“New York, 1922… the tempo of the city had changed sharply.. the buildings were higher, the parties were bigger, the morals were looser and the liquor was cheaper. The restlessness approached hysteria.”—
So, my cab driver this afternoon was quite the talker. Initially, I was annoyed as I was on my way to an interview and trying to concentrate on reviewing my resume in the back while he drove. Hearing your driver ask, “can I ask you a question?” is not always what you want to hear when you get in the back of car. Before I had the opportunity to launch myself from the moving vehicle or to shout, “PLEASE GOD, NOOO!” he stated he wanted to ‘get a girl’s opinion’ who was not involved in the situation… hmm… interesting… tell me more….
He immediately began spilling out details about the female he met several weeks before at Pacha… since cab drivers apparently frequent Pacha, obviously. He filled me in on the fact that they met at the bar and she currently has a boyfriend who she doesn’t seem to have any intention of breaking up with any time soon. Despite this, the girl has been texting my cab driver every morning asking how he is, what he’s up to and when they can hang out as friends. My cabbie seemed to find this odd as why would a girl continue to text a man she wants to be friends with when she has a boyfriend? His questions to me were, “What do you think? What would you do?”
I found this scenario pretty simple to answer. If a girl (or a guy) is dating someone and pursuing you, whether it be more than friends or some other undefined grey area, they’re not a great person. Simple as that. Odds are if you give in and allow this person into your life, they’ll do the same thing to you. Any girl with a boyfriend shouldn’t be texting a random guy she met at a bar on a daily basis. Any normal girl that is.
With that advice my driver seemed pleased and said he felt the same way. He felt like there was no need to be friends with a girl over text whom he probably wouldn’t spend time with. He then proceeded to launch into a monologue beginning with his upbringing and ending on his college years in Albany, New York. Thank you random man for your life story in 30 seconds or less. The only fitting statement for this interaction is… only in New York, kids. Only in New York.
This weekend, I spent Friday night playing trivia games at Dave & Buster’s with a few good friends. You cannot imagine how cut throat I can become once realizing children’s prizes are involved in said games. I left Times Square with a new pink stuffed monster (don’t be jealous) and the phone number of a slightly creepy actor working at the facility… yes, I admit it. I panicked again. I accepted the number of another male whom I had no intention of calling. Per usual, I didn’t think to say I had a boyfriend and just took his number… luckily one of my best guy friends was on hand to delete it immediately there after and to scold me for agreeing to call him in the first place. Oops.
On Saturday afternoon, a friend of mine and I decided to go check out Electric Daisy Carnival at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey. If you know what that is you get one free imaginary cookie from me. If not, it’s a music festival based in Las Vegas that features some of the world’s best DJs all together over a three day period. It’s basically an electronic Coachella and Avicii was playing on Saturday night, who I have formed an unhealthy obsession with over the past few weeks.
If you saw me in person, I don’t think you’d suspect I was into any type of DJ scene - mostly because I just recently became interested in it - and because I don’t do drugs nor wear a pile of overly bright neon clothes much as many fans do. Based on this criteria, my friend and I didn’t exactly fit in among thousands of fans wearing rainbow tutus, waving lolly pops around and throwing yellow and green glow sticks in the air. For this reason, I prefer to enjoy these types of concerts from areas where the masses are not. Luckily, my friend had set all this up so we didn’t have to watch from the main sea of drug ingesting hipsters.
After climbing up the stairs of a restricted area along the side of the stage, we located a good spot with some steps to stand on (we’re two short girls) and looked around us. We quickly realized that the neon had bled into this area also and we were pretty much on our own as far as normalcy was concerned. My friend remarked that if she was tasked with locating someone to date in this crowd of 10,000 - she’d be screwed. As Avicii started his set, we zoned in on a group of four or five men about 15 feet away from us. They were nothing but absolute, pure entertainment. I’ve never seen anything like it. All of them stood facing each other in a circle and one after the other began to dance like no one was watching. I mean - arms flailing, legs kicking, Elaine from Seinfeld - dancing. It was almost as if their body parts were not attached to one another and each had set out on it’s own search for rhythm. I, being one who is easily amused, began laughing immediately while my friend reached into her purse to get her iPhone and begin recording this glorious display.
