Michelle's House of Horrors

To tell you the truth, I don’t know you well enough to tell you the truth
–Shall We Dance

Telling the truth can be somewhat subjective, but trust is more or less absolute.

Or maybe it’s more like this:   truth is a graph with a much wider axis than trust.  Truth might go from 1-100, but trust is more of a 1-5 scale.

Let’s say you just met someone. If you’re like me and you try to trust people by default, you have a set point for a certain level of trust. You’re chatting and the conversations veers to matters that are very personal. Sexual preferences. Your last name and address.  You have no reason NOT to trust this person, but you aren’t going to give him your address just yet because you aren’t that kind of crazy. You probably trust him at a healthy 3.  Not enough to tell him how you feel about blow jobs, or where you live, but enough to tell him other things about yourself in a getting acquainted sort of way.   Or if you’re me, you might tell him about blow jobs because it’s good advertising.  To me, giving someone my last name and address are more of a level 4 revelation but I’ll talk sex with just about anyone if they don’t seem like too much of a delicate flower. To me, sex requires more of a level 2 or 3 trust scenario so it’s something I can talk about early on in the process of building trust.

Think about it–would you rather find our your new love is into diapers on date 3 or after you move in together? Right. Not at all.

You might feel very differently about it, but that’s the point: our trust points are all very different.  And none of us are wrong. Well, most of us. Some people don’t trust anyone with any information at all or trust people who’ve clearly demonstrated that they’re bad news. That’s pathological.

In the online dating world, there is a little of everything.

There’s a profile I saw the other day which contained a tasteful photo of a man in leather administering punishment to someone. If that wasn’t enough of a flag, his profile declared that he was a sexual dominant and that if that wasn’t something a woman is interested in she should not message him. And that is at least partly a matter of establishing trust.

His need to share that information up front has at least a couple of reasons– one is because that’s his thing, and he wants to hear from someone with the same interests but also because it’s a violation of trust not to let folks know what they are getting into with him.

If there is one thing I really admire about the BDSM community, it’s their insistence on sex being fully consensual in every particular. It gets talked about far more than it does with other groups, and I think that’s a very good thing. Someone I met once told me that he considered himself a leather clad Boy Scout.

Don’t worry, Ma–I am not considering a career as a dominatrix. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

The other side of trust is truth. It seems so clear, right? I’ve talked about it before, though, and people definitely have different ideas of what truth is. Maybe I can describe what I think it is more easily by saying what it is not:  it is not a technically correct answer to a specific question.

If I think my hypothetical lover is cheating on me, and I ask “are you sleeping with her?” anyone would know that I don’t really mean “sleeping.” So if my lover has never actually fallen asleep with her and answers “no” because they have never fallen asleep together after fucking, then he is not telling me the truth. Even though he is not TECHNICALLY incorrect.  We both know what I mean. Lawyers do this all the time. Their truth scale is a very particular one based on literal accuracy rather than moral or ethical transparency or a desire for clarity.

To me, truth is about emotional and ethical honesty and a desire for clarity as much as factual accuracy. You need both. Not telling a lie is not the same thing as telling the truth.

Let’s say I think my hypothetical lover is cheating because I keep seeing female names on his phone messages,  and I ask “are you cheating on me?”   There’s more leeway there, right?   What is cheating? Sending flirtatious messages?  Having female friends who I don’t know about? Maybe he’s sexting with a different woman every day. Maybe he’s sending or receiving lewd pictures. Maybe he just has a lot of female clients and the communications are totally business related. Maybe he’s looking for someone to fuck but hasn’t done it just yet. Maybe he has no intention of progressing to actual physical contact, but just likes the spark of the illicit messages.  If he’s doing some of those things, I would consider the  truthful answer to be something along the lines of yes, he’s cheating or at least something to indicate that he realizes there’s something not quite right going on with what he’s doing.   There’s a scale to the truth here.  If people have different ideas of what sort of communication it’s OK to have with people outside the relationships, it can be a problem and clear communication about it is crucial. They can’t have that clear communication unless they are on the same page in what it means to be truthful with each other.

My preference would be for a partner who balances out tact and truth. Not to use truth as a weapon but as a tool to make things better for both of us.

I’m walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line of the edge
And where I walk alone
–Green Day

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a good pair of walking shoes, must be in want of a man to walk with her.
–With apologies to Jane Austen

Sportiness is not something I have ever been known for, but I do love a good solitary ramble. If that solitary ramble can take place on a trail in the woods, it’s even better. I walk, I take pictures of tree parts and clouds, I listen to my heart beat, I smile and I enjoy the quiet. It’s the best enhancer of inner peace and serenity there is!

There’s only one problem. Men.

They’re dear, sweet things and I’ve already established my cred as a man-lover, so hear me out. Men make it almost impossible for a woman to enjoy being anywhere secluded on her own. Yes, even though the vast majority of them aren’t “like that.”  Even though  it’s statistically very safe on the trails around Portland. All it takes is one lone man doing..something…nothing…just being there…and as a solitary woman I  have to be on guard.

It ruins the inner peace and serenity that is most of the reason I’m there in the first place.

