For a Pessimist, I am Pretty Optimistic

He may have turned out to be a selfish prig, but my mom’s eyes still glaze over when thinking about the first time she met my dad. “I was with my friend Iris,” she recalled. “We were walking home from the movies. Then your father came around the corner.” At this point, I always mouth along with her words. “He was riding a motorcycle and wearing a leather jacket. His hair was wavy and he looked like a character from a movie. He seemed like such a rebel.”

I hold this story accountable for all the men I dated who were just wrong for me. I had a thing for “bad boys”. Like mother, like daughter.

Sometimes I wonder, what will I tell my kids about how I met their Dad? I’d definitely have to make something up. There’s no way I would tell them the truth. Neither of us are portrayed in the best light. I can just imagine it now: my eyes get all dreamy and far away as I say “Mommy knew Daddy for a long time, but she didn’t pay attention to him until he was all sexy. Acting like a slut, Mommy slept with Daddy while she was in a serious long term relationship with someone else. But he was a loser, he did coke, which Mommy hated, and other drugs that Mommy MIGHT have participated in. Anyway, Mommy slept around, punched her old boyfriend, and possibly broke someone’s heart in the process –but at least it was true love!”

Like most of my stories about my Ex’s, this one begins with me dating yet another loser. Dupa* and I had been dating for a year until I discovered his love affair with cocaine. Interestingly enough, it was when he wasn’t high that we had a problem. The day after a binge, he would become depressed, irritable and emotionally abusive (surprise, surprise). We spent another year together constantly fighting.

One particular day, we were rushing to the train. Dupa was late for his first day of training at his new job. He was only scheduled for a few hours so I was going to go with him into the city, find, something to do, and then meet up with him after. During our power walk to the station, some sort of mix up happened and I was left waiting in the street while he went to the station himself (“I forgot you were waiting,” he would later explain, as if that was perfectly understandable). Furious with him, I decided that instead of spending the day in the city, I would go visit my friend Mike who was still attending SUNY Stonybrook.

Mike was surprised to see me, but even more so because he was on his way to TA a class when I arrived. We tried to think of what I could do for hours in his room with no TV or internet access.

“You know, Konrad just started going here,” he remembered. “I’ll give him a call and see if he can come and keep you company.”

“Aw, little Konrad is in college now?” Konrad was a neighborhood friend of Mike’s. He was 3 years younger than us and I hadn’t seen him since Mike went to college. Last I knew, his clothes were 2 sizes too big, he was at least 5 inches shorter than me, and had pimples all over his face with too big features. But he did always have a cute smile.

“He’s not so little anymore,” Mike said. “In fact, it’s a good thing you’re going out with Dupa already. Konrad’s turned into your ideal guy. He’s tall, white, and light eyed with spiky hair.” I didn’t bother to acknowledge that comment. I also had a weakness for Latin men and he knew it.

Mike left for class and I attempted to play Minesweeper on his computer. While I was angrily throwing the mouse after losing again in 2 clicks, there was a knock at the door. Looking out the peephole, I saw a tall attractive guy standing and looking aloof. When I asked who it was, I was shocked to hear “It’s Konrad.” I eagerly threw the door open.I stared up at him.

“Oh my God! You’re all grown up!” I exclaimed and threw my arms around him for a hug. Grown up indeed. I could feel his muscles through his sweater.

As we talked trying to catch up, I could feel myself start to flirt with him.“I heard you’re dating a Polish guy,” Konrad said giving me that still amazingly cute smile. “If he hasn’t taught you any of the curses, I‘ll try to tell you what I know.”Damn it. It wasn’t until Konrad reminded me of Dupa that I realized he hadn’t returned any of my 5 messages. In fact, it wasn’t until another 3 hours later that he called me. As soon as I picked up the phone, Dupa demanded that I come back right away. He said he had a hard day at work and wanted to see me. Always the push-over, I returned. Konrad drove me in his car, despite my protests.

