Incommunicado: The Art of Bad Relationships

Okay, let’s be honest. How many times have you said one thing to a partner but were thinking something else? Have you ever actually had the thought, or worse, said, “Could you just wait until the [game, show, decade] is over?” during a conversation? Have you ever been accused of not listening?

I know I have. The question is why? Why aren’t we honest, upfront, and real with the partners in our lives? Is it because we get bored? Do we actually lose interest? Are we all just a bunch of douche-bag-idiots determined to screw up our own lives?

Or is it something else?

Being single, I’ve had hours to ponder this question (nothing, and no one, to do will do that to you), and I think I may have discovered a reason, or at least a reasonable excuse, as to why we do this in matters of love. It’s the act of dating, or early courtship, that screws most of us up!

Why dating? Simple. All of us manipulate ourselves to better fit our perceived ideas of what the other wants in a partner. We hide, lie, or hold back the truth about the things we don’t like about ourselves. We push the things that unite us, and stuff those that don’t in a dark closet with the rest of our secret desires, our unfulfilled wants and needs, our unmentionables. We do it easily, and often, and we call it compromise. But, in reality, what it is false advertising. It’s the human equivalent of infomercials. Sure, it slices, it dices, it squirts mustard with the push of a button, but after a year and 4 uses, will you feel it was worth it? Did you really need something that only fulfilled part of your needs? Do you miss the things you stuffed in a drawer to forget?

This is what we do people! We start off not communicating! We don’t offer-up the real me because of the fear that the other person won’t like the real me. We hide our true selves just to have parts and pieces of us loved. Sometimes we do it to just fulfill a physical need. And we do it over, and over, and over again, because we know, we just know, that no one would want the real me.

You know you do it. We all do. Even the best of us are completely screwed up. And the reality is that this unfortunate flaw is built into the very core of our being. We will never change. We will always have difficulty communicating. But it doesn’t mean we have to do it blindly. It doesn’t mean we have to hide everything. It doesn’t mean we have to be afraid of being ourselves.

It means we have to be as much of our real selves as possible. It means we have to let others be as much or their real selves as possible. It means knowing yourself. It means being honest, telling the truth, and dealing with things when they do come up in as rational a manner as possible.

It means communicating.

Still single and unable to talk to girls,

Scott

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The Poop Schedule — A Question

Okay, this may seem a little weird, but I’ve been noticing a trend at work lately. It seems to me that most of the men at my work take craps there!

Why? Who wants to crap on a toilet that’s not theirs? Who wants to sit in a cold stall, possibly surrounded by other people, and do their business? Not me! I schedule my visits!

And then it hit me, I bet they’re crapping at work so they don’t have to crap at home. Is this because they’ve been asked to do it elsewhere by their loved ones? Or are they doing it because they’re nice guys that don’t want to stink it up?

What do you think?

Ladies? Are these guys doing their business at work because of their wives and girlfriends? Have you ever asked a boyfriend or husband to do this? Would you?

Guys, have you ever been asked to do this? Do you do this? Why?

Still single, especially when nature calls,

Scott

Date Night Jitters

It’s 1:20 pm on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, the apartment is clean, soft jazz is playing in the background while the cats lounge in front of the balcony door chattering at the birds eating at the feeder. There’s not a cloud in the late summer sky, the thermometer reads 81 degrees, and the forecast is for a high of 90.

It’s 1:20 pm, I haven’t showered yet, I’m smoking like a chimney, and watching the clock. I tried watching football, briefly worked on some writing I have to do, and have even done some last minute strengthening exercises. Nothing works. I still hear it, the “Click! Click! Click!” of the clock. No matter what I do, I hear it. “Click! Click! Click!”

This is a problem, you see, because my clock is digital, doesn’t display the seconds, and doesn’t actually make a sound. I hear it though, none the less. “Click! Click! Click!” in my head it goes.

“Click! Click! Click!”

I’m keeping time…

“Click! Click! Click!”

…going nuts…

“Click! Click! Click!”

…second after relentless second.

“Click! Click! Click!”

The plans are set. The place and time agreed upon. It’s actually going to happen…

“Click! Click! Click!”

…if I don’t go nuts first.

“Click! Click! Click!”

We’re meeting at 5:00 o’clock for drinks at the Island Cafe. It should be perfect. A floating, outdoor-patio bar with fancy tropical concoctions, fish and chips, and beer. The faint breeze off the harbor and the shade of the umbrella should keep the temperature pleasant while the sun sets in the West. We can watch the ducks in the harbor scrabble for each fry we toss them. We can watch as the power boats, yachts, and occasional kayaker go putting by. We can talk.

“Click! Click! Click!”

But it’s only 2:00 and I still haven’t decided what I’m wearing.

“Click! Click! Click!”

I’m leaning towards the clever and funny “Zombie Love” t-shirt and shorts.

“Click! Click! Click!”

But will she appreciate the zombie homage to our first conversation, or will she think me weird for wearing something with bloody zombie heads on it for our first date?

“Click! Click! Click!”

Maybe I should wear something black and slimming?

“Click! Click! Click!”

At least I got my hair cut last night and don’t have to worry about that.

“Click! Click! Click!”

But I still have to put product in my hair.

“Click! Click! Click!”

Spiky or flat?

“Click! Click! Click!”

Combed or stylishly mussed?

“Click! Click! Click!”

It’s still too early to shower.

“Click! Click! Click!”

I need a smoke…

“Click! Click! Click!”

Single and suffering… still,

Scott

“Click! Click! Ring!”

It’s 2:15 pm, my phone just rang, and clicking of the clock has stopped. It’s my date. An emergency with a friend. Babysitting. Sorry. We just have to laugh at this point. Monday or Tuesday after work? I promise it will happen. A text tomorrow to figure out the day. Sorry again.

The soft jazz is still playing. The cats are sleeping. In my head…

silence…

a little sad…

a little relieved…

a lot funny.

I wonder if Travis still has that tee-time reserved?

Do I Have “Sucker” Written On My Forehead?

Oh, no. I’ve gone and done it again! I’ve joined yet another online-dating thing! And this time I’ve gone completely batty!

I just joined e-harmony!

What have I done? Why do I feel a need to put myself through this?

Why am I allowed to carry a credit card and use the internet?

Why? Why? Why?

Still single . . . and now e-harmoniously desperate,

Scott