Friday, July 07, 2006

You Can Tell My Sugar is Better...

... because I'm swearing a lot in my blog posts again.

The Beat Goes On: Or, the Protagonist is An Idiot Who Can't Commit (and should probably be committed)

"The easiest kind of relationship for me is with ten thousand people. The hardest is with one." - Joan Baez

As regular readers know, things have been fucking crazy here at Hacienda Chicago for the last, well... year, year and a half. A while.

I've been crazy and spastic and greiving and exhausted and sometimes, occasionally, hung over (though that won't ever happen again. Which is such an odd thing to think: I'll never be drunk again). Earlier this year, amid all the madness, Jenn and I decided to try and date. We've known each other for six years and been living together for three, and after we both ended rather disastrous relationships, it seemed to make perfect sense for the two of us - who got along so well - to date.

I'd been pretty exhausted by my last relationship, and the August end-date for mine and Jenn's (she'll be getting a teaching job; I'll be heading off to god knows where) gave me a really good excuse to keep up my emotional walls and keep going at a three-months-into-it level of commitment throughout the long haul.

Problem is, you get three or four months into it, and discover that the relationship you thought you'd gotten into wasn't the one she thought she'd gotten into. Because maintaining a three-months-into-it level of emotional intimacy only lasts, well, three months.

Then you need to decide if you want the relationship to grow, of if you want to continue keeping your desperate stranglehold on it.

My rules and boxes, all those things that made me feel "safe" inside of the relationship, were stifling it. And I had to make the choice of whether to give up on all those constraints that made me feel so safe, or end the relationship. Because if you can't trust that you and your partner will have each other's backs forever, you really shouldn't be in a relationship.

I trust Jenn with pretty much everything. The woman fucking saved my life; I know that when the shit hits the fan, if I ever need her when the world throws a punch, she can handle it.

It's not her I don't trust.

It's myself.

I don't trust my judgement in people. I've had too many people turn on me the minute I decided everything must be OK. And I've continued relationships far longer than I felt was right because I figured, "Hey, relationships are hard. I just need to WORK HARDER."

And, you know what?

There are things Jenn deserves in a lover that I can't give her. And I love her to death, and I want her to be happy. And if you're a decent fucking person, you'll walk away when you realize it isn't going to work. That's what you do. You don't try and keep your stranglehold. You don't try and change them.

You realize there's something fundamentally fucked up about the way you view relationships, and you stay away from people until you figure out what that is and how you're going to fix it.

I mean, there's all the romantic baloney about hey, maybe if I just meet the right person, things will be magically fixed and I'll be able to commit! But that may not be the case, and I need to face that possibility. It could just be that there's something fundamentally broken inside of me. I don't know.

What it likely means is that this was not the right place/right time for this particular pairing, or that something was just off. It just wasn't quite right, and I don't know why, and I can't articulate it. I just felt ending it was the right thing to do, and I feel like a lowly piece of shit for doing it, because it was, ultimately, a happy relationship. It was my first non-fucked-up relationship. I can look at it and go, "Wow, I learned so much about what it is to have a real relationship."

But there's something I'm missing in this whole "relationship" thing, because I don't think I really understand what relationships are. I mean, I would run into a burning building to save Jenn or my buddy Julian. I love them a lot. Would I have run into a burning building to save B? Or the psycho ex? No, I would not have.

But then, if you asked me, what's the difference between people who are your friends, and people who are your lovers? I would stare blankly and say, "Um... we have sex?"

And then you'd say, "Sooooo.... what's the difference between a relationship and a fuckbuddy?"

And I'd say, "Well, committment. Monogamy [I'm old-fashioned that way; other stuff doesn't work. Believe me. I know]. Love."

"Soooo.... what's committment?"

"Well.... when you say, `we'll be together X long, or until X.' And, to me, X can be an arbitrary date or a "until you hit me" or "until you disrespect me" or "until one of us no longer loves the other one" or "until you cheat on me" thing. And, to me, that arbitrary date sounded like a really great safety catch. Problem was, it also encouraged me to be all stoic and amazon-like and remind myself every day that soon, I was going to be alone. I wasn't going to have someone around forever. I needed to be able to take care of myself."

Because, you know, even if somebody never leaves you or hurts you or cheats on you, everybody dies.

