I don't understand some men. Or, really, any men, but some less than others.

There is this man. He's searching desparately for my diary, probably at this moment, and I don't even care if he reads this about himself, that's how completely nonplussed (?) I am!

I've known this character for about 6 months. I see him at my AA meetings on Saturdays. He's about 13 years my senior, so that makes him pretty old. I went to the movies with him once. That's it. Not even a kiss at the door. I have rebuffed any and all advances from that point on, and I have been clear and concise as to my feelings toward him.

I am not dating anybody by choice. I enjoy crazy, neurotic, energy-draining relationships too much to subject my 13 year old to them. When she is older, and out of the house, I will get right back in there, and wile away my time alternatively screwing my brains out and weeping on the phone to my girlfriends about how he done me wrong.

Until then, I remain a devoted, albeit sexually frustrated mom.

Yesterday, this man starts in right away. He comments on my tattoo (small rose/bumble bee on my ankle) and how it "does something for him" - and then continues on to how he would love to paint my toenails for me. HUH??? And it continues on in that vain until we leave the meeting.

Then, he asks if he can call me for dinner some time, with a kind of "wink-wink" to his question... I asked him if he had stopped taking his medication because he was a little too frisky and I didn't think I could trust him for dinner.

Before I got sober, I used to kid around with guys all the time. I was totally okay with being the butt of jokes or sleazy comments. I even encouraged that kind of thing. Now, however, I tend to conduct myself with a little dignity. I think it's fair that I am treated with dignity too. I think it's so unfair that I get put into the position of having to back some horny old man off - and especially that I have to do it in such a way as to keep his feelings in tact - Because if I don't do it that way, even though I would just as soon poke him in the nose - he'll turn it all around in his head, and suddenly, I'm the bad guy, and he's the VICTIM.

Maybe I need to work on not caring if he gets put out or not. If somebody ran over my foot with their car, I wouldn't care about their feelings as I yelled and cursed. Why do I care about this person's feelings? He doesn't care about mine...


July 1, 2001

Buh Bye!
October 05, 2008

Be Afraid, People.... Really Afraid
September 01, 2008

One Last Bitchfest for the Road
August 24, 2008

Get the Popcorn Ready
July 17, 2008

I'm a Rich Ho-Bag
June 20, 2008

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