My Sunshine, my soulmate, my ex-boyfriend’s roomate

My Sunshine, my soulmate, my ex-boyfriend’s roomate

This man could be “the one”. I believe that he is the person that my husband wants for me. 

ANDREW: 32 years old. California boy, film studies grad, world traveler, musician, composer, snowboarder, surfer, championship swimmer…

By my definition, the total package.

Andrew is also Cameron’s roommate (who is now my ex-boyfriend and for lack of a better description, my enemy).

I haven’t seen Cameron (my ex) for three months and I haven’t seen Andrew for almost six months. 

I wish I had been explaining everything in detail while I was dating Cameron, instead of summarizing everything in retrospect. Posting it all in detail would be too much at this point, but I can assure you there were signs. It was uncanny. 

When I think about how real the signs were, it still shocks me.

I’ve know I’ve been talking a lot about psychics, astrology, and other paranormal misticisms…

It’s really important that I make it clear that prior to all of this wierdness happening to me (truly), that I wasn’t really into this stuff. 

I didn’t follow the signs. They found me. 

They lead to Cameron, even though my relationship with him was a complete disaster. 

So things tanked with Cameron, why fixate on his roommate?

 At some point last summer, the signs started pointing to Andrew. 

I met Andrew on New Years Day. The same magical day I woke up in Cameron’s arms knowing that I was in love. I knew that I had found a person that somehow (despite everything I had been though) vibed with me on a very deep and profound level.

Remember the girl that I thought Cameron was dating when he wasn’t talking to me? Her name is Jade. As it turns out, Jade was never dating Cameron. She is actually Andrew’s ex-girlfriend. 

Jade is significant to the story because she’s a Scorpio (same as Cameron) and born on Halloween. Andrew is a Leo (like myself) and believer in astrology. He even wrote a song called Lionine.

He was shocked to find out that I was also a Leo; in fact, he practically got up from the couch and exclaimed, “Wait! You’re a Leo!” 

Andrew’s relationship had also ended with Jade after only a few months. If you were to ask Andrew what went wrong, he would tell you that it was because of the incompatible astrology.

After so excidedly confirming that I was a Leo too, he also said, “Scorpios and Leos will never work.” He was very blunt about the way he said it.

 Cam and I both looked at him a bit astonished that he would say that, especially with such conviction. Not only was it blunt, it was inconsiderate. He pretty much telling us that our relationship was doomed for failure.

Something about his relationship with Jade definitely reaffirmed his belief in astrology and his idea that Leos and Scorpios simply didn’t belong together. 

What’s funny (or actually really sad) is that it didn’t take long after that conversation for my relationship with Cameron to start falling apart. 

We all went to a music festival in August. Cam and I came to show our support for Andrew, his band was opening for some of the bigger artists.

Cameron himself was handful to deal with the whole day. He was anxious, moody, and downright tempestuous. It was a terrible day for us.

 Later on that evening, we were hanging out with some friends of his that I had just been introduced to. I was trying to make a good impression. He started fighting with me and insulting me right in front of them. It was humlililating.

I couldn’t get over how mean he had been. I tried to interact with everyone and get back to normal, but I just couldn’t. Outwardly, I was definitely quiet and pouty. Inwardly, I was trying hard to choke back tears.

While I’m sitting there still shocked at how negative the interaction had been between us, everyone suddenly became interested in the local circular sitting on the table. 

This newspaper prints a daily horoscope. Andrew perked up and said “Jessica and I are both Leos. Read our horoscope.”

Someone read the horoscope freely aloud and it said,”Your guardian angel is watching over you and guiding you to free yourself of negative energy.”

The words “guardian angel” caught my attention. Even after the group conversation had moved on, I grabbed the paper and kept reading the horoscope quizzically.

It made me wonder if Cameron was the negative energy I needed to purge. It also didn’t escape my attention that it was Andrew that wanted our horoscope to be read in the first place.

Andrew at this time is also sitting beside me purposefully. He would do that often; in fact, I ended up sitting next to Andrew more often than Cameron. Andrew would brag about himself in front of me (I liked it, I could tell that he was trying to show off for me). I also caught him checking me out on numerous occasions.

