Cheats, Liars and Anger

“Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.” – Maya Angelou

I have a sense that this will be a rage fueled rant of epic proportion.

I am royally pissed off. My closest friend and mentor has been telling me for years that there is always an ulterior motive with men. That message is starting to sink in now and I’m feeling resentful, embittered and enraged at the vast majority of males that I have encountered in my lifetime.

One of the things in the world I hate the most is liars and those trying to gain my trust through false pretenses. It’s dishonest and only makes me angry at the offender. I met someone a little over a year ago at a company function and asked his name. I remembered him at this year’s gathering. It’s part of my job to remember people and also a personality trait. I’m curious. I want to know what people are about. That said, I try not to be invasive and let another person share with me at their own pace.

So, upon seeing the aforementioned person again, he suggested we meet up sometime, as friends and also to discuss psychology because that’s his current area of study, he’s new to the area, etc. In hindsight, there are things that should have been red flags to me much earlier on, but I’m not going to ruminate on what I overlooked. We exchanged a few e-mails and he wanted my number because it was his preferred method of contact. I’m rolling my eyes as I type these words because I’ve heard that line a million times. Like an idiot, I eventually gave it to him.

why? Why? WHY??????

He sent me a text on New Year’s after wrapping up at the event he had worked saying he needed an ‘Irish Lass’ hug. The fact that I didn’t call him out right then and there makes my blood boil a little bit. That was the first indicator that this guy was after something more than his false pretense of friendship. I should also note that he is twice my age and has children older than me. Something is very wrong here. Granted, I do have older friends – but now that I think about it those older friends come in couples, not some prowling male hoping to make it with a gal half his age.

This past Sunday he said he wanted to get together – a kind gesture to pull me out of the state of sadness I’ve managed to wallow in for some time now. I had no idea what we were doing and he didn’t say where we were going when he came to pick me up. I was startled because I thought we would do something downtown and he was driving towards Washington. I asked him where we were going. He told me we were headed to a vineyard in Ridgefield. I have no idea where Ridgefield is, panicked a little and told him that I carry weapons.

There is no point to this photo. Just the intense level of cutenss. 

During the drive, he kept probing me about my life, asking for more details on what I shared with him. This is another behavior I hate. Something is wrong here. If you barely know me, you have no right to ask such personal information about me – you wretched pretentious prick. What bothers me the most about this is that I am a horrible liar and my answers are always honest. I don’t know how to respond any differently. It’s clear to me now that I either need to work on building up my psychological walls or learn to spew untruths with a poker face. I am royally pissed off. Don't examine every detail of my life through a microscope unless you are prepared to be ripped to shreds by my words. 

Can you feel that rage? It's a very real thing right now.

Wine tasting at a vineyard . . .  it was nice. He had packed a picnic saying he wasn’t sure how the weather was going to turn out. Now that I think about it, his explanation makes no sense whatsoever: it was pissing rain all day long. I thought his gesture was kind for going through the trouble of preparing something. As we got in the car I suggested we go back to my apartment, watch a movie and eat his ‘picnic’ meal when he expressed disappointment in the bad weather.

I'll set them on fire myself! He knew what the weather was like. Pretentious bastard.

There had been a nagging question in the back of my mind the entire time I was with him. What is this guy’s angle? What the hell does he want from me? I ask him as much and his response starts with, “I’m a hot blooded male . . . “ and he went on to say that he’d never force himself on me. Holy fucking hell! I should have fled from the moving car right then and there. I don’t know why I didn’t. I wasn’t quite processing his true intentions at the time, I only knew that something didn’t feel quite right: That small voice in the back of your head that tells you to run away. That small voice in my head that told me I should cancel on Sunday until I learned more about this guy. I ignored it. I’m currently angry at myself for ignoring it, but acknowledging that at long last I’m finally starting to pay attention to it, even if it doesn’t have my full attention yet.

Hot blooded male?! I am grinding my teeth in anger!!

I put on a movie and he puts food onto plates. He continuously grazed my knee with his hand, put his arm around my shoulder, asking me to sit closer to him. I was rigid. Any person within their right state of mind could probably pick up that I was tense because I was uncomfortable. He hugged me as he left and attempted to kiss me. I physically recoiled. He didn’t back off and instead said, “Just a small one?” I barely let my lips touch his because I wanted to be far removed from him and, at that time, seemed to be the only way that I would be able to manage to get him out.

Underneath her barley there smile is a woman who desperately wants to punch him in the face. I feel like doing a lot of punching right now. I physically resisted. He is clearly an asshat and he disgusts me.

I decided the next day that I’m ghosting his sorry ass. He’s blocked from e-mail and my phone. I have nothing to say to him. Idiot! I’m past explaining myself and I’m past making excuses for others. That pathetic piece of shit; men like him are the reason I have trust issues. If he was trying to groom me into some form of dependence on him by being so invasive on my life experiences he failed miserably.

