p;Although I didn't think it was my fault or something to blow up about, I would send flowers or plan a nice dinner out or buy some special lingerie to apologize. I still kept thinking, "No big deal. I just need to listen better."The final melt down was a combination of two things, although I think we both knew things were about to end.
The first was when I was told that I wasn't as romantic as other guys (ex-husband, ex-fiance, ex-boyfriend). I was shocked to believe that I was being placed in a category below people that were; physically and mentally abusive, manic depressive, and an alcoholic. The conversation ended with "You just don't get it." This seems to be a great female catch all phrase. My sisters like to say that it means, "You just don't get it. You are suppose to change to meet my desires and needs because I'm not changing." I did not need any further discussion after that statement. I stood up, put on my shoes and walked out the door.The funny thing is one month later I received a call from this lady to say she had a dream about me and knew that we should remain as friends. So, we have actually remained as loose dining or telephone friends. For the first year or so after we broke up I would be asked, "So, do you get it yet?" I would either make a sexual comment or just say I get we should stay as friends. After a couple of years, I was finally told, "I have to apologize to you because I now realize you "get it more than most guys"". Luckily we both got it that getting out of a "relationship" that has too many differences can be better for both people.
I am embarressed too say I have so many bad boyfriend stories it would take me years to say them all, but one guy definently has to top them all. He actually ended up being my ex husband eventually so guess that proves my stories worth and my idiocy. Our relationship was filled with breakups and makeups and 99% of the time it was because he was bored or something and had cheated on me so he broke up with me. The other 1% was he got me in so much trouble at home I would get grounded and he couldn't hang out with me so he'd break up with me.
I remember times of him leaving me with no ride(I was in high school and had no car), walking in on him and another girl, forgotten Valentine's days, waiting weeks without a call, and yet I always felt like in the end he made up for it and we stayed together. After high school and being on and off for years, he asked me to marry him via email, yes you read the right via email, and I said yes. To this day I have no idea why I can only figure I felt the timing must be finally right for us. I seem to have forgotten all the rejections, and of course the bad boyfriend didn't turn out to be a great husband either.
I would have to say their were two defining moments when I knew without a doubt what a mistake I made (since apparently I failed to catch on to all the indicators when we were dating). The first was in the beginning when we were newlywed and driving to our new state and he got mad and left me in a hotel for a few hours thinking he wasn't coming back. The other would be when my mother passed away and he said he had a trip to go on and didn't want to cancel it or take more time off to come home with me for her funeral. All I can say is hindsight is the best thing about growing old. That was the last time I made the mistake of accepting less than I deserve, no matter what my daydreamy mind and loins told me!
So I was in love with an Israeli man (I am catholic) who also professed his undying love for me. This was the "real" thing. I got pregnant. He didn't want the baby, telling me it was because the timing was bad or we were too young (late 20's), I don't remember... At the end of the relationship he tells me the real reason - that I, as non-jew, was not good enough to be mohter to his children. So he decides that I need to terminate the pregnancy. I didn't want to lose him, so I agreed. He drops me off at the clinic, but doesn't stay with me through the most tramatic experience of my life. No, he drops me off and heads to the mall to kill time and we arrange for him to return at a set time. He returns 1-1/2 hours later than promised while I sit in the waiting room, stunned and emotionally drained. We get in the car and he tells me he picked up a few nice pairs of shoes for himself... oh, and was it a boy or a girl.
"On the perils of travel"I spend way the hell too much time on the internet. I know this. I am a Computer Guy by trade, the sort where you can hear the capital letters when people say it, and it sounds in unflattering moments like some kind of exotic venereal disease. "Yeah, she gave me a nasty case of Computer Guy. My junk turned green. I just hope it doesn't fall off."Spend as much time on the internet as I tend to, you meet people. I admit it, I've met my fair share of ladies, both actual ladies and the transcybered, over the internet. Hell, it's how I met my fiancée. But well before that, I met someone entirely different. For the purposes of this narrative, we shall call her Iris. She was the first internet acquaintance I ever met in person.I am firmly of the belief that there is absolutely nothing that, under the right circumstances, can't be funny. Sometimes, this makes me kind of a horrible person. Especially considering that the following events took place several years ago when I was just out of my teens, this belief resulted in me cracking a lot of jokes about dead babies and necrophilia--and occasionally both at the same time--amidst the dick jokes and your-mom putdowns that are a staple of nearly everyone's adolescent humour. I, being the age I was, gleefully mistook my indulgence in off-colour humour and the fact that my age was no longer prefixed with a "1" as a sign of maturity.
