Update

Not much time to write at the moment but I wanted to pop in and say that The Pedant ended up arriving well before his deadline and we had all the sex and I got co-petted by him and The Dandy again and it was lovely.

Also, last night The Dandy and I had sex and his side seemed (as usual) sorta perfunctory so afterward I asked him if there was anything we could do to get him to focus on me like I do on him. And I explained what I meant. He ended up petting me into a complete wailing squirming stupor for the first time in possibly ever and I doubt this will be the end of this particular battle between us but it sure would be nice.

And I told The Dandy that a few times recently I have almost accidentally referred to him as my husband, and I asked him what emotions that brings up in him (he’s been married. It didn’t go well. He also told me once, in disparaging tones, that Dandette had been calling him her husband for a while, and really gunning to make it official. So I wasn’t sure if my confession would trigger an “awwww” or an “arrrrgh.”). The Dandy said “I…have been having thoughts along the same lines.”

Okay cool.

I want this relationship to be permanent (if I can get those last few wrinkles ironed out so that I’m basically happy). He’s said he wants this, too. But I guess I have a hard time believing him and need to hear it again sometimes.

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Stoopid crotch.

The thing about my clit/sex drive being dysfunctional is that sometimes I want an orgasm – in the abstract, entirely-in-my-brain way that such things happen lately – but  the only thing that’ll rev me up enough to actually orgasm is sexual interaction with another person. If I try to just masturbate on my own, my body can’t muster any interest or enthusiasm and I just give up. Not every time. But like one time out of three, maybe.

You’d think having a shitty sex drive would be freeing but instead it makes me need The Dandy (and The Pedant) more. When I was functional, if nobody wanted to actually have sex with me I’d just go jerk off fifty times. Lack of sex made me feel distant from my partner and worried for the relationship but at least I could have joy and pleasure and intimacy on my own. Now I’m following The Dandy around like a lost puppydog, hoping he’ll want to bone me sometime soon so I can finally reconnect with my own sexual side (spoilers: he hasn’t been in the mood lately and it’s been throwing my brain for a loop on, like, a hundred different levels).

I hate this.

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BREAKING NEWS

The Pedant just texted me:

Unfortunately, in addition to being held back I also got injured today. 😦

Would you mind terribly if I came over in the morning instead of tonight? Between the cuts and bruises and the long day I think I’d like to shower at home before coming to see you.

I just…I can’t with this.

First off, to be perfectly honest, he’s had something happen to him at the last minute so many times that even though this time it’s a valid issue, I’m having a hard time caring. It’s the whole Boy Who Cried Wolf thing: this time his wolf (ie reason for postponing) is actually real, but I kind of can’t feel any sense of urgency about it because I’ve been through this song and dance dozens of times already.

Second: this stupid bastard has claimed he’d come over “in the morning” maybe ten different times and it has never, ever come to pass. Like even when he’s been off work the day before and gone to bed at 10pm he somehow manages to sleep for sixteen hours and text me at 2pm like “oopsie! I just woke up!” (I’ve implored him to get checked for sleep apnea. He won’t.) – I guaran-fucking-tee you The Pedant isn’t getting home from work injured at 1am and waking up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at nine to start getting ready to see me.

Third: it’s weird that he phrases the issue as needing to take a shower before he sees me. I have a shower here. (He’s done this before, too – insisted that he needed to shower before he came over. The time or two that I said “Just come here, it’s fine, you can shower at my place” he ended up in bed with me without ever taking that shower (and smelled perfectly fine, despite protests to the contrary)). I don’t know what he’s playing at here.

I’m guessing that his flinchy language (“would you mind terribly if”) and completely unrealistic plan (seeing me in the morning) mean that he knows I hate his habit of lateness/postponing and he’s trying to let me down easy and see me as soon as possible. But damn, son, learn your limits. It’s not helpful to make promises you won’t deliver on.

