So I’m no longer “anonymous.”
Does it bother me? No.
Granted, I’ve made some spur-of-the-moment decisions in the past that have bit me in the ass eventually. But, hell, you live and you learn.
Watchdog shared his blog address with a woman he was dating, and that kind of blew up in his face. (But, now she has a blog of her own and it’s one of my favorites, so I’m kind of torn on his decision being a bad one lol.) He asked if I felt fear or glee now. I’m in between right now. I mean, I wouldn’t share this site with anyone I was dating, but it just felt like time with Ryan. I wanted him to, hopefully, have a fuller picture of my life and his place in it.
I don’t regret — or at least not yet — sharing this blog address with Ryan. He did go to the site and he read quite a bit. (Yay, statcounter.com lol) Then he sent me an IM — I was offline — and said that somehow, somewhere something got mixed up.
I know what he’s thinking. He never promised me more than he gave.
True.
If it had been just sex between us, I wouldn’t be irritated, nor would I even really have a right to be. If we had called each other once a month or so, said, “Whatcha doing?” and didn’t really talk in between, cool. But that wasn’t the case.
I’m not going to make any assumptions about his feelings for me. Maybe I was just a lay. But if that is how he felt, after being involved with me for over a year, well, that’s a major reason why the boy is 26 years old and has never been in a serious relationship.
Speaking of, my friend Chris and I were talking last night. Chris is 36 and I’m 31. We were talking about relationships — he’s been in two 5+ year relationships and mine was 9 years — and I said that age helps you to see the emptiness in your relationships. I’ve settled before and I’m not going to again. Things with Ryan were supposed to be fun and they’re not. It’s too much work for not being a “relationship.”
The other times I ended things with Ryan I felt a loss. Now I feel sadness, but of a different kind. I feel sad that I kept trying to be “enough” for a guy I knew would never be enough for me.
What finally put everything into perspective for me was yesterday, when Ryan was texting me, wanting to come over. I replied, “Nah, I’m not in the mood for a nap,” a reference to when my parents were visiting and I told them I needed a nap and instead invited Ryan over. He replied, “Ok, have a good weekend.” This was Saturday evening — and I thought, Oh my God, he doesn’t even want anything to do with me if I’m not going to fuck him.
That realization led to another one. I’m not going to send Scott his money back, honestly because $100 is not something I want to give up. But I am going to send him the lingerie and the shoes; in fact, they’re already boxed up. I just have to finish my note to him; then Chris and I are going to do a drive-by to get his apartment address (Chris drives a black car with dark windows, as opposed to my beige SUV with leopard-print seat covers lol) and have a celebratory martini. Shit, knowing Scott, he’ll probably fucking wear the panties and heels. ; )
Aside from using a nom de plume, I don’t make much of an effort anymore to hide myself in this blog. I’m pretty open. My friends have this website address, although I don’t think they read it very often as they’re privy to the info in real time.
I did something tonight I never thought I’d do: I sent Ryan the site address.
Things seem to be reaching the end of the road with him, and while he has remained amazingly detached emotionally throughout our affair, I haven’t been so “lucky.” Yeah, I have/had feelings for him. Could I picture him in my life forever? No. But I guess I always thought it would turn out differently than it has. It all just seems so sad and empty now.
Good enough to fuck but nothing else isn’t a title I want anymore.
So, Ryan, I don’t know how far you’ll read or even if you’ll read at all. But you mentioned last week that you liked it that I was more “open” — read enough of this blog and you’ll find out some things about me you probably won’t like. But I don’t really care. Our relationship has been shallow and insincere. If you want more, you have to step up to the plate. But you haven’t changed in 18 months, so why expect anything different now?
I don’t really follow sports that much — one of the perks of being a divorcee lol — but this really pisses me off.
How arrogant would Reggie Bush, and the people around him, have to be to think that (allegedly) accepting a really, really expensive house for free wouldn’t affect his NCAA eligibility? It won’t really affect him, because he’ll still be a high draft pick and he’ll make a shitload of money.
But what about his team-mates? If the eligibility issues are substantiated, his team, the USC Trojans, could be forced to give up their 2004 championship title.
Ain’t that a bitch.
I don’t think any athlete deserves the amount of money they are paid. Yes, they work really hard — but they are able to work really hard because of their God-given abilites. It’s not like if I trained really, really hard, that I could be an elite figure skater or runner or skier. That’s just not where my talents are. But I work really, really hard at my talents — writing, editing, marketing — and I haven’t even cracked $50,000.
I went to a Big Ten school. I’m sure there were NCAA violations there. In my apartment building, there were two basketball players from one of the poorest cities in the state, even in the nation. They each drove a giant SUV — and this was in the early 90s before everyone and their brother had an SUV. They each lived in a 2-bedroom apartment, alone. You can’t tell me their parents were paying for that. But what can you do? It was a state school and tuition was cheaper because of the money that sports like football and basketball brought in.
When I give money to my alma mater, I always specify that it should go to the College of Communication Arts and Sciences scholarship program. The athletic department doesn’t need my money. Some kid who wants to be a sportswriter does.
