Just recently I read something on Huffpost called “28 Reasons It Pays to Have a Feminist Marriage.”  You know how some people make lists of what they are looking for in the ideal partner?  I have never really had one.  I have been more of a “I’ll know it when I feel it” kind of girl.  That all changed when I read this post.  It’s my list.  It actually dawned on me that I might be able to answer the never-ending question of “why are you still single?”  Because I haven’t found anyone with qualities from this list yet.

The idea of relationship parity, ditching traditional gender expectations, no mansplaining, no “boys will be boys” excuses, intellectual conversations, great sex – really great sex for both of us – no jackhammers, no taking care of him and not her, re-defining monogamy….so many concepts that are incredibly sexy to me.  Had I settled down 20 years ago, it’s highly likely I wouldn’t have much of this because I wouldn’t have known I wanted it.

20 years ago, I was trying to figure out how to make a man like me because that was the goal.  That’s how girls were brought up.  I wanted someone strong, someone who could manage finances better than me, someone who could protect me and defend me.  Those things haven’t changed at all but how I define them certainly has.  Back in the day, strong was something I looked at physically.  I loved big tall, beefy guys – bouncers and bartenders.  Now, strong is far more of a mental and emotional parity – with grit and loyalty.  And if he cries, that’s actually beautiful and precious and intimate.  I can handle it.  Protecting me has gone from being able to keep me from being stepped on at a concert to someone who defends women’s rights and considers my opinions & feelings as important to how he responds to his “bros.”

The discovery that my sexiest guy would be heavy on the feminism lights me up with intense optimism that being single all these years just means I had to wait for this type of guy to become part of mainstream society. I know now I just wouldn’t have been able to make it work with anyone else.

Yet, he is still remarkably hard to find.  I think there were probably many women way ahead of me on this and a lot of these guys have been snagged.  To find a single one in my age range is very rare – except for these poly-amorous and ethically non-monogamous types which isn’t my thing.  Dating websites are rife with Trump supporters, gun supporters, “old school” guys (their words, not mine.)  Not to be mean, but no wonder why there are so many available – not exactly the most desirable & a dying breed if you are a New England, progressive girl like me.

This week, I edited my dating profile to say “feminist leaning guys are sexy AF (stealing a little game from the A-Rod/JLo first date text convo.)  I find it’s more specific than where the profile previously said “no Trump voters.”  I have found that many men can not have voted for Trump and still be less than desirable.  Regardless, making this edit is scary.  It dries up the well of opportunity considerably.  Being 43 and wanting to be married eventually is hard enough…adding feminist to the order may make it something I can never have.  Sad…isn’t it?  The thought that because I might want my husband to do some laundry too is reason enough for no one to ever want me.  And yet I hope….

Yesterday I had 2 ridiculous online interactions.  One was with what seemed to be a cool enough guy – musician; which my friends all seem to believe is the ideal man for me.  I am less specific – creative & cerebral are good enough and cover a greater swath of options.  He asked me to go to a show with him last night at the last minute & it fit into my schedule so I said I would.  An hour later, he deleted our conversation and disappeared.  Wimp.  I almost went to the show anyway just to make a point.

Then there was the married guy who messaged me & even said he hoped I wasn’t judgmental…that at least he was being honest about the fact he was married and not getting what he needs from his wife.  I would normally have just deleted it without response but I unleashed.  I told him he has no business on a dating website while married just because he isn’t feeling desired enough at home.  I told him I am sure his wife feels the same way and that he should either fix it, go to therapy or get a divorce.  I further explained that women don’t exist solely to please him so that he can just assume a single woman would be delighted to get involved with him.  He hasn’t responded.  Not a surprise.  Shame on him and every other married guy who is out looking for another option rather than addressing the one option he chose until death.  Confront the problem or leave the problem.  Those are the adult choices.  If you are adult enough to get married, you are adult enough for couples therapy or divorce.  End of story.

Every time I think I have discovered what my next journey will be, I am pleasantly surprised when it forks.  At an age where I should probably consider “easing up” my expectations to reduce the risk of dying alone, I am upping the ante by looking for the ultimate feminist male because that adventure is the one that will work for me.  I guess I am saying that dying alone would be better than dying doing a man’s laundry.

Last night, as I was leaving the gym, I saw one of the other members getting into a very nice, $30k Jeep.  I know the cost because I have looked at them a million times realizing not only can I never afford one myself but I couldn’t even afford the gas fill-ups.  So my dream jeep just isn’t in my deck of cards.

