Well. Hello There.

Ah, to begin a blog and promptly forget about it. Or not really forget about it – just have nothing much to write because I was involved with one man and felt that blogging about our sex life was in poor taste.

Well, that is over now and I deem it appropriate blog material. This particular fellow was of the type I gravitate toward: an angry, misanthropic white man. However, he was less angry and misanthropic than the guy I dated two and a half years ago. So I consider this a step up.

What do these white guys have to be so angry about?! You’ve got me. Their essential issue with the world seems to be that people are stupid. Now, I know that I am intelligent. I would wager that I am smarter than both of these men. But they are of moderate intelligence and they see and hear people doing and saying dumb stuff, and it pisses them off. Whoa, does it piss them off.

The first guy, D1 (both having names that begin with D), would do some pretty idiotic things himself, though. He wound up in jail – and according to him, this was maybe the 15^th time he’d been thrown in the clink, or whatever the degenerates are calling it these days – for driving on a suspended license. Which he knew about. What the hell? But of course, his ire was then directed at the law and law enforcement. Not at his own damn self for breaking a law of which he was entirely aware.

Because, essentially, he felt he was super special. He would make fun of hipsters who thought they were unique like snowflakes, but he obviously felt that he was above everything. The law, everyone we came into contact with, the world in general. Also, he was adopted and I think this contributed to the anger issues. And I have a strange, deep and stupid love for adopted men.

Why do I fall for guys like this? Well, I maintain a rather positive outlook but approach life with a fair amount of skepticism and a large amount of sarcasm. So I think that they are drawn to the sarcasm, mistaking it for a shared disdain of... everything. And, on my side, I want so badly to be the little ray of sunshine that puts a smile on the face of this perpetual Donny Downer. It’s like how girls want to be the one that changes a bad boy. I want to be the single person in a bitter man’s life who a) he doesn’t think is a moron, and b) makes him happy. It should be noted that D1 not only referred to his mother as an idiot, but told me that, at her birthday dinner, she informed him quite seriously that he was a real asshole. He is her only child. I should have run far, far away when he revealed that.

Obviously, my attempts to brighten the mysteriously dark life of a misanthrope do not work. Initially, I think that at least sex will cheer them up. And sometimes it does. D1 was a big cuddler, which I found baffling. He’d pull me close after sex and tuck my head under his chin and say, “sometimes I think this is nearly my favorite part.” God, I wish I had that on video so I could broadcast it to the world.  

But the next day, it was back to talking shit and being unhappy. The unhappiness seems intentional. I was never Facebook friends with D1 because, as much as I adored him, I was also completely intimidated by him and never made a first move. He didn’t request me, so I didn’t request him. Honestly, though we dated an entire summer, I’m not sure he knew my last name. 


D2 – the recent break-up – asked for my full name after maybe one date and immediately requested me on Facebook, which I thought was kind of jumping the gun, but also found flattering. Now I had access to his innermost thoughts via status updates! And now I saw just how much he reveled in his anger. “FML” was used once or twice, and he is 31 years old. That term is for teenagers who have not yet mastered how to properly express (and, often, for the sake of appearances, repress or at least stifle) their emotions. One of his latest statuses: Last year my new years resolution was to be more hate filled. I think I accomplished that. So this year, my resolution is to be more vengeful.   


This one actually scared me slightly, as it came about a week and a half after I broke up with him. 

What happened with these two relationships? Well, I don’t really know. It seems I do not have what it takes to keep a perpetually dissatisfied man... satisfied. D1 became hard to pin down and eventually stopped calling me, standing me up on my birthday. I got drunk and cried in several different bar bathrooms that evening. It was lovely. 

D2 also stopped calling. After making several romantic yet practical gestures of affection – picking me up at the airport, buying me a toothbrush for his place, cleaning his apartment top to bottom due to my cat allergy – we made it official, and he promptly became a total suckfest of a boyfriend. When I realized that I was the one always texting him, I stopped doing so in order to see how long it would take before he contacted me. We did not talk for three weeks. I’m the one who eventually broke down and asked him whether this was a break-up. He was wondering the same thing. Really? Wow. The evident lack of interest was astounding. This was really the ultimate in ambivalence. 

But I told him he could have another chance. Then he proceeded to still not contact me for several days. 

When I broke up with him via text a few days before Christmas – cruel, but appropriate punishment, in my estimation – he claimed he had sent me a text the day before and it had not gone through. I am usually rather gullible but even I did not believe that.  

So that is the short-ish version of my absence. Luckily, I did not really see myself marrying this man or willingly bearing his little malcontents, so I’m not exactly heartbroken. But as a pretty perpetually single woman, the utter failure of this attempt at being a girlfriend – my inability to get even my boyfriend to call me – give me the sads a bit.  

Luckily, this means I can discuss the (pretty hot) sex we had. And the subsequent sex I’ve had with others. I’m back in the saddle again (if by “the saddle” we mean engaging in casual sex at irregular intervals). And I just started the school term so I’ll be writing to procrastinate.