It’s not so bad in the Summer when there are more people on the trails. That way one solitary man doesn’t stand out as much. In the Winter, things get a little harder to assess. I stay to the main trails where visibility is good, don’t go into the woods at all, and generally don’t enjoy my walk nearly as much as I might if I could go where I pleased.

Often a Winter walk becomes something to be gotten through. Just exercise, not pleasure.

One Winter afternoon when I was home from work, a rare sunny day, I decided to go for a quick walk in the park near my house. In the Summer, there are always a lot of people there, but during the Winter there are seldom any people there except a few dedicated dog walkers.  When I parked my car, I noticed a guy who poked his head out from behind a shrub. When I noticed him, he ducked back behind the shrub.

Hmmm.

In the Summer, I probably would have just waited a minute until a family walked in and followed them. In the Winter, there was no one else around so the weird guy hiding behind the shrub was quite noticible. While I was trying to decide what to do, he peeked out onto the trail a few more times. I decided not to take a walk after all.

He might have been waiting for a friend, and just peeking out onto the trail quite innocently. In fact, he probably was. I opted not to take a chance.

Or there was the guy who was just sitting under a tree on a  trail this morning. The totally deserted trail. In the forest. On the cold ground. Maybe he was just enjoying the feel of the cold, damp earth on his butt. Maybe he was a serial murderer who  goes after 20 year old blondes rather than 54 year old brunettes. That would explain his odd smile. Or maybe he’s just a socially awkward slightly dirty dude in a beanie who likes to sit on the ground because he was raised by hippies in a commune near Dexter and he likes to be in contact with Mother Gaia. Who the hell knows?

Not me, and that’s the point.

He was sitting there, in all likelihood quite peacefully. He was probably just enjoying the weather like me. When I saw him, I stopped enjoying the weather and the sound of birds and started  listening for his footsteps behind me instead until I rejoined the main trail several minutes later.

Did he do anything wrong? Of course not.

What we need is a world in which women feel just as safe enjoying a solitary walk as men do. Where we can walk to our cars after dark without looking over our shoulders or finding someone to walk with is.

This is a minor annoyance in a world in which most people have it far worse than I do. I grant that. I am blessed to live in a state with such wonderful city trails and paths. I am blessed to live in a place that still has beautiful green places to ramble in. I just wish I could enjoy them in the same unfettered way that men do.

It would be easier if I had a man with me. Then I wouldn’t have to wonder. Just wander.  Of course part of what I love about walking is the solitude. Just me and my thoughts. The sound of my feet hitting the ground. Woodpeckers. Kids laughing in the distance.

In order to enjoy the trail while feeling totally safe, I have to give up the solitude.

It’s not a horrible tradeoff, but it is one, and it’s one that makes me angry.

As a society why are we so content to accept that it’s OK for women to be worried for their own safety?

Since Thanksgiving-ish: 19 lbs down, and a lot to go. What? I would tell you how far I have to go if I knew. Because I am vain, it will depend on how I look. 50? 80? No idea. A lot.

This is the first time I’ve gone through a stressful period in my life without potato chips to medicate me, by the way. I know that’s funny, but it doesn’t make it less true. If I’d said it was the first time I’d gone through a stressful time without whiskey, you probably wouldn’t have found it quite as amusing, right?

It’s not really any different, but as I told someone the other day: for someone like me, eating moderately when under stress (hell, or when I’m happy)  is sort of like telling an alcoholic to just drink moderately. Alcoholics can’t drink a little bit throughout the day and stay sober, and people who have issues with food have to eat. Every damn day. More than once. Every time we do, it’s a chance to fall off the wagon. Abstinence isn’t an option with food–not for long, anyway–and abstinence is easier than moderation for people with abuse issues. Ask someone who’s done Medifast–it’s easier not to eat at all than it is to make good choices.

Am I being perfect? No. I have the occasional cocktail, or meal of mashed potatoes.  I’m having a pint of bitter as I write this to console me for being stood up. I’m trying to work through things in order to get better at dealing with eating for consolation before I either have surgery. Or in case I don’t have surgery.

Don’t?

Well, there’s that whole thing where I may not have a job for much longer. I can’t have surgery if I lose my insurance, yeah?

It sucks. The whole thing sucks. Work sucks in particular.

Anyway, soldering on like the Scorpio boss I am.

Actually, you know what? I’d have had the pint of bitter anyway. I had a light lunch to account for it. I ordered it before I knew the flakey dude wasn’t coming. The pint of bitter was planned ahead of time. Well, I was thinking it would be an IPA, but bitter sounded good at the last minute. I didn’t realize that it would also be my mood!

I can fucking deal with men. Men are easy, mostly. They see things in a way that is mostly very easy to understand. There’s that one who challenges me, but mostly? I like them. There’s a reason I keep them around. No, not that. Or not only that. Men are mostly simple. Most of my friends are men. Men rock.

Also, in the spirit of full disclosure? I’m kind of relieved.

Oh, and for the sake of perfect honesty I came home from the pub, had dinner and then popcorn. And pop-tarts Not exactly the healthiest choices ever. I win some, I lose some.

So cheers, y’all.