Guilty & Ready For My Beating

We all like to judge. We judge ourselves. We judge others. We even sometimes enlist other people to judge us.. because we obviously don't get enough judgement throughout our day.. or we hope the verdict will be different.

We tie ourselves into knots, and we enlist the help of others in this as well.

No where is this more prevalent than in dating. We are constantly bombarded with "do this" and "don't do that" .. that by the time we actually manage to find someone to accompany us, we've got ourselves convinced that we are other than we are.

Some of us convince ourselves we're more of a catch than we are. Our perfect maintenance. Our perfect manners. Our perfect set of rules and regulations.

Others of us convince ourselves that we're not a catch at all. We have too much hair or not enough, imperfect teeth, undesirable bodies, horrid careers.. and so on. We convince ourselves that we aren't social adept enough or interesting enough. We chide ourselves as losers for not being able to follow simple "rules" of dating.

Whats even worse than this.. is that we ask others to bolster these opinions. We specifically choose to go to people who we know (darn good and well) will give us the praise or tongue-lashing that we feel we deserve.

This post by Moxieinthecity has been bugging me for days, and I've come to the conclusion of why.. or conclusions maybe?

To start.. I'll be honest. My first reaction to Moxie's post was offense. I felt judged, because like the poster.. I've had sex on the first date. I like sex. I give in occasionally to the moment.. sometimes encouraged by TOM (hormones are evil) and alcohol (decreases my inhibitions, aka makes me horny). I don't necessarily think this is something that should be held against me.. though I fully understand that often it is.. and I sometimes worry about men's intentions after the fact.  Are they going to call? If they call are they only calling for a bootycall?

But thats not why it stuck with me. I fully grasp that by sleeping with said person I've made my choice to take a huge risk that he won't want to see me again. (In my past, I did this often out of self-sabotage. I figured he'd leave once he got sex, might as well make it sooner than later.)

Why it stuck with me was this... I related to.. and felt sorry for.. the girl.

I felt sorry for her because she was so full of self-doubt that it was hampering her ability to just enjoy her choices. Instead of embracing her choice to have sex, she was beating herself up, and judging herself for it.  Running doomsday scenarios of why he was calling rather than finding out for herself.

Secondly, I felt sorry for her.. because not only was she judging herself.. she actively sought out Moxie to help tongue-lash her... and Moxie did. 

Moxie let her have it in ways that .. well.. make me want to find the OP and give her a hug.

"You didn't really accept the consequences. If you had, you'd never have sent him that text. Now, had you sent him a text one night when you were feeling frisky and wanted to grab some wine and a shag?"

To me this says... if you have sex on the first date, don't bother trying to be anything to him other than a bootycall. Which is wrong.. so wrong.. Sure sure.. sex on the first date does decrease the chances in most men's minds that you'll ever be more than casual.. but not all men.  If he really likes you, sex on the first date isn't going to matter (trust me I've got a couple marriage proposals to prove it).

Sending a "thank you" text the next day.. is good etiquette. Just is. Always.

I just wish we could stop beating each other up. Stop beating ourselves up, for things that come naturally and are consensual. Whether we like it or not, we have to deal with the consequences.. and when it comes to sex.. those consequences aren't always what we expected. Sometimes they're good, and sometimes they're disaster.. but they're always unpredictable.

Enjoy your life.. Take each day as it comes.

The Worst Playboy

aka.. if he shows you who you are to him, believe him...

Like every woman out there, I've fallen prey to players.  Those smooth talking silver tongued lads who you want to believe because it feels good or its a happier picture. The guys who can cancel or make plans last minute and convince you that its for legitimate reasons. They convince you that you are in fact the most important and beautiful person in the world, and if they could they'd be with you 24/7.  And we believe it, because we want to.

I've been there. Done that. And sometimes willingly got the t-shirt. (Don't judge me. Sometimes good sex and a guy who makes you feel like a million bucks is pretty darn awesome, even if you know he's lying)

And (as the Texans say it..) "Bless his little heart" Hock is trying to be one of these guys. I'll give him some props for effort, but he's got a whole lot to learn. Aka he's a massive idiot.

1. If you're trying to be a playa, make sure your "excuses" can't be easily disproven by your Twitter or Facebook updates, especially if said media is one of the ways you two communicate.

2. If you don't want to burn bridges, never leave a girl waiting without any kind of word. Always keep her informed on your availability even if it changes last minute. Real playas don't want to put the effort into making up for things later and understand the longer you let a girl fester, the less likely you'll talk your way back into her pants. The less misunderstandings, the better your chances of getting laid.

