Super Don’t

So I was talking to this guy on OkCupid back in November and December. He wasn’t really that interesting but these days I try to give everyone a proper shot. Our schedules never lined up for a real meeting, and then he went radio silent in mid-December.

I wasn’t about to lose over it. It’s not uncommon for internet conversations to die out.

About a month later, he sends me this at 9pm on a Wednesday:

“Hey, so we were talking and I enjoy chatting with you. The thing is I was…. I was curious if you remembered me. I thought maybe you did? Or maybe you would? We were already together. And by that I mean we dated slightly and had sex a couple of times. It was 7 yrs ago. I never forget a face. Especially a beautiful one lol. I immediately knew your name. I even remember basically where you use to live. As far as what happened? Idk your not sexual or you seem kind put off by everything then, and you just disappeared. I guess I’m telling you because I just wanted to be honest.”

So let’s start with, I super don’t remember this human being at all.
I drank a lot when I was 20. I also got around. The ages of 17 to about 23/24 are a blur of alcohol and dick. They all blur together and I don’t remember anyone in particular outside of the people I actually had a really real relationship with. I used to keep track, because when I get a pap-smear sometimes the nurse asks me how many partners I’ve had, and it’s always an awkward moment when the fat chick in the room just looks at you and says, “I dunno.” Once, when I was 18 she told me to count real quick and I was like… it’s over 30… do I tell her it’s over 30? I refuse to answer the question, now. I tell the nurse that I’ll discuss it with my doctor.

I don’t regret that, just to be clear.
I’m not ashamed in the least. If I were a dude I’d get a trophy for the amount of sex I’ve had in my life, but because I’m a chick it’s supposed to be shameful. Fuck that. I regret nothing. I was the queen of hit it and quit it. Mostly I used a lot of them for free food… but my ulterior motives don’t diminish my bitchin’ dick score.

I ended up being honest… I debated lying and pretending to remember, but I was worried he might ask follow up questions, and since that whole part of my life is just a blur, I would prolly fuck that up. I never lie if I doubt that I can follow through with it.

I asked him how we even met, trying to spark a memory… Just for the sake of remembering if he’s one of the ones that had a weird kink, or was really bad at sex, or maybe he was just boring as shit…
Apparently I picked him up at a club, proceeded to take him to a gay club, then took him home and after about a week I ghosted him.
I’m so class. (please note the sarcasm) Sounds like me, though!
I remember nothing.

So, obviously shit is different now… I’m an aromantic asexual that would rather punch you in the throat than let you get your dick near me. I don’t blame that on being over-sexed. It’s just who I am at the moment. Shit changes. People don’t changes, but everything else does.

He still wanted to talk to me, especially knowing that I wasn’t messing with him and seriously didn’t remember him. Apparently… I’m gorgeous. (duh). Also, I seem to have left a good impression in spite of being the female embodiment of every douche college guy that picks up girls in nightclubs. He remembers me as spunky, funny, Invader Zim loving chain smoker.

I guess that’s nice.

But he’s boring as shit…. I know that’s awful… but he is… he really is.

But… I shall try not to judge till I see him in person… whenever that might be, since he’s got a whack work schedule.

Why is this my life?


The Ex. Again.

I ran into him again!

I went to a show last night. It was six local bands, a burlesque troupe, and a fashion show. Sounds fun, right? I thought so. I invited Cat and she brought her friend with her, but they aren’t “show” people. They’re more club people. So they didn’t stay that long. In the meantime… I fucking saw my ex again.

It’s baffling, really, the emotion that sweeps over me when I see him. It’s not remorse, or longing, or heartache, or any of the things NORMAL people usually associate with an ex…. It’s a lot of rage and the feeling of being invaded. I haven’t seen him in years, aside from passing him on the street when I went to the museum with Billie, so you’d think that I’d just let it go. No. I can never let it go. All the rage, wrath, injustice, and general loathing that I ever had for him is still there, floating just underneath the skin, ready to boil over at any minute like unwatched ramen noodles set too high. If I look in the mirror long enough I can see the contempt swirling around beneath my face.