I’ve been turning the actions of a former friend over in my mind – the one who demanded to know what was on my heart. When I expressed anger at what I felt was a cross of my personal and emotional boundaries, he became offensive. He told me that it didn’t come as a surprise. If that’s the case, why did he have to hear me say it? The only thing that makes any form of sense to me is that his ego needed that from me. Fuck him and his ego right up the ass.  Apparently my efforts to build him up emotionally weren’t enough, so he had to take it one step further. He sickens me; and I think my anger here isn’t just his disregard for my emotional boundaries, but also when he asked how I was doing and I gave an honest answer he pretty much faded himself out. I guess it was fine for me to listen to his problems but that action couldn’t be reciprocated.

Unfortunately, I think this is the driving force in most of us. 

I’ve been walking around with a consistent form of bitch face – I’m that angry. This is a stark contrast from someone who smiles warmly at the world around her. Lately, I have people who see me on a regular basis ask me if I’m okay . . . . the bitch face is that strong in this one. I also feel like punching things and am avoiding the male population as much as possible to save myself from exploding on some poor, unsuspecting soul who had nothing to do with anything I’m feeling right now.

Yesterday I went through a wide range of emotions as I hashed it all out in therapy. My anger over the actions of these self-proclaimed ‘friends’ who are now dead to me. My anger over the recent antics of the Dirty Faerie Creature (DF) in the office, and the recent news of my adoptive father’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

I’ll start with DF. She involved herself with a man who was sexually coercive and manipulative. It’s now a huge thing in the anarchist vegan feminist biking community. On a tangent, when a vegan and a cyclist are mixed into one person it can only mean bad news. It’s a form of smug self-righteousness from opposite sides of the spectrum that meet somewhere in the middle to create a form of evil spawn that can only be described as the love child of Satan and Hades. Sprinkle in anarchy and feminism with shouts of ‘Fascist!’ and ‘Misogyny!’ and Portland now has a whirlwind of smug self-righteousness that’s sure to drag every last one of us to hell.

Funny, right? Now imagine the love child of those two assholes. 

I know about DF’s experience because she has made a point of telling me about her experience – as well as everyone else in the office. I felt bad for her the first day she talked about it and then that all went down the drain fairly quickly as she started writing posts about her hickeys from a new year’s celebration. It wasn’t just that, but her need to talk about it to me and my office mate that didn’t sit well with me. She said his actions triggered her long subdued PTSD and it was because of this state of mind that she had sex with this guy in the first place. I am by no means an expert of PTSD, but I have dealt with it for many years and I know of not one person with a history of sexual abuse who, upon being triggered, would willingly have sex with someone who has just upset them by inappropriate behavior. Her continual discussions about this topic in the workplace have triggered my PTSD – and that royally pisses me off. I go to therapy once a week. I have put in many hours, a hell of a lot of work, and have paid a significant amount of money to make progress. Perhaps DF should consider going to see a professional instead of using her co-workers as therapists. I discussed this topic at length with my therapist yesterday, wondering if I was a horrible person, a calloused human being because I could not give DF any support. My therapist doesn’t see me in that light, but pointed out how the unchecked behavior of DF that never experiences a form of consequence is frustrating and her topics of discussion are almost always unsettling to me.

I don't think I could have described her better . . . .Misogyny!

For the first time in a while, I visited my adopted family over the weekend. I offered to make dinner in exchange for the use of an iron and ironing board . . . . and I was also dying to try out my new spiralizer. It was during this time that my adoptive mother, Morgan, told me of my beloved Jefe’s illness. I watched how she interacted with him. I’m sure she means well – she just has a way of infantizing others, rendering them to the level of a 5-year-old that is utterly helpless and can do nothing for himself/herself. I listened as she told him, “Look at what I’m doing. I’m writing your hike on your calendar for tomorrow. Tomorrow is Sunday.” I saw the expression of frustration on his face. I know that feeling, I truly do. The problem with a diagnosis is that people do start to treat you differently, despite their protests that it’s just not so. Whether they realize it or not, the label of a diagnosis causes most people to look at the diagnosed in a different light. I’ve been where he’s been in that regard. My adoptive father, Jefe, has every ounce of empathy I have to give.

Over the course of that day, I got the impression that Jefe had simply given up. He’s accepted the label and he’s mirroring the symptoms that others are projecting on him – levels of forgetfulness that have always been a part of his personality, but now ascribed to a disease. Witnessing his surrender, his refusal to keep fighting may be one of the most disheartening things I’ve ever seen.

Don't let anyone tell you who you are. 

My adoptive father and brother gave me a ride home from therapy yesterday. I was in tears when they picked me up. I am past the point of shoving anything down because I don’t think there’s any room. I’m feeling a wide range of intense emotions and it won’t let up. I hate crying in front of anyone and I couldn’t keep it at bay. The traffic was piling up as they drove me home, and I don’t know why, but I wanted to jump out of the car and run until my feet were blistered and bleeding and broken. I don’t know what or where I wanted to run towards, only that I felt suffocated and devastated. 

