Tag Archives: missed connections

Blow Jobs are for Boyfriends

Now, with Alan let me start from the beginning.

I found that Baldwin book “If Beale Street Could Talk” before Christmas and texted him, “Do you recall if I have [this book] in my Baldwin collection. I picked it up thinking I didn’t have it but don’t have my books near me to check. You do. :/”

Yes around the time of my hasty move out of Pasadena, I gave Alan my most precious books for safe keeping, some I have carried with me since childhood. One copy, in particular, of a book that means a lot to me called, “Summer of my German Solider” by Bette Greene. A teacher recommended it thinking I would connect. I consumed that book like it was on fire while I was reading it.

Then I stole it from my elementary school. I mean . . . they wouldn’t give it to me and it was a private school, so I kinda already paid for it.

There were books left to me by teachers in high school, lovers in college, my mother’s cherished “Pride & Prejudice” that she kept in her underwear drawer while we were growing up, the same copy of “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” my father and I agreed to share and read from over a summer together. Books that molded my imagination as a child, and later read to my Pre-School class when I taught.

Two days later, Alan had not responded to my text. So I texted again, “Whenever you get a chance.”

Six days later, no response. Since I just gave Trent his Christmas present on Christmas Eve, I was reminded about Alan’s silence on the matter. My mind quickly shuffled through all possible excuses, one being that he threw them away after reading my blog. Why not? I really don’t know what Alan is capable of. I don’t know him well enough.

So I wrote, “I am guessing you are upset with me or incredibly busy. I hope my books are still in one piece, some I have been holding on to since I was a child. Can I pick them up soon?”

He texted back (Hal-a fucking-lulejah): “Your stuff is fine. I don’t want to deal with you over the holiday. Later.”

I wrote: “Ah, upset with me. The blog does that. Now you know how words can hurt. I am working thru the holidays anyway but will plan to pick them up after the 3rd. Merry Christmas. No hard feelings.”

Alan: “Don’t know what you said on blog but I’ve had exes before and don’t care. Not about you. Never was. Sorry if you are upset. Distracted now.”

Me: “Not upset in the slightest, dear. Take care and have a good weekend.”

Me: “PS, I would actually read text messages before responding to them in an effort to not sound like a fool.”

Alan: “Its Christmas Eve and you want me to worry about your books. I’m not. Insulting me won’t make me feel like you are wasting my time any less.”

Me: “You just decided to respond on Christmas Eve, Alan. xo”

Alan: “Merry xmas. Hope your world is wonderful. Talk to you another day.”

The Next Day/Christmas Day

Alan: “Merry Christmas! I hope the future brings nothing but love and good tidings to you.”

Me: “You are insane.”

Needless to say, I needed to get back everything I left with him.

He pinged me on GChat saying I could stay the night if I was so inclined and we could make a day of it. Hmmm! The New Year brought me all sorts of emails and phone calls from the past that made me feel better about men. They were re-evaluating their lives and wanted some of me back. That felt good.

Originally, my plan was to come down Friday night after work, sleep on his couch, go to the Farmer’s Market first thing in the morning, collect my books and go meet Abe in the afternoon before a Hollywood Stones performance (the best Rolling Stones cover band in the world). They were going to play in a steakhouse in Huntington Beach and why not check out that rental property I had shown him the day before.

Then the Abe/Hailey fiasco went down and I was just heading down to my exe’s. That sucked.

Alan texted me, “I bought wine and spaghetti fixings if you are early enough. If not they are all mine. Hasta.”

Wine and spaghetti? Oh geez. He was pulling the ole’ Lady and the Tramp bit with me.

So I got a haircut. I got someone to take care of Maggie and someone to take care of Esther, thinking it might be more manageable for a dogsitter to handle one pit bull at a time. Then I bathed Brad at Doggie Daycare after we closed and headed down to see Alan.

I was nervous. I didn’t know what to expect. I know he was an asshole, so that’s really all I knew to go in with.

Brad and I arrived a little after midnight and walked down to his apartment.

I knocked. No Answer.

I called.

Alan, “(groggy) Hello . . .”

Me, “Hey, I am here.”

Alan, “The front door is open and stuff.”

I let myself in. I checked on Alan quickly, he was still laying down in the dark.

So I fed Brad, changed into my jammies, took out my contacts and charged my phone.

I snuggled on the couch with Brad and Mr. Wilson (his little dog), who was happy to see him. Brad was more confused.

What was this life before Abe, Mommy?
A life of decadence, pot and darkness, son.

When Alan came out, Brad charged, barking like a Cairn Terrier/Rooster.

Alan (trying not to sound grouchy), “good morning.”

I said, “Brad, shhhhh!” I picked him up and kissed his ears, “good dog.”

We gave a loose hug.

Alan, “I can save the spaghetti for tomorrow night. I bought two bottles of wine, one that’s really good with the spaghetti and the other just to get drunk.”

Me, “Nice.”

Alan, “And, I got you . . . (picking up the box) Peanut Butter Capt’n Crunch.”

I laughed.

He charged up the (pot) volcano and sat next to me.

We didn’t really know where to start. He said his course load was difficult. He was still going to try to graduate early . . . then he added a few traumatic events that happened around Danny’s suicide.

He said he was sitting outside, when one of the Occupy San Diego protesters accidentally fell 6 floors to his death. The body landed four feet from Alan and his friend.

Alan, “It was really terrible. He splattered. I couldn’t deal with your death and that death.”