It was pretty obvious that Andrew was attracted to me. We were attracted to each other. I never let on that I was into him; after all, he was after all my boyfriend’s roomate. I was also still in love with my boyfriend and I wanted our relationship to work.

We went to a bar one night to see Andrew play. Andrew is in a reggae band (which is another oddity), we both really like reggae music. Sunshine music.

His gig just happened to be at a bar that used to be mine and my husband’s special sushi restaurant. We used to live right across the street. It was our best year together as a couple and our first year married. We celebrated the new year at that resturant. It was one of the more outstanding memories of our ten years together.

The resturant itself and that specfic area of Salt Lake holds tremendous nostalgic value for me.

On the way there, I thought of this amazing gas lit fireplace the venue had while it had been an upscale sushi restaurant.

I wondered how the fireplace would fit in now that it was a bar.

Cam and I walk in together. He brings me a beer with his usual shot of whiskey. He picks a table right next to that fireplace. 

Seven years ago, it was the focal point of mine and my husband’s special sushi resturant. 

On this day, to blend with the opaque walls of the dive bar…the fireplace had been spray painted black.

On this day, seven years ago, my husband was dead.

Did this mean something?

I couldn’t help but think that this was some kind of sign, but I also thought that I was starting to read too much into small coincidences.

It couldn’t be a good sign that the fireplace was blacked out.

Not only that, Cameron is not happy to be there with me. Once again, he’s having an anxious moment? An emotional moment? Who knows. I was so over it.

It’s not that I didn’t care, lack empathy, or want to accept him for who he was…

It just seemed like every time we went out to have a good time in public, he would ruin it. I felt like he was doing it deliberately. It felt like he would pick fights with me on purpose at the most inappropriate moments.

He could never just let go just enjoy the togetherness. He seemed to notice every little thing and when any little thing didn’t go his way, it seemed to make him irritable.

It didn’t feel right to be there with Cameron.

Someone else was there…

Andrew. 

Andrew that I met on New Years Day. Andrew was now there at my special New Years restaurant that I shared with my decreased husband.

The same husband who wants me to follow the signs…

As time in my relationship with Cam drags on… I’m slowly wrapping my head around the fact that despite everything, he couldn’t possibly be the person that my husband picked for me. 

I started to pay more attention to Andrew.

…I’ll fast forward to the day that Cameron finally broke up with me…

He had been avoiding me. He seemed cold. Aloof. He said he wanted to talk.

He said he didn’t see where the realtionship was headed long term.

He asked me what my long term goals were, to which I replied, “I’ve dated the world traveler and the mountain climber. I missed you.”

He replied by saying, “That’s exactly why we should break up”.

The harsh reality was that we didn’t have compatible long term goals. Our definition of what constitutes a good life was completely dissimilar. What one person valued in a relationship the other didn’t care about. What one person prided themselves on giving, the other had no need of. It was just off. 

I didn’t see it this way at the time. I did beg and plead with him a little bit. I’m not proud of that, but I was in shock. 

I reminded him of the signs, the immediate connection…

I reminded him of the fact that there was a time when he told me that he would do anything for me. We loved each other.

Didn’t we?

He told me that he wanted to see other people.

I was stunned.

There was only so much I could do. I couldn’t change the fact that he wanted to end it.

I stormed out rather angrily. There was nothing left to say.

A week went by. I was completely wrecked. For two days, I didn’t get out of bed. 

At this point the story bleeds into my Leo/Scorpio post, so I’ll bring the focus back to Andrew.

I didn’t stop thinking about Andrew. 

It’s safe to say that I take astrology seriously now and it’s because of all of the strange things that have happened. The astrology has something to do with all of this.

 I don’t believe in things blindly and I can’t stand people with ignorant opinions. I get why people wouldn’t be into astrology-not believe in it, not care. There’s no impericical evidence to support that it’s a valid science of any kind. I get why it isn’t relevant in someone else’s reality.

Astrology has found me. I’m not sure why. 