She, being two years my junior, did much the same and was appropriately impressed with me. We fell not into love so much as something very lust-like. While it bore only a passing resemblance to genuine affection, being young and stupid, I figured it would be worth pursuing.To this day, I am still not certain exactly why I decided it might be a good idea to visit her. I'd like to think that young me had slightly more complex motivations than the fact that she was pretty and I was quite certain to get to sleep with her if I made the trip from my humble Canadian prairie home to Seattle to see her. Having recently evolved from a nerdy-looking little slip of a boy into some early-beta version of a guy who had any idea of what to do with himself in a social situation, it's possible that I simply latched on to the first thing with breasts that would give me the time of day.
An actual relationship was highly unlikely due to logistics alone. Not that we had enough in common outside of the games we both played to form the basis of one. But we talked about it anyway and that seemed to make her happy, and eventually I guess I got pulled in by the shining vision of the impossible too.So it was, too few months later, that I found myself boarding an airplane from my tiny Western-Canadian city to Seattle. My first stop was Vancouver, where I would clear US customs. I had an hour and a half to do so--plenty of time, I figured, and reassured myself while I waited for my luggage at the customs carousel. And waited. And waited. When the bags for a different flight started coming in, I grew concerned, and began to look for the domestic baggage carousel. Which, as my luck would have it, was one floor below me, on the opposite side of the terminal. In my panic, I believe I set a land speed record for a half-kilometer sprint, pausing only twice to get terrifyingly lost, before arriving at the domestic luggage carousel. Only to discover a man waiting for me, to inform me that they had found my bag misplaced there, and had it delivered to where I had just come from. I must have run right by it without even noticing.
A second mad dash later had me standing in front of a particularly humourless customs official, who decided that the combination of my breathlessness, my relative youth to be traveling alone, and the fact that I now had only twenty minutes before my flight was to board were fairly suspicious. I was directed to have my bag and person hand-searched. Just what I needed.So there I was, standing in my underpants with the contents of my suitcase spread liberally out on a table in front of me when they announced my flight was boarding. One customs officer, mercifully, was human enough to put in a call to hold the flight up for me. I was eventually allowed to dress and get on my plane, confident the worst was over.I landed in Seattle, fetched my bag—which was actually in the right place this time—and looked around for the lovely lady I'd come here to meet.
Then I looked some more. Then I looked some more than that. Eventually, I found a pay phone and called her."Oh yeah," she said, in a voice tinged with dawning comprehension. "I thought you were coming in later. I'll be right there."Half an hour later, a Neanderthal from security demanded to know why I was loitering in the arrivals area. He seemed swayed by my story of waiting on my ride, though when he came back twenty minutes later, he was not quite so content with the same explanation. At last, Iris arrived, another girl in tow. Though upset, and further irked that there wasn't much in the way of an apology on the way to the car, I was mostly just glad to see her. Once my suitcase was crammed into the trunk, I was relegated by myself to the back seat of the car, while the two of them chatted without particular effort towards my inclusion in the conversation. Eventually I fell asleep.I awoke some time later to the delightful tones of screaming youth. I should backtrack at this point, and mention that Iris hails, ancestrally, from the Philippines. You will be unsurprised, dear reader, to then hear that in a house not much larger than two side-by-side basketball courts, there were never less than about fourteen people at any one time. As a man generally accustomed to both quiet and solitude, as well suffering from crippling shyness amongst large numbers of strangers, I was somewhat less than thrilled by this discovery.After dropping my suitcase off in a room I was informed would be mine, I was taken off to a crummy Chinese restaurant, where I sat quietly for about the next four hours, failing to follow gossip about people I've never met. I would occasionally give a half-hearted chuckle when someone made a joke about Canada before forgetting I existed again, perhaps once every half hour or so.