I was stoic and nodded. With Alan, I am not really sure whats a story and what is real. I think he can bend someone else’s mind to think something if they underestimate him. I no longer underestimate him.

Alan, “And one of my professors got shot. One of my favorites.”

I said, flatly, “Wow, that is a lot of bad things to happen at once.”

Alan, “Yeah, so I didn’t know how to deal with it. I disappeared. I am a jerk.”

I quietly nodded.

Yeah. He is.

He offered me a bag of marijuana smoke to suck off of and asked, “So, what else has happened?”

I said, “Did I tell you my car engine exploded and I didn’t have a car for 5 weeks?”

He said, “No, I had no idea. We stopped talking shortly after the other thing . . . wow, 5 weeks. When was that?”

I said, “A couple weeks after Danny died.”

He said, “Yup, that’s consistent with my thing, my car engine exploded, too … last Fall. It cost me a lot but that’s why I have insurance. And now I have a new engine and a new turbo thing in my car that never worked before . . . it works now so driving it is … fun.”

I quietly nodded.

He said, “Our troubles seem to line up in time. We have the same problems around the same time.”

I said, “Huh.”

I just worked 8 hours and drove for 2. I was exhausted and slinking deeper into my blanket with Brad and Wilson. I felt his hand on my leg.

He asked if I wanted to shower.

I said I did, though to him this may have been an indication that I was preparing my body for him. I wasn’t.

After my shower, I laid down and he said he wasn’t going to let me sleep on the couch.

Half-asleep, I followed him into the bedroom and slipped under warmer blankets into a half dream.

Unfortunately, I was unable to sleep much that night. He kept touching me.

It was nice to be touched. After your heart is broken, the first thing you want to do is crawl into someone’s arms. Here I was, but it was the wrong person’s arms. I needed to be with Abe, the guy I thought I knew and still loved.

Alan touched me and I allowed it in a sub-conscious doze. His hand glided over my breast, and I thought about pulling away, but didn’t. When he tried taking off the jammies, I said no. I said no a lot.


“Come on, Alan, no.”

“I said, NO. Now stop.”

“Alan . . . no no no. I mean it. NO!“

“Don’t try to seduce me, Alan, I don’t have the emotional capacity.”

He tried kissing me, and I dodged it, rolled over . . . kissed Brad instead.

Morning came, and the Farmer’s Market was bustling outside his apartment window.

I announced that I needed coffee.

I have been working full time at Doggie Daycare and with no two days off in a row since before Thanksgiving, so I was feeling fatigued almost all the time. My day off is usually spent doing laundry, grocery shopping and writing a blog. I look in the mirror now, and I feel like a middle-aged single mom is staring back at me. My youth is escaping me.

Somehow, we were back on the couch and I don’t know how I ended up in this position, but he was giving me a massage.

Our conversation fell to silence and I was enjoying the back rub.

Then I slid out of his embrace, my head and arms retreating down and away from his hold and I grumbled, “You hurt my feelings!!”

Alan, “I know. I know. But you hurt mine too.”

Me, “Give me a break.”

Alan, “I know I am a terrible boyfriend. I know I didn’t give you what you wanted.”

Me, “And I am bad at relationships too, I know. I know! I push and I want it all.”

Alan, “Seeing you, I just love these little things you do. I don’t want you to know what they are because I worry they will go away.”

Me, “Don’t tell me then.”

I got up and went into the bedroom to find my shoes and socks.

Alan, “You gave the best blowjobs of my entire life.”

Me, “Good. I spent years of research interviewing gay men and fat girls.”

—- (can we just take a moment of silence here to appreciate the two things a girl wants to hear from her ex-boyfriend   A) I am a terrible boyfriend   B) You give the best blowjobs of my entire life . . . . . . .  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . thank you)

Alan, “And one of the best birthdays of my life.”

Me, “Which I barely remember.”

I was moving around now, trying to find socks . . socks . . . sock! I really needed that coffee.

Alan, “Only after the fact did I realize when you asked to come down and sleep in my bed, remember? After Danny. I didn’t realize you were just looking for a place to relax and sleep. I thought you wanted more of my time than I could give.”

I looked around for those shoes, “Nope . . . I just needed to get away. But I got stuck there. I guess I had to stay there and take care of a girl who was losing her mind, so that’s what I did.”

Alan, “I’m sorry. I misunderstood.”

I waved my socks with my hands, up and down, “Whatever. Doesn’t matter now.”

My eyes were burning. I am on the heels of losing Abe. FUCK. I can’t deal with more men moving furniture around in my mind. I just came down to grab my stuff and get my dogs some new dog collars at the Farmer’s Market.

I sat on his bed and felt my head get heavy.

Me, “I brought back another ex-boyfriend into my life and he was a complete asshole, too.”

Alan, “Well, thank you for adding the word ‘too’ so I know I can be included.”

I kind of laughed. I was about to cry over Abe and I wasn’t going to do that in front of Alan nor was I going to do it for me.

I need to forget Abe for my own sanity.

He had texted a bit the day before:

Abe: “Hi, thinking about U.”

Abe: “Thinking about U.”

Abe: “Thinking about U still.”

Abe: “I want to fix yr head booboo.”

Abe: “You know I can fix everything.”

The last few nights I found some postings on “Missed Connections” that may or may not be from him:

re: Tell me – m4w

Don’t go.

