Dating Myself
Mon, Jul 19 2010 06:21
| 1999, 2003, early twenties, 2001, 2002
I had this really good post planned for today about Threesomes but, I totally chickened out after I found out that apparently one of the kids I used to babysit for has been reading my blog (OH GOD). He's 20 -something but, still (OH GOD). Yup, that's me...corrupting the youth.
It makes me wonder, who else is reading this?!
So in lieu of another tawdry story about my shady dating history, I thought I'd share the story about how I learned to stop dating other people...and instead learned to date myself.
As the oldest of two children, I've always been pretty independent. When I was growing up I loved socializing. I was the kid who was so busy talking during the lunch-hour that I'd actually forget to eat my lunch. I was also a goody-two-shoes (work with me here). The only time I ever got in trouble was for talking too much (some things never change). With that said, I was also the kind of kid who could spend hours in her room, playing with her stuffed animals & barbies, working on art projects, making up dance routines, completely content to amuse myself for hours on end. As a teenager I also loved spending time alone: writing, listening to records, going for walks on the beach. My family is small and close knit and while I was growing up I always had a tight circle of close friends. Being alone wasn't lonely because I knew that whenever I didn't want to be alone, I was surrounded with all these wonderful people who had known me my own life.
I'd always dreamed of leaving my sleepy seaside town for some big, strange, exciting place. When I was 18, I did exactly that. Instead of going to University, I signed up for some college classes and bought a one-way ticket to Toronto, a city thousands of miles away where I knew virtually no one. Once I started "living my dream" I realized something: I was completely alone...and for the first time, alone felt lonely.
I was so desperate to meet people, that I would literally be friends with ANYONE. If you were a weirdo or mentally unstable in 1999, I would probably be your friend. During this time of my life I met a few really wonderful people (who later became good friends) however, the majority of people I met were less than wonderful. I just didn't see it at the time because I was young, naive, desperately lonely and hadn't quite figured out that a lot of people just didn't have good intentions. That's how I ended up hanging out with people like The Worm. However, getting Tequila'ed up & molested by The Worm in his Porsche, was just the tip of the ice-berg when it came to bad experiences. I was wracking up disturbing life experiences like it was going out of style. Maybe at some point I'll actually start to get into detail about what actually happened, but for now its just safe to say that by the end of my first year in Toronto I was kind of a mess emotionally.
It makes me wonder, who else is reading this?!
So in lieu of another tawdry story about my shady dating history, I thought I'd share the story about how I learned to stop dating other people...and instead learned to date myself.
As the oldest of two children, I've always been pretty independent. When I was growing up I loved socializing. I was the kid who was so busy talking during the lunch-hour that I'd actually forget to eat my lunch. I was also a goody-two-shoes (work with me here). The only time I ever got in trouble was for talking too much (some things never change). With that said, I was also the kind of kid who could spend hours in her room, playing with her stuffed animals & barbies, working on art projects, making up dance routines, completely content to amuse myself for hours on end. As a teenager I also loved spending time alone: writing, listening to records, going for walks on the beach. My family is small and close knit and while I was growing up I always had a tight circle of close friends. Being alone wasn't lonely because I knew that whenever I didn't want to be alone, I was surrounded with all these wonderful people who had known me my own life.
I'd always dreamed of leaving my sleepy seaside town for some big, strange, exciting place. When I was 18, I did exactly that. Instead of going to University, I signed up for some college classes and bought a one-way ticket to Toronto, a city thousands of miles away where I knew virtually no one. Once I started "living my dream" I realized something: I was completely alone...and for the first time, alone felt lonely.
I was so desperate to meet people, that I would literally be friends with ANYONE. If you were a weirdo or mentally unstable in 1999, I would probably be your friend. During this time of my life I met a few really wonderful people (who later became good friends) however, the majority of people I met were less than wonderful. I just didn't see it at the time because I was young, naive, desperately lonely and hadn't quite figured out that a lot of people just didn't have good intentions. That's how I ended up hanging out with people like The Worm. However, getting Tequila'ed up & molested by The Worm in his Porsche, was just the tip of the ice-berg when it came to bad experiences. I was wracking up disturbing life experiences like it was going out of style. Maybe at some point I'll actually start to get into detail about what actually happened, but for now its just safe to say that by the end of my first year in Toronto I was kind of a mess emotionally.