People fucking die, and they leave you.

Everybody leaves you eventually, and you have to be prepared for that, and for me, for someone who so clearly fucked up in the longest relationship I ever had, way back when, I know what sort of person I can become if I rely on someone too heavily, if I get used to the idea that somebody else is going to fix everything. And, you know, to be honest, not only do I never want to be that stupid person again, but now that I do actually love the partners that I'm with, I never want to be that kind of a burden on them.

And you know, with the whole diabetes bullshit, that's a really terrifying thing. I was already terrified about being dependent on anybody, and waking up in a hospital, realizing that I'd so totally fucked up in taking care of myself, was just a huge blow. I don't trust myself to *not* want to be taken care of, for somebody to hold me every stupid night and tell me everything's going to be all right. Because I'm afraid that if I want that, I'll get used to that, I'll get dependent on it, and I'll become this burdensome woman who cries on somebody's shoulder every stupid night, and how unattractive is that?

"Hello, my name is Kameron Hurley and I'm committment-phobic. Every time my partner says, `let's think about forever," I cut and run."

Because you know, I have this little engine inside of me. I have this story. People come up to me and say, "How did you change your life?" or "Where do you get the courage to do what you've done?" or "How did you go from being sedentary to *not* being sendtary?" They ask me where my drive comes from. And I tell everyone the same goddamn story: for almost three years, I was someone I hated. I was in a relationship with somebody who wanted to keep me more than he wanted to love me, somebody who was more interested in being in control than in being partners.

I hated who I was. I hated what I looked like. I hated being full of fear.

And so I decided to change it.

And every night for a year I went to bed and closed my eyes and envisioned who I wanted to be, the things I wanted to do, the life I wanted to live.

And that life that I created in my head, in that life, I was all alone. I let go of this romantic wishy-washy notion of having this really cool partner who was my best friend and wanted to run off and have adventures with me. I let that go, because in order to have everything else, I felt I needed to give up something. And I chose to give up the romantic ideal. I chose to give up the forever-fairytale fantasy.

And that's worked for me for nearly ten years. For almost ten years, I've lived the life I wanted and did the things I wanted to do, and when confronted with someone who says, "You know, we could be those ideal romantic buddies. We could motorcyle around Rome and drink red wine in Cape Town and you'll speak Arabic and I'll speak Chinese and we'll have a little house by the ocean and fill it full of books and have drunken dinner parties and learn to cook Thai food," I think, "No, no. You can't have everything. That's impossible. I'm either on my own or I'm owned."

Because I was in a relationship, a "forever" relationship, that lasted a really long time, and he said he wanted those things, said that was the life he wanted too, and he was full of shit, and instead he joined the Marines and spun out my whole life for me, as if I'd already lived it: drunk and barefoot and pregnant, living in shitty Marine base housing and being shouted at and talked down to every day for the rest of my life so he could feel better about himself, so he could feel superior to somebody.

I'm not going to do that again. I'm not going to make a mistake again. I'm not going to be that person again.

I run on rage and anger and fear, and that's what powers me through everything: through grad school in foreign countries and lightless days in Fairbanks and broken pancreases and boxing classes where I feel like I'm the most uncoordinated person in the whole room. It pushes me past all my other fears: of looking stupid, of acting like an idiot, of dying, of being maimed or raped or used and thrown aside, because there is no more frightening place than where I've been, no more frightening future person than the one I used to be.

I link that person to "forever." I link that person to, "I will just relax now and assume I'm not going to get fucked over."

The safe place to be is, "I just won't let myself get hurt. I'll keep everything controlled and contained. I won't get attached." The safe place is, "Well, I don't need to get too attached, because it's not like this is Forever."

My Story has gotten me through a lot of shit. It's powered me through some really dark times when I went back to thinking I was a worthless idiot, no better than a wad of spent chewing gum. It got me through.

So to give up that story, to say, "Well, I can be the person I am and still do Forever," is really fucking scary. It's too much, and it involves me trusting myself - and my partner - to such a ridiculous degree that it's nearly impossible.

It's something I fear giving up. It's something I can't give up - right now, anyway.

But it's something I know I need to work on. The alternative is serial monogamy. The alternative is possibly finding a partner where everything *does* work, and giving up because it's too fucking scary.