OMG MOAR BREAKING NEWS: I’d assumed The Pedant meant he’d been injured while at work (he’s a security guard and has to chase down and subdue people sometimes). After all, he texted me just before noon confirming my address and buzzer code for tonight, and only texted about the injury hours later, after already having been at work for a while. Plus the wording “in addition to being held back [at work, for an extra hour or two], I also got injured today” pretty strongly implies this.

So he texted that he was injured and probably should just go home tonight and I said “Oh dear. What happened?”

His response:

I was moving too quickly in the kitchen this morning in an effort to get lunch packed, three loads of laundry done, and breakfast eaten before I left for work. I ended up tearing a piece of one finger off with a peeler and another piece off another via a cheese grater.

Wow. Okay. So he didn’t get his head slammed into concrete by a knife-wielding criminal; he’s postponing with me because he got a boo-boo on his finger.

A few minutes later, perhaps feeling antsy at my silence, he sent:

Normally I would move slower in the morning but I had to get my weekend errands run early. This will, needless to say, require having extra gloves available this weekend.

I could be wrong, but my brain translates this addendum to:

“I know you’re mad that I’m postponing, but when you really think about it, it’s kinda your fault I got hurt. I mean if I hadn’t been getting a bunch of household tasks done super fast in order to see you, this wouldn’t have happened. So I get a gold star for trying so hard, right? Also, I’m going to come up with an excuse to mention how we’re gonna see each other soon and do sexual stuff. Because we are…right? You’re not still unreasonably mad about me texting that I’ll be arriving absurdly later than planned for the two thousandth consecutive time……..right?”

Ugh.

I’m gonna tell him to come over tomorrow, but not in the morning, ffs – in addition to that being unrealistic for him, it inconveniences me.  I’m as nocturnal as he is and a chronic insomniac and I’m really done with setting my alarm for stupid early (by my standards) so I could let him in, only to have him text me hours after he was supposed to have arrived going “uh sorry but I’m just waking up now.”

I will tell him to arrive between noon and three and if he’s not here by three then just don’t come.

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Angry

The Pedant is coming over tonight. He told me he was working til 10pm and so he’d be here at about 11pm. I’m glad he’s coming straight from work because it’s the best way for him to arrive on time; he’s less likely to get distracted by something shiny or whateverthefuck. When he plans to come here from his place, it becomes an unending clusterfuck of sleeping in, not knowing where he put his keys, realizing he needs to eat something before he goes but then oh nooooooo he set a small fire in the kitchen and had to deal with the aftermath*, going to run errands along the way that each take longer than anticipated, etc.

Last night he texted me saying “it looks like getting to your place after work on Thursday is going to mean getting to your place much later than expected. Like, after 1am that night. :(”

Of course it is. Of fucking course. I didn’t ask why; I’m sure he’ll give me some long, droning explanation once he finally arrives. He seems to think he has valid excuses. At this point I wouldn’t consider anything but work-related stuff or an incident that required dealing with cops/firefighters/hospital staff to be valid. Like if he were normally on time but then he was late once because of a sort of inane thing, that would be fine; I’d brush it off. But he’s late every time and he knows that I hate it so WTF.

Anyway, I’m up til 3am most nights lately anyway, so if I thought he’d actually get here at 1am (if I ever thought I could rely on him to be on time at all…) that would be totally fine. But The Pedant either has no idea how long anything takes or he deliberately underestimates his ETA in the beginning so he only sounds a little late and I won’t be mad (spoilers: I still get mad. Does he think I’m not gonna notice the twenty consecutive “whoops just a little longer” texts that happen after?) so I figure I’ll be seeing him around 4am or so. I told him to come to the front door and buzz when he gets here so I’m not fastened to my phone all night waiting for the “I’m here, come let me in” text. My phone doesn’t always sound an alert when I get a text, but the phone hooked up to our door buzzer is loud and reliable (and makes the dog bark, so there’s no way I’d sleep through it). Maybe this time I can finally just abandon myself to doing whatever I feel like and not watch the clock/watch my phone. Doubtful, but hope springs eternal.

Hey, just for shits and giggles, let’s make some lists!