In the following weeks, we started chatting online and spent entire days on the computer. I visited Stonybrook a few more times. Mike commented that it was the most he had seen me in months. He also pointed out that we never hung out without Konrad around. It was true, but I wasn’t going to admit it.

One day while online, Konrad asked me “If things were different and you weren’t going out with Dupa, would you go out with me?” I became giddy upon reading those words. I even danced around my basement for a minute before I responded responsibly.“Well, I am going out with Dupa. That’s all that I can and should say.”

He agreed with me and we both signed off.  Thinking we could still be friends, we ended up hanging out every day the next week. By Saturday we had slept together.

I seriously didn’t know what it was about Konrad that had me so infatuated. I wanted to spend every moment with him. I felt so happy whenever I was with him. The best part was that even though we were opposites, he embraced the fact that I was a bit of an oddball, just like I embraced the fact that he was so steady and logical.

We started to see each other more and more.  I was pretty good at sneaking about; Dupa worked a lot of nights at the restaurant. After work he would go to bars and do coke with his friends while Konrad and I would spend all night together. He never pressured me to break up with Dupa, but we both knew it was inevitable. Even if I ended up single, I had to leave him.  Dupa’s abusive behavior started to get more dangerous.

After one horrible fight where he broke my flip phone in half, Dupa broke down crying. I asked him what was wrong and he exploded. He accused me of cheating on him with Konrad.

I crossed my fingers. “I’m not sleeping with him,” I said.

“Yeah right. I’m a cokehead, but I’m not stupid,” he replied. Damn, was it hard to not laugh at that.

“I hate Him. I hate everything about Him. I hate that He’s also Polish, that He’s in college, that He has a car, I hate that He’s in such good shape. I hate that you had to bring Him here that time when He drove you. How can you bring Him into my own place for me to see?”

“Um, because I wanted you to meet him,” I reminded him. “You told me to invite him up.”

“Yeah, but that was because I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“I didn’t know that he was everything I’m not.”

I was blown away by that. How could I have been such a bitch and cheated on him? Even though he hadn’t opened up to me in over a year, I knew something must have been wrong with him emotionally. Though I had tried everything I could think of to help him, maybe I should have tried harder.

The next night, Konrad and I sat in his car 3 blocks away from my house. I explained to him what Dupa had said last night and how horrible I felt. I told how torn I felt and that I was basing my decision to stay with Dupa on the fact that Dupa needed someone to emotionally support him, whereas Konrad was so strong and independent. Yes, I know I’m a stupid, dramatic, romantic. I can’t help it. Trust me, I’ve tried.

At that moment Konrad started crying. I couldn’t help but think, oh great this is the second time that I made a guy cry. What was going on? That’s exactly what I asked him and he paused to contain himself.“How can you think I don’t need you?” He turned his beautiful green eyes to me. “I love you.”

This was the first time anyone had ever told me they loved me of their own volition. I’ll admit I’ve used girl tricks to prod previous boyfriends to declare the sentiment. One guy I knew would say it if I slept with him. Another said it after I threatened to break up with him. I even tricked a commit-a-phobe into saying it by declaring I didn’t want him to say it (resulting in him wanting the opposite. Men can be so odd in that way.) Was this bitchy of me? Of course. But the rules of karma are always in effect because in tricking these men, I screwed myself. I never knew if they truly loved me. Still, that was then. Now, I had someone right in front of me who did.

“I love you too,” I blurted without thinking. I knew it was true to minute I heard myself say it. Konrad and I kissed and I thought “Now what? I’m fucked!” We continued sneaking around for another week as I thought about how I would break up with Dupa. Fortunately, he helped me.

