We’ll make it happen

Around this time last year I was diagnosed as Bi-Polar Type 2. I remember this time clearly because I had only recently begun embarking on the first serious relationship since my divorce 6 years earlier. The timing, I guess you could say, wasn’t the best to be starting a new relationship, but then again I was doing lots of things back then that I wasn’t really thinking through. The clearest of moments was sitting on my front porch and having my then boyfriend talk me out of being medicated. Granted, I’d spent most of my life thinking I was in complete control of my own mental and emotional state – and content with the occasional trip to my therapist to work through current issues. Looking back, it was the first of many attempts at control that this boyfriend imposed over the course of our short-lived, but oh so heavy relationship (we’re talking Hollywood stuff here). But in the months that followed our break-up, and the realization that I was willing to sacrifice so much of myself for another person, I called the doc up and had another visit. In the time since that visit, I have been seeing my mental state more clearly. Most notably I’ve been able to understand why it was I was allowing someone so manipulative to shape and mold me to his liking for any longer than that first date.

But I didn’t really come here to write about him. I came here to write about how easy it is to fall into the trap of believing that every situation, every relationship, every dating man is created equal. You see, I’ve spent all those dating years since my divorce falling for men from every angle you could possibly imagine. I kept second guessing my approach so I kept telling myself that there must be some other way. There were the one-night-stands. The co-workers. The emotionally unavailable and the insecure. And with the advent of Facebook, the guys I always wanted to be with in high school, but never had the chance. Oh, come on… we’re all guilty of that. I have pages upon pages of written word from my just trying to understand why something fell apart, or what the hell was wrong with me, or what would I do differently next time. Why wouldn’t a guy like me to bring him chicken soup when he was sick? or How could a guy stay up until morning with me, taking absolute care of me mind, body and soul, then send a presumptuous text message about my unattainable desire for him? Fuck it all, I thought after that one. I’m tired of even trying. Drama and misunderstandings? I’ll just take the sex and be done with it.

Enter trip to Austin. Actually, I didn’t go to Austin with the intention of having sex, although it was always in the back of my mind how nice it would be to get some. And there still remained a bit of a sting that I couldn’t spend the night with the guy I really wanted to be spending the night with while there. So drinks ensued with some friends of mine and before long we were invited to join a group of kids sitting next to us. Drinks continued at another bar and before you know it, I was going home with a guy easily 10 years my junior (who looked strikingly like Dave Grohl I might add). It was fun, I suppose. I can’t quite come to grips with the way I truly feel about it. Well, at the time I couldn’t. A week later? It’s had the chance to digest… fully. Now, I’ve always been an advocate for casual sex. But this… this was just plain dirty. In fact, I haven’t felt this disgusted with myself in a long time.

Enter depression.

One week of one of the lowest lows I’ve felt in a while. Granted, hormones have played a part, but the fact that I’m medicated definitely brings to light the cycle at play here. The manic-depressive tendencies have probably always been present, but always slipped under the radar. They grew and grew as the week progressed until I got a text message from my person of interest in Austin, asking if I was free Saturday night. Now, most rational people would take such a message and smile. Actually, I know I would have had I been in a more clear state of mind, but I read it as “booty call” and punished him for not being at my disposal the week before when I was off galavanting with the young boys.

My mom and step dad are in town helping me clear some brush. That was it. No smile. No apology. Just cold-shoulder bullshit. And like any rational person would do, he didn’t respond. So I started feeling crappy for my response. What ensued after that was a serious attempt to backpedal, followed by the kind of message that suggested I was moving on. Remember that scene in Swingers when Mike fumbles his words over and over until he finally just gives up all together? Yeah, it felt a bit like that. Ok, so not that bad, but I’m pretty sure I felt like that much of an idiot. But in my case, he called.

Not only did he call, but he explained his understanding for where I was and wanted to give me a chance to talk it through. I had a hard time explaining at first, maybe because I’m still not sure where I’m coming from with him. We’re talking about a guy I spent one incredible night with, who I continue to keep in touch with on a regular basis, and was the subject of the following entry. If you’ll recall, I liked the fact that I didn’t need to hear from him 24/7 or every week even and conversely, he wasn’t giving me grief for not contacting him on a regular basis. It felt good. But there were two occasions when I initiated possible time together and both times he was too busy. So … I … crumbled. Then I shutdown. Hence, my cold response to his invitation. What I failed to realize was his attempt, and his sincere apology the time before for not being able to make it happen. I just assumed the worst, which I guess is easy to do when you’ve been used to lame bullshit excuses for so long.