Things The Pedant Has Asked Me to Do in Preparation For Seeing Him:

If we’re going to be at my place:

  • Shut the cats out of my room for several days prior (allergies)
  • Set up and turn on my air filter, replacing/washing the filter parts first if needed
  • Sweep the bedroom floor
  • Wash and dry all bedding to remove possible cat floofs
  • Have the bed set up for bondage
  • Have all relevant toys washed, dried, and laid out close at hand by the time he gets there

If we’re staying at a hotel:

  • Surf a discount website looking for a good deal on a hotel within the geographical area he’s specified as being most convenient for him
  • Book the room on my credit card (he’ll pay me back half later in cash, though possibly much later because he’s forever having money mishaps/mismanaging his funds)
  • Pack all necessary toys (washed and dried, of course)/restraints/condoms/extra towels
  • Haul everything to the hotel and check in
  • Set up the bed there with the under-the-mattress restraint straps I bought at his request
  • Lay all the toys out close at hand

If we’re staying in one of the “guest suites” in my apartment building:

  • Go down to the office and book the suite
  • Run to the bank and purchase two money orders to give the office: one for the cost of the suite itself (he’ll pay me back half later in cash, though possibly much later because he’s forever having money mishaps/mismanaging his funds) and a $250 money order for a damage deposit; this remains in the office until after we’re done with the suite and then I have to try six times to get it back because the particular lady in the office who handles that keeps not being there when I go down
  • Pack all necessary toys (washed and dried, of course)/restraints/condoms/extra towels
  • Go to the office on the day of our visit, pick up the suite key, inspect the suite to make sure it’s been cleaned and everything is okay
  • Haul all my shit down there
  • Set up the bed in the suite with the under-the-mattress restraint straps I bought at his request
  • Lay all the toys out close at hand

 

Things I’ve Asked The Pedant to Do in Preparation For Seeing Me:

  • Leave his house in a timely manner

Yeah. He has one job. And he consistently fucks it up.  Worse than that, he has actively refused to take concrete steps to be on time. He said that taking those steps would make him feel “resentful.”

For my part, I’ve had entirely too many chronically late people in my life so at this point the feeling of preparing diligently to see someone only to end up waiting around for them for hours makes me wanna stab someone. So I’ve been making The Pedant carry my suitcase full of sex shit down to the suite for me and set everything up once we’re there. But I feel like I kind of have to do the other stuff. He doesn’t have a credit card so he can’t book hotel rooms, and he doesn’t live in this building so he can’t book a suite. And if we stay at my place I’d be kind of an asshole if I didn’t make a reasonable attempt to de-floof the room.**

In fairness, when he’s been around, The Pedant has often chipped in on food without me asking or taken me out to dinner. He’s done tech support for me, too. And he bought us a collar, a leash, a gag, a blindfold, and a vibrating cock ring to play with, which somewhat offsets the money I’ve spent on toys/condoms/lube. But I still feel like shit is kind of uneven and I suppose I’ll have to have a talk with him.

 

*This actually happened (all of the things on that list of mishaps actually happened at one point or another, sometimes consecutively). And maybe I’m just oversensitive and unreasonable from years of The Pedant being late for almost every single plan we’ve ever had, but my feeling is, put the fucking fire out, leave a note for your gf about what happened, and GTFO. Don’t putter around cleaning everything before you leave. For the record I honestly believe that if The Dandy had another partner and I came home to a melted pan and some soot marks or something and a note/text that said “Sorry but I really had to go meet so-and-so, I’ll deal with my mess later” I wouldn’t especially be mad. Like, as long as the stove still had at least one burner that was functional and accessible in case I wanted to cook myself something.

**Here’s what gets me, though: The Pedant never even told me about his cat allergy until a couple years in. In the meantime he’d been staying at my place and I don’t ever recall him seeing congested or sniffly or sneezy, and the apartment I was in then was much smaller, so the cat fur was more concentrated than it is here. Plus I wasn’t taking any precautions to de-floof anything (I washed the sheets if I’d fucked someone else on them but that’s it). So I’m not sure why he suddenly started asking me to jump through all these hoops.

