Tag Archives: love

Have yourself a phlegmy little Christmas

First of all, just let me ask who the fuck is doing so many searches for my blog involving the word “chipmunk”?! This has been going on since December 16th! Yesterday my blog received 141 hits (the busiest day ever!), mainly from people searching for material about : “chipmunk”: “chipmunk cheeks”; “chipmunk face”; “chipmunk picture”; “chipmunk, storing food”; “chipmunk big cheeks”; “chipmunk girl”; “wisdom teeth chipmunk” etc., etc., etc! There were also two rogue searches for “cat herpes” (glad to see I can be of service to other cat lovers out there!) and “timothy olyphant wrist watch” (okaaaaaaaay). It’s all a bit of a mystery really – I did include a picture of a chipmunk to illustrate what I looked like when I had an infected wisdom tooth, but other than that this blog is hardly overflowing with material about chipmunks. But, damn, if I knew chipmunks were so fucking popular, I’d have written more. I just wish all these bloody chipmunk aficionados could leave a fucking comment once they get here! Sheesh!

Not much to report on my end besides this curious obsession with chipmunks. My life since I last posted has followed a very dull and predictable trajectory – stress; handjobs; stress; more handjobs; stress; stress; stress; handjobs; even more stress and, then – bam! – the phlegmiest motherfucker of all colds known to (wo)man. It struck on Friday and I’m only now starting to get over it. I really should have taken around two days off to just lie in bed, as my body ached all over and I had a temperature, but, hey, there were handjobs to be given so there was no time for that. I can’t even remember the last time I had a cold (I mainly just get allergies in this town), but, to be perfectly frank, I was just very, very glad that it wasn’t swine flu. I had a feeling I was going to get sick right before Christmas, and I was so worried I would be out of commission for weeks.

Tomorrow “MM” and I are heading off for the Midwest where we’ll be staying with his family for maybe five days or so, then driving back home. As I’ve already mentioned, I’m looking forward to the drive a great deal because I’ve never been on an American road trip before! Could there be anything more exciting than driving through the US? It’s just so fucking romantic. God, there are so many, many things to hate about this country, but I think what attracted me here in the first place was the sheer size of the place, and the allure of the open road (although, um, I’m a hopeless driver, and have never owned a car). I just hope that our road trip doesn’t have a tragic “Easy Rider”-like ending!

The idea of an American road trip excites me because this country is so huge and diverse that you could (well, in theory, anyway) re-invent yourself every day in every new town or city. How could you ever do something like that in Scotland? You’d set off from Glasgow, and then a few hours later you’d have practically reached the other side of the country! Besides, the place is so fucking small that you’d probably bump into somebody you knew sooner or later. I can remember being with my parents as a young teenager out on the hills near Wanlockhead, apparently Scotland’s highest village (and very far away – well, in Scottish terms – from where I grew up), and bumping into an old shepherd who got talking to me. After a few minutes, he said, “Och, you’re so-and-so. Aye, ah ken yer grandfaither”. There’s just no escaping yourself in Scotland.

I like December because it’s nearly a new year, and that holds so much promise for me. There’s a chance I might change, become something better. Of course, by January 3rd I’ve usually fallen right back into my bad patterns but, well, hope springs eternal, eh? I’d like to throw off the past, everything that’s held me back.

Speaking of the past, some of you who read my old blog may vaguely remember a client I misguidedly got involved with (His blog name was “Darth”). We never really dated or anything, as he was too much of a commitment phobe (and, hell, what the fuck was I thinking getting involved with a client anyway?!). Well, this guy keeps on contacting me intermittently even though I never respond. Check out these recent text messages:

December 9th: Hello “Petrichor” it’s [blank]. I have made several attempts to befriend you after our fallout to no avail. It’s disappointing because I did really enjoy ur company and intellect, so if u would ever like to meet for a coffee and a vegan scone please to let me know.”

December 9th: If not then happy holidays!

December 9th: Sorry for the typos. The iPhone still baffels my elderly mind

December 9th: oh well. It was worth a try.

December 22nd: Happy Holidays Ms “Petrichor”.