We were fighting once again and he questioned my faithfulness to him. When I didn’t respond, he took my pocketbook and threw it across the room attempting to hit me with it. As I gathered its contents, I screamed at him that we were through. I started to pace around the apartment, yelling about how 2 years of my life had been wasted on such a jerk. While pacing in a dark room, I turned around and there was Dupa, arms outstretched and reaching for my throat. Pissed at my ranting, he was going to choke me to make me shut up (he smugly admitted this). I snorted, pulled my right arm back, and punched him in his left eye. As he yelled and cursed, I called Konrad. Very matter of factly, I told him “Dupa tried to choke me and I punched him. Can you pick me up NOW?”

I told Dupa who I called and that he better not cause any trouble because not only would he get his ass kicked by a girl, but Konrad would kill him. He cursed and went into the bathroom where he stayed until I left. He must have been staring out the window waiting for him to come because when Konrad showed up, he called from behind the door, “Tell him he must not be so strong if he has to come out of the car holding a bat.”

5 months later, Konrad and I eloped in Vegas. Before that, we hadn’t spent a single day apart. It was sickening.

I guess some of that story is romantic. I’ll just change it a bit. I could always say that Konrad was a prince who rescued me from the mean abusive drug addict. “Even though Daddy rushed to Mommy’s rescue, she had taken care of the situation herself. It’s always good for a woman to know the art of self-defense.”  Ooh, that sounds good. AND I can use it as a don’t-do-drugs story.

Oh who am I kidding? My mom will probably tell them everything.

(* name has been changed to protect the idiotic) 

Hubby is complaining that he’s hungry. Our fridge is bare as we desperately need to make a trip to the grocery store. Since there is nothing to cook in the house besides Ramen noodles, hubby says “if we have to” then we’ll eat out. I suggest we eat at the local pub, Connolly’s. He suggests Taco Bell. I suggest Chinese food. He suggests getting some cold cuts at the deli.

This goes on for hours. At one point I become frustrated and lock myself up in the bedroom with my lap top. Hubby doesn’t notice as he clacks away on his keyboard in response to comments on the car forums.

Our roommate comes home. “Gosh, I’m starved. You guys wanna get something to eat? Let go to Connolly’s.”

I snort. “Can’t. Hubby refuses to get anything that costs more than $3.00”

“Hey!” Roommate shouts towards the computer room. “You wanna go to Connolly’s?”

I could practically hear the scowl on his face as he said a firm “No.”

Roommate pauses. “What if I pay for Ang?”

Hubby emerges; it’s nice to see him without the computer chair attached to his bottom. “Sure.” He’s all smiles now.

When we eloped 5 years ago, you were perfection. You put your dishes in the sink. You folded your laundry. If I was sick, you’d make me chicken soup. Now it’s hard enough to get your attention just to remind you to buy some Airborne.

You constantly drive me crazy. You spend 50 percent of your time at work, the rest is spent on the computer or working on your car. Your clothes are strewn all around the house. You drink all the milk in less than 12 hours. There are tires and car rims taking up my entire living room!

To make matters worse, the cats love you more. They run to you when you come home, even if I’m feeding them treats. You never feed them, brush them or buy them toys, but they always purr when you’re around. Damn you.

During the years, I’ve looked at you and wondered “Why the hell am I still with this person?” It’s guaranteed that we’ll fight at least 3 times a day: once in the morning as you wake me up to ask if your socks are brown or black, once at dinner time when we need to agree on what to eat, and once at bedtime when you refuse to get of the computer. Why would someone willingly put themselves through that nonsense day in and day out? It took me 5 years, but after what happened the other day, I now know the answer.

I had been arguing with you all day, you seemed unable to do any good. Instead of cleaning the cat’s litter, you spent 3 hours washing the car (3 hours?!)  The lunch we were supposed to have together instead turned into a cold slice of pizza for me while you drove to Auto Zone. You ignored your mother’s constant phone calls, so much to the point that even I thought you should return her call. When I suggested as much, you snapped at me that I sounded just like her.

We finally got into the car to rush to the bank. During that drive, the only sound was your favorite techno CD where every track sounds exactly the same. I was so annoyed with you that I didn’t even complain that you were playing it yet again. You scowled at the road ahead of you.