I’ve heard of people seeing red and losing themselves in their rage, but that never happens to me. Everything stays quite clear, except that my brain is rushed with thoughts like, DRAG HIM INTO THE STREET AND BEAT HIM TO DEATH WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE AS WITNESS TO HIS EXECUTION. I haven’t done it, yet, but if he keeps popping up at places I’m at, it might be the winning argument. This is my world, those were my bands, my show, my scene, my haunt. If he’s going to invade my territory, eventually we are going to tangle.

I was doing okay with his appearance, as okay as one can when every fiber of your being is screaming for you to murder someone, at least, until Cat and her friend left. I was then left relatively alone. Shows are weird for me that way, because it’s not that I don’t know anyone, but I know the bands… and the bands are there for business, so it feels like I don’t know anyone since they get busy. In poor judgement, as I tend to have under strained thoughts of homicide, I started drinking pretty fast… too fast… somewhere in there I tapped him on the shoulder and said hello and that he looked great (and he did, which pissed me off… I wanted to like kill him while fucking him in that moment, which is weird for me for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that I don’t experience sexual attraction…), and then pretended I had people to go talk to… Now, it seems really pathetic, but honestly I felt better afterward. I showed I didn’t need to avidly ignore him. It might pay off in the long run…. Shortly after that, though, I threw up vodka in a trashcan on the patio and left…. I should have waited, but people saw me, so I got in my car and left. I did stop at an all night diner and eat, though. I know that doesn’t make me less drunk, but it did make me a safer driver, since it gave me something to soak the booze up with and I didn’t feel drunk and disoriented afterward. So… made it home.

I wish I could will myself to let my grudge go. It’s like a poison in my chest. Makes me sick to think about, even. I just can’t, though.He ruined two rooms in my house that I’m JUST NOW getting back, because I couldn’t afford to fix the flooring.He took away my sense of safety in my house when he got attacked by drug dealers and MY address was the one on his license. He wouldn’t fucking get out. He couldn’t pay rent. He cut his thumb off because he went to work high, but then they didn’t test him so he got to keep his job and he walked out on it. Like… It’s just so much offense, and I can’t let it go.

One thing bothers me, though… I know I didn’t love after him…. I liked Grant, and he was a sweet guy, but I had to cut him loose because I didn’t love him. My question is whether I loved before him? Did me make me Aromantic? I don’t know. But if did, if he took my ability to care about people in a romantic way, and a generally platonic way, because I can’t trust anyone… doesn’t that kind of offense deserve a punishment? I mean, I know that drug dealer set him on fire and everything… but… that wasn’t MY punishment.

Train Wrecks

So I’m a train wreck.

This isn’t news. You read a couple of my entries, and you know it to be true.
BUT… did you know that I also attract OTHER train wrecks?
It’s true. I’ve had a variety of them.

  • The white trash lil misogynist boy that broke up with me when I told him that at 13 years old, I was unsure if I wanted kids.
  • The suicidal one that I actually previously had thrown in a psych ward.
  • The meth addicted one that ended up homeless and arrested.
  • The severe alcoholic white trash with a caste complex, who was married.
  • The introverted gamer with no life aspirations, who resigned himself to taking care of his bipolar mother and brother.
  • The recently released from rehab stoner with no life motivation other than to get more drugs.

This mostly isn’t shit I found out LATER, either. In most of these cases I went in knowing these people were uber fucked up. I call it my “I can fix them” phase. I have since decided that I don’t care to fix anyone, even if I could do it. The train wrecks have NOT gotten that memo yet, though.

So, you may recall my entries about the guy that I literally scared the fuck out of. Well, he texted me last night while I was watching Doctor Who.

To recap:

  • I met him at a poly party, and we were the only 2 non-poly people.
  • I took him home in spite of better judgement, because he winked at me a lot… and I dig that.
  • He had a car and a job, but was living in his car.
  • After a lovely weekend, he didn’t want to pursue anything potentially romantic because I talk about killing people a lot and that creeped him out.

So I haven’t heard from him in a while, and I’m sitting at home watching Doctor Who when I get a text. I’m a polite kind of person, so I answer and inquire as to his welfare, and he tells me about how he’s doing awful… because he got a DUI and lost his job.

I’m just like… kay…

We chat a little bit, mostly about his potential jail time, and then he asks if “when [he] gets his shit together we could go to a movie or something.”