I realized early on that school year that a "good" way to deal with my problems was to party. As hard and as often as possible. I'm not really sure how much of this had to do with me wanting to run away from my problems or whether this is something that all people feel when they are young but, I had this strong desire to always be OUT. Staying at home, doing quiet things was absolutely unbearable. I felt like if I was home I was a missing out on something and obviously a total "loser" (something that now seems pretty ridiculous now that I am older). If I was at home alone, then it would mean that I would actually have to stop and reflect on what was going on with my life. I wanted to avoid that at all costs... so instead I went to great lengths to ensure that never happened. I went to University full time and worked 25-30 hours a week. I scheduled all my shifts so that I would never be home alone on the weekends. I'd work all weekend, party all night, and leave myself just enough time during the week to study & maintain a B average. Even if it meant that I went to my part time job hung-over beyond belief (or god forbid, still kind of drunk from the night before), working a 9 hour shift in this state was actually preferable to being home alone with my thoughts.
When it came to partying, I wouldn't just have a few. I'd drink to the point that bordered on oblivion, where I was comfortably numb. Where I didn't have to feel anything. I also loved to dance, so I would consume to the point where it would just be me, the music and whoever I was dancing with. My self-destructive behavior extended into other areas of my life, mainly boys. I dated a drug dealer. I dated a drug addict. I spent a year being some guy's mistress because on some level I didn't think I deserved any better. It's like I searched out these situations that were destined to end painfully. I like to call these my "train-wreck years". There were signs along the way that I should have stopped what I was doing but I chose to ignore them.
The real wake-up call happened in September of 2003, shortly after my 22nd birthday.
My paternal Grandma, who I had always been very close with, passed away.
I was heartbroken.
My grandma was one of the sweetest, kindest people I've ever known (of course, maybe this is the way most people feel about their grandma's). Losing her gave me this weird feeling that my childhood was now officially over.
September of 2002 was a bad month. To add insult to injury, right after my grandma passed my boyfriend at the time broke up with me. Looking back, this was a blessing in disguise however, at the time it sucked. It felt like someone was taking my already bruised, bleeding heart & was stabbing it repeatedly with a butter knife.
Shortly after the break-up, the leaking started. I noticed that water was squirting out of the light fixture in my bedroom ceiling (why this happened in the first place remains a mystery). I figured I didn't need to add "accidental electrocution" to my list of problems so, I packed an overnight bag & decided to stay on my friend's couch until building maintenance could come and fix the leak. The maintenance people never showed up. Three days later I returned to my apartment to find a 4ft x 4ft hole in my ceiling, and the "ceiling" (pieces of wood, insulation, plaster) on my BED.
I looked up at the hole & saw my upstairs neighbor looking down at me.
him: "So, like... your ceiling fell through while you were away"
me: "Yeah I noticed"
I actually laugh whenever I tell this story because, it is kind of funny. It felt like my world was imploding...and then it actually did.
Even though my heart hurt & I felt overwhelmed, for the first time in years I didn't feel like partying that feeling away. Have you ever had one of those moments where you wake up and say "What the fuck am I doing with my life?". I've had a few. This was one of them. I knew that if I was going to get through this I would need to STOP everything.
I stopped drinking. I stopped partying. I stopped dating. I stopped sleeping with my ex. I started to systemically to cut off all of my friends that reminded me of any of these things (even if they were good people). I didn't want to face them. I didn't want to talk about how I felt. I didn't want to fake being happy any more. When I am truly upset this what I do: I hibernate. I also decided I needed to learn how to do the one thing I used to fear so much: I needed to learn how to be alone. And, this was exactly what I did.
I forced myself to stay home on the weekends. It was hard at first. I'd feel shaky & jittery, like I couldn't sit still. Even though I knew I didn't want to be out partying, I felt like I was scratching at the walls. But, once I eventually got over the initial anxiety and I realized, THIS IS AWESOME.
I COULD DO ANYTHING I WANTED.
