November 2015. We met on OK Cupid. This was the one that broke me. He brought out the worst in me and it wasn’t a pretty sight; but it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I allowed him to be a part of my life. It was like I took all my “lessons learned” and said “fuck it”. Was it because I didn’t love myself? Was my self-esteem so shot that I was willing to settle for any dick that came my way? I was clueless at this point. I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted.
He was a nice guy most of the time; but he was also needy and shady. I never trusted him.
He was a roofer who grew up in Scarborough and resided downtown at Danforth and Coxwell.
We messaged frequently. He also called me, a lot. I didn’t mind it, at first. We actually had phone sex during one of our first conversations. He had a sexy voice.
After a week of talking and messaging, we decided to meet up. He suggested we order food and hang out at his place. I agreed.
I had the “first date jitters” as I drove downtown. I wasn’t terribly excited, but I wasn’t dreading it either. As I was parking on the street, he called. He had just finished picking up food. I offered to pick him up. He was around the corner. I recognized him as he walked down the street. He was carrying a bunch of bags. It looked like he bought something from every joint along his route. There was a Kernels bag, a bag of dinner from a jerk place, an LCBO bag, a bag from the convenience store, etc. I pulled over and he put the haul in my trunk.
He said I was prettier in person than in my online photos and he was surprised that I was going to be that attractive.
Thank you, asshole?
He was decent looking; nothing to write home about and definitely your typical bad boy from Scarborough; rough around the edges.
My gut was already uneasy.
When we got to his place and exited the car, he immediately asked me for a kiss; his exact words “yo, gimme a kiss”. Really? Fuck. I told him that he needs to fix his game, that his approach sucked; but I kissed him anyway. It was a bad kiss and he had crooked teeth.
Run Poppy, run.
We entered the house and went to the second floor. His room consisted of a double bed, dresser, coffee table, bar fridge, chair, Keurig, TV and desk. It was clean and tidy. When I asked about his roommates, I learned that he rents a room in a shared house. He said rent was cheap and he loved the area. I was now wondering what sketch bags lurked in the other three rooms.
Run Poppy, run.
We sat on his bed and used the coffee table to eat off of. As we chatted, the vibe I got was odd; he seemed sketchy but kind.
We had barely finished eating when, as I enjoyed my glass of red wine, he got up and was stripped down to his boxer briefs. He pulled out his erect penis and asked me if it was a decent size. Fuck me, he just took it out (thank you Seinfeld). Even though I was taken aback, I didn’t shun him away. I took my clothes off and we fucked. He was decent. We hooked up a few more times that night.
The next day we walked to Timmy’s. I learned he had a 16 year old daughter who lived with his ex and who he barely had a relationship with. His roofing job was seasonal so he didn’t work in the winter. When I asked him how he survived/generated income during the winter months he told me that he saved up during his active working seasons. He had two sisters, his parents were divorced and he had a stepdad. He was a recovering alcoholic, attending AA meetings. He was proud showing me his sobriety coin. He didn’t have a car or a license. When I asked if his license was taken away because of DUI, he said that he actually had his license, but it was in his stepdads truck in Scarborough. I told him that didn’t make sense.
Liar, I thought to myself.
He revealed that he spent time in jail. The story he told me was that his sister was raped and he and a friend went after the culprit, beat him up, threw him in the trunk of a stolen car and were then chased down by cops. When I asked what happened to the rapist, he said he didn’t know what happened. I didn’t believe his story. How was he sent to jail and not know what happened to the man that attacked his sister?
Run Poppy, fucking pick up what self-esteem and self-respect you have and run.
Now, why would I do something that smart?
I felt sorry for him.
Fuck, I was in such a sleepless sex haze, I ignored the warnings blaring in my soul.
I left that evening thinking I would never see him again.
I ignored his calls and messages over the next few days. I think I answered four days later. I told him that I had fun hooking up, but I didn’t see us going anywhere.
