a junky. I'd do anything for those moments of warmth. I'd ignore just about any of the utter fail that our lives had become JUST for those fleeting moments where it felt good. I began a serious doom spiral.

Tune in for PART IV: DOOM SPIRAL

*=DSM still stands for Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, criteria for classifying mental disorders.

It's a TRAP: Dating the DSM* Manual Way! (Pt. 2)

Blue Eyed Devil

In case you haven't read it, please refer to my previous entry for background. Or don't! If you don't though, I can't promise any of this will make sense...

New Year's Eve, 2005: Sonoma County, CA. The home of my bestie, Leslie. Low key event with friends, and at that point I still was alcohol-free, so pretty tame. I looked damn good, no lie. I was in the best shape of my life. Turns out that the break-up/flu diet works like a charm. I was miserably depressed, but I was ready to make a night of it, put on a fake smile, yadayada. Then I caught him looking at me. And I flirted, mercilessly, all night. Because it felt good to. Because it helped me to forget how I really felt.

But you'll fight and you'll make it through
You'll fake it if you have to
And you'll show up for work with a smile--Rilo Kiley

And he returned the flirtations. Whenever I caught his eye, he was looking right at me. He made an effort to be a part of every conversation I was a part of, and to be in whatever room I was hanging out in. He had dark hair and, what I thought were gorgeous, expressive, blue eyes. With time, I learned that those eyes were actually quite empty, but at the time I was blinded by the attention. It felt good to forget that I was broken, that I'd lost my dad, that all these terrible things had slid into home base at the same time. When he asked for my number at the end of the night, I felt like I was going to vomit. I was so excited and anxious, so surprised and nervous. I definitely didn't expect him to ask. I didn't know a thing about dating. I gave him my number: the first of many huge mistakes.

At this point, I was still an undergrad at UC Berkeley. I lived in a fantastic studio apartment (that was later broken into...) and I was seeing campus and the city through single eyes for the first time. There was a tinge of excitement deep down under the pile of sad that had become me. The boy started to pursue me, hard. I remember spending many nights on AIM, all legs akimbo in my slidey desk chair, talking for hours on end. He said things to me, and about me, that made my head spin. He thought I was beautiful, but he also thought I was talented and smart. I never felt like I was any of those things. He loved my poetry, and he wrote me poetry. It was very romantic. Plus 10 points for the chubby loser!

But it was too good. He came on so strong that it made me pull back a little. On our first official date he made me dinner and we watched Metropolis. Who watches Metropolis on a first date?! Now I can tell you who -- a dude who is completely obsessed with his own intelligence and with convincing others of his own intelligence. But at the time I thought, wow, how avant-garde of him. How different. How endlessly interesting. I had yet to see his self-obsession, narcissism, and borderline psychopathic tendencies. I didn't know.

He tried to kiss me that night, but I couldn't do it. Oh yes, readers, I did the full turn-face-away-to-avoid-kiss move. And he sulked off like a dejected puppy. Right then and there I tried to explain: I've never kissed anyone other than my ex, I've never been in this situation, I am nervous and scared! But he just whimpered off into the darkness, pathetically. When I got home, I signed into AIM as quickly as possible, I felt so guilty and I knew he'd be there and I could try to further explain myself. I felt bad. I felt like I had done something very wrong. This was the first sign of something that would eventually define our relationship: me feeling crazy/bad, him telling me I am crazy, me acting crazy in response. He was always sane, always logical, and always right. Ours was a serious Gaslight Anthem.

Tune in next for: Hot Pursuit!

*=DSM still stands for Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, criteria for classifying mental disorders.

It's a TRAP: Dating the DSM* Manual Way! (Pt. 1)

My first true love, my first real heartbreak, and BOY was it a fucking SHIT SHOW. But if I learned from it, maybe you can too! Or maybe someone out there can avoid making the same huge mistakes that I made. Or maybe someone will just enjoy the schadenfreude that comes along with reading this.
First, a little background to get you in the mood...

SETTING THE SCENE
In high school, I was "chubby" (not really...) and pimply and awkward. And my best friend was the hottest girl in school (still one of the prettiest people I've ever known) AND the valedictorian. Nobody kissed me, nobody asked me on dates, and only ONCE was I ever asked to a dance. And hey, that boy dug the hell out of me, but he was even more shy and reserved than I was, so nothing happened. Hell, we hardly even danced. Like maybe one dance. We came together, and I mostly danced with my girlfriends. SO COOL. I was a mega-prude with NO good examples in my life of what a relationship should look like or feel like.

Then, toward the end of my senior year I started an OK Cupid account. This led to some very unchaste AIMing with a boy my age who lived about 2 hours north of me. Unchaste because he had the cajones to ask me things like, "what underwear are you wearing?" and I had the senorita cajones to answer. But I didn't want to, and it made me uncomfortable. I'd never been kissed! And you're asking about my UNDERWEAR?! Alas, it excited me, and it felt awesome to be LIKED. Especially to be liked in such a non-threatening environment as the internet. I could like him, I could talk sexy talk with him, AND I could continue to be a total innocent prude. It was baller.

At some point, we decided to take the relationship from the intertubes to real life, and boy did my tonsils regret it. He stuck his tongue as far down my throat as possible and, when I whimpered my protestations of "I'm not ready," he simply said "I am" and continued to palpate my uvula with his tongue. Really, obviously, the beginning of a beautiful relationship. No really, we dated for 2.5 years. Right?! That's how low my self-esteem was. But he was my age, and he liked me, and that was enough for me.

Our wretched affair lasted just long enough for him to see me through the death of my dad and dump me, like, a week later. Oh, and he didn't just dump me. He dumped me over the phone, and told me he liked to cross-dress. Uh? What? Who does that? I mean, that's fine and all, but that's a really fucking weird way to break up with someone. OH and then he told me to drive up to see him so we could have it out in person. That just meant me driving up at like 1am, him putting the moves on me, me sleeping with him, and me leaving in the morning feeling disgusting and dejected. Then I got the flu and missed out on our family's Christmas events. So that was pretty awesome.

TUNE IN FOR PART II: MEETING THE DEVIL

*=DSM stands for Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, criteria for classifying mental disorders.

I have never enjoyed school. Not even when I would occasionally spend the night at my dad's, which meant getting Taco Bell for breakfast. In grade school I often forgot my backpack, called home with made up ailments, and once I even peed my pants (in 3rd grade) because I didn't want to use the filthy facilities. In junior high I cried CONSTANTLY because algebra was just TOO hard. In high school I worked my ass off, but did everything in bed, watching TV, and usually I didn't start until midnight (or later)!

Then I went off to college at CAL, all hoity toity pretentious-like, and continued to do what I had always done. Sleep a lot. Do work at the last minute. Miss class because I would rather continue sleeping a lot. Skim the reading because it was boring and I would rather read The Dark Knight. Nothing changed, everything stayed the same, and I continued to get my As and Bs.

Nothing ever sparked my passion.

Now here I am again, in school. I know why I am here. I need a Real Job and a Real Income. The B.A. in Anthropology wasn't cutting it, and for that matter neither was the California job market. So here I go, a California girl throwing it all to the wind and moving to the Land of the Frozen Tundra (aka: not California). But I still can't bring myself to get shit done!

I enjoy my classes, I love to learn, and I love my classmates. I simply hate homework, hate papers and hate research. It all leaves me totally unfulfilled. Instead, I read other blogs, I look at erotic photography, I take pictures of my cats and I knit. I watch Glee. I do anything to avoid doing the work I am supposed to do.

And I continue to sleep. A lot.