5 posts tagged “lists”

Lately, in conversations with friends, it has become something of a running joke that whomever they're talking about, I always say, "Yeah, I used to date a guy like that."  I have aimed in my dating life, or so it seems, for much variety, and I believe that is why this keeps happening.  But I thought, for curiosity's sake, I would post here a catalogue of sorts, a reckoning of all the men/boys I've dated.  I am going to try to keep this in chronological order, and I will try to remember everyone.  Surely I haven't forgotten any of them. 

The alternate title for this post could be something like, "Narcissism Ahoy."  I know.  But no one is forcing you to read it.

Please, though, if you do read it, remember that not all (or even most) of these were sexual relationships.  Most of these guys I only dated a few times, because I typically know what I'm looking for and NOT looking for and rush to judgment without even giving them a chance.  Also, several of these relationships were long distance and conducted primarily via either phone or Internet or some combination.  I still count them.

And by the way, this post is dedicated to Mister Lokii, may he never get jaded about sex.  Ahem.

Here we go, starting with the first guy I dated:

• Raphael.  I was 13; he was about the same age.  He was black and therefore somewhat nervous around my father, a giant white man with a sword collection.  He was terrifically fun, and it made for a nice summer romance.  The things I most remember about him are that he liked to be called Ralph instead of Raphael (Ralph was my dad's name, too!) and that he once said to me, when some rap song came on the radio:  "I can't stand this.  This is like Uncle Tom music for white people."  When I asked him what kind of music the cool, 14-year-old black kids were listening to, he cranked up the Isaac Hayes.  Mmmmm, yeah.  My kind of man.
• Barry.  I was a freshman in high school; I guess Barry must have been a junior.  We met at an FFA convention, and he went to a different school.  He was best friends with the guy my best friend was dating.  When I first met Barry, I was wearing my pajamas.  Sexy!  Barry was a bullrider, and we mostly saw each other at FFA events and kept in touch the rest of the time by phone and mail.  One time I saw him, his hand had been stepped on by a bull and totally crushed, but still he didn't stop bullriding.  Anyway, he joined the Navy after high school and sent me strange gifts from his various ports of call.  We drifted apart more than actually breaking up.  He was a good man, though.
• Jeff.  Jeff was Canadian.  I met him at a high school hockey tournament that Wendy's was sponsoring.  I worked at Wendy's at the time (senior year of high school) and I dressed up as Wendy for the promotional activities, so when I met Jeff I was actually in costume.  He was from Calgary, Alberta, and so stereotypically Canadian in so many ways.  Hockey player?  Check!  Says "aboot"?  Check!  Puts non-tomato-based condiments on French fries?  Check!  Calls people "hosers"?  Check!  He was totally adorable, and I adored him.  But the distance thing was trying. 
• John.  Heeeeee.  Oh, what was I thinking?  John was 30; I was 17.  He was on parole.  I think he had been in prison for stealing a car or something.  Before he stole the car, he had been a hobo, riding the rails and all that.  He was a freaky pseudo-hippie who would say things out of the blue like, "What was the meaning of Gene Simmons' tongue?"  As if I cared.  He was tall and good looking, very Nordic (and very tall--like 6' 7").  Our friends called us Sven and Greta because we were so fair.  But, God, seriously, what was I thinking?  This one completely crashed and burned--big surprise.
• Sean.  Ah, my sweet Sean.  Freshman year in college; Sean was a junior and from Louisiana.  Always with the older men.  Sean was double majoring in philosophy and mathematics, and he was a major computer geek.  He is the one who introduced me to the system of bulletin boards that would eventually become the World Wide Web.  He is also the one who introduced me to LSD and a number of other fun things.  I wrote about him before.  We broke up because he was congenitally unable to keep it in his pants, and the last girl he cheated on me with, he married.  Bleh.