After recording for about three minutes, we were spotted by the group and promptly yelled at - it’s a joke guys, chill out. Apparently the arm flailing was a serious matter and not to be taken lightly. As we turned our attention back to the stage, a man stepped up to me from the crowd before us. A normal looking man. A tall, blonde, shaggy haired… could he be cute? looking man.
Hi, I’m Phil… where are you from?
After replying, “Manhattan” and getting back an imitation of how I apparently said “Man-Hat-Tan,” I was intrigued. Two lines in and I had determined Phil seemed to have a sense of humor. He had apparently noticed mine as well by pointing to the group of male Rockettes kicking around next to us and stating that he’d been laughing at them too. This was followed by my dare to go dance with them and by his own backward jump roping mockery of the group. Any man who is confident enough to mock jump rope in front of a girl he’s just met gets a free point from me.
We chatted for a few more minutes, during which Phil asked me if I was still in college and seemed surprised to learn that I was not 22 years old. I seem to get this rather often as I guess I look much younger than my actual age. Phil was originally from Pittsburgh but hadn’t lived in the U.S. for several years since he works in some type of international media with several clients in Asia - not sure what that entails exactly. Given that he doesn’t live or spend too much time in the U.S. it was fairly obvious this wasn’t going anywhere. That coupled with the fact that it was extremely loud and it was difficult to hear led Phil to smile at me after a few minutes, tell me I was cute and it was nice to meet me before he ducked back into the crowd.
I had no real intention of furthering our conversation even though he was both sweet and quite funny but it was nice to have one of those ‘oh yes, THIS is what it’s like to think someone is cute again’ moments. Every girl has these now and then and it reminds us there are men out there we don’t know who are intriguing and worth a second look. Even in a crowd of tank top wearing, fist pumping boys - there are always some normal ones who can pop up out of nowhere. So thank you, International Phil, for reminding me there are plenty of charming boys out there that I have yet to meet….
Him:So, the new girl at work had some STALKER dude leave her a love note...
Him:I'm literally going to type it out to you
Me:Someone she knows?
Him:No. He was a client of ours and he came in here ONCE and she said maybe 3 words to him. Then he came in a couple of days later, handed her the note I'm about to send to you with a business card and left.
Him:And I QUOTE: "I left work this morning as the sun just began to show. It was more quiet than always. Not even an echo of a thought crossed my mind. I was so tired from the night, going home I didn't even mind, but then out of nowhere, you appeared. There was a gleam of stars in your eyes. I thought I'd never feel this way again, and without your even knowing, you were the one to reach into my heart and find in me a friend. I can no longer ignore the magnetism I felt when you were near, I tried to sleep afterwards with not a problem plaguing my mind and the ones I had would suddenly disappear. It would be the rebirth of my heart the day you'd let me be a friend, because I knew from the moment I saw you, I'd find true love again - To the most beautiful stranger."
Me:Um.... holy shit.. no number or name??
Him:Only a business card. How creepy is that?
Me:What is WRONG with men??!
Him:So anyway, I just sent it around to the whole office... oops.
A few afternoons ago, I sat with an old co-worker over coffee reminiscing about some of our best dating stories. Anyone who’s spent a significant amount of time living and working in New York City definitely has a few gems up their sleeve. I, shockingly, have a couple that still make me shake my head in disbelief. It struck me this morning that I somehow have never mentioned any here.
Having grown up in Connecticut, I mostly went to high school and college with thousands of the same boy. The Abercrombie & Fitch wearing, soccer and hockey playing, Jeep Cherokee driving average boy. This is definitely the type of guy I longed for when I was 16 but hey, I didn’t know any better. Moving to New York City presented an entirely different range of men who one doesn’t often come across in Connecticut. The banker. The obscenely rich kid. The model. The actor. The writer.