The eventual return to Iris' house was marked with the discovery that while I was gone, someone had rifled through my suitcase. Missing was about $100 in cash and two condoms. I left money in my suitcase, you see, because when I have money on me, I tend to squander it. It seemed wisest not to bring all my money with me, so I'd still have some later in the week. That worked out really well for me, it seems. Inquiries as to just who the fuck had been rifling through my suitcase were met with a mixture of muttering in an unfamiliar language, and noncommittal shrugs. I did later locate one on the missing condoms. Used. In a wet spot on my bed. I slept on the floor that night, and not, as I had been led to believe I would, anywhere near Iris.The next day or two are worthy of mention only in that they happened, much unlike anything between Iris and I. I never did get my money back, though I did probably discover who'd been using my condoms, when I went to my room to discover my bed rather vigourously occupied. At least, I thought wistfully, someone was using my condoms, even if it wasn't me. I think I deserve an award for not strangling anyone when I was berated for walking into my own goddamn room without knocking.I spent less time with Iris than I had thought I was going to, as she seemed eager to free herself of my presence on the frequent occasions one of the many loosely related people hanging around offered her something better to do than kick around with me. I spoke at no great length to her on this subject as she was busily leaving to go somewhere I wasn't welcome.
Her family, she informed me coldly, always came first, even when that meant abandoning the dude who'd just shelled out most of his savings to buy a plane ticket to see her. She forestalled any reply by leaving, and refused to speak on the subject further. I didn't push it. I would like to tell you, dear reader, that I was simply too much the gentleman to argue a point that seemed to mean something to her; or that I was too much the forward-thinker to get into an argument with the only person familiar to me that I would be near for the next five days. Neither is the case. Rather, my courtesy came straight from my gonads, which in typical male fashion convinced me that there might still be some remote possibility of getting laid, so I'd best not fuck it up.Eventually, Iris decided she'd like to go to an arcade somewhere, so she could play Dance Dance Revolution. However, she was unable to drive, which explained in large part the presence of numerous friends whenever we left the house for any reason. I, being licensed to drive, was an obvious solution to this problem. So, keys to an aunt's car in hand, she woke me up that morning with a kick to the shins, pitched a slice of toast at me, and informed me I was driving her to an arcade. Knowing, at this point, that anything negative I said about my awakening would never cease to be an issue--and keeping in mind the mandate from my gonads--I mumbled something unintelligible about waking slowly, gathered my things and what I could find of my wits, and off we went.I converted, upon our arrival, the remainder of my money into quarters. A paltry eighty of them lining a pocket, I strode purposefully towards the DDR machines, thinking to get a game or two in with Iris.
Keep in mind the fact that I was, at the time, about as coordinated as you could expect a gangly fifty kilo boy to be when he'd recently grown into a body designed to be about fifteen kilos heavier. So you can imagine how well I didn't do, especially with no prior experience at the game. Iris didn't much want to play DDR with me after that. This was alright, as I had no desire to play any more of it myself, so I amused myself with lightgun games 'til I ran out of money. I knew better, at this point, than to expect her to join me.Sated by horrifying (albeit, sadly, digital) violence and having run out of money long before she did, I stood about and watched Iris for a while, lacking anything better to do. I took a manner of satisfaction in seeing some random dude beating her thoroughly about a half dozen times in a row. Eventually, she got bored, and we spent a while chatting with the dude she'd been playing with. He seemed an unremarkable sort, differentiable from the archetypal pop culture drone only by his skill at Dance Dance Revolution and the fact that he drove an admittedly very nice car. Still, at least he was friendly, and got Iris into a more talkative mood than I'd seen her in that week. I played along as best I could with her blathering about this or that pop culture icon, unsurprised when she didn't extend me the same courtesy when I attempted to steer the conversation towards a subject I knew (or cared) about.Then, a few hours later, the random dude from the arcade arrived at her house. He and Iris promptly vanished. I was somewhat confused; more so a few hours later when next I saw her, him still in tow. I endured an unpleasantly large number of loud noises, coming from the general direction of her room that night.I confronted her the next morning, about just what the fuck had happened to result in several months of awkward adolescent romance culminating in her fucking some random jackass during the very goddamn week I'd come to see her. She answered only that she'd speak to me later, as she had plans to return to the arcade with whatever the hell his name was. She made a point of not asking me if I cared to join them.I would like to tell you, dear reader, that at that juncture I came back with a scathing reply, or at least an expletive-filled yelling fit. It would have been a somewhat less embarrassing (or, at least, more fraught with machismo) reaction than what I did, which was to turn without a further word, lock myself in my room, and weep quietly.I didn't see much of her for the rest of the week. In fact, no one did, though that didn't stop a family member or two from accusing me in varyingly broken English of being the one to monopolize her time, to which I reacted with all the grace of a stillborn cow.
