Texting is supposed to be easy. A time saver. It’s to keep in touch without really keeping in touch…and I’ll admit, I’d much rather text than talk over the phone.
It’s impossible nowadays to stick to impersonal texting. My boss texts me. My clients. My friends. My kids. My boyfriend. The neighbor. Even my life insurance rep texts me. I find myself boggled with texts constantly and sometimes…I will accidentally send a text to the wrong person.
Unfortunately, this has happened more often than not. With the iPhone, if you’re not paying close attention and someone chimes in during a texting conversation with another person…the wrong person can get your text.
This happened to me today. I was having a texting conversation with my boss about a client who had been on a long trip and now is back. My text consisted of: “He’s been in Whereever Country but is now back. He was interested before, shall I call him soon?”
That’s it. I was in work mode and wasn’t paying attention to the texting. Angry Birds Friend chimed in and instead of texting my boss…I texted it to him.
Shouldn’t have been a big deal, but since I’ve sent him the wrong texts in the past and perhaps he’s in a bad mood, he sends me this snarky text about how he might get tired of my sending the wrong texts to him and think I’m chatting it up with other men.
EXACTLY what I needed to hear today, because my day? Well, it wasn’t bad enough. Let’s add some irritated texts to the mix.
It’s interesting to acknowledge what bothers people and what doesn’t. I get tons of wrong texts from people ALL THE TIME and I shrug it off albeit teasing some of my friends about it. It’s not a big deal. Shit happens. For whatever reason, THIS is a big deal to my Angry Birds Friend. I’m not exactly sure why and I probably will never know. With us, texting is not the best form of communication. We shouldn’t text each other EVER because the few arguments we’ve have had… has always been because of miscommunication in the form of texts.
It’s exhausting.
I once was very free with my thoughts with him and now I find myself censoring my thoughts during any written correspondence.
The reality is: we tend to read all forms of written correspondence to us in whatever frame of mind we are in. For instance, I could text a “Wsup BITCH!?” to my girlfriend in a happy, loving mood, but she (without my knowledge) just had a huge fight with her husband and is still angry and hurt with him. Guess how my text is going to be read?
Yep. Not good.
I’ve flirted with the idea of ceasing texting from my life, but then I think it’s not the texting…it’s the people. There are certain people who shouldn’t be conversed with via texting. (My grandmother comes to mind. Mainly because she’s well, you know, dead.) Even sending a sweet text of adoration can be misread. (I once thought Angry Birds Guy was being sarcastic when he wrote a sweet text about souls and hearts. I’m a sarcastic person and he’s not. Texting is not our friend.)
At any rate, today, I came close to throwing my cell against the wall in frustration. (Didn’t because it’s an iPhone 4G and it’s how I watch Gossip Girl and listen to my music. Plus, it’s an iPhone. I really love my phone. REALLY.)
It’s ironic how texting is supposed to be a time saver, when in my life? I spend more time explaining a text I sent and what I meant by it.
My standard text from here on out to my Angry Birds Friend will be: “GFF” and “GYHOOYA”.
If he’s going to be mad or offended, I want him to have to work for it.
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“I hate my fiance’s ex-girlfriend! HATE her!”
I look over at my friend who has this horrific look of disgust on her face brought on by the mere mention of her fiance’s ex-girlfriend. This would be the same ex-girlfriend who had broken up with her fiance TWO entire years prior to even dating her fiance. This would also be the SAME ex-girlfriend she has never met.
“How can you hate her?” I ask. I feel this is a valid question. They’ve never even been in the same room with one another. All she knows is what her fiance has told her. I can see her not liking this evil ex-girlfriend’s actions...but HATE her? Really?
“She’s just a disgusting piece of trash. That’s all it is to it.”
“How so? Because she broke up with Rob? Isn’t that a good thing? Had she not broke up with him, then you wouldn’t be with him now, right?”
She shook her head, waving the notion away. “You don’t understand, Georgia.”
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Maybe she’s right. I don’t understand being jealous or despising your boyfriend’s ex. What did she ever do to you, other than sleep with your man BEFORE he even knew you? Or maybe she didn’t even do that, but was just THERE before you.
