(Cole):

 Hola a todos! 

I hope everyone is doing well.  As for me, well……  I have decided to become “officially” single.  It took a lot of time, a lot of back and forth arguments with myself (some out loud, some silent in my head), for me to decide, but ultimately, I came to the conclusion that after a couple of years of being married, once things were no longer working out between my ex-husband and I, that all I really wanted was to be single again, to be who I wanted to be, to do what I wanted to do, without being hindered by a significant other.  Don’t get me wrong, I tried to make it work, but, well, it just didn’t, and so we separated and then divorced. 

It’s not the separation or the divorce that bother me, more the fact that I found myself in a “relationship” so soon after being separated.  It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, that I never even thought I could actually like Rapist, let alone love him.  Hell, I was just looking to get laid!  I wouldn’t have cared if he was Jack the ripper, so long as he didn’t kill me.  What bothers me is that I was so quick to be so faithful and monogamous so shortly after separating.  I mean, what was I thinking?  What happened to keeping my options open, to playing the field or having a little fun?  After seven years of being with someone, five plus years of marriage, after finally separating and divorcing, I decide to fall in love so quickly and limit myself to one, single person?  Very bad idea. 

Funny thing is, it wasn’t a rebound.  I couldn’t have been further away from wanting to shackle myself to another human being, yet that’s what happened.  Both rapist and I were quite surprised to have fallen in love with each other.  I was such a cunt to him in the beginning, in fact, up until a few months ago.  I was all “come in, get naked, fuck me, get dressed, and get the fuck out of my house so I can pour myself a scotch or crack a beer and smoke a cigarette!”  I wanted to be taken care of physically, while emotionally my mind could run free.  I mean, lets face it, masturbating gets old after a while, and I’m a very sexual person.  I wanted a reliable and “safe” booty call to come and take care of business when I needed it, not to dictate who I could hang out with or what I should do with my life when he wasn’t inside of me.  Not that rapist does that.  He does have a jealous side, but he knows he can’t tell me what to do anywhere but in the bedroom.  Outside of the bedroom I’m my own private entity, and I like it that way.  But……

It’s time to cut myself loose and see what else or who else is out there, and the longer I wait, the more difficult that will be.  It makes sense to call it quits now anyway.  We have never done anything conventional in our “relationship”.  I rather think we dated backwards.  It started with us being at each others’ throats and basically hating each other (and hate fucking each other), then we became sweeter, then we finally started kissing and, dare I admit it, even cuddling!  Now that we’re saying I love you, and think our time has run out.  I wasn’t looking for love.  I know I will want it again eventually, but I still think it’s too soon for love.  Love ruins the fun, and right now, I want to have fun, not be all tangled up in a relationship.  Besides, I’m planning my “30, nerdy, inked and dirty” (Cole code for 30^th birthday) in VEGAS at the end of August, and where better to be single and down for getting into some mischief with my partner in Crime, MARGE!???

Speaking of love and Marge…

It was Marge’s birthday on Tuesday, and that turtle bastard didn’t even text her happy birthday!  She took it ok, but I was fucking pissed!  Don’t get me wrong, she had a few moments where she was overwhelmed with sadness, and it just got me thinking:  Do I love rapist, have I ever really loved anyone at all, and am I even capable of love? 

    

I’ve had this conversation with several of my friends, and while it is fun do discuss love and how people behave when they are in it, I get no definitive answers.  As far as Marge is concerned, she LOVES, at least she loves the turtle.  I’m not really sure how she felt about her ex-husband.  I guess I just started wondering because I feel that I love rapist, yet I am just going to walk away.  Have I shed any tears?  Not physical ones, no.  Emotional ones?  Well, if the water never comes, does it count as a tear?

Even when my ex-husband asked for a divorce I don’t think I cried.  Well, in that particular situation I think I was more relieved than sad, but still, one would think that tears would fall.  So what is it then?  Does everyone just behave differently with this emotion that so many strive for, or have I indeed never really loved?  And if it isn’t love that I feel for rapist, what exactly is it?  Is it definable, or do I just prefer to live in a habitual state of ambiguity?  Am I cutting rapist out of my life before things get more serious so I don’t have to deal with the pain later, or do I truly just want to move on and meet other men?  Is it fun I am honestly seeking, or is it future, inevitable pain I am avoiding?  

(Cole):

 

I’m going to start this week’s post off with a little throw back from a few weeks ago.  More specifically, why I’m still a little sketched out about whether or not someone actually did speak to my father or mother about my job predicament, in addition to other things…

 

First off, my father threw my mother under the proverbial bus and said that she went through my paperwork and shit.  Fine.  Maybe she did, but whatever paperwork she could have gone through wouldn’t have said anything about fornicating with strangers while married, or chillin’ in my kiddy pool topless.  I mean, I never addressed anything pertaining to either scenario.  Primarily, because why would I, and secondly, what would any of that have to do with my work situation anyway?    

At first I believed what my father said, thought that perhaps my mother had read my appeal letter to corporate security and misunderstood, but nothing in my appeal letter mentioned anything about infidelity or nudity.  I could understand my father protecting my mother, but not him sacrificing her for some random stranger that wanted to alienate myself from my parents.  Why shoot my mother in the foot to protect someone else, especially a stranger, if indeed it was a stranger??? 