• Rafael.  Yes, two boys named Raf/phael, and they both preferred to be called Ralph, which I can't understand at all.  He was Texan of Spanish origin.  His family was extremely rich.  He claimed to be descended from the Count of Medellin, Spain, but who knows?   Who cared?  His eyes were black and liquid, and his red, red lips started quivering every time he looked at me.  When a handsome fellow with a nice car and all the money in the world quivers every time he looks at you, so little else matters.  You hold the keys to the universe already.
• Kevin.  I still have extremely pleasant dreams about Kevin.  Kevin was tall, dark, and handsome.  He could recite Rexroth poems from memory, and he would stare into my eyes deeply, with his liquid brown eyes shining at me, and do so.  This was at the end of my freshman year of college.  I really have no idea how old Kevin was, but I think he had probably finished college a year or two before I met him.  His degree was in physics.  He was putting his degree to good use by hitchhiking around the country, seducing young women like myself with Leonard Cohen songs and Beat poetry.  And I totally fell for it.  We spent long, languid days together just walking around, talking.  The last time I saw him, he asked me if I wanted to marry him.  I said sure, although not in a very serious way, because surely he was joking.  The next day he up and left, apparently hitchhiking himself off to a Buddhist monastery in California. 
• Stretch.  Yeah, well, his real name was Jeremy or something, but everyone called him Stretch.  He was from Seattle and in a grunge band and used to hang out with all those guys (Kurt Cobain and so forth).  He was very, very tall, as you might have guessed from the nickname.  He asked me, while I was in Seattle once, how to get to the Space Needle--I was all, "Jeez, I don't know.  I'm from Montana."  He was such a funny guy and could make all manner of barnyard noises to entertain me.  He was a bass player and otherwise only marginally employed.  He asked me on several occasions when I was going to move in with him and start having his children.  Like any smart woman, though, I decided to hold out for someone with slightly less marginal employment.
• Joe.  Joe.  Joe.  I went totally crazy for Joe.  I met him at one of these damn poetry circles one time.  Itchy Dawg was there, too, of course.  Joe was so beautiful you couldn't believe he was real and not a Michaelangelo statue.  He had the kind of male beauty that makes grown women weep.  He was also probably insane.  He was half Vietnamese and half American; his father had been a soldier in the Vietnam War.  Joe asked me to marry him the very night we met, with great fervor, and I said yes, and then after a few dates, I realized that he was probably more insane than I could actually cope with, and then he drifted off.  Beautiful man.  When I think of him anymore, mainly I just hope that he's OK. 
• Paul.  Oh, dear.  He was my best friend's boyfriend.  Yikes.  In all fairness, nothing happened between us until she had already suspected something was about to happen and broke up with both of us.  But, still, there was always that frisson.  He was several years older than me.  I suppose I was 19.  He was in the Air Force, a Captain, and he spent many nights down in the missile silos.  He was blonde and strikingly handsome.  He was also bisexual, not that it mattered.  He also didn't like kissing, and I don't believe we ever did kiss.  He loved me, I'm pretty sure, but he wouldn't admit it.  We tried breaking up a couple of times, due to his issues, but I would always end up back at his apartment, making him some soup, and he would stare at me that way, and--well, then, and what can you do?  You can't fight a look like that.  Anyway, Paul was notable for having an excellent ear for music, getting me interested in classical music, and for buying cheap boxed wine which we would then spend all night drinking and arguing about Jung and Aristotle.  I've missed him much through the years.  It was also notable that Paul liked my singing.
• Craig.  Married this one, when I was 20 and he 21.  He was an artist, extremely creative, extremely talented, but sadly lacking a certain amount of self-discipline and initiative.  He was also very moody and temperamental and prone to outbursts and harboring revenge fantasies against any and all who had done him wrong.  I've written some about him before, and I don't want to say too much.  We were married 6 years, so obviously I loved him.  But in the end, it's hard to remember sometimes, hard to even remember what it was like to live with him unless I focus really hard. 