It was definitely a nice change to have the opportunity to be introduced to people from different walks of life. People with different views and different ideals than you. This also opens the door to a lot of unique if not strange encounters with men you would never have thought you’d be interacting with at all. And trust me, as a girl, you learn a lot about yourself and what you do and do not want. For me? The first thing I learned? When you meet a guy who either grew up in this city or who went to George Washington University - run. Do not ask questions, just run.
It has been my experience that most, if not all, men who grew up here are slightly off. Most who lived with their parents and were carried by their nannies to school, oddly enough, tend to act like overgrown children in their every day lives. It seems that having everything handed to you creates what I will call a glass ceiling of maturity. This glass ceiling stops further mental growth at about 12 years old. These are the men who will whine that they haven’t gotten the table they wanted at the restaurant or insist you leave a club because they wanted to sit in the back (yes, this has happened to me). Please note this same man asked his mother for a red velvet blazer for his birthday…. red flag much?
Next comes the encounters with men who you’d never have met had you continued living where you grew up. For me this came in the form of a man I will call ‘Brent’. Brent is, by far, the most attractive man I have ever dated. He is the type of man girls do a double take over. And I absolutely did.
A few years ago, on the 4th of July, a few girl friends and I stopped into a random Upper East Side bar on the way home from a party. As we stepped into the entrance, I glanced to my right to see Brent and his friend sitting at a nearby table. I thought to myself immediately, ‘my god, look at him’. Not being one who typically chases after men, we all walked over to the bar and began chatting over drinks. A few moments later, I turned around to realize that Brent was now standing directly behind me. Facing me.
He must have asked me some sort of question because we began talking and continued talking for the next hour or so. Brent was a former model now handling new business for a company linked closely to the agency I was working for at the time. Oddly enough, we had several friends in common and happened to know a lot of the same people. I realized pretty early on that Brent had a tendency to take himself and life quite seriously. Not something I would consider a wonderful trait in a man.
Despite my knowing this was most likely going nowhere, we continued to text and meet up for drinks. Brent was good looking and entertaining enough so I figured I’d just enjoy it for the moment. On one particular evening, I met up with him for a drink on the Upper West Side and was persuaded into going with him to take a look at his new nearby apartment.
We walked a few blocks up and stopped in front of a nice glass apartment building which he stated he had moved into several days earlier. As we walked past the doorman, Brent noted that he had not finished unpacking so not to be alarmed that not everything was in place. I shrugged as things like that don’t particularly matter to me. Unlocking the door to his apartment, Brent stepped back to let me go in first. As I stepped into the living room, I locked eyes on the back wall. There it was.
While Brent had not unpacked all of the boxes stacked about the apartment he had surely taken the time to unpack this and hang it above his couch. Above the couch hung a (LIFE SIZE) modeling photo of HIMSELF which he must have carried straight out of an Abercrombie & Fitch store. As I began to process the situation in front of me, I also began to laugh. “WHAT is THAT?!,” I asked. Quite obviously amused. Brent turned to me and with a dead-pan expression said, “What? That was my favorite shoot.” It was at this exact moment I knew Brent and I were not cut from the same mold. Anyone who failed to see the hilarity in this situation would surely never understand me. I found an excuse to leave his apartment shortly there after.
We continued to text here and there after that evening but didn’t hang out again and over time the texts slowly fizzled. I still cannot imagine my father’s reaction had I ever brought home a man like that. The entire experience still cracks me up. I swear these things only happen in this city. Or maybe only to me.
While encounters like this will never lead anywhere, I wouldn’t take them back for the world. Brent, like several other men currently roaming around this city, have left me with memories I will probably laugh about for years. And when I do find the one I’m looking for, I will appreciate him all the more… mostly because he won’t be hanging framed photos of himself around our apartment. And he won’t be wearing a velvet blazer while doing it.