It got me thinking, though, how on earth does this young millennial afford it?  All I ever hear about is how expensive it is to be a millennial.  They have student loans to pay off.  They can’t even afford to move out of their parents’ houses because the debt is so stifling.  Employers talk about how to attract and retain their talent while recognizing they may need to entice them with student debt benefit programs.

I don’t want to be yet another clichéd Gen X adult piling on against the Millennials but I am going to do it anyway.  I will also do it with the disclaimer that I have several Millennial friends I deeply respect who don’t even come close to the generalizations I am about to make.  They are so hard working and responsible that I sometimes think my parents could have raised them.

Since when is student loan debt new?  I had it when I left college and I paid it off.  At one point I even defaulted and had to work through that and its impact to my credit alongside other bills I struggled to pay on time.  But I was doing it while living in an apartment with roommates where I paid rent and utility bills.  I worked full time because that was the only way to have health insurance.  Back then, we didn’t get to stay on our parents’ health insurance until age 26.  I used to think it was great when that changed but now I think it’s an enabler.  If you don’t have to get out and survive on your own, why would you?

We lived in crappy apartments on questionable streets at times.  We stole toilet paper from Dunkin Donuts on occasion.  We ate a lot of zucchini when my dad would grow it and give us a bunch because it was free.  Even when we drank, we bought super cheap Boone’s Farm wine – 1 bottle each because it worked the same as buying a much more expensive 6 pack of beer.  To vary up our wardrobes, we traded clothes rather than buying new stuff.  A couple of us worked at the same place in order to carpool and share gas cost rather than multiple bus fares.  We didn’t open up credit cards.  We paid for everything with earned cash.

Cell phones, I don’t have the latest iPhone.  I can’t afford it.  It’s not a priority, nor should it be for anyone living at home with their parents and paying off student loans.  Vacations – I paid for them.  My dad usually slipped me a $20 but the rest was on me and had to work within budget.  Oh yeah, and I was still paying off my student loans.

My first car – Rent-a-Wreck.  It cost $1300 and came from a lot of very poorly running cars.  I used bumper stickers to cover the rust spots.  It used to just shut off randomly when I would be on the highway.  Not a gradual slowing down but just a complete shut down and drift from whatever lane I was in to the breakdown lane.  I quickly became familiar with AAA and towing resources.  When it came time to trade up to something a little more reliable, I had to donate it because it had no trade in value.  It wouldn’t be until my 30s when I could buy my first brand new car and that was a Toyota Corolla  – one of the cheapest on the market.  I upgraded to a VW Jetta for a few years but when it became clear I wouldn’t be able to afford its upkeep, I traded it in and bought another responsible, cheap, Toyota Corolla.  And I have been student debt free for more than 15 years now.  Yet, a $30k car is not in my cards so I don’t have one.

When it came time to buy a house, I did get assistance from my parents in that I was able to live with them in order to save up for a mortgage.  I had also moved back from across the country with a dog who was heavily breed restricted from renting in New England so they really helped me out.  But they didn’t give me $.  My mortgage down payment came entirely out of my pocket.  One might argue living rent free was them giving me $.  Maybe so.  But there were other costs to me that far outweighed finances.  This time period was not the good one with my dad.  I absolutely “paid” for that time living with them & was in therapy once a week during that time.  I spent a lot of time commuting and working late to limit our exposure to one another and when I was home, spent most of my time in my bedroom.

I bought my house all by myself.  Major life goal.  I never wanted to be beholden to anyone else financially.  I wanted my debt to be my debt alone.  I wanted my cash to be my own.  I wanted to know I could take care of myself on my own.  And I went through student debt.

I don’t know why we want to cushion the millennials so much from the hard realities of what it costs to live.  Protecting them doesn’t change reality.  The only reason they are tolerated is that their power comes from volume – not any particularly stellar behavioral traits.  They get what they want because there are so many of them.  They do impact the work force and economy so we have to shrivel up our values and wipe their brows from the sweat of needing to pay their student loans as if they are the first people to ever encounter one.  And let’s face it, many of them have deferred the costs to their parents.

I don’t know why they haven’t been taught a tighter definition of what it should mean to “live.”  It means you get a job you may not like.  You work hours you may not like at first.  You start off at low pay.  You hate your boss and still go to work.  You pay your bills.  You settle for an older version of the iPhone.  You drive a used car.  You get your own health insurance. You move in with roommates – not your boyfriend at age 22.  You limit the credit cards or at least get one with a low range so the debt can’t be insurmountable.  You visit your folks for dinner on occasion and appreciate the free meal.  You hit the bars during Happy Hour.  You do road trips with friends when you want a long weekend trip.  You go to work when you don’t feel well.  You buy generic cereal.  You do your hair color from a box you buy at the supermarket and you trim your own bangs.  You go to the $10 a month gym with the meatheads.  You don’t quit your job when you stop liking it unless you have a new one to go to.