Miss You

I really do miss you. Happy Birthday & Happy New Year.

trix are for kids – m4w (a dirt road)

i treated you the same way i would want to be treated, no different. i hold myself to the same discipline as i hold others. something is wrong with the way you view men, it shows in your professional career choices and the way you treated me. You objectify men for your own personal gain. since you are above men and have this view of them you can fend for yourself and dont need a man like me to pave the road with flowers for you. i do think you are special but you dont need me to tell you that, you already know it. i think you will change in time. i will cherish our time together, wish we could have been closer.


I don’t want to get caught up in his game. These postings could be from anybody, anyone who is vague enough to muffle their identity but specific enough to sound familiar. I couldn’t let it pull a cloak over my mind. That will only allow Abe to keep his hand on my shoulder without ever talking to me face to face.

Alan and I walked the kids down Little Italy (San Diego) and I got my coffee. Then we got Maggie & Esther handmade collars and Alan was feeling done with the whole walking thing.

I bought a vegan cupcake and retreated back to his sunny apartment. He turned on some good music and lit up the volcano again.

I didn’t care anymore about sounding stupid or entertaining him. I really thought very little of him, but missed relaxing at his place. Small dogs. Snacks. And lots of sleep.

It was around this time that I started enjoying his company again. I wasn’t falling, I was just laughing a little more, letting him touch me, maybe even kiss me. In no way did I want to surrender, I just wanted to stop taking everything so seriously.

Sadly, even after a guy breaks your heart, his personality and mind still stay intact. In casual moments, all the things you love about them surface. In that way, its almost better to never get involved with them, so you can enjoy them without falling in love.

He asked to take me to a restaurant called the Underbelly that makes huge bowls of homemade ramen soup.

We walked down the street again, passing the smiling accordion player, passing the rich people with great danes and poodles with expensive hair cuts, and passing some Old Italian men who hung outside their storefront to talk about how things used to be. We were stoned out of our minds, and I was fully prepared to inhale a very large bowl of spicy vegan soup.

I said, “Pardon me while I make love to this bowl of soup.”

He said, “Go right ahead.” He didn’t finish his. He wasn’t hungry.

Everyone at Doggie Daycare was coming back from trips to Vegas, now that the holiday slam was over. And with them came all sorts of viruses from foreign, far away places like Nebraska, Ohio, Virginia . . . and these strains of virus were wiping out our employees one by one. I was fighting it, with my secret weapon . . . grapefruit juice.

Not that corn syrup crap that has a pink label- the Simply Grapefruit, 100% grapefruit juice. I swear by it.

I came down with the hope that I would infect Alan with this particular head cold that was coming on. At the end of the day, I kinda didn’t want him to get sick and be miserable.

So, on this Saturday afternoon, I was sitting next to an ex-boyfriend, looking at the ocean and practically funneling soup down my throat with pure joy. I could take a break from hating him for awhile, the soup was good. He is smart and has impeccable taste in music.

We went back to his place, and he said he always wanted to snorkel with me.

I took him literally and said, “Snorkel?”

He said, “Yeah, I have been fantasizing about it for a long time.”

I said, “Wait, is this a sex thing?”

Alan, “Yes, its going down on my knees and eating you out while you stand up and hold on to something.”

I said, “You can’t do that.”

Alan, “You went down on your knees so many times for me before, I want to do that for you.”

I said, “I don’t give myself away sexually to just anybody. I don’t have casual sex. I told you that.”

Alan, “It doesn’t have to be casual, it can just be the occasional visit. Come down, decompress and relax, and we can have some fun.”

I said, “That doesn’t appeal to me. I am a relationship girl.”

Alan, “Well, sometimes I like to get some friends to come over to Hawaii or something like that with me. Maybe you would join me then.”

I said, “Hawaii? Sure. Why not? Yeah. Let me know.”

I mean . . . come on! He takes his friends with him to Hawaii?!? Alan was saying all the things older men say to me when they want me as their mistress. Those guys have Lexus cars, high salaries and empty homes. Who really wants to be one of those guys? I guess Alan does. And I think he will eventually become one. That makes me sad.

Around this time, I was sipping some of the wine.

Me, “I am going to have another glass. I hope that doesn’t give you the wrong impression. I don’t drink very often, so I just want to drink it while its made itself available to me.”

Alan, “That’s fine. Drink it. I am all for anything that will get you drunk enough so I can have my way with you later.”

Me, “How very 50s of us. Vintage seduction.”

The fact is no amount of wine, beer or liquor combined with weed and general fatigue would ever bring me to a point where I could have intercourse with him again.  He really hurt me and, in my mind, betrayed me.

He crawled on top of me and said, “You don’t know what its like to have this touch again. Be touched.”

I said, “You haven’t been with anyone else since we broke up?”

He shook his head, “No one. And you are the only woman I have masturbated to since we were together.”

I said, “I hardly believe that’s true.”

He said, “That’s fine. Keep calling me a liar.” Then he kissed me hard.

I kissed him back. My head got a little light.

He gave me one orgasm, then another and another with his hand . . . I accepted. Why not? I deserve it.

He said, “That is the laziest sexual act we have ever done together. We didn’t even get up.”

I wasn’t going to make any kind of effort. With Alan, I was going to be a dude. I was going to be selfish and enjoy myself without thought or sentiment. And I did.

After three orgasms, he whispered hotly, “Can I please have a blow job?”

I said, “No.”

He said, “Please?”

I said, “Blow jobs are for boyfriends.”

He said, “They don’t have to be.”