Since I wasn't spending my weekends wasted or in the emergency room sitting bedside as my boyfriend had his stomach pumped, I HAD SO MUCH SPARE TIME. I re-discovered what it felt like to wake up on a Sunday without a hangover (omg you have so much energy!). I started to fill my Friday & Saturday nights with things that I enjoyed. I'd borrow my neighbor's VCR (I was a broke student) and rent videos that only I wanted to see. I discovered Sex and the City, and was like "Whoa! I'm not the only one having all these bizarre dating experiences...and they are laughing about it!". I substituted food for booze. On Friday nights I'd go to the grocery store & I'd buy WHATEVER the hell I felt like eating. I'd get brie, avocados, Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream, cookies, gummi bears, croissants, pepperoni sticks, popcorn & cheezies. I learned that eating all of these things in succession isn't that great an idea. I stopped being underweight. I put on a well-needed 5-8lbs. My body filled out in a good way. I spent a lot of time at the library because it made me feel less lonely. My B-average turned into an A-average. I started my first blog & met people who I are still my friends today. Did I still feel lonely through any of this? OH HELL YES. Sometimes I felt totally lonely. It was hard but, I worked through it. I decided to embrace the feeling of being a bit lonely because I knew what I was doing was healthier than what I was doing before (minus the new found gummi bear & pepperoni problem)
That winter, I found the perfect solution for what to do on my free Saturday nights: I got a job working at (what was at the time) a high end club/cigar lounge. I started making more money than I had ever made before. FYI. Want to wean yourself off of alcohol? Get a job somewhere where YOU'RE SOBER and everyone around you is WASTED. It's eye-opening. And hilarious.
Working at the club was a good thing because it broke me out of the shell I had been living in. I started to feel better. I started to make new friends & connect with old ones. I started to date again. I realized that I could still go out, have a few drinks & have fun with my friends without being self-destructive. I started to smile & laugh again...but this time, real smiles, not the fake-smiling-eventhough-I'm-sad-ones. Most importantly, on the nights when I wasn't working at the bar I loved going home to my apartment alone, kicking my feet up and saying "I'm OK with this" because I was. I learned to sit still. I learned to be alone again and love it.
So, what is the point of all this? Lately, I've been going through a hard time emotionally. The circumstances are completely different & don't worry - no one has died. Still, its been difficult. Looking back on this other era of my life I've realized this: sometimes shitty things happen. Very shitty things. But, sometimes its these really hard times that push us forward...push us to make changes...push us to get to know ourselves better...push us to face things that we fear. And, if history repeats itself (as I'm hoping it will), its these struggles that lead us to better things.
xox
(Photo found via Rebecca Thuss)
Can anyone else relate to this?
My paternal Grandma, who I had always been very close with, passed away.
I was heartbroken.
My grandma was one of the sweetest, kindest people I've ever known (of course, maybe this is the way most people feel about their grandma's). Losing her gave me this weird feeling that my childhood was now officially over.
September of 2002 was a bad month. To add insult to injury, right after my grandma passed my boyfriend at the time broke up with me. Looking back, this was a blessing in disguise however, at the time it sucked. It felt like someone was taking my already bruised, bleeding heart & was stabbing it repeatedly with a butter knife.
Shortly after the break-up, the leaking started. I noticed that water was squirting out of the light fixture in my bedroom ceiling (why this happened in the first place remains a mystery). I figured I didn't need to add "accidental electrocution" to my list of problems so, I packed an overnight bag & decided to stay on my friend's couch until building maintenance could come and fix the leak. The maintenance people never showed up. Three days later I returned to my apartment to find a 4ft x 4ft hole in my ceiling, and the "ceiling" (pieces of wood, insulation, plaster) on my BED.
I looked up at the hole & saw my upstairs neighbor looking down at me.
him: "So, like... your ceiling fell through while you were away"
me: "Yeah I noticed"
I actually laugh whenever I tell this story because, it is kind of funny. It felt like my world was imploding...and then it actually did.
Even though my heart hurt & I felt overwhelmed, for the first time in years I didn't feel like partying that feeling away. Have you ever had one of those moments where you wake up and say "What the fuck am I doing with my life?". I've had a few. This was one of them. I knew that if I was going to get through this I would need to STOP everything.
I stopped drinking. I stopped partying. I stopped dating. I stopped sleeping with my ex. I started to systemically to cut off all of my friends that reminded me of any of these things (even if they were good people). I didn't want to face them. I didn't want to talk about how I felt. I didn't want to fake being happy any more. When I am truly upset this what I do: I hibernate. I also decided I needed to learn how to do the one thing I used to fear so much: I needed to learn how to be alone. And, this was exactly what I did.
I forced myself to stay home on the weekends. It was hard at first. I'd feel shaky & jittery, like I couldn't sit still. Even though I knew I didn't want to be out partying, I felt like I was scratching at the walls. But, once I eventually got over the initial anxiety and I realized, THIS IS AWESOME.