At the highway exit, we passed a car flashing hazards in the middle lane. “Should I go back and see if they need help?” you asked. Of course, I told you.

I sat in the car while watching you talk to the driver. You motioned down the road, where we both knew there was a gas station. I expected you to come back to the car (as the bank was about to close and I knew you were worried about a check bouncing), but you didn’t. Instead you smiled at me, waved, rolled up your sleeves, and began to push the car down the road. That smile did me in. Plus, you looked kind of sexy pushing the car and being all manly.

When you came back, I told you that now the bank had been closed for 15 minutes. You shrugged and asked me what I wanted to eat. I suggested Connolly’s. You took me to the Olive Garden. I couldn’t even remember why I had been angry at you before. I told you so and you smiled again. Bastard.

Happy Anniversary, Babe*

*originally written on February 25, 2008

During another boring Sunday evening, my roommate and I were lazily flipping through the movie channels.

“Ha, look at this title,” he called over to me, forcing my attention away from the computer.

The movie that caught his eye was “The Accidental Porn Star”. Gotta love those Skinimax titles!

“Seriously, how does someone become a porn star ‘by accident’?” my roommate joked. “What, you’re just walking around one day and then you trip and fall and suddenly there’s a penis inside you, the guy has a camera and you’re like whoops! I’m a porn star!”

We laughed because that sounded really implausible, but in actuality it’s not that hard to become an accidental porn star. It’s happened to me 3 times already!

I found out about the first tape when breaking up with a long term boyfriend. I was clearing up my things from his place in anticipation. While digging in the back of his closet to make sure nothing had fallen there, I came across three 8mm cassettes. They each had a girls name and one of them was mine. I sure as hell never did anything in front of a video camera with him! Not even bothering to watch the footage, I pulled all the tape out and cut it up with scissors. I didn’t stick around after that and when we fought on the phone later, he actually had the audacity to accuse me of going through his things.

The second tape was made with someone whom I saw for only a few months. After gleefully presenting the camera and his idea to me, I found myself declining. I had just had the most horrible day at work (I had been fired and planned to drink myself under the table), but was completely up for the idea on a day when I was feeling sexier. We did end up having sex that night (I had drunk myself under that table after all) and what do you know?

“Hmm,” he said in the morning. “It seems like the record button was pressed accidentally. I think it might even have recorded us having sex.”

Are you seriously fucking kidding me?! I thought. I was ready to smack him across the head with that damn camera, but I was too hung-over to argue. Instead I simply said “My, wasn’t that convenient?” He took the tape back to his place so he could “see exactly what it recorded” and make me a copy if anything.

When we broke up because, well, our sex life was just not doing it for me, he leered “At least I still have that tape where you were a porn star for me.” I never did get my copy…

The third time I learned about just two weeks ago. It had actually been made years before the first known tape. Mr. Z was my rebound guy who calls me every now and then to check if I’m still married or not. This time when he called, it was to tell me that he had found a link online to my post “I Like To Watch Porn.”

“I always knew you were kinky like that,” he said.

“What are you jealous that I never bothered to watch porn with you?” I snapped back.

“I’m fine with that, I have my own tape of you I can enjoy,” he responded. I protested and he said “Yes I do, don’t you remember the day when I taped us?”

I thought and thought back to almost 7 years ago when I had visited him in New Jersey. “I remember there was a time that after we had sex, you turned on your video camera. I asked you what the hell you were doing and you said you were trying to take a picture of me.” Then it dawned completely on me. “Oh god, you weren’t turning it on, you were turning it off! I can’t believe what a moron I was to buy that line you gave about how I was so sexy afterwards and blah blah blah.”

With fake indignation in his voice he said, “Well you better not be mad at me because I told you what I was doing.”

I complained to my roommate about these idiots and how it was awful that they had all this unknown footage on me. He asked “What bothers you the most, that you didn’t know about it or that they can watch this any time they want, years later?”