It’s clearly odd and unhealthy that this person should still be contacting me despite the fact I haven’t seen him for coming up on 2 years (!!!), but it does give me an evil feeling of satisfaction that I am no longer the one chasing useless men around. The dynamics of human relationships are so crazy – this guy was never any good, but I liked him because he followed the pattern I was so attracted to….he was emotionally distant, never called when he said he would, didn’t really want me etc. There have been so many men like that in my life and they drove me crazy with desire because I stupidly found them to be a challenge. I could almost cry when I think about the men I let exploit me like that. The irony is that if the tables are turned, then they are the ones running after you, feeling lost and neglected. I really should be far more appreciative of “MM” because he truly loves and cares for me. And, God, that’s a first.

Now I just have to learn to let myself feel loved and cared for, and, hmmm, maybe give a little of that back.


My husband is such a know-it-all twat.

I just had a huge fight with Midwestern Man. He really is such a know-it-all twat, and there is nothing (I repeat…nothing!) I hate more than know-it-alls wankers who aren’t informed about a subject but who decide to open their mouth, anyway.

Somehow Midwestern Man seems to be an expert on teaching, and the American public school system, and its hiring practices; and, oh yeah, he’s apparently also an expert about immigration to the US, and the US’s immigration policies. It’s fascinating how one man can know so much. I truly am fucking blessed to be married to such a polymath! He’s a fucking 21st century Renaissance Man. That’s what he fucking is!


Tonight’s fight was caused by my innocently pointing out that there was an article about Baltimore in last Sunday’s “New York Times” travel section. I’ve never been to Baltimore but I have a sneaking suspicion that I’d like it a lot, as I generally enjoy more blue-collar, racially diverse cities on the East Coast. I’ve also heard that it’s got a thriving arts and culture scene. To be honest, I think it might be a lot like Glasgow.

Baltimore came up a couple of months ago in conversation when it was apparent that I’d have to drop out of my teacher certification program due to lack of a work permit. I could re-apply to that God-awful program for admission next year, but that would mean staying in a city both of us are bored of until summer 2011! We were considering places where I could apply to go to grad school, and Baltimore seemed like a good place because Johns Hopkins University is there – and it’s a good school – and the city itself appeals to me. I have since shelved the idea of applying to grad school to get certified as a teacher (well, at least this year) because, quite simply, I am broke. Also, it’s unlikely that my immigration status would be fixed out in time for me to become a conditional permanent resident, and be able to apply for financial aid.

I then thought about applying for “Teach for America” and “New York City Teaching Fellows” which, if you’re American, you may know about already. If you’re not American, well, these are just programs that basically take the “brightest and best” potential teachers and then throw them into some of America’s toughest and most under-achieving schools. You get practically no training (something both these programs have been criticised for a lot) but you start earning a salary straight away and, in many cases, you even get a subsidized Master’s of Education. “New York City Teaching Fellows” does not guarantee job placement, which could be a major disaster for me if I got accepted to the program, moved to NYC, and then didn’t find a job. “Teach for America”, on the other hand, does.

What, you may be asking, does this have to do with Baltimore? Or, more to the point, what the hell has it got to do with the fight you had with your husband?

Well, seeing as “Teach for America” guarantees job placement, this made me more keen to apply to them than “New York City Teaching Fellows”. “Teach for America” also allows you to choose certain specific cities or regions you’d like to teach in. I thought it might be a good idea to pick Baltimore seeing as it wouldn’t be as popular as somewhere like New York, and therefore might make it more likely for my application to be accepted.

Despite this, there are some glaring problems with “Teach for America”. Quite simply, I’m not really sure that I agree with their modus operandi. First of all, it’s incredibly prestigious to get accepted to this program, and it appears that most people who do are, for the most part, rich and privileged recent college graduates who have very little, if any, experience of working with troubled youth in the inner-city. Worse still, most people don’t apply to “Teach for America” because they’re desperate for a career in teaching. Rather, they seem to see it as a nice way to while away two years (getting a cheap Master’s in the process and a nice boost to their résumé – employers and grad schools look very favourably on “Teach for America” participants) before applying to law school or getting a job on Wall Street. Take a look at the “Teach for America” website and see what things their alumi are getting up to. Very few have stayed in teaching.