Today, I feel both anger and suffocation. I don't know how to bring this one to an end and I can't remember the last time I've felt such intense anger and mixed emotions. Maybe I'll delete this entry, maybe I'll print it out and burn it to give me some form of symbolism for burning bridges . . . and liar's pants . . .

I'm Banned From Online Dating

“The beginning is always today.” – Mary Shelley

I’ve been banned from online dating. I can never touch it again.

I was recounting my last date that resulted from an online dating site to my friend over our weekly Sunday hike with our dogs when she turned to me and said, “Your New Year’s Resolution starts now. No more online dating.” I closed my account for good. She’s right, those idiots make me neurotic and for the most part I’ve met guys who are too intense, too weird, want to take advantage of me, etc. etc. Also, I’m sure I saw my therapist breathe a sigh of relief when I told her I was honoring my friend’s request.

Mostly creepy people in general.

My official last date seemed to go well. I was puzzled because the guy asked me to meet him and then expected me to pay for my drink. Perhaps this is the new age of dating – I just thought that the person who asks is the person who pays. For instance, if I invite a friend to dinner, drinks, a movie or all of the above, that’s because I’m buying. It’s a rare occurrence these days that I can afford to do such a thing, but I try.

The guy took the bus to meet me at a local bar near my house. I offered to drive him home – it was quite cold. He asked for my number and I gave it to him because he seemed like a nice, normal kind of guy . .  . and then the red flags started showing. He started texting me a couple of days later. Within the span of an hour there were 30 texts from him and insistency from him that we schedule another date. His intensity and over-excitement about me were off-putting. I told him we weren’t a good match. Then I ranted to my friend, Sandalio (changed, of course – and it means ‘wolf’ which suits him), for days about my frustration for the dating scene in general. I had other dates lined up and my exact words to Sandalio were: “I am not meeting those assholes.”  I thought about contacting them directly to tell them I wouldn’t be meeting them – it just felt like a courtesy I wasn’t obligated to extend, particularly based off of my experience with the online realm thus far.

I kinda felt this way. 

I’m finding that I’m much saner now that I’ve shut the operation down entirely. Also, I magically have more time to spend with people that are meaningful to me in addition to getting my studio apartment in order. Who knew ?

Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time with Sandalio. We talk nearly every day and see each other once a week or more unless he’s out of town. We share the same spirit animal. It was a tattoo on his arm that first caught my attention and I was rather disappointed to learn that he had a girlfriend. We’ve been spending a lot of time together since his breakup, mainly because we both felt like our lives had been turned upside down and needed companionship. We laugh and challenge the other to stupid (yet very amusing) things and conspire together with even more juvenile plots. Then there’s my personal favorite: snuggling up next to him watching a movie.

It was last week that I had myself draped across Sandalio’s lap and smiled when he stroked my arm. I realized I might love this guy. Love is a scary emotion for me and the timing is horrid. He needs time to process and heal from his last relationship and I don’t want to do anything to interfere with that or lose a friendship I value. I’ll be keeping these emotions to myself and giving him as much time and space as he needs. This confession wasn’t a surprise to the one person with whom I shared my epiphany. I guess it’s the way I talk about him. Help me Jeebus.

Not just lovely, but wonderful in so many ways. If only he could see himself through my eyes . . . 

I think there’s some solace to be found in new distractions. I spent way too much money recently and bought myself a tv for the sole purpose of playing Dance, Dance Revolution and doing my yoga DVDs. Why would a person of pauper status put so much on a credit card? I figured this was an investment in my emotional well-being so I’m not moping around my studio apartment worrying about money and realizing how financially strapped I am because I can't afford outings with friends. Instead I can do some fun cardio and have friends over to have dance offs with me. It’s a much needed distraction from worry and also from loving someone. I may think differently of it down the road, but it seems like a pretty darn good plan right now. 

So very true - yet I know it can't be. I never knew hiding my feelings from someone would be so hard. 

Sweetest Downfall

When god (aka tango instructor) spoke to me during my emotional breakdown, she said something that I’ve been churning over in my mind since, “Don’t’ live with regret.” She mentioned the biblical story of Sodom and Gomorrah; the characters were turned to salt when they looked back. Moral of the story: don’t look back. Look forward instead. That’s a lot easier said than done, but I’m still trying. This doesn’t mean we don’t learn from our experiences and mistakes, it simply means we don’t live in the past – in what has already taken place – in the things we cannot change.

Live in the moment and make it beautiful - I'm still trying to get there.

I’ve touted a good deal of regret with me for many years; and not just regret, but also guilt. I feel guilt for the life I live sometimes – because I ask myself why I’m a college graduate and my sister has been swallowed by life and I have no idea how even start looking for her. I regret that I don’t know how to find her and I regret that I couldn’t do more for her. Then I have to look at it like a rational person, What could I have possibly done differently? The answer is nothing. I have to let that go. We were children. There’s a very unpleasant feeling that comes with being a powerless child. I keep reminding myself that I’m no longer a powerless child, but someone who has a say in her future and her here and now.

