Comments on my blog are set to be moderated for a reason. For a couple of reasons actually, one of them being there are a lot of people who become tremendously butt hurt when you say something they don’t like, and want to go all keyboard commando on your personal blog, where you’re stating your opinions. Imagine? Sharing your own opinions about stuff on your own blog? The nerve!
I welcome these comments, but prefer not to post them as a comment, instead to share them in a future blog post so they can be appropriately dissected. This is one of those cases. I received a couple of responses to my post about cheaters, and wanted to expand on the topic.
The first response is one from a woman who thought my attitude was entirely too cavalier to know what being cheated on felt like.
“You don’t know anything about what it’s like to be cheated on. It isn’t always the end of a relationship.
Have you stopped to think they find someone else because of something we did? Maybe something is missing? Maybe if the woman changed, or worked harder, he wouldn’t need to cheat.“
Ok one, I have been cheated on. And I can remember the feeling when I found a phone number in my live in boyfriend’s car one morning as I was driving to work. Naturally, I called it, because the girl had the same name as my best friend since 5th grade.
If I think about it, I can recall that horrible, painful lump that formed in the pit of my stomach because I just KNEW. It all clicked into place, and I KNEW. Of course, I called the number, and spent 30 minutes talking to a woman who had been screwing my boyfriend for a month. Who knew about me. Who had come over while I was at work and fucked him in my bed. MY. BED.
Now, where in this scenario does the relationship guru pop in and say “Carrie, I think this is your fault. It’s your fault your partner of nearly a year decided to go all 007 secret spy to lie to, deceive, and blow everything you thought you were building to ground zero so he could try on some new vagina”? Really? REALLY?!?!?
Not once during this time, did the man who said he was in love with me and wanted to share his life with me say he was missing something. That he wasn’t feeling appreciated, or loved, or needed more sex, or was having doubts. Nope. He spent his time at home telling me I was beautiful, sharing a bed (one he rolled around with someone else’s nekked cooter in, gag), saying he loved me and wanted to spend forever and always and stuff with me.
He was spouting rainbows and unicorns who cry tears of Elton John songs, all the while setting up encounters with some chick who had come into his garage to have her car serviced a month before. She got serviced alright. And I moved out the following week. Done. Over. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.
So I’m not a big fan of taking the blame for someone else’s shittastic behavior. And I think if you are, you should probably stop off at Walgreen’s to see if they have a bottle of Self Respect. You seem to be deficient in that particular vitamin.
“Sex is sex. Sometimes it’s just about sex, I don’t know why women have to make it such a big deal.”
This response came from a man, in case you hadn’t gathered that already. I get that sex can be just sex. Sometimes that’s what you need and/or want. A fuck buddy. An orgasm that doesn’t require using your last two AA batteries or developing a hand cramp. I’m completely on board with two consenting adults sharing naked sexy time and taking it at face value.
Sex is not just sex when it causes hurt, mistrust, insecurity or creates an unhealthy environment. I don’t think I relationship can be truly a loving one if people aren’t keeping their intimacy between the two of them. In my world, being a world built of honesty and integrity, I find it impossible to be truly intimate with a person if they are also being intimate with someone else.
We, as humans, are going to be attracted to other people. That is natural. We are going to have fantasies. We are going to run through the “what if” game in our heads when a particularly delicious person comes into focus, especially when we’ve just had an argument about why our man can’t remember to pick up his fucking socks off the bathroom floor, or one of a million things that come into play when we’re past the honeymoon phase of dating.
I like to flirt, dance, banter with men even if I’m committed to someone else. Personally, I feel comfortable doing so because I know it won’t turn into anything more than a Jumbo Texas McSuper sized serving of ego boost on a plate. It’s nice to know you’re desired by someone other than the face who graces your other pillow in the morning. It feels good. It’s healthy, and does no harm.
I will never buy into the notion that bringing another persona as a plaything into a relationship can fix, heal, enhance, or positively impact your connection to another human. I’ve seen couples do this, and guess what? They’ve since split. Something breaks at the core when this happens, something that has nothing to do with sex.
So, agree with me, disagree with me, I don’t care. I have decades of my own experience, as well as that of those close to me to back up my beliefs, and I am a firm believer that if you’re in a relationship, there is a level of trust that needs to be protected for it to last. And no amount of justification is going to make playing musical naughty bits a trust building exercise.
Rocker Mom Rambles 
Have I told you lately that I love you? I love all of this, too, especially your straightforward approach to how you manage comments such as these. Most of all, I think my Community Property professor would have loved you for this:
So I’m not a big fan of taking the blame for someone else’s shittastic behavior. And I think if you are, you should probably stop off at Walgreen’s to see if they have a bottle of Self Respect. You seem to be deficient in that particular vitamin.
She said similar words, as kindly as she could, several times during the course of that class.
Also, someone said a few weeks ago that it must be hard for me to be kind in the face of disagreeing with her. I thought that was funny at first: “Why would it be hard?” Then I thought about political discourse these days, and how it’s so easy to attack someone for disagreeing rather than engage in considered discourse. For the most part, I don’t find it especially hard to disagree kindly with people as long as what they’re saying isn’t cruel, batsh!t crazy, or similar.
I love you, too, and I’m holding on to meeting up if you should find yourself anywhere in the vicinity of Central Texas.
And I agree, I think it’s easy to disagree like an adult if someone offers up an argument in a similar fashion. If someone is being an epic douche, or flapping their jaws just to hear themselves speak, then I kind of fall into Ghetto Carrie “F-bomb” mode. Which is also satisfying, if less mature. 😉