I remember when my ex husband and I were dating, we found ourselves at this huge house party. And guess who walks in…his ex girlfriend. I wasn’t too bothered by it, UNTIL she grabbed his arm and asked rather loudly, “Who is THAT girl you’re with?”
THAT girl? I remember distinctly loosing up my hair and taking off my heels…ready to really let her know who THAT girl was.
I’m Georgia, bitch.
I decided to hate her right then and there. No one calls me “THAT girl”.
However, THAT guy and I married. We started a family. I never forced him to throw away her pictures from when they dated. Seemed trivial. I married him. Had his babies. So what if he dated some anorexic rugby player who also slept with his brother?
To each their own.
I do remember getting bent out of shape when I wanted him to read certain books. He read HER book recommendations.
Fucker.
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But that was way back in the day. Now here I am, a business-minded woman in her thirties with children-one of which is of dating age. (Kill. Me. Now.) I do not hate my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend(s). Not when I have an ex-husband who I had kids with. Seems childish and besides…we’re adults.
With that said, I will admit to viewing her pictures and being confident in the fact that I am way more attractive.
And smarter…
Remember now, she did let him go and in my opinion THAT makes her stupid.
::insert the “AWWW” here::
The people of our past (the good and the bad) could be viewed as teachers. It’s up to us to let go of the bitterness and hate so we can appreciate those lessons. From there…we can move forward into better relationships, knowing we are probably better than who we were before.
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I listen to my friend go on and on about her fiance’s ex-girlfriend and it hit me. I’m someone’s ex-girlfriend. Shit, I’m someone’s ex-wife! There is some wife or girlfriend HATING on me.
And then I decided:
I fucking hate those bitches.
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(To read Part One in this series, Click HERE)
Online dating.
I was married long before it became a huge phenomenon and had some harsh judgments against it. “It’s unsafe,” I told a friend a few years ago. “What if that hot guy you’re talking to is really a 400lb woman? WHAT IF HE’S A SERIAL KILLER?!!?!” I couldn’t get passed the secrecy of online dating. It didn’t seem legit. It seemed unsafe and anyone partaking in online dating was obviously desperate. Why not meet people the regular old-fashioned way like I met my then husband? (At work.) BECAUSE we all know your job is the perfect place to begin a relationship. ::snort::
In the nineties, at the height of the AOL craze, we were all visiting message boards and cyber chats. Another friend met her future husband on one of AOL’s “single and looking” message boards. I thought she was crazy for even talking to a stranger online, but when she told me she was engaged to Mr. Cyber Man…I freaked. Nevermind the fact they had been dating for four years and were long past the “He’s my online boyfriend” stage. They were a real couple, planning a real wedding, looking forward to a real life together.
“BUT YOU MET ONLINE!” I shrieked. As if THAT right there was reason enough to throw true love out the window.
I had some serious, perhaps mental, issues regarding online dating… if you haven’t noticed.
Today, online dating is not only the growing norm-but it is easier and mobile. Dating sites such as Plenty of Fish have free apps for your smartphone. This fad known as”Mobile Dating” has an estimated 14 million people using free dating apps on their smartphones. Even the notorious cheater’s website Ashley Madison has a free app.
As Baxter looks at me with his pierced brow and condescending glare, I’m thinking of spewing the statistics of online dating. How it isn’t for catching your loved one cheating, but for finding true love- or true orgasmic bliss-you know, some stupid shit like that.
“Georgia, is that how you met Finger in the Ass Guy? From AM?”
My shoulders slouch, I look up at the ceiling, I cough, perhaps I even tap my foot in a nervous twitch. I can feel Baxter’s growing judgment.
“I’m not cheating on anyone,” I tell him defiantly. “If you remember, I’m going through a divorce,” I huff. There. Point. Blank. Period. I am innocent of all charges. Discussion may now cease.
“But is he…?”
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.
I hate Baxter. Hate him. Hate him with all that is good and holy and everything that is evil and sinister.
The fact of the matter is: I did meet Finger in the Ass Guy online. It was supposed to be a one time thing. A hook-up and then we’d go our separate fornicating ways, most likely fornicating with other random people. As you do.
Being that he worked out-of-town and we were both texting whores, a relationship (sorta) developed which consisted of raunchy emails and “getting to know you” texts.