• Ryusuke.  Ooooh, HOTTTT.  He was utterly delicious, and I worked my best voodoo magic to get him to go out with me.  But, man, crash and burn.  We were never, ever meant to be involved as anything other than friends, and it was traumatic for all concerned parties.  He was a Japanese exchange student from Sophia University.  He was cosmopolitan and suave.  He had many girlfriends simultaneously.  The sign he was ready to stop dating was when he told me, "I just can't date someone who can't pronounce my name."  That RY sound in Japanese is hard, dammit.  Later, when we were still in the awkward stages of maybe trying to be friends, but then again, maybe we're still too freaking traumatized by that trainwreck we made by dating, he became my student when I had to take over teaching a friend's class.  Dramatically awkward.  Anyway, we did manage to become friends.  And then he died in a car accident, and his head was swollen like a melon, and there was an open casket funeral, and it was all horrible, and I wept like a baby. 
• EDIT:  Jeehoon.  Damn, how did I forget about him?  I used to eat at this Korean restaurant in Seattle sometimes, and this one time I was the only person there, and I started talking with my waiter.  Soon, he was bringing me unidentifiable side dish after unidentifiable side dish and teaching me how to eat them.  They were delicious, and he was bored, and we got to talking.  One thing led to another, as they say, and we ended up going out a few times.  He was Korean, of course, and a photographer.  Actually, he later sent me a link to his website, and he was really a good photographer, and I hear he's doing pretty well at that now. 
• Yan-yan.  I already posted about him at length.  Filipino, met in a chat room, from New Jersey.  Blah, blah, blah.
• Vince.  Another chat room find.  He was from Singapore but living somewhere in the Giant Terminator State (California).  He was a software programmer or something equally geeky and had that Asian geek-ness that I find so totally hot.  He taught me a lot about Singapore, including interesting facts about Singaporean English.  I still have a book he gave me.  He was a nice guy but very confused about what he wanted.  Also, there were stamina issues.  You all may find this hard to believe, but I'm a girl who requires a lot of stamina.
• Alex.  Oooh, Alex was another guy from a chat room, another Filipino, and another beautiful man.  In Alex's case, the natural beauty had been enhanced by many, many tattoos and several scars from gunshot wounds and knives.  The kind of guy your mother warned you about.  Despite his obvious history of violence and gangs and all of that, he was an extremely sweet, loving, soft-spoken sort of guy, and I loved hanging out with him.  He was, as they say, very good to me.  That it would never work out was made evident when he announced that he wanted 8 more children (for a total of 9, as he already had a beautiful little girl).  He also did street racing, just like in The Fast and the Furious or whatever that movie was called, and he had nice cars.  I have no idea what he worked as, but he must have made a lot of money because he was apparently supporting half the Seattle Filipino community. 
• Yoshi.  Not the one from the Festiva road trip.  He was a computer programmer from San Francisco.  We also met in chat.  He was a bit older than I was, Japanese-American, and very serious.  He was endemically serious.  He was a devout Buddhist and frequently accused me of not being serious enough.  So, um, OK.  He broke up with me very abruptly the day after giving me my Christmas present, a beautiful set of pearl earrings.  It was he I had gone to see in Kawasaki, the night my Japanese adventure began. 
• Pramod.  Another one whose name I couldn't pronounce well.  Pramod was Nepalese.  I met him in Kabukicho, and we danced and laughed and had a merry time.  It wasn't until later that I realized that he was kind, articulate, and thoughtful.  He spoke some English, and we both spoke a little Japanese, but there were language barrier issues, which I suppose is why we drifted.  Well, that, and there was no chemistry.  I don't know what such a smart guy was doing working in Japan, because as a foreigner I doubt he had a very good job. 
• Finally, T.  Married this one, too, and how we met and all that has been well documented.  Haven't dated anyone else since.  Odd, I know.