So, here he was… picking up the phone. In that one conversation he made a point to remind me how beautiful I am and what an incredible woman I am. I explained to him how much I’d like to just start slowing down and have a bit of consistency in my life and he’s in very much the same boat. My heart started pounding – wanting so badly to tell him how much I wanted to see him again, but not wanting to ruin it by being pushy or sounding needy. And before I even had the chance, he said “We’ll make it happen – I want to spend some time with you really soon.” In my almost 37 years, I don’t think those words have ever been taken out of my mouth.

And with that, I’ll be heading back to the doc to tweak my meds. I can’t have anymore “Mike from Swingers” or “Cougar night out” episodes again.

On Anonymity

Can I just start by saying that receiving an email that says “Someone is now following you” made me reflect on the dichotomy that has kept me from sharing what it is I need to be sharing here? The alternative being the current watered-down version for fear of who might be reading. I’ve never been one to truly worry about being judged by random strangers. We’re talking about a woman who wrote about some pretty self-incriminating subject matter back in the day, and had no qualms about it either. But the difference then was that my readers were, for the most part, disconnected from my everyday life. And while I appreciated being able to share my writing on my personal Facebook page, I realized that that audience wasn’t entirely appropriate. Taking a cue from my favorite blogger: Narcissist’s Blog, I started my own Facebook page, then stripped away most, if not all, evidence of who I am. For those whom I’ve invited here personally? I have no problem sharing with you what I intend to share in the future – you know me. Anyone who joins the ranks outside of that circle of trust, I will include wholeheartedly.

So why all the effort to slip behind the curtains? My stories need to be read… not me. You will relate. You will find solace in knowing that you’ve been down my road. You will be entertained. You will laugh. You will cry. You will find guidance, reassurance, and the knowledge that you’ve been on both sides of the fence. You will be able to accept who you are and who you come into contact with. But knowing me? That isn’t a requirement or even a recommendation.

Just enjoy.

The girl who couldn’t say no

Do you ever glance at your odometer and really take note of the miles? Not just the fact that you’ve accumulated almost 100K in the 2 years since you bought it, but also where those miles have taken you? I found myself on the way back from Austin this morning and noticed my little car had rolled over to 90K recently with very little fanfare. 92,000 miles? Where did the time and that distance take me? In that same moment “Dear Rosemary” by the Foo Fighters flooded through my speakers… “Truth ain’t gonna change the way you lie… youth ain’t gonna change the way you die.” And I cried. As hard as I’ve tried to change and make myself a better person, I find myself slipping back. I look back on the 10 years since I started writing – particularly the reason behind my decision to pick up the pen in the first place – and every time I have found myself in this space, it’s to deal with the fact that I am truly the kind of person who cannot say “no”. And I’m not talking in the illegal substances sense either.

I remember writing on my 35th birthday that I wanted to start slowing down and acting like an adult. I remember feeling really good about that desire and having confidence that I could, indeed, make it happen. Yet, I find myself quickly approaching my 37th, with a stomach churning in reflection of where those 2 years worth of “driving” have taken me. My six months of insane driving to and from Stone Oak I can chalk up to mere loneliness, but the rest of it? What the hell? Let’s put it this way… when your therapist looks you in the eye and says “that’s not normal, sweetheart” when she’s only been privy to a snippet of the entire 10-year journey, it makes you want to stop sharing all together for fear learning of how truly crazy you are.

My desire to write about my experiences has been as much about learning and growth as it has been about connecting with those who could relate, and maybe start a little community of heathens trying to pick up the pieces. But the more that desire to write takes over, the more I fear being judged, or worse yet, my children getting even a glimpse of where those miles have taken me. The fact is, the stories I have to share are the kind of stories I never want my girls to read and associate with their mother. Granted, I’d wish there were a way to use myself as an example of what not to do, but I don’t think I’m quite ready to have that happen. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about sheltering my children from reality. I want them to know that mistakes made are always an opportunity for change. I just feel like I’m living a lie sometimes and I hate myself for that. On the bright side, I know there’s hope for me. Each and every moment I’ve found myself in this position – this heap of self-loathing crap – I find a way to make something beautiful out of it and rise above. I suppose the key is going to be finding that moment when that beauty decides to leave and is replaced by something ugly and transient.

