A Scary Halloween Haunt

Facebook has a magical way of bringing people you thought you had put behind in your life to creep right back. Such was the case with a guy from college who attempted to sexually assault me (below). 

He then sent me a message saying, "It's been a long time. How have you been?" 

It's been a long time because I didn't want anything to do with him. 

I'm not even sure why I'm writing about this tonight. It just bothers me that he had the balls to message me again after so many years. I thought that with college graduation, I could just lay him to rest in the graveyard of unpleasant experiences and memories from that time period. 

We used to be friends. What had happened was this - I was in undergrad, and he was a graduate student. I went to his apartment to pick up a sweater I left behind at a house party. His roommates were home. He asked me to follow him to his room, as my sweater was there. I didn't think twice about it because I was 19, shy, naive, and had no expectation that anything foul was going to happen. 

His room was dimly lit. He locked the door behind us. He then said he had downloaded some new Arabic music and asked me if I would like to hear it. I thought that the lighting was odd, but again, I didn't think anything of it. He told me to sit down. I sat down on the edge of his bed. He started the music. It was a slow song. At the time, I was studying Arabic. I was listening closely to the words of the song to see how much I could understand. 

He sat down next to me, really close to me. I started to feel uncomfortable, but I kept my cool thinking that nothing would happen. Stuff like that only happened to other people. He started to scoot closer to me. He got close to my neck. I'll never forget the smell of his breath in that moment.  

"I think you're really hot." 

I scooted away and said that I just wanted to finish listening to the song. He moved in again, this time grabbing my arm and pulling me towards him. I felt so stunned that I didn't know what to do. I had never been in a situation like that before. I pulled away. 

Then, he scared me. He grabbed me much more forcefully, grabbed me by the face, and said "Kiss me." He then pulled my head to his, and he forced me to have the most disgusting kiss of my life. I still remember what his lips felt like. I hated those lips. 

I pulled away and told him to stop. He grabbed me again, pushed me down on the bed, and got on top of me. He started forcing my legs apart and rubbing himself on me. "Just give this a chance. You'll like it." I started panicking. I couldn't believe this was happening. I didn't scream yet. I just kept saying "No" and tried to wiggle away. He wouldn't listen to me and he grabbed my arms even tighter and pushed my arms down harder into the mattress. He switched his hands and manipulated my arms so that with one hand he was holding both of my arms down and with the other he tried to unbutton my jeans. I raised my voice and yelled "STOP!" One of his roommates knocked and asked if we were okay. He got off of me. He said we were just having an argument. 

I took the opportunity to grab my sweater, dart for the door, unlock the door, and rush out of the apartment. I remember feeling embarrassed when I rushed out of the apartment because I felt that my hair was so messed up and it probably looked like we were messing around. The only time I ever saw him again was at parties or around campus. He would say hello. I usually said hi and then acted like I had to rush to class, answer a friend's phone call, or any other assortment of excuses. 

I didn't call the police. Looking back, I wish I had, but at the time, I didn't think anyone would believe me. I was just a 19 year old undergrad student. I also didn't think it was a big deal because I thought I was partly to blame for what happened. I didn't think that it was sexual assault. 

So here he is, 13 years later, sending me a friend request on Facebook. I didn't respond to his message. I deleted his request. I don't like to remember, and I wish I could forget. 

Parade of Misogyny

It's a fun new trend in the dating world. Misogyny. Donald Trump embraces it and is making a political career out of it, bragging about grabbing women by the pussy.

What is a misogynist? Merriam-Webster defines it simply - "a hatred of women." Dictionary.com defines it as "a hatred, dislike, or mistrust of women, or prejudice against women."

Unfortunately for me, I experienced what was a parade of misogyny. I had a taste of it a couple weekends ago with Trumpster. Apparently, this weekend I was to be treated to a full buffet. 

It started on Friday with a guy from Bumble I was talking to. He is a divorced father of 2. He disclosed to me that he was a father of 2 after reading my profile where I made it abundantly clear that I had reservations about playing stepmom and preferred a man with no kids but wanted to start a family. He was defensive about the issue. I gave him a pass for it. Then came the request for a "current photo." 

At first, my thought was, what a paranoid freak. I then recalled the times that I met a guy in person and he didn't match his photos at all. I obliged and snapped a quick selfie. Now, it was my turn... 

Yeah, you do look bad... 

I loved how he made excuses for looking bad. He didn't look like his photos at all. I stopped talking to him. If he was already suspicious of my profile, this was not going to be the guy for me. 