Hmmm.  I hope I haven't forgotten anyone.  I'm purposely not counting Akifumi, as I'm not sure we ever really dated.  I'm also not counting anyone I only dated once.  If we counted all those wankers, this list would be far too long.  Like the dude who took me to Roppongi for dinner and dancing, gave me a pretty little necklace, and then spent the entire night not talking to me.  Weirdo.

I suppose I also dated this Chinese guy a few times.  But, sadly, I cannot remember much of anything about him, including his name.  I have a picture of him from our first date, drinking milk tea in a cafe, and he's laughing with his straw hanging out of his mouth.  But name?  Nothing.  EDIT:  I have just remembered that he was a tout in Kabukicho, and that's how I met him.  God help me.  I remember because our dates were very short because he always had to get back to work.  Like he was working his way up the tout ladder. 

It occurred to me today, after reading some comments on other people's lists of deal breakers, that I had automatically taken the word "relationship" to mean long-term relationship--not necessarily marriage, but reasons I would break off a long-term love relationship.  That is an unnecessarily limited understanding of the term, though.  Obviously, a person has to pass through many gates before they reach the inner circle of GinBaby, and there are multitudinous deal-breakers all along the way.  I'm a hard, cold rock of a person, disinclined generally to like people.  Friends and loved ones who have persevered find that deep down inside I'm totally a giant pink marshmallow.  But, seriously, there are many perils along the way.

Here are some, but by no means all, of the deal-breakers that will immediately end our relationship, whatever stage it might happen to be in--from having just met to becoming friends or going on a first date:

• Quoting Forrest Gump.  There is no reason to do this--ever.
• Moral zealotry, dogmatism, fundamentalism, nationalism, being overly ideological, evangelical veganism.
• Racism, sexism, homophobia.  This includes comments like, "I'm not a racist, but I think the Indians/blacks/whatever should..." and "I'm not a homophobe--I love Will and Grace."
• If you're a man:  Wearing mock turtlenecks or capri pants.  There is simply no excuse for these things.
• Boasting of your own incompetence, as if incompetence were ever a good thing.  Girls:  You are not cuter because you cannot do math, and you are not more "feminist" just because you can't cook.  These are not things to be proud of.  Guys:  I have experienced this phenomenon less with men, as men seem to have more of a tendency to boast of what they can do, or sometimes what they merely think they can do.  But guys, your inability to cook is also not appealing.  Learn.
• An inability or unwillingness to appreciate the manifest beauty and richness of English vocabulary.  You don't have to use the fancy words all the time, but you should at least learn to appreciate the incredible precision and expressiveness we have available to us as English speakers.  This doesn't necessarily pertain to my non-English speaking friends.
• Touching me without warrant.  Once we are established in a relationship of some sort--good friends, family, dating, what have you--I will gradually relent in this case, and I will signal you in some way that I am now permitting touching.  In general, though, most people touch me long before I'm ready to be touched, and it FREAKS ME THE FUCK OUT.  I don't mean "touching" here in a necessarily sexual or dirty way--I don't want your hand on my arm or a hug or anything until we know each other fairly well.  I am fully aware that I have serious personal space issues that I perhaps should deal with at some point.  Until then, just don't touch me.  I will make some allowances if you are a Southerner, as I know you can't help it.  Anyone else:  I will take you down.
• Inability to write in cohesive paragraphs that are properly punctuated.  Paragraphs, sentences, and clauses are logical units.  If you cannot construct paragraphs of more than one or two sentences and there is no connection between your paragraphs, it is likely that the root problem is your inability to think coherently.  I'm fine with some fragments--heaven knows I do that, too--for stylistic reasons; however, if all your writing is in fragments and little broken pseudoparagraphs, I will have no truck with you.
• Reading self-help books for dummies.  I don't mean the ones about software or something else complicated that you might need a quick and easy reference for.  Oh, no.  I'm talking about things like Dating for Dummies and the previously scoffed at Meditation for Dummies.  Are you for real with that shit?  Because....no.  Look, if you are such a dummy that you need Dating for Dummies, you no longer belong in the reproductive pool.
• Illogic.  An inability and unwillingness to draw conclusions from evidence.  See also moral zealotry, etc.
• Baby hating.  Yeah, I know:  Babies can be loud and irritating in public.  On the other hand, so can adults.  Babies are too young to yet know better; adults are not.  Babies have few ways of communicating other than crying; adults have language.  Babies are asking for food or love or warmth or some other basic need; they are not polluting the airspace with details of their most recent sexual conquest/business deal/airplane meal, none of which do others need to hear about.  Babies make smelly poo-poo; yes, and so do you.  As for the breastfeeding--yeah, you fucking stop eating in public, and then we'll talk.  I'd rather see a baby placidly sucking away at her mama than watch you stuff your gaping maw with French fries--the baby needs the calories and nutrients, see?  You, on the other hand, likely do not. 
• Blaming the patriarchy.
• Insisting that there are no American movies worth watching. 
• Relying too heavily on television shows for your conversation content.  It's not exactly a problem with you, although I find that generally such people are nitwits.  The problem is really that, because I am an infrequent and erratic viewer of television myself, we will likely have difficulty conversing--similarly if the only thing you can discuss are video games.  I have even less of a relationship with video games, and I will be completely unable to follow you.  You may consider this a failing on my part if you wish, but it will kill the relationship.  Zack, Lokii, Kimura:  All of you can converse freely on other subjects, so you're all golden.
• Believing that you understand a foreign country because you went there for, like, two whole weeks.  If you're not American, then America is a foreign country to you, and so this goes for you, too.  Also, if you're foreign, you do not necessarily understand America just because you wear Levi's and watch Tom Cruise movies.  I will get just as tired of your lengthy treatises on American culture as I am now of hearing my grandma (love you, Grams!) tell me all about Chinese culture after she went on a 2-week tour with a bunch of other elderly Americans. 
• False humility.  Intellectual laziness.  Moral cowardice.
• Being religious will not inherently destroy a budding friendship.  However, it may be difficult as I am not religious at all and will not be converted.  I have tried being romantically involved with religious men (Buddhists, all) in the past, too, and it does not work.  There is a fundamental disconnect here.
• A frequent urge to talk to me on the telephone.  I do not care for talking on the telephone, in general.  Sgazzetti, this doesn't apply to you, as it's been far too long since we've seen each other.