I’ve often thought that the key lies in the millions of words I’ve already written. Perhaps each time I’ve delved back into those words in various forms and venues, my reason for doing so was misguided. Maybe I need to search with the above in mind, that there is always a moment of darkness followed by a phase that brings me here – searching unflinchingly for a way to break the cycle. Something happens. After all, I’m not always an unthinking asshole. I know I’m a beautiful soul. I can accept complements about my depth of love for others and my ability to have incredibly meaningful friendships, because I know those are facts about me. They are innate. But I refuse to believe that the others can’t be killed off.

You’re impervious?

You know that moment when just a tiny bit of doubt creeps into your subconscious? It starts as just a speck. Tiny. Almost non-existent. But it’s there. You’ve felt it many times before. But you tell yourself that this time, your confidence will win the fight. You’re certain that any feelings of rejection or second-guessing that came before won’t this time because you’re in a better place. You’re impervious. No one and nothing can knock you down. But you’ve put yourself in this position by meticulously choosing how you think your relationships should look. By promising yourself that you really only want her for sex… or you really only want him for the friendship. Then reality hits and you were fooling yourself the entire time. What you really wanted was to just have someone.

Once upon a time there was a girl. We’ll call her Jill. Jill was a very strong-willed and intelligent woman (I know I said girl initially, but just roll with it) who happened to be in a really unhealthy relationship. One day, an acquaintance of Jill’s, we’ll call him Jack (creativity is lacking tonight as you can tell), reached out to Jill to see if she’d be interested in meeting him for coffee. There’s no doubt that Jill found Jack a bit intriguing, but being that she was in a committed relationship, she declined. He made a witty remark about waiting on the sidelines (more clever than stalker) and they kept in touch in a purely platonic way. Jack was very honest about his interest in Jill, but never pushed the issue and she liked that.

Time passed in this land of hills and pails of water, and before long Jill came to her senses and ended the aforementioned unhealthy relationship. It took her some time, but she eventually bounced back to life and for the first time Jack had the chance to see her energy and even commented on how much he liked it. Flirting ensued via text and phone, but there was never any great deal of pressure felt on either side to do anything about it. It was nice. Comfortable.

Eventually, the two made plans for a night together and what felt like the beginning of a clear-cut “fuck buddy” scenario. As an outsider looking in (more stalker than clever), the sex was incredible. And the next day had a very “ok it’s been great, time for you to go” feel to it. And they both seemed to be okay with that. There was zero weirdness. There was zero need for a phone call or a text. This was a first for Jill and she liked it.

After a visit with her therapist, Jill began to wonder about her approach to sex. Not the fuck-buddy part, but the fact that she rarely had a conversation with a sexual partner about STDs, birth control, etc. Jill’s approach had always been that as long as protection was used, that conversation wasn’t really necessary. Jill’s therapist was surprised at this and her surprise caught Jill off guard, mainly because Jill never really thought she was doing anything out of the ordinary, and the most recent person that this affected was Jack. So she felt obligated to drop him a text.

Jill: Do you think it was unnatural for us to just hop into bed without a conversation regarding STDs and birth control?
Jack: No silly! I’m clean, are you? Besides, I can’t have babies.
Jill: Well, I do have an STD, but I’m always safe. I’d never put another person at risk.

The conversation that followed via text was the most cool and understanding one Jill had ever had with a sexual partner regarding her STD. It was like she’d just told him what her shoe size was. Similar conversations with other sexual partners were very strained and humiliating. Jack… well… he was just laid back. Come to think of it, that’s how he seemed to approach everything.

More time passed and their communication was at the same level it had always been – not too much, not too little. She didn’t feel this overwhelming urge to hear from him, which again was a first for her. She’d always been told that the kind of guy who she didn’t feel like she had to hear from, would be a good one for her. And vice versa, of course.

Then something happened. It’s hard to pinpoint when exactly, but happen it did. If you’ve been there as many times as Jill has, maybe you’ve reached a point of knowing and can share your wisdom. Here’s the scenario going forward:

Jack sends Jill an unexpected and suggestive message to her work chat.
Jill doesn’t quite know how to respond, so she sends him a suggestive message via text.
Jack responds in kind saying he can’t wait for their next rendezvous.
Jill says Jack needs to get his ass into gear and make it happen.
Jack says “yes ma’am”.
…Aaaaand scene.