Fast forward to Saturday night. My friends and I went clubbing in a ritzy part of town. I was wearing a dress that exposed my back and a pair of smoking hot heels. 

Every woman knows that after a while, smoking hot heels means smoking hot feet. I needed to rest. While my friends danced, I sat next to them at the bar. I, being one of the only sober ones in the group, kept an eye out for any pervs nearby. 

Every club has at least one perv. Come on, you know what I mean. There's always at least one creepy guy who lurks in a dark corner, waiting to find one single woman who even temporarily gets separated from her friends so he can try to make a move. 

Unfortunately for me, there were two pervs. The pair was about 50 years old and they were watching me like a lion watches a wounded gazelle. I ignored them, hoping they'd just go away. 

They didn't go away. 

Those assholes had the gall to touch me. One of them extended his creepy finger and ran it up my back. They started to laugh at this violation of my body. I was ignited. I was livid. I immediately turned around and unleashed my street side. 

"WHAT THE F*CK! DO NOT EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN! YOU TOUCH ME AGAIN AND YOU'LL SEE WHAT THE F*CK WILL HAPPEN TO YOU! BACK THE F*CK OFF RIGHT NOW!"

They didn't back off. They moved in. One of them grabbed me around the neck and tried to kiss me. I violently pushed him. 

I raised my voice. "BACK THE F*CK OFF YOU F*CKING ASSWIPE! BACK THE F*CK OFF!" I kept repeating it over and over. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guys from the group watching in amazement. 

The jackals left. I turned my attention to the guys in my group. 

"What the f*ck? Didn't you see all that?" 

"Yeah! But you looked like you had a handle on things!"

I guess I did, but it would have been nice to have backup. 

As the night flowed on, so did the booze, and so did my female friends' drunkenness. One of them was recently single. She disappeared into the crowd and returned with a guy from a wedding party. I watched the pair because my drunk friend was entertaining and because I was suspicious of men from wedding parties. 

Let's be real here. If you're single, and you go to a wedding, you mostly want to get laid at some point. 

My drunk friend was like a butterfly - beautiful and all over the place. She fluttered between our friends and this wedding party guy. The guy disappeared when my friend fluttered back to us for a while. I looked for him. 

When I finally spotted him, I saw that he was with another woman from the wedding party - a drunk girlfriend? She could barely stand. She had no idea what was happening. After a few moments of the two of them speaking, I saw them kissing. He then sat her down and returned to my friend.

I could not believe my eyes. 

I told my friend's sister who said she would alert my friend. 

I continued to observe this pattern - my friend fluttering between this guy and us, and the guy fluttering between my friend and kissing this other woman. 

The club was closing. I saw my friend's sister confront the guy. I positioned myself so I could hear what was going on. He started to deny everything. Again, I was ignited. 

"You LIAR! You're a freaking liar! I freaking saw you!"

With a straight face, he denied my eyewitness accusation. 

"Why would I lie? And who was I kissing?"
"I'm not going to play these games with you. How old are you? 26?"
"I'm 27."
"You act like you're 12. Get out of here. You know what you did."
Again, he challenged me. "Why would I lie?"
I decided to be crude. I pointed to my friend's vaginal area.
"To get that. That's why. Now get out of here."

At that moment, my friend took off running like Laura Ingalls in the prairie. Her sister ran after her. I walked over to the pair. There was a brief discussion about where everyone was parked. I had enough and told them I was going home.

The drive was long and it gave me time to process everything. Is this the state of men these days? Is this what we have been reduced to? I wanted the days of my father - where men were noble and courtship was authentic. I needed hope.

I said a small prayer to myself, to meet the right man soon, and to never be paired with a cheater or a closet misogynist. I deserve better.

We all do.

A Date With A Trumpster

photo credit: https://act.credoaction.com/sign/Trump_SNL

Let's wind back the clock. I was at a friend's house for an Easter-egg-dying party. Seated in a circle around the table were friends of my friend, including one particularly semi-obnoxious man, a Trump- supporting Baptist whose views were incredibly opposite to my own (hereinafter known in this post as "Trumpster").

Let me make this clear before I continue with the rest of the story: I can't stand Trump, mostly because his views tend to polarize the country along racial lines and social class. He's a buffoon that doesn't belong in leadership. I could probably write a book about why he doesn't belong in leadership, but I'll leave that for another forum. Just know that I think Trump is a freaking racist misogynist and that most of his supporters are the Archie Bunkers of the United States.