I conduct my own experiments on people I know. I see the astrological underpinnings in people now quite easily. 

I’ve looked up several birth charts of friends and compared them against my own. I’ve tested several friends whose sun signs should be compatible with my own: my Aires friend, my Sag friend, my Gemini friend, etc.

I’m still quite novice, but the birth chart seems to make a difference. There can be a lot of negative aspects between charts where the sun signs are supposedly compatible.

My birth chart is almost perfectly compatible with Andrew’s birth chart. 

Every single planet between us creates a positive aspect; except for one, I think it’s the least important? Saturn, I think, is the only square. The diagrams of the charts look almost identical to one another.

I’m not sure if this makes Andrew my soulmate by some cosmic definition, but our charts are so compatible that it would be unlikely that either one of us would ever meet someone so compatible in our lifetimes.

There are other similarities, too. We have similar backgrounds, we are both swimmers (one of the very few competitive sports I’ve ever been motivated to do to), we both snowboard, and listen to reggae music.

Among his Facebook photos, there is a picutre of him wearing a hiking back pack. He is grinning ear to ear with excitement as he looks over an itinerary for his trip to Equador.

There is a warmth that he emanates. A genuine smile. A carefree spirit. He is lounging on the beach in many of his photos with a mai-tai in hand. My husband was a vodka drinker and Cam liked whiskey. The thought actually occured to me once while drinking with Cam, why can’t I date a man that likes rum?

I like rum.

I can’t shake this feeling that I’ve left my soulmate behind. 

I feel fire in Andrew’s spirt. 

His aura is like beach vibes and palm trees.

Like sunshine.

My sunshine.

Advertisements

Psychics for Breakfast

Psychics for Breakfast

I can’t explain all of this weirdness. Strange things keep happening to me.

Keep in mind that I’m still reeling from my experiences with the the initial psychic, the signs, the devastating relationship with my ex, and the nagging fear that I left my true soulmate behind in the aftermath (I’ll clarify all of this in another blog post…)

A couple of weeks ago, my sister is sitting in a dive of a breakfast food restaurant. A psychic is sitting in the back advertising a $20 reading special to restaurant patrons. For fun and curiosity, my sister gets a reading. 

The psychic was able to predict some extraoridinary things with amazing and astounding accuracy.

She told my sister that she could feel that she was in a rocky and unstable relationship. She also said she could sense my sister’s fear of commitment. My sister has been in a toxic relationship for almost a year now. The biggest problem from her boyfriend’s perspective is her inability to commit.

She asked my sister if she had a emotionally abusive father. She did. In fact, I feel very sorry for anyone who had to endure as much psychological abuse as we did. The psychic told her that her childhood really affected her relationship decisons in adulthood. My sisters and I are all fine; we’re mentally strong people, but I myself have often made the comment that this middle sister has mild behavioral abmormalities that probably stem from daddy issues.

She said that my grandmother was watching over my sister. My grandmother practically raised my sister. She also said that my grandmother was angry with my father. For as long as I can remember, my dad and my grandma had all sorts of mother-son issues. They weren’t on speaking terms at the time of her death. He knew that she was on her death bed for days before he finally called to say goodbye. By that time, she was still alive but incoherent. She died within minutes after his phone call. My uncle said that he felt like she was “holding on” just to hear from my father before she passed on.

My sister asked if she saw anything about anyone else who had passed on… 

This was how the rest of the dialogue went according to my sister…

Psychic, “I see a young male sibling”

Sister, “My brother-in-law”

Psychic, “He died recently. Was it traumatic?” 

Sister, “Yes” 

Psychic, “Was it suicide?”

Sister, “Yes” 

Psychic, “There was alcohol. Pills. And a gun.”

…this is exactly the series of events that lead to my husband’s death…

my sister said (astounded), “Yes”

The psychic was wasn’t given any background information whatsoever. She didn’t even ask for my sister’s name. My sister said that she just nodded agreement the whole time.

She told my sister that my husband was having a difficult time moving on and that he felt a lot of guilt about what he did –as opposed to the opinion of the first psychic who told me not to worry about him and said that his spirit was pure light

… She gave my sister her business card to pass along to me.