Than the tears of a clown, when there’s no one else around.”
I heard that song the other day. I quickly changed the station, but not before I heard that line. (I grew up in the Detroit area, but that doesn’t make me a Motown fan!)
I had this comment left on my site. She’s right.
Ryan and I had an odd exchange last night by text message and then IM. He sent me a txt while I was at work, presumably to find out my availability for sex. Once I got out of work, I replied; he txted more. By this point, I was home drinking my wine and eating ice cream. After two glasses of wine, seeing him seemed like an okay idea, I wasn’t totally opposed. But he didn’t see it that way.
He sent me a txt that he was home and I told him to call next time, instead of wasting time txting.
Ryan: what would of calling done? nooooooothin
Monique: ???
Ryan: nevermind
Monique: could have gotten you some lol
Ryan: suuure
Monique: ok whatever!
Ryan: ya exactly. enjoy your wine and ice cream
Monique: i’m not sure why you don’t believe me but oh well!
Ryan: oh well is right
Ryan: i am going to bed…talk to you sometime later I guess..bye
Monique: lol what is up with you? I’m not mad at you or anything
Ryan: its ok…nevermind
Ryan: have a good night
Monique: night
Ryan: bye
So then I thought about it for a few minutes, then sent him this after he signed off: “I don’t know if you were drinking tonight, irritated with someone else or what, but if I had no interest I would have said so up front. I’m just going to assume that this whole exchange had little to actually do with me. And ‘talk to you sometime later I guess’? Maybe you’re planning on ending things with me, but I am not planning to end things with you …”
But fuck it, I should end things with him. Just like I should return the money AND the lingerie and shoes to Scott. I mean, yeah, I want to keep the money and yeah, I want to keep the items, but all they’re going to do is remind me of this guy who was fucked up emotionally.
Maybe I really don’t ask for respect. Maybe I just don’t realize it yet because I don’t know what I’m missing. Fuck. I have been through this so many times with Ryan before and still, it hurts. But to be completely honest, I think it’s the prospect of not knowing when I’ll have sex again that is the most upsetting! And that should say it all ….
Doesn’t that sound like a country song?
Anyway, it’s my dinner or whatever one calls food eaten at 11:30 p.m. I wanted a glass of wine after I got home from my p-t job but then thought hmm, shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach (I ate a few fig newtons at 5, otherwise nothing since lunch) so I dished up some peanut-butter cup ice cream by parents left during their hellacious visit.
Yum.
I’m still making my way through the bottles of wine Scott the jackass left me. The riesling tastes even better ’cause it was free!
Speaking of jackasses, Ryan, after denying me last weekend, was after some boo-tay tonight. Ha. I’m not that horny so I can afford to be spiteful.
I’ve also decided the time has come to cut ties with my therapist. The final straw came yesterday, when she said, after hearing my story about meeting Ryan’s dad (two minutes to tell, 20 to discuss) and my decision to not return Scott’s $$, she said, “Well, maybe respect isn’t all that important to you.” What. The. Fuck. Talk about fucking passive-aggressive. I was like, fuck this shit. I’m not paying her hourly rate for her to sit in judgment of me.
Check out my renter while you’re here. Scooter has two days left in Monique-land. Pay him a visit!
I’m tired. I’m going to bed. It’s been a long week. I don’t know how people with two jobs deal with them all of the time; I only do mine occasionally and I’m exhausted. I wanted to cry tonight on the expressway when I saw construction and the subsequent back-up. I know, wah, wah, wah. It’s my blog and I can cry if I want to. ; )
Oh, and look at Izzy’s dating rules. Compare and contrast to mine! I can’t even explain, you just have to read. : )
Do any of y’all have to sit through “lessons learned” meetings at work? I hate ‘em. The phrase makes my skin crawl. Yeah, I really want to sit around a table and listen to people talk about how I fucked up. (eye roll)
Anyway, considering I am pretty much a train wreck when it comes to dating, I thought it might be helpful to throw my own “lessons learned” meeting. Feel free to chime in at any time.
Lesson One: I like to have sex. But I’m not good at separating my emotions from the physical act, so it would be wise to wait until an emotional connection/commitment exists with my partner. Or else find a hot guy who is in town once a month.
Lesson Two: The men I date like it when I’m bitchy. What’s up with that?
Lesson Three: My ex was good at calming me down. I have a tendency to overthink — yeah, shocker — and freak out. He could easily talk me out of my hissy fit. This quality is a necessity in a boyfriend.
Lesson Four: If I do not like what a man says/how he sounds when he has an orgasm, I can’t stay in the relationship. Yes, I know you’re coming. My entire apartment building doesn’t need to know. Take it down a notch, big guy. On the other hand, if a man doesn’t make a peep, then that’s also an irritant. I guess I’d rather have too loud than too quiet, but come on! I gotta live here.
Lesson Five: No matter how many times a man asks, I should not talk about my ex, at least on the first few dates. Men get weirded out that I don’t hate my ex-husband. Here’s the key point: I left. If I wanted him still, I wouldn’t have left. End of story.