And as such, Hock is no more. I'm actually thinking he may get physically hurt next I see him, but that will probably pass. In the meantime, let me tell you the story of how Hock went from sexy to deserving a ball-kicking (or more).

As you all know, Hock and I went to a hockey game and "made up" after his 3 am booty-texting faux-pas (which btw girls any time a guy does this to you, save yourself some time and just write him off completely).  I hadn't forgiven him completely but was willing to give him a second chance.

So anyway, I'd seen on Twitter that he was getting some friends together for a UFC watching party, and I had other plans with Getty to cheer her up after a horrid week. Getty wanted to get drunk and I promised to be her designated driver.  Being the great friend that I am, I used my media savvy to invite others to our party. I also sent Hock a special invite letting him know that when the UFC thing was over if he was bored he was welcome to join us.

Around midnight, Hock texted me and asked if we were still out. I said we were. He said he was on his way. Getty and I were about 15 minutes from leaving and picking another locale so I stalled so we could wait for Hock. Courtesy.

45 minutes go by. I text Hock.

"How close are ya?"

H - "I was actually there for about 10 mins looking around. Sorry I missed you."

(Oh bullshit asshole)

M - "Why didn't you txt me?"

(Seriously if you're looking for someone at a place, and can't find them, you call or text them to see where they are, especially if they knew you were coming.)

H - "Sorry I thought you were out. I went ahead and started getting home. I gotta get the house prepped for my mom coming tomorrow."

(BULLSHIT.. but whatever)

M - "Well the place here is pretty empty and we were waiting. You should have courtesy txtd me. Have fun prepping" 

So I'm ticked, and I'm "done" with him after this alone. Not going to badmouth him or beat him up.. he's just obviously a jerkoff and not worth my effort.

Then Getty and I go to another spot and I see my Twitter.  Hock is not home. Not even close. He's actually still out drinking with the same people that he watched the UFC. They're tweeting about how much fun they're having with him.. he's tweeting about how much fun he's having with them. 

Now I'm really done. Obviously the "message" I got by his 3 am booty-text was the right one and I shouldn't have questioned it. However, this last infraction earns him "ball-kicking" status.

For starters, using your mother as an excuse to ease over a "sex partner" so you can work on getting laid by someone else, on the night before Mother's Day.. you should be roasted in hell.

Second, he lied with every sentence. He wasn't on his way EVER (no one would go across town to where I was, only to go back to where he was. He never left.). Meaning he never arrived to even be looking for me, and he never went home to prepare for his mother's visit. He probably lied about his mother visiting as well.

Had he said other plans came up, I could have at least understood and probably would have rolled with it (he did say he was just out for fun at the start).. Instead he tried to keep me on the bench by lying a mega asinine lie. What a freaking moron.

Oh and if anyone in Austin wants his number to go kick his ass, I'll happily give it.

I do walk away from this learning something though.

1. Sports aren't bad. Its all about the company.

2. Not everyone deserves a second chance.

PS girls.. do take away from this one thing.. No matter how slick and sweet he talks, if he walks like an ass, you can be sure he is one.

Why Can't He Be A Loser?

^&^(*^&(*^&(*^*(^(&%&^%^$%$%^&*())(*&)&%&^&$$# (insane unrecognizable cussing streak)

Well damn it. (insert more cussing in some language unknown to man) I've a problem. A big problem.

I really thought seeing Hock again would bring out some flaw I missed. That his rude booty-text would have tainted my view of him enough that I would find him repulsive or at the very least unattractive. Or hope of hopes that last time I was wearing some huge beer goggles and would finally see him in a different - less attractive - light.

nope. 

I got to see him in his element, with his people, and learned more about him.

I f'n really like the bastard. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhit.

It didn't help that seeing him jogged my memory of how well he kissed. He's got some great lips. Remembering how they felt on mine. How his hands felt..  (pardon me while I do a little daydream here.. )

Or that he was nice and polite.. and unreadable. (I could not read at freaking thing from him. Nadda. Much like the last time I saw him where I couldn't tell if he was or was not interested. I hate it and secretly love it. I'm a bit of a masochist obviously.)

I wanted to get a moment where we could just talk a little, but that moment never happened.

At the end of the evening, he gave me a one-armed hug just like he did everyone else, and bid me a safe drive home. (so very un-climatic) 

I would of course try to have a tryst with someone who despite his booty-text faux-pas fits the criteria of someone I'd actually date. 

Next time, I'm going to make sure I can't stand the guy, or at the very least am embarrassed to be with him in public.