The devastating effects of shitty men.

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You didn’t really think I was going to blame the ladyfolk entirely, did you?

I’m equal opportunity when I feel like throwing verbal hammers. I took up for the gentlemen who’ve suffered at the hands of a shitty woman, and now I’m coming for rest of y’all. You are a bad bunch and you are creating your own hell.

I do believe you are worse than the worst women. I have dated some legendary bad men and a few crazy women. Nothing is worse than the uncertainty and self doubt a bad man can foster.

Men lacking integrity seem to be the fastest growing population. Do you remember the last time a man opened a door for you? I do. I remember the last 5 times. Four of those rare gems were over the age of 70 and I had a baby with the fifth. What can I say, I’m a sucker for a protective man with old school manners. Men just aren’t men like they used to be. My grandfather always walked closest to the street and kept my grandmother tucked safely beside him. He thanked Heavenly Father for her with every meal and we grew up knowing that his love for her was the kind that lit the stars. That kind of expression makes a family. Outside of the nursing home, I think that sort of magic has died.

Men who lie make you question every single thing you hear, forever. Even from the men who want to do better. Even when we know it’s insane. We never completely recover after a betrayal from the man we dreamed up baby names with. Our hearts heal, but we always worry about giving 100% again without a hell of a lot of reassurance. The first sign of dishonesty has us retreating into our shell like a terrified hermit crab. Lying men create lifelong holes in our armor.

My dial-a-dick satisfies my greatest weaknesses while teaching me some powerful lessons with the training wheels our friendship provides. In ways I didn’t know were possible, he manages to make me feel incredible and insignificant at the same time. I may as well have a number tattooed on my wrist. A lesson I needed to learn about casual sex. This is about supply and demand. Men can do that and women need to understand that men are completely capable of using their dick as frequently as a hammer, and with whomever is in current need of nailing.  I only know a few men who don’t share their tools.

Men who hit it and quit it. The ghost we all love to hate. That guy who blew you up until you literally blew him, and now doesn’t respond to a thing. You’ve told him it kills you. He continues to ghost you. You’ve used your big girl words, peacefully. Still silence. You’re left feeling like a cheap vessel within which he felt like venturing, and now he can’t even bother to send an emoji. You got played, girlfriend… and shame on you guys who do this. It changes the rules for us and that’s some grade A bullshit. We don’t get to fuck you when we want. We have to play hard to get and leave you hanging. We know the rules. We aren’t allowed to be excited and we aren’t allowed to ask for it. We have to ghost you first, if we ever want this to go in our favor. Games, gentlemen… you are the reason they exist.

Men who cheat leave a path of wreckage that takes years to clean up. We either turn the tables and make the rest of the innocent men unfortunate enough to cross our path, suffer…. or we are whiny and insecure every time you’re a second late. I had a boyfriend who was so painfully unfaithful that I was afraid to open the phone book in our hotel room after finding phone numbers he’d hidden in a travel planner on a romantic weekend away. I still avoid his phone calls and I still hate that he was able to change how I react in every relationship, since. Late? Why? Phone on silent? Why? Taking a call outside, privately? Why? People who aren’t hiding something don’t sneak around and once you’ve found yourself talking yourself out of listening to your inner voice… you can’t ever ignore that bitch again. We don’t want to be crazy. You created this when you made us feel bad for being right about your shady ass behavior. Crazy bitches are all a result of an unfaithful man making them feel bad for being right.

I love men. Love them. I love silky soft clean shaven man face and five o’clock shadow that leaves my skin tingling. I love tall men and short ones. I love good cologne and DIE for a dirty, hard-working man who smells like a long days work. I crave a man in a necktie and am equally as turned on by a man in a hard hat and coveralls. Bald men make my blood simmer and aggressive men make me forget my morals. I love them, one and all….

But.

I’m a mean little hornet when I need to be, because some of y’all fucking suck.

That guy talking to multiple women at the same time…. or worse… fucking them all? Yeah you deserve the hammer I’m throwing in your direction. You’re damaging people to get your dick wet. Knock it the fuck off. Give a shit about your soul, have a little integrity and bag that dipstick up.

That guy with the faulty phone. Yeah, right. In the age of $800 phones, yours works. Answer the lady or use your big boy words and tell her you’re not interested. Leading someone on to let them twist in the wind is a bitch move and… well… stop being a bitch.

That guy who blames women for it all. Umm… no. I don’t hold anyone responsible for my epic bad experiences because I was the only one there. You can’t make your future pay for the bad choices you made in the past. Let it go. It’s holding you back and it’s stealing any chance you have at happiness. Worse? You’re hurting innocent people who haven’t done anything but want you. Get the fuck over yourself, c’est la vie. Baggage gets heavy and you can’t be holding me if you’re carrying your ex.

That guy who yells at women needs the rest of you bad boys to get his shit together. Real men treasure the opportunity to be in control of a woman’s body and if you’re abusing that privilege or worse… hurting her? You need a solid ass beating and a month in the clink. I have zero patience for men who put their hands on women.

It’s a wonder anyone finds love anymore in this big ol genital cesspool.

 

 

Reality Check

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My phone has a life of its own. Tinder is a whole new experience for me and I am quite popular, it seems. It’s less than exciting, but whatever works.