Me, “Blow jobs and sex are all part of the privilege of being my partner. The idea is to enjoy all of me. I don’t want to give up parts of myself on order. Its all or nothing with me. That’s the deal.”

Alan, “What am I supposed to do with this?” He pointed down to his erection.

Me, “Sounds like a personal problem.”

Alan, “I think I deserve a little something after all the orgasms I gave you.”

Me, “I didn’t ask for those orgasms. I told you, I didn’t want to have sex. I don’t want to have oral sex. Everything you did was your prerogative. You have got to take care of the rest yourself.”

And he did.

He slipped away and took a very long shower.

That night, he cooked me dinner, put on my favorite show, the Soup, and kept telling me how beautiful I was.

It was wonderful.

The whole thing was wonderful.

My ego was being pumped up after Abe pounded a nail into it. I just had a few orgasms, some good food and was feeling well rested. I was smiling, laughing, snuggling with Brad and feeling relaxed for the first time in a very long while.

There was no tragedy. There was no problem to fix. There was no money to make or time to save. There was nothing for me to do but be worshipped by my ex-boyfriend.

Alan tried very hard to get my pants off, but never succeeded. He even tried giving me oral through my jeans, which I couldn’t allow for either. I can never surrender myself to him again.

I stayed another night, since I didn’t know where to go and my things weren’t boxed up yet.

I checked “Missed Connections” again:


Sunday morning, I woke up to Brad’s head on the pillow next to me. I opened my eyes. He opened his eyes.

Alan, on the other side of Brad, opened his eyes.

We walked out to the veranda to have espresso. I sat in one chair. Brad sat in the other. Alan stood.

The neighbors came by and Alan said, “I would sit down but my seat is taken.”

Brad was my man now. And he is better at it than any man I have been involved with over the past decade.

I said, “There is just something about holding him when he stares down at other people and starts barking at them. I don’t know …  I just really like it.”

Alan, “An angry baby thing?”

I said, “He is half baby, and half boyfriend. Its perfect.”

As I wrote that, Brad  just got up to stare at me with that fuzzy, bed face. Damn it, I love that dog.

I love all my dogs, they are all my kids. Sometimes with Brad though, I get the feeling he gets frustrated because I treat him only like a dog.

Ocean said once, “You know he thinks you two are soul mates.”

I kind of believe that.

I collected my things and Alan packed up my books and VHS tapes in boxes for me. I pulled my car around and we loaded it all up.

He said, “We didn’t get to do even half of things I wanted us to do.”

He thought I was just going to give in. Do I really seem to be such a God damn sucker?

Alan, “If you ever just want to come down here and relax. You are welcome to. Think about it. No pressure.”

I said, “Ok.”

He kissed me, hung his arms loosely around my waist and said, “Seeing you shows me what I am capable of.”

I left. I only had 2 ½ hours to get to Doggie Daycare for my 2pm shift.

I took a little detour.

There is this little patch of beach behind Seaworld where dogs can run free, no chains or franchises are allowed to open shop and time literally stands still. Its called Ocean Beach.

I discovered it in 2000, and have brought every major love of my adult life there (and a few others) . . . everyone but Abe- only because of timing.

I buy my clothes from its boutiques. I drink their organic coffee. I eat their vegan food. I buy their odd books.  I used to drive out there just to write.

I pulled over onto Seaworld Drive and wound around to Sunset Cliffs.

We pulled into a parking spot and I walked Brad to the beach. I let him go off leash and he pounced around on the sand like it was moon dust. He just lapped circles around me, kicking up sand with a smile on his face.

People stopped to laugh at him. I wish I videotaped it.

I grabbed a cup of coffee and we both danced on the beach together before work.


I have struggled a little with how to end this blog. Is heaven, where ex-boyfriends beg for forgiveness and dogs play on the beach, actually on Earth?

Is the moral of the story you can be single and happier than ever? Or is it that I am glad I didn’t kill myself with pills, cocaine and darkness?

I don’t know where this particular blog should end, but I really want to stop where I originally left off, dancing with Brad in the sand.

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“Cheating? Me? Really? I bought you peanut butter and jelly yesterday.”

Christmas came and went. It was nice. Christmas Eve Dora’s mother invited us over for dinner after work. When Dora got the text she said, “Wow, we haven’t had dinner together for years, like 3-4 years.”

I said, “Really?” I know Dora struggled throughout high school. There was the divorce and her family splintered. Dora got the shite end of the deal, losing years of her innocence to very hard drugs. Now the spirit of the family was discovering itself again, without the male entities. The father still remains out of the picture and the brother lives in the Pacific Northwest.

I brought a cheap bottle of champagne and she made me a Tofurkey. Few things bring tears to the eye, but I can tell you, I really didn’t think I would have a Tofurkey this year. And there it was, cooked perfectly.

Dora’s sister arrived to with her husband, and I could tell Dora’s mom was ecstatic. She wasn’t so thrilled that she would exalt in Mid-Western Game Show Glory- you could just see it . . . her bustling around to cook and serve food while her words got light and fast. She got tipsy and giggled.

It was nice. Mitch even came, too.

I sipped the champagne and whispered, “Mmmmm, liquid gold.”

Dora, “You manage that Tofurkey.”

Me, “Oh, I’ll manage it.” I ate almost the entire thing.

Abe surprised me Christmas morning. I was annoyed he chose to spend every day of the holiday with his parents until they left town on Christmas Day. He offered to come out after they left, but my shift started at 2pm so what was the point  . . .