I love when the stories about your life are on my dashboard. You're such an eloquent writer. Perhaps you should give the nice guy a chance and have a drink with him. I've been in situations where the nice guy I was initially going to overlook was the one I ended up feeling most strongly towards. It's worth a shot. :]
Thank you for the kind words! I have to agree that on more than one occasion I’ve been attracted to the guy who had the best personality in a group rather than the best looking… maybe I will give him a chance :)
Last night, a good friend of mine and I decided to stop by an industry event a friend was throwing at a little restaurant on the west side of Manhattan. These events are fairly common in the entertainment industry - easy ways to get to know new contacts, trade business cards, look for jobs, etc. Personally, I really have to be in the mood to go to these things and make sometimes inane conversation with strangers. I’ve been told many times that I tend to come off as somewhat unapproachable in group situations. I’m not quite sure what this means but apparently I should be grinning like a clown at anyone who looks at me.
After arriving and surveying the room, my friend and I grab two glasses of champagne (my favorite) and stop to say hello to the host and a few of her friends. As they begin chatting with other guests, we find ourselves in a conversation about the happenings in our group of friends over the past few weeks - who broke up, who is having surgery, who’s out of a job, etc. As we chat, I note two men by the bar who are beginning to show signs of making their way over to us. Glancing at us and then looking at each other, one begins to get out of his chair as the other follows. Not particularly overjoyed at this notion, I give my friend a ‘here it comes' look but there is no escaping it at this point.
I have always had a slight aversion to new men. I guess I strangely assume I will dislike a person before even speaking to them. This may have something to do with my apparent unapproachable demeanor. My college roommate can attest to this, having had to literally push me out the door of our apartment on several occasions towards waiting dates I did not want to go on. I did however meet a college boyfriend I was pretty in love with on one of said dates so I will tell myself before you do that I need to be more open to people.
At this time the two men from the bar have come strolling over and introduce themselves to each of us. We give our names and shake hands politely trying to gauge whether this will be an acceptable conversation or play out to be highly awkward. Since they seem to be fairly harmless, I decide I will play along and engage in the conversation. It turns out the man I am speaking to is actually a very nice guy. We chat about work (he is an accountant), traveling, his upbringing and a variety of other topics. The interaction doesn’t feel forced and I don’t feel like I want to jump out of my skin. I don’t feel a particular spark with this man but as a friendly guy? He’s nice to chat with.
I find myself wondering if I should be giving the average nice guy who puts himself out there more of a chance. It is usually my initial reaction to entertain a conversation then excuse myself if I do not feel any sort of attraction or interest for this person. Odds are I have walked away from some pretty nice guys in my day only to be attracted to more charming types who more than not have turned out to be less than fantastic. The question I pose to you is, do you follow pure chemistry or wait it out and hope you start to feel something for the nice ones?
After two drinks and more pleasant conversation, my friend and I realize we have missed the first hour of the Rangers game (I immediately become internally manic) and we decide to go watch the rest at a friend’s apartment close by. This, in turn, creates the ‘Is he going to ask for my number' or 'Are we going to simply walk away' moment. The man I am speaking with doesn't waste much time and says he'd love to go out for a drink sometime. While I can definitely be an ice queen in certain situations, I always feel guilty making up an excuse or giving a fake number to someone who asks me for it. I find it's easier to just give my number and then avoid it later on if I feel the need to.
As my friend and I walk towards Bleecker, I remark that the two men were much more nice and normal than I had initially anticipated. It wasn’t a terrible experience to entertain the conversation whether or not I felt a strong connection to them. Will I go out for drinks with the boy who asked for my number? I still remain undecided on that… but I will certainly continue to try to be more open to the nice guys that are out there.
Ironically, since I wrote the below post yesterday morning quite a few of my perceptions have drastically changed… to start with, the man I speak of? I will call him “Harry”. Harry was engaged when we met (my own mistake), seriously unhappy and planning to call off his impending wedding… so he claimed. It was only until yesterday afternoon that I believed he had called it off months before and only when I came across a wedding registry online did I realize not only is Harry still getting married, but he never moved out of this country at all. I have been heart broken for a month over a situation that didn’t even really exist.