You don’t go to a gym with a $100+ a month membership and hop into your $30k jeep, check your iPhone 8 and drive home to your parents who are probably the ones paying your student loan, car payments and phone bill.  You eat ramen and pay your student loans like the rest of us did.  You question your career choices at some point.  You fantasize about what else you would do if you could just walk away….except for mortgage, car payment, cell phone bill, health insurance keeps you tethered.  You envy what others have sometimes as you drive your basic car.  You adult.

I have written over 50 blogs for My Misfit Life.  I think my original intent was to be fun, maybe a little tongue in cheek sometimes.  I wanted to highlight dating, travel and the everyday musings of a 40+ single woman, head of household in a married, corporate world where I plain just don’t fit in.  In fact, the more I embrace and act on who I am, the wider the gap grows between my world and the one I mortgage in.  Despite intent, I have let myself meander through any topic which moves me whether it be funny or dark.  I am ok with that.  I appreciate where this writing has taken me and the fact that it comes to me so quickly.  20 years of writer’s block is terrifying.

I have debated about whether or not to write this piece today because it has no tidy end.  It has questions I am afraid to ask and answers I don’t want given to me.  But it is destroying my insides and I have to do it.  I lay bare the most complicated of my feelings and cannot wimp out even when it cuts as deep as this.

My father enjoys antagonizing his children, mostly my sister and me.  Dinner table topics frequently incinerate the family when dad throws a match on the gasoline of our vulnerabilities.  I have celebrated this for years because it makes us smart.  We have learned to craft well researched arguments and form opinions based on education.  We are ridiculously smart.

I watch him light my sister up which is super easy to do.  She cares about so many things which run contrary to many of his Baby Boomer ideals.  Despite that, he is super supportive of her and her family dynamic.  He doesn’t get into LGBT politics but he will get into anything else that fires her up.  Even still, it’s not actually a direct attack on her.  More like watching a fire a few houses down.

Somehow we got on the topic of George H W calling Trump a blowhard and I made a joke about that being George’s way of detracting attention away from the discovery of how he likes to grab rear ends from his wheelchair.  My mom said, “well, he’s just old.”  I told her that’s a convenient excuse we make to dismiss poor male behavior and she agreed.  My father piped in about it not being that big of a deal and wondering why anyone would say anything about it now.  I tried to explain that while it’s certainly not Weinstein level, it’s a woman trying to add to the dialogue of how we have allowed rape culture and harassment to be so pervasive and how so many people have just looked the other way over the years.  No one is suing HW, just airing out something he had been doing for years and allowed to do all this time.  It’s an important conversation to have.

I then said I am glad all these stories are out.  I want them to all come out.  I want to hear at least one new one a day regardless of the magnitude and who it’s lodged against.  I want it all out so we can break the system and start over.  It’s my version of “draining the swamp.”

What possessed this response, I will never know but he actually asked me what some of the women meeting Weinstein were wearing.  He went on to explain Hollywood women dress a certain way and what must they have been wearing?  I stopped dead and looked at him with this response “I can’t believe you are saying that to me of all people right now.  Not one thing a woman does or doesn’t do will ever justify a man touching her or saying something disgusting to her or intimidating her to keep/gain a job.  Nothing.  Nothing ever.”  And yet, it didn’t stop.  He continued to try and defend his point.  He agreed with me in principle but went back to Hollywood being different and these women having another angle.  I said that it is disappointing that there is a minuscule percentage of women who may misrepresent things for attention but it should not take away from the legitimacy of the 99.9% of all the stories out there, including the ones we don’t hear.  Our voices were raised enough that Fergus barked at my dad.

I don’t know how this conversation ended.  I think I actually left my body at that point.  My father sat through not 1 but 2 rape trials of mine.  He listened to that story twice.  He heard me get torn apart in court for having depression and for being a creative writer.  He heard me get asked the questions about what I was wearing or why I opened the door or what I must have said.  He listened to me have to explain why I didn’t press charges right away.  This conversation was a direct assault in my yard…not a fire a few houses down but one directly at me and who I am because of something that happened to me which wasn’t my fault.

It’s no secret that my father and I have a really complicated relationship.  He hasn’t always worn a cape in my stories.  But when I sum up all the parts of his life which have broken him or robbed me of a real dad sometimes, I still think he’s beautiful, amazing, remarkable and a hero.

