My previous post was about the first woman that I ever dated via an online site. I called her Lydia.
The thing about Lydia — she had a lot of rules, or so it seemed to me.
As stated in my previous post, the first sign of this fetish reared it’s neurotic, anal-retentive, control-freak head shorty after our first date when I did not — and I roughly paraphrase — ask her out in the proper way at the appropriate time. I got quite the tongue lashing over this point, and not the good kind either — Lydia’s tongue was not pierced, though quite effective all the same…oh, no he didn’t! ….oh yeth he did <snap>! Why I didn’t run quickly in the other direction, as most everyone agreed that I should, I do not know. In any case, lesson learned.
Example: when another online connection (this one via OkCupid) went ballistic on me over a simply joke via text, I cut off all connection toot sweet.
General rule of thumb: anyone you meet via an online dating site is severally damaged and should be considered at least an emotional/psychological threat until proven otherwise.
Another one of Lydia’s rules — no talking while watching TV or a movie. And I mean none. Now, anyone who knows me knows that is about as possible for me as sneezing with my eyes open. Shit ain’t going to happen. And didn’t. Which eventually earned me a : “Don’t you ever just shut up and watch the movie?”
If I were to ever meet her family there was plenty I could not say and could not do. One thing in particular was I could not denigrate, criticize or otherwise speak ill of the University of Michigan, especially the football program, because her brother was such a big, serious fan. Apparently he was one of those pretentious pussy UofM fans that simply can’t comprehend, much less abide, that someone might not be a blue and maize fan. Again, this was not going to happen I went to Eastern Michigan In Ypsilanti, a stoner’s throw away from the blue and gold heaven, and not as a stepping stone to The UofM either. So by definition I was not a fan and prone to knock the place a form of penis envy. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to needle this wolverine-loving prick because I never met her family. And I feel all empty inside because of it too.
According to Lydia’s rules I was not allowed to ever complain or gripe about my ex or the results of my divorce but she could bitch to high heaven about anything under the sun that happen to put her panties in a bunch. And trust me her panties were plenty bunched much of the time.
Also according to Lydia I was an idiot, a fact that she pointed out at every opportunity. It began a a kind of joke, a sarcastic quip, but eventually it simply stopped being funny. You know, like when a little kid tells you the same joke over and over again and expects you to laugh but you just can’t because it’s not funny anymore. Well, in addition to this standard tag line of Lydia’s losing it’s humorous appeal, it simply seemed mean. I politely suggested one night that she might want to come up some new material. She did not take it well.
I remember saying to her one time while we were at dinner, “You have a lot of rules, you know that” I was only half serious. Still, it was true. And she glommed onto that statement and threw it back at me eventually. Franky, I think she was constantly parsing my words for later ammo.
It always seemed as if she was looking for reason for to skuttle the relationship from the get go.
I have to see if I can stand your company….
I have to figure out if you’re cheap….
I have to know if you’re smart enough…
I have to decide if your suitable to introduce to my family…friends…etc.
and on and on.
I kind of felt like science experiment to this woman. He approach to a relationship was very… I don’t know…very not just analytical, but cold and calculating, almost sociopathic. Not that ever felt in danger or anything. Although perhaps I should have. Hmm.
In the end, I think there was something fundamentally sad about Lydia and her little life in her little condo that she’d been living in, alone, for going on 8 years, even though when she bought it she figured she’d only be there 3 or 4 tops. I remember her telling me that when she bought the place there had been some conversation with someone about her future in the place, to which she replied: “If I’m still living here in 7 years, kill me, please.” And I remember thinking, lady, in a lot ways you’re already dead.