Florida, Abigail, life update tomorrow.

It’s in the universe. And it’s on The Bachelorette. Perhaps you couldn’t give two rosy shits about The Bachelorette, or about my unapologetic need to eat any and all dating candy, but on a more universal level what “happened to Ashley” “happens” to all of us. The air-quotes you just saw, that’s me trying to force you to get my point: that we decide what happens when something happens to us.

For those living under a rock (or with noses in something, I dunno, like a newspaper that reports actual news), here’s the quick story: bachelorette Ashley Hebert was warned by a friend before the show began to watch out for a guy named Bentley Williams, who was—wait for it—”on the show for the wrong reasons.” But Ashley decides that the red in that flag really isn’t her color, deciding to “keep an open mind.” Ashley then fell hard for the 28-year-old dad from Utah. He’d tell her how amazing she was, stroke her hair, touch the small of her back, then, privately, he’d mock vomit, wishing Ashley were Emily (a previous contestant from the same season as Ashley). During his private one-on-one interviews with the camera, he’d trash Ashley’s looks and sling as many insults as he could. Why did he want this attention and what did it serve, acting like an empty ball sack, treating a woman this way, as he models behavior for his own young daughter? Wrong question.

Right question: Why did Ashley fall hard for a guy she hardly knew?

A la Straight Up & Dirty… Women declare their love before knowing how he handles anger, stress, or her when she’s gone and chicked out in a fit of insecurity. She’s practicing her would-be new monogram before knowing how he handles alcohol, meddling family, or texts from his ex. It can’t be “OMG, he’s the one!” before she knows if he’s the one who’s up to his manscaping in debt and mommy issues. Quite simply, like so many of us, Ashley fell in love with an idea. A bad idea.

Insecure, I used to believe that the hotter the guy who liked me equated to the hotter I actually was. This hot hot guy wants me?! And that, right there, is why Ashley fell so fast. Because he seemed hard to get, and she got him. We ask for what we get.

As a viewer, it’s easy to know what Ashley doesn’t and to roll our eyes and judge, but in truth, we’ve all been her. Maybe we didn’t whine as much, but we’ve been the gas instead of the brakes. We’ve been the one to push, to allow, to convince ourselves of who he really is, what we really are as an “us” or could be. We haven’t done it on national TV, but we’ve been a broken record in the face of our closet friends. “I’m just so confused.” “Mixed messages.” “Ugh, I can’t take it! I need answers now!”

But we have our answers. And when we don’t, we make our own, even if they’re the wrong ones. When there are empty spaces, we can’t help but want to fill them. I used to live at this address. If he wasn’t exactly where I was at the exact same time, I’d cut him off. If he wasn’t pursuing me hard enough, I’d end hard, easy. Because it was far easier than waiting for him to decide how he felt about me.

The biggest problem, and truth, standing in my way was this: if a guy is into you, he’ll move heaven and earth to be with you. He’d “sleep out in the rain, if she said that’s the way it ought to be.” Anything short of that full court press made us a no-go.

But… if you’ve given the relationship time to develop, and he’s not stepping up his game in a really big way, if he’s not putting his foot on the gas and making YOU set the pace of the relationship by adding just enough brakes, then it’s time to find a new ride. Because you never want to be on the wrong bus when the right one shows up.

i once made a Georgia peach pie with a cinnamon lattice crust and served it alongside home-spun brown sugar ice cream. But I cant recall with whom I’d enjoyed such a summer pleasure. And that’s when my obsessions made perfect sense. My memories were, sometimes are, about the food, not the people.

Other times, magical memory moments, are all about the connection, a look, a squeezed knee under a table at an Italian restaurant. The restaurant name escapes you, but you remember the exact table and then something vaguely about salmon. But you can’t recall if it was that you were at a carb palace of a restaurant, and you thought to yourself I should order the salmon. I should order the salmon. Or, if maybe you’d said aloud to this could-be soul-mate across from you that there’s no way you’re ordering the salmon. Maybe you caught a sliver of conversation from an older woman, a woman who wears skirt suits to dinner, and you remarked to your date that this was exactly the place you’d thought it would be, that no matter where you go in New York, no matter how luxurious the food palate offered, there will always be someone asking for dry salmon, no oil, lemon on the side.