My friend told me that she had a falling out with Trumpster. She recounted the story to me a few months ago. I couldn't really remember much about the falling out story itself, other than recalling that he was an ass and she couldn't stand him anymore. She did what most women do - phased him out. Ghosted him. The ghost, however, came to haunt me on my POF account.

Last week, on POF, the Trumpster messaged me. He expressed how he remembered me from our friend's party, how he adored my friend, and asked me how I was doing these days. I exchanged polite conversation, keeping it light and trying to keep it distant. 

He asked me for my number, saying it was easier to keep in touch via text message rather than POF. I agreed and gave him my cell. I told my friend that Trumpster had reached out. I thought, initially, he wanted to try to use me as a medium to patch things up with my friend. My friend insisted this was not the case. "He's crazed for women." 

Surely, not me, an anti-Trump, Catholic, I thought to myself. I wanted to know the real reason that he was reaching out to me. Why now? Why so many months later? It had to be because of my friend. 

Eventually, he asked me to go boating with him. I agreed, thinking to myself, how bad could it be? After all, I could make a new friend out of it... plus I wanted to find out how much of a Trump supporter he really was. I mean, back around Easter, Trump was an ass, but his insanity hadn't quite yet climaxed... okay let's face it, his insanity is always climaxing, but I digress. 

We met at the docks in a ritzy part of town. As we were pulling out of the docks in the boat, I commented on the beauty of the large houses. And so it began - the racist comments. Much like his much-adored Trump, he started out with a stellar response. "Welcome to whitehood." 

WHAT THE F***!? I thought to myself. I didn't laugh. I gave a half-smile and looked at him, saying, "Really, dude?" I found the comment to be offensive towards non-whites, as well as myself. Let's face it, in the encyclopedia, I might be white. To the rest of America, I'm brown as brown gets. I come from a long line of doctors, lawyers, business people, and politicians. Anyone who knew the history of my family, and each individual contained in it, would be in pure awe. Somehow, it seems to get negated by certain people of certain mutated and half-witted thought processes. 

The next comment happened at the first bar we stopped off at. I made a remark about how beautiful the birds were. He responded, "Towards the later afternoon, the pelicans start to come out to get food when more fish are out jumping. You know, they're not just there to get the welfare checks." WHAT THE F***!? Is this guy serious? I looked at him again, with the same half smile. "Okay, okay, I'll stop with the jokes."

Now, some might say, he was trying to relax the atmosphere. Hell freaking no. Someone who makes jokes like that honestly holds those beliefs. To crack jokes like that is a test - to see how far I'll go, to see how much I'll tolerate. If I was laughing along with him and rolling with the "white homies," then he would have cracked more of the jokes. Since I wasn't, and visibly repulsed, he stopped. 

The rest of the day went well. We enjoyed some nice fresh fish, a gyro, and some beautiful views of the shores. He turned out to be a funny guy who could crack normal jokes. I laughed more times than I could count. Like all days, the sun had to set. 

There we were, in the middle of the water, with the sun getting ready to dip down, the clouds painted in hues of orange and pink. Slowly, his arm came around me. Shit. Trumpster is trying to move in. The whole day, I honestly thought he just wanted to be friends. He moved in for a kiss on the mouth. I turned. He got my cheek. After a few moments, he wanted to kiss me again. Again, he got the cheek. 

After a few more jokes and a few more moments of conversation, he wanted to know why I wouldn't give "us" a chance. I told him that I didn't like he was a Trump supporter.

"I think that if you support Trump, now, today, after everything he has said and done, there is a difference in our values and opinions that reaches down to the core. I don't think I can be with someone like that. We're having fun now, but eventually, this clash of core values will bubble up." 

He responded by saying that what some of Trump has said is insane, but he truly believed that Trump could change the economy. "He's a real estate guy, like me." 

Call me crazy, but I focus on more than one issue when I'm thinking about electing the leader of my country. I didn't push the topic. I told him that I wanted to be friends, but I didn't think we'd work out. He was understanding, and we started to head home. 

He was nice, he was fun, but deep down, he holds some racist views. I think to ever support Trump, you yourself must also hold some racist views. If you don't, then there's no way you could ever swallow the shit that Trump spews. If you don't swallow the shit that Trump spews, it means you must be at least a half-way decent human being that can reject racism, bigotry, and misogyny. 