I COULD DO ANYTHING I WANTED.
Since I wasn't spending my weekends wasted or in the emergency room sitting bedside as my boyfriend had his stomach pumped, I HAD SO MUCH SPARE TIME. I re-discovered what it felt like to wake up on a Sunday without a hangover (omg you have so much energy!). I started to fill my Friday & Saturday nights with things that I enjoyed. I'd borrow my neighbor's VCR (I was a broke student) and rent videos that only I wanted to see. I discovered Sex and the City, and was like "Whoa! I'm not the only one having all these bizarre dating experiences...and they are laughing about it!". I substituted food for booze. On Friday nights I'd go to the grocery store & I'd buy WHATEVER the hell I felt like eating. I'd get brie, avocados, Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream, cookies, gummi bears, croissants, pepperoni sticks, popcorn & cheezies. I learned that eating all of these things in succession isn't that great an idea. I stopped being underweight. I put on a well-needed 5-8lbs. My body filled out in a good way. I spent a lot of time at the library because it made me feel less lonely. My B-average turned into an A-average. I started my first blog & met people who I are still my friends today. Did I still feel lonely through any of this? OH HELL YES. Sometimes I felt totally lonely. It was hard but, I worked through it. I decided to embrace the feeling of being a bit lonely because I knew what I was doing was healthier than what I was doing before (minus the new found gummi bear & pepperoni problem)
That winter, I found the perfect solution for what to do on my free Saturday nights: I got a job working at (what was at the time) a high end club/cigar lounge. I started making more money than I had ever made before. FYI. Want to wean yourself off of alcohol? Get a job somewhere where YOU'RE SOBER and everyone around you is WASTED. It's eye-opening. And hilarious.
Working at the club was a good thing because it broke me out of the shell I had been living in. I started to feel better. I started to make new friends & connect with old ones. I started to date again. I realized that I could still go out, have a few drinks & have fun with my friends without being self-destructive. I started to smile & laugh again...but this time, real smiles, not the fake-smiling-eventhough-I'm-sad-ones. Most importantly, on the nights when I wasn't working at the bar I loved going home to my apartment alone, kicking my feet up and saying "I'm OK with this" because I was. I learned to sit still. I learned to be alone again and love it.
So, what is the point of all this? Lately, I've been going through a hard time emotionally. The circumstances are completely different & don't worry - no one has died. Still, its been difficult. Looking back on this other era of my life I've realized this: sometimes shitty things happen. Very shitty things. But, sometimes its these really hard times that push us forward...push us to make changes...push us to get to know ourselves better...push us to face things that we fear. And, if history repeats itself (as I'm hoping it will), its these struggles that lead us to better things.
xox
(Photo found via Rebecca Thuss)
Can anyone else relate to this?
Questions and Answers
Its a rainy night here in Toronto and I'm experiencing a bit of writers block. Its not that I don't have things that I want to write about but, rather I feel like I have too much to say and I'm not really sure where to start. Luckily, my friend Megan tagged me in this "Questions and Answers" exercise that she posted in her blog.It's basically like a mini "interview"--she asks me a set of questions and I post the answers here. A good way to kick start the writing process! If you're interested in participating, here is how it works:
• You comment on my questions and I'll respond by asking you five questions so I can satisfy my curiosity
• Update your blog with the answers to the questions.
• Include this explanation in the post and offer to ask other people questions.
Megan asked some really good questions & here are the answers:
1.Who was your favorite professor in university and why?
This is kind of a bit of a cop-out because I think almost everyone in my program loved the guy but, I'd have to say Professor Ivan Kalmar. He taught the Linguistic & Semiotic section of the first intro Anthropology course I took. He did a whole lecture about the cultural context of Hip Hop where he analyzed 2Pac lyrics and played Eminem songs for us. A few weeks later I switched my major to Anthropology and never looked back. Later in my degree I took his class on the Anthropology of Popular culture--one of my favorite classes from undergrad. We discussed everything from Wrestling, to Foucoult to Sasha Baron Cohen to Pornography to Strip Bars. The course also had a "field work" component where we had to go out into the community and conduct research on contemporary aspects of pop culture. My research group was sent to spend a week hanging out at The Brass Rail (a local strip club) & write about our observations. That was the first and only time I've ever had the chance to use the expressions "spread eagle" and "erection section" in an academic paper. That paper was also the first A+ I received at U of T. My prof published it on his website. I don't know if it is still up but it used to be one of the first things that popped up when you googled my name. Try it if you're bored and you want to read about me and strippers.
