The Vine: January 17, 2002
Sars,
After your grammar rant, you’re the new hero of my editorial department — so I figured that you’d be a good person to pose this question to.
How, in the name of all that’s holy, does a bisexual pagan liberal activist maintain her identity (not to mention her sanity) in corporate America? Many of the people around me are so…inexplicably other to my sensibilities that I feel like I’m a cultural anthropologist doing a study. (“Hmm…the natives are gathering around each other’s desks, discussing something called NASCAR. Interesting.”)
My job’s already stressful enough, and yet I have to deal with men who firmly believe that anything is funny when said with a lisp. Help!
Just call me —
Indiana Jane from the Office of Doom
Dear Indiana Jane,
That depends. Do you find them merely alien, or outright offensive? Because that “lisping = gay” shit is beyond lame, but if you understand that it’s lame and you can dismiss it as such, then there’s no problem.
I think it’s important to speak up when people say and do things that offend you. But I also think it’s important to pick your battles in life…and to realize that you shouldn’t take the stupidity of others personally. The ability to shrug off other people’s shortcomings will really lower your stress level. Not that I’d know from personal experience. Sigh.
Anyway. I don’t really know what you want me to tell you here. The workplace often requires us to submerge our “real” selves; that’s part of the deal. My advice? Doing your own thing is a two-way street. Do with that what you will.
Dear Sars,
You rock the party that rocks the body. Now, about me.
Since her birth eight years ago, I have occasionally babysat “Rhoda,” the off-the-charts-smart and precocious daughter of my sister’s best friend “Steph.” Everything was cool until Rhoda started “playfully” groping me. Her hands “accidentally” came in contact with my breasts and buttocks on an increasingly frequent basis. I’d admonish her; she’d either giggle, offer a sincere apology, or both.
About 18 months ago (she was nearly seven, but could pass for ten) when I babysat Rhoda overnight, she laughingly grabbed me by the breasts and squeezed. Hard. I made her stand in the corner for five minutes and then sent her to bed half an hour early: “Prove you’re sorry by never doing this again.” She was very contrite and cried herself to sleep. The next morning, she squeezed my ass. When I dropped her off, I told her mother what happened. Steph said that Rhoda does that stuff to her as a joke, and maybe she just didn’t realize I’m serious when I say “no/stop it/that’s wrong.” She wondered aloud if Rhoda was doing this to other people, and vowed to nip things in the bud. Semi-coincidentally, I didn’t babysit Rhoda again for nearly a year.
Six months ago, Steph called me about joining her on a vacation. If I went with her and Rhoda, we could all have a relatively inexpensive trip. I expressed reservations, but Steph assured me that Rhoda’s grabby phase was over. Shortly after we bought the plane tickets, I babysat Rhoda for an afternoon. She was an angel, until she leaned over and grabbed my, uh, “mound of Venus.” I told Steph I’d rather forfeit my ticket than spend a week being fondled. Rhoda wrote me a tear-stained letter of apology promising to never ever touch my “bikini parts” again, and would I please please please come on the trip? So I went.
You do know what happened, don’t you? She grabbed my ass twice within the first two days, followed by a “sorry!” and a huge shit-eating grin. When I brought it up to Steph, who witnessed both gropes but said/did nothing, she half-heartedly reprimanded Rhoda but behaved as though I was making a big deal of nothing. (I later overheard Steph say, “Now Rhoda, you know she doesn’t like to be touched” — like I’m Howard fucking Hughes or something.) On Day Three, Rhoda kicked me under the dinner table, apologized, and immediately kicked me again. When I made “aren’t you going to say something?” eye contact with Steph, she sighed and said, “You know better than that, Rhoda. Say you’re sorry.” After that, I made sure I was out of Rhoda’s reach.
Now that we’re all home and I finally realize that Steph has dismissed my attitude toward Rhoda’s behaviour as neurotic, I dread the day she asks me to babysit again, because the answer is “never.” When that call comes, is there really any point in explaining why, given Steph’s denial? Pointing out the truth (“your daughter is old enough to know better, and has been for years”) will make waves, and “I’m busy”-type excuses postpone the problem until the next time Steph calls. Argh! Uh, help?
Signed,
You’re Right, I Don’t Like Being Fondled By An Eight-Year-Old Girl
Dear Right,
The next time Steph calls, tell her you can’t babysit — you have a previous obligation. Don’t say what obligation; don’t apologize; don’t explain at all. Tell her the same thing every time she calls about babysitting. “Sorry, I have plans.” Steph can make other arrangements. Rhoda has psychological problems that you can’t, and Steph apparently won’t, do anything about. The only thing you can control in this situation is whether you expose yourself to it, so…don’t, by whatever means necessary.
Steph might figure out that something’s up and ask why you’ve started bagging on babysitting, and if she does, you can tell her you don’t feel that either of them take your “no grabbing” policy seriously, so you’d prefer not to babysit for Rhoda anymore. If it makes waves, so be it — maybe Rhoda’s too young or fucked in the head to see that her actions have consequences, but it’s high time Steph learned that lesson.