I am still pretty much in a state of shock at the fact that sick people like him even exist in this world. I cannot even grasp how someone could create so many lies over a period of months and months. Or for that matter, why they would want to. How someone could pursue you so much, tell you how much they love you and talk so much about possibilities in the future I will never understand. Harry had so many opportunities to just walk away from me and he kept going and going and going. It is almost impressive how twisted a human being he actually is when light was finally shed on the situation. I’ve never met a more soulless, gutless coward in my life. Perhaps I was naive to be so trusting of a person but I really never thought anyone could be so mentally fucked up. Even when Harry “went back to London” he continued to say he wanted to work things out somehow. He actually cried on several occasions. And I bought all his massive lies, hook, line and sinker.
At first I was upset to think about what was really going on over the past months that I hadn’t realized. The fact that he probably never moved back to the U.K. at all. The fact that he had obviously lied so many times to my face. The fact that I could fall for a man who is apparently a complete and total sociopath. But then I started to think, I really didn’t do anything wrong. I was conned from the beginning and he is the guilty party in this. After some thinking, I have to say the way in which I met Harry is a blessing in disguise.
Thank god I got to see that he is a cheating, lying, heartless loser and that I am not his poor fiance who will inevitably have her heart broken by him just like every other girl he’s come in contact with. From some of my friends’ former weddings, I can say without question, if you go into a marriage doubting things or yourself - it will fail - every single time. I am a strong believer in karma and he will get what he deserves over time. When he is 35 or 40 and divorced with a lonely pathetic life in Manchester, it will be the life that he deserves. I, on the other hand, am a good girl. I do not treat people like shit and I deserve someone who is so much better than he could ever even hope to be. I still believe there are good guys out there, he just isn’t one of them.
I lowered my own standards for such a pathetic creep and it makes me smile to know I am finally rid of him forever. No more wondering what if and no more maybes. Thank god I was able to walk away from this situation knowing who he truly is. Nothing but a lost, childish, sad little man who will never be content with anything in his life. This is the last time I will mention him on this blog as I have so many better things to focus on - first and foremost, my future life which, thank god, he will never be a part of.
To all you readers who have been cheated on or lied to, you are so much better off without that person. Years from now you will look back and laugh. Laugh because it is a distant memory. And laugh because you know you are so much better off without them. Knowing they have to look at themselves in the mirror every day and see the sad person staring back at them.
It really is funny how a small reminder of something can instantly produce feelings you’ve been trying to push away and hide under a rock. And I’d have to say by funny, I mean the way getting slapped in the face can be funny. This morning, while running around my apartment getting ready for work, I sat down on my bed gathering my things to put in my purse and head out towards the subway. At the very last moment I realized I had forgotten one last something and pulled open the drawer of my nightstand next to my bed. As I reached in to locate the something I was looking for, my mind riffled through the internal shoe catalog it contains trying to decide on which pair of heels to toss into my bag on the way out the door.
As my hand made contact with the checkbook I needed, I glanced down to pull off a blank check in order to begin signing over the exorbitant rent charged for my mediocre apartment. As I separated the check from it’s book, I noticed writing beneath it. Had I incorrectly filled out a check and left it in the back? No. This check wasn’t filled out by me.
As I realized what the check was, I sat on my bed a little stunned. My stomach immediately twisted into a knot and my throat became dry. His writing. His name. Middle name and all. Dated March 29th. A week before he left. Ironically, a check filled out for seven million dollars as a joke is now staring me in the face like a horribly mean-spirited trick. I think to myself, “You have to be kidding me. I don’t need this.”
As if completely out of my control, tears begin streaming down my face as the sadness hits me like a brick wall. There it is again. Not gone. Not even close. Staring at this check makes me feel like he just walked out of my room yesterday all over again.
As I choke back more tears, I decide this check is not going to ruin yet another of my days. I tear it from the book and rip it to shreds with a mix of sorrow and anger. Sorrow because while I wish I was, I am still not even near to being ok with this situation. Anger because I can’t will my mind to move on and I can’t control being sad sometimes. Anyone who knows me knows I prefer to be in control of things and these emotions, they get the best of me every time.
