Forecast

I sometimes find it’s good to be grateful for things that don’t turn out the way I planned.

Here’s the scoop for those following my post-divorce dating escapades: The Weatherman has left the building.

Nope, he didn’t turn out to be an Asshat after all.  He was something very different.  Something that illustrated for me some important truths.

For one, there are all sorts of guys out there.  Having been an Asshat magnet in the past has not doomed me to an Asshat-laden future.  However, the mere absence of Asshattery does not a successful relationship make.

I mean, I had my anti-Asshat checklist, and The Weatherman ticked nearly all the boxes.  Bingo, right?

It seems lists (even those typed, single-spaced, and two pages long) will only get a girl so far.  Relationships are by definition reciprocal agreements.  I needed to tick his boxes, too (why does that sound naughty?).  It became apparent fairly quickly that there were some crucial ways I couldn’t.

The interesting thing was that he was able to communicate this to me.  I mean, he actually made it clear that there were things he needed that he felt I was unable to provide.  To borrow a phrase I use with my small nieces and nephews, he used his words.

And I listened.

I pondered.

I realized that while our differences may have been few, they were significant.

I recognized that I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to compromise on some important points - and that the same is true of The Weatherman.

I acknowledged that maybe a girl who is still hanging out and drinking beer and walking dogs with The Ex on a regular basis isn’t quite ready to give her all to a new relationship.  Or that maybe I just need someone who understands that I am not one to carve people I’ve loved out of my life.  I favor evolution over scorched earth.

The strangest part of this breakup?

I could be feeling hopeless, disappointed, a bit like Sisyphus in heels chasing a great big ball of relationship fails up and down an endless hill.

But I don’t.

Instead, I feel a sense of surrender to what is and a hopefulness about what is to come.  There are real, good men out there.  I can enjoy getting back on my feet again; I don’t need to immediately be swept off them.  Life is not a Disney film.  I am not Sleeping Beauty: kissed, redeemed, happily-ever-aftered into submission.

I am wide awake.

Whole.

Grateful.

Safe, sound, and forecasting ever-smoother sailing ahead.

{Need to give Asshats the boot from your love life?  Check out Shannon Bradley-Colleary’s super-awesome, funny as hell Asshat Recovery Program.  You’ll be glad you did - or I will listen to Justin Bieber nonstop for 12 hours.}

www.kcwilder50ways.com

Change in the Weather

Good news: this old dog can, in fact, learn new tricks.

Time for an Asshat update.

If you’re new to Girl on a Wire and wonder what the hell I’m talking about, check out my earlier post and the uber-relevant links to Shannon Bradley Colleary’s Asshat Recovery Program.  It’s funny, practical, and - I’m going to go out on a limb here - it works.

The scoop?  I gave online dating a whirl recently.  I figured it was worth a shot - after all, that was how I met The Ex nearly eight years ago, and while, yes, we are divorced now, there was much about our time together that truly didn’t suck.  There were lessons learned, laughter and fun times had, positive change, that sort of thing.  Good stuff.  And lately, I have been feeling ready to welcome more good stuff into my life.

Because I am tragically Type A, before each online-dating-site date, I reviewed my list of traits I am looking for in a man.  (It’s two pages. Typed. Single-spaced. Yeah — Type A and irrepressibly optimistic.)  I also re-read the Asshat Recovery posts so they’d be fresh in my mind.  And let me tell you, folks - at this point, I could spot an Asshat from a mile away.  I passed on a few of them swiftly and without regret.  And since the flip side of knowing what I don’t want is knowing what I do want, well, I recognized that when I found it, too.

Enter the guy I’m going to call The Weatherman.

(And no, he’s not an actual meteorologist, so quit checking out Rhode Island’s weather-dudes trying to figure out who he is.  He needed a name, this works for a variety of reasons, and the coolest boyfriend title in the blogosphere, The Boyfran, was already claimed by Aussa Lorens.  And she could totally kick my ass.)

As I realize it is possible at this point that I am a tragic victim of oxytocin poisoning (see Ms. Bradley-Colleary’s post on the subject), I did what any good Type A chicky would do to get clear.  I made a list of things I know about The Weatherman.

The Weatherman:

• Is punctual.  Like, set-your-watch-by-him punctual.  And yeah, punctuality gets me all hot and bothered.
• Is thoughtful.  Brings flowers, but also goes beyond that standard wooing fare to come up with personal, meaningful gifts.
• Is genuinely interested in and appreciative of my work.  You know - in spite of the fact that I am a chick lit author and he is a straight guy.
• Willingly accompanied me to a family event.  Didn’t flee when he got a glimpse of my gene pool.
• Retired from one successful career and moved on to another.  Enjoys his work and is all grown-up-y like that.
• Owns a home that does not look like a scene out of Old School.
• Knows where his kitchen is and how to do stuff with food there. Seems unlikely to starve to death just because there isn’t a woman in the house.
• Is also capable of slow-dancing in said kitchen.  While singing.  On-key.
• Runs at my pace.  (Not a character marker, I know, but it makes me glad.)
• Seems very interested in offering me not what he thinks I want, but what I know I need.