Are all Trumpsters bad people? They're not necessarily evil, but I will say this: I firmly believe they are the precursors to people like Hitler and Putin. If you let it slide, then tyrants will continue to slide right in. It's a clash of values, and I just can't be with someone who clashes with my values that deeply. 

Piercing Love

Some men love to put their bodies on display on dating sites. When they do, it's likely that they're looking for a fun hook-up. That's okay - it's fun to look at them anyway. 

One of the more interesting ones I've noticed recently are "the pierced ones." I'm not just talking about piercings in the ear or nose, although Tinder has presented some horrific ones. I'm thinking about going back to Tinder for the mere entertainment value. 

Friends, Bumble has a plethora of pierced ones. Appearing below, you shall see them in their piercing glory - nipples included. 

Exhibit A: 

As you can see, Exhibit A appears to have a great body, but it's shot from below. Could it be that he wants the female viewer to imagine what he's like from below? 

Exhibit B: 

Literally, highly decorated with tattoos. He, too, has a muscular body. For some reason, men displaying their piercings tend to have nice bodies. 

Exhibit C, my personal favorite: 

This one is the most creative with the piercings. Happy Holidays! Okay, it's summer, but with a Christmas picture like this, how can I not post it? It's brilliant. This guy is saying, "I will jingle...all the way!" I wonder what kind of event he was dressed up - either a slutty Christmas party, or Halloween. Either way, it's brilliant, like the garland all over his neck. I'm sure a number of ladies wouldn't mind being the garland on that chest of his, ha! 

Piercing love? For some, but not for me. I just can't wrap my head around the idea of someone who has as many piercings as I do. Not quite my style, but still fun to observe. 

Suddenly Gay

Yes. The bizarre continues. This time, a man tries a new method to get me to respond online. Read below:

Yes. First, the flirting. Then, after some days of silence, he comes out to me online. He is gay!? And he wants to be friends. 

I had to ponder this one for some time. Why?  Why would a straight man pose as a gay man online? The only thing I could think of was that a gay man is one of the most trusted beings to a woman, besides another trusted female. Think about it.

A woman knows that straight men want to penetrate her. Sometimes, she herself wants to be penetrated - but for a price. What is that price? Straight men know this price. It's dinner. It's getting to know the woman. If the woman has no standards, it stops just at dinner (or drinks if she's really got no standards for the guy). Beyond that, a woman who is looking for a real relationship will stress a full courtship and slowly let the man into her world. Come on, would you let a complete stranger into your world just like that? Into the world of your friends? Your family? Your personal time? Your schedule? Hell no! You make that man WORK! It takes time. It takes dates. THAT'S the price, and the taxes are all year long baby. 

For a gay man who is seeking a friendship, there is no price because penetration is not an option. Friendship is the easy way in to a woman's life. Want to call her up at the last minute to go to the beach? No problem! Let's go! Throw on that bikini and off we go! Movies? Sure! No problem! Let's catch the 9 o'clock showing! Drinks? Yes! And if I get too tipsy, you'll be the one to take care of me, right? Because we're friends! 

However, if you're a man trying to develop something with a woman and you're in the early stages of getting to know her, these last minute rendezvous usually don't work out. Why? Because men don't get an automatic ticket into her life. And why should they? They need to earn it. 

It seems like a double standard, I know. For the woman seeking a relationship, it's about developing a level of mutual respect, trust, and honor. For the woman seeking a friendship, it's about building a bond. Wait a minute, you say. Doesn't she wan't to build a bond in a relationship, too? Of course! But let's be real here. Your true blue friends more likely than not have already been developed well before your thirties. The friends I know that I can rely on, come hell or high water, were developed during the years of my childhood, college, and law school years. Of course, I make new friends, but I don't set higher standards for them like I would for a man that I view as my potential husband. In my thirties, I always welcome new friends, but I don't need them (which is why I have no problem dumping friends the minute they start giving me a lot of bull shit - the mark of a not-so-true-blue friend). 

Let's circle back to the question of why a straight man would pose as a gay man. Because of all of the above. He knows that he can bypass all of this hullabaloo and hoopla. He knows that he can get that automatic ticket into my life - because he's gay! And not just gay, but he "just came out," which adds the sympathy factor. This means that he gets a quicker avenue to the trust bucket, which means he gets to see me in vulnerable situations faster. Then, comes the grand unveiling. After some time, when we've been hanging out, having fun, and maybe one night after drinks and we "accidentally" kiss will happen the great unveiling. "I just pretended to be gay so I could get to know you."  