Now, I know I’m smart, and I also know I’d be a great teacher but, from the limited information you have about me from my writing on this blog, does it really seem like I’m the kind of person “Teach for America” would be looking for?! I am, after all, not a 23-year-old recent college graduate who wants to be a doctor or a lawyer. I may have an absolutely fantastic undergraduate degree, and a Master’s but, at the end of the day, I’m a 31-year-old, broke, hungry erotic masseuse with gaps on my résumé because I’ve been working in the sex industry, and have been unable to find a legal job due to immigration restrictions.

Add to this the “small” problem that if I were to apply and get interviewed, I would be unable to produce any documentation proving that I’m not an illegal immigrant to the US, as it clearly says on their website that I would be required to do. This is because, technically speaking, I am an illegal immigrant. I’ve yet to save up the $1,355 I need to change my immigration status. I’ve been trying for months to set money aside, but it’s been pretty hard to do given that I sometimes can’t even find the money for food.

I merely suggested to Midwestern Man that I was no longer so enthusiastic about applying to “Teach for America” only to be told that I “should just do it”. I probably will “just do it” but I certainly need to wait until my immigration status is fixed out. Apparently, though, Midwestern Man has insider knowledge about “Teach for America’s” hiring procedures because he seemed to know better than me that it would be OK for me to apply there despite my being an illegal alien. He also seemed to know that it wouldn’t matter about my age despite the fact that I’ve been told personally by two “Teach for America” graduates that they wouldn’t take somebody my age.

I don’t mind somebody encouraging me to do something, but it’s galling when they ignore what you say even though they’re quite ignorant about a topic.

Earlier this year, he told me that I “didn’t try hard enough” to find a job despite the fact that, um, I didn’t have a work permit and that many teachers with years of experience couldn’t find one either. This was, without a doubt, one of the worst years ever to be looking for a teaching job but, according to Midwestern Man, they were just growing on trees.

I wouldn’t mind taking career advice from somebody who actually had a career but Midwestern Man doesn’t. He’s been working in the same fucking coffee shop for four bloody years while he “works” on a graphic novel that never seems to be nearing completion. Tonight he told me that he was angry about my wavering about “Teach for America” because I’m “incapable of finishing” anything. He has a point in that, yes, I do have a problem with deadlines and finishing stuff. I’m not particuarly proud of that but, in my defence, I want to say that nearly all the stuff I didn’t finish was stuff I didn’t really care about in the first place. Somehow he includes my aborted teacher certification program among the things I didn’t finish despite the fact that I had to drop out because I didn’t have a work permit.

When I filled out my immigration application, I often checked online to get help for filling in some of the questions. There are lots of online immigration forums, and I’d always be reading about “Brad” bringing over “Tatjana” from Russia to get married. Clearly, “Tatjana” wasn’t paying for the immigration process herself. I don’t expect Midwestern Man to help pay for me to become a conditional permanent resident but sometimes I can’t but think that if he wasn’t such a big loser he could have lent me the money, and then I wouldn’t have had to drop out of my teacher certification program. But he can’t because he has no money.

I really do feel that he’s a fucking loser and, yet, I have to hear all about what a failure I am.

He’s also been getting chubby again lately. When I first met him, he had a huge belly but he lost it once he started running with me. He soon got out of that habit, though, and now barely does any exercise. I find this deeply unattractive. And he wonders why I don’t want to have sex with him!

Honestly, sometimes I think I should have an affair….Maybe with the gorgeous teller at the bank I met earlier this week. You don’t really expect bank tellers to be cute but, ooh, this one was…and he was very witty and smart. I found him extremely charming, and, unless I’m sorely mistaken, I think he was flirting with me, too.

The fact that I’m even thinking about having an affair with another man, no matter how whimsically, makes me wonder if I even love my husband. I don’t feel particularly passionate about him, and sometimes I feel that I only want to hang out with him because I’ve got nothing better to do. I know I don’t have the feelings about him that I should, but I always just put that down to my being emotionally fucked up and afraid of commitment, or being wiped out by financial worries. But what if it’s not that?

What if it’s not that complicated?

What if I just don’t love him?

Where did all the men go?