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Another thing

One time, when Dandette was still living here, The Dandy’s mom was visiting and started trash-talking some of his other family members. Dandette’s met them so she was able to legitimately roll her eyes and empathize and all that. I was just a spectator.

But yeah. The Dandy got on the subject of this one aunt who exasperates him by kind of taking a few running jumps at her sentences before managing to get momentum; she’ll start to say a thing, then back up to the beginning and start again.

“But…you know you do that, too, right?” I asked The Dandy.

Everyone fell silent. The Dandy’s mom was unreadable. Dandette was smirking, so I think she was having an “OMG someone finally told him” moment. The Dandy did his silent and belligerent thing and then changed the subject.

He does do it, though. He’ll be like “So today I was – so today I was making dinner and I went, I stepped out of the kitchen for a second, and when I came back I – while I was gone, while I was gone Bastardcat jumped on the counter and stole a piece of steak.” That’s actually a somewhat mild fictitious example. Sometimes he’s winding up five or six times at the beginning of a sentence. The weirdest thing to me is how often he really does just rewind to the beginning and repeat the exact same words. Why is he stopping mid-sentence like he needs to revise his words but then just saying the same ones a second (third, fourth) time?

So, just like with Minx (albeit Minx drew everything out in a different way) I’m losing my damn mind waiting for The Dandy to finish a thought, but I don’t really feel like I can tell him he’s driving me nuts because then he’ll probably feel self-conscious every time he talks and the issue will just get worse. And I’m sure there are things I do that drive him nuts, so maybe I’d better not pull at that thread. But gawwwd.

…Y’know, I think when he’s interrupting me he actually does speak straightforwardly and doesn’t stumble and regroup fifty thousand times. I’ll have to pay more attention to know for sure. But his blurtings seem very spontaneous and it makes sense that they’re just falling out of his face without him thinking about them too much. When he’s thinking before speaking, I suspect that’s what gets in his way.

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Another Dandy thing

This one’s not a thing my dad did, just a general annoying-as-fuck thing, and I probably mentioned it before: when The Dandy is enthusiastic about a subject, he’ll interrupt me. Constantly. And it drives me fuckin’ crazy.

One time (during a neutral interlude when he wasn’t speechifying at me) I asked him if he knows he’s interrupting me but just plunges on ahead anyway, or if he genuinely doesn’t notice me repeatedly taking a breath and starting to speak. He gave one of those nothing responses, either rambling a bunch and then afterwards I realized he hadn’t answered my question or else going silent and belligerent, I forget. Actually I think he went silent but smirked, that time. Like he was acknowledging that his behaviour was almost comedically terrible. But anyway he didn’t answer my question.

But yeah. I absolutely hate how he does this. HATE.

Last night, a friend posted a meme on Facebook that talked about how much taxpayer money was spent on that recent royal wedding when, not long ago, an apartment building in the UK burned down because it wasn’t properly fireproofed and the government said there just hadn’t been enough money in the budget for that. (Or something. I don’t really follow this stuff.) I don’t know or really care about the subject, particularly, but two guys on that thread started arguing about it to just ridiculous proportions – they got to the point of slinging childish insults at each other, many of which were disparaging toward women – and the mutual friend who’d posted the meme was a woman. So I trolled these guys a little bit to kinda throw them off their rhythm because I thought they were being douchebags.

So I go into the bedroom to tell The Dandy about this – mostly to brag about the expert way I needled the two arguers, but also to rant about how they were saying shit like “take your Midol because you’re acting crazy.” I even specifically prefaced my story by saying that I don’t care about the “blarrrrgh how dare the royal wedding be so expensive” thing.

The Dandy interrupted me mid-sentence to say “I don’t think the wedding would have been paid for by taxpayers’ money, though. It’s not like the Royal Family gets a salary from the government or anything. They’re tax-exempt, so they get to hold on to the money they already have, but that’s about it.”