Then there are the people from my past I carry with me like heavy weights – because I feel guilt over having some measure of success in this life and know that they suffer for their choices. I’ve made choices, too – I just feel that somehow it was luck of the draw. I have to remind myself that while that is a small part of the equation, it’s not the whole equation. I didn’t choose the same path and that’s why I have no criminal record or teenage children before I make it to thirty or in a really bad marriage. Granted, I almost made that mistake once. I dodged a bullet.

Then there’s regret over lashing out at the wrong person. My sweetest downfall in life was loving someone deeper than I knew myself capable and seeing the beauty in life again. Before that time in my life and before the Beloved and I crossed paths again I felt as if my life was drifting in a black sea. It’s still mind blowing to me that joy can be a trigger simply because it’s as emotionally strong as fear. I regret the words I said when I was both confused and in pain and even still now I wish I could take it all back, but there’s no rewind button to this life we’re living, is there? I’m quite certain that’s my biggest regret in life. And there are times I regret hardly being able to speak to him the few times I’ve seen him since . . . . so I remind myself that regret is a destructive force and I can’t keep living if I’m too busy beating myself up.

"You are my sweetest downfall

I loved you first, I loved you first

Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth

I have to go, I have to go

Your hair was long when we first met . . . 

Samson came to my bed 

Told me that my hair was red

Told me that I was beautiful and came into my bed

Oh I cut his hair myself one night

A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light

And he told me that I'd done alright

And he kissed me 'til the mornin' light . . . " - Regina Spektor

So while I honor the practice of not berating myself, I have noted things that I most certainly do not regret. I don’t regret ever being owned by my dogs; those two furry babies have been my constant joy and comfort since one precious little lady literally walked into my life and the other was a treasure I sought out. I don’t regret ever purchasing or wearing a fake engagement ring. It’s either boosted my confidence because I don’t feel like I have to hide away or it really does have mystical powers that ward off predatory douchebags. I don’t regret all the times I tried and failed. I don’t regret starting tango only because I wanted another means of connection with someone; the dance turned into one of the best forms of therapy. Overall, I don’t regret moving to Portland. Sure, the sun practically never shines here – but my time here has been far more enriching than any experience the Central Valley could have possibly offered.

I confess my quads are killing me - but I am so going to own this mother f-er

I don’t regret starting a couch to 5k challenge with my co-worker; I was quite certain I was near death on day 1 – yet here I am and we’re still chipping away at it. I don't regret that my hardest lesson learned in life was also my sweetest downfall. I don’t regret living, losing, loving or crying. I don’t regret who I am, either – quirky gal with occasional meltdowns, PTSD rage and hesitation blended with a whole lot of laughter. I often say ‘I regret nothing!’ in jest – I’m thinking that’s something I should start taking seriously. Lastly, I don't regret the expensive dress I just ordered so I can showcase the tattoo I'm getting in a couple of weeks. 

Okay . . . not quite as dramatic - but it's still going to be awesome.

What I Really Think About You, Portland

I think Portland is a wonderful place . . .to visit. I've been in Portland, OR for nearly 5 years now, and I still don't feel at home here. In fact, I don't think I'll ever claim to be from Portland, OR; the shame is too much for me to stomach. I'm home sick and I miss down to earth people . . . Portland is also severely lacking in ethnicity and I feel like I'm slowly descending into madness; the reflection from the masses of white skin is slowly burning my retinas.

This is still too vanilla for my liking.

The overall smugness of this place is getting to me. What's the point of doing good for your neighbor, a stranger, a woman in a foreign village in Africa or the environment if you're going to brag about it for the rest of your life? I think one of the worst offenses in this world is when an act is presented as kind and genuine when the underlying motives are social status and personal gain. 

I'm doing this for you because I want to help you . . . and I also want a press release to inform the nation of my generosity. 

Portland has been referred to as one of the most environmentally friendly ('green') cities in the world. There are many forms of public transit. Consequently, many don't own a car. In fact, this is encouraged. Parking anywhere in the SW side is nearly impossible not to mention expensive. Park on campus at Portland State University because you're a student? Forget about it! That will run you nearly $100 a week. I think Portland's lesser known motto is 'Welcome to Portland! You can't park here . . . '

Seriously; don't do it. Your vehicle will be worked over with a sledgehammer, flipped over by an angry mob, set on fire and then 'decorated' with environmentalist slogans. You're welcome. 

Now, if you happen to live in an 'upper class' neighborhood, public transit nearly refuses to operate in the area. I suppose it's their way of keeping the unsavory individuals out. You're only option is to drive, and you should sure as heck hope that you don't have to do anything on the SW side. I suppose that doesn't matter, because everyone has more money than they know what to do with in these wretched hoity-toity neighborhoods.

