Talks with My Twenties: March 15, 2005 (post #3) - Age 24

Subject: Males

I will never understand them. I don't hate them, one bad apple shouldn't spoil the bunch....but how is it that I get 3 rotten ones on [sic] a row? *lol* I think I'm going to vomit.

First of all, me, THREE posts in one day?! About nothing?

At 24, you had the Seinfeld of blogs, Tiff. 

Anyhow, you are so cute. 24 and upset that your last 3 relationships were with rotten dudes. (And actually, if you're referring to your ex-husband, give it some time. You guys actually become friends. I know...you never saw that one coming, did ya?)

I don't even know who the third rotten one is. That is how insignificant that guy became.

But most importantly, the second guy you're referring to? The one you thought you'd never live without? Guess what?

You are living without him just fine. 

You barely ever think about him. Those thoughts stopped sometime in 2006. Now every once and a while he crosses your mind, but it's just another memory.

No different than the memory of that day in kindergarten when you were absolutely terrified of those hermit crabs that some twisted, 5-year-old monster brought in for show-and-tell.

Actually, that memory causes more strife than thinking about good ol' Mr. "I Once Taped a Razor to a Stick So I Could Shave My Back." (#truth)

What I am saying though is, the memory of that guy and the relationship doesn't carry all that weight forever. You get over it.  And that's a beautiful thing.



You still don't understand men, though. You have a better grasp...but I don't think they'll ever stop being mind-boggling.

All we know about that at 33 is:

Maybe 43-year-old Tiff will have some insight on that one.

Love,
33-year-old Tiff

TAINTed Love

“Oh yeah. I’ve heard of that stuff. I know sometimes cyclists use it. Do you use it for cycling too?” 

“Well yes, but mainly for my taint area.”

This was an actual conversation I had, on an actual date, with an actual human male a little over a week ago.

And I don’t know about you ladies out there, but it’s pretty much always never been my dream to hear those sweet, sweet words pouring out of my date’s mouth as I’m getting ready to put another chip, heaping with guacamole, into my mouth.

Ah…romance!

I should probably back up a little and provide some backstory, right?

Basically it’s this: I’ve started dating again and I still despise online dating as much as I ever have. More, really.

I’ve been on quite a few online dates in my adult life, two of which actually resulted in long-term relationships.

Although,  I mean, look how well those turned out.

So of course I decided to give it another go...and I ended up on a date with a guy who told me about his taint cream.

Taint cream....

TAINT.

CREAM.

And then had me pay for my dinner.

(But I mean, I wasn’t expecting dinner AND a show, so I guess it was worth it?)

My lotioned-taint Lothario was actually the second person that I went out with in the past month or so. 

The first was a 34-year-old professional pedicab driver emblazoned with a tattoo of a giant eyeball (to commemorate his recent cataract surgery...duh) and who wore a screw as an earring.

In the middle of the date he pedaled us off into an alley where he proceeded to pee and then roll and smoke a spliff. At the end of the night he left me stranded to find my own way home from Bucktown so that he could go to a late-night electronic music festival afterparty.






Needless to say, I think this all might just be the Universe's way of saying, "Stop it. Enjoy your summer."

Point taken, Universe...

...and I'm sorry you had to resort to talk of taint cream.

Why Did My Ex Hate This Shirt?

I am a MAKER OF ANGER!

About a month ago I ended a relationship with a guy who I really, really loved, but after a second attempt at being together, I realized it wasn’t going to work this time around either.

Since the breakup, I've cried a lot, enjoyed copious amounts of “therapy cake” (which is just regular cake, only more healing and delicious), played my ukulele, cried some more, eaten more cake, taken walks, signed up for a class, and been really just trying my best to remain a composed, grown-ass woman during what’s proven to be a rollercoaster of a time.

And I really fucking hate rollercoasters.

A couple weeks after things ended, I decided I needed a night out with my girlfrands. Which is also when I came across the shirt pictured above, as I tried to pick out what to wear.

My ex-boyfriend HATED that shirt. Hated it.

To the point that not only would he prefer I not wear it when we went out,  when I would change out of it he'd verbally and physically express intense relief. Relief akin to finding a bathroom at precisely 10 seconds before pissing all over oneself.

Funny enough, out of all of the people who have ever seen me wear that shirt (and I wear it a lot now, by the way), he was the only one who disliked it.

So I began to wonder: what about this particular piece of clothing could possibly cause such an adverse reaction in my ex? 

Naturally I did what any woman in this situation would do and created a speculative list with some ideas about why this shirt caused that man so much damn angst:

1. It drew attention to my boobs while at the same time covering my boobs. Too much of a conundrum.

2. If I was wearing my sequined half-top out, then how could he wear his?

3. A half shirt is not worthy of the same respect as a WHOLE SHIRT.  Obvi.*

4. Too many colors. It's hard.

5. First comes sequins, then comes marriage, then comes SO MANY BABIES! Am I right, ladies?!

6. He secretly wished he could wear it to the gym.

7. The sight of it triggered something in his brainparts that turned all of his thoughts into spiders. Actual spiders. Ugh, THOUGHTSPIDERS. The. Worst.

8. Hipsters.

9. It reminded him of a Vegas show girl he probably used to date.**

10. Because, LOW CALORIE FRUIT JUICE. (He used to buy that shit, and that shit is fucking disgusting. This needed to be said.)

11. He probably worried that more people would like this shirt on Facebook than they would one of his posts.

12. It looked like the deep space field, but it wasn't the deep space field. The shirt is a lie.

13. It was too dressy for the storage closet he let me keep my things in when I stayed over.***

14. Traumatic childhood arts and crafts accident?

15. It taunted him when I wasn't looking, like:

That's pretty much all I could come up with so far. But I think I'm pretty much on track.


*I should note, this half-top was never worn to show my midriff. It was always worn over a longer tank top. 

**Unlikely. I would have heard about her at least 50 times over the course of our relationship.

***To be fair, he eventually let me hang things up in his bedroom closet about a week before the breakup. Maybe he just couldn't handle that shirt getting that close to his button downs and cycling kits...