Sian

We're moving into the local historical revival district--into a beautiful apartment in a hundred-year old building.  We have a gas stove and hardwood floors, and best of all, we can actually discuss books that we actually have read with other people who actually have read them, too.  Yes, we finally managed to convince someone that we are responsible adults.  So, I sent my new address to my mother, along with the website for the neighborhood (which shows pictures of the building from different time periods)  and now, I'm going to start looking at all kinds of nifty furniture and cookware to go with it.

And Not a second too soon.  Roommate #3--notice how easily #3 lifts out and disappears--was home with her "boy-friend" last evening.  "Boy-friend" said some things...  Dear lord, the man actually giggles.... and it just struck me.  You actually are retarded, aren't you?  Not just dull-normal, or slightly below average, but actually verifiably, quantifiably, certifiably retarded.  And the girl doesn't even notice!  She seems to be making a hobby of not noticing things, lately...  Still hasn't noticed the fact that I have a new job....  Still hasn't noticed any of the posessive, obnoxious things that the man says to her.   One of his favorites is some variation on the theme of "You aren't going there to meet men, so...(it's fine, if you look like shit.)"  He likes to push her to dress in clothing which matches his own.  Hmmm...  Do you know how many men I've bought clothes to match?  Not too darn many, and they were all members of my competitive dance team.  But I do think he actually is retarded.  How can you not notice if your boyfriend is that much dumber than you are?  And let's face it... this guy doesn't have either the looks or the money to make up for it.  I mean... if she were dating Joaquin Phoenix, I'd understand... If you get much uglier or poorer than that, you'd better be able to hold up your half of the conversation.

Add in his criminal record, (domestic violence, restraining order fun and excitement) and it's time for me to either sell tickets for the day she finally gets her head cracked open, or get out.

The guy I asked for advice on this told me to sell tickets at $5 a pop, and then have a cash bar to make up the difference, but I still went for "get out."  I'm leaving.  I'm just not going to keep watching "the cycle."  You know the one.  Wife Beater's Wife in search of Wife Beater.  She finds a guy.  Dates him for a while.  When the signs become so obvious that even someone who's been dead for ten years can't miss them, she dumps him, swears off dating for a few months, and then moves on to the next one. 

No... I'm not too tolerant of women who insist on seeking guys like this out.

They know what they're looking for.  They try to find these guys.  I mean come on!  How else do you find every single one?  That's like getting every single answer wrong on a true-false test.

It ain't chance.

If you're picking losers all the time, make no mistake: you are choosing losers.

It is a choice, and you are perfectly capable of making some other choice.

Don't expect sympathy from me, if you keep choosing the same kind of man over and over and over again.

There are easier ways to kill yourself.

posted by: SianNorah at 18:55 | link | comments

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