Tag Archives: love life

To Respond, or Not to Respond…

I’m sure you like to think you’re a polite person; if someone walked up to you in a bar and said ‘Hey, how’s it going?‘, you wouldn’t turn around, give them a once over and go back to chatting with your friends without so much as a second thought, staunchly ignoring the person who approached you. Because that’s ruuuuude.

So why is it different online? I’m sure there must be some people out there who take the time to respond to EVERY message they receive through their dating accounts, whether it’s to pursue a meet, or to kindly let the person messaging them that they’re not interested…But I don’t know who has the patience for that.

Why? Because on our beloved t’internet, things can get messy. Fast. An instagram site Bye Felipe is largely made up of men abusing women for exercising their right to have preferences, either by rejecting them, or by ignoring them which is essentially rejection without the message.

That’s not the only one! A sub-reddit, CreepyPMs, regularly has online dating conversations uploaded, again largely men berating women for rejecting them, with the help of a message, or without.

They all seem to go through the same motions;

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  1. Poor opening message.
  2. Rejection.
  3. Mental gymnastics asserting he wasn’t interested in the first place because either the rejecter is A. Too fat B. A slut, or C. A stuck up Ice Queen Bitch.

On the flip side, you could remove the effort of trying to be polite (because, it’s not always good for you to be polite) and try to avoid the confrontation that might ensue, assuming you were messaged by some strange man-baby hybrid who throws all the toys out of his pram because he has no chance in hell of seeing, let alone being anywhere near your glorious lady-bits, and ignore the people you’re not interested in.

Gosh you’re wrong again! You still might be in for some abuse! Lucky you!

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Okay, okay. Not all guys respond like this when rejected or ignored, and I’m sure women can throw a shit fit or two as well, the point of this article is, there’s more than one way to skin a cat (is there really? Who would skin a cat? And why? Why would you need more than one way to skin a cat?). Some guys prefer a rejection, some prefer to be ignored; unless you ask specifically, you’re not going to know! So do whatever you feel like doing. Helpful blog is helpful.

Me personally, I choose to ignore the people I’m not interested in. I can’t be dealing with boys throwing their rage at me because I’m too fugly to reject them, or that I’m shallow because they’re 40 years out of my age range, or a closed minded bitch because I couldn’t find anything to interest me in their profile.

I also preferred being ignored if I sent the first message. It was less of a waste of time than getting into a conversation with a guy who had no intention of meeting me and honestly, when I didn’t get a response I shrugged and moved on. There isn’t only one person you might be interested in on a dating site, you rarely find one person to message at a time, so why throw a wobbly over the few that don’t find you compatible?

If you don’t get a response, just keep one thing in mind, guys; She’s just not that into you.

“We’ll See”

I wasn’t in the mood for a date. It hadn’t been long since I’d been played but I hurled myself back into online dating; if you don’t get out and mingle, you’re not gonna have the White Knight turn up on your doorstep with a cheeky grin and a tub of Ben and Jerry’s.

I was running late so I text him. It was time to meet and I hadn’t even left yet. Sometimes I find it difficult to drag myelf out the door when I’m in a mood like I was in that day. I didn’t want to play act and present the Good, Clean Version of the Truth as you have to on first dates, what I wanted was PJs, shitty Channel 5 documentaries and alone time to recoup.

Bless him, my date arrived early and I wasn’t even ready. I decided to go for sexy-casual, a cute, bold colourful printed, extremely short shirt-dress I bought from a vintage market and a pair of hotpants to cover my dignity. It seemed appropriate for a lunch/beach date in the height of Summer. I slapped on a little eye make-up and headed out the door.

I saw him waiting outside the cafe we arranged to meet as I drove past and I felt a pang of guilt. 15 minutes late and I still had to find a place to park and walk around to meet him. He waited though, which showed me he was really interested. I thought it was a little odd that he didn’t find a table and get started on a cuppa while he was waiting, but it seemed respectful that he chose to wait outside.