When my sister told me what happened, I was shocked. Baffled. I ruminated about it for a couple if days before I made an appointment. This is the second time a spiritual medium had reached out to me about my husband since his death.

I couldn’t help but feel like my husband was reaching out to me. Why else would experiences like this keep happening? 

What does all of this mean? Does it mean anything or is this all random coincidence?

When I called she knew exactly who I was.

I’ll blog about my actual visit in my next post.


Watch for the Signs

Watch for the Signs

My dead husband has someone picked out for me. 

This bit of insight (I’m not even saying that I believe is actually true) has lead me on quite the wild goose chase that I didn’t exactly want or bargain for.

I bumped into a woman once by happenstance. She came in to my place of business as a customer about a year ago. At this time, my husband had been dead for about six months.

We got into a friendly and casual conversation. Our chat was superficial for the most part, until out of nowhere she mentions that she has the ability to communicate with the dead and that the voices kept her awake at night.

You might be reading this thinking that this woman is obviously bat shit schizo cray cray.

The thing is, she wasn’t. 

Still to this day, I’m not really sure what inspired her to divulge this bit of personal information to me.

She told me that she came from a religious background and that she was regularly on the outs with her parents. She was young, I guessed that she was in her early twenties. She said that the relationship with her parents was strained because they had gone through many failed attempts in effort to get her to conform to their religious point of view.

She also said that she had tried a few times to reach out to her parents for understanding and acceptance of her “gift”. They treated her like she was crazy and wanted her to stop talking about it. Even if they were open to really listening or believing, their religion was strictly against ordinary people communicating with other worldly powers of any kind.

She told me that they dismissed her and finally shunned her. It also interesting that she mentioned that she suspected that at least one parent also had the same ability, but chose to deny it and keep it secret. 

Prior to this defining moment in my life, the thought had occurred to me to seek out a clairvoyant of some kind on my own. Having someone close to you pass away (especially a spouse and most especially by suicide) leaves A LOT of unanswered questions. 

There is a support group that I follow online for widows of suicide. I don’t commisurate with the group often because it’s a bit of a whiny pity-party. I find it harder to sympathize with that attitude these days; however, I find it very interesting that any information garnered from psychics is taken very seriously among these circles of women. Everyone wants to know what what was said and everyone believes that they are communicating with the spirit of their deceased husbands.

I didn’t end up seeing a psychic because I was concerned about being lied to or being taken advantage of. I admit that my husband’s death has opened me up to all sorts of openness to deeper spirituality, but I still I wasn’t really sure if I believed (and still not really sure if I believe) that anyone is truly psychic or has the ability to talk to dead people… I mean what is this, the sixth sense?

I had completely dismissed the thought of seeking out any psychic advice up until this moment. Now that the opportunity had presented itself though, I couldn’t resist the temptation to ask this woman if it was possible for her to make contact with my husband. I just couldn’t. I was simply too curious. Also at this time, I was a mess of a grieving widow. I was desperate for some answers.

So, I told her about my husband’s suicide. I asked her if it was possible to make contact with him. I  was busy working for her, so I focused on that for a long time while she remained quiet.

When she spoke again she told me that she said that she was able to sense him. She said there were some things that he wanted me to know.

First thing she told me was that he was that he was sorry. She said that after he died, he wasn’t aware of what exactly had happened. He hadn’t understood the consequences of his actions.

It seemed like she was describing some kind of educational process that he had been lead through by higher level beings of some sort (like angels I guess, but she didn’t describe them as such). She didn’t really describe these beings as anything at all, she just told me that he had been helped. 

As she is relating this information to me, I’m starting to get very emotionally worked up. I can’t tell you what it’s like to feel like you are communicating with someone you lost and loved deeply. I’ve spent nights crying myself to sleep because I’ve worried that l will never see his face or be able to talk to him again. 

She asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to him.

I said ”please, just tell him that I’m sorry. Tell him that I’m so sorry.” I have my reasons for asking for his forgiveness, but I don’t want to write about those details now. 