My screamed speculation on the parentage of the third to do this was interrupted--midway through a suggestion that the mildly porcine tilt to his nose suggested a heritage, in the words of Bill Watterson, unusually rich in species diversity--by another goddamn pigfucking little shit, asking me if it was really necessary to be quite so profane. The moment of silence after I shot back with a query of whether it was really necessary to bring a man to a different country at considerable cost in order to ignore him and fuck some other asshole lasted long enough for me to exit stage left. I was only mildly surprised not to have been berated by Iris for this infraction against her "beloved" family when she no doubt later heard of it; I got the impression it'd only take one gentleman for her fickle priorities to switch, though I had wished it would've been me.She bid me goodbye when the time came for me to leave, but declined to accompany me and her mother to the airport; she and the dude from the arcade had plans for later. The drive was one of the more awkward half hours I can remember, spent largely in silence. I was not much surprised to be searched again at Canadian customs on the way back through Vancouver. It was just the way my luck wanted to work that week. A cautionary tale, I suppose mine is, of the perils involved both in long-distance romances, as well as the inescapable dumbness of pinning your hopes on someone you really don't know very well at all. Maybe if I'd spent some more time actually talking to her, and less playing the game that was the only thing we had in common. Maybe if I'd read a little more into her sometimes-vapid responses to things I'd said. There are a great deal of maybes, and it's entirely possible that events would not have culminated the way they did if I'd known then what I do now. But it was a learning experience. I knew better what wasn't going to work the next time around, and the next time after that, and eventually I got it right.There is an epilogue, however, that I didn't discover until some months later. While it doesn't really make up for the contents of the week in question, at least I can look back on it with a vindictive giggle, proving once and for all that there really isn't anything that isn't in some way hilarious.Turns out the dude had herpes.
There was the guy who picked me up for our date with his friend in tow (as he didn't have a driver's license). It was a convertible, so you can imagine what my hair looked like by the time we got to the party. This was our first date, but the other couple with us were very "close". Of course, that gave my date ideas he shouldn't have been getting and he starts hitting on me before we even get to the party. There's nothing like going down a busy street, in a convertible, with some guy trying to climb all over you. The party was ok, so we head on to dinner afterwards. My date smears salad dressing all over his face and doesn't seem to realize it. I try to discreetly tell him; to no avail. He takes veggies out of his salad (that he doesn't like) and throws them into my salad for me to eat. Of course, by this time I'm dying to ditch this guy and go home, so I don't order any dessert, or drinks, nothing that will keep me there any longer than I have to be. As a result, all the way back to my house, my dream guy keeps telling me what a "cheap date" I am. I'm dropped off first, as the other couple wanted to go on to another party. My date actually thinks I'm going to invite him in, kiss him goodnight, etc. - and he still has salad dressing on his face! I can laugh about it now, but I didn't date again for a long time after that!!
When I was in my mid-twenties, I fell hard for a guy I worked with. I was married at the time I started working with him. I felt we had a mutual attraction, but never acted upon it. I seperated from my husband, just as he was getting engaged to a girl back in his home state. We took up an affair in at the beginning of the summer and I remember we would go out to eat and he would call her and talk with her while I waited in the restaurant. I kept telling myself that he loved me and would not go through with the wedding. We actually lived together for about six months and I just knew he would not go through with it.
He actually left after the new year and came back married to her. I was so crushed and I still wonder what the hell I was thinking! We had so much fun together and the sex was really great. Once he was back, he found that he did not have the same relationship with her that he thought he would. I would listen with bitter amusement while he would complain that she had started nagging him about his habits. He made the comment that while they were dating she was fine with him, but once they married she decided he could change.
I remember having to bite my tongue to keep from saying "Of course she isn't going to nag at you before you marry her, you might have changed your mind" I am ashamed to admit it, but we actually had an affair after he had married her, and I found that my feelings for him had changed also. I did not feel the same way, or maybe I had came to my senses and realized what kind of man he really was. I still look back at that after a decade and wonder what kind of person I was that I felt I had to be in a relationship like that. He actually contacted me about a year or two later and I found out, surprise, that they had divorced. I am now married to great man, and I cannot help but wonder if I would have appreciated him half as much as I do if I had not had that relationship experience to realize that not all men are created equal.