I parked up and as I rounded the corner to the cafe, I got a closer look at him before he saw me. I like to see people behaving naturally; he was leant against the wall smoking. Self assured and bored, can’t really blame him! I’d kept him waiting 20 minutes now.

I saw his first glimpse of me, and I loved his reaction. His bright blue eyes flashed wide and his jaw practically fell open as he immediately flung his cigarette. He gave me a big smile and greeted me with warmth and palpable nerves.

I was pretty calm. I liked the guy from chatting on Plenty of Fish and our few text conversations, we had a lot in common and he held a conversation well on those platforms, but I’ve done online dating before. I wasn’t expecting much. He was a strange mix of confidence and nerves, it was sweet and strangely comforting.

We had good conversation, bloody unusual conversation but I have to admit unusual is my forte, and I didn’t feel I had to ‘perform’ as much as I’ve had to previously. Few awkward silences plagued our lunch and we made each other laugh, so I thought it would be good to carry on to the next loosely planned stage, to the beach.

He didn’t exactly have on beach attire, trainers and jeans, but it gave us something to giggle about. We carried on chatting bullshit and nonsense and he complemented my legs just enough to let me know he was interested but managed to avoid being creepy.

I had an excuse to cut the date short lined up, a nice endorphin blast at the gym, but instead I let him buy me ice cream from his favourite parlour and we carried on with our banter; I was feeling comfortable and enjoying his company. I let a few entendres drop and revelled in watching my gentleman date blush and fluster.

I had planned on staying an hour or two, but after 4 hours he walked me back to my car and we parted with a hug. I wasn’t sure how I felt, I liked the guy, he had a lot of attributes I was looking for; funny, confident, outgoing, cute and interested enough to be adorably nervous…most of all I was surprised just how comfortable I was with him. I wasn’t drained or disheartened, tired or emotionally shrivelled. I didn’t need the gym induced endorphin high as I anticipated I would, I left the date feeling happy, open and positive.

When I was asked how it went by my family, I hedged;

He was nice…we’ll see.

Getting Over It and Moving On

I’m talking about the short term romances/disappointing dates/one nighters that turn into maybe 7 nighters…not relationships where big investments are involved, emotional, financial…that’s a whole different kettle of fish.

Me? I’m a moper. For a while at least. I over-analyse, I wonder what the hell happened and what went wrong, why did he behave the way he did, was it my fault? Or is he just a massive raging dick?

More often than not, all the questions don’t get answered. You can only glean so much from the brief contact you had with the person in question so at some point you have to come to some sort of half baked conclusion, get up, dust off and move the hell on.

Moving on means different things to different people, but for me, it seems the best tack is learning a bit from the situation and getting back on the horse. You don’t necessarily have to view dating as all sunshine and roses especially after a knock back, but being brave enough to fling yourself back into the pit is often good enough.

Shortly after my miserable disappointment I moped for 2 or 3 days. I was frustrated, obviously. I didn’t want to go on more shoddy dates with unsuitable men and deal with the social awkwardness that meeting complete strangers involves. But if you want the hope of a shiny new relationship you can’t just sit in your flat and watch an inordinate amount of Netflix, eating an incredible amount of cake, smoking an insane amount of cigarettes drinking an inconceivable amount of alcohol and expect Prince Charming to knock on your door…it could happen I suppose but it seems rather unlikely. Especially unlikely if you answer the door in those godawful pyjamas you’ve been wearing for 3 days…

So taking Garth Algar’s profound words “Get over it, go out with somebody else!” to heart I resolved to get back on it; I bit the dating bullet and signed back into my online profiles. I wasn’t expecting much and didn’t have much hope that I would find someone as compatible as the previous guy…But not too long after signing back in I had a few dates lined up, and with that hope renewed itself!

