someone – ok, my sister, only a sister can say things like this – said to me recently that I appear to be a strong woman but am in fact all fucked up.
Kinda true. Kinda not.
True in the sense that I make mistakes. Lots of ‘em. I don’t even really regret them. I might cry about them, I may lick my wounds and steri-strip my cracked heart, but mistakes are part of living life with abandon. I would rather regret action than inaction.
I think this is strength. I am all pulpy vulnerability. I wear my heart out. I’m soft. I admit mistakes, I show my weaknesses, and I interpret all of this as bravery. So what if I slip? So what if I fall? So what if everyone sees?
I’ll just get up tomorrow and do it all again. Hopefully not exactly the same – hopefully the mistakes are new and improved – but mistakes are guaranteed as long as I’m alive.
I don’t save face.
And so that’s why I looked fucked up to my friends and family. Because I fuck up, publicly, and predict more fucking up, on a regular basis, and think that said fuck ups are a function of my commitment to stretching and growing and being happy dammit. All of which means I will screw up and then write about all of it for all of you. Voyeurs. I love you so much. Thank you for reading.
That was the intro. Here’s the story. It’s a good one. Get comfortable. Get a snack.
In the summer, I met a man. I was excited about this man, and although I’m passionate and excitable, I don’t often feel the butterflies and the rush-rush for someone. Usually it takes a long time for someone to become important to me, and for me to really feel it.
(I’ve wondered about butterflies recently, too, when I started dating the no-longer-calling Gentleman Caller. I wondered what it said about us that neither of us were feeling the grand passion thing.)
But I felt it. I was a little giddy over this guy. And since I was feeling it, I followed it.
Bad, bad, bad idea.
He stood me up. He made me cry. He made me contemplate ceilings. He behaved inexplicably. And the more inexplicably badly he behaved, the more I wanted an explanation. It almost became a detective mission: I must know what is wrong with this man. Because something is deeply, obviously fucking wrong with this man.
Eventually – like in a month – I got tired of the drama and withdrew to draw my own conclusions.
But not before I lent him money.
Oh, yes, I lent him money.
(That ringing in my ears is actually not metaphorical at all. It is the sound of all my friends and family blowing up my phone to scream abuse at me for lending a man money.)
And then he didn’t pay me back. Naturally. Because why would he? His game, I’m sure, is about bewitching a woman out of her wallet.
But I didn’t back down. I was like a dog with a bone AND a woman scorned, all at once, which, as you might expect, is a very scary combination.
I dogged him. I called every hour on the hour. I announced that I would come to his office – where he is a very well paid executive – and tell the receptionist and anyone who would listen why I was there.
I was mad (at myself, mostly). I was shameless. It was liberating. I wanted what was mine, no matter how stupidly and easily I parted with it, and I would have it.
And I did. He paid me back. It was like extracting a pint of blood with a spoon and cup, but I eventually – drop by drop – got what was mine.
And today I heard from another woman who heard from as many as thirty women all of whom had the same experience with the same man.
And oh yes, he’s married.
So that’s the second time this year I’ve had a call from a woman wanting to know if we’re sleeping with the same man – and had to answer “yes”.
So maybe I am screwing up. Because I don’t know anyone else who gets phone calls from scorned wives and women on a regular basis.
On the upside: really cool, smart, sassy, pretty, overachieving women, all of them. The crappy men I date have excellent taste in women.
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Some people are such good liars, it’s like they don’t even believe they are lying, which kind of makes them believable. Perhaps we need to start a branding program of some kind so they are easily recognisable.
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The woman who gets her money back from a skeezy ex (even if he has excellent taste in women) is welcome to come lift my car any day, because, damn: that is strong, woman.
If courage is being afraid and doing it anyway, strength is fucking up and managing to move on. But not before getting the loan back.
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Good on you, girl! Shouldn’t there be a website somewhere to warn others of these kind of people? They come in all disguises – both male and female.
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You, my friend, are beautiful and amazing. I read your story and my heart aches for you – while I laugh and smile simultaneously – in part, because I know the story before I even read it; in part, because I know who writes it: a beautiful and amazing woman who WILL know the love she deserves and desires.