My memory for food is remarkable to me. The way some people can be standing across the world, in a tony town they’d read about all their life, saved for, seen in photographs, and now there, in the mix of smells and sounds, a feast of look at this, did you see that, they’ll suddenly smell The Catskills. “Oh my God, I smell camp.” And memories of not wanting to touch the bottom of the lake with his bare feet are unavoidable. You’re re-planted in familiar soil, no matter how foreign you get.

People say that relationships work this way. That there will be familiar strains and patterns, no matter how foreign this new type of person you’re with is, you take yourself with you everywhere. So, unless you change, nothing really will. I’m just not one of the people saying this. 

The fact that I associate a magical snow day, stowed away in a dark bar, playing Connect Four with drinking Shiraz  will never change. We can’t control what we remember, only what we choose to make of those shiraz-tinted memories. I think I hold them just a little too close, idealize a then, because it’s easier than pushing myself to find the magical moments worth capturing now. That, or I just need to eat at better restaurants.

QUESTION FROM A GREEK TRAGEDY READER: I really don’t know why I’m writing, as I somehow feel all the answers I need are in each of the replies you’ve given to your readers already. But, I do need advice, as I am also trying to get over a guy. I really thought he was the one.

He is a bit of a cliche–he went to the East to find himself, to travel the world, etc. etc., (the Eat, Pray, Love – male version) after his divorce, and after he was made redundant in his job. He’s taken on a profession as a yoga teacher. We met while he was traveling, teaching yoga; I was a yoga student.

I guess he was different–he was sort of intelligent but not an intellectual. And since I, too, traveled a lot for my job and he was traveling, we would follow the other to wherever the other was to spend time. We did spend 4 months in one country together. We had our problems, but nothing so big. Suddenly he bails on me after a wonderful time traveling around China. I’m in one country, and he’s in another (he’s in India, of course). He hints at it in an email, but I actually am the one who lays it down and says ” Yes, let’s break up.”

He had been wanting a relationship and then he became non-committal throughout the time we were together, and I was tired of it. And this cowardly hinting was really not my style. It’s been a month and some weeks– but I’m still ruminating over the break up and am very sad about it all. I have bouts of crying still. I did fall in love with the bloke, and now he’s taken up with his best friend of 3 or more years (another yoga teacher); and so quickly, too!

She was the one he called each time we ran into a bump on the road of our relationship. He’s admitted to me that he has had feelings for her in the past, which she brushed away, then. After his divorce she was there to help him out. I suddenly feel like a trick horse–our relationship, a reason for him to call her and ask for advice. But I can’t get over it all still. I really did fall for him hard. I am hurting so much that I want a lobotomy to remove all the memories of us together! I’m wondering how I can get through this. I feel incredibly used and have somehow lost faith in myself ( even if i know I’m successful, attractive and smart despite being on the wrong side of 30). What do I do to get past this?

I want to be over this now and its been very difficult. I’m now in yet another foreign country doing research and I have no close friends here. I feel rather alone and abandoned. My work has taken second place. And I just can’t get over how sad I feel. Anger would have been easier to deal with. I would so appreciate a shake from you and some of your straight up advice.

–Aimless and Confused in Bangkok

You say Bangkok, I say ban-cock. Let’s call the whole thing off.

This is so When Harry Met Sally. In case you haven’t seen the film, the recap goes like this: Harry, a neurotic pessimist, becomes friends with Sally, an optimistic picky eater, when they agree that theirs will be nothing but a platonic friendship. Harry marries a woman who tends to retain water, then divorces her when she cheats on him with a tax attorney named Ira. Meanwhile, Sally falls in love with Joe, then breaks up with him after playing a game of “I Spy” with a little girl who spies “a family.” Sally wants marriage and the carriage. Joe, not so much. Fast forward, and our heroes trail and error their way through relationships, sharing every detail with each other. Until, that is, Sally discovers that Joe is marrying his perky secretary, that he does want a family, just not with Sally! Taking comfort in her friend Harry’s arms, Sally is a mess of tears and leaky mascara, which lead to some sex, which ruins their friendship. They both date others, then Harry pursues the crap out of Sally. Coulda, woulda, shoulda is Sally’s favorite rhyme. He had his chance. We’re done. And they are done, until Harry realizes he wants to spend the rest of his life with Sally and is willing to scream it from the rooftop. Their wedding follows, with a delicious cake, with the sauce on the side. THE END

ASK YOURSELF THIS: WHO ARE YOU IN THIS WHEN HARRY MET SALLY SCENARIO?