All I can say is, nice try, but I'm still not going out with you. 

Officer Fakeness and Ex-Porno

Hello, friends! 

I've fallen by the wayside again, but I'm back! This summer has brought many challenges that required my attention and left me with little time to blog. Fear not, the dating follies continue. 

I'll write about two such follies that I've experienced. One occurred last month. The man claimed to be a police officer. He wouldn't tell me where he worked, which I thought was odd. If he was posting his photo, he can't be that confidential, can he? 

Eventually, he gave me his Instagram name. We allowed each other access. I wanted to find out if he was really an officer or if he was a fake.

Let's be real here - why conceal where you work? I'm a freaking attorney! How "top secret" could this guy be?

After perusing his Instagram, I came across a couple of photos he posted that had his complete name. He had completed some kind of law-enforcement related training. His Instagram was saturated with police-related posts. He had many photos of himself with other officers from different agencies. There was nothing about himself with his own agency.

Unsatisfied with what I had seen, I went to another resource that never failed when I needed information. I went to Google.

I searched his complete name. The first result that popped up was a mugshot.

Whoa! An officer with a record?

The next few results were news stories related to the arrest. The arrest was from six years ago. He and some friends of his were on vacation at a beach town. They were being rowdy and causing trouble in the bar. The bar owner wanted the men removed. When police arrived, this guy tried to convince the officers that he himself was a cop and would they please "hand over custody" of his friends to him. What the f***?!? Naturally, he got arrested along with the rest of his knucklehead buddies. The media, being the media, did a search of his background and found out that he was nothing but a grocery store boy. What a punk. He had been applying to law enforcement agencies at the time, but hadn't been through any kind of training.

Shocked by this news story, I immediately blocked him on my Instagram and off POF. I don't want to talk to someone who abuses his power, or perceived power, like that!

I decided I wasn't even going to give this guy the chance.

Moving on...

Here's another gem that will give you a few good laughs. Read below...

Yes. Apparently, I'm more attractive than porn stars, from a porn star himself. What a self-confidence booster! 

Needless to say, I didn't respond to this gem. I'd prefer to date someone whose dick is not publicly viewable on the internet, or seen or experienced for profit. 

Wild Ginger

I know it's been a while since I've last posted! I was preoccupied by other travels and some crazy times at work!

So let me tell you about my latest date. Meet the Ginger. Most people know a ginger to be a redhead. Granted, gingers are usually not my thing. I decided to go out with this guy because a psychic told me a few months ago I'd meet a ginger with a great personality. She was right - he was a ginger with a great personality, but this guy is not the one for me. Take a look at his Bumble profile:

He looks like a possible good prospect, right? I can deal with the bald head. I can deal with the beard. He looked like he had a nice body. We chatted for a while and eventually met up for dinner. What is advertised in photos and what you actually get don't always comport. Observe: 

This guy has an overgrown bush on his face, and I COULD NOT STAND IT! It was wild ginger beard. When we met up for dinner, he was nice, classy, and fun. We got along, but more in a friendship kind of way. I couldn't stop thinking about his pseudo-Duck Dynasty beard. I wondered how much oil was on that beard. I wondered how dirty that beard was. The thought of that guy having sex and having that beard on top of me repulsed me.

He must have read my mind because he asked, me, "So what do you think of the beard?"
"It's okay, I guess. I'm not a huge fan of beards, but it's whatever you want to do to your face."
"Good! Because I'm not getting rid of it. I want to grow it out, make it nice and long!"

And that was that.

The other fatal flaw with this guy is that he lives an hour and fifteen minutes away. I didn't bother keeping up with him. The text messages he'd send me of himself with his ugly ass beard did nothing but make me want to vomit. How on earth did this guy think the beard was hot?

He would send me photos of himself and his beard in bed, at work, getting ready for work, or just stuck in traffic. I had had enough. I did what any single woman does when she wants to silently strangle a no-go man - conveniently "forget" to text him back.

He also had me on his Snapchat. I think after I blocked him on Snapchat and "forgot" to text him back, he got the message and backed off with the beard photos. Eventually, I told him I didn't think we were going anywhere. He was perplexed.

"I thought we hit it off?"

In my mind, I was thinking, "You must be mentally ill." Just because I sit through a dinner with you without running away and the conversation seems to flow doesn't mean we "hit it off." You might have had the hots for me (and why wouldn't you!), but I certainly didn't have the hots for you!

That was the end of the Ginger. No more Gingers for me.