I’m not going to lie to you guys… In my head I immediately went, “I don’t need your shit, so no…” Instead I brought up the fact I creeped him out, and he said, verbatim, “My recent line of thinking is that if I get to know you better, I may not be so unnerved by some of your quirker quirks.

So you’re telling me… That you got picked up for a DUI, and while you were in the drunk tank you thought real hard about this and think that getting to know me better would make me less creepy. You did this while sleeping off your DUI…

Okay, maybe it didn’t go down exactly like that, but he was already barely skating by when I met him. Job, car, and an address are my bare minimums, and he didn’t have an address… I don’t have the time or energy to deal with an unemployed, homeless guy. Ain’t no one taking up residence in my house, and ain’t no one getting none of this without a job. My standards are admittedly low, but they’re not THAT low…

This is so predictable, though. I always attract men that totally fuck their lives over the moon, and then try to fix their lives and want to update me on it all the time. Like they’re going to woo me with how well they can piece their lives back together. I’m always just like, “Maybe you shouldn’t have fucked up in the first place, bruh.”

The meth addict, especially, used to do this. He did it for years after we broke up. Every so often, I’d get a text or a FB message about him and how he was. He updated me on jobs and relationships, everything. He was so excited to tell me when he got married and about his kids, and he wanted me to go meet them. Eventually I had to explain to him that I don’t even go out of my way to meet the kids of friends that live in my own city… I was not about to drive 45 minutes away to meet the wife and kids of an ex boyfriend… We weren’t friends. So… I blocked him on FB… Lol.

But seriously… train wrecks. They errywurr, and they attracted to me.


So a weird thing happened to me.

I got invited to a poly party, which is where a group of polyamorous people get together. The ones I’ve been to previously were based on a lot of poly play… lots of hooking up… As an asexual, and someone that isn’t keen on sharing, either, these parties fascinate me. I tend to go just to people watch and see what happens, and people tend to invite me because… I have no idea. Cuz I’m pretty? Maybe?

Anyways, so my IT guy is what the 1950s housewife community would call a sexual deviant. He gets around, and whatnot, so I invited him along. It seemed like it would be right up his alley. I also invited my friend that goes through men like tissues, and a few of my regular friends. They’re always curious. I feel like they think these parties turn into orgies… which isn’t what happens. It’s more like all these people gather in an area, and then they pick who to hook up with…. while I sip vodka and take mental bets on who picks whom.

This was actually an unusually tame poly party, though. It ended up being a lot of Cards Against Humanity in the living room, and Truth or Dare out back. I kinda kicked off the Truth or Dare… I started with Never Have I Ever, as a conversational device, and the it naturally escalated into Truth or Dare… but the thing is, even though it was a poly party, and most everyone there is sexually free and has low inhibitions, no one really knew what to dare people. There were only a few good ones… some streaking, but it was weird because it just tapered out since everyone was too weird to actually say anything interesting.

So I was there to observe, and there was this guy, who was pretty cute, outgoing, and seemed fun. He stood next to me in Truth or Dare, and he was really nice, and he kept doing this thing where he’d wink at me. I dunno what’s with that, but he’s got these gorgeous hazel eyes, and the winking just did it for me as a human being. I was like, I MUST KNOW YOU RIGHT NOW. He’s about 5’11”, hazel eyes, dark curly hair with sun bleached highlights that he hid under a cowboy hat made from truck tarp most of the night, with a big worn leather jacket, worn out jeans, and a cowboy boots. None of that fits what I ever see myself picking up somewhere. He looked a little country, a lot of blue collar, and GOD DAMN IT HE KEPT WINKING AT ME WHEN HE TALKED TO ME. My friend dared us to kiss and we more…. made out a little bit… then somewhere over the course of the party we ended up talking a lot.

So, I’m an asexual at a poly party, which sounds unheard of or like the plot from a weird indie movie. It’s not actually THAT weird, though, since being asexual doesn’t mean I’m sex repulsed or something. It just means that when you’re looking at me like I’m a steak, I’m looking at you like you’re a book. (I really enjoyed that metaphor, so I hope you all got it.) I mention that I’m asexual right out of the gate to people with any kind of interest in me at these parties. It’s only fair, since they’re usually there to find a new person to connect with sexually, and I’m not. So I just get it out of the way that I don’t wanna bang anyone at these parties. Half the time they find that interesting, and half they find it a little whack. Either way, it usually puts me off the table, and if it doesn’t then I also mention my complete disdain for sharing. I’m not poly. I don’t share well. What’s mine is mine and if you touch what is mine, I will fucking kill you in your sleep. One or both of those can deter almost anyone at a poly party.