2. If you could go back and un-date one of the people you had dated in the past, who would it be and why?
This a toss-up between two people...
I) Dating THIS DUDE. I was around 18-19 when I got involved with him. My family and friends hated him-- for good reasons. He was bad news: older, a player, manipulative, drug dealer...the list goes on. I was very naive when I met him. I thought he was "charming" (In retrospect he was just creepy and manipulative) and got lured in by his bad-boy appeal. He wooed me, I fell for him. Once he had me wrapped around his finger things got ugly. Without getting into the gory details, the fall-out of our relationship left me with both emotional and physical scars. I was really traumatized for awhile after we stopped seeing each other and I'd sporadically have nightmares & anxiety attacks related to the situation. This was years ago and now I rarely think of him. However, whenever I DO, I kind of feel like throwing up.
I know that you can learn a lot from painful experiences. But this is why I wish I had never dated him: there isn't some big lesson to be learned here other than he was a shitty person and I shouldn't have trusted him. I think learning NOT to trust people is a lesson that has hindered me more than helped me in some ways. After this experience I had difficulty trusting people--even the good people in my life. And it took a few years to really get past this--I still am working on this to a certain extent. Learning that you can't trust everyone IS an important part of growing up however I'm pretty sure I could have learned the same lesson some other way without ever dating this guy.
II) The runner up: dating my co-worker a few years ago. I'd love to also erase that one. It was a rebound relationship that never should have happened. He was a nice person but we weren't right for each other. Plus I wasn't in the right place to be dating anyone at that time. In normal circumstances we would have just broken up and gone our separate ways. However, when things ended we still had to work together. All day. Everyday. So awkward. Plus there was the office rumor mill to deal with. We dated in secret, but a few people found out, then a few more....then people started asking me if the rumors were true...ugh. It just never went away. It was embarrassing. People were still asking me about it almost 3 years later. ERASE! DELETE!
(I did however learn an important lesson here: don't shit where you eat)
3. If you were Tyra Banks (stay with me here) and it was a new season of Top Model, only better than the crap it currently is, what would be the first modeling challenge you'd assign?
Oh god, this is a tough one! Maybe this is better suited to a show like Project Runway or the Rachel Zoe show but, I would love to send the contestants to a store that is ridiculously unfashionable in the traditonal sense (ie. a store that sells works clothes, military surplus or a particularly decrepid thrift store) and then have everyone compete to come up looks like reflect current runway trends. My sister and I came up with this idea a few summers ago while wandering around Mark's Work Warehouse while my cousin purchased a new hard hat and goggles for her husband. Maybe this could be an all new reality show of its own!
4. do you find yourself a procrastinator or do you plan ahead and get things done early?
I'm a bit of both. When it comes to doing stuff that I don't enjoy (ie. calling call centers, dealing with money issues, confronting people) I tend to procrastinate until the very last minute. However when it comes to stuff I actually consider as "fun" (deciding what to pack for trips, planning my birthday party or doing my Christmas shopping) I plan ridiculously far in advance (that's the Virgo in me I think). As a student I started off as a proscrastinator and pulled a lot of all-nighters during First Year University. However that got old fast. I started working on all my projects as far in advance as possible because it created less stress.
5. What is the biggest/best difference between Vancouver and Toronto?
Definitely PHYSICAL ENVIRONMENT. As far as setting and natural beauty goes, Vancouver wins hands down: the mountains, the ocean, Stanley Park, the laid back atmosphere--all of this makes Vancouver really spectacular. And on a warm sunny day, there is nowhere else I'd rather be. However what Toronto lacks in beauty it makes up for in diversity: people, food, culture, things to do in the city. Also the night life is way better (in my opinion). You just have so many more options: hundreds of pubs, bars, clubs & countless events to choose from on any given night. What Toronto lacks in a laid back vibe, it makes up for in energy & spirit. Even on a night where the temperatures are far below zero, you'll still find the clubs packed, often with line-ups out the door. I think we party more here to make up for how crappy the winter is. If I could live in Vancouver but also have access to all the things I love about Toronto (the people I love, the cultural events, the nightlife, the shopping) all in one city, THAT would be the perfect city for me.