Portland claims to give its residents a better way of living . . . there's no sales tax! You know what this means? Residents are taxed in ways they couldn't even begin to comprehend. Residents would never notice this because they've either lived in this city their whole lives and know nothing else, or are just too stoned to care. Personally, I hate feeling like I've been fisted with a sandpaper glove every time I receive my paycheck. For someone like the hipster, this doesn't matter. Nothing matters to the hipster.

The hipster was formally thought to be a mythical creature that has origins in Portland, OR. It turns out the legend of the hipster was true, and they're attracted to and mimic overall douchbaggery. The 'green' lifestyle is a popular thing in this area, and hipsters make every attempt to try to be more 'green' than the next person.

The 'green' environment in Portland is an ignis fatuus to cover up the major underground pot plantations. Those that claim to be green, particularly the ignorant hipster prick, wail about the environment and the nation's pursuit of oil. As they're expressing their frustration with how horrible we are to our environment, the ignorant hipster prick is working through his 3rd pack of cigarettes for the day.  The ignorant hipster prick is someone who will yell at you for eating meat or driving a car, because these things are not green and harmful to the environment, as they take the last drag of their cigarette and pile onto a bus that transports them to their home nearly 30 miles away.
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Actually, it's the Pacific NW . . .  you're doing it wrong. 

Not everyone falls into the hipster group. There are many that saddle the fence between sane people and the Highest Order of Douchbaggery. Some of Portland's residents are extremely dedicated environmentalists. These folks sell things on craft sites that are made with their bare hands. Supplies from these products, yarn for example, are grown organically in the highest mountains of Peru and purchased for fair trade prices. This yarn is then shipped to Argentina, where it is processed for the crafter and from there, finally shipped to the crafter. The crafter receives the yarn obtained through pure goodness and fair practice, makes it into something, and then ship it yet again to buyers of the product. Now how environmentally friendly is that, a**hole?!

They really mean it. In fact, they'll gladly put you out of your misery so they can enjoy the planet . . . . without you. 

Then there's the recent incident at one of the city parks. This particular park is connected to many trails. When one is hiking on one of these trail circuits, there are frequent signs posted throughout warning of a fine for dogs off leash and to stay on the trails to 'protect the habitat.' I resent these signs and let my dogs roam freely. Why? Because it was less than a month ago that over 50 trees where cut down so that people could enjoy the view of the mountain from the top of this park. Obviously there isn't much real concern for the natural habitat. I'm also sick and tired of hearing yuppies in this area talk about 'the view'. You know what? I could care less about your stinking view. In fact, when I get a home of my own, I'll buy it in the worst neighborhood that ever existed and create my own view with a super awesome garden . . . take that yuppies with your city view.

My dream garden, where I'll be planting trees instead of cutting them down. By definition, this makes me better than you. 

Now let's consider the vegan community. I don't have anything against vegans unless they live in Portland because Portland turns vegans into ultramegatron a-holes. When I do something, I do it based off my own convictions, not because it's the trendy thing to do. Veganism, vegetarianism, and environmentally friendly are very trendy lifestyles here. I cringed when I first shopped at a second hand store in Portland. I didn't understand why the prices were so high.  As it turns out, it's trendy in Portland. I shop at second hand stores because I'm one of the most resourceful folks you'll ever meet. I do it for survival, not because it's the 'in' thing. I also resent that when something is purchased from a second hand store in Portland, it is now referred to as 'vintage'. Really?

I love this woman: "It's not vintage, stupid. It's second hand."

I still shop at second hand stores, but I am no longer am a vegan or vegetarian. Granted, this doesn't mean that I eat meat like it's the last resource on earth. I rarely touch it, but I do not care to be associated with this crowd any longer. If I am a guest in someone's house and meat is prepared for me, I eat it without saying a word because they have been kind enough to offer me food and it would be a horrendous waste and unneeded offense to not eat what has graciously been given to me. I have heard some pretty nasty things come out of the lips in the vegan community regarding this practice. Also, feather earrings and anything that even closely resemble leather is a big no-no. You know what? You stick to your values and don't mind my own. I refused to be criticized for behavior in which there is no fault.

There's a saying here that the residents are quite proud of, "Keep Portland Weird." I think 'Portland is an insane asylum' is closer to the truth. The Occupy movement landed in this city in full force and chaos ensued. I did make my way down to one of their events to see what the Occupiers were all about; I was on the side protesting their existence. That experience is another story. What I took away from this is that the majority of those involved with Occupy had no idea why they were there. When questioned, some would spout of very vague answers and tell me that 'We're doing this for you.' What are you doing? Destroying a city park and wreaking havoc downtown? The response was that the entire thing has been misrepresented in the media and that media is a horrible entity that can't be trusted . . . . I saw the videos posted by Occupy members and bystanders and made my opinion based on the 'incriminating' videos of law enforcement.

