...because I am a settler.
What I do know is that I have a thick Prussian (now a part of Germany) vein running through my body. That's why I have big boobs and am intrigued by beer. When I was little my mom told me that we were probably descendants of beer wenches (her maiden name is Pabst) and had grandfather Melchoir decided to stay in Prussia we would have spent our lives in dirndls serving beer...I can think of worse fates.
As I reflect upon my life, past and present, one thing is very clear: I spend an inordinate amount of time in less than stellar relationships. I am a settler. (here is where I build my case before I get to the point). Let me illustrate:
(disclaimer...now these guys obviously had amazing qualities that I was attracted to, but for all intent and purpose I am only sharing the not so amazing qualities that should have made me run for the door).
#1: Coke Guy. I dated a guy who was about 5 years younger than I am. He was super hot, an athlete, and charming...he was also a serious drug addict. Now, in addition to being a settler, I'm also ridiculously naive, which would explain why I believed him when he said he didn't steal my roommates narcotics (she had them for pain)...in fact, he stated that he didn't even know what Lortab was...uh-huh. My naivety/stupidity would also explain why I drove him to the ATM late one night, took money out of my account, gave it to him so he could "pay his friend back for lunch", then drove him to a shady part of town where he met "his friend" walking down the sidewalk...my first drug deal. Then there was that time that he snorted coke...AT MY HOUSE...and I just kept watching a movie. Why did Carrie date this guy for several months? He apologized and said he was trying to quit, and I believed him. Oh, did I mention he had a girlfriend who lived out of town? Yes, I should get a blue ribbon for that one.
#2: The St. Bernard. I'm pretty sure I was rebounding from Coke Guy when I started going out with Bernard. He was nice in a computer geek way (I seem to have a thing for computer geeks) and I was lonely and looking for love. Problem was, he slobbered like a rabid dog whenever he kissed me. And when I say slobbered, I mean SLOBBERED. Like spittle threads dangling from lip to lip. So did I break up with him? Nope, I simply turned narcoleptic and fell asleep any time his face got within a foot of mine...pathetic.
#3: Flippy. I dated Flippy longer than anyone should ever date a person without a solid carat on their left hand. Flippy didn't do drugs or have an over active saliva gland, Flippy's problem was worse. Flippy and I would date for several months, then he'd break up with me to "test the waters" and "see what else was out there". I'd always wish him well and wait for him to come back...which he always did for a few months, until he'd break up with me to "test the waters" and "see what else was out there". I probably should have walked away after the first time he decided I wasn't good enough and wanted to find someone better. But I was determined that I was going to marry Flippy, so I stuck around...for THREE YEARS. Yes, three years of being the "you're alright but just not good enough" girl. THREE YEARS! Someone kick me in the face.
I could go on and talk about Coupon Dude, or the Ice Cream Rockstar, but I'm going to skip those and get to the point of this post: Hot Rock Climbing Guy. As you may recall I introduced you to HRCG here CLICK ME. He was the slow moving non-boob-touch-er who took me rock climbing and canoeing and snowshoeing and out to all sorts of famazing little restaurants. So, I've been seeing/dating/hanging-out with HRCG for almost five months. And over those five months I have pretty much turned into a shallow little whore. He feeds me, I make out with him. Yes, it's sleazy, but it I don't have to buy as many groceries.
A couple of weeks ago I had a small moment of clarity when I realized that my life is turning into an adolescent outburst and that it's really pathetic to join the Slut Mafia when you're 35. So, I psyched myself up to call and tell him that I'm politically conservative, a Mormon, and done being the easy girl.
I waited until 10pm on Sunday night when I knew he'd be home. I called and he answered. *pause: we have been seeing/dating/hanging-out for FIVE months and this is the FOURTH time I've ever called him. So me calling him should have signaled that something unusual was up. Unpause* I asked him how he was doing and he replied (in a stern voice), "you couldn't have picked a worse time to call". I was a little concerned. So I asked him what was going on. His reply??? "I'm grating cheese".
I asked him if he wanted me to call him back later. He said no. I asked him if he wanted to call me back when he was done. He said no. I said "ok" and the conversation ended.
Now, if I wasn't a settler I would have been angry that I was lower on his priority list than cheese, but I wasn't. In fact I hung up and didn't even become slightly irritated until THE NEXT MORNING. Now, I'm either a total door mat or have the slowest response time on the planet.
He called me a couple of days later and asked if he could take me out to lunch. Of course I said yes. I thought about giving him the speech over lunch, but couldn't bring myself to do it once that refried bean and rice omelet was placed in front of me.
I need an intervention.
I need a backbone.
I need to have higher standards.
OR I need to fill the *bishop in on my Dinner Slut status and see if he'll release me from my *calling. I mean I am kind of turning into the Paris Hilton of the ward...the conservative Mormon version of Paris Hilton...who would NEVER produce a home movie that starred her cupcake or be best friends with Lionel Richie's daughter. Ok, who am I kidding? I'm not a Paris Hilton, I'm a food prostitute, a sleazy Rachel Ray.
Someone, please, send me some self-respect...or buy me dinner (because you now know what that will get you).
I wonder if *Sheri Dew has the same struggle.