So imagine my surprise when I’m talking to the winking cowboy and it turns out he’s not poly. Nope. He just came with a friend, easy as that. Also, he thinks I’m quite lovely, and he’d love to take me out on a date. WEIRD. Also, quite flattering.So we chat, and while he makes the clarification of “do you ever have sex” the asexual thing doesn’t even seem to phase him.

Me: “Yeah, I have sex with people I date. I’m just picky and wait till like date 3… which is apparently off-putting.”
Him: “You can wait till date 10 if you like. I’d just like to take you out.”

So we talk. Everyone I invited starts to filter out of the party. I’m intrigued, and he’s adorable, and he thinks I’m adorable, which is correct, and…
I don’t really know when I broke up with my last boyfriend. It’s been a few years now, but I didn’t manage to write it down or anything, so I don’t know exactly how long it’s been since I had a relationship. I do know that it’s been about 4 years since I really had anyone over the house. I just kind of barricaded myself into my house and kept everyone outside of it… So I decided to take him home, and then had a ridiculous panic attack about it the whole way there, as well as after I got there and he was meeting the dogs and drinking a beer.

It was an awful experience, but he was totally cool about it… he liked all my dogs, even. He was great.

One of the stipulations for him coming over was that we weren’t going to have sex.


I have no idea. The plan was just to have him over. He had said he’d mow my lawn in the morning and that he was handy, and it kinda made sense at the time. We would just cuddle and he was so nice, and then he’d mow my lawn and I’d buy him lunch. It was a cute idea and he was totally down.

And that’s almost what happened, but he asked if I wanted to make out before we went to sleep… and I did… so, being the impulsive and completely unpredictable even to myself person that I am, and… also really wanting to make a surprising but positive impression… we just went for it. I couldn’t help it. The winking. He’s so damn cute.

Sex is more fun than I remember, and maybe that’s just because it’s been so long since I had it. Last time I had sex before this past weekend was about a year ago, with a guy at a poly party I went to… but I didn’t like it. It was awkward and I didn’t really want to be there, I’d just been too drunk to really put all that together into a thought. This wasn’t like that. It was fun, there was laughing, I didn’t fee like I was under any kind of obligation or anything… I just got to enjoy it, mostly….

FUN FACT: If you go like a year without having sex, your vagina shrinks.

He was great about that, too, though. Like… he listened to me and didn’t make anything a big deal, and we both went to bed exhausted.

I never know what to do when I wake up with someone. It’s weird, because I wake up early all the time, and the people I bring home never do. They always sleep till forever unless I wake them up and throw them out. I got up, took the dogs out, took a shower, watched some Parks & Rec… and then went back to sleep… because it sounded nice. He was still cute in the morning, and when he actually came to he was still a sweetheart. Our Sunday broke down to lots of laying in bed, more sex, Chipotle, HE MOWED MY LAWN AS PROMISED, and we cuddled up and watched Dale & Tucker VS Evil with the dogs.

It was the cutest day, and I was really excited about it. It was just nice. Previously it’s taken me months for that to be a day I can spend with someone… new relationships tend to feel like we need to be out doing something….

I made him laugh because overnight I went from a constantly apologizing panic attack back into the catty, smart mouthed, teasing kind of person I was at the party. That’s me. So he something about “if this works out” and I went, “I’m committing to nothing, right now,” only to be thwarted by dogs, cuz they definitely committed. But it was really nice and I think I like him.

I had to take him back to his car… which was sad. I wanted to keep him tied up in my house forever, instead… but he had to go help his friend with her car… which is neat. I like a man that can do things. The thing is that all I wanted to do was text him… but I didn’t. I waited, and he actually ended up texting me. So I guess he likes me. He actually wanted to come back over and hang out, but I was doing all my neglected chores… and I felt like I’d been assaulted….