I don’t know what actually happened, but I do know this:  Once Sedouche found out I was fucking someone else, (as apposed to him) he wanted to know who it was.  When I told him I wouldn’t ever tell him who it was, he said as soon as he did find out, he would go to my ex and tell him who it was, and go to the man I was fucking (rapist) and tell him that it was completely inappropriate to be fucking the estranged wife of a co-worker.  All of the sudden Sedouche had become something holy and superior, in his mind.  If I wasn’t going to fuck him, he damn sure wasn’t going to allow me to fuck anyone else!  In the blink of an eye he went from a dirty fucking dog to the holiest of saints.

    

He may have never found out whom Rapist was, but he knew damn straight who my ex was, and I have no doubt that the two of them had a nice little chat.  Funny little fact about my ex.  He likes to be perceived as an innocent little angel, but he’s a sneaky, back-stabbing, manipulating coward!  He comes across as so pristine, so angelic, but he would slit his own mother’s throat if he thought it would get him what he wanted.  He likes to be the sweet, shy guy, but while you’re getting him a glass of water he’s trying to figure out how to fuck you in the ass without getting caught. 

Martichyst is a classic manipulater.  He would come home from work and snicker about how he got a guy on his crew kicked off.  Why?  Just because he didn’t like him.  I may be an asshole, but at least I’m up front about it.  Not Martychist.  He’ll kick you while you’re down and then, while blaming that fateful blow to your back on someone else, he’ll offer his hand and dust the dirt off of you, just to show you what a nice guy he is.  It’s people like that you have to worry about, not the other way around.  If I don’t like you, you’ll know it, and I won’t sucker punch you either.  You’ll have plenty of time to prepare and you’ll see my fist coming from a mile away.  If I’ve met someone and I don’t like them I won’t say “it was nice to meet you”, I’ll just be like, “ok, bye”, and that’s if I even acknowledge them at all.

Faced in such a situation, I can’t help but ask myself, ‘what in the fuck is going on here?!!!’

I try not to stress about it.  Really, now that I’m living with Marge and her gorgeous daughters, everything just feels great, and after months of waking up sick with anxiety, it’s really, really nice to be living somewhere I feel safe, happy, and accepted (emphasis on the “accepted” part).  That being said, I’ve renewed my convictions about contacting the NRC (nuclear regulatory commission) and a lawyer, and suing the fuck out of PG&E and Sedouche, for basically taking my livelihood away and making it next to impossible for me to take care of myself financially.

(As a side note, a friend of mine who is in the “business” told me that it might be beneficial for Marge and I to start posting more than once a week.  I have decided that I will post what I wanted to eventually publish as a “novella” of sorts, one chapter at a time or so, about what happened to me out at the plant and what my life was like while going through it and what I have been dealing with since.  I spoke to Marge about it, about if it even made any sense to post something like that, since this blog is supposed to be about dating and she said to me ‘is it just about dating, or is it about relationships?”  And she was right, as she most always is.  It is about relationships, life, love, dating, and getting shit on -figuratively, not literally- so fuck it!  Names will be changed so I don’t get sued, hell, I’ll even change the name of the power plant that fucked me in the ass with a cactus without lube!  I don’t really care what I have to do, but I think writing about what really happened to me will be therapeutic, and that is basically the reason we started this blog in the first place…)

Bueno.  Now that we have all that out of the way, I can address something that has been bothering me since my last post. 

First and foremost, I was a complete hypocrite.  

I realize that, now, in retrospect.  That’s one thing, among many, that’s nice about being “single”.  You can make an ass out of yourself, realize it, make amends with yourself, and not have to explain yourself to anyone aside from the voices in your head.

I speak of not wanting to have to define things, “definitively”, of not wanting to dissect things to death or have to explain or rationalize anything to anyone, yet there I was, trying to pinpoint exactly what it was that was going on between Rapist and I. 

I’ve always been a bit of a free spirit, as someone who can just go with the flow or roll with the punches, but the truth is, I was trying to put a label on what Rapist and I had together, and that is basically a sin in my fucked up, irrational world, and besides that, something that I am totally against!  If I don’t ever want to be considered someone’s girlfriend or have to consider one my boyfriend, why was I dissecting my relationship with Rapist to death in order to define it?  What is the point?  If I truly hate labels, why label anything? 

The one good thing about calling yourself out as a hypocrite is trying to prove to yourself that you aren’t one.  Once I realized I was being completely irrational, I had an epiphany.  Why try to define what I have with Rapist?  Why not just sit back, chill the fuck out, and see where it goes?  In addition to that, why not take it a step further, and just consider myself single? 

That may sound sort of jacked up, but I mean, why not?  I’m a fairly attractive, interesting, 29 year-old woman who has had all sorts of awesome experiences all over the world!  Why limit myself to just one man?

I don’t mean that in the sense that I’m going to whore myself out all around town, but I mean, why walk around with “fuck you” tattooed across my forehead when I can smile, bat my eyes, and open myself up the possibility of actually dating someone nice, in public, and having a great time while I’m at it? Why limit myself to someone I have to date in the closet when I can date someone completely new, in public, without hesitation?

The idea of this all came to fruition at farmers market last Saturday.  I had been so apposed to the possibility of meeting other men for so long that I forgot how amazing it is to just check a dude’s ass out.

Blame it on the hangover, blame it on the scent of fresh, delicious fruit, or blame it on the fact that there were some very sexy, “young”, and delicious looking specimen of the male variety there that day, but something clicked in my head and reminded me that, well, I may be “seeing” someone, but I’m not sworn to them, and until I am, I’m a free fucking agent!  Hallelujah!