When I was about 16 or 17, a guy I dated suddenly became extremely possessive. I was so young that I was flattered by his attention which we would now called possessiveness or stalking. If he called my house and the line was busy, he would call everybody he could think of that I might be talking to - especially another young man I liked. One day after a band practice (he was in the band too) I went to another friends house (the other guy he thought I was talking to) to see where he was. He hadn't shown up for band practice and I was concerned. I peeked around the corner and saw this other boyfriend come driving by. I had no idea that what he was doing was stalking as I was so young and at the time nobody had come up with the word "stalking." I didn't have a lot of self esteem so to have that kind of attention I thought was really cool. It was like "oh, he likes me." What I should have thought was "oh, he's a psycho; run the other way." But like I said I was just so young and naive. I found out much later how really creepy he was and finally dumped him. It took a long time for me to realize what was going on, but I finally got rid of him. Finally!
I dated this guy very shortly last year. He was very affable and outgoing latino ad he had curly hair. I have a thing for curly hair and latin was like that cherry on top of it. I just love it. Its shallow and stupid but what is more stupid is how in this late stage in my life I didn't listen to him. He recounted story after story of his dating life, (bad sign) and he kept telling me how he dated women who for whatever reason couldn't accept him for who he was. A woman he dated for a year but would not tell her friends and family he was her boyfriend because he was not Cambodian. His ex-wifes family never accepted him, though he accepted the child they had together.Well I dug him so much and eventually he had to tell me, "You are not good enough for me!!" Who says that to a person, even if they are not good enough for you? I would never say that to anyone. We are not right for one another, anything but that. Amazing.
We used to call him Gary during the day, because his beautiful, colorless, eyes were inert and cruel until closing time at the winery. It was then that Greg emerged, his whole affect swelling and softening, and his gorgeous, snaggly teeth showing to the gums. He was incredibly loud, and never breathed through his nose.One night we ended up in a delirious tangle on the ground of a children’s park. And then, somehow, we dated for two years.Gary got wasted at a winery event and had to be hidden from management in a walk-in refrigerator. He ate all the roast beef in the interim. Gary woke me up with the incandescent sound of his urine splashing against the corner of our bedroom. This was echoed, a year later, by the splashing of his urine stream on a full sink of dirty dishes when I took too long in the bathroom. Gary hated waiting. Greg called me lolo and told me I would have the most beautiful daughters. Greg loved how my top lip formed into a little beak when I was perplexed. Greg introduced me as the best thing that had ever happened to him. Greg’s skin never lost that sweet scent of puppies and infants. Greg drove me around wine country with the top of his 1986 Saab rolled down and gangster rap blasting and made me feel as if the sunshine was actually invading my bones. Oh but Gary, Gary, never left us alone. Gary missed his flights because he was hung over, and I’d have to pick him up and drive him hundreds of miles to his accounting job. Gary hated vegetables and newspapers. I was always shocked at how easily he could become furious with me.
Once, I poured a Snapple over ice cubes, and he called me lazy for not putting it in the fridge and waiting. He got really irritable if I didn’t have sex with him daily. Blowjobs were insufficient. Eventually his penis ripped my vaginal opening and I got a two week rest to heal.But in the end, Gary knew best. On Halloween, Gary and I were dressed as zombies. He ran into some friends and didn’t want to take the last train to the bay, so I went alone. I missed it, and called him to come with me on the terrifying transbay bus. He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay and drink some more. He wanted to be surrounded by people who made him feel like he was a good person. He yelled in his best undead voice, “I am BREAKING UP with you! And my darlings, I accepted.
Seedra's Story:When we first started dating he'd said he was divorced. I know what some guys' idea of divorce was (well, I'm thinking of moving out but haven't done any paperwork) so I checked out his divorce records online. Through court records I learned that his ex had hired a private detective to follow him and later he was ordered to pay for those services. I was suspicious of his one female friend and later learned that her ex proclaimed that she had cheated on him (with a person who was in the same profession as the guy I was dating) and subpoenaed the other ex and the private detective during the female friend's divorce proceedings. But even then I was dumb enough to fall for the "we're just friends" routine. Periodically through our dating he would just flat-out not show up, and not call until the next day. His excuses were lame: "met with my accountant", "met with my lawyer", always at odd times of the evening. I'm supposed to be a smart, educated, career-minded woman, but no. Finally he'd blown me off one to many times and this time he didn't even call. He eventually texted me, but it sounded like a cross between a breakup message and an attempt to keep me as an option: "Dear <name>, blah blah, respect you very much, blah.". Seriously, above all this, if you've gone out with someone for over a year and the only thing you have left is to whip out the Respect Card???? You know, as I'm typing this, it sounds so obvious where this was headed, but I ignored the signs. We got along so well together. The conversations were great, the sex was great, but still I was willing to overlook the obvious.