Sometimes it helps to look at your own situation from a new perspective, temporarily lifting yourself out of the relationship equation to get a bird’s-eye view of you. This doesn’t just apply to romantic relationships, by the way. Look at families, alliances, friendships and endships.

It’s easy to vilify, to call him a creep for leading you on, but the truth is, he’s as lost as you are. You’re both just feeling your way through this stuff. If your Yogi-boy is Harry, and this other woman has been his Sally the whole time, then it’s clear to see that you simply are not his happy ending. 

Here’s the fantastic news, love. You don’t want to be on the wrong bus when the right one pulls up. By not being in this love triangle tangle, you’re free to create your own happy ending.

“WHAT DO I DO TO GET OVER THIS?” YOU ASK.
I answer: Every time your whiny victim self comes out feeling sad and missing his smell, you give yourself permission to be a tearjerker and play your sadass clit-rock. Love her. Appreciate her for her ability to love openly; comfort her the way you’d console a child. Put a time limit on that shit though. Then take a look at your no-room-for-bullshit self. Imagine her. Seriously, close your eyes and picture her. Is she a big black woman? A Jillian Michaels lookalike? She’s going to kick your ass if you don’t quit feeling sorry for yourself. Get the hell out of the house. Sit in a cafe, realize that life goes on outside of you and your dramas. And love her. Love your inner “We ain’t got time for this shit, now move it or lose it” self. Watch them both duke it out. Get some distance from it. Just watch. And it will suddenly feel less dire.

Keep yourself busy, go outside, cut off all communication with Sir Yogi, and I promise, promise, promise you will be writing in again to tell us how giddy you are about your new life.

GOT QUESTIONS? NEED ADVICE?
If you have questions or need advice on anything from where to eat to how to get over the bastard, just email your question to my advice email address. Am I a doctor? I don’t even play one on TV, but people keep asking, so I might as well air it and share it.

QUESTION FROM A GREEK TRAGEDY READER:

I am a 29-year-old single mom, recently divorced. After a year of being separated, I met my current boyfriend: 30, never been married, set in his OCD ways. A year after breaking up with his live-in girlfriend he met me.

We met over ten months ago at the apartment complex where we lived. After a month of friendship, we continued to move things forward and began a romantic relationship. From the beginning we were talking serious talk: marriage, kids, family—not with each other, necessarily, but simply getting to know each other and what we wanted in our lives.

Please note: he still seems to hold onto this childhood fantasy that he’d marry his high school sweetheart, the one that would have him on a pedestal and he’d never be #2. His parents and grandparents were high school sweethearts, and that was his dream. He also wanted a woman who was never married, wanting his children and their marriage to be her one and only.

The fact that it wasn’t the case with me had caused an adjustment for him. He says he loves me, and I believe him since he decided to take on this challenge (for him) and go with it.

We moved in together about a month ago. We are a great team, we get along great, I can’t say enough about our interaction. We are a great couple (I believe it, and so he says). But there are a couple of issues.

I am still insecure because of my past experiences, and the fact that my ex-husband cheated on me. I try to play detective sometimes. And what makes it worse is the fact that he has A LOT of female friends. Some of them he’s “been with” in the past. Also, his last ex still contacts him, used to drop by with cupcakes etc. We talk a lot about these females, and he has a perfect answer for everything. Although talking to him makes me feel more secure about him and trust him more, there is still this part of me that would doubt him. I was thinking it was my insecurity, so I was trying to settle it within myself because I didn’t want him to get tired of my questioning every single text that appears in his phone from different women.