Since I know The Weatherman reads my blog, I’ll leave it at that for now.  I don’t want the poor guy’s head to swell to the point where he can’t get out the door. 

And in case you’re single and are now jealous of my find, I’ll leave you with the link to this hilarious and informative Asshat Recovery Program post from The Woman Formerly Known as Beautiful, 5 Asshat Moves I Ignored Thanks to Lust.  Don’t be catnip for Asshats any more.  Click here to sign up for the Asshat Recovery Program Newsletter.  You’re welcome.

Now go have a lovely Asshat-free day.

www.kcwilder50ways.com  

Catnip for Asshats

I’m recently divorced.

And yes, I felt that collective eye-roll from my regular readers. I may have written about my divorce a time or two. Or ten. Cut me some slack — after all, at least my posts were not what one might expect from a chick going through a divorce.

Here’s the problem: I don’t hate my ex.

I don’t even strongly dislike him.

If pressed, I’d have to admit that I do still love him. You know, in that I-don’t-want-to-live-with-you-ever-again-but-should-you-need-a-kidney-I’ve-totally-got-a-spare sort of way.

The trouble with The Ex came into sharp focus for me recently, as I dipped a tentative toe back into the dating pool. Back in the day, before spending 7 mostly-happy years with The Ex, I was a magnet for Mr. Wrong. And whaddaya know? I’ve still got it! That tentative toe instantly drew approximately 5,324,089 jerkwads from the bowels of the dating pool and into my sphere. I was still reeling — and contempating life as a Buddhist nun—when I saw a post by Shannon Bradley-Colleary, a/k/a The Woman Formerly Known as Beautiful. She queried:

Are You Catnip for Asshats?

Why, yes! I thought. Yes I am! There it was, the very nature of my problem, spelled out in language I could understand. I was catnip for Asshats…but I’d forgotten that truth.

See, The Ex was many things, but an Asshat was not one of them. I mean, sure, he exhibited occasional Asshat-like traits (#2 below was my favorite), but in general, he was the anti-Asshat. He was always on time for dates. If he said he’d call and then he didn’t, either he or his phone was dead. He’d sooner remove his own testicles with a butter knife than cheat.

In other words, he made me forget what it was like to be an Asshat magnet. Luckily, there seems to be no shortage of men ready and willing to remind me. (Yes, that was sarcasm, which may be one of the ways I am repelling normal, decent men.) Luckier still — sarcasm aside—there is the lovely Ms. Bradley-Colleary, who survived her own single years with the parting gift of some hilarious stories. She found herself an anti-Asshat to marry and produce lovely children with. And she has now started what may be the funniest, most useful tool for single women ever: The Asshat Recovery Program. Hell yes, I’ve signed up.

With her permission, here is Shannon’s initial brilliant post on the subject and a link to sign up for her newsletter. You can check it out while you wait for that guy who isn’t going to call.

www.kcwilder50ways.com

10 Signs You’re Dating an Asshat, 5 Tips to Avoid Them

by Shannon Bradley-Colleary

Asshats. We’ve all been in love with at least one. Haven’t we? If you haven’t, do me a service and lie.

What defines an Asshat? (I’m going to refer to men, but Asshatism crosses all gender lines). My #AsshatCriteria:

1. He never does what he says he’ll do. He doesn’t call when he says he will. He doesn’t show up when he should. You frequently think he may be dead, then want to kill him when he’s not.

2. He is angry and grumpy for no apparent reason. He won’t talk to you and you don’t know why. There are long awkward silences that make you want to bash him in the face with your running shoe.

3. He secretly cheats on you. He overtly cheats on you. He cheats on you in a box, with a fox, wearing socks. He tries to make your feel crazy and paranoid when you offer your suspicions. When he is caught in the act he gets mad at you for being mad at him because he cheated on you.

4. You frequently try to break up with him, but you just can’t quit him.

5. You suddenly get religion. You pray for God to make him faithful. When that doesn’t work you pray for God to help you to stop loving him. When that doesn’t work you think God might be an Asshat too.

6. You start therapy, a 12-step group, Kaballah.

7. You start wearing crystals to clear your chakras, reading self-help books on co-dependency. You become a regular at the Bodhi Tree on Melrose Avenue where you buy over-priced Buddhas and nausea-inducing incense.

8. You see a Shaman, a Psychic, a Past-Lives Medium and a Hypnotist.

9. You read Men are From Venus, Women are From Mars and try to wait for your man to come out of his cave and snap back like a rubber band. You decide that motherfucker John Gray doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.

10. You are unhappy all of the time. You feel lonely, desperate, grasping and fated to live your life forever dissatisfied or alone.

There’s more, but I think these 10 will have to suffice.