Maybe thanks to a little dogged determination the right guy wasn’t too far out of reach, but he would have been had I sat moping and clinging onto the failure of the past hook ups, continuing to try and figure out why, spending way too much energy on a guy who made it clear he wasn’t prepared to give me what I needed to succeed in a relationship. Amen Garth!

Garth Algar: Love Guru

Does Michael Myers Ever Die??! Letting Go Is Hard To Do…Apparently.

Once you get attached to someone it can be really hard to break free of the idea of you and them being together…I know what it’s like from first hand experience, quite often the product of unrequited love/lust/crush, but you get over it and if you’re sensible, you don’t do anything more freaky than a little bit of Facebook stalking…

A guy I dated seems to be having trouble letting go of me. The dude from my first post. We dated for not quite two months, but from a couple of weeks in, I was starting to have doubts. By 6 weeks, I was dreading having to spend time with him. I’d rather have had a surprise hysterectomy. Fully conscious. It got that bad.

What was worse is that he was utterly shocked when I broke it off with him. People that know me find me to be as transparent as sheet glass when I don’t particularly enjoy something. I try to hide it, but I fail. Epically. And yet, this guy was so self involved he didn’t notice…or didn’t care that I didn’t really like spending time with him. He didn’t see that I just stopped responding to him talking at me. That my smile was tight lipped, or that my tone of voice was flat, apart from when my frustration with him rose, which was far too regularly.

When I broke it off, I made it clear that my decision had been made, I’d thought about it, I’d come to a conclusion and I was staunch that I was ditching him. It seemed only fair on both of us.

He tried convincing me that I was being too rash. Because fantasising about slapping a guy round the head with a halibut is not proof enough that this was not going to work out…

During this attempted convincing, he told me he was planning on taking me for a trip to London. First I’d heard of that. At that point, I would’ve preferred spending a relaxing weekend in the Tower of London tied to a rack being made to watch a dude sharpening implements of torture.

I state my case again, this is not working, I’m not happy, it’s over.

He dropped the L bomb. He loves me, says he. Fuck me, says I (in my head, of course). That’s desperation for you. He didn’t even know me, he wouldn’t let me speak and didn’t have a clue what I was feeling despite it being painfully obvious, but he loves me. Bull.

Enough is enough, says I. Time to bring out the big guns.

“I just don’t want to waste your time. I really can’t see myself ever loving you.”

I felt like I was murdering Bambi in front of him. This is it. He must be aware, now, exactly how it is, this will end all the arguments, retorts, emotional manipulations and convincing, I tell myself.

Wrong.

“I think you will.” Says he.

Bollocks.

He looked pretty damn sure of himself as well. Maybe Stockholm Syndrome got the better of the previous girlfriends?

After this, I gave up. Left him to his tears and delusions and walked home. There was no convincing this guy that I had made my decision and it was final. Abandonment was the way to go. Sure, I felt like a heartless bitch, but there’s only so many ways to tell a person ‘Dude, I’m done with this shit, seriously’, and have it be ignored before it’s time to just GTFO.

I didn’t hear from him for a couple of weeks, and I was relieved. I thought it might have sunk in, and that maybe he would go back to his Mothers (think Norman Bates), talk at some other poor unsuspecting girl and leave me the hell alone.

Wrong.

I got a message from him on Facebook, along the lines of ‘I really miss you and I want you back.’

BOLLOCKS.

I basically told him to get over it, find someone else, delete my number, move on, I’d found someone else, and I actually said “It’s not happening”. He kept messaging me. I blocked him.

He must get the message by now, surely…I’ve told him in no uncertain terms is it EVER going to happen. Ever. And then I blocked him to drive the point home.

Wrong.

He messaged me on the dating site where we first ‘met’ TWO MONTHS after I dumped him. We have now been ‘broken up’ longer than we were together. It was a long and emo, possibly drunken (but I’m not convinced) message about how I was the best thing that ever happened to him and that again, he wants me back.