One thing I have noticed since “discontinuing” my old blog and starting this new one is that there has been a subtle, but very distinct, change in my readership. All my readers now appear to be female (well, at least the ones who leave comments on a regular basis)!

Part of me doesn’t mind this at all. I don’t really have any good friends of any gender in this town, unfortunately, (besides my husband, of course) and I really miss female company given that I spend nearly ALL my time with men. It’s nice to come here and feel like I’m part of a little female community.


On the other hand, I never really set out to write exclusively for a female audience, and it’s kind of depressing that all the men have disappeared. It disappoints me to think that they were perhaps only interested in my last blog because I was much more open about being a sex worker, and they were hoping to be titillated. I have definitely noticed that other “out” sex worker bloggers also tend to attract more male readers who, it would seem, are either johns themselves or simply voyeurs. Some of them still leave intelligent, articulate comments (paying for sex, or fantasizing about it, doesn’t make you a moron, after all), but it just saddens me to think that it takes the mention of sex to draw men into a blog which would otherwise be “women-centred”.

Fuck it, though. I can’t write anything else about this topic because an “Air” song has come on the radio and a huge wave of melancholy has washed over me. I don’t remember the title but what I do remember is falling in love to this song. I remember the great wine, the great sex, the plumes of smoke from a joint rising up into the darkened room as we drank each other in, and listened to the music.

There were so many songs I couldn’t listen to after that relationship was over because the pain wracked my body when I did. It was awful because a lot of them were by my favourite artists. The only way I could “reclaim” these songs was by forcing myself to listen to them and “desensitizing” myself.

I guess I forgot this one. And here I am, eight years later, aching all over again.

The sad thing was that it wasn’t love. The sex wasn’t great. It was passionate, yes, but there was so much missing. He was an incredibly emotionally distant man, and it was the most abusive relationshp I’ve ever had.

The even sadder thing is that falling in love with him was such a heady, intense experience, and nothing else has ever come close. How depressing that the most important moment of my emotional life was actually a love affair which took place mainly in my head.

Maybe it’s good all the men have gone. Clearly, I can’t be trusted to make good decisions about them.

More relationship doubt.

It’s still raining here. In fact, it’s been pouring for days. On the one hand, it’s starting to get annoying, as the public transport system here is pretty abysmal, and it’s too wet for me to cycle around. On the other hand, though, I love the feeling of melancholy that the rain causes me to have. I don’t really understand people from my country of origin who say that they could never move back there because of the weather. I think that the most beautiful thing I have ever seen is the dark orange glow of a streetlamp glistening on the surface on a puddle on one of our wet streets…

Tonight is supposed to be “date night” for Midwestern Man and I. I should have already planned something interesting for us to do, but I haven’t. I will, as I promised him I would, but I just can’t be bothered. I would much rather be by myself. Even though we got married five months ago, we still actually live separately. The main reason for this is that I see clients in my home, and it would be pretty awkward for him to live with me if he had to leave every time a client came round, or couldn’t come home until I was finished. The other reason is that he owns a large dog (we found him in a graveyard in November) to which I am very allergic. This dog also killed one of my cats a few weeks after we found him (my fault really – I didn’t realize that he had such a strong prey drive…I will write a post about this most traumatic of experiences at some point) so he can never come in my house again. Midwestern Man will have to find him a new home if we are to live together – either that, or we need to win the lottery, and buy a house with lots of land where his dog can have a huge run outside, safely penned off from my cats.

It doesn’t bother me in the slightest that we have separate places. In fact, I am rather dreading the day we have to move in together (probably when we move to a new city). In May, a friend of mine arrived home from several months abroad, and she moved into Midwestern Man’s place for a couple of weeks while he moved to my place. These two weeks also unfortunately coincided with my two weeks’ student teaching, which was an incredibly exhausting time, as I had to put in a full day’s work at school, come home and try to see at least one client (the student teaching was, of course, unpaid) and then write lesson plans. I probably only got about three hours sleep each night. Midwestern Man was helpful during this period in that he cooked dinner for me but he also made it even more stressful because he would insist on having an argument about something, and he just not could not let it go. No matter how much I begged him, and pleaded to let me go to sleep, he would just keep on at me.