Tangie's Story:I was dating my boyfriend for almost a year and this was our first Valentine's Day together. He came over to give me my gift, which was a nice watch. It wasn't extravagant, but it was lovely and I truly appreciated it. Then he proceeds to tell me that we won't be able to spend Valentine's Day together because he was taking his two female friends out to dinner since they didn't have anyone to spend Valentine's Day with! Umm...EXCUSE ME?!? Needless to say, I was INFURIATED about his dinner plans! He was MY boyfriend and he should've spent Valentine's Day with ME not his single female friends! That should've been a sign that his priorities were not in the right place. That was the first of MANY issues. We broke up the next year. What was I thinking?!? You live and you learn.
Suzi's Story:This actually happened to someone VERY close to me (I'll call her Lisa) and I just about wanted to K-I-L-L her boyfriend over it! Lisa had been dating a guy for 7 years, they even moved in together. I become a roommate during the last 1 1/2 years. They were both very athletic and went to races all over California and Nevada, and Steve was also a personal trainer (at the encouragment of Lisa). At a local race a girlfriend told me that she'd seen Lisa's boyfriend (let's call him Steve) with Lisa and Steve's hairstylist "hanging out" together. I warned Lisa about this and she said, "No, Steve's just become her personal trainer, that's why she saw them together." But when Lisa went to her monthly appointment with her hairstylist that week, (I'll call her Kelly), who she had been going to for over 7 years....Kelly walked up to her and said, "Oh, I made a mistake and double booked you so Emily will be doing your hair today" and walked off. No apology, no offer to rebook her or book her next appointment. This had NEVER happened before, so that's when Lisa became very suspicious and confronted Steve who then confessed. Not only did her boyfriend break up with her, but so did her hairstylist!! The poor girl found out that not only was her boyfriend a loser, but so was her hairstlylist.
Michon's Story:I met a guy thru another guy I worked with. He lives in California & I live in Florida. It started out as just "hi, how are you?", very casual. But as time passed - it became more & more intense. We talked on the phone, we would IM each other, chat on FaceBook & send text messages every day, like we had actually met one another & were actually dating! He would send me pictures of himself-some of them pretty bold! -would ask me about my day, what plans I had for the night, etc-but by this point we were both "involved"! This went on for months until we decided that I would fly out to Ca. for a few days so we could actually spend time together-in person! I had my ticket & took time off work, got someone to dogsit & take care of my house & business -when he sends me a text asking me to change the days because his "soon to be" ex-wife was flying out the same week & she was staying with him, too! Stupid me! I change my plans-which was no easy task- & fly out earlier at his request. I fly from Florida to California on Christmas day for him to tell me, after 1 day, that he can't "do this"!! He isn't over his divorce-which hasn't even happened because he just filed the papers on December 19th! He then asks me if I want to go to a friends house or he will get a flight home for me that day!! He gets out his phone, goes online & finds a flight leaving in an hour. We race to the airport only to find out that the flights is around $900 and I can get to Houston but nothing is flying back into Orlando until the next day. So he gets a flight for me for the next day, takes me back to the hotel & gets me a room, slids the key to me across the counter & tells me there is a shuttle that can take me to the airport the next day. At this point all I could do is turn around and walk away-which is what I did. I never heard from him again!?!
Kimberly's Story:We met on Yahoo personals. He seemed perfect - he liked racing, was nice looking, worked for Harley-Davidson, and seemed so sweet. We dated for a year and a half - I never had a better time and hoped we would one day get married.One afternoon when I walked into his place, I noticed a print out of an email sitting on his desk. I admit it was wrong - but I read it. It was from a woman talking about her intimate relationship with my boyfriend - whom she referred to as her boyfriend. I was so flabbergasted I couldn't even believe it. It got better! Later that afternoon, as he and I were fighting about the email, a woman showed up at the door. She was another one of his girlfriends. How dumb am I? While he was dating me, he was also dating women in Michigan, Ohio, and Wisconsin - and we all thought we were the only one. I hired a private investigator and they found out he was on all kind of dating sites and was having casual flings with people. So it wasn't bad enough my boyfriend was a cheater but he now also exposed me to all kinds of STDs. So I'm now in recovery. I share my story in hopes that others might recognize him - and run! He's a serial cheat and liar. And I deserve so much better!
