First off, let me say that I am not of the "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" school of thought. When I been done wrong by a man, I don't blame it on the Y chromosome, but on the fact that the person who done me wrong was/is a dumbass. Likewise, I excpect to be held fully culpable when I behave like an asshole in a relationship, and do not chalk my behavior up to temperamental girly hormones. Usually.

Point being, I tend to steer away from blanket "Men Suck" statements.

That probably wasn't necessary to say, but I've noticed a slight tendency for members of the opposite sex to get kind of defensive when I mention a gripe I have with a specific guy, and, somewhat understandably, counter with, "Yeah? Well, try dating girls who do (thisandthisandthisandthis)," and follow with various viably hurtful, individual incidents in which a woman done them wrong.

I think that both men and women have been given bad raps based on really bad PR provided by a small, but very vocal, minority of each gender. For women, this small, vocal minority is represented by giggly, mindfucking twits who neither say what they mean or mean what they say. For men, it's those "Hey, baby" assholes who get all up in your face and act macho and charming until you sleep with them, and then they're off like a badly affixed hairpiece.

Bad experiences with cliche male antichrists can make me waffle, but I usually stand by that.

Hoo, that glass of wine went straight to my head. Anyway ...

A little over a year ago, I dated a guy whose method of ending our 4-month relationship was to simply stop calling me and pretend I didn't exist. To be honest, I was kind of okay with that, since our relationship was fizzling, fast, but it was a pretty dickweed move on his part.

When we were dating, he was aaalll about us being an item. He'd mention me spending major holidays with his family a year or two down the road, and I'd react by saying, "Erm, yeah. Look! Shiny!" Not because I'm anti-committal, but because I thought he was making groundless assumptions and it weirded me out. I know he was trying to be sweet, but still.

Round about the time I was gearing up to talk to him about it, he disappeared. I'm not completely blameless, here, but it was really chicken-shitty.

I ran into him at a staged play-reading at a cafe last night, and went up to say hello afterwards. He hugged me and immediately said he was sorry, he had been a total shit (his words), and that he his "Jewish guilt" had been eating away at him.*

I don't hold grudges unless someone fucks with my friends or my sister, so we chatted and caught up and whatnot. He was really genuine and attentive, and seemed really interested in getting back in touch (perhaps due to that GRAND SCALE GUILT THAT IS SO TOTALLY MONOPOLIZED BY A SINGLE IDEOLOGICAL POPULATION THAT, IF YOU ARE JEWISH, YOU CAN USE IT TO EXCUSE EVERY TRANSGRESSION,) but after a short while I felt like I had very little left to say.

Being in his presence again made me feel this strange, vague sensation of ew.

So, the last time I saw MK, my summer-lover, I used a lull in conversation to say, "Just to put this out there..." [followed by an understandably shudder-ridden eyebrow-raise from him,] "Since you're only here for a month, why do ... what are we ... um ... where do you see this going?"

Okay. I can be as discreet as the Mona Lisa, and can comport myself with all the diplomacy and tact of a lady of court, but I admit that I have all the subtlety of a flaming wrecking ball. When I spy an elephant in the room, I'll alert everyone to its presence even if it makes people uncomfortable. I feel it's better to get shit out of the way, and ultimately lets everyone have more fun.

MK rolled his eyes and begged for us to have the conversation another time, and I apologized for springing it on him. I agreed that we didn't have to talk about it right then, but assured him that I'm really relaxed about the whole thing and haven't made any foregone conclusions, but I just wanted to mention that it was on my mind. Then I mercifully changed the subject to Catwoman and he went off on a movie tangent. The rest of the evening was really goofy and relaxed.

He slept at my place, told me that the next evening he had to run errands and go grocery shopping, and I didn't hear from him again until today. A full week later.

See, I don't have much of a dating history, but I can pick up on hints. He waited exactly a week until contacting me to make plans for this weekend. I think that means, "I don't want to kick you out of my life, but don't expect too much."

But I thought I had been clear that I didn't and DON'T, expect more than what is reasonable. Argh.

Like I said, I'm a stranger in this land of active dating. When I say I don't play games, it's true, but maybe it's just because I don't know how. I'm coming to realize that there is no set of steadfast rules that exist, but that people adopt them as situations develop to allow themselves space and comfort.

I don't know. I think, though, that maybe he freaked out a little because of the aforementioned bad PR generated by the mindfucking bitchtards that flip their hair and whine and grouse and stamp their feet, but never say what's wrong, giving no clout to my claim that I "say what I mean and mean what I say."

I admit that little white lies creep in every now and then, and like everyone else, I'm not ALWAYS as upfront as I perhaps should be, so that mantra isn't steadfast. For example, I sometimes do give the grocery shopping excuse when I just want some time for myself. And MK's here just for the summer, he has good friends that he doesn't get to see very often, and I can see why he wouldn't want to dedicate too much time to fostering new relationships instead of maintaining and enjoying those that already exist.

Rrrg. It just frustrates me that I feel like he's put up a wall, when I'm just as much about having fun as he is.

But now that I've said all this, I realize I'm probably freaking out over nothing, and no one's done anything wrong.

Blaaaaablaaaaablaaaaah. I am twelve years old. I think I some more eloquent and funnier arguments to make, but then I got drunk. Hoo!

Oh, Pat Benatar, I never wanted to believe you, but love is, indeed, a battlefield.

OMIGODI'MJUSTKIDDING! Love is a high school cafeteria, at best. Or, at least, dating is.

HHHHHA!

Tipsy. What the hell happened?

* Also last night:

I was at the cafe, and the barista looked pointedly at me when I ordered my drink and said, in reference to the tip jar, "This looks a little empty, dontchathink?" I told him that I've worked in myriad coffeeshops, so I felt his pain.

He told me not to pay him any attention, because in his culture, people demonstrated their love through pain. Then he gave me another look and said, "The Jewish culture."

I was kind of confused, and didn't know if he was hitting on me.

But, anyway, it was soon after that that the ex-boyfriend gave me the "Jewish guilt" line.

If the entire Jewish culture expresses their love through torment, (which I don't buy, but who am I to say?) then of COURSE you're going to feel guilty all the time.

LOVE=TORMENT=GUILT=OVERCOMPENSATION=LOVE?

I guess it's sort of an efficient cycle.

Being raised Irish Catholic, I wouldn't know. We rosary-countin', potato-farmin' folk have been taught that feelings should be repressed and ignored at all costs. Right?

I really hope you all realize how serious I'm not.

Cozy under a wooly set of blanket statements,

Kelly

(A glass of wine. How did I get so drunk? MAZEL TOV!)

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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