Occupy has died down lately, I'm not sure if this is because of the cold and rain, or because at long last the movement has realized that camping in a park, taking over vacant homes, and marching through downtown during business hours isn't doing anything because there is no real action on their part.While those involved in this group complained about how evil and corrupt corporations are, they slept in tents from REI and kept like-minded folks informed of the Occupy status from their iphones and mac computers. That's the definition of a hypocrite if I ever saw one.

Tell me again why you're protesting capitalism? Corporations and material goods?  

I'm going to step off of my soap box for now. In the meantime, I'm working towards an escape back to California where there are people that are sane. 

Douche Baggery

"Consider how hard it is to change yourself and you'll understand what little chance you have in trying to change others." ~ Benjamin Franklin

This is yet another tale from a chapter in my crazy life. I realized long ago that I have a knack for attracting the odd, inconsiderate, obsessed and self absorbed . . . it must be a gift. I do have some fabulous folks in my life and they are very dear to me. When I think about the 'colorful' people that cross my path on what feels like a daily basis, I am grateful to have such great friends that bring a sense of normalcy to all of the chaos.

I had a recent encounter (several actually) with one who can be considered a vegan douche bag. A vegan douche bag is a vegan who alienates others for not being vegan or not strict enough of a vegan and takes a sickening pleasure in pointing out that something isn't vegan. Vegan douche bags typically enjoy smelling their own farts because they are so smug.

I haven't met many vegans. I do have a cousin who is a vegan, and I love her dearly. Aside from her, the other vegans I've met are self-righteous douche bags. If vegans care about animal rights, support local farmers and eat healthy, why is it that they are consistently such royal pricks (my cousin excluded, of course)? I think the answer is simple - vegan douche bags are completely out of touch with normal people. In order to get a meal that suits their requirements, they will either eat at a vegan restaurant or shop at vegan specialty stores. As a result, these douche bags spend far too much time with other douche bags and the douche baggery acts as a contagious fanaticism that gives one the feeling of superiority over others . . . because obviously they care more about the environment than a meat eater ever could and their actions are more humane, despite how they treat others on a daily basis.

I myself have been a vegetarian for many years. I limit my dairy intake because I'm semi lactose intolerant . . . . and sometimes I cheat on these two things. On rare occasions I eat sushi and will from time to time eat dairy. However, even if I lived this lifestyle in the strictest sense, I would never presume to tell anyone what they should consume, what a horrible thing it is their doing, etc. If one asks me why I don't eat meat, I tell them it's because I think all living creatures should be treated humanely. End of story. I never say anything more than that. Fanaticism in any form is never a good thing, whether it be lifestyle choices, religion, morals, or anything else that is a personal choice or way of life. Things start to decline pretty rapidly when we start to think we're superior to others.

Now onto my story. I met the vegan douche bag a several weeks ago. Vegan douche bag seemed harmless. He had just broke his foot before I met him in person. I knew there wasn't any possible way under the sun that he could physically harm me.  In fact, if he made the wrong move, I intended to step on his foot and run. This was a foolproof plan. What do I do for our first meeting? From talking to him in our brief encounters, it sounded like he was having a rough week. I offered to make him dinner while simultaneously threatening the sanctity of his broken foot should he try anything.

He seemed down to earth, a vegan, an animal lover, open minded and the creative type. Word. I've learned however, that people present themselves quite differently than they really are when initial friendships or some form of relationship is being established. This is something I don't quite understand yet. I've always been an honest and open person. 

I think the evening went well. We chatted while I cooked and then watched a comedy sketch. Thus began a friendship that lasted a little over a two months. Because vegan douche bag had recently broke his foot and had no vehicle of his own, I offered to help him get to class. As a fellow college student, I felt it somewhat of a duty to help another psych major in need. VDB is taking courses at one of Portland's man community colleges and wants to work the GLBTQ community.

Driving him to and from his campus was a whole other thing entirely. I go to PSU in SW. Vegan douche bag lives on the other side of the river and goes to campus in yet another section of town (about a 15 minute drive from his house). This turned out to be a heavy load of driving. In fact, within less than a week's time, I had put 76 miles on my car. I rarely drive my car. 

As it turns out, this didn't just include driving him to and from campus. He needed stops at the grocery store and several outings to find the perfect get up for a vegan prom. I didn't know that events such as this exist, but this is Portland after all. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised because I just marched in the first annual Slut Walk.

Vegan douche bag talked to me a lot about his relationships. He's had many. In fact, I'd say he's a bit of a man whore. When I first started hanging out with VDB, he talked about a couple of other gals quite a bit. He didn't say that he was sleeping around with them, but I think I'm smart enough to put two and two together. This later came up in conversation. He seemed surprised that I'd figured out it. Not only did VDB say that he was the 'perfect boyfriend', he also said he has the 'perfect cock'. His exact words, not mine. Umm . . . . why would I care if you have a rooster?