“A little of both,” I responded. “If they just told me they would do it I would have, I don’t know, worn a costume, sucked my stomach in, and been a bit louder? For all I know, these tapes could be in some sort of circulation…and it’s not even my best work!”

I met Mr. Z when I was 18. We dated for almost a year before I was head-over-heels for him. It’s interesting how now I can barely remember anything good from our relationship. In fact, the most vivid memory I have is of the day we broke up.

It had been over a week since Mr. Z had gone to visit a friend in New Jersey for “a couple of days”. None of my many phone calls had been returned and I was worried that something terrible had happened to him. On day 11 of his visit, he finally picked up his phone.

“Listen, I can’t really talk now,” he said sounding distracted.

“Wait! What’s going on? Are you alright?” I hurriedly asked.

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine. Okay I gotta go,” was his response.

I waited for him to hang up, but my cell didn’t automatically disconnect the call. Nosily, I tried to listen and see if I could hear anything. Once my mom had thought that she hung up her cell phone, but instead I got to listen to her and my step-dad talk about what to get me for a birthday present. Who knows what the hell Mr. Z was up to? I was eager to find out.

I heard a girl laugh and him say the name “Claudia.” After a few more muffled sounds, I then heard what I now know was the most over-the-top fake orgasm ever. Unfortunately for inexperienced me, I was yet aware that faking was a possibility and was horribly jealous over the fact that Mr. Z never made me scream like that. I threw my phone across the room and then burst into tears.

I’ve never been one to know what’s good for me, so during the next few years I would find myself occasionally hooking up with Mr. Z. He was always my rebound guy. I’d be wined, dined, sexed up (if you could call it that) and promises would be made from him. He of course would disappear until “coincidently” I was between relationships again.

I cursed him for making me fall for his crap so many times. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me quadruple, you sneaky prick, revenge shall be mine! I crossed my fingers hoping for him to re-surface. Each time I imagined his return I would see him prostrate on the floor, professing his undying love for me. He’d tell me how truly sorry he was for hurting me so many times. He’d say how blind he was to not realize I was the one. He’d vow to spend the rest of his life making up every wrong he had committed. As he looked up at me puppy eyes beseeching my forgiveness, I would simply say “That’s nice,” turn on my heels and walk away, possibly accompanied by a strategic hair flip.

 A year passed. Then another. Then two more. My dreams of revenge faded away and he never returned. That is, until yesterday!

I waited for the same lines as always. I was so annoyed that he called. It was my husband’s birthday and we had to start getting ready to go to dinner, but we were being lazy. It was bad enough that my cell was across the room and I had to get up to answer it. The last thing I wanted to do was a have a trip down memory lane with him.

“Remember that time you overheard me having sex with that girl,” he bluntly asked.

“Perhaps,” I said dryly.

“And when I called you the next day you reamed me out? I can’t help but think about something you said to me. You told me ‘You will never find anyone who will love you as much as I do.’”

Ah yes, I remembered that too. I had been telling him what a fool he was to turn down a sap like me. Hey, I was an over-emotional 19 year old girl who had been cheated on; I think the drama was excusable in this case. Anyway, that was so long ago! He better not expect that sentiment to hold water 6 years later.

He continued “Well, I’ve been thinking about my life a lot lately and the choices I’ve made. In fact, I’ve been seeing a therapist and you always seemed to be the focus of every conversation. I’ve realized that you have been the only person who ever gave me a second and a third chance, maybe it’s because you believed there was more to me? I don’t know, I guess I was trying to say that I’m so sorry….all the wrongs…you’re the only one…I wish that…one day…in my life…if you could…no regrets…what do you think?”

“Um, yeah. Listen, I gotta go,” I said and hung up.

Finally the moment I had waited years for! Mr. Z calling me, begging for me to feed him humble pie. And what happens? I miss most of his sappy speech due to my husband deciding to pleasurably distract me.

I so do love irony.