Okay, my love life sucks. I have admitted this, and normally, it doesn’t bother me. I’m only eighteen. I have my life ahead of me. And I’m hopelessly smitten. This is not so much disturbing as is the fact that I think I’ve lost one of the best friendships of my life over it.
See, the girl I’ve gone nuts for is (was?) one of my closest friend. We both swing the same way, about the same age. I ended up telling her precisely how I felt. She “doesn’t know” how she feels. I am fine with this. We’ve been forced to speak less because of college demands (hers, not mine — I took a year off) already, but she refuses to discuss it, despite frequent assurances that we will and basic small talk. Despite attempts to contact her via email (she’s deaf and hates using the phone), I’ve had no response in a week.
Should I continue to try to get her to talk about this, or just let it slide? I’m not sure what I think continued discussion will accomplish, but at this point I feel so uncomfortable speaking to her that I’d rather air it all out once and for all so I just know where she stands beyond “I don’t know.” Do you think it would do more harm than good to try and get her to engage in actual conversation at this point? Obviously you don’t know us…but I’m getting to the end of my proverbial rope. I love her and I don’t want to lose her, but I don’t know what the hell to do with her.
Be Still My Heart…Or Not
Dear Still,
Tell her what you just told me. “It’s obvious you don’t want to get into this, but I’d rather just clear the air and get it over with.” If she still doesn’t respond to that, that’s your signal to give up.
And if she doesn’t respond to it, take some time off from her — a couple of weeks, a month, whatever you need to get a bit of space from what’s going on. She’s clearly not mature enough to face issues like this one squarely right now, and trying to deal with that is only going to bog you down further in the situation. Yeah, if she doesn’t want more than a friendship with you, it’s going to hurt, but at least you’ll know one way or the other, and she needs to show you that courtesy as your friend, whatever she ends up doing. The longer she lets you dangle, the worse you’ll feel, so if she won’t decide, decide for her.
Set an end date for how long you’ll let her let you dangle, and enforce it for yourself.
Hi,
I’m trying to figure out if I’m a total idiot for dating the guy I’m dating.
Let me begin by saying that I was divorced in September of 1999, and I met the current guy in December of 1999. Before everyone assumes (as they always do) that it was a rebound relationship, let me just say that me and the ex-husband had been separated since November of 1997 and he left me while I was pregnant, so there was really no love lost between us. Mere formalities kept us from divorcing, and that’s not really my problem anyway.
Current guy is someone I could spend the rest of my life with. I’ve never been so foolish to believe in “The One,” but if I did, he’d be awfully close. He’s my best friend, he makes me laugh, not to mention the sex is amazing (which is important, whether anyone wants to admit it or not). He’s great-looking, great to my kids (I had twins), and all around a wonderful guy.
Except…(and you know there had to be an except, or else why would I be writing?) he doesn’t want to get married. And I do.
Admittedly, when I met him, I did not want to get married. When I started dating after the separation and divorce, I went out with the most incredible collection of weenies and losers ever assembled in any one state. For me, dating just became an opportunity to go out, have dinner with someone who wasn’t rubbing stewed prunes in their hair, and have an adult conversation. I really never expected to meet someone that I would fall in love with ever again. But it happened. So here it is.
I’m not looking for financial stability. I make considerably more money than him. I am also not looking for a dad for my kids. I’m just in love with this guy and I want to spend my life with him.
When I finally told him how I felt, about six months ago, he changed the subject. I felt like a knife went through my heart. I brought it up about a week later, and he basically told me he loved me, and if he wanted to get married, I would be the woman he would marry. However, he doesn’t want to get married, so that’s not going to be an option.
That was several months ago, and I am feeling a great deal of resentment towards him for this. Basically, I just feel like, okay, because he has some problems from his childhood, why the hell should I have to deal with his issues if he’s not willing to give me what I want? I know I sound like a horrid monster for putting it that way, and maybe I am. But I feel like I would do anything for him, so why can’t he even consider this for me? Two weeks ago, he mentioned that eventually we will move in together. But he has “space issues,” so that’s also not an option right now.
Am I wasting my life with this guy? He says that if I really loved him, I would be more concerned about being with him than getting married. My theory on that is that several guys asked me to marry them in the period of dating before I met him, and if it was just about getting married, I would have married one of them. This isn’t about the white dress and the cake and the flowers, I’ve done that.
Am I crazy?
Bride-never-to-be
Dear Bride,
Why do you want to get married so badly? If it’s not the money and it’s not the dress and it’s not providing a father figure for your kids, what is it? Does it not “count” unless he’s tied to you legally? You’ve seen in your own life that marriage is no warranty for happiness and security — so why do you need it so badly?
There’s a little movie called Bedrooms & Hallways in which Darren chastises Leo for always wanting guarantees in love, and Leo’s like, “That’s not so wrong!” and Darren tells him that it’s too much to ask for, because “either you split up or one of you dies,” so you should enjoy what you’ve got when you’ve got it.