For the record. THIS is the perfect cock. 

The fact that there were other gals in the picture didn't bother me. I didn't want a relationship, only a friend. I ended up not liking what I learned from him and this is sometimes how it goes. He mentioned many of his relationships. I commented that out of my handful of relationships there's only been one that I've ever loved. VDB looks at me with an odd expression in his eyes, "And you walked away?" Considering the circumstances, I think I had to. You can't judge someone without knowing the whole story. On that note, there are two sides to every story, and this is mine.

It starts with his outing to the vegan prom. VDB tells me that he's going out with a group of people he hasn't met before and a gal who is to be his date was heading over to his place to get ready and they would leave together. I went off to a movie screening for 'Happy'. If you have not yet seen this documentary go do so immediately. This is one amazing film. At any rate, I receive a text around 9:30 from VDB asking me to come over right away. I gathered that something really awful had happened, as he was supposed to be living it up doing whatever it is that vegans do at a prom.

I showed up maybe half an hour later and wasn't prepared for what awaited me. VDB was in a fury. He kept going on and on about how he felt 'disrespected' and 'lied to.' The cause for this douche baggery kind of rage? His date was transgendered. She had had the full blown operation. When she broke the news to VDB, he decided he couldn't handle it and didn't want to go to the vegan prom with her. He left her at the bus stop.

As the vegan douche bag continued to carry on about how disrespected he was by this whole scenario, I said this, "Isn't this the line of work you're going into?" I thought it was a legitimate question. VDB took offense to this. I then spent the next half hour assuring him that I wasn't being condescending, I was only trying to understand where he was coming from. To be honest, I still don't understand his point of view.  

Then there were other things that slowly grated on my nerves. Eventually, I realized I just couldn't handle any more of his antics. I told myself that I should be patient and understanding because he was going through a difficult and frustrating time. No doubt nearly going on a date with a transgender left a very deep scar on his psyche. I don't think this can excuse douche bag behavior. I've been going through one hell of a time myself and I've never taken it out on anyone and I never for one instant think that my pain is unique. There are always things in life to be grateful for. Always.

VDB took an odd pleasure in pointing out things that I consumed or purchased that weren't vegan. Soy cheese? "Oh, look. It's got milk protein. It's not vegan." Feather earrings: "When did you buy them? Oh, it was a while ago, so it's okay." Soy caramel macchiato? "That caramel sauce has dairy." There was even a time I reached for a splenda for my tea. His response, "Splenda is bad for you." For the love of all that is sacred and holy! I do what I can. End of story. If I have feather earrings that I like to wear, I'm sure as heck going to wear them. In fact, I may even wear them to a vegan prom just to make a point.

Recycling? This is one that really got me. An excessive recycler, VDB reused damn near everything. I don't see anything wrong with this; in fact, I think it's quite admirable. This is something that I only find bothersome when someone steps into douche bag territory. VDB is a fan of Starbucks.  He reuses his plastic venti cold cups. What makes more sense to me is purchasing a reusable cup in the first place and reusing that one over and over. Not VDB; he has a small collection of these wretched plastic cups. We had stopped at Starbucks and then went to the park. I finished my dairy infused caramel macchiato with soy and went to the nearest trash receptacle to toss my cup. VDB looks at me in disgust, "Isn't that recyclable?" I peer at the cup and can't find a recycle symbol on it and then I reply to his question with a 'no.' VDB then says, "Well, just remember you're contributing to the landfill."

Does anyone know where I can find this product? 

REALLY? The fact that I was hauling your arse around to hell and back, filling up the air with so much pollution that we'd all choke on exhaust, get cancer and then bake under the sun while our lungs rupture and we all slowly die from internal bleeding was not a concern for you, but this one plastic cup is a problem? I think there is a double standard here and I do not like it.

I had a dinner at my house last week. I asked VDB if he wished to join us. It was a thank you for the most awesome TA I've ever met. She's given me so much support. I don't know what I'd do without her. It would have been lovely, but VDB let out his douche baggery in full swing. I didn't hear most of the conversation because I was busy cooking, but I could gather that he was being a buzz kill. It's one thing to be a douche bag to me, but be a douche bag to my friends and family is another thing entirely. I will then save all of your sins against you and blog about them for the world to see. Luckily for the douche bags of the world that I'm not spiteful enough to include names in my antics.