But here is the issue and the reason why I feel I couldn’t trust him completely. He has a password on his cell phone, he had a good explanation for it, but still I couldn’t help but wonder. Then sometimes when texting he would act weird, like he didn’t want me to see the screen, sometimes he would just carry his phone in his pocket while at home. Things like that. So at some point I learned his password and before we moved in together I went through it. The only thing I really saw was him talking to a woman that day, at the end he says “ok my movie is about to start, I will talk to you later” but he wasn’t going to watch a movie, he was coming over my place. I did talk to him about it in a round about way later at some point, and in general terms, like, “Honey, why do men….” So he said, that it is because the person they are talking to is really not a close friend and maybe someone who just happens to contact them after a long time, so men just don’t give too much explanation. Ok I bought that. But I was still not satisfied because he still seemed weird with his phone. And right before we moved in he was texting with some one who he called “brown eyes” and tried to tell me she was someone from work. But to me, why would a man nickname a coworker “brown eyes” in their phone? Anyways, after we moved in together, I tried to check his phone once again and the password had changed. So it raised another question in my little insecure but very not naïve mind. Eventually I was able to get into his phone and to my (not surprise) there were txt deleted that I am not sure what was being talked about, but it was from women who I had a gut feeling about. But the main one was the brown eye girl, who supposedly was his coworker, she is not a coworker, when confronted he wouldn’t answer the question as to who she was especially after he knew I already knew the truth. He tried to say she was a nobody, but wouldn’t say much else. Then once I said, why would you tell other women “I miss you, I miss seeing you everyday, I looooove that picture, beautiful hair, you have made my day…etc” he says that that is the way he is with his close friends, and tried to show me other people who says I miss you too, or admires their picture (one of them being his ex, who sent him a picture of herself). But wouldn’t answer the question, then if there is nothing to hide why have a password? Why lie about this person being a coworker when in fact she wasn’t? Why say she is a nobody, but then say that she is a close friend which is why he is saying I miss you? Etc…eventually this is what he said “IT IS TIME TO STOP FAKING, I GUESS I AM DONE”…meaning he was breaking up with me. I don’t know what he was faking, there was no explanation or clarification. So now I am wondering a whole bunch of things.

I live with the man, we haven’t talked in two days, I do not know what to do. Should I wait for him to talk to me? Should I bring it up? I have to think about my son, so I really do not know what do to. If we do talk and he wants to stay together, should I accept it, but ask for some changes on the whole phone thing or whatever. I don’t know.

He said that I never trusted him from the beginning, that I never accepted the fact that he has a lot of female friends. I said to him that some of his actions made me doubt him, such as having a password on his phone, why would someone do that? I don’t have a password. Plus he has disrespected me by saying stuff like that to other women, I don’t talk like that to other men, or have passwords, and I talk to my ex-husband about our son in front of him, so I don’t create any situations where he would have to doubt my commitment to him. He continues to say that trust shouldn’t be based on a password. And won’t admit to doing anything wrong.

I need some advice please because I am so confused now. What did he mean with “Time to stop faking”? Faking what? His love for me? The fact that he was okay with taking on this challenge? Maybe he can’t let go of younger women? I don’t know. and I don’t know if I should even be with him. But everything else is so perfect it makes it so hard for me.

Confused Woman mother of One.

IF YOU WERE IN FRONT OF ME, I’D KIcK YOU IN THE HEAD. Then I’d help you up off the floor, and warn you that it’s the very last time I’m helping you. You need to help yourself.

Confused?! About what could you possibly be confused? How did you ever let it come to this? Ever get yourself into this situation at all? Never mind putting your son in this situation? That’s the only confusion you should be confronting.

Children need stability, not people weaving in and out of their lives, disappearing. You never ever should have moved in with this guy. Period. If I were living in your town, no joke, I would drive to your home with empty boxes and force you to either move or pack up his things and push him out the door. I wouldn’t leave until it was done. Locks changed. You need to save yourself from yourself. I want to shake you. You are that far gone.

Okay. I’ve taken a breath. I’m calmer. Here is all there is to say: move out now. NOW. Check your bank statements and credit report. This man was using you for something. Your cooking, a roof over his head, your car? Something. You fed a need, and he is a cheater. Not a possibility, a fact. No amount of promises, however heartfelt, will ever set this right. He is bad news. And so are you if you don’t get him the hell out of your life.