I didn’t like Finger in the Ass Guy that much in the beginning. I found him to be a bit perverted. However, as time went on, I would get small glimpses into who he was and what he was really about. In some twisted way, he became more like a friend. I would even complain about dating again and the guys in my life. He often would give me sound advice.
And then…
Online Dating: Finding Love or Lust?
“[Online dating] is not my thing. Not that I wouldn’t [do it], it’s just I’m an old-fashioned type of guy. I’m more into the ‘barely standing bar flies’- for me that’s the way to go.”
– My cousin, Rafael, age 36. (He’s also very single, ladies.)
My twenty-something friend, “Rachel” is against online dating due to the things she’s heard from friends. “My opinions of online dating are bad, due to the experiences my friends have had,” she tells me. And then, of course, she gives me that look, which I know to mean, I’m one of those friends.
I have met some really dear friends online-stemming back from AOL Mommy Message Boards in the late nineties. We’re all still friends to this day…and with blogging and the social media outlets, I have created a wide circle of friends from all over the world. If friendships can develop online, it is quite feasible that one can find ‘true’ love online…
RIGHT?
To Be Continued…
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“Have you ever heard of Ashley Madison?“
My heart stopped. Not completely, mind you, but a little.
I cleared my throat, wondering why he was asking.
“The online website for cheaters? Yeah, I heard of it.”
Silence.
I knew why he was asking, the asshole.
“It’s free for women, I guess,” he says taking a sip of his tea.
“Yep. Totally free. You know there are some guys on there that are single. Just FYI.”
“I’m sure there are.”
Silence. I light a cigarette, defying his total disgust that I’m a closet smoker. Truth be told, I hate the smell of cigarettes, but I want to prove a point. My friend whom we’ll call Baxter- is not my conscience.
And then it hits me…how would he know I had a profile on AM if he wasn’t on there too?
“You ASSHOLE!” I yell, startling him so that he spills a little of his tea.
He gets it. His cover is blown.
“OK, Georgia, it isn’t what you think- I was doing research…”
“I bet! You have a girlfriend! A great girlfriend who thinks you’re ready to marry her! You fucker.” I’m mad. I want to hit him. Actually, I want to make him bleed. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of violence towards someone I love, but he has a penis, so it all balances out in some way.
“Georgia, will you calm the fuck down? I was on there because I found out Samantha* had an account.”
I’m stunned. Samantha? Baxter’s holier than thou, loves Jesus and America and cried for two days when her pet goldfish died? The goldfish she had for an entire week…THAT SAMANTHA???
Bitch.
“Oh Baxter, I’m so sorry. What the hell? Is she cheating?”
“No, I’m sure she isn’t Georgia. People don’t create accounts on sites like Ashley Madison to cheat. They do it to spice things up in their current relationship,” he says curtly.
I roll my eyes. “Did you confront her?”
“Yeah. I did. It wasn’t good. It’s over. She’s a cheater.” He looks down at his cup and then back at me. “Let me ask you something, do you think once a cheater, always a cheater?”
I think about all the cheaters in my life-myself included-and I try to come up with a concrete answer.
I don’t know.
There are many types of relationships one can go into. I know friends who have been married twenty plus years with an ‘understanding’ and it works for them. No judgment.
But what about the traditional exclusive relationship? The one I secretly desire for…the one in which you can grow old with someone and you’re first in each other’s lives?
Is it unrealistic to wish for something like that without worrying about cheating?
If you truly love someone, you don’t want anyone else. I know many men who have argued this point with me. “I love my wife. Sex is sex. Sex with the other woman is fun- sex with my wife is not…yada yada yada.”
I’ve heard it all. And I think they’re all full of shit.
It isn’t love. I don’t care how you justify it. If you’re cheating on someone…then you don’t love that person. Not in the way it matters.
Cheating is a selfish endeavor. It is solely based on one’s own desires. I’ve tried to justify certain situations in my own life, but I always come back to the same thing: cheating is selfish.
I do not believe once a cheater, always a cheater. I’m sure there are individuals who are incapable of being in a monogamous relationship. (IE: Finger in the Ass Guy.) Yet, for the majority-cheating was conducted to fill a void, searching for something one lacked in their current relationship. It doesn’t make it right, but the person isn’t bad, just doing a very bad thing.