I’m sorry.  I don’t think I can write anymore on this.  I have no closure.  I am shaking and crying in between sentences.  And I don’t want to give words to how this is making me feel.  Is no place safe anymore?

2:29AM text: “I am home safe.  Maybe we can meet next time I am there.”

My German friend was in town for a few days this week on business.  He lives and works in San Francisco right now but Germany is home.  We try to meet up for a drink when he comes out.  This week was tough because of Halloween and bad timing.  I waited at a bar for a little bit hedging my bets he’d get out of his meeting on the earlier side but I was just totally exhausted and had to call it a night.  I was halfway home when he got out of his meeting.  Figured he’d be annoyed with me but he understood.

What struck me with this text is his need to tell me he is back in San Francisco safely.    I don’t know him that well but it’s important to him that someone know where he is.  I imagine with no family in this country and maybe just friends from work, he must occasionally worry that no one would know if something happened to him.  I’m glad he at least has me to text so he can experience someone caring.

I get it.  I have that same feeling every night I go out.  When I get home, there is no one to tell that I am safe.  If something bad happened to me, no one would know.  It would likely take a few days before anyone wondered.   I am someone people might look for every 5 or 6 days.  That’s a horrible feeling.

I have a “proof of life” thing I do on Facebook where I post a funny photo when I get in so my friends know I am ok.  But that only works if I post that I am out to begin with.  I am pretty consistent about doing it when on dates, out at bars, concerts or traveling.  But what about all my errands?  Or simply getting home from work?  No one would know if I didn’t get home safe.

When you live with other people – have connections – then someone knows.  Your husband, your kids, your roommate – they know when you don’t come home.  They worry.  They text you.  They know when to worry and what to do.  They care.  Maybe they care because they want you to make dinner which is displeasing to you.  But if they are hungry, and you are not there, they are prompted to wonder where you are.

For the unconnected, how often do you think about this?  Does it factor into decisions to go out or stay in?  Does it prevent you from traveling?  Does it make you feel lonely?  Or, do you have a plan in place to survive your day so you can get to your empty home?

It has been so long since I have been on the kind of date arranged by friends or a guy simply asking me out after meeting me at work, a bar, a bookstore, an event – anything which included physical presence of two beings – that I honestly can’t recall the last time I was asked out face to face.  If I had to guess, it was probably 20 years ago at least.

Back then, I had the internet but the only electronic communication I had with guys was via email after we had already met and shared email addresses – which was rare.  My “cell” phone was a car phone so no text messages.  The one time my boyfriend was super late, my landline was dead because I hadn’t paid the bill so I had to go down to the car, turn it on and plug in the car phone to call and check up on him.  No GPS telling me where he was en route.

I had a landline and an answering machine.  Before caller ID, I had no idea if a guy had tried to call me if he hadn’t left a message.  With the advent of caller ID, I got clued in to early male insecurity by being able to see the same guy calling several times without leaving a message.  I tended to walk away from those guys.  I guess by not returning the calls or hiding when they came knocking at the door, I was participating in an early form of “ghosting.”

Google had very little information on actual people I knew so if someone had a “problem,” I was doomed to find out in person just by getting to know him and having to trust what I was being told.  I learned how to extricate myself from potential relationships the awkward way – face to face – or, again, hiding out of window site.

Now, everyone I meet is someone I can screen via dating profile.  I can tell right away, from photos, which guys don’t interest me at all:

• Smokers – they have sallow skin and a little darker contour under the eyes
• Guys in tank tops of any kind for any reason
• Shirtless dudes
• Guys standing next to their cars, holding their fish, holding their gun, sitting on a tractor
• Usually wearing any camouflage
• Overly beefy, gym photos
• Long beards in the shape of poop or that look like pubes
• Guys who are wearing sunglasses in every photo
• High school glory day throwback photos and comments
• The typical Alpha dude.  I can tell by what they write.
• Group photos where you can’t tell which guy it is and you are sure the cute ones must not be him.  You almost want to message and ask if the friends are available…or worse, their sons.

Swipe left…

Then, the ones who haven’t been immediately disqualified due to overtly apparent mismatch, I read their profiles and look for sentiments like “no drama” which hints of overall emotional immaturity.  Or recently single, divorced or separated which means they want to “get out” but aren’t really ready yet.  I am not a rebound girl so they don’t interest me.

I look for a little originality in profile write-ups which shouldn’t be hard but it really is because every profile sounds the same “love hiking, camping, fishing, laughing, country music, my friends and my kids.”  Everyone does.  Boring.