He was able to convince me otherwise. He had just enough charisma and charm to keep me interested. He had a good way of evoking empathy, teetering on pity.
All he had was time on his hands so we went out and hung out quite a bit.
During one of my overnight visits to his place we were watching a Leafs game and his phone was blowing up. He told me it was the girl he dated just before me. He said she was obsessed with him and wouldn’t leave him alone. Next thing I know, while he’s in the basement putting clothes in the dryer and I am sitting in bed eating chips enjoying the game, there’s a banging on the bedroom door. Odd. When I opened it, I was surprised to see a woman standing there. I said “hello” and sat back down on the bed. She stood in the doorway asking who I was. I said I was dating the Roofer. She said I must be mistaken because SHE was his girlfriend. Interesting. I didn’t say anything else to her. I think I was in shock. She then entered the room and started filling her duffle bag with stuff she left there. She had clothes in a drawer, shoes in his closet and the Keurig was apparently hers too. I didn’t say a word; I just watched. The Roofer came into the room, shocked, and told her to hurry up, grab her shit and get the fuck out. I was speechless and entertained. The last words she said to me as he slammed the door in her face was that “he was crazy”. She was crazy. I was crazy for still sitting there. She came back banging on the door screaming something inaudible. The Roofer left the room to deal with her. They were yelling in the hallway. I couldn’t understand what they were saying. His housemate from down the hall intervened. After a couple of minutes I heard her footsteps going down the stairs and the Roofer re-entered the room.
Run Poppy, fucking run. I didn’t.
He sat across from me with this puppy dog, “feel sorry for me” expression. I wasn’t mad. To be honest, I didn’t actually care.
This could’ve been my out, but no. Sadly I stayed. I steered clear of his place pretty much from that point on.
He continued to contact me frequently. He would start at 8am when he knew I was on my way to work and was persistent throughout the day. I started to to tell him to fuck off and back off. He didn’t, so I just ignored his messages and didn’t return his phone calls unless I really wanted to.
Ugh! Run Poppy, fucking run.
December 2015. A few weeks in and we were a couple. I didn’t even really like him, but I always had him around. My desperation for a boyfriend/companion was knocking the sense right out of me.
He was always at my house. He would stay over for a few days at a time.I would leave him, laying in my bed, to hang out with friends. I would tell him that he needs a fucking life and to go home.
This unhealthy, negative energy was festering.
I can’t even point out the red flags because every other sentence, every other experience with this man was a red fucking flag that I refused to acknowledge.
He wasn’t mean. He was actually nice; but he had a mischievous aura. Like I said before, he was this combo of kind and sketchy.
In a short amount of time he met my mom, brother, cousins and some of my other Ride or Die’s. Their first impressions were positive, which didn’t surprise me. He knew how to talk to people. He was likable. He got along great with everyone from what I heard and saw. I had no interest in meeting his friends.
He was clingy. He was annoying. He was childish. For example, the morning of my cousin’s Christmas jam I had a ton of baking to do. He wanted to go for a haircut. I took him to the barbershop with the intention of dropping him off. He fucking begged me, like a child, to go in with him. I yelled at him, telling him that I was behind schedule and had too much shit to do. He pleaded. He wouldn’t go in, so I fucking escorted him into the shop and ended up waiting for him. I was livid. I stayed. I should’ve just left his ass there.
It was weird. He was this bad boy with attitude on one hand and a child on the other. It fucked me up. When I was angry at him I felt like I was more like a mom than girlfriend. Ugh.
Run Poppy, fucking run.
One positive aspect in all of this was that he was my 24/7 on-call designated driver and event date. What awful reasons to keep someone around.
A month into dating, mom, Vic and I went on a month long trip to the Philippines. We left Christmas eve. The Roofer was sad and whiney about it. I was fucking ecstatic! I let him use my car when I was away because I wanted him to check on the house (my car was fine when I got home, but what the fuck was I thinking? I barely knew him).