Again: I don’t really follow this stuff and I don’t care a lot. But I’m sure I read somewhere that the queen of England does get a salary of sorts. Like, a few million bucks a year. So the complaint from the meme seems pretty valid.

So I said to The Dandy, “Actually, I read – ” but he burst out with more verbiage essentially rehashing what he’d already said. I waited for the next pause and said “Actually – ” and he brought forth another mighty blast of verbal diarrhea that completely drowned me out. I tried to make my point two or three more times but The Dandy kept fucking railroading me and finally I gave him a death glare and just plain left the room. If he’d asked me where I was going, I would have straight-up said “You’re clearly not in this to have an actual conversation; you just want to hear your own voice. And you don’t need me around for that.” But he didn’t say anything. I think he knew exactly why I was leaving. Of course, he didn’t apologize at any point. He acted conciliatory with me later that night – announcing that he was going to bed and telling me, with a faint air of sheepishness, that if I came to bed, too, he’d pet me to sleep. But he never actually addressed what he’d done and said he was sorry. God forbid.

In some ways it’s even worse when he interrupts me and we’re not in a political debate or any sort of passionate conversation. Because, like, the amount I have to fight to be heard doesn’t feel like it justifies whatever stupid casual remark I was trying to say.

The Dandy and I have watched all of The Santa Clarita Diet on Netflix, and enjoyed it. The redheaded chick who plays the daughter on the show is in this other Netflix series, Drama World, that I watched a bunch of by myself one day a few weeks ago while The Dandy was at work. I really like the actress and looked her up on IMDb to see if she might have been in anything else I’ve seen and I just didn’t realize it. I learned that she’s Australian. I’d had no idea – her American accent sounds completely flawless to me. So that’s a neat bit of info!

So The Dandy came home and went on a little tirade about his shitty day at work. I commiserated like you’re supposed to. He seemed to be winding down. Eventually there was a good fifteen seconds of silence. And I went to casually mention “I found out today that the daughter from The Santa Clarita Diet is actually Australian!” but just as I started to talk, The Dandy burst out with more words. I can’t remember if it was more work stuff or random observations or what. I reacted to what he’d said. He was quiet for another 20 seconds or so. Then I tried to say the thing about the actress again and he interrupted me again. And in case I wasn’t clear before, he never ever acknowledges that I’d been speaking. It’s never “AND ANOTHER THING – oh sorry what were you gonna say?” – that would also be annoying, but less so than him just talking right the fuck over me without looking back.

“That chick from The Santa Clarita Diet is Australian!” is not life-or-death info. I’m aware of this. I wasn’t, like, sooooo insistent that he know this piece of trivia that I’d decided that telling it to him was the hill I would die on; if he’d started a whole new thread of conversation I would have let go of the thing about the actress and gotten involved in the new topic. But The Dandy didn’t start a conversation, per se. He would burst out with one discrete statement that required minimal participation from me (“So I’m thinking beef for dinner” type thing) and then he’d fall silent and I’d try to bring up the actress thing by way of small talk and just as I was starting to speak, he’d burst out with yet another discrete statement. And this ended up happening five or six times in a row. And it would feel so stupid to start an argument about this (“FUCKING BLOODY HELL CAN YOU SHUT UP FOR TWO SECONDS SO I CAN TELL YOU THAT THE REDHEAD FROM THE SANTA CLARITA DIET IS AUSTRALIAN JESUS CHRIST”), because the thing I was trying to say was so utterly trivial. But it still sucks to be talked over, y’know? And he’s done it when I was trying to say important stuff, too, so it’s not like I’d only be yelling about not being able to dish out a piece of celebrity trivia. I’d just be yelling about the latest incident of being repeatedly talked over like I wasn’t there. But still.

I decided to give up trying to talk whatsoever, about anything, until it really, truly seemed like the Dandy had blurted every thought out of his head that he possibly could. It would have been nice to have a pleasant conversation with him; I do enjoy his company (usually) and he’d been gone all day. But clearly he was still agitated from his day or whatever and not able to settle in and interact with me like a human. So I gave up.