I could go on as to how I filter through but feel I can at least get precise enough to have a pleasant first date even if there only is a first date.  I have never been in a situation where I felt I had to sneak out of a restaurant.

But is this a good thing or a bad thing?  Have we over orchestrated our lives in the electronic world?

This weekend I met a guy at a local bar.  Turns out he was a smoker which wasn’t ideal but he was nice enough.  I figured we’d have a couple beers, share a pizza and call it a night.  But the bartender put on “Flock of Seagulls” Pandora and the 80s hits came left and right.  We both knew them all and found out we had been to a ton of the same concerts over the past 30 years.  And then he pulled out a picture of his Pug.  I have a pug too!

We were having so much fun he suggested we walk down the street to his house, light up the fire pit and listen to great music.  I agreed.  Perfect thing to do at the Cape on a Saturday night.  I met his pug and fell in love with her immediately.  We talked about getting them together for a dog date.  We lit the fire up and played a bunch of obscure Cure b-sides, more obscure than the actual B-Sides they put out with “Standing on a Beach.”  We just couldn’t believe how much we had in common and how much fun we were having together.  I called it a night early so I wouldn’t make bad decisions which I have the tendency to do around midnight.

He texted me that night to tell me how much he enjoyed the night and that we should do it again to which I agreed.  He said we should meet up next Friday which was perfect for me.  I’d head out as soon as I dropped Fergus off at the house.  About an hour later, he texted and said “screw that, why not skip going home tonight and let’s meet at 7:30 for dinner?”  Problem was, I was already home after my 2 hour drive, which I told him.  He then responded and told me our dating site has GPS and said I was still in Brewster so I shouldn’t lie about not wanting to see him again.  WTF?  I don’t know why my profile hadn’t updated but I was seriously at home running the dishwasher and reading US magazine in my sweatpants in Tyngsboro.

So, that’s over.  I get that we all look at that stuff.  I have.  But you don’t admit it!!!!  Even, “scorched earth” me knows not to do that.  Creepy!  And, he used that to accuse me of lying which I wasn’t doing.  If I don’t want to see someone again, I am perfectly capable of expressing that like a mature adult.

Believe it or not, I have created some rules for myself about leveraging technology with dating.  I actually do not try to find them on Facebook while we are talking and seeing each other.  I want to find things out the old fashioned way – conversation and questions.  It’s really fun when you randomly find out what you have in common.  I love the “high five” and “fist pump” dating moments.  Conversely, it’s just daunting to know something you may have learned ahead of time the “creepy” way because if you drop it in topic, he’ll know where it came from.  I have a hard enough time keeping their names straight.  I cannot handle the responsibility of trying to “unknow” things.  I am a terrible liar.  And deceit is just not a great starting point for a relationship.

If things don’t work out, then I have at it online because I get curious.  After all, that’s how I found out my world traveler has a wife, my weak spine guy has a greater desire for attention than me and if I am better or worse looking than the ex.  I also keep any mention of “live” dating off social media altogether.  They only get mentioned when they are “dead” and turn to blog fodder.  I won’t do that to someone I actually know and am trying to cultivate trust and privacy with.  Ah…you see, I am not all exhibitionist all the time.  I am deeply protective of privacy in certain cases.

Had I not been accused of lying about my whereabouts on Sunday, I’d have a date lined up for Friday night with a guy I would eventually be letting down easy face to face – that we would probably be better as friends but mean it and stay in touch.  It’s unfortunate to lose the potential friendship because together, we were a total blast and had the whole bar involved.  I miss having friends like that.  All my friends live at least an hour away so I don’t get to do that very often.

Overall, HUGE fan of the electronic world and the doors it has opened for me socially and creatively.  But where is the line when we do too much harm to ourselves when we “stalk” each other to skip past the awkward conversations, the challenging conversations or miss out on the fun conversations – the possibility conversations?  Are we so afraid of one another’s lives and past lives, we won’t venture outside the electronic realm and risk real connection, messy connection?  Are we so afraid to be seen with someone we fear won’t measure up to what our friends expect of us?  Are we so terrified they have one secret we could never accept?  By having the proverbial “everything” at our fingertips, are we risking the loss of everything real?  Are we better or worse?

I have a couple topics rattling around in my head for today – most recently a fun fling one with a twist I had planned to write today.  This was also a day I planned to take no breaks and just plow through getting a lot of work done.

I cannot stick to script today.  For reasons outside my province, I cannot share what prompted my choice but I do it with full on vigor, conviction and love for everyone else who has one of these stories.