Sally's Story:I moved in with my Busy and Important boyfriend, the toast of Saratoga Springs, NY. Every day, when we walked his dog downtown, he'd stop and wave and yell at everybody. "Duuuude!" "Word up!" "My man!" (He's not black, a surfer, or nineteen years old). I'd politely pause while the dog delivered a lawn sausage under the nearest hosta plant."Aren't you going to clean that up?" I asked innocently. He looked at me with daggers in his eyes. "Well, aren't YOU Miss Perfect? No, I am not going to clean it up. Don't make every single daily activity a chore for me. Besides, this is good fertilizer.""No it's not," I rejoined, feeling, um, slightly...off-kilter. What the hell was this? "There are microbes in dog manure that are very bad for people.""Nonsense," he retorted, red-faced, and on we went. Every day, it was the same thing. So I bought a box of Baggies and stuffed my pockets with them. "You do what you want when you're alone," I explained. "But if I'm gonna walk with you, someone's going to clean up after the dog, and I don't mind if it's me." I got used to the sensation of the steamy little mound in my palm, insulated with plastic. The nearest garbage can, and out it went. Voilà.I didn't realize, of course, that one of the things I had said had offended him: somehow the idea of dog-doo being unhealthy rankled him. After all, it was his dog, wasn't it? It shits in four ice cream flavors. Maybe that was the rationale. There was always dog mess in our driveway. He was constantly stepping in it and tracking it all over the kitchen. So stay with me—Months later, many months, I took off to visit a friend in the City, packing a toothbrush as I left. It was an airline toothbrush, the kind with a plastic hat on it that snaps shut. A hat to keep it clean. I kept the toothbrush in a basket under the sink where my extra hair conditioner and scrunchies also lived. Good place to keep things. Right? Right.Next day, I came back from my trip, feeling funny. Feeling really funny. I felt downright feverish when I got into bed. I felt like a fried clam, in fact. And within an hour, I was cramped and sweaty. I shook, I shivered, I curled up next to him for warmth. Periodically, I'd get up and go to the bathroom, a noisily embarrassing experience. Could this be food poisoning? I didn't think so. I'd had food poisoning. This was an intestinal microbe, all right, but one with a difference.All week long, bathroom trips. I went all liquid inside. Couldn't eat, couldn't drink coffee. I had him buy me a case of Ensure. I wore two pairs of underwear to bed with my PJs. And somehow—I'll be darned if I can remember how the information bubbled up—he mentioned the toothbrush.It was just a junk toothbrush, he said. "Really?" I replied, startled. "How is that?""It was in that basket of trash under the sink," he said."That's not trash.""Of course it's trash. It's trash. It's nothing but trash.""Those are cosmetics. Cosmetics aren't trash.""Well, it looks like trash to me."Trash toothbrush is excellent for undoing the damage of the careless doggie in the driveway. My beau had cleaned his shoes with it. Washed it off, put it back in the plastic container, returned it to the basket, and it went to New York with me and then into my mouth.So he tested my theory and proved me right: lawn sausages are full of microbes that can make people very sick. Like Giardia.Eat Shit and Die! I guess that was the message.I ate shit and lived.And left.