I look over at Baxter and my heart breaks for him. I’m angry at Samantha, but a small part of me can understand. Baxter is a hard person to like at times, much less love. I can see why she would want someone else. He’s very selfish and maybe this pain he’s dealing with is a wake up call. When you’re in a relationship, you have to make sacrifices. You don’t have to lose yourself to another person, but the goal should be to enhance who you are by sharing your life with someone else.
With that said, I still want to kick her ass and make her bleed.
A few minutes pass of silence between Baxter and I before he looks over at me with a weird expression.
“Wait a second. Georgia! You have an account on AM? Is that how you met-“
To be continued…
Finger in the Ass Guy likes to send me pictures of his dick.
It’s endearing in that twisted perverted way that makes me question my sanity because I have found myself sighing “AWWW, look at that!” the way one would admire a kitten.
The first time he sent me a picture of the little big guy (because it isn’t exactly little) I was shocked. Mortified. I turned my phone sideways. Then upside down. I held it close to my face, then far away…because WOW.
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A man just sent me a picture of his penis. ON PURPOSE.
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After a few shots of tequila, I summoned up enough courage to call him. What followed was the most erotic phone conversation of my life. Until then, I had never had phone sex before, and whilst I was pretty much the silent partner, I was hooked.
Hours of endless “Truth or Dare” questions via text filled my days between mundane work projects. In this, we both got to know the other in more ways than sexual. However, even with all I was beginning to know of him, I wasn’t sure I even liked him.
What I did like…craved, actually, was the sex. The sexting was an extra bonus, a teasing to what was to come. (Pun totally intended.)
Despite the allure of this frisky flirtation, there is an underlying risk regarding sexting. Even between two consenting adults, one can’t deny the danger whenever one presses the “send” button. Pictures and erotic texts meant solely for one person could very easily fall into the wrong hands.
“I worry about that all the time,” says my friend Anne*. “My ex boyfriend swears he deleted dirty pictures of me, but I’m not 100% sure. It is something I think about, definitely.”
I ask Finger in the Ass Guy a million and two times if everything I send is deleted. “Yes,” he sighs in exasperation. “I’m not stupid.”
“Well, you do type ‘your’ when you mean ‘you’re,'” I point out. “And your spelling sucks.” (This is our foreplay. It works for us.)
The best quote about sexting came from none other than my Angry Birds Friend. When asked what he thought about sexting, he (in a text, of course) wrote: “Sexting is fun, but it can get you in trouble.”
Despite the risks and knowing what COULD happen, why would anyone choose to partake in something so fucking hot juvenile which could very well be humiliating if made public?
The answer is simple: Sexting is quick. It is exciting with building energy between two people. It’s impulsive. It’s erotic. Conducted over the phone or internet, one’s inhibitions are lowered.
When done responsibly, it is simply fun.
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*NAME CHANGED TO PROTECT THE GUILTY.
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Resources:
A Pew Research Center poll found that 6 percent of Americans over 18 reported having sent a nude or near-nude image of themselves to someone else and 15 percent said they had received one. In the 30- to 49-year-old demographic, 17 percent reported receiving such a message.
7 Tips for Sexting Someone You Barely Know (Hilarious)
I fell asleep last night content and happy…but woke up in a casket of mixed emotions. For the past few hours, I’ve vacillated between anxiety and sadness for the different things going on in my life, excitement about the potential prospects I’ve been offered, then irrational anger towards the majority of men in my life and their amazing talent to mind fuck me on a whim.
Sitting next to him as he plays Angry Birds on his tablet, I wondered what the hell was I doing there. And then he looks at me from the corner of his eye, squeezes my hand and it hit me: I’m a tad bit smitten with this overgrown child.
But oh what a handsome overgrown child he is.
He’s moody, cranky and has more than his fair shit of life problems to deal with. In some twisted way, we have that in common. Different situations, for sure, but there are no explanations needed when we fall into the place in which words are not spoken because we’re lost in thought about our individual circumstances.