Who wants to be interviewed next?
{Today's photo was found via we heart it
and it totally reminds me of winter on the West Coast!}
The Worm wears Prada (& drives a Porsche)
Wed, Sep 9 2009 11:19
| cautionary tales, 1999
After I wrote my last post, I thought to myself "Why have I never had a Sugar Daddy of my own?". It would have been easy. I'm attractive. I'm a good conversationalist. I obviously have a sweet tooth for ridiculously priced luxury goods. Then I remembered...
THE WORM.
I almost forgot about him. I met The Worm on the night of my 19th birthday. I had only been in the city for a week and hadn't met very many people yet. I was totally homesick for my friends I had left behind. When The Worm offered to take me out and "show me around" I took him up on his offer. I wasn't interested in him romantically (he was older, slightly rat like in appearance and a bit too fond of hair products) however, I was desperate for any kind of social contact. I thought "What could it hurt". I was a wide-eyed girl, (with the quintessential west coast frosted blonde highlights) who thought she was invincible but was really quite naive.
A few nights later he picked me up in his Porsche. We went for dinner and drinks on the roof-top patio of Remy's. He insisted that we both order the chocolate martinis. I thought this was all very sophisticated but in retrospect it was extremely cheesy. Afterwards he took me over to the posh night club he owned/managed in Yorkville (a ritzy area in Toronto). At the club I met his "friends" (a collection of dudes who all looked like Lebanese versions of Tony Soprano) and the free drinks started to flow like water. As soon as I would set down my drink, there would be another Tequila shot to replace it. I wasn't paying for anything, but I was getting wasted.
My Zack Morris comment of the day:
If the drinks are flowing THAT freely, you're totally drunk and you look around the only people around you are GUYS: Note, absolutely nothing good is going to happen here. Get out of the situation now. Call a cab and leave.
Unfortunately, that's when I blacked out.
When I came to, I was in The Worm's car, speeding down the Don Valley Parkway. His hands were up my skirt and he was reaching into my panties. I was incredibly groggy, but I managed to forcibly remove his hand. That's when I noticed that we were headed OUT of the city (in the complete opposite direction of my house). This kind of jolted me awake with fear. I asked him what the hell he was doing. He said:
"I'm taking you to the hotel room I rented. You said you wanted to come with me"
I asked him to take me home immediately. We then played a game of tug of war where his hand would keep reaching up my skirt and I would keep forcibly removing it, asking him to take me home. I probably would have been able to defend myself better if I hadn't been you know, slipping in and out of consciousness. However, luckily for some reason he eventually gave up and turned the car around. What if he hadn't though?
When we got to my house, he grabbed me kissed me. I pushed him off and tried to get out of the car. He grabbed my arm roughly and said "You're a tease. You OWE me. I fucking bought you dinner!" & stuffed my hand down his pants. (And let me note, as the name suggests, The Worm didn't have anything in there worth writing home about). I guess this was what he meant when he said he'd "show me around town". Disgusted, I got out of the car and slammed the door. He leaned out the window and yelled out:
"YOU'RE A FUCKING BITCH!!!" before speeding off, burning rubber.
So, The Worm was a total fucking PRICK. That's not what makes me mad about this story. What angers me is how stupid I was. I mean really what was I thinking? I KNEW better. Of course he didn't want to be my "friend". Of course he wanted more. There were tons of red flags but I went out with him anyways. No one knew where I was. This evening could have ended a LOT worse (What if I had woken up in the hotel room and not the car? Or not woken up until it was too late?) but, by some stroke of luck it didn't end that way. This experience sucked but I have realized a few things since then:
I made the decision to steer clear of flashy guys. The Porsche, the Prada wardrobe, the Yorkville nights, the freebies: I don't trust it. To me, all the shiny objects just serve as a distraction the unequal power dynamic that is at play. Nothing is ever really free. Everything has a price. And for every wide eyed girl (or boy) there is 10 older guys just waiting to "show them around town". For some people this kind of thing works for them. They have their fun and they're OK with the potential unequal power relationship. I don't judge them. If you're able to work the game so that you come out on top, then all the more power to you. I'm just not interested in playing & paying. I never EVER want to have someone think that I "OWE" them something again.
(Instead, I spent my early twenties dating starving artist types, which also didn't work out that well. But, that is a blog post for another day)
What's a lesson that you had to learn the hard way?