Lauren's Story:In high school I dated this guy named Wayne. He was pretty goth, but I thought it was cool. He always wore Cannibal Corpse T-shirts and loved that song "Black Number 9". Anyway, he seemed really sweet and was sort of dangerous so I was in. He used to ride his bike to my house - more than 10 miles round trip - and he wasn't in great physical shape so he used to show up at my house all the time sweaty and out of breath and then announce that he had thrown up on the ride over. I was pretty crazy back then, because I thought that was sweet rather than weird.He also used to give me flowers all the time. Which also seemed sweet, except that they were fake flowers and almost always appeared dirty and faded. I didn't dwell on it, but one day I went to his house and he had a huge box of the flowers. I asked him where he got so many fake flowers from and he said they were from a cemetary - that when the flowers had been on the grave too long they took them away and dumped them in a special trash bin and he took them from there. Please bear in mind that I was about 14 at the time, so I should be given a little slack for not yet knowing what a red flag this was. I supposed I thought he was frugal and resourceful? He was trying to be sweet, right? The real breaking point, though, was when he made a series of shocking and fairly disgusting confessions during a conversation. I won't outline the full details but it involved strange use of bodily fluids (his own, unfortunately), necrophelia and a very disturbing picture of family life if we ever had children. I ended it immediately, and he responded by telling me that I was stuck up and calling me "Skelotor" to other people (apparently I was too skinny). A solid 13 years later my family STILL makes fun of me for ever dating him and refer to him as "Creepy Wayne". And I didn't even tell them that last part... Sincerely,Recovered Judgementally-Impaired Person
What was I thinking...I should have come to my senses a mutiple of times. I was 21 years old when I met my boyfriend and proceeded to date him for 2.5 years. After the first year I was working and realized that you could look up information on the county records for land use and information. My boyfriend had been wanting to find some of this information for his work and I happily messaged him the information as I chcked out the site. I wanted to see if there was a charge so I picked up a topic (marriage license) and decided to just enter his name not expecting anything. But there he was, currently married to his ex gf (for apparent ilegal reasons). I agreed to stay with him if he applied for divorce in the next 3 months....what was I thinking. He didn't so I stayed true to my word. He asked for me back two month later. Again what was i thinking when I said yes. I was out of state with him a couple months later for the Super Bowl party and the second day i had to stay in by myself since I was so sick. He said he would be home early but after him being gone for 12 plus hours I decided to snoop on his cousin's lap top who we were staying with.
I know this was wrong and I shouldn't have but I knew i would find something and the calling was just there. I pulled open photo albums because I wanted to see pictures from his recent trip to brazil (he alays claimed he never brought his camera). Going through the album I say pictures of him cuddling with a girl and kissing a girl on the beach and this was on camera, who knows what happened off camera. He promised that's all that happened and he wouldn't go on anymore boy's trips. I stayed with him...what was i thinking!!! A couple months later he goes on another trip to Vegas. I tell him I don't want him to go but say's it's a family trip (him and his cousin, the one who took the pictures) and he was going anyway. He notified me of this 3 days prior. Shortly after I inform him i am going to Los Angelos on a girl's trip and he breaks up with me. His reason, he thought I would cheat.After I came back he tried to get back together with me but I know what I was thinking this time. No way! I recieve an email from him saying how I am immature and all I can offer a guy is my looks and sex (wish i could post the whole email here) and then attached is a spreadsheet evaluating me on 50 different charaticss that are important to him. I only one I score high on is sex to try to prove his point. I ignore him and several months pass and I recieve text messages saying how he is seeing another girl whose body is so much better than mine and I am an anorexic, fat bitch. I shouldn't but did text back and said "I don't believe and I don't care". That was a mistake because a month later I recieve another email with just the prhase "I'm so sorry...but I told you I don't lie" with pictures attached of him being intimate with the new girl. At this point we had been broken up for almost a year so it doesn't bother me but in the back of my head I always ask myself.."What was i thinking?!"
Meg's Story:My sister called me about 3:00 on the Friday afternoon before Memorial Day weekend. "I have breast cancer," she said.Her husband and two 20-something daughters had already left town for various long weekend festivities. She had planned three days of being blissfully alone and catching up on chores, uninterrupted. She discovered a hard, pea-sized lump in her left breast in February and what with one thing and another, it had taken three months to get multiple doctor appointments, various tests, a biopsy, and finally to run by the radiologist's office to pick up her scans. The radiologist handed her a large manila envelope and told her point-blank, "You have breast cancer. You need to call your doctor first thing Monday morning."I had plans myself - great plans - for the long weekend. My two sons were with their father and I was going to hide out with The Last Bad Boyfriend - drink, talk, screw, eat, nap, swim, walk. But, sisters come first in times like this. I told my sister to come immediately to my building - I worked for a medical school and the first thing we could do was look at the scans then review the documents and get interpretations that made sense to us.I called The Last Bad Boyfriend and told him the horrible news. His first response was, "Can't you do that on Monday?" And he is a physician.There are more - the relationship lasted almost 8 years.