Lesson Six: I am a delicate flower. Despite my confident front, my trash talking, my leopard shoes, I am a bundle of nerves at my core. The sooner a man lets me know that he is attracted to private Monique as well as public Monique, the better off we’ll all be. The more times I hear that I seem so “together,” the more reluctant I am to reveal my train-wreck self.
Lesson Seven: A man has to say “bless you” when I sneeze, as well as “please” and “thank you” when appropriate. He also has to tell me I’m beautiful AND that I’m cute, because there’s a difference. He should have a personality big enough to balance mine but realize that, deep down, I want to be the star of the show. ; )
Lesson Eight: A man will tell me what I need to know — on the first date. You suck at relationships? I should listen to that. This is your first date after a serious realtionship? That’s a problem. You hate your ex more than life itself? Oh boy. You’ve never been in love? God help us all …
So my goal this weekend was to get laid.
I failed.
Damn, I was pissed. I mean, with my work schedule and all, Sunday would have been about my only opportunity for the next 10 days or so. But apparently my 18,000 hints (roughly) didn’t work on Ryan, as he said I wasn’t “explicit” enough in my hints as he didn’t pick up on them. Whatever. I finally asked him if I was this annoying when he wanted sex and I didn’t feel like putting out, because his glib attitude was really getting on my nerves.
Anyway Sunday a.m., Ryan e-mailed me and asked me to save the Lowes and Home Depot ads from the Sunday paper for him, as he was in the market for a new grill. We chatted for a while; then he texted me when the Red Wings game started (they lost, boo); then we talked some more later in the afternoon. He told me he had to wash his car, go to the grocery, and get to the airport to pick up a friend, all within a 90-minute span, effectively shutting the door on my sextastic Sunday plans (I was going out in the evening with friends).
I decided to run some errands, but before I left home, I realized that if I didn’t drop off the ads to Ryan then, I wouldn’t be able to until Saturday, when it would basically be a moot point. So I put the ads, along with a book I had borrowed, in a bag that I planned to leave on his porch.
I got to Ryan’s neighborhood — I hadn’t called to say I was stopping by and I NEVER drop in unannounced — and saw a familiar car in front of his house. Ryan’s old car. The car his dad now drives.
Fuck.
So I parked in front of the house and sat there. Then I thought, Damn it, I have been sleeping with this guy for nearly 18 months. What the fuck am I nervous about? lol
But I was really hoping Ryan wouldn’t answer the door.
Which, of course, meant that he DID open the door when I rang — and his dad was right there too.
Ryan told me later they were expecting the bitchy realtor hosting an open house next door, which is why (a) Ryan looked so surprised to see me and (b) his dad was at the door too, as they had gotten into it with the realtor earlier.
Really, I’m not sure whose mouth fell open further, mine at seeing Ryan’s dad or Ryan’s at seeing me.
I handed Ryan the bag and told him what was inside. Ryan’s dad asked if I brought brownies. I managed to laugh and say, nope, just the Lowe’s ad.
Meanwhile I am looking stupidly at Ryan. Ryan is looking stupidly at me. Ryan’s dad is grinning at our idiocy.
Anyway after a minute or two of chit-chat, I left.
Not two minutes later, I had a text message from Ryan, apologizing for his idiocy.
Later I received a further apology for (a) not introducing me and (b) not inviting me in. He also said his dad, of course, asked Ryan how he knew me; Ryan, in his idiocy, said I was a “friend.” I’m sure his crack private investigator father fell for that line. But Ryan’s dad said I was cute, so whatever. ; )
I suppose it could have been under worse circumstances. I was fully dressed — casually in a t-shirt and capris, nothing skanky — and Ryan and I were on opposite sides of the door.
Oh, and after all that, Ryan fucking bought a grill in between the times he talked to me and never mentioned it.
Ryan and I ended up talking until midnight last night.
As always, who the fuck knows what’s going on there, but whatever. I’m not going to figure it out tonight!
is Scooter McGavin’s 9th Green!
Be sure to visit Scooter’s site for some great music/TV reviews (including some artists I haven’t heard of. Now I feel old lol.)
Welcome, Scooter!
So here I am, a hockey fan living in Indiana.
I am a rare breed.
I care not.
My Detroit Red Wings play this afternoon — and on NBC, so I actually can watch the game! They are 1-0 in the playoff series against Edmonton. They also had the most points in the league during the regular season.
Of course, none of this means a damn thing, as the Wings go out in the first round as often as the win the Cup.
Ryan and I have a bet on the playoffs — if the Wings make it further than the Flyers, he owes me a steak dinner on the grill. (I am desperate for a grilled steak. Damn apartments won’t allow grills!) In the unlikely event that the Flyers surpass the Wings, then I have to wear my Scott-purchased lingerie AND he’s going to buy me dinner. I’m not really sure how that’s a bet, as it seems like I win either way. Oh well. He’ll be cooking me steak anyway.