Nothing set in stone. No big deal. But the interest is apparent on both sides.

Until, a few days later Jill sends him a lighthearted message that she’ll be in his town on Saturday and he should put his money where is mouth is.

Jack doesn’t reply.

[Enter speck of doubt]

Jill sends another message a little later letting him know that she’ll be meeting some friends for drinks so maybe after?

Silence.

[Open Floodgates]

So why the silence? And why is her first assumption that he is playing games? But the million dollar question is… when did not hearing from him start to matter?

Giving the Digits

Once upon a time I gave my contact information out to someone I shouldn’t have. Before I knew it, I was receiving a multitude of communications via various methods that not only sent me flying into overwhelmed mode, but made me not want to respond at all. You’ve been there. I know you have. I’m even willing to bet that you’ve been on the giving side of this fence. Yes, there are times when we meet someone who just captures our attention and we can’t turn it off for even a second. And when they don’t respond, it makes us want them all the more, right? Again, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been there. It’s the equivalent of jumping up and down yelling “I’m right over here… notice meeeee!” And all it does is make you more and more vulnerable each and every time you do it… until you’re not only beating yourself up for waiting by the phone for a response, but you begin making the other person out to be an asshole for not keeping the communication going.

Which is why I find it interesting that we don’t keep this in mind when we’ve hopped the fence from overwhelmee to overwhelmer. The subject of my current state of overwhelmed (or I should say, my former state) is a guy who used to be a customer of mine. We found that we had a really great level of chemistry that went beyond shop talk and at his request, and against my better judgement, continued our line of communication off the record, so to speak. Almost immediately, the emails poured in and when I didn’t respond right away, he would take it personally and prey on my sensitive side. This side, by the way, is the one that put myself in his shoes and could easily feel the sting of being ignored or not worthy of someone else’s time. So I eventually gave him my phone number. Seriously, folks… I can see you all shaking your heads now… no need to say it. I’m sure you can guess what happens next.

Texts flood. Calls begin. And the guilt-ridden, sadly pathetic attempts to get me to respond multiply. I have to say, this was the first time I got a really good practice with telling someone who’s been in his shoes how it is. But, “Dude, just because I don’t respond, doesn’t mean I have no desire to” said a million different ways never quite got through to this guy until I finally had to come right out and tell him I couldn’t do it anymore. His texts and emails were becoming possessive of my time – this from someone I’d never even met.

It was pretty interesting considering another customer of mine had recently given me the following advice: Your heart is a gift, guard it. I can see where people, especially online, would take advantage of your sensitivity. In fact, this piece of wisdom was written on a sticky and staring me down on a daily basis. It applied to my life not only as it related to that man, but to the man who’d broken me down only a few months prior.

Simply put, I was beginning to put to practice this art of taking care of my own happiness first, rather than feeling the need to save everyone else from their own misery. This guy was miserable and he was looking to me for light and joy. There’s no doubt this has been my weakness most of my life. But I didn’t come here to get all philosophical or reflective, thankyouverymuch. I came here to write about the beat it like a dead horse approach.

Friends, it doesn’t work. Being in someone else’s face 24/7 is not going to get you where you want to be. I’m not talking about playing hard-to-get either. There is a nice middle ground between being annoyingly available and having a superiority complex. What I’ve learned from being on both sides of the fence is that there is definitely something to be said for that quiet space in-between dialogue or physical contact. Think about how you feel when you haven’t seen one of your favorite movies in a while. It might not be on your mind all the time, but when it does pop in, your heart races and you connect. But there’s not this overwhelming need to watch it constantly. You get your fill, put it back in the box, and move on to your everyday business. However, if said movie were on constant repeat on HBO, you’d better believe you’d be steering clear of that channel.

My therapist once told me that the person who is going to work best with me is the one who I don’t feel a constant and persistent need to be in touch with, and who doesn’t feel a constant and persistent need to be in touch with me. I would think that should be the case for everyone, but I’m no professional, so I’ll refrain from offering you that same guidance. What I will say is, just chill.