I’m sensitive and emotional at times (Imagine that?!) and quick to take things personally. “You can’t fix everyone and everything,” he said to me once. I had casually asked what was wrong and he snapped for me to quit prying. My first reaction was to shoot off a lady-like response of “Well, fuck you, asshole” and perhaps dramatically storm off- you know, to SHOW HIM I’m a very important and dignified person. Instead, I retreated and thought back to the times in which I had snapped at others who were trying -in their own way- to help me.
There are moments in one’s life in which-despite the best of intentions-no one can help. A lot of the things we have to deal with in life are from our own actions and things we have to figure out on our own. It isn’t easy, in fact, most of the time it sucks ass, but we manage. We scramble around, fighting against ourselves with self-medications of booze and endless hours of terrible reality television and try to focus on that small light at the end of the tunnel.
My life right now? Well, it isn’t the life I pictured a year ago…it is filled with questions and self-doubt, sleepless nights and a hell of a lot of tears. However, what I know and what I hope my Angry Birds Friend knows is through the trials we deal with in life will only make us stronger. It’s okay to fall into the muddy puddle once in a while, but it is never okay to sit and cry in it. We get up, clean up and perk up…perhaps even holding onto the hands of the ones who are waiting and wanting to help us…
“Girls watch porn, but they never admit to it.”
I’m sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine, which-by the way-was not a porn magazine. My first reaction to his statement was to deny: “Noooo! We do not watch porn!” And then I thought about lying and how liars do not inherit the kingdom…so I kept my mouth shut.
The truth is, I do watch porn. It was a sense of contention during my marriage, but I wanted to share the ‘porn experience’ with the man I was married to. He did not want anything to do with it. I was a freak and needed to deal with my freak obsession because nice girls? Nice girls do not want their hair pulled and spanked on all fours. (Mind you, I said “Please!”)
It was 1989. My father was the only person in his subdivision that owned a satellite dish. It was a remarkable piece of equipment which helped keep my creativity in storytelling ongoing. (IE: Yes, that’s a satellite dish. My dad isn’t really Hispanic…he’s from Mars. And he uses it to talk to my abuelita. Swear.)
The satellite dish also had a specific channel which was devoted to porn, which my father recorded religiously. One afternoon, I was doing what I normally did after school, rummaging through my dad and stepmom’s closet looking for evidence I was adopted. On the top shelf under some sewing and craft stuff, I found it:
THE BOX.
Thinking I was about to face the moment of truth: my real parents were some rich couple in Italy (Because I love Italy) who got conned out of their daughter-because isn’t that how it always happens…and I was going to demand my father send me back to the castle in Italy because my real parents? Love me and miss me and want me back.
Instead…
It was a box of VCR tapes of porn. My father was very sneaky about hiding the fact the tapes were porn because he labeled them in code.
FUCK TAPE 1
FUCK TAPE 2
FUCK TAPE 3
And so on.
Papa, being his second language was English, probably thought his kid wouldn’t figure out what “Fuck” meant.
I grabbed Fuck Tape 7 (7 being my favorite number) and slid it in the VCR.
The Pandora’s Box had been opened.
My first thought was, “PEOPLE LIKE THIS?” and my second was “I’m so going to Hell.” and my third and final thought was, “I think I want to do that. And that. And that.”
I was a sneaky little bitch too, but one with a journalistic approach. I took notes. I analyzed and I also judged their acting abilities. (As you do.)
Soon word got out amongst my friends (by me) that my house had awesome movies. For five dollars, you could view a movie for ten minutes. I was a marketing genius.
Then Jesus came into my life and I got saved and wouldn’t even watch a R-rated movie without feeling a tremendous amount of guilt. I tried to forget the Fuck Tapes and was committed to saving myself for marriage.
I was adorable, like that.
Of course, I lost my virginity in 1994 in the backseat of a 1976 Nova and was understandably disappointed. It was ten seconds of pinching and tugging…and I’m not even sure to this day if I really did lose my virginity that night. What I remember specifically was being seriously pissed.
I had been misled! Stupid Fuck Tapes.
Fast forward to years later. Married, young mom of babies- which I gave birth to back to back-I decided it was time to rev up my sex life, being that it consisted of quickies and my giving him head. This was common amongst young parents, but at the same time, I didn’t want to lose the one thing I knew was basically free entertainment. (Unless I got knocked up…which seemed to have happen every other year, until he got snipped.)