At one point, when we were walking our dogs around 1:30 a.m., he held onto my dogs’ leashes to stop me from walking away from yet another argument. Things escalated to the point that I actually kicked and bit him to try to get my dogs back from him. OK, so I know that resorting to physical violence is hardly healthy but I had tried to reason with him calmly to no avail. He often uses his physical strength to stop me from walking away from an argument. He doesn’t hit me or anything, but he’ll stop me from leaving by getting in my way, blocking an exit or by putting his foot in the door of a room I’m trying to escape to. I hate it, and eventually I’ll become violent because I don’t think a man has the right to do that.

I want to live alone because at least I can escape him more easily in such circumstances.

The terrible irony of all this is that I used to be the one chasing men in relationships, forcing them to listen, forcing them to love. At the time I thought I was so justified in behaving that way because they were causing me pain, and not meeting my needs. I would never have considered my behaviour abusive but now I realize the pain I inflicted because Midwestern Man has inflicted so much on me.

After one particularly messed-up relationship in my early to mid twenties (the defining relationship of my life actually), I read the book “Women Who Love Too Much” by Robin Norwood, and the veil of victimhood was suddenly torn from my eyes. I had always considered myself such a victim and, well, in many ways I was because I had had an abusive mother, and was bullied for much of my life. That book, however, forced me to see that I had also bullied and victimized people. I can still remember the psychic struggle I had trying to process that information. I knew it was true, allowed that knowledge to enter my mind, but then I pushed it back out again because it was just too awful. I fiinally managed to accept it, but it was hard.

I think I have been very abusive towards Midwestern Man. I know that his greatest fear is not being a graphic novelist , and I have had no qualms about going in for the kill when we fight. I’ve told him that he’s a loser, and that he’ll never get anywhere, and that he has no right to call himself an artist. Yes, it’s awful to say these things, and I have been trying to control myself better in recent months.

I accept the fact that I am most definitely the most abusive one in our relationship. My fucked-upness is undeniable. I feel, however, that this allows Midwestern Man to sweep his own (less severe, but perhaps just as damaging) problems under the carpet – his passive aggression; his inability to say no to me and others, and then to resent us for something he agreed to; his tendency to blame me for things that are actually his fault. Midwestern Man’s problem is that, compared to the vast majority of men out there, he is a nice, sensitive person. In his younger years, he didn’t get laid a lot because he was probably “too nice” and not very self-confident. His “niceness” has become a very important part of his personality, then, which he lets obscure the fact that he can sometimes be a moody, abusive cunt.

He says that I never listen to him when he bring up a problem he has, and that I don’t apologize for my behaviour and he’s 100% right. He prides himself “on seeing the error of his ways” and “trying his hardest to change” but his apologies mean very little to me because they don’t really seem sincere. He just keeps on doing the same shit again and again. On some occasions, he’ll apologize for something and then will do the exact same thing two minutes later. I don’t see a lot of true self-reflection occurring, and that makes me reluctant to try harder, too. I’m so sick of always being the bad one!

Sometimes I wonder if I love him. I realize it probably doesn’t sound like I do in these posts. I miss the passion and excitement I’ve had with some other men, and the way I would have done anything for them. I imagine what it would feel like if some invisible force plucked me from here, and deposited me (and the animals, too, of course!) back home…without him. Would I even care that he wasn’t there? I don’t know.

All of this is disturbing, and would suggest I don’t love him, but I can’t be trusted with my emotions. Yes, I have experienced more passion for other men, but did I love them? No. I was just completely obsessed with them. Yes, the heady feeling of having them consume my thoughts day-in, day-out was intoxicating, but it was like a drug. It’s no coincidence that some of my best friends are former addicts. Even though I’ve never been addicted to a substance, I know what it’s like to be destroyed inside by obsession.

It’s possible – very possible even – that my ambivalence towards Midwestern Man is because he is the first man who has ever truly wanted me, and loved me. When I first met him, I was literally blown away by how nurturing he was, and how non-judgemental. I had never experiened anything like it.

Wow…writing this post has actually made me feel tender towards him. I was filled with disgust when I started writing, but now I’m actually looking foward to seeing him.

God, how I’ve missed blogging!