While I am in a place now where I can get through most days at work without sobbing in the bathroom, I am still not healed. Still not who I was before. This frustrates me the most as I don’t want to feel a knot in my stomach, I don’t want to miss someone who isn’t there. Facing these emotions and knowing I can’t get rid of them any faster than they want to leave, makes me feel like a victim.
After composing myself and managing to push the feelings back where they came from, into a box in the back of my mind, I take a deep breath and walk out of my apartment. My life these past few weeks has been the more difficult than it’s ever been, but there’s nothing else I can do other than try to move forward.
“You see, you closed your eyes. That was the difference. Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them too - even when you’re in the dark. Even when you’re falling.”—Mitch Albom
Almost every year around April, I start to get anxious for summer time. I want to wear dresses and skirts and shorts with sandals and cut up my winter coat and throw it in a river. Today being May 7th, it’s about that time. In my opinion, summer officially began on May 1st. This means there is to be no more rain or slush or wind that holds me in place on the street. I will not admit that it more than not actually pushes me backwards since I’m not what one would describe as “muscular.”
While this year’s winter months weren’t too bad in comparison to last year’s six month Arctic blizzard, I’m still ready for things to warm up. I’m ready for drinking outdoors so I can people watch and judge everyone walking by, laying in the park so I can tan and obviously judge people while they lay out and of course running outside so I can… you know. Judge. Who wouldn’t long for those things? Mostly I’m just excited to get a tan and no longer look like a ghost who may or may not be see-through at this stage. That and peach sangria, the second love of my life. I’d tell you where to get it in New York but, to be quite honest, I don’t want you to have any.
I’m a lover of many things in this city when it comes to summer but if you’ve read anything on my blog before, you’re already aware there are things I am not a lover of. With spring comes endless possibilities from enjoying sunlight late into the evening to that new pair of wedges you’ve been waiting to wear with your white pants. Lurking behind these endless possibilities are things we’d rather not think about but we just know they’re going to turn up regardless.
I am going to share with you a list of things I suggest you avoid this summer… at any and all costs.
Man flip flops. Look guys, I know you don’t want to wear socks and shoes in the summer but, this is just the way it is. Surrender to the fact that men’s feet are gross and no one needs to see them. No want wants to see them or touch them or smell them. Buy a pair of loafers and stick to them. At all times. I don’t care if they’re filled with sand, I still prefer that to your actual feet.
Reflective sunglasses. You know the kind I mean. The ones that seem to reflect the colors of the rainbow within their stylish frames. Unless you are attempting to embody that of a California surfer from 1992 or Brandon Walsh, please take them off. Men, you may wear Ray-Bans only. Also, that is a rule, not a suggestion.
Sleeveless tanks of any sort. If you are going running, walking, jogging, rolling down a hill, leaping through a field - there is still no reason you need to cut off your sleeves. You are not a truck driver or a weight lifter or a red neck from Arkansas… and if you are… sorry on multiple levels. On rare occasions, I’ve actually seen a cut off sleeve used as a headband which blows my mind again and again. I hold this as evidence that men are closer to gorillas than we think.
Anyone who knows me knows I love prep… meaning pastels, boat shoes, pink shirts, the whole deal. What this deal does not include are popped collars, double popped collars (so much worse) or purple bottoms of any sort. Popping your collar is THE number one sign of douchiness so, if this is what you are going for, fly that flag. I, however, will avoid you like the plague. As will most women with a brain. Also, only gay men can pull off purple pants… please don’t attempt this. You will fail.
Turtle necks. I hope to god you aren’t attempting this in the summer but I still felt the need to mention it anyway. Return it, throw it out, burn it, chew on it, just DON’T WEAR IT. This goes for all 365 days of the year. Your only exemptions are Halloween and certain Christmas parties. Also you may wear it alone in your apartment at night… if you insist.