So whatever happened to the subject of this entry? Well, I went quite a while without hearing from him. Yesterday, however, I received an email that he was clearing out his contacts and wanted to wish me and my family well and thanked me for my assistance when he needed it. All I’ll say is, I find it amusing that the subject of his email was “clearing” and that he used various references to “deleting” and “clearing” in the body of the message itself. I have to admit that the bitch in me wants so badly to respond “just do it already!”

But why?

So, we’ve come to the point where you’re asking “why”? My dear, why have you started this anti-bullshit project? I suppose you could say that the presumptuous text from the male friend in the first entry was the tipping point for me. I’d spent a solid six years getting close to men in some form or fashion and been repeatedly offered similar loads of crap without even broaching the subject of romantic interest with them. In each and every one of those cases, I was never even given the chance to speak to my level of interest in the other (be it sexual, friendly, or romantic), I was just given some random roadblock and their presumption that I was wanting something completely unattainable. But the sad thing is, I love people. And I love engaging in conversation. I love intimacy on various levels. And above all, I value my friendships. In each of these cases, I was never even given the chance to state my level of interest. I was always beat to the punch by some ridiculous road sign the equivalent of “don’t go there”. But I’m confident that in every instance, they lost a friendship they never even knew was possible.

The other reason I’ve started this project is because I’ve found myself in the shoes of my male friend a few times lately. I know it’s hard to believe, what with me being so charming and all, but I’ve rarely been on the side of the person letting someone else down easy. Is that what we call it? In the defense of all those men who’ve come before and left me with a preverbal slap in the face, I understand how hard it is to tell someone you aren’t interested. Case in point, I did this to someone recently. See? I’m not immune to taking the easy way out. But one of the reasons I’m here and writing is to remind myself and all of you that easy isn’t always best or right.

Not being absolutely clear with another person about your intentions or your level of interest as often as possible is incredibly important. Now, I’m not saying you need to start every conversation with a potential person of interest with a discussion about your level of interest or disinterest. But be clear. If you feel like someone might be becoming more of a romantic interest to you, say so. Conversely, if you think someone might be developing feelings, discuss amongst yourselves. Assumptions will get you nowhere fast in the dating world, folks. One of my best male friends has remained that way because we followed this approach.

And just so you know, there is no such thing as a “friend with benefits”, so don’t fall in to that trap. “Fuck buddies” are one thing and definitely doable (pun intended), the distinction of which I intend to cover in future entries.

Being Upright

Do you ever have those moments when you realize you’ve made it to another stage in life…and rather abruptly at that? Within the past 24 hours I’ve come to find that my tolerance for bullshit has significantly decreased. I wouldn’t say that I’ve developed a hard heart, but rather a firm grasp on what’s right and what’s wrong and I’ve learned how to put my shoulders back (rather than inward) and speak up when appropriate. Allow me to set the stage:

Breakfast with my brother, my nephew, my sister-in-law, and my mother. We’ve been seated and settled and we’re looking through the menu and making our decisions, when the waitress comes by and asks if we’re ready to order. I briefly tell her that I’m not sure and I look to my family members for the status of their decisions. I told her that I wasn’t quite ready, but that I’d have a decision by the time she got around to me.

“Are you sure?” she asked with an overt tone of condescension. Strike one, my love. I understand that you’re probably up to your eyeballs in the requests from other tables, but there is a respectful way to get that point across. We did, indeed, order and when the time came for me to order, I asked what my side-options were for the choice I had made. This inquiry was met with an incredibly rude roll of her eyes, followed a reach for the menu to point out my options, as if I should have known already. This response equalled to strikes two and three for me so I responded with, “is there a problem with my asking that?”

Let’s just say that if there were a visual equivalent of “did I think that or say it” this woman was in the midst of it, wondering if she really did roll her eyes the way she was inwardly. She immediately corrected herself and the rest of the breakfast was served with the utmost amount of respect from her. Likewise, I met her with the same level of respect. I know we’re human, and fallible, and affected by our surroundings. And I’m willing to give people the chance to make right when they’ve stepped out of that realm. She did, so I responded in kind. In that instant, that calling of her BS and my decision to not be treated poorly, our rapport was established and built upon nicely. My family members were amazed at the change in tone and my sister-in-law even asked about my approach and how I came to respond that way. “Must be an age thing,” I answered.