He showed up with gifts at 10am. We took the dogs to a park and then I fed them yummy food with large bones to follow. Maggie loved her bone so much, she refused to sit down to chew it. She consumed the whole 12 inch bone standing up. That dog is a tank.

By the time New Year’s came around, I had tickets for us to see The Chromatics and Glass Candy at Los Globos. I planned on getting 2 Mollys for us (MDMA) and dropping with Trent and Kent, who would meet us there.

Abe said, “Go to a gay club and do ecstasy? That’s not something I would normally do . . .  but what the heck, its New Years. Time for new things, right?”

I smiled.

Abe got a hotel room and a pink top hat with ‘Happy New Year’ printed across it. I got a tiara and wore my pink striped sequin dress. It was the moment when my life was going to change for the better.

I got off work at 8pm and Abe got lost on the way to the motel, so we didn’t get in the club until a little after 10pm and dropped together. Happy New Year.

Trent said, “I always worry it won’t be enough for me. That the dose will be too mild.”

I said, “I worry about the opposite. That its not enough.”

I wanted to dance, but the crowd was generally unpleasant.

Something called “Hipster” best defined by two separate and brief conversations I have had:

#1 Abe, “Why does everyone look like a socially retarded zombie in this part of town?”
Me, “Its called Hipster, babe. Its ‘in’ now.”

#2 (sitting in a car with Dora we watch three people cross the street)
Dora, “I kinda love the Hipster thing. Do whatever you want. Dress how ever you want.”
Me, “Black tights, with a plaid skirt, a military jacket and ballet slippers . . .”
Dora, “Not that . . . that is just . . . not even funny.”

Here we were, at a very cool club listening to very cool music, and nobody would smile.

I walked in smiling, and initially thought that my tiara gave the wrong impression- but I mean COME ON, the woman next to me had bird feathers glued to her face.

So we got up and started swaying to the music.  The flannel was a-plenty and everyone was pastey white with hanging faces. How tragic to be white, young and in Los Angeles.

This was the night when I was going to break off everything poisonous and heavy- so I let the music and drug take me away.

Abe, “Its kind of hot in here. Whooo!”

Abe doesn’t dance. He walks in the corner where he can stare at the sound system or he shifts weight from one foot to the other in the hopes it will match the music.

Abe shook the collar of his shirt, “Its really hot in here.”

I said, “That’s the drug baby. Enjoy it.”

One of the few times I feel warm in general is when I am on ecstasy.

He said, “Is there a giant hole behind me? It feels like people won’t stand behind me. What’s going on back there, can you look?”

I looked and said, “There is no one behind you but I don’t think its about you. Don’t let your low self-esteem wear on you.”

Abe said, “That would be hard considering I have no self esteem.”

I turned back to the music.

Trent and Kent were waving to the music like sea urchins. I turned back to Abe.

He said, “I love you, baby.”

I laughed, “I love you, too.”

I grabbed his arms and let him move with my body. The sequins felt coarse against my skin so I tried keeping my arms off my dress and rubbed against Abe.

He backed away suddenly and said, “Baby, you are giving me a (low voice) hard on. (normal voice) You can’t do that.”

I said, “Its called dirty dancing. No one is looking at us. Just look at me.”

He gave a breathy chuckle.

It was a mild dose of MDMA, which was fine since it left me in control.

We went back to Kent’s empty apartment.

Abe, “Trent says he has a big cock.”

Trent, “I do.”

Me, “Yes, I have heard stories about how big it is but have never had the pleasure.”

Abe, “You people talk about strange stuff.”

Me, “Its called just being open. Say whatever you think.”

Abe, “Um … once she (me) gave me a blowjob with champagne in her mouth and let some slide into my urethra and at first it was like, ‘whoa- that’s weird’ but then I thought, ‘that was kinda hot.”

Me (rubbing his back), “See? The truth will set you free.”

After an hour there, we went back to the hotel room to bathe and make love til 6:30 in the morning. It was one of the most erotic nights of my life.

I trusted him.

In the bathtub, I curled up against his chest and felt like I was kept warm inside the palm of his hand.

Everything was beautiful and intense.

When I woke up at 10am, he had breakfast set up for me on the vanity. He made coffee.

We made love again. Its kind of hard to orgasm on esctasy. It hard to explain. A large part of you is holding back because of the fear that the pleasure will be unmanageable. Unmanageable is such a clinical term . . . everything is already overwhelming to process; the thoughts, the touch, the time. With the orgasm, you completely surrender and I couldn’t give that to Abe yet.

Around 10:50am, I allowed one orgasm out. 11am was check-out.

We walked over to a Thai restaurant. He looked at me and said, “I am feeling really emotionally attached to you right now.”

I said, “Good, so this would be the right time to talk about moving in?”

I still thought building a love nest with Abe would be my salvation; from poverty and a self destructive lifestyle. I still see a beautiful little cottage with a yard, hot tea, music and animals. Jesus, doesn’t that sound nice?

Abe asked, “How can you work after last night?”

I said, “Are you kidding me? I work at a Doggie Daycare, coming down from ecstasy while cuddling with dogs sounds awesome.” And it was.

I showed up to work 15 minutes late with my hair down and a huge smile on my face.

HR said, “Your hair looks nicer today.”

I said, “That’s because I bathed.”

Audience, you can see how I got wrapped up in him again, right?

The Christmas morning surprise. The New Year’s Eve love making. The inch by inch discussion we had on moving in.