*On a side note, while at my home, I learn that the vegan doesn't care for dogs. How can a self proclaimed animal lover not like dogs? Particularly my dogs. Not to brag, but my two furry ones have won over even the harshest critics. The vegan doesn't like my dogs. He thinks they're smelly and drool. This is true, they are dogs and dogs do have these traits. I love them regardless.*

His douche baggery didn't stop there, either. Here are a couple more snippets from my encounters with the fanatic douche bag. During the process of the brief time I knew him, VDB informs me that his very good friend suddenly died in a car accident. I'm not making light of this. I think it's horrible and I wouldn't wish this kind of thing on anyone. This was all he talked about for weeks. I for one, have experienced so much death in my life that I fear I'm numb to it. I literally have no reaction at all. I listened to what he had to say. I couldn't say anything in response, because I didn't feel any of my words could be uplifting, particularly considering the emotions I was trying to sort out from recent events. VDB then says to me one day, "I don't know if you've ever experienced loss before, but you can't imagine . . . " I quite literally wanted to slap him across the face. He knew that I'd lost a good deal of those close to me at a young age. I think that's an inconsiderate thing to say to anyone,  particularly someone with life experiences such as mine. Again, I don't pretend that my pain is unique, but I do understand what it feels like to lose and grieve.

VDB wanted me to talk about an assault that occurred a while ago, but recent enough for me to still be in the midst of processing everything, trying to make sense of it, and moving on. I honestly wasn't ready for it, but I tried because I figured he was trying to help me. While I reeling from waves of nausea from even letting this unfortunate event cross my mind, VDB says, "You know, you should take back what's yours and just have sex." One can only assume that he meant my sexuality. I have news for you VDB, my sexuality is my own and I'll move on when I'm damn well ready. For now, no one touches me without permission.

Our brief friendship came to a crashing halt when he began to take everything I say far too personally and for no good reason. VDB got a new roommate. She's from Boston. According to VDB, he knows her really well . . . although he only spoke with her online and never met her in person before she arrived. When she arrived, she came with a guy who helped her move in. This really seemed to bother VDB. He was obsessed with his roommate's relationship with this guy. In fact, it's all he talked about. He continued to rant about it one morning while I'm driving and he's in the passenger seat. I say that I just assumed he was interested in her because he was so concerned about her relationship with this guy. VDB is irate. He tells me I can't assume things because it breaks down communication. As it turns out, if I had asked this in a question form, all would be fine in his mind and it really boils down to an issue of semantics.

I could care less who he's interested in. It seemed like the natural conclusion to make in reference to his new roommate  I remember telling VDB that I was meeting up with an old friend for coffee. The first thing that pops out of his mouth is this, "Are you going to sleep together?" I'm not one to be easily offended, but now that I reflect on that scenario, I think I should have been. I'm learning from these experiences; I guess that's all I can ask.

This brings me to the final and last straw. This was the same day I learned that caramel sauce contains dairy and I am a dirty sinner because I didn't recycle one plastic cup. VDB and I stopped and Starbucks and went to the park. After which he wanted to stop off at the bank. He sees a smoke shop next door and wants to look around, then another shop across the street. I'm really not in the mood for any of this, but I'm tagging along because I figured he needed company and needed to be out of his apartment because he didn't seem to care for his new roommate, her boyfriend who stayed for a few days, or anything else in his life.

We make a stop at New Season's. On our way in, we pass a girl juggling on the street for money. She drops and fumbles with her items as we pass by. VDB then remarks, "I think I distracted her." While we're in the store, VDB looks at me and says, "You must be bored out of your mind." I smile and say, "It's no big deal. You have things to do and I have a car." I really didn't mean anything by this. He gets angry with me again saying that I'm assuming he only wants to hang out with me because I have a car. Quite frankly, the thought hadn't crossed my mind until he responded to me with his channeled fury of which I was beginning to grow quite tired. 

This was my breaking point. I rarely get angry and I can't even recall a time when I cussed at another human being out of anger. I told him that he was getting mad over the most stupid f*cking things and he needed to stop. VDB said nothing. He continued walking. We exit the store, I'm walking ahead of him because I can't stand to look at his douche bag face at the moment. He leaves a dollar with the juggling girl and catches up with me.

We then get to my car. He leaves the door open and his foot hanging out. He insists he's done nothing wrong. I tell him to close the door because he's draining the overhead light and I'm ready to leave. I drive him home. He says he's trying to talk to me. I tell him that's not happening and I head home.

Tonight, I received a text from VDB saying he's sorry and we should move past this. I tell him I don't think so. I've got enough on my hands and don't need or want any unnecessary drama in my life. He then responds with this, "I sort of predicted your reaction." Who's assuming now, douche bag?

I think this is only driving the point home that I'm not ready for the dating world whatsoever. Even if it's just hanging out, meeting up for coffee and going to the park while I simultaneously burn a hole in the ozone layer because of the mileage I'm driving. I can't handle this - I have to reconnect with myself first.

I remember thinking when VDB reacted so hotly to the situation with the transgender that he was a dramatic douche bag, but kept telling myself that he needed someone with patience and understanding to help him through his tough time. No, what really happened is that my intuition was correct and I shut it out. When I finally learn to listen to myself perhaps I'll dip my toe back into the water. For now, I'm staying away from the pond.

"Your mind knows only some things. Your inner voice, your instinct, knows everything. If you listen to what you know instinctively, it will always lead you down the right path." ~ Henry Winkler