She told me that he knew that I was sorry. She gave me the impression that he now understood that he had an extreme reaction to a temporary misunderstanding. She gave me the impression that he understood that it what he did had caused me a great deal of pain.

He had struggled his entire lifetime with misdiagnosed psychiatric illness and depression. She told me that he wasn’t suffering anymore. She told me not to worry about him. Where ever she was describing, he was in a good place. 

She said that his spirit was pure light.

She then proceeded to tell me that he didn’t want me to be alone. 

She said that when I was ready, he had someone picked out for me and to watch for the signs.

I was now chocking back big streams of tears that were rolling down my cheeks.

I was also definitely feeling very confused. 

The idea of someone else six months after your husband dies is unfathomable. 

I didn’t want to find someone else. I wanted my husband. If I couldn’t have him back, I wanted to be alone.

Still to this day (a year and a half later), I have a strong preference for remaining single. This is out of respect for being my husband’s wife and because I enjoy my life as a single person now that I’ve adapted to my circumstances.

I was also a little bit angered by the thought of my husband dictating to me from beyond the grave. He abandoned me. He bailed on me in the worst way possible. He gave up on his own life. He shattered all of the hopes and dreams we had together.

 What gives him the right to tell me how to pick up the pieces?

I stood, sobbing, and just nodded my head.

I didn’t want to be rude or ungrateful for her advice. After all, I was the one who asked for it. Regardless of whether or not she actually did talk to my dead husband, I could tell that she had benevolent intentions.

She noticed that I looked concerned. She assured me that it would be something open as an option for me–when I was ready. I didn’t press her for details on what specific signs I should be looking for. I figured she would tell me what I needed to hear.

She told me that she felt like she was meant to meet me.

She embraced me as I cried in the hallway with all of my coworkers looking on. It was a dramatic scene.

I can’t explain what it feels like to have your best friend and partner of ten years die. I can’t explain what it feels like to have that person die by suicide. You just want to believe so badly that they are out there somewhere. You want to believe so badly that they are looking out for you.

I still don’t know what to believe, but I’ll never be able to completely dismiss this experience. Her words are in the back of my mind every time I go out on a date or meet a new romantic interest. I’ve already had some profound experiences that have lead me to believe that this person might actually exist.

I can also assure you that if my husband has something to say, I am listening.

The Return of Kissy Face

The Return of Kissy Face

Cameron has recently come back into my life via text message at 4am a few weeks ago. Sidenote–I’ve been in love with him and completely heartbroken over him for the past 6 months. I wasn’t really surprised that he got in touch, even after  2 1/2 months of no communication. It was only a matter of time before the twerp realized that he was in love with me too. 

I wanted to text him back right away. I wanted to find him wherever he was at such an ungodly hour of the morning and cover his face in kisses.

 I did the opposite. I made him sweat and waited 3 days before I texted him back. He got back to me immediately saying that he had missed me and wanted to see me.

So, I know that he had been dating someone else during his hiatus. Why? Because I stalked his Facebook frantically searching for answers wondering what the hell had happened to him. There were never any posts or pictures of them together, but he changed his profile picture the same day he made a new female friend. It was the only scenario that sense and I just knew. 

It. broke. my. fucking. heart.

He invites me over late, late… on a Thursday night. I’m freaking out with anticipation when I arrive at his house, but I keep my cool. I act aloof. He explains. Says he’s not just inviting me over for a booty call and that he had genuinely missed me. He didn’t mention her. He seemed sincere, so I didn’t mention it.

He lays out some pretty lines of cocaine for us both. He also has pure molly in a little baggie that we both sank a wet finger into and happily ingested. Side note– we both I enjoy the occasional recreational drug use–seriously it’s just recreational, promise.

He asks me if I want to get on the bed with him, so I climbed on the bed. He asks if he could kiss me. I say yes. He rolls on top of me and the minute his lips hit mine–sparks fly. His kisses are amazing. It’s not just that though. There’s a passion, an energy, a deep and almost ethereal chemistry.