After making love one morning he said, “Why don’t you just give up the dogs and move in with me?”

I pulled away and said, “They are my kids. I need them. If you don’t understand that then we have no future. We aren’t compatible. I come with animals, period.”

He rolled closer to me and whispered in warm, morning breath that he understood.

A few days later, we spoke about how I wouldn’t take his last name if we married. He didn’t like that. I liked that he didn’t like that, but said, “I was born (my name) and I will die (my name). That’s who I am and that will never change.”

He said things like, “I see other couples walking around and they don’t truly love each other. I can appreciate real love and what we have. I am not blind” or “You don’t find a girl who wants to have your baby everyday, that means everything.”

We discussed what city we might live in, the compromises we would make.

I am a fool. Let me admit this right now. I AM A FOOL! But, if I don’t let my heart lead me some of the time, how can I live my dreams?

The last day I saw him, I kept drilling to understand why he was resisting moving in. I asked, “What are the problems, tell me and we will resolve them.”

Abe said, “You like LA more than Orange County.”

I said, “Thats true. Well, all my work is in LA and most of your work is in LA so its just practical. LA has personality and Orange County is one long strip mall. But, if we live close to the beach, I can move to Orange County. Not some beach where kids go for Spring Break. I don’t want to deal with girls degrading themselves.”

Abe said, “What are you talking about?”

Me, “That spring break bullshit I see. I don’t want to live by that.”

Abe, “OK, NO MORE DOGS! You can’t get anymore dogs.”

Me, “Agreed. I can’t take on anymore dogs. This is it, my final three. I would like to get back into fostering though, but we can talk about that later.”

Abe said, “Ok, with the dogs you won’t compromise. They have to have all access to the entire house and they destroy everything. That means they will destroy all my things, take up MY time and add more stress to MY life.”

I said, “What if we give them the garage and a yard? I can put my computer in the garage and write and watch movies with them. They can have their beds in there, and they will be totally removed from all the nice things.” (except for Brad)


Me, “Does that sound reasonable?”

Abe, “ . . . Yes, that sounds reasonable.”

Me, “Good. I found this place, a 2-bedroom with a yard in Huntington Beach for $1400/month.”

Abe, “We need a place with a garage though-”

Me, “It does have a garage. Look.”

He looked.

Abe said, “Well that does look kind of a nice.  (reading) A couple blocks from the beach. (to me) What am I gonna do, go surfing every morning while you walk the dogs?”

I smiled with big eyes and said, “I have always wanted to take surfing lessons.”

I could see the wheels in his head turning. He smiled back at me, but there was something more.


About a week from New Year’s Day, I came home and saw my internet browser open to his email account, another account other than the one I email him through. Now, I don’t look through people’s phones or really investigate too much inside someone’s private devices except on occasion and guess what? This was one of those occasions.

I briefly rolled my eyes over the first page and saw Craigslist Ad “Missed Connections” under two postings. One titled “Hey Jerk” and the other “Then Maybe.”

I knew what this was about.

I clicked on “Then Maybe”:

“we can express our infatuation with eachother some day, in a setting that you feel is worthy of recognition.

Say you like me, so I can say I hate you for it. How does that sound?? Thats what you did to me here!!!

You must have a pair of ice cold feet lady. You’d be warm if you were standing next to me.”

Then, I clicked on “Hey Jerk”:

“Not everybody is fully capable of guiding their own self.
Maybe that’s why you make peoples heads explode?

I dont feel cruel or insensitive, but I guess I am now, thats what happens when you go mad about your feelings for someone.

I saw an add for My strange addiction. Thought about it. I don’t want to anger you. I did think about it because I have a very strange addiction.

God. Goths. Gwaudo!!! seriously, help me stop”


I scrolled through to see he had placed about 5-7 ads since December 30th.

I consider myself a fairly liberal person, and I want to understand. I do. But we had just gone through what I consider to be one of the best parts of our relationship, one of the most intimate weeks I have had with any man, and AT OUR BEST . . . he was still going to try to find her. If we were years into a relationship, maybe I could understand . . . but we were just starting out.

Who is she?

Yes, I know who Abe is looking for. When we met, I had listened as he described an obsession he had for a girl in Band during high school. Yes, a girl in BAND from HIGH SCHOOL. Her name was, let’s say . . . Hailey.

Hailey used to live down the street from Abe and they had some brief conversations, but never dated, never kissed, never really had a full conversation. She thought he was a creep- if not then even more so now.

He spent years looking for her, thinking he saw her at restaurants or in parking lots.

Abe posted these ads in Craigslist “Missing Connections” and would get caught up in conversations with anonymous people who led him to believe she was communicating with him in code.

He acknowledges this is insane, but he found a pattern  the date and time that messages were sent, songs that were send, character names that were used, and in his twisted, brilliant mind, he concocted a pattern.

Also, he acknowledged that it probably wasn’t Hailey sending him these messages, confusing him and fueling that addiction.

When we dated in 2010, I would occasionally check his email and found no ads posted after the date we started seeing each other. Ads posted prior to our first date were saved in an unmarked folder. I read through them while he took one of those 15 minute long dumps.

I understand obsession. I was obsessed with my first boyfriend, with a guitarist in Undergrad and The Prophet. It happens.

Even now, I will occasionally check on The Prophet’s name under google or his Facebook activity which is sparse. I will even check on Alan’s profile every once in a while out of curiosity. Never, though, have I EVER contacted them with the intention to satisfy an infatuation.