This guy is like Michael fucking Myers. No matter how hard you shoot the bastard down, stab him in the heart, douse him in petrol and flick a match at the sadistic twat he keeps coming right at you. He slinks away when you’re not looking only to appear 5 minutes later from a fucking cupboard wielding the giant ass carving knife you rammed into his heart…

I didn’t respond. It doesn’t matter how I respond. What the fuck else can I say? I’ve given him plenty of reasons, the main one being ‘I don’t want to’ and I’ve found about 50 ways to say ‘…er. Thanks…but fuck off now yeah?’ I could not have been any more clear.

This has gone beyond desperate to mental illness now. This is personality disorder type shit I’m dealing with here. This is freaking me out. This nutter knows where I live, knows the car I drive, knows where I work and clearly doesn’t give a fuck about consent.

It’s been a couple of weeks and after blocking him on the dating site I haven’t heard anything, but I’m not entirely sure that I’ve heard the last from him.

I’m just waiting for him to appear in the back of my car wearing a William Shatner mask.

“Why can’t we give it another go?”

The Good, Clean Version of the Truth

The fun personality I put across when I first meet people could be seen as false; it’s attractive and charming, witty and clever, but its upkeep takes effort. Is this the fault of being an introvert, or is this what everyone goes through? It’s not like the façade is a lie, the façade is me, I have the thoughts, feelings and attitude that I project; some thoughts I decide to reserve and have a giggle to myself when something pops into my brain that I’m not sure the other person would appreciate. Which is, frankly, usually something perverse… I remember being in a lift with a co-worker that I have fun flirting with occasionally; I was going bright red and biting my lip as there was an awkward silence and all I could think to say were euphemisms about ‘going down’ – that would’ve taken the playful flirting to a whole new level (badaboom tssh). However, if I’m truly being myself, why is it so exhausting?

I wasn’t always charming, witty and adept at conversation. It’s a skill that has taken a long time to learn, with great thanks to my best friend for helping me to open up and show me how to drag the intimate answers out of people that they certainly wouldn’t have brought up had she not asked with such aplomb. Often people would explode with laughter at her directness in actually asking the question that nobody else had the balls to ask, then answer her with as much honesty as they could provide – talk about skill!

I was terse, monosyllabic and made no bones that I was a miserable misanthrope and conversation was not interesting to me; I was a goth after all, I had a reputation to uphold. Even my best girl took a long time to break me down and get me talking, despite her skill. The fact she carried on trying, succeeded and still considers me good enough to keep around, I am endlessly thankful for.

Perhaps it’s much like anyone else. The façade is a good, clean version of the truth. It’s the editing that’s the exhausting part, the cold-reading of the person I’m talking to. What’s working, what isn’t, what should I say about this, what should I leave out? Is that too risqué? Hmm, he didn’t seem impressed by my repartee about size being important…Quick! Change the topic! Telling him I have a thing for men in heels probably wouldn’t really be appropriate, would it?

One might suppose therefore that the more exhausting a conversation, the less comfortable I feel. The more editing that has to be done, the more awareness I have to ensure. With people I feel more comfortable with, I don’t really need to edit; they know who I am and my humour, they know how to take it which can be a stumbling block for people. However that comfort only comes with familiarity; when meeting new people you always have to work them out, and edit yourself to a certain extent.

It’s exciting and enthralling meeting new people, and I think I’ve learned to sell myself, which is what you do when you someone new and shiny, isn’t it? I would never have attempted to sell myself before, I figured people could accept me for who I am, misanthropy, eyeliner, fishnets and all, or screw them. But it makes life much easier when you have the choice to sell yourself, or even the opposite if being in a tragic accident involving 3 clowns, a leprechaun and Ted Bundy is more appealing than going on another date with this guy who makes Charlie Manson look like quite the catch.

Being Emotionally Manipulated: 101

If you’ve never been manipulated, you’re a very lucky person. Or oblivious. I’ve had several experiences of being manipulated, from a few different people. I’m a smart girl, I’m sure plenty of victims of manipulation are, so how the hell did it happen?