We should write a book together!! Or at least drink together.
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I admire your honesty and your tenacity in getting the cheddah returned, but really….you knew from the get-go, the guy was a jackasss and yet, you HAD to keep seeing him? Unlike your other sistah friends, above who are clapping with glee, I may remind you of your sister. A strong woman doesn’t put up with being treated badly and then hand out money to an obvious bum. I know you learned from this, but I’ll withhold my “bravo”…
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torn . . . props for the chutzpah? Pity the fool?
I like to have it both ways. So huzzah for collecting from the slimexecutive (I hope the blood was his and not yours). Learn from the slimexecutive. And then put him away.
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Kelly,
I second the comments that say that getting your money back was a feat of strength. Yes. Good for you.
The first half of this was like listening to my more eloquent, more lyrical identical twin writing. I feel like you speak from my heart, and I am more grateful for your exquisite ability to put its messy contents onto the page than I can express.
If you say that the vulnerability is a strength, it helps me believe.
Thank you.
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Ok don’t take this the wrong way but I think women like you are …. A roller coaster … yea that’s a good way to put it. The rides you go on are scary but exciting. I actually dated a girl that was like a roller coaster (notice I said dated) but I wasn’t ready for the ride.
I actually admire girls that are not scared to put it all out there for everyone to see (cleavage haha … sorry) but it is the very nature of these girls that end up getting them hurt in the short run.
All in all I think women like you are the untamable (and should remain so) One day you’ll find someone just as wild to run (or burn things down) with. Or on the opposite end you’ll find someone who is the complete opposite of you but admires you for having all that he lacks (which is where I currently stand).
All the best will come but until then I shall enjoy reading about your adventures.
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Jeremy is absolutely right. I used to be a roller coaster, like you. I used to get those calls from women and, inevitably, had to answer, “Yes.” I used to be as untamable as the sea, and damn proud of it.
I spent a few years with a guy just like me, which doubled my highs, and quadrupled my lows. But then I met and married the complete opposite of myself… and the violent tides became soothing breakers at sunset.
I can’t lie to you… sometimes that “other” me, the one that craves the highs and even looks forward to those phone calls, feels a bit like a caged tiger. But when she remembers the lows, that feeling that was like a deep, dark pit of emptiness because I should’ve known better… well then I snap out of it, and realize the beauty of what I have now (against all odds).
You owe it to yourself to break the cycle. Let your sister choose your next guy, just for kicks.
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Hrm…
Kelly ran into one of these: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=efdfGeUKXuU
Lisis found her http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ay6LCPrcBlU
I forgot how much of a crush I had on Sade. Thanks.
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Aw, lady, you and I have obviously met and dated the same men. But I’m currently fist-pumping the air that you stood up and got your money back. Clear evidence that you never lost your confidence and faith in yourself (a very common side effect to dating these types of guys). May 2010 bring you a true lover rather than a leech.
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Good job on getting paid back. Things like that can fester in the back of your mind, so it was worth the trouble to reach some closure I think.
“The crappy men I date have excellent taste in women.” — we already knew this, (they are / were dating you).
If mistakes are learning opportunities then all good. I wish I learned faster is all lol.
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aw, sugar, listen. once, when this guy owed me money – a guy who didn’t walk, he strutted, you know what i mean? – well, when his check didn’t arrive as promised, i called him and when his secretary asked “can i tell him who’s calling?” i said, “you sure can. i am his parole officer.” i was put right through, and he paid me later that week.
and then, when i found out there were more me’s out there, i organized us and, well, let me just say this: orange is not his color.
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You know, woman, one has to wonder what the hell is wrong with us! I too wear my heart on my sleeve and I use to worry about that, now I don’t give a damn!
Life’s too short but we do need to keep our hands on our money! I’m worse than you in a way — I don’t lend it, I give it. *POOF!* gone.
Would I trade my “errors” for a do-over? Hell no!
Hugs and glad to have found you! Uh, Storyfix. I love him too! Men scare me, he scares me, does that make him a real man? How’s that for an under-handed compliment?
You’re nuts. I think I’ll love you too. I really need to get longer sleeves!
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