The epic trip was one of the best experiences of my life. It was 4 weeks of non-stop adventure. It was my first time visiting the motherland and I couldn’t be happier. The food, culture, people, scenery, nightlife, day life, all of it – fucking amazing. It was also a humbling trip. When we went to the red light district and saw the young prostitutes and the old foreign men paying for them I had never been more thankful for my life. I wasn’t hit on because I am not the ideal esthetic. I am too dark, too thick and have too many tattoos. The ideal, like in many Oriental countries, is light skinned, thin and clean skin.
Any time I had WiFi, he would call. It was almost as if he was calling me every 15 minutes during my entire trip because he managed to get through every time I was connected, which was once every few days and it was spotty at best. Half the time I never answered him and when I did, I really only wanted to know how my car and house were doing.
End of January 2016. He picked me up from the airport. I specifically told him to pick me up at the kiss and ride. Nope, there he was at the gate. Now, under caring and loving circumstances, I would’ve been so excited to see my man waiting on the other side for me. I would’ve jumped into his arms, straddled his hips and kissed him for days; but when I saw the Roofer, I was seething. There was no hug, there were no kisses. I immediately pointed out that now I would have to fucking pay for parking. I was more excited to see my car. When I opened the back door I noticed ash in my backseat. I was fucking pissed. I asked, kindly, “did you smoke in my car?” With a straight face, he said “no, I didn’t’”. I asked him to come over to me and pointed out the ash. He then explains that he lied because he was scared of my reaction if he told me the truth.
Run Poppy, fucking run damn it!
My plan for the next two days was to sleep so I could get over the jet lag and be rested for work. We got back late Saturday night. On Sunday, I was knocked the fuck out. Doesn’t this guy keep waking me up because it was “day time” and he didn’t want my sleep at night to be messed up. I literally told him to fuck off, let me sleep and go home, several times. He just loafted. He made me dinner. I didn’t want any of it. He was actually a good cook though.
Mid-week I told him he had to leave.
I didn’t miss him when I was gone. I wasn’t excited about him.
I paid for everything – cigarettes, food, entertainment, transportation. He told me that he was on a strict budget; and then there were instances where he would show up to my house with new clothes and DVD’s.
He had no life, no goals. He was a stage five clinger and I allowed it. He once came with me to get my hair done. It was a 5-hour appointment and he loitered. I asked him to take a walk, kill time and bring me back food. He did.
He also came with me to get work done on my tattoo. Again, he just fucking hovered so I told him to leave and get me some food. He came back with food and a buddy of his who lived near the tattoo shop. The two of them were now suffocating my personal space, watching. I asked them both to leave. When they did, my tattoo artist told me that the Roofer’s friend used to be his hash dealer.
If there was an event at work, he was there. He met T, Kol, Lady G and the rest of my buddies.
I needed to break free of this man. I was allowing him to suck all of my energy and I was so angry and annoyed by him. I hated this state that I was living in. I was so rude and mean to him.
February/March 2016. Uneventful. I spent little to no time with him and when we did hang out, we didn’t have sex. I barely answered his calls or texts. My heart and soul were so over him.
There was a point where my roof was leaking. We hired him and two of his roofer friends to fix it. They did a great job for a good price. Silver lining?
Anyway, one day in March, I told him that I didn’t know if I wanted to be with him. I told him that I didn’t know if I wanted to be in a relationship at all, with anyone. I told him that I needed to focus on myself. His response made it seem like he understood.
His calls and texts lessened. After some time, I finally told him that we were finished. He begged for a second chance. I told him that there was no fucking way. I told him to stop reaching out to me.