Drinking three days in a row and having a bunch of rough sex is a young girl’s game… I’m no longer equipped to handle that without consequences.

He might come over tonight. I would like that.

TBH I really kind of want to hope this could work out into a really real thing… For a while now it’s felt like I’m not IN the world… I’m asexual, I’m aromantic… and no one has even been aesthetically pleasing to me in ages… I would love to feel again.

Aromantic – How do you know?

So when I tell people that I’m asexual, aside from having to clarify that it DOES NOT MEAN:

  • that I can reproduce by budding or mitosis
  • that I am a hermaphrodite
  • that I am a virgin (buahahaha)
  • that I am waiting for marriage (oh… oh no…)
  • that I just haven’t found the right person
  • that I am a closet lesbian
  • that I have been sexually abused
  • that I am a prude
  • that I am unable to identify aesthetically appealing people
  • that I am sexually attracted to objects
  • that I have a hormonal or chemical problem medicine can fix
  • that I just made up a term to make myself sound special

Aside from that, the next question that comes is whether I can be, or want to be in a relationship. The answer has always been yes, because I always envisioned myself finding someone, and we would adopt a couple kids, have some dogs, and live happily ever after into the sunset. Recently, though, I’ve realized that maybe I’m wrong? I mean I still might want to adopt some kids, and I’m always going to have dogs, and my sunset is going to be lovely shades of black, grey, white, and purple… but recently I’ve noticed that I just don’t feel romantically attracted to people. And that’s WEIRD for me.

Whenever I talk about my past, I like to limit it to the past 5 years… because who the fuck was I before that was a totally different human being that I would totally not even be friends with, at this point… So, starting at 21: I dragged through the end of a shitty relationship and broke up with Mike, because he was a shithead stoner that ruined part of my house and endangered my life. Then I dated Grant, who was very nice and conformed to my warped perspective of romance, relationships, and didn’t have a problem maintaining a sense of distance. Even though we had sex, he was never pushy about it, noticed that I didn’t like PDAs, and even kissed in a reserved manner (I really hate use of tongue). He was good with it. He was ready to accept it all for the sake of a potential future, and I just… got… bored… No. That’s a bad explanation. I just wasn’t obsessed with him anymore is what happened.

So then I went back. Back back back to the beginning of my relationships. I skip the first because it was literally nothing interesting. I think we kissed once… then, moving forward, we have:

  • the guy I dated out of pity
  • the guy that was suicidal and a mild cross-dresser
  • the older friend of the pity bf
  • the virgin
  • the pagan boy
  • the adopted kid that told me I’m pretty when I cry and had a history of drug use (that bubbled back up)
  • the alcoholic
  • the recovered druggie fresh out of rehab (Mike)

These aren’t things I found out LATER. These are things I knew UPFRONT and found terribly fascinating. Why? Because they were things I couldn’t figure out. I dated a guy out of pity because my friend liked to torture him, and I couldn’t determine why torturing him was fun… I get it now. Suicide is always fascinating… why did he feel like that? What would make someone want to shoot themselves in the stomach so they can feel themselves die? Older men were kind of fascinating. They had an interest in me, and I assumed that dating them would be a unique experience, that they could bring something more to the table… but no, not really. I didn’t understand people that held onto their virginity, since I lost mine at 13, so that was an experience. Paganism was always fun to me, but this guy was more interesting because his family was full of strangeness… mental illness kinds of strangeness. Then, I’d never met someone that could take the worst situations in life and see some kind of brilliant painting behind them, or why the adopted kids I knew always seemed so messed up when their families were so nice. I never understood alcohol and drug dependence, or how it could actually tear lives apart. I never realized, until then, that it can literally change someone (it was always like watching a werewolf transformation). I wanted to see someone change and become a new person after the alcoholic, so I thought this would be fun, but all I really wanted to do was tempt the recovered druggie… 

 None of those things describe love. I don’t look back on any of these things and feel a heart string tug. I look back and see an obsession that got resolved when I got to the bottom of the fascination. What is that? Is there a term for that?

So, I dunno. Maybe I am aro. Maybe I’m just not good at relationships, but not aro.
I don’t know, but it’s given me something new to think about… which I guess is good… thinking is good… but I’m not always sure that constantly questioning my identity is…