He actually didn’t say anything else after the last time he’d interrupted me. We sat in silence for five full minutes, probably longer. I turned Netflix back on to watch more Drama World, and the title screen came up with a picture of that redhead, and I thought that since The Dandy seemed all talked out at last, it might finally be safe to say the fucking thing about the actress.

I took a breath, gestured toward the tv, and said “So, the – ”

And The Dandy blurted out “What are you watching?” thus cutting me off. Again. HOW DOES HE CONSISTENTLY MANAGE TO START TALKING HALF A SECOND AFTER I DO. LIKE HOW DO YOU EVEN TIME THAT SHIT OUT SO PERFECTLY.

And I snapped “Oh my goddddddd.”

The Dandy mistook my reaction to mean something else; I can’t remember what he thought. But he was like “What? Did you something something something?”

And I was like “No, I’ve just been trying to tell you this stupid fucking thing about how this actress is actually Australian for the past ten minutes and it’s getting frustrating, is all.”

So hey, I suppose he doesn’t notice that I’ve started talking, otherwise he would have known precisely why I was so irritated.

But yeah. I’d say shit like this happens every two days on average. And it’s just so ridiculous and infuriating and I don’t know what to do about it besides walk away or physically clamp my hand over The Dandy’s mouth until I finish saying whatever I wanted to say.

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Dandy things

I hate my dad but I keep ending up dating people who are like him in some way(s), either because my interactions with my father were my first interactions with a man and therefore became a sort of blueprint, or maybe because humans are infinitely complex and literally everyone has one or two things in common with my dad. I don’t know.

If my dad came home from work and it wasn’t immediately obvious to him where my mom was, he’d walk through the house anxiously calling out to her until he found her. I found that odd and hilarious, like he was perpetually expecting her to have packed up and left him while he was gone (maybe he was in fact expecting this. Certainly he would have deserved it). I’ve even told this story to The Dandy, who agreed that it’s weird. But it turns out he does the same thing.

We have two bathrooms. The one that isn’t connected to The Dandy’s bedroom is the default room for pooping since smells are more easily contained there. The door blocks the hallway when it’s partway open, though. and The Dandy tends to close it when the room isn’t in use. A few times I’ve been in there shitting and lo and behold, The Dandy stands right outside the closed door and says “…Cowgirl?” in this tentative, weird voice. And I’m like “……..yeah….?” not thrilled about being disturbed, and he goes “Oh, okay. I just didn’t know where you were.” Why didn’t he simply figure it out (silently) by process of elimination?* Why does he sound so scared when he’s saying my name? What even is this?

He’s done this a few times when I wasn’t shitting, too – just in a different room than he expected me to be in. Why he got alarmed and went looking for me instead of thinking “Oh, I guess she’s not in the last room I saw her in anymore, because sometimes human beings go into other rooms for stuff” I don’t know.

The Dandy also does this thing where if he’s in the kitchen doing anything and I pop in there even for a second and he has to accommodate my presence in any way, he starts making huffy annoyed sounds. My dad was even worse for this – he once came into the kitchen to get a snack while my mom was cooking us dinner and huffed because she was momentarily in his way – but still. I try not to get in The Dandy’s way when he’s doing kitchen stuff – especially since it’s clear he really wants the space to himself when he’s in there – but I live here too and sometimes I want to get a fucking glass of water while he’s loading the dishwasher and not feel like I’m the most horrible human alive for daring to enter the room, y’know? Plus in my dad’s case, he had a violent and terrifying temper so the huffing was often just the first step on a path leading to him screaming in my face or shoving me into the wall. The Dandy isn’t the bad-temper type but the heavy, annoyed sighing thing puts my whole nervous system on high alert automatically. I talked to The Dandy about his huffing earlier today. I don’t know if he gets it or if anything will change.

 

*Instead of interrupting MY process of elimination. HEY-O!

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