Even admitting that it's something I know I need to work on sends my heart racing and my palms sweating. It's the most terrifying thing I will ever do, if I ever do it. It means confronting that base fear, the fear that drives me, the fear that I'll become the person I hate the most, that all of these things are tied together, that if I give in and say, "forever," it means I become a bawling submissive who flinches every time her partner looks at her.

I don't want that. I don't want to be that. I don't want to confront that. And I've gone nearly ten years not having to, not getting to the point where someone said, "No, really, this is fucked up." Or, at least, not understanding what they meant.

Jenn has called me on it. And I know she's right. Her and I may not be the best fit for a number of reasons, but if I'm ever going to have any kind of relationship that lasts more than three months, I need to confront this fear. I need to have some faith in myself, and in other people.

Cause, as Jenn taught me, not everyone is a fucker. And - most important of all - as my buddy Ian said: If I can't commit because some asshat I dated back when I was 18 scared me away from having a life partner, then, well, "He wins."

And, you know, if there's any other rage that can drive me as powerfully as the one that's gotten me through these last ten years, it's the idea that he wins.

This is my life.

I can make it into anything I want it to be. And I need to figure out how to do that without giving up who I've become.

The Bitch is LYING: Or, Dan Savage is a Fucktard

So, say you had this friend. You find her very attractive. She happens to be married and has four kids, and she takes you into her confidence and admits that her husband is an abusive fuck who's raped her, abused the kids, and threatened to kill her.

What would you do?

1) tell her that's really awful, and give her the number for the local women's shelter

2) run away with her and the kids and kill her husband for her

3) tell her she's a lying ho, because any woman who stays with a fucker who says they're going to kill them would be stupid, cause that makes no sense, then laugh in her face and break off the friendship

If you chose #3, you and Dan Savage will get along just fine!


Maybe I'm just shocked that the girl of your dreams—the girl of any man's dreams—would be a married woman with four children

Because women with kids are soooo not sexy.

and what may be the worst taste in men this side of Denise Richards.

Ah, you stupid women! Alwasy choosing fuckups! What's wrong with you?? Men never choose fuckups. Just hos. And that's different. That's about sex and clean kitchens.

Can this angel-on-earth pick 'em or what?

What a stupid ho! How can you like this stupid ho! I mean, no decent woman ever found herself in an abusive relationship with a fucktard, and any woman who is isn't worthy of love, obviously.

She married a bordering-on-homicidal asshole and now she's sneaking around with a bordering-on-homicidal dumbass, a guy so stupid that he would threaten the life of his lover's husband in a newspaper column.

And it's all her fault that you guys are bordering on homocidal. What a ho!

Have you bothered to confirm your lover's story?

Cause the bitch is LYING! Obviously. I mean, if a guy came up to you and said he'd just been mugged, why would you believe him? He's obviously just trying to get some sympathy in a vain attempt to get you to track down his mugger.

Your letter makes this woman's husband seem perfectly monstrous. In fact, he seems a little too perfectly monstrous.

Because most men are Really Nice Guys. There are no fucktarded guys in the world, just as there are no fucktarded women, except lying hos.

Have you entertained the possibility that you're being fed a massive load of shit, LIFE?

Bitch be LYIN'!!!!!!!!

Some cheaters invent elaborate tales of woe—the frigid shrew of a wife; the abusive husband—because the cheater wants to have her infidelities and her victim status too.

Because the very first thing every abused woman wants to do is run out and tell everyone that she stays with an abusive fucker! Because she gains so much self-respect when she says that out loud. "Hi, world! I'm too scared to leave this fucker who's hitting me because he says he's going to kill me, and the police won't help me and I don't know what to do."

Oh yea, I've heard that one a MILLION times from lying hos out to "get attention." There's nothing cooler than faking your own bruises and wearing frumpy sweaters in a vain attempt to appear pathetic!

It's incredibly empowering.

So, LIFE, before you run off and kill anyone: Have you checked her story out? If your lover's husband was tried for rape, then there are records out there somewhere—trial transcripts, newspaper articles. Have you looked them up?

Oh, YEA. Because if you REALLY want your abusive psycho husband to leave you alone, the BEST THING TO DO is make rape charges! He'll be out on bail the next day, then stalk you with a butcher knife and cut your head off because you made him "so angry" that he just couldn't contain himself! And if you're EVEN LUCKIER he'll plead the "crime of passion" defense and get off with a year of prison time and then go off and marry some other woman he thinks he can bully around.