 It’s a soul vibe. He inspired the term that I’ve made up and used since I met him. We stare into each other’s eyes like we stare into each other’s souls. decided to withold sex, at least for the time being. I want to make sure he’s in it with me. I to give him the illusion that forgiveness doesn’t come so easily. I also decided to not quiz him on his whereabouts during our separation. It just didn’t feel like the right time to talk  about it.

We did cuddle throughout the night holding hands. I felt my energy glow into is palm and it felt like there was no beginning to where my existence started and his ended. There was just an overall sense of oneness.

 The Beauty of the 5 – Date Relationship

 The Beauty of the 5 – Date Relationship

Most of my relationships end around the fifth date mark. You are probably thonking, gee five whole dates is hardly a relationship. You’d be right. Therin lies the beauty of the super short-term 5 date love affair.

Here’s why the 5 date relationship works for me:

We never get to the point where we spill our guts and talk about our feelings. My skeletons are frightening. For the sake of all persons involved, they are better left in the closet where they belong.

I believe in love at first sight. The same chemicals are produced by your brain regardless of how well you truly know a person. Knowing someone better changes nothing; if anything, it’s more likely that we will ignore red flags before  falling out of love for practical reasons.

I also don’t do the fuck buddy thing. Sexual and emotional attraction are one and the same to me. If I’m not at least tempted to tell a man to tear my clothes off by date 5, sex isn’t happening and you can’t keep kissing forever. 

I like meeting new guys and getting to know them. I’ve had just the right amount of time to do that before more commitment becomes expected of me or someone gets hurt. Dating is my entertainment, but I don’t entertain myself at the expense of other people’s feelings.

As much as I value the feeling of being in love: amazing, thrilling, die for the thought of you infatuation type love…it’s scary.

I guess I’ve become what some would call a “serial dater”. The title usually comes with a negative connotation, but if the shoe fits I’ll own it and wear it. The emotionally crippled must survive somehow.

I went on a lovely date last Sunday. If a fab date is defined by an enjoyable atmosphere and good company, this was probably the best one I’ve ever been on.

ANTHONY> Artist. Art gallery owner and entrepreneur. 39 years old. Never married. 3rd generation Italian. Not unlike myself, he’s a bit of a foodie. Not unlike myself,  he has liberal viewpoints about modern relationships and family. He makes his own flavored stevia that he brought with him on the date to sweeten his cocktails.

Maybe I’m just really susceptible to flattery, but I love compliments, pet names, and cutsy text messages. He calls me gorgeous and “sugar”. Before we met in person he sent me a text at 8am just to wish me a happy morning.

I appreciated that he took me out on an actual date, an expensive one at that. We had really good food and cocktails at upscale gastropub in the city.

We met up afterward at his place in the Avenues …it’s a hip place to live in Salt Lake if you own a house… the inside was decorated with really cool artwork that  consisted of paintings and random industrial sculptures  authored by Anthony himself. His style of artwork is very cool. It’s reminiscent of Ed Hardy. He uses a lot of skulls mixed with roses and themes that have feminine and masculine attributes. I’m not really an arty person, but I’d display some of this stuff in my own house.

He puts on some slow jazz and we start making out on his couch. He’s a perfect kisser…wait, scratch that … he’s a flawless kisser. I was genuinely and very pleasantly surprised. I analyzed every bit of that tonsil hockey and all of his moves were strategic and on point.

BUT *insert abrupt stop to whimsical cloud-9 sounding music here**

Why was I analyzing everything he did instead of simply enjoying the moment?
Ugh, maybe because I’m just not that into him… ?

I’m just not that into him.

I don’t have anything negative to say about Anthony aside from the fact that there is something indefinable about him that just doesn’t excite me. The conversation flowed well and I think he’s an interesting enough person…

At this point, his post first date behavior is already reading to me as a bit needy and clingy. The assumption that I’m going to suddenly make time for him and inform him of my plans each subsequent weekend after only one date is a big turn off to me. Maybe he won’t go the 5 date distance after all. That’s a shame.

My Thailand Photographer

My Thailand Photographer

I don’t really know where to start with this one—in many ways he’s my absolute dream come true…

CHRIS> 36 years old. Divorced. Award winning photographer, cinematographer, and independent filmmaker. Very good-looking man. He’s been shooting a documentary about human trafficking in India and Thailand. He hopes that the film will eventually be viewed at Sundance Film Festival. He’s spent years living abroad and speaks multiple languages. He’s a self-proclaimed food and culture lover.

It’s hard to come up with any complaints about Chris aside from his non-traditional views on relationships (I’ll explain later…). He’s quieter. His dating style is slow and steady. He’s a bit of a homebody at heart. I feel like his “type” of woman is the kind that wears Gucci and sips fine wine. I’m still trying to figure out why he would be interested in someone like me—not that I don’t dress up and look pretty; especially on a date, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m a woman who snowboards, climbs rocks, and drinks beer.

I want to write a little bit about the documentary because this project is pretty amazing. He literally rescues women from forced prostitution. He works with a human rights organization that raids brothels where the women are raped, starved, and beaten if they refuse to work.

He has permits to film in India under false pretenses. Millions of women are trafficked every day and the government doesn’t want the rest of the world to know that it’s such a rampant problem. At one point, he was hiding from the government and the mafia. He spent his time in hiding in an Ashram learning about Tantra and Vedic religion. Anyone who knows me also knows that I’m all about this stuff too, I know quite a bit about Hindu culture for an average girl from Utah.

After reading this you’re probably thinking, wow! this guy is next level! … he is!

He’s lived in Bangkok most of the time for the last couple of years, but he came home for the month of April. He invited me to the house that he owns, which isn’t very far from where I live. We were both excited to meet each other because we had been e-mailing back and forth for months.

He made me a fancy cheese and cracker spread with a cupcake on the side. He also made me a rosemary infused cocktail complete with sprig for garnish. He infuses his own liquors with spices like sage, rosemary, and habanero.  As a food and drink lover myself, I thought this little gesture was quite sexy.

He’s sensual. I love that. I’ll repeat: I love that. It’s a rare quality in a man. He’s a good kisser! We’ve made out a lot. It’s hot. So far I’ve needed a cold shower after every date. Whew! I can tell that he actually likes me. There’s not an intense love at first sight “soul-vibe”, but something real is there. Perhaps it’s a chemistry that can be genuine and sustainable even if it takes longer to develop.

Our conversations have been easy and natural. We’re able to get appropriately personal in a short period of time conversation-wise, which I think is a good thing. We talked about his divorce. I talked a little bit about my marriage. We talked about our mutual reservations about getting remarried and how we both had fears of committing to a long-term relationship.

Here’s the kicker. We talked about ployamory. He told me that he was really leaning toward getting into this type of relationship in the future. He wanted to know if I was interested. Basically he said that dating him would involve “sharing”.

I told him that this admission didn’t necessarily deter me from dating him. I have to admit I’ve looked into the concept myself and there are some very unique reasons as to why a situation like this would actually appeal to me. There are also a few very fundamental reasons why this type of relationship may not work for me at all.

I’m going to share my thoughts about polyamory in a separate post and leave it at that for now. I’ll continue to keep you updated about my sexy Thailand photographer.

Check out the preview for the documentary Stolen Innocence at http://www.stolendocumentary.com/

 

Cheers to Adventure and Obligatory Sex.

Cheers to Adventure and Obligatory Sex.

Nobody wants to have sex with someone they don’t like. Here’s a story about how I involved myself in this undesirable scenario.

CHARLIE> 40 years old. Divorced. Lives in LA. Works for Warner Bros. Has a pretty cool job booking voices on EDM tracks for a major record label. Attractive things about this man: enthusiastic, generous, and very well-traveled. Unattractive things: nervous compulsions (I’ll explain later…), cares too much about his instagram and twitter followers, and is bad in bed.

I met Charlie at a concert in Salt Lake while he was traveling with the DJ for work. I’m not an electronic music fanatic, but I enjoy the genre and have circles of friends who self-identify as being EDM junkies. I meet up with these friends at shows all of the time. He came up to me and pretty much started to make out with me right away. I’m sure there was some initial dialogue exchanged between us, but it was minimal. Most women would probably be creeped, but I’m not turned off by the aggressive approach. Sometimes when I’m at a club, I’m on the hunt for someone to kiss (truth) and in this sense I thought I’d found a kindred spirit.