Now here’s the thing about Asshats. We don’t have to judge them or revile them. They are, quite simply, damaged people. We don’t know why they’re damaged and even if we think we do know why, we must accept that WE ABSOLUTELY CANNOT FIX THEM.

Here are my 5 tips for avoiding them entirely:

1. Do not, under any circumstances, allow your vagina (or penis) to choose a relationship. Just don’t do it!!!

There’s a reason some cultures still insist on chaperones and on arranged marriages. Because they don’t trust vaginas (if you’re male just insert penis every time you see vagina) to make good choices.

My vagina can walk into a room, instinctively find the biggest Asshat there and pounce on him. My vagina has, historically, gotten me tied down for years with men (two of them) prone to all kinds of Asshattery.

By the time I met my husband Henry, who is the antithesis of an Asshat, I didn’t trust my vagina anymore at all. True to form, when she met Henry she gave him the cold shoulder (yes, vaginas have shoulders).

She just didn’t find him intoxicating because he was reliable, kind, conscientious, a gentleman and he wasn’t swarthy.

Fortunately, I ignored her and decided to date Henry anyway. The irony is that in my previous relationships fraught with Asshatalism, the sex got worse and worse, whereas the sex life with my loving husband has gotten better and better.

I had to reprogram my vagina, which was a challenge, but so worth it.

2. Wait to have sex.

This is the follow-up to #1 because you really need time to get your vagina to simmer down.

How long is long enough?

In my case, I really think I should’ve waited at least three months before engaging in sexual activity with a prospective beau. I realize that in this day and age — unless you’re supported by your religious community — that’s it’s very difficult to wait.

But I have to take a page from the book of my babysitter’s 20-year old daughter, Lilly. When Lilly began dating in earnest as a teenager she informed any interested suitors that she absolutely would not consider having sex for at least six months. And if they weren’t okay with that then she’d understand if they walked away.

And many of them did walk away.

But Lilly stood her ground, weeded out the Asshats, and is now in her first (and maybe permanent) relationship with a loving, supportive boyfriend who treats her like a queen.

Which leads me to my next tip:

3. Come to know in your very bones that you are lovable enough, beautiful enough, talented enough, worthy enough to be treated with respect.

I offer you Exhibit A: Halle. Berry.

Halle Berry is ostensibly one of the most beautiful, talented women in the world. Yet again and again she has ended up with cheating Asshats (Fingers crossed that Olivier Martinez isn’t another one). And they didn’t cheat on Halle Berry because she wasn’t enough, they cheated because they were cheaters.

People who lie, cheat and emotionally abuse you aren’t doing it because you’re not worthy. Chances are they’ve behaved the same way with partners that came before you and will continue said-behavior with partners who arrive after you’ve made your escape.

Damaged people do damage. And it’s not about you. Unless you let them in.

4. Avoid the “Familiar” if you come from a home with damaged people.

From the ages of 2 to 10 my mom was married to my step-Asshat.

His specialty was rampant infidelity, which drove her to the brink of madness. After almost eight years of emotional abuse my mom pulled herself up by the bootstraps and finally walked away for good and into a much healthier more loving marriage a few years later.

But the dye was cast. As a young adult I was drawn to men who were just like my stepdad. Tall, dark, handsome, usually in very macho professions that yielded a coterie of adoring female groupies.

I instinctively responded to these types of men because they felt familiar. They felt like “home.”

Unfortunately, my “home” wasn’t one I wanted to recreate. And sure enough,infidelity on their part and madness on mine ensued.

Like George Costanza, when it came to dating again, I had to think about what I would normally do, then do the exact opposite to find a healthy relationship.

Which leads me to my last tip …

5. Give the regular guy/gal a chance.

I have a friend who doesn’t date. Ever. Being the inveterate match-maker that I am, I’m always trying to set her up. I’ve gone so far as to snap photographs of perfect strangers and get their information to send to her and she NEVER BITES.

The men are either too short, too round, too white, too black, too hairy, too hairless, too flabby, too muscular, too … you get my point.

Finally I exasperatedly asked her, “So who would be good enough for you to date?”

Without missing a beat she said, “Brad Pitt.”

Brad Pitt. I’m going to leave you with that for just a moment. Brad. Pitt. Well, who the hell wouldn’t want to date Brad Pitt. Reality check, he falls for women like Angelina Jolie.

We are not Angelina Jolie (although I worry she’s too skinny). We have got to start picking people in our ballpark, ladies and gents.

There are myriad lovely people out there who are capable of loving us back to Happiness. And once we are able to let that love in, they are no longer too short, too round, too white, too black, too hairy, too hairless, too flabby, too muscular. They are, quite simply, ours.

Considering my track record, marrying my best friend was more surprising to everyone than seeing pigs fly out of my butt. My four parents sat in the front row with mouths agape. Which wasn’t flattering, come to think of it.

That’s all I’ve got for today. Please let me know if any of this information was useful as I think this may be an area on want to focus on in the future. And be sure to sign up for our free updates below. xo S

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