Ah, well, you get the idea.  As I said, it's a bumpy road, full of potholes and pitfalls.  Yes, I'm judgmental.  Yes, I'm a misanthrope.  I'm also insensitive, or so I'm told.   I am completely unapologetic for these things. 

Things that will get you in like Flynn:

• Use of arcane vocabulary, particularly if it is in reference to unusual things, such as Scottish headgear or cocktails no one drinks anymore.
• Bibliophilia.
• Loving art, creating art.  Recognizing that fashion is art.  The Balenciaga shoes?  It is irrelevant if they are impractical for daily use and cost $3000.  They are art.  They are art for the feet.  They should be treated as such.  I know I am in awe of them.  Beautiful things should be everywhere--not just shoved off in museums.
• Not just reading, but actually enjoying poetry.  If you can recite Rexroth or Stevens from memory, so much the better.  Extra points for liking of somewhat less famous poets, like Brautigan or Carolyn Forche.  As noted above, beauty matters to me, and poetry is beautiful. 
• Irony.  A robust sense of the absurd.  Much laughter at anything and everything.  Laughter is good.  It is the staff of life.
• Witty banter, snappy comebacks, stylish flirting.  I love a good conversation, even if it is ultimately about nothing important.  I like verbal intercourse and rapidfire wordplay.  Bring it.
• An ability to sit comfortably in silence, even if (especially if!) there are other people present. 

Mmm, there are probably other things, but that's a start.  Not that it matters.  My friends are already my friends, anyway, lists be damned.

10 Great Country Songs of 2006 (although not necessarily in order):

"Would You Go With Me?"--Josh Turner

"Every Mile a Memory"--Dierks Bentley

"When I Get Where I'm Going"--Brad Paisley and Dolly Parton

"The Seashores of Old Mexico"--George Strait

"Amarillo Sky"--Jason Aldean

"Boondocks"--Little Big Town

"Leave the Pieces"--The Wreckers

"Love You"--Jack Ingram

"One Wing in the Fire"--Trent Tomlinson

"My, Oh My"--The Wreckers

Honorable Mentions:  "A Little Bit of Life" by Craig Morgan, "Cheatin'" by Sara Evans, "Before He Cheats" by Carrie Underwood.  (1/2/07 edit:  I have to add that Blake Shelton song "Nobody But Me" too.  I think the album came out in 2005, but the song was a hit this year, so...and it's a great song.)

Best New Country Artist (mainstream):  Eric Church or The Wreckers.  But, seriously, if you haven't checked out The Wreckers or Little Big Town, you need to hop to it.  All three of these artists write their own music, too, which is becoming increasingly rare and gravely undervalued.