It’s pretty complicated, and yet so simple…

So, I’d known this guy for a long time. He had moved away, so we chatted online until circumstances brought him back home, to his parents. This is when things started to go downhill.

Sad thing is, he’s a nice guy. He’s an absolute charmer – aren’t all those pesky manipulators though? He’s confident to the point of arrogance, he’s ‘deep’, thoughtful, ridiculously intelligent and seems to have it all worked out. Somehow though, he’s also a massive, walking fuck up. This, to me, is an important part of the manipulation. He has so much potential, he just needs some nurturing and pointing in the right direction…right…

What I failed to realise is that he isn’t as much of a fuck up as he would’ve had me believe. He has all the skills he needs to get what we’re expected to want from life; a job we like, an income, supporting ourselves and society. It became more and more clear throughout the few weeks he imposed himself upon me, that he could get any of that, but he didn’t want it. He wanted the care-free life that many of us crave but aren’t sociopathic enough to get.

He was also an alcoholic, part of the fuck-uppery; it did exacerbate the manipulation, but it wasn’t the cause. I thought it was at the time, but thinking back, no, it was there before. He saw the nurturing side of me and used this alcoholism as a reason for me to look after him, and I put myself out much further than I would if he didn’t have this problem.

“I have nowhere else to go” was often his greeting at 11pm. “My dad would kill me if he saw me like this”, he would say, reeking of Special Brew and looking like he hadn‘t showered for a few days. I would agree, and in he would come, often keeping me up until well into the morning, past dawn, talking and listening to the same songs on you tube. Iggy Pop was a regular. His wide-eyed insanity and lack of inhibitions related to a cocktail of various psychotropic substances seemed to be something to be admired. Kansas’ ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’ was outright banned, I simply couldn’t take it any more. Usually, he passed out drunk and I would then be too worried to sleep, often curling up in my chair next to the sofa where his comatose body lay, periodically checking that he was still breathing.

I enjoyed his company. I live on my own and despite being an introvert, I love having people to talk to, especially people that I don’t have to pretend around; I didn’t think I had to pretend around him. He was excellent at flattery and at first, my confidence sky-rocketed with him around. He would compliment my style, my strength as a person and my overall personality. He didn’t like a lot of people, but he loved spending time with me, because I was ‘Interesting’.

Nothing unpredictable really happens in my life either, and he brought that element of chaos; going for a walk and chat down the beach at 2am rather than going to bed and to sleep like a normal person generally does. Showing up on my doorstep at random times, making me alcoholic-by-proxy, having drunken rants and ridiculous conversations; he brought out my wild side, and I loved it. Until it started to affect my life, my real life.

He promised to make up for his fuck uppery, he’d take me rock climbing, take me out for a meal, he hoped that I was paying attention to how much he owed me, that he would pay me back, every penny. The promises became less and less; the meal wound up being a couple of bottles of wine and his company for an evening, and yet that was still too much. It was clear after a while he never had any intention of repaying my hospitality either financially or even by offering a solid friendship any more.

I’m not sure if he started to get lazy or I worked out that I was being manipulated, maybe a combination of both, but the end of the ‘friendship’ came after he didn’t bother showing up one day. We had previous talks about how this made me feel worthless; if you can’t make plans with someone, at least make a phone call, send a text, e-mail, face book message…communication isn’t exactly hard these days. But it carried on. We would make plans, he wouldn’t bother contacting me and wouldn’t bother showing up. The last straw for me was when this happened one day, I was beyond pissed, and I heard nothing from him. Until I sent him a message wishing him a happy birthday four days later. No apology, but contact was made. I asked him to make it up to me. He was far too busy, naturally.

It was at this point I think it fully dawned on me; I had my inklings that I was being manipulated before but whether I was having too much fun to care, or I was lonely, or I just didn’t want to accept it; I’m not sure. Possibly a fatal combination of all three, and a few more I haven’t thought of.