I didn’t even notice that he was missing a hand until we were making out on the bed in his hotel room. It didn’t bother me. I’m very accepting of flaws because I’ve been through an immense amount of suffering myself. I didn’t ask a lot of questions. He said he lost it in a car accident. Mid-make out sesh I also noticed that his hair was fake. He told me that he had a condition—I assumed it was just another term for hair loss. I let that slide too. After all, I was drunk; and like I said, I don’t mind a little defect in a person.

He took a liking to me after our post-concert encounter and invited me to come stay with him in LA. I would never use a person for a trip, but I have to admit that I knew that his affection for me far exceeded my ability to reciprocate the same level of affection for him. I’m trying to figure out how to have friends with benefits. Since I’ve become single I’ve had to learn to navigate gray areas in relationships. I prefer to “soulvibe” with dudes that I have sexual intercourse with, but it would be impossible to achieve that level of intimacy with everyone and it would definitely conflict with my life goal of achieving an adventurous lifestyle = doing interesting things + meeting different people—and this includes men.

Fast-forward to LA. We’re in the car driving up the coast from Los Angeles to San Francisco. Between smoking a seemingly never-ending series of cigarettes, I noticed that he kept touching his head. Every time his hand went for his head, he hit his hand on the steering wheel almost as if to scold himself or stop himself from doing it. It took me awhile to catch on to the fact that he felt compelled to do it out of compulsion—and then I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him pull a hair from his own head and eat it.

When we got to our hotel room I googled compulsive hair pulling and then the word stood out to me plain as day as the word that he used to describe his condition on the first night I met him. Trichophagia. Hair loss due to complusive hair pulling and ingestion. In extreme cases (which his was because he had to wear a wig), it results in a hairball. Maybe it was just too many inherent flaws in one person for me to tolerate, but that was what finally did creep me out to the point of aversion.

We’re sitting in the hot tub the first night at the hotel. He starts to make out with me. He moves on to fingering me though my swimsuit—I was ok with this, it was late at night and no one was around. I could tell that he wanted to have sex with me in the Jacuzzi, but I’m far too much of a lady for something so public. We go back to the hotel room. He’s overly aggressive in his style of foreplay. He starts to go down on me (the absolute worst, ugh how could someone be so inept at eating pussy?) good thing he switches to vigorously rubbing me with his stump, which felt marginally better.

I remember thinking, is this why your husband died? So a chain smoker that compulsively eats his own hair can over aggressively rub your clit with his hand stump?

He argued with me about using a rubber and finally rolled one on after some resistance (what planet do you live on where people don’t use condoms?) It felt like being fucked by the energizer bunny on crack; not because it kept going and going, but because it felt like a rabid over-zealous animal humping me. He told me that he wanted to get me pregnant! He asked me where my biological clock was. I told him it was missing.

I trooped through the awkwardness for the sake of having a pleasant adventure. I reminded myself that despite the fact that he was horrible in bed–he was a kind person and I was grateful that he was treating me to an all expense paid trip to California. We had a lot of fun together in San Francisco. Even though the thought of having sex with him a second time made my skin crawl, it was over fast (after reprimanding him again for attempting to do me without a condom?) The last two nights of the trip we didn’t even have sex. He didn’t push for it and I was relieved. I think it had something to do with his distaste for condoms. Maybe he could sense that I wasn’t really into it.

Despite the fact that I felt slightly prostitute-ish because I felt obligated to have terrible sex with someone I wasn’t attracted to, I don’t regret going on the trip. I saw San Francisco for the first time and stayed in upscale hotels. I ate good food, went to a concert, and toured one of the most beautiful coastlines in America. I made a new friend. It was an epic adventure.

So, cheers to me and my adventures that expose me to a unique life experience be it good or bad. My relationship with Charlie was memorable in more ways than one.