One night shortly after that conversation, I walked in my front door. My mom immediately came to me and said not to be mad. I said, “mad at what?” Doesn’t the fucking Roofer come jaunting down the stairs with a fucking smirk that I wanted to punch off his face. I took my shoes off and I was seething. He gave me these puppy dog eyes. He begged and pleaded to give him a chance. He said that I could take as much time as I needed, but not to give up on us. I felt backed into a corner. I told him that I didn’t know what to do, that I wanted to focus on my own shit. I said I would think about it (why?!) He ended up sleeping over that night. When I woke up the next morning with him beside me, I was annoyed at myself for being in this situation.
April 2016. For the last month I continuously ignored his messages and phone calls. That was it. I was done. I invited him to join me at my favourite pub in Ajax. I picked him up from the GO station and we went to the Portley Piper. I was feeling good. We sat down, we ordered food and I ordered a beer. I got right to the point. I told him that we were 100% over. I told him that there was zero chance of us ever being together. I laid everything out; all of the shit that was seething inside of me for months, but I was cool, calm and collected. I was relieved. He was understanding. I think when I confronted him with all of his bullshit, he knew there was no convincing me of anything. He ended the conversation by offering his dick to me if I ever felt like hooking up casually. I said thanks, but no fucking thanks. I paid the bill and dropped him off at the GO station.
I was ready to be on my own. I was excited to be alone. I had been dating, fucking and emotionally investing myself in men for two years without a break. I was exhausted. Queen B always said to me that I needed to find myself, to mourn and heal from the big break up from my ex-fiance. She said that having fun, hooking up and dating was all part of the process, but there will come a time when I will need to be on my own, to reflect and really dig deep into finding what I want. I brushed her off. Now I knew exactly what she was talking about.
He reached out a few times through Whatsapp over the next year. He would always say that he was trying to connect with me so he could give me some money for all of the times I paid for his shit. When I responded, he would turn around and give me some lame excuse as to why he couldn’t pay. He just wanted to start a conversation with me. Eventually, I stopped answering. Every time I blocked his number he would reach out with a new number. I just kept blocking each number and never responded to him. He finally got the picture.
Lesson(s) Learned:
- When you are with “Your Person”, they should naturally bring out the good in you, complement you, make you laugh, carry on good conversation, respect you, care and caress you, feed your desires and your soul, etc. (you get my point). That person should not bring out anger, annoyance, disdain. I have never dated, or quite frankly been friends with, anyone who brought out such negativity from me. I didn’t like how he spoke to me and my reactions were always to one up him, to be meaner, angrier, degrading. I was disgusted with the energy I exuded when I thought about him; when I was with him. He brought out the worst in me. He drained me and I hated what I was becoming.
- TRUST YOUR FUCKING GUT. For the love of all that is good on this fucking earth, do not make excuses for someone just because they’re willing to spend time with you, because they’re nice, because they have a dick. I literally told myself to “run Poppy, run”, and I STILL chose to be with this person. I allowed myself to be intimate with him, to bring him around the people I loved dearly. I did the opposite of everything that my instincts were telling me to do. Something was very wrong with me. My poor gut was rotting by the end of this “relationship”.
- A lack of chemistry and/or fire means the relationship is dead at the door. I never felt excitement or real care for him. I never felt a real connection. He was merely someone I could call my man and I allowed that to be ok. There wasn’t any fulfillment, joy or love.
- Don’t ever downgrade your standards. At this point I don’t think I even had any. I didn’t know what I wanted other than to have a fucking boyfriend. I was just a zombie going through the motions. I was lost. I didn’t see my worth. I didn’t think I could do better since my string of “relationships” (I use this term very loosely) had all gone to shit and the men I chose to be with were not meant for me but I forced it.
- Never fucking settle. Know your worth and move the fuck on when hesitations and doubts dominate your thoughts and feelings. I am always the one willing to give people a chance (not a bad thing), but I draw it out much longer than need be. None of the men I dated were good enough for me. They weren’t all bad, but they weren’t that great. I was obsessed with finding the next “one”. I didn’t have a clear sense of what I really needed and wanted. After the Roofer, I realized that what I wanted and needed was to be alone; take care of myself.