I’ve spent my life not wanting to rock the boat; not wanting to stand up for what I believed to be right. Granted, I wasn’t the kind of person to completely roll over and allow myself to be abused, but I always felt like it wasn’t worth the risk to speak up. I understand now why I did so. I now know that placing one’s shoulders back and speaking up when necessary requires a great deal of inner strength and self-confidence. The truth is, those things never quite solidified in me and while I’ve always played the part of having a tough exterior, that role fell short when it came to taking care of myself.

While we’re on the subject of low tolerance for bullshit, what ever happened to Tracy Bonham and her Burdens of Being Upright? I woke with one of her songs in my head yesterday and couldn’t help but call up her entire album. I find it interesting how many different ways people deal with and sort through difficult situations. Adele writes songs. I just plain write. I’ve spent the past 6 months getting to the point where a don’t have negative associations anymore. Up until then, there were constant reminders of what I now call my “six months of desperation” which usually left me saying something dramatic like: Oh, the theater we’re looking for is just past the street I used to turn on to get to fuckhead’s house. Now, I can put on a Dave Matthews song and feel like I did before I lost myself in said desperation.

Desperate.

What a sad word. Something I never could have used to define myself. But when you find yourself compiling a list of things you allowed to have happen to you on a daily basis, and ask the only professional worth seeing why you’re thinking about letting it continue and why you let it happen in the first place, and they respond “you were desperate”… it stings. 6 months and thousands of written words later, here I sit.

Upright. Unapologetic. Unyielding.

Only the real

“I’m not good enough for you.” You’ve heard it before. You’ve probably even said it before.

I’ll be the first to admit that when someone pulls a bullshit phrase like that out of his ass instead of “I’m just not into you”, my blood boils. The most recent utterance of similar bullshit came my way from an old boyfriend. I broke his heart back in high school and we’ve kept in touch off and on since then, with no level of caring lost. We’ve always had this way with talking; something we do rather well. I see him roughly once a year when he makes his appearance known in our hometown. Long story short, the most recent experience brought us a hell of a lot closer. Conversation was incredible. Intimacy was reached. This dude went as far as pulling out his guitar at the end of the night and singing to me. In the days that followed he slowly disappeared from the lines of communication. My messages to him were nothing different than what he was used to from me. Yet, in the end, he decided that the following was the most appropriate thing to send to me:

You know I can’t be who you want me to be.

So not only are we going to pull bullshit out of our ass, but we’re going to just go ahead and assume what the other wants. Normally, I’d enjoy a nice healthy dialogue in response. Instead I sent him the following:

I don’t think you’ve ever even asked who I wanted you to be. Take care.

“Take care” was a special zinger being that he always seemed to use that phrase to end a conversation and move on to his own charmed life… “it’s back to my west coast world and focus on myself” happened to be part of the same message. Now, I’m all for focusing on self, but let’s be honest with the rest of the world when we go about it, shall we? I suppose I’ve heard those words enough to know where they come from now. After all, it was only the night before when he admitted that being with me makes him want to read a book; that I’m intimidating.

“Intimidating” is a word I’ve heard many times over the years. But to say you’re not who I want you to be, well that’s just plain sad. It puts the responsibility back on me, when I wasn’t asking for you to be anything other than yourself in the first place. Therein lies the irony, my love.

But keep in mind that while we’ve all been angry for having heard those words, at one point similar words have left our mouths. Come on. Admit it. I’ll be the first to. I’ve been in the position of wanting to feel more for a person than I originally did. Of knowing they’d be good for me, but realizing that it just wouldn’t work, either for lack of chemistry or lack of common interest. Nowadays, I’m practicing the difficult art of honesty when it comes to situations such as these. I can see why the lame-ass excuse of “it’s not you, it’s me” is so damn easy to spew because it prevents hurt on the other side. But in reality, all it does is create confusion and frustration. I’d much rather know the truth, that I’m not the right size, or my feet stink, or my breasts sag, or whatever, so I can move on and appreciate someone who does appreciate those flaws in me. I don’t want to spin my wheels trying to make something work that won’t work because someone told me they have their own shit to work out. I’ve been there, many times, feeling like whatever the other person’s issues were could be worked through. The “it’s not you, it’s me” excuse does nothing but invite the response “whatever it is, we can work through it.” Come on, folks. That’s not what you were going for when you said that, right?

Let’s try it together, shall we?

I don’t feel chemistry with you.

Good, now put it to use, will ya? And throw that other garbage away.