Thursday was “Therapy Thursday” last week.  After my recent discovery that I am damaged beyond repair, I decided to share with my doctor three of the four 10 ton bags I carry with me where I feel shame.  Immense, paralyzing shame.  Yes, I have been in therapy my entire life and not shared these three things.  But they are the three things I feel ashamed of and responsible for.  Whenever something bad happens to me, I believe it’s karma for these things.

I shared them with my doctor as my last resort before walking into a church and just confessing them to a priest because, while not currently religious, I feel like that’s the only way to move on – name my sins and make my atonements.  But it’s really not that simple.  I don’t actually have anything to really atone for after speaking to a certified professional.

I was sexually assaulted at the age of 21.  I knew who he was.  I let him in my home and my bedroom.  I was only looking to talk.  He was looking for something else.  What happened wasn’t right.  It wasn’t something I wanted.  But I was going to live with it and keep it to myself because I must have led him on somehow.  Somehow, this had to have been my fault and everyone would have said that because I let him in and we had slept together before.

Until, coincidentally, I found out I was working with two other women he had sexually assaulted.  Suddenly, I took it as a personal responsibility to prevent him from doing it again because if he did, it would have been my fault for not reporting it.  Together, we all filed charges and went to court.  My case was strong.  He was convicted.

Until he got out on appeal several months later.  We went to court again and this time, lost.  I was ok with that because I had done everything within my control at that point.  It was the court system which failed us.  Not me –  I hadn’t failed us.  (Talk to me about my hatred for the state of New Hampshire and I joke it’s about the Republicans or the carrying folks, the Walmarts and the folks who think leaving the state is way too long a drive or their inability to prepare for snow removal.  These things are silly but it’s their court system, their jury build which angers me.)

The things which were spoken of me by the defense, a really obese man named Sven – those things took hold of me for many, many years following.  I had been diagnosed with depression so me making this story up must have been a symptom of that.  I was an English Major and creative writer so it was my overactive imagination leading me to make this story up.  I had let him in my home and had to have known why he was there.  We had had sex before so why would this have been any different?

Truth – I have exaggerated for attention because of depression.  It wasn’t depression that made me do it, exactly.  It was more like I didn’t know why I would be depressed because I couldn’t think of a reason for it.  To tell someone you are depressed but have no reason why is like it’s not true.  At least in my circles.  You had to have had something bad happen to you in order for your brain to not work right.  So, I found other ways to point out a problem.  People thought I was crazy, rightly so, in some cases.  But I wasn’t.  I just wasn’t in full control of the way my brain processed situations and sometimes I could be juvenile, spiteful and attention getting even if it was the wrong kind of attention.

Because the assault happened during this time where I second guessed my mind and knew I was capable of shameful things, I have spent the past 2 decades actually trying to talk myself out of my story being real.  I told myself I must have exaggerated or that I was forgetting something.  I have told very few people about it in the past 10 years because I try to pretend it didn’t happen so it doesn’t continue to be part of “my story.”  Plus, I have more than enough other shit to influence late night beers, overeating, one night stands, and some other lovely unmentionables.  I didn’t need any other fabric for the quilt.  It’s already king size.

Thing is,  my story is real.  I did not exaggerate it.  It would not be questioned today the way it was 22 years ago.  It was strong then.  It would be Pope mobile bullet proof if it happened now.  I allowed myself to admit this at therapy with my doctor who thinks the only crazy thing I did was try to convince myself I made it up in the first place.  Somehow it was easier for me to water it down and second guess myself and then eventually try to erase it than it was to continue carrying it.

For the first time in 20 years, I felt free.  I am not afraid to admit to it anymore.  I own it.  It did happen.  It happened exactly the way I said it happened.  And it was wrong.  Even though I feel bad a person went to prison, if you can believe it.  I think that was the worst part for me.  I felt worse for him than I did for me and his victims.  I just wanted him to stop raping women.  I didn’t think about how that would be done.  It was hard for me to see that consequence.  That doesn’t mean I lied or exaggerated.  It means I am a compassionate human being.  I am an empath.  And I was still assaulted.

I have no idea the statistics of women being assaulted right now while I write this.  But I do know they will be shamed.  They will be asked what they were wearing or if they had been drinking.  They will be asked why they are on dating websites and meeting up with strangers.  They will be asked if they said “no” or could have led him on.  Their medical records will be reviewed and their anxiety or depression will be unearthed and used to discredit them as stable, sane witnesses.  Heaven forbid they are artists or writers – they will be accused of having more tools to fabricate elaborate untruths.