I wanted to experiment. I wanted to explore all the different types of sex with my partner. I was met with a horrified look and a Tsk Tsk…because remember? Nice girls don’t do that. Or that.
I became a closeted porn freak. I also felt guilty everytime I watched because in my mind, I felt I was cheating.
One afternoon in 2005, I was having lunch with a friend when I admitted to watching and reading porn.
“So,” she said rolling her eyes. “Who doesn’t? You have got to let go of this guilt thing you have going on when it comes to anything sexual. You’ll never really enjoy it with anyone-your husband included-if it is always followed by guilt.”
Why did I always feel guilty when it came to anything sexual? At the time, I was a devoted married woman and desired only her husband. However, even with him, there was this twinge of guilt because what I wanted-what I really wanted out of our sex life, consisted of more than my being on my back.
It was an awakening.
Things have never been the same since.
That same year, I traveled back to my hometown. I was back in my old house and it was an afternoon when my parents were away.
Old habits die hard. On the specific mission to find the evidence that I was indeed adopted…I stumbled upon THE BOX.
It was a couple of hours of a walk down memory lane. I even teared up…because Fuck Tape 7? A real tearjerker, that one.
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My marriage was over four years before it was made public. The reason is I was fighting for my marriage and did not want to divorce. Now as it is public and I’m the one who “left”, I have the distinct honor of being the bad guy. And by bad guy, I totally mean terrible mother and two cent whore. (I even own the T-shirt)
When you are wanting to make your marriage work, you remain private about the issues in your relationship. People have long memories…and I was and (still am) very protective of the man I married. It kills me now that our breakup is public, people like to harp on the advice upon my head: why can’t I give it one more chance?
It’s easy for people to judge me. I’m honest and upfront about who I am; I choose not to hide behind a false facade to fit in or be liked.
Do not judge others because they sin differently than you.
There are a lot of things I worry about. Obviously, being a mom…I worry about my kids and question some of my decisions. However, I know in my heart, I’m on the right path.
And by right path, I totally mean on my way to the doctor’s office for my meds. And by doctor’s office I mean the liquor store and by meds I totally mean booze.
The difference in being single in your mid-thirties versus your late teens and early twenties is awareness. I can’t think of a better word than that. Aware as in knowing what you do and don’t want, aware of those dumb dating ‘rules’ and aware of how to handle yourself.
Back in the day, it was all a game…we were all stupid and horny anyway, so yeah, we made some fumbles here and there. (Don’t lie. You know you totally did.)Today, we are oh so very mature…and if we aren’t? We sure have to fake it.
Speaking of faking it…I do not fake it. Ever. The reason is simple: I’m not there to play for kicks, dude.
I’m charming, like that. And by charming, I totally mean blunt and slutty. (Blunt Slut! Hey, that rhymes!)
And hook-ups? Hook-ups have changed. Back in the day when we were teenagers, there was this PREMISE of some sort of date…you know, dinner, maybe a movie, a walk in the park…church… but now? No. No such thing. You schedule a hook up…better make sure you eat beforehand. (I suggest if it is going to be an all nighter, bring a bottle of water. Believe me on this.)
The first “hook-up” I had after splitting with the ex had no romantic interludes. There were no misunderstandings to why we were together and what we were there to do. Being I’m a planner- I made sure to bring my sex bucket list. (As you do.)
He was a charming sort, a real cad, that one. Our first kiss was met with such passion; I had butterflies and felt things I never felt before in my life. Upon reflection, I realized it was just him jamming his finger up my ass.
Yeah, we’re still friends…::blushing::
In all seriousness, I do have a difficult time trying to figure this new life out. I’m not just a woman…I’m also a mother. There is this level of caution when it comes to dating and hooking up. Obviously, my kids have no idea that Mommy is getting her some- whether it is dinner with Mr. By Golly Be Good or a night of light S&M with Finger in the Ass Guy.
It’s a new chapter in my life…I know I have a lot to learn and whilst I smile and joke about it, there are those moments in which fear takes over.
Because what if that wasn’t his finger jammed up my ass?
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