I will now take this time to mention, yet again, my aversion to visors. I have still not figured out a plan to rid the world of these little monstrosities so until I do - avoid the temptation to wear one. Spring for the whole hat and I promise you, ladies will notice. You won’t regret it.
Now that most men, if any have read this, think I am an overly judgmental catty bitch, I am going to eat dinner. In my high fashion hooded sweatshirt and striped pajama pants. Judge me. Go ahead.
“It can happen at a show. On the subway. It can happen three days later, when you’re crossing the street. It can happen anywhere, really. The beauty is, it’s different for everybody. And that moment of impact, when it happens, you know it.”—Unknown
The topic of the day today is cheating. Who does it. Does it make someone a bad person. And is the saying, “Once a cheater, always a cheater” true in every case. This topic stems from several sources among both my friends and myself.
Recently a good friend of mine shared with me that she had recently met a man whom she’d connected with and had hooked up with once or twice. She was intrigued by his humor and goofiness and they had hit it off. It was only in her apartment later that evening that he had revealed not only was he married but that he also had a small child. Given that he has been married for several years now and is about 30 years old, it leads to the question - did he get married too young or is he just not a good guy? The man claims to love his wife and child and to be proud of the way he has set up a life for them. He also has stated he does not cheat regularly and was as taken aback by the situation as my friend has been. It seems simple to say, ok he is just a dirt bag and she should move on (which was the advice I found myself giving) but do you think he does regularly cheat on his wife or is he bored in his marriage and looking for fun elsewhere? This is not to say that if he is bored it is any excuse to cheat but it leads me to the question of ‘do most men cheat at one time or another’? And also, as much as you think you do, how well does one person ever really know another?
What I find myself wondering in this particular case is was the real mistake the first encounter or the active decision this man made to get back in contact and continue this interaction after the first time? If someone cheats once and feels guilty enough to not do it again, are they a better person than someone who chooses to go back for more? Where is the line here and where is it crossed?
If a married man strays once does it make him a bad man? I, for one, can’t seem to settle on a concrete answer to this question as I have cheated myself in the past. I certainly do not think my own indiscretions made me a bad person or untrustworthy for the future but simply unhappy in a particular situation at a particular time. Would the right thing to do have been to break up with whomever I was dating at the time first? Of course. But I think there are some grey areas in life, sadly. One thing I do know about myself is that once my trust in another person is broken, it’s very difficult if not impossible to get it back. I am simply not a very trusting person and that’s not something I am necessarily happy with. If my future husband was to cheat, I’m not sure this is something I could come to terms with.
Knowing that I am someone who can be completely faithful when I am in the right situation still does not make me feel secure that most men will not cheat at one time or another. It’s easy to know as the cheater that whatever happened didn’t mean anything but far more difficult to accept if you are being cheated on. Having been in a situation in college with a boyfriend who strayed (he was a moron, to say the least) I know exactly what it feels like to be on the receiving end… and it’s not good. Not good at all. I think the pain that can be caused by something so meaningless far outweighs the temptation to do so for me.
Since I can’t seem to come up with strong answers to a lot of these questions, I also ask myself - can you get into a relationship with someone you know has cheated on others at one time or another in the past? Is that a complete deal breaker and is it completely naive to think you would be any different than the last? Part of me thinks if I am to judge someone else so harshly to say their actions are unforgivable then I also have to judge myself with that same critical eye. Do actions from my past lock me into that same untrustworthy mold?
All in all, some of my recent experiences have left me wondering how long it takes to really get to know a person. And in some cases, do you ever really know what goes on beneath the surface? I think there are characteristics of a mate that will come out over time which you did not know in the beginning and I’m finding this concept incredibly scary. What happens if you think you have found the right person for you and 5 years later you feel completely differently? Can you always trust your instincts? Can you really trust feelings of love or do things always change with time? How do you know what you’re doing is always the right move for you?
“Whatever you do, you need courage. Whatever course you decide upon, there is always someone to tell you that you are wrong. There are always difficulties arising that tempt you to believe your critics are right.”—Ralph Waldo Emerson