Some will come from upper middle class families and a jury will favor the disadvantaged rapist more because he comes from less and so do they.  His family isn’t in the court wearing suits like hers.  He isn’t as articulate as her on the stand.  He doesn’t have the education she does. Victims will be expected to fear going to trial.  The defense team will hire private investigators to follow them around looking for anything else that can embarrass or discredit them.  Their families will be threatened by his family to drop charges.  They will fear their own family members taking on vigilante justice.  They will be assaulted over and over and over again by society, by the legal system, their fears,  their nightmares and their desire to re-write the narratives.

It’s one thing to post #MeToo online in overall solidarity, which I have done and believe in.  There’s a whole different context when a fresh victim is sharing a story with you and the words that fall off your lips are “me too…”  when that’s all you have.  It just never ever stops.  What will it take to make it stop?

I am not sharing this story to make you feel bad for me.  I don’t need that.  This isn’t about me.  This is about rape.  This is about rape culture.  This is about all the victims after me.  How many stories need to be told?  How many stories need to be hidden? How many “me too” responses do there need to be?  1 in 4.  Look around.  Look around you right now.  That’s right.  1 in 4 of those people has a story that would make you vomit if you have any compassion.  Look at them.  There is nothing about them that differs from you or your loved ones.  Nothing they did.  Nothing they conjured up.  Nothing they solicited.  No safety warnings ignored.  Now do something.  Make this change.  Make it stop.

Men are taking a beating today as more and more sexual assault/harassment stories come out about Harvey Weinstein and victims of sexual violence and harassment across the world are updating Facebook statuses to say “#me too.”  Yes, so many men and even women deserve more than a beating for their behavior.  Every time I think of an example of when it’s happened to me I think I am done making my list until another incident pops into my mind.  It’s disheartening to see how many of my crew are impacted.

On the other hand, I want to tell you a little about what I call my “Man Village.”  You hear all the time about my big group of gal pals but I don’t talk much about my boys.  They are worth mentioning.

This won’t be an all inclusive list and isn’t going to span any other moment in time outside right now.  There have been others along the way just as critical and they may circle back in and out over time.

Bud.  Bud’s as complicated as it gets.  Once the love of my life, then person who broke a piece of me that I still struggle with fundamentally- he is the dearest of friends in my life.  I was not always great to him either and I did some pretty vile things he has accepted and forgiven.  That’s actually a major crux of our friendship now….the forgiveness piece.  It has been powerful and redemptive…allowing me to free myself of some heavy baggage I needed to toss before I would probably ever be truly open to appreciating myself and being able to have genuine relationships with other people.

In whatever shape or form, Bud has been my compass for the better part of 20 years.  He was the one who flushed my fish down the toilet when I couldn’t do it.  He was the one who sat on my balcony with me when I found out the man who had assaulted me had committed another crime.  He is the one who let me cry that night and that was the one and only time he ever told me I was beautiful.  In fact, he is the only man who has ever said it whom I can believe.  He was the one I called when my male massage therapist made me uncomfortable.  He answered my collect call from Block Island and spent hours talking to me on a pay phone while I smoked like 10 butts.  He reads my posts/blogs and suffers the knowledge of the ones that he figures are about him during not so great times.  He never says a word.  Never complains.  Never comes back at me with my flaws and sins.  He lets me have my art.

He’s my Game of Thrones guide.  The guy who tells me when other guys are just being dumb.  He puts up with my odd drunken texts/pictures from concerts because he actually knows and likes most of the music I listen to.  He checked in on my mental health after Trump got elected even though we have some differing political opinions.  He knows the worst things I have ever done and he doesn’t judge me.  He lets me know how easy it would be for him to do the same things.  His life with his wife and children make me happy for him and gives me hope for myself someday.  He is just simply my compass, my “Bud.”

Then there’s Dave.  You know the guy who has a crush on you when you are dating his friend but you are too self absorbed to notice?  That’s me and Dave and a pattern which has repeated itself a few times 20 years later.  And when you finally catch on and think you could be in the same place, he very logically tells you that because of your dog you aren’t compatible.  The best part is, it has only taken me a month to be able to laugh at that which is the beauty of Dave.  He made it a very solid point to keep the friendship alive and bought me chopsticks in China.