5 TV Shows

1.  SpongeBob SquarePants

2.  Mythbusters

3.  Good Eats

4.  Blue Planet

5.  Grey's Anatomy  (smokin')

5 Shocking Pieces of News

1.  Mel Gibson is anti-Semitic!  And drunk!

2.  Dick Cheney's lesbian daughter is pregnant!  And, obviously, unwed! 

3.  Mark Foley, Ted Haggard, and a handful of other moralistic assholes are hypocrites!  And gay!  Gay hypocrites!

4.  There is at least as much real news on The Daily Show and The Colbert Report as there is on real news shows!

5.  Linda Hirshman blames me, personally, for undermining feminism!  And that's fine with me!  I am the backlash!

5 Resolutions for 2006 and their Results

1.  "Get life insurance."  Seems easy.  And I had life insurance for a while.  Until they found out about my four-pack habit and Jabba the Hut-like habitus.  It's a good thing I didn't tell them about the gin for breakfast or else the health police would have shipped me off to Guantanamo.

2.  "Lure Dick Cheney into secret bunker, hog tie him, leave him there.  Save country."  Sadly, this one has not yet been completed, as I have not finished learning my knots for hog-tying. 

3.  "Stop blaming Dick Cheney for everything that goes bad in life."  Gave up on this one once I realized that Dick Cheney is in fact to blame for everything bad, including puppies who get run over by cars.

4.  "Nag husband into an early grave."  I got surprisingly far along on this one, considering he's only in his mid-20s.  I pushed him far enough along, though, that he took to wearing slippers at all times and watching gold panning shows on TV.  If that doesn't say 'early grave,' I don't know what does.

5.  "Bitch and moan until I get everything just my way."  This one was an unqualified success.

5 Unforgettable Moments of 2006

1.  The first time my son said, "goddammit."  I cannot imagine where he learned such filthy words, of course, but I blame Dick Cheney.  Anyway, I asked him to put something away where it goes, to which he responded, adequitely, "goddammit."

2.  That first taste of high-bush cranberry jam.  Oh, orgasm.

3.  At my son's first birthday party when he shoved a tennis ball-size scoop of ice cream into his mouth and grimaced at the brain freeze.

4.  Going to Alaska for the first time. 

5.  The Eureka! moment when my son realized that those green things growing in rows were veggies that could be pulled up and eaten on the spot, in mass quantities.  Rarely have I seen such glee.

5 Things I Learned in 2006

1.  How to identify without fail one wild mushroom, the puffball.

2.  How to prepare a garden in permafrost.

3.  How to make and keep salmon jerky.

4.  Alaska has some fucked up laws.

5.  A state of Zen-like calm actually feels really, really good.

Some of the books I just keep coming back to:

Gabriela, Clove and Cinnamon by Jorge Amado

Fisher's Hornpipe by Todd McEwan

A Soldier of the Great War by Mark Helprin

A Japanese Mirror by Ian Buruma

Lost Japan by Alex Kerr

Being and Time by Martin Heidegger

Metaphors We Live By by Lakoff and Johnson

The Fall by Albert Camus

Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche

On Food and Cooking by Harold McGee

I and Thou by Martin Buber

The Ethics of Authenticity by Charles Taylor

The Things We Carried by Tim O'Brien

The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens

 “After one has abandoned a belief in God,

 poetry is that essence which takes its place

 as life’s redemption” --Wallace Stevens 

What are 5 things you'd like to accomplish in the next 5 years?

1.  Have another baby or two.

2.  Stabilize our financial condition.  Actually #1 is dependent on #2.  I just can't justify bringing more kids into this situation.  Our job-money situation has become...well...seriously fucked since we left Japan.  Moral of the story:  Never leave Japan.  They have health insurance over there.

3.  Start a little subscription farm.  That might not get accomplished in the next five years, though, sadly (see #2).

4.  Enter some of my ridiculously delicious canned goods in home canning competitions.  Also maybe enter the Pillsbury Bake-Off.

5.  Start writing my book that will link Lacan, Heidegger, Julian Jaynes, George Lakoff, and Liberace into one giant evil conspiracy theory of the meaning of language and consciousness.  I'm kidding about Liberace, but, really, why not?  Noam Chomsky, you best watch your back, baby.

Man.  Only 5 things?  So much to do, so much to do...