This was not caused by your insecurities. Darlin’, this ain’t paranoia. You have every reason to feel insecure. People in healthy relationships, monogamous relationships, do not password-protect their lives. They live them openly because there is nothing to hide. Nothing, nothing, can excuse this away. No amount of logic or reason.

He is 100% cheating on you. I don’t care if he’s not having sex with them, if he is, isn’t, it doesn’t even matter. “She’s just a friend” isn’t true unless–and let me be clear here–unless he invites her to spend time with YOU. Every single woman, every single “friend,” should be someone you have met, spent time with. You need to hear him tell these friends that he loves you, that you live together.

I am angry with you. I am. I don’t know you, but I’ve been you in some wanting needing form. This is the worst you, the worst example you could possibly set for your son. You need to fix this, not with questions, not with “talks” or sit downs or rules. You need to either kick him out or find a new place, as soon as humanly possible.

Once you’re settled in your own space, just you and your son, I want you to figure out what in you allowed you to ever believe this was an acceptable standard of living. Why were you so quick to move in with him? You have a lot of personal work to do, and I suggest you find a therapist today. You need a professional who can help you see how your neediness is directing you to make such horrendous choices.

GOT QUESTIONS? NEED ADVICE?
If you have questions or need advice on anything from where to eat to how to get over the bastard, just email your question to my advice email address. Am I a doctor? I don’t even play one on TV, but people keep asking, so I might as well air it and share it.

QUESTION FROM A GREEK TRAGEDY READER: I am an absolute mess in the intimacy and confidence departments. I am now a 27-year-old virgin who has never been on a real date. I don’t have any major weight, looks or body odor problems – it’s all in my head, of course. I grew up with a very meek and gentle mother and brother and a very frightening, powerful and often absentee father. I yearned for his affection and praise but never got it, which led to psychiatric problems of anxiety and depression at about the age of 15, a few years after my parents divorced. I had one overdose in college on my meds but am now doing better with the anxiety. But I still have absolutely no idea how normal females interact with men their own age. Not surprisingly, the only males I can feel comfortable around are either gay or at least 30 years older than me. I finally got so sick of my dad screaming at me for the tiniest little infractions and playing second fiddle to his second wife that I cut him off over a year ago. I thought that would really help me, but it hasn’t. I’m still terrified of men and have no idea how to date or flirt. I don’t want to be a virgin forever, but at this point, I think I might be. I had about 10 years of psychiatric help, but honestly, I just don’t think it can help me. I just sit in the chair and cry, session after session, about how much my dad hurt me and how scared I am of everything, but mostly trust and intimacy. Do you see any way I could ever get over my daddy issues? I hate that he emotionally controls me in this way! I yearned for a caring father figure my whole life, not one who would berate and criticize me, and so I’m afraid that I will just go for a father figure one day and have no hope of being with my equal in a guy. What did I do to deserve this? Why do I torture myself this way???

As always, the floor is yours until I take. Please try to offer anything that might help out our 28-year-old virgin. Yes, 28. Because it might have taken me a year to respond to this. Sorry about that.

GOT QUESTIONS? NEED ADVICE?
If you have questions or need advice on anything from where to eat to how to get over the bastard, just email your question to my advice email address.

Is porn cheating? (In a way, yeah)
Is it disrespectful to your partner? (Kinda think so)
Is it perfectly normal, a healthy way of having needs met? (Yup, that’s true, too)

Guess what? It’s not really what matters. Here’s what does: how you two deal with it.

What matters most: 
1) How you confront your feelings (most likely fear is at play)
2) How you communicate those feelings + fears

FINDING YOUR OWN “WHY?”
First you need to get to why? Your own why. Literally sit down with a piece of paper and write how you’re feeling or even what’s going through your head followed by a why?, and you’ll often see what’s really going on. Let’s play.

Holy snowballs! No way. You hot steamy turd of a liar, I think I’m going to vomit a ball of tar. Why? Because you said you weren’t into porn. Why? Maybe you said that because to you being “really into porn” means something else, or maybe you said it because you assumed I’d be offended. Why? Because I’ve never come out and told you how I felt about it. Why? Because it’s private… and maybe that’s why you haven’t told me about it.