Dave is the guy who picks up the pieces from the other guys.  Kind of like cleaning up after elephants at the circus…an incredibly thankless job.  He doesn’t patronize me and tell me another guy will come along.  He doesn’t tell me I am overreacting to calling myself severely damaged.  He actually gets what I am saying and tries to help me figure out a way to make it liveable.  He’s an engineer.  He has an entire skill set I completely lack.  But I have the light and silly and live out loud emotions he needs a little more of in his life.  And while we have differing opinions on God, he actually understands the religious components to what causes me such intense inability to forgive myself for transgressions going all the way back to my single digits.  Yes, these are the kinds of conversations we can have over Mexican food and beer.

Dave also takes care of me.  Literally.  On multiple occasions I have over imbibed with him.  Partly because I suck at judging my booze since gastric bypass surgery and mostly because I can trust him with my life.  He would never in a million years take advantage of my inebriation for personal gain despite probably wanting to and likely having trouble sleeping knowing I am only feet away on his couch.  Instead, he covers me with a blanket and rubs my feet until I pass out and then makes sure I am up in time for wherever I need to be in the morning.  He’s the kind of guy who could make my parents sleep better at night.

He has been a New Years date, invited me to join a work outing with his friends, the guy who will pull over so I can puke behind a dumpster, my confidante and the guy who is teaching me how to use chopsticks once and for all.  Everything Dave does is far more generous than anything I could give in return.  Again, because I am self absorbed and damaged in so many ways.  I am guessing I have broken his heart a few times but part of that is because I am actually trying to avoid hurting him in even bigger ways than unrequited crushes.  He is far too good a man to get involved with someone like me.  But if he ever really needed me for something, I’d be there in a heartbeat.  He’s just not as needy as me.  He’s also infinitely smarter than me so he just doesn’t get himself into the messes I do.  I guess that’s why I go to him whenever I make a mess.

There’s a new one I will just call T.  T started from less than honorable intentions on his part and something like too much open mindedness on my part.  T wants me but he can’t have me.  He’s got someone else which is kind of why he was looking for me in the first place.  And because he was totally honest about it, I listened instead of slammed the proverbial door on him.  I have control of the situation so I can afford to be a little liberal in this case.  Forget the fact that T makes me at least feel fuckable (which I do deserve to feel,) he actually gives a shit how other guys treat me.  And I give a shit about his situation so I listen and try to give whatever insight I can into how she may be feeling which causes her to never want to have sex with him.  Believe it or not, I actually feel bad for a guy whose significant other won’t sleep with him.  That inevitably leads to cheating, right or wrong.  If he’s not cheating with me, he will cheat with someone else.  It’s never a one way street.  I want them to figure this out, get aligned and be happy.

T is the one who told me this summer that I am hands down what every guy he knows says they want in a woman and yet his gender continues to disappoint him in how men relate to me.  They fail every time they finally get the chance.  I don’t know why that affects me so deeply but it’s kind of the coolest thing any guy has ever said to me.  And he isn’t even getting anything from me.  That’s just his own free will.  We go back and forth every few weeks.  When I have a man fail and reach out to him, he feels honored that I will talk to him about it.  He checks in periodically to make sure I am giving myself some “grief” time and then he may feel slightly hopeful that he has found a potential opening even though he is pretty careful not to try and take it.  For something I thought was originally a bad thing that would peter out quickly, it has turned into a really neat friendship where we can be very raw and real in conversation with each other about those we love and lust.  We help each other navigate and we have a ton of laughs along the way.

I’ve got my old high school buddy, George, too.  George reads every Facebook post and every blog.  George messages me and encourages me to keep writing by letting me know how “on point” I am with most of what I say.  He has this amazing, brilliant, strong daughter who, unfortunately, has some similar health issues to mine so he has been able to reach out to me in angst and for help.  We have talked recently about spending more time fostering our friendship as we have begun to realize how much we have in common as tortured grown ups.  Plus, I am invested in his kid.  She has a bright future ahead of her and needs to know she is not alone in what she is fighting.  Finally, a friendship where I may able to give more than take.  At least, let’s hope.

These are solid guys.  Well, maybe not T so much….he has got a little work to do.  But overall, these aren’t the guys out there cat calling women on the streets.  They aren’t taking advantage of women who have had a little too much to drink.  They don’t feel entitled to the woman sleeping on their couch.  They don’t patronize the sexual harassment/ assault topic and they don’t protect their “bros.”. It’s not just because some of them have sisters or daughters.  They do the right thing as humans.  They are honorable.  Again, maybe not T so much but he is really trying hard.  I am rooting for him.  This is my Man Village right now.  The characters change and intersect over time.  Who is your Man Village?  Let them know you notice them, especially during times like this when their gender is being vilified.  They are your good guys, the ones who protect you, the ones you are safe with. They are the ones who may just help us change the narrative.  They matter.