If this guy’s The One, the formalities shouldn’t matter…and in any case, you shouldn’t enter into those formalities until you understand a bit better why you want them so much. Get honest with yourself about why the relationship as it is now, sans blood test, isn’t enough for you. Yeah, maybe he’s got issues, but so do you. Deal with them.
I mean, if you really really must have a legal and spiritual seal of approval in order to continue, then yes, you’re wasting your time and you should break it off with him. But it’s not like the situation is going to change with the next guy; this is as much your neurosis as it is his.
Hiya Sars,
I’m not going to pretend that my problem isn’t common, as the state of health care in this country gives any fool the heebie jeebies. I have achieved a level of “realness” my just-out-of-college self never thought could happen so soon: a job with BENEFITS. So, after a year and a half of being uncovered, I finally have a health-care plan and the chance to see a doctor without paying heinous fees and dealing with general shadyness. I’m all set. I’m in a position that many Americans only wish were this easy.
The problem is: I’m rather embarrased to go the doctor. It’s been years (perhaps three or four, but I don’t know exactly). School, traveling, and staying in Europe for a year and a half have rather kept me from being “available” for a proper check-up. I had a quasi-visit in France perhaps two years ago that entailed x-raying my chest, and that was it. I think I have obviously used the whole being “uncovered” schtick as an excuse to avoid THE DOCTOR VISIT. I’ve never seen a gynecologist, as my last time was a “family” doctor. I’m way not the healthiest gal, as I smoke (cigarettes and other illicit stuff I won’t go into), I drink every weekend, I eat rather badly, hardly exercise, and have gained a ridiculous amount of weight in the past three years.
I’m sure the doctor will tell me any number of things about eating right, proper exercise, and getting rid of smokes and booze, but I’m afraid to hear it!! Are my fears irrational? Should I just face up to my vices? Should I see a gynecologist for the first time? Should I be up-front about my avoidance of healthcare? Should I be embarrassed about my body and my lifestyle to a doctor? Lastly: How do I just pick up the bloomin’ phone and make an appointment? Ach, it fills me with dread just thinking about it. Any thoughts?
Respectfully yours,
Doctorphobe
Dear Phobe,
Oh, I hear you. I smoke, I guzzle pints, I barely exercise, popcorn is the largest level on my food pyramid, and I live on six hours’ sleep a night. And this is a healthy phase for me — let’s not even get into the illegal-substances-and-unsafe-sex period of my life.
But I go for a yearly physical and a yearly pelvic exam, because even though I could do better with the unhealthy habits, it’s important to have a doctor who knows your regular baseline of health. Yeah, she’ll lecture you about the smoking and the drinking and the weight gain, but you have to go. And you especially have to go to the GYN. It’s crucial. Regular visits ensure that nothing goes wrong and remains undetected for too long, and also that if, say, you have cystic breasts, your doctor can chill you out if you feel a lump because that’s normal for you.
I hate going to the doctor, but I make myself. I make myself go to the dentist and the eye doctor too. If you have insurance, there’s no excuse. Grit your teeth and do it, and don’t feel embarrassed — whatever you’ve got going on unhealthy-wise, the doctor has seen way way worse.
Dear Sars,
I recently separated after quite a few years of marriage, although that isn’t the main issue at the moment. For about ten years, I have corresponded with an ex-boyfriend we’ll call FuzzNuts for the sake of anonymity. FuzzNuts and I always related well to one another, and I always believed that he was at the very least a good friend; I also always had it in the back of my mind that if I ever left my spouse, I would look him up and maybe we could try again.
Needless to say, I met him for a drink last week and one thing led to another (yada, yada) as you can quite possibly imagine.
The problem is this: before I slept with him, he was crying on my shoulder about the distance in his relationship and asking my advice about whether or not he should stop seeing her. He invited me back to his place, and like an idiot I accepted. I didn’t really know what to expect after it happened; I did know it was a risk that he would stay with her, even though he told me he still had feelings for me.
Okay, long story short: The day after I slept with FuzzNuts, he called and said that his girlfriend had called the night before after I’d left to tell him that she was pregnant. Initially, I was just shocked and really upset (particularly with myself), because I would never knowingly be with a man who had a pregnant girlfriend. After a few days, however, I started thinking that this so-called “friend” had manipulated me (i.e. he knew all along that she was pregnant, and he was trying to get one last fling before he had to settle down). At the very least this is an amazing coincidence, don’t you think?
Should I warn this poor woman about the skeeve she’s about to marry? Or should I just drop it and learn from it?
Thanks a lot for listening and for giving great advice.
Gullible
Dear Gullible,
Maybe he’s on the level, maybe not. It doesn’t matter. He has a girlfriend, the girlfriend is pregnant, and you should put as much distance between yourself and that powder keg as possible. You made an honest mistake, but don’t make a second one by trying to “correct” the first one — it’s not your responsibility.
FuzzNuts is a dicksmack, and that’s unfortunate for his girlfriend, but she has to learn that for herself, and your getting involved will not help anyone. Stay out of it.
Tags: boys (and girls) friendships health and beauty kids