A booty call incinerates me from the ground up, but it’s difficult to walk around smoldering all the time. Don’t judge…I’m coping and it’s working. It’s been invaluable in helping me melt myself back together. I got my heart broken falling in love with Mr. Perfection, again.

Old habits die hard, my friends and I am a huge glutton for punishment when it comes to he who wields the whisk.

Being stupid in love with someone you know is not in love with you, is an act of insanity. I knew he was coming to visit this summer and I promised myself I would close my eyes and head back out to the garden to pull weeds. It was hell the last time I’d seen him and we were finally friends again so a huge part of me wanted to avoid him, altogether.

The same way I don’t casually smoke anymore… I wanted to abstain from my love affair with Perfection.

I just couldn’t.

Miss Lovely and Mrs. Gorgeous talked me into going to a show where he’d be. I tried to decline. I really did. I had long talks with myself about the state of my heart where he was concerned. The juice was not worth the squeeze, and I knew it. That didn’t stop me either. Five years had left me vulnerable and he’d been the center of my fantasies for a very long time. Both intentionally and otherwise.

I wanted to see him. I didn’t care about the cost and I knew it would be steep. I put the right panties on that evening, knowing he’d be the one taking them off. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.

Just seeing him gives me butterflies and makes my mouth dry. I knew I should leave as soon as he said hello and touched my hand. I smiled at him and his cologne hit me as he moved close to hug me. I held my breath. It didn’t help. I hate beards and he is looking quite Amish… but the truth about women is that we hold no standards or restrictions for the men we love most. He could look like he’s part of the Duck Dynasty family and I would still adore him. He’s my Perfection. All my filters are disabled and I’m throwing every single standard and rule I have, out the window.

I knew I was welcoming suffering when I felt him grab my fingertips and pull me over to take a shot with the rest of them. The lines were getting blurry and he was morphing into the version of him that I love most. Unfortunately, that guy only shows up when he’s drunk.

P- You look really good. I’ve missed you. Sorry I haven’t been in touch.

J- I’m sorry you’re going to wind up in my bed tonight.

It’s different when you are emotionally intimate with someone and he’s been there for me as a friend through some of the most horrible times. He is my walking-talking-dream guy when he’s 6 inches away, but he’s a few thousand miles away and he quickly becomes my football pal and the reason I cry over mimosas with my best friend, Miss Fancy.

Back in the friend zone… bleeding from the heart and drowning in regret. He’s gone in the wind from the moment his flight takes off.

I’m ashamed of myself for immediately throwing all my lessons out the window and forgetting that the past repeats itself if you forget the lessons you were supposed to learn the first time.

I will love again, I can still be and feel sexy and someday, hopefully in the not too distant future, I’ll stop thinking about him every time a sad song comes on. I deleted him out of my phone, off the iPad and just away.

I gave his text tone to the man who curls my toes and I set myself free from waiting. It’s the only grown thing to do because happiness begets happiness, and he only makes my heart ache. In a perfect world, it’d be completely different, but here we are and here it is.

It’s finally behind me and I can look at my bed again without feeling hollow. Say what you will, but I do believe the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else and a friend did for me what I could not do for myself. He erased the touch that was haunting me by blowing my mind, kissed me blind so I could forget and reminded me that I want far more than to be a vacation highlight.

Sometimes it’s heartache that heals the most.

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The high cost of shitty women

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Yeah you, bitches; I’m coming for you today.

We love to sit around with our girlfriends and cackle about the depressing state of the common single man these days, but do we ever ask ourselves how they got that way? Do we ever take responsibility? I’m no saint and I’ve committed my fair share of transgressions. I always apologized and I’m on pretty good terms with most of my exes but I’m sure I left a few dents along my selfish way.

I’ve never outdone the douchebags I’ve loved so I took myself out of the pool for 5 years.

I’m now swimming in men who’ve been lied to, cheated on, let down and disrespected. It’s a murky puddle of brokenhearted good guys,gone wrong. Shitty, irresponsible women are absolutely the reason this pond is so stagnant and full of bottom-feeders.

That guy you strung along because you were lonely? Yeah he’s torturing the woman who loves him, now. Good job, asshole.

That man you cheated on? Yeah he’s bleeding internally and denying himself basic happiness while juggling women. You’re a real cunt.

That guy you nickled and dimed to death because you like to be “spoiled”? Yeah he only goes dutch now and he’s never going to find love again. You’re a fucking dick for leaving this guy with a quirk weird enough that it’s cockblocking him years later.

That guy you ghosted? Yeah he’s ghosting me now and I’d like to kick you squarely in the vagina. Would it have KILLED you to send him a damn text? No.

That guy you lied to has a repertoire to rival the best con men, now. You armed him with all the tools to mislead the masses and now he’s breaking hearts and promises at breakneck speed. The karmafairy will even this one out and I don’t envy you the bad man you’re going to end up with as a result.

It’s easy to get caught up in your own feelings but when you damage a person for life and future relationships, you fucking suck.

We are not innocent in the state of the menfolk these days. I was talking to my favorite lesbian last night and told her I was just going to start dating women exclusively and she laughed at me.

T- Oh babydoll, you’d find the same things in different packaging.

We are just as bad and in some cases, even worse. We made these bad men and as single women, now we get to try to rectify another woman’s bullshit behavior or clear-cut through the scar tissue she left behind.

Sigh.

We aren’t all bad and neither are they, but we do have to take responsibility for the few we contributed to the murky depths of the swamp.