OK, my chiklits.

So, let's say you have this friend who's told you all about this abusive fucker she's dating. What advice would, say, somebody like ME give you?


Sweet jesus on a fucking stick. Do not fuck this woman. If she's stuck in this relationship, she probably has low self-esteem and very little confidence, and hopping from one guy (or girl) to another with no break in between means you're going to be dating the same person who just got beat down for god knows how many years, and she needs to deal with that. If you're really her friend, if you really love her, you'll give her AT LEAST a year to get her shit together.

AFTER she's left the fucker.


Give her some numbers for women and children's shelters. Inquire about her relationship with her other family members to see if she can lean on them. Show her how to fill out financial aid forms.


When I was shacking up with a fucker in Bellingham, my friend Jen B. came up and visited for a weekend. I was feeling increasingly terrified about my relationship with the fucker I was dating, but every time I thought he was out of line, I made up little stories about how no, really, he didn't mean that. He was just under a lot of stress and pressure and that's why he called me shitty things and said I was stupid, and that was why, after a while, I started to believe me. I mean, I must be a pretty shitty, stupid person to stay with him.

Then Jen B. came up, and when the fucker went out to get something, turned to me and said, "How can you let him treat you like that? I had no idea things were this bad."

And it was like this huge weight fell off my shoulders, because I realized I wasn't crazy, I wasn't making it up, somebody else saw it too. Because when you're in a relationship with one person who's discouraged you from having any friends and you never get out, well, you start to believe that what they're doing and saying is totally "normal." Because in your close-knit little world, it is.

Don't tell her she's a liar. Because you'll just reinforce what she thinks about herself, and she'll stay with the fucker even longer.


Her shit is her shit. Encourage her to take up quilting or kickboxing or take pottery classes or karate classes, but don't tell her you're going to save her or fix her or make everything better. Only she can do that. You can help her, sure, provide the information she needs to change her life; direct her toward those resources. But you can't do it for her.


Because that's just fucking stupid, you fucking retard.


Well, if you followed my advice in step one, this won't be a problem, will it, you fucktard?

Give Them Something to Live For

"Do you want to know how to eliminate terrorism? I'll tell you. In fact, I'll tell you about something that no one else knows. Something that has never been written about. You will be amazed, but it is true. Listen."

Woman, be a patriot! Marry yourself off for the cause!

On the one hand, giving people something to live for will stop them from doing crazy shit; or at least slow them down. As someone who does a lot of crazy shit, I can tell you that realizing how much my death would piss some people off, I do occasionally have some second thoughts now, like: well, it's not just me I'm living for. It impacts a lot of other people (sometimes I wonder if this is another reason why I have trouble with longterm relationships. I mean, if you're really partnered forever in an interdependent way with somebody and have kids, going bungee jumping might be a little irresponsible).

On the other hand, shipping in women and asking them to screw for the cause is a little weird. But then, it's not like they were forced over there or forced to get married, and you know: a lot of them probably wanted to get married, and hey, what a dating service!

In any case, it's a good example of thinking outside the box. Instead of fighting violence with violence, well... there are other options, and they're a lot more effective than smart bombs.

(thanks, Jenn!)

Ah, the Joys of the Dayjob

Nobody gets their lame asses in here before 9am on Friday: the HR Manager and the Design Center Director both have every Friday off, and nobody's fucking been to work this whole week, cause when we're slow, everybody's encouraged to take their vacation time, including our ever-punctual receptionist.

So I walked in this morning to a dark office and the security alarm going off. One of the junior architects had come in just after 8, set the thing off, and had no idea what to do about it.

I turned it off, security called, and I told them not to call the police, gave them the password that went with my verification code, and hung up. It's apparently a $100 fine every time the police show up and there's not an actual emergency. We know this because my own boss, Blaine, used to set the goddamn thing off all the time.

What a fun way to start the day.

Of course, nobody being in the office also means I get to screw off even more than usual today.

Fucking sweeeeeet.

I've got "The Women of Our Occupation" edits to do.

EDIT: Yup. They called the police. A fun visit from Johnny Law! Yay!