So, with dirty bed sheets and his scent still rubbed all over my body, I saw the words
we can express our infatuation with eachother some day” and it burned, it still burns. If I sit quietly enough, I can feel my heart stop.

So, I answered those two ads.

The first titled “Re: Hey Jerk”:

Me: “I’ve got a strange addiction too, its called falling for COMPLETE ASSHOLES!

Then the second titled “Re: Then Maybe”:

Me: “Say you like me, so I can say I hate you for it. How does that sound??

Oh yeah . . . I have a girlfriend. Oh never mind, she doesn’t matter. I just use her for sex and weed. I think I can put her off for another year while I ejaculate on her stomach until we get a chance to meet.


That night I ate half of a pot cookie because I knew I could never sleep. Even medicated, all I could do was lie there like someone took my entire brain and heart and turned it upside down so it could fall in pieces on the floor.

I dreamt about him with another woman.

Around 5:30am, I woke up.

That . . . fucking . . . ASSHOLE!

ME!? Sloppy seconds!?!? ME, Starfire, the one who turns down men at any public venue or who carries the heart of ex-lovers from childhood or OkCupid dates from the turn of the century . . . yeah, ME . . . I am the one he is settling for. This dork that had never had a girlfriend before in his life. Who had sex with three women in 30 years. This NERD who I thought was uniquely sexy and brilliant, HE THINKS HE CAN DO BETTER THAN WHAT WE HAVE . . . through his wealth of experience and keen observation skills.


Now, look, I am reasonable. I know if he met her now, he would be disappointed. He knows he will never meet her. And I will never put myself in the position of being the one he settles for, even while carrying an imaginary affair with someone who is probably not his soulmate- but who he would still rather share a bed with over me.

FUCK! IT CRUSHES ME!!!!! You know!? CRUSH! The word. C R U S H.

Verb: Press or squeeze (someone or something) with force or violence, typically causing serious damage or injury.

verb.  smash – squash – squeeze – press – grind – pound
noun.  jam – squash – crowd – squeeze – throng

This fucking flattened my ego, my perception of him and our relationship, of everything I understood up to that point. It leveled it all and destroyed me.

I texted him little excerpts of the ads too, just in case he didn’t check email first.

Me: “We can express our infatuation with each other someday, in a setting you feel worthy of recognition. Say you like me, so I can say I hate you for it.”

First, I got the email back:

Abe: “Hey Ive told you before that I have a problem.

It makes me insane.  nobody is talking to me, but I cant stop looking at it and thinking someone is.

I’m sorry.

I want to stop looking at it.  I’ve been doing a good job.

thanks for looking through my stuff.”

Then the novel of texts he sent:

Abe: “Nobody is ever going to meet me from CL. Someone was messing with my head and it bugs me still like I’ll figure it out one day. I give up on the mystery.”

Abe: “It can be solved. Dont be mad. Its just me being mad at myself. Has nothing to do with U. Its just something insane I have to stop looking at.”

Abe, “Hey. R u going to respond or r u busy bashing me on facebook? Unnecessary.”

Abe, “Its strange, I knew this would happen. U r approaching something that I have seen happen. And U r on ur internet world all the time. Sometimes I am in mine writing to someone, whoever reposts. Look through the mail, nobody is ever writing back to me, nobody I’ve met, known or even had a real email. I know I am insane but its me writing to myself. I’ve been trying to understand why I do it when I know its BS, but sometimes I just do. I think I understand that its a flow of info that I need to understand and or remember and I’ll tell you why, ITS TO GET MY SHIT BACK, ITS DESTINY IN PLAY. Ull have documented it in the future, long time from now. U love me, right? U know I wouldn’t go meet a person from missed connections. Dangerous enough just reading in there. I love U and I wouldn’t hurt you like that. From the last 2 years all Ive wrote on CL is mean shit anyways. So don’t get mad. Forgive baby.”

Abe: (this was blank)

Abe: “U make me feel good.”

Abe: “Ive gone mad. I made myself nuts. Im crazy baby. Too much imagination.”

Me: “I never want to see your face again”

Abe, “Figures. U cant decipher what the writings mean, dont try. Men write to U all the time. U STILL TALK TO YR high school bf who is crazy! And U left your husband for an alcoholic. Now your hurt because I wrote someone who is not there? Ha!”

Abe: “Ok run away.”

Abe: “Ur so quick to run from my problems. Ur not a fair person. Thats why I give U resistance often, but U persist.”

Me: “I would have rather you fucked a girl who meant nothing than you obsess over another woman. I wouldn’t do that to you but perhaps you just never cared for me the same way I care for you.”

Me: “And thank you for pointing out my flaws after I discover you have been betraying me.”

Abe: “I have things to learn to.”


I spoke to my therapist about it. Thank FUCKING God my appointment was that very next morning.

She made two great points:

A) Its odd that Abe fell back on this obsession over a period of time where we got serious with our conversations on commitment. Abe was taking our relationship seriously and this triggered a fall back on old habits of obsessing over Hailey. My therapists suggest because maybe things got more serious than he was comfortable with or knew how to cope with.

B) With a meaningful relationship, its better to have a conversation with the person, for the sake of your future relationships. Cutting it off and toughening up isn’t going to benefit me with the next relationship.

That got me.

Of all the people to, albeit mentally, fuck around on me . . . Abe was the last person I suspected.  I don’t want him to change me into one of those paranoid, possessive, middle-aged women who has to roll her scent over everything and everyone so we know she is present. Here! Check.