Some of the last words I said to him were along the lines of, if this situation was happening to a friend, I’d tell them to drop the dickhead, he is no friend. What kind of person takes you for all your worth and can’t even be arsed to pick up the phone if you can’t make it the half mile to see them? After all I’d done for him, the stress, the worry, the sleepless nights…

He didn’t take it well. The power he had in this relationship was over once I took control and said I wasn’t standing for it any more. It was an invigorating feeling, wrestling that power away from him. If you find yourself in the same situation, trust me, it might be heart wrenching at first; they sure as hell don’t make it easy for you. Why would they? You’re a metaphorical goldmine. But do it, the relief you feel once you’ve realised you’ve rid yourself of a sociopathic vampire is indescribable and more empowering than you could really believe.

I still half expect him to call me at 2am when he has ‘nowhere else to go’ or ‘needs a true friend’, but that bridge is well and truly burned. I know his true face now, you can’t unsee that level of disregard for your well-being, emotions and self worth.

Hey! Fancy a Fuck?

I don’t know if I’m surprised or not. I mean, dating sites are easy ways to hook up aren’t they? But does any girl ever actually put out because a guy showed the slightest bit of interest and said ‘Hey’.

They always seem really surprised when I don’t literally fall to my knees, thankful for the attention and go get it on with a stranger that has literally said 5 words to me before insinuating a hook up, one would assume in the privacy of one of our homes, or perhaps they were thinking somewhere classy like a car park in the back of their old style corsa?

You meet a guy on the internet, a place where we all know is full of the insane, some in a nice way, some slightly more psychotic, many just plainly awkward, oblivious and/or slightly fucked up (raises hand). You barely exchange pleasantries let alone anything else, and invite them over to your place for a bit of action?

There was an article in the local papers recently about an ex-nurse who attempted to meet a girl off the internet. Fine, great, no big deal. He was intending to cannibalise her. He told her so, apparently. Strange she never showed, but the police did…

So, I’m more confident now than I ever have been I know my worth, it takes a little more than ‘Hey (babe/gorgeous/sexy..etc)’ to get me to throw caution out the window and drop my pants. Not much more, admittedly, we’ve all made drunken mistakes. But usually it takes attraction, rapport, humour, feeling safe/comfortable and/or a shitload of alcohol. ‘Hey babe’ just doesn’t really cut it, and I can’t see it ever will (but, never say never, right?).

There was one guy who I would normally have veered away from. Copied and pasted witty one liner opening – I figured he put in a little effort at least. After a couple of messages of witty banter and an explanation from him that he just wanted a bit of fun (meh, at least he was honest), he proceeded to send me pictures of his junk. Then ridiculed me when I refused to send photos of mine. Apparently that makes me ‘no fun’ and ‘boring’. Insults are always the best way to win a girl over apparently.

Being a fan of lectures these days, I gave him the honour of an education. Had this worked well for him before? No? Shocker. Here’s why not. I’m not just a vagina, fuckwit! His answer was ‘But I just wanted a bit of fun!’. Great, me too! Except I prefer to be viewed as a human being with a personality rather than literally a hole that’s a goal. Bless him *rolls eyes* He was educated in grammar school too. My grammar school. Standards have clearly slipped.

 

Why a Celebrity Dog Trainer is Ruining My Love Life

My marebag, Lady - like butter wouldn't melt, right?
My marebag, Lady – like butter wouldn’t melt, right?

I’m not a dog trainer – I’m a well educated dog owner. Science is my mistress. I have a first class honours BSc in Animal Science to my name, which heavily included animal psychology and behaviour. I worked in dog rescue for 3 years. I’ve seen a lot, I’ve read a lot and I’ve applied a fair bit in practice with dogs in the rescue, and my own mare of a bullmastiff. I’m no expert, but I know what I know.

My views in training dogs are much like you would care for a 2 year old child. You manage unwanted behaviