Random questionnaire

Divorces?

One. Long story. I left him when I was 25 (it was final two years later) and told myself, “Self, you’re still young. You’ll marry again and have more kids.” I did have one more kid. I never married again. When I was young, not-fat, and marginally cute, guys at least occasionally attempted relationships with me. Post-divorce, all they wanted to do was get laid and play games. I’m kind of over it. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still hope a little, but that’s more like a hobby than anything serious.

Proposals?

(1) Craig in 1992. We both wound up cheating on one another after I went into the Army. He cheated first, I ‘fessed up first, then he and the girl he cheated with went around telling everyone I was a slut. I heard about it through a mutual friend (OK, an ex… I won’t pretend he didn’t have a vested interest in telling me, but Craig never denied it, either) and promptly dumped Craig. That was late 1992. Craig got back in touch with me in 2010 and got even by stringing me along for a while, emotionally abusing me, then disappearing again. One fervently hopes this time it will be permanent. So far, so good.

(2) Some guy in early 1993 when I got mis-assigned to Division and he was about to get out of the Army. He wanted to keep his benefits. I was not amused, though I think I turned him down politely enough.

(3) Jay H. in… 1994, I guess? I was an awful girlfriend. I’m not sure why; he wasn’t a horrible boyfriend. I think it just wasn’t the right time and we weren’t the right people for one another. (He’s much happier now. I checked.)

(4) Mike. (Who is different from a Mike I know from the local art community here.) The only one to make it stick. This was perhaps a month and a half or so into our relationship — we actually tied the knot MAYBE a month later — and I thought we were crazy enough about one another that it would carry us. Stupid me. Suffices for now to say we were both awful and it ended badly.

(5) Matt. This was during my polyamory phase and he was already married. Somehow within the context of an “open relationship” he managed to cheat on his wife, cheat on me, yet still be butthurt and sad if I wanted to be with someone else, even though Matt had a wife, two girlfriends, and the occasional festival “cute-and-cuddly” he would correspond with via internet until they managed to get together for a shag, and I had nobody else. Even my ONE FLING I ever had, ONE NIGHT while we were still together (the one he got butthurt about), went absolutely nowhere.

My polyamory phase is long over. All I ever found was guys who wanted me to be their extra anyway. Always the mistress, never the bride. Well, except for Matt’s proposal, but it wouldn’t have been a legal marriage, just a religious one. (We were in the same Neopagan church at the time. Yes, some groups are churches.) I am NOT doing that again. And whatever porny-fun things you think I got up to, the reality was a good bit more boring than that. I got into it in the first place because after all my relationship dysfunction I thought something was wrong with me and that maybe I was just wired differently. I still think I’m wired differently, but it’s not for multiple partners, or to be someone else’s multiple, either.

(6) I asked Craig in 2010 when he got hold of me again (see notes on item 1). Figured with 18 years under the bridge that was plenty of time for us to be sorted out. Nah. Tellingly, the woman he was cheating on me with AGAIN (as in cheating again, it was a different woman) and he called it quits after I gave up on him the final time and now he’s married to a completely other woman. I wish her the best of luck. She’ll fucking need it.

Bonus (1): Marc — the guy who initially told me Craig was cheating on me in ’92 — and I got back together after that and he came this close to asking. Never did. Danced around it once, that was it. He told my paternal half-brother later that “if things had turned out differently” we’d have been married. Dude, it would have taken four words. And a willingness to not leave me down in Georgia all by myself. What can you do.

Bonus (2): I’m pretty sure Jeremy was about to ask when I left him. And if he had been a completely different person but with the same capacity for kindness, I’d have taken him up on it. But he is who he is, who he is is not very nice under it all, and no one believes me. Oh well. That was one mistake I avoided. I’m not a completely hopeless case.

…Hm. This all looks a bit more impressive than it actually was. I’d trade it all right now to have wound up 25 years ago with a man I could still be with and proud of today. And to have had both my kids with him and in one happy little family instead of each of them having to grow up lonely.

Marriage?

Covered this already.

At this point if I met my dream guy and we hit it off hugely then hey, maybe? I need to spend some time making sure I can stand on my own two feet first, though, before I even open myself up to that possibility. The thing is, I don’t believe in soulmates; no matter how I feel about a guy, if either he or I finds we can’t function together socially or emotionally or whatever (there’s at least a possibility of figuring out physical issues), it’s just not going to work. And whatever feelings I have about love and relationships don’t matter one whit if every man I meet thinks I’m a troll, which I’m pretty sure 99% of them do.

I’m probably being stupid just saying this here. Some asshole will go into full-on predator mode and try to use my feelings against me, wait and see. I can’t ever draw the healthy ones. Those are for the pretty women. Feh.

Children?

Two. Boy in 1996, girl in 2004. Was not able to keep boy thanks to divorce. Long sordid story. It’ll go here eventually. Son and I are still not okay. I don’t blame him. I basically failed him.

I’m not 100% wholesale against having another kid, but I’m in my mid-40s and my clock’s going to wind down any year now. At this point, the guys my age who want kids want a 25-year-old to start the family they didn’t want when they were 25. The others my age are totally against being fathers (again?), and I don’t want some guy a decade younger than me just to reproduce again. Been there, done that, am not missing out on the experience.

Me being stepmommy to someone else’s kids is not me having more kids and I’d really rather not.

Surgeries?

(1) Tubes in eardrums and tonsils + adenoids removed, 1985 I think

(2) Lower wisdom teeth (3rd molars) cut out (they had not yet erupted) in 1988

(3) C-section in 2004

(4) Literally had a rock removed from my head somewhere between 2012 and 2014: a stone in one of the saliva glands under my tongue. It didn’t hurt and docs couldn’t feel it from the outside but it had kept blocking the saliva flow, which did sort of hurt, and rather at random, which made me wonder about stones. That was one time Dr. Google DID help me, and I’m just grateful both my doc and the ENT listened to me. I still have a small numb spot on the left side of my tongue from where the surgeon traumatized a major nerve. Fortunately(?) it didn’t fuck my ability to speak. No one knows why I got the stone. The science on these isn’t as clear as it is for kidney stones. It’s not water intake and it’s not mineral intake, no matter what any individual doc might say.

Piercings?

One in each earlobe. Mom had me pierced by the time I was six months old. She tells a story about a black woman who accosted her on the way into a restaurant, took one look at me and said, “Why you go piercin that chile’s YARS?”

Oddly, the left earlobe piercing has gotten pissy in my middle age and wants to grow together, which it never did the whole time I was growing up or in my 20s or 30s. So I wear captive-bead niobium hoops now to keep that from happening.

Tattoos?

None. I always meant to get one, and I could never make up my mind what. If I can’t decide what to get, I probably don’t actually want one. But this is one of those things I stay open about, like marriage. And won’t be nearly as tough to recover from if I get it Horribly Wrong.

Tattoos after all, unlike husbands, can be made to go away with LASERS.

"lasers"

Shot a gun?

Fired. If you shoot a gun, the gun is your target.

A .22 handgun, an M16 rifle, some sort of machine gun (what kind? can’t remember), and at some point or another, one or more BB (air) guns. Oh, and I’ve thrown four grenades. Not the smoke ones either. The ones that go BOOM.

Quit a job?

A few. Some more honorably than others.

Ever been on TV?

Maybe. I’ve been interviewed twice by TV stations since 2002. I can’t fathom I made the cut to actually get on the air though.

Hit a deer?

No. I won’t be surprised if it happens one of these days though.

Watched someone give birth?

Do I count?

Watched someone die?

No. Have seen four dead bodies, however.

Rode in an ambulance?

Not really. Closest I ever got was being a practice dummy for medic training and they “evacuated” me in a medical company’s helicopter. I was fucking COLD, as they wouldn’t strap me in with a blanket or a sleeping bag and it was fucking November. Thank fuck it was also fucking Texas or it would have been sooooo much worse.

Visited Las Vegas?

Supremely uninterested in visiting Las Vegas. If you want me to go with you, you better be cute.

Sang karaoke?

I don’t sing in public. (In my car is not “in public”.) If you want to convince me to sing karaoke, you better be cute.

Rode a jet ski?

Haven’t done, not sure what I think of ever trying. See previous two items.

Ice skating?

No. Not going to be convinced, no matter how cute you are.

Roller Skating?

Yes.

This is why I won’t go ice skating.

In fairness, I have a history of tailbone injury. (Not from any sort of skating.) I would like that to never happen again.

Ever.

Seriously.

Rode on a motorcycle?

Yes. It was fun, which is why I don’t wholly swear off ever trying a jet ski.

Stayed in a hospital?

(1) When I was born.

(2) Tubes/adenoids/tonsils at age 11 (see above). I think I stayed a night for that? Not sure.

(3) Kidney infection at age 16. Was in the hospital for a week.

(4) Childbirth at age 22.

(5) Childbirth at age 30.

Arrested?

No, but I got my wasband arrested in 1999. (Told you it was a long story.) Does that count?

…Copy and paste and answer these yourself somewhere if you want. It’s all good.