He was so nice, so sweet. He pulled a stool up at the bar for me while he ordered my drink.

He took my jacket and pulled it over his arm to get out the creases before hanging it.

He told me I looked pretty and asked me to wait while he opened doors for me. I am just not used to it, so I have been working on waiting for the man to open the door,

He was a gentleman. And now, my gentleman had shattered the illusion that decency could ever exist in a modern relationship.

I had asked Abe, “Do you masturbate to Natalie Portman?”

Abe said, “No, I only ever masturbate to you.”

I said, “OK, what about before me?”

Abe paused, “Faceless Vaginas.”

He doesn’t look at porn (I know, I checked his computer and can tell from how he touches my body. When a man watches porn, he touches you like a coked out 20-yr old with no feeling below the neck). He doesn’t gawk at women. He doesn’t make me feel insignificant in a pool of pussy, like other men try to do. He made me feel special, but that was an illusion, wasn’t it?

He liked having a long distance girlfriend, especially one good in bed. I was never a soul mate.

Sure, maybe he would have moved in with me eventually, maybe even married me .  . . and I would be lying in bed wondering why he was up so late on the computer and why he was clearing his browser history so diligently.

Because even the love of my life believes there is still something better out there.


We decided to meet on my lunch break to discuss in person.

He never showed.

Abe: “I am not betraying you. I wanted to solve a mystery from a strange experience I had in ‘08. But there isn’t anymore info to see. I’ve solved it Abe style. Well not totally, but I see the correspondence so to make sense out of it all. Its actually really interesting. It brought U to me. We manifested each other into our lives. And, yo, Hailey is gay! She is gay, baby! She eats vagina and dresses like a boy! And is a born again bible thumper. And she has my magic crown since 1997 and won’t give it back willingly. Thought she could dodge me with the mystery and keep it wasting its power with her foolishness and selfishness. But U r going to intercept it for us. U r a special gal baby! How can I have feelings for a gay woman that I don’t know personally? According to CL I can’t. I don’t. I HATE HER FOR BEING SO BLIND? The crown had us both confused for over a decade. But I get it now. I can see it now.”

Abe: “I know that it exists and where it is and what I do with it- thats from not giving up for 3 years, though it hurt my mind repeatedly, and sounds nuts. I HAD TO UNDERSTAND THESE FACTS. AND IT WAS HARD BABY! Really damn hard! Nobody else can do what I have done. They don’t stand a chance at understanding this. But you can. If you can keep your mind on the light while U float through the dark. Read it again. Think about it.“

Ok, at this point I am assuming that you can see Abe is insane. He is crazy . . . but I like my men a little crazy, a little spiritual, a little spun out on the magic of the universe that seemed to die in everyone I knew after the 6th grade.

Abe: “I am infatuated with my missing spirit tools.  And I want it back. I want U to have it because U can really love me. U CAN HAVE IT ALL BABY!”

Me: “No, Abe, I can’t . You posted from late December-Jan 7th. Two days ago. And read responses on MY computer while I slept. Don’t ever say love with regards to us again.”

Me: “And I signed out of your hotmail. Reading them sickens me.”

Abe: “Ok . . . Oh Abe wrote to his imagination, lets explode in anger about it. Ur reluctant to change ur ways as well. Way to blow it up.”

Abe: “Stay mad. I dont care. If not one thing then the next. U have been mad every 3 days since . . .”

Abe: “I don’t bring even a quarter of conflicts to the table that you do . . . So whatever. I dont feel bad for writing to thin air. I dont . . .”

Abe: “I’ll just give all my magic away till I die forgotten. Sound good?”


Abe: “I just finished work. I have to go home. I feel bad about hurting your feelings with my crazy imagination and odd past. Sorry, ok?”

Me: “Of all the men I thought would cheat on me, you were the absolute last person I expected. I don’t know how I will ever trust another man again.”

Abe, “Cheating? Me? Really? I bought you peanut butter and jelly yesterday.”

That is my favorite response so far. I want that engraved in a plaque somewhere. Eh, I will settle for a coffee mug. Hint* My birthday is a week away . . .

Me: “You were looking to cheat with Hailey. You posting a personal ad in a relationship is cheating. It doesn’t matter what condiments you brought to the table (I was proud of that) You were unfaithful to me. I am sure you will spin it differently for your friends and family. She had too many problems. She always argued. But deep down, no matter what you say to yourself or others, you know its because you were looking for another woman. And the fact that I wasn’t enough rips me apart but I am just glad I found out. Instead of fooling myself that you were some great guy. My guy. I am such an idiot!!”

Abe: “I am bad now. That sucks.”

Abe: “She is gay.”

Abe: I have an imaginary gay friend.”

Me: “It just doesn’t matter. I don’t trust you anymore.”


So, I worked. I smoked through a pack of cigarettes in 2 days. I found myself sporadically sobbing when I was alone.

This is supposed to be my year.

I refuse to picture his face in my mind anymore. When I think of him, I remove his face, the sound of his voice, his smell and every single thing about him. I just picture black.

I don’t want to remember his nose, or his laugh or his deodorant or the ridge of his circumcision inside of me. I barely want to remember his name.

The year just turned. My birthday was coming up and I had to go to San Diego to see Alan and get my things.

Fuck it.

Fuck him.

Fuck his peanut butter and jelly-

And fuck his imaginary gay friend.

This is still going to be my year.

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