Still, it makes me feel like a fat nasty cafeteria lady seeing women with buoyant globes and nipples the size of nickles. Why? Because I’ll never look like that. Why? Because my parents and their parents have suckass genes. And I wasn’t born with an airbrush. But really why? Because I fear I’m not enough, enough for him, good enough, pretty enough, sexy enough, adventurous enough. Why are you afraid of that? Because then he’ll reject me, leave me—Why can’t I be his fantasy?!
Because he has you. And he chose you.

Wouldn’t it be worse if you’d discovered 200+ pictures of his ex? If these were women he actually knew? Women posing for him? Of course (that actually happened to me), and it made me run to the toilet with the ‘rhea. Why? Because we’re all vulnerable, we’re all afraid of loss, of rejection, because it doesn’t feel good.

I offer your self-esteem this tasty nibble: “Show me a beautiful woman, and I’ll show you a man who’s tired of banging her.”

That is to say, those women in those photos have boyfriends, husbands, even, and no matter how beautiful she is, he likely has his own trash stash. However gorgeous you are, cellulite-free, skin tanned and smooth, stomach tight, he’ll still fantasize about “other,” about “different” about “a piece of strange.” It’s obviously not personal and has nothing to do with your body. 

WHO CARES MORE? RESOLVING CONFLICT
Can you discuss that you stumbled upon his 200+ photos—and there may be videos on that laptop of his, too, a subscription to paid sites—without accusations, without even a hint of judgment or blame, simply expressing how you feel, and why you feel the way you do? Ideally this is the state of mind you want to be in when you approach the subject. Then, after sharing, you need to be ready to listen, really listen, to how he feels, and why he feels the way he does. This is true of anything.

Chinese Proverb: Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day.
Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.

The problem (porn in this case) is the fish. How you solve it, communicate it, come upon a resolution is the fishing for a lifetime.

That said, oh, lady, have I been there
It started in high school. I didn’t like that my boyfriend read “guy magazines” with evocative pictures, not porn, but magazines like Maxim.

I would literally flip through his magazines and tear out anything alluring, anyone I didn’t want him to see. Because I was jealous. Because it made me feel like shit that he’d choose—seek out, even—to look at images of other women. It felt disrespectful.

He could just forget about the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue. If he wanted to read it, he’d have to do so at the grocery store checkout. At Barnes & Noble. And I’d better not find out about it. Because to me it was a form of cheating.

My stance on cheating: doing anything you wouldn’t normally do in front of your partner—no, pooping doesn’t count. Would he really flip through a magazine of mostly naked women with me sitting there? I think he wanted to keep his balls, so no, never. But if he did it without me there, it was a form, however mild, of cheating. It was also a form of control. And here’s what I’ve learned about that: people do what they want to do. They might lie about it, might swear on their unborn children, might make promises, say everything right to allay your fears, but the simple truth is, if someone wants to cheat, wants to watch porn, wants to FILL IN THE BLANK, they’ll find a way to do it.

WE ALL HAVE DEAL-BREAKERS
We let our partner know up front what those deal-breakers are, and why they are deal-breakers for us—and sometimes, there’s just no rational explanation, and that’s okay. You know what? None of us is perfect, and if you have a hang-up about something, if it’s your line in the sand, make it count. Pick your battles. For me, it’s strip clubs and trips to Vegas. “Because no good can come of it,” my Father admits to me, of the “all boys” Vegas trips.

Phil and I agreed that he would never, for the rest of his life (as long as I’m alive + married to him) go to a strip club, and he’d leave anywhere if strippers showed up. It is my line in the sand. And yes, I’ve been to a strip club. I don’t want the love of my life in a sexually charged atmosphere without me. I don’t care if the guys are just there to have a steak dinner. It is off limits. Completely. I don’t need to do the whole, “Well, how would you feel if” because there is no equivalent to strip clubs, though my friends and I tried to come up with one. And one could rationalize all they want, that it’s a scam, that it’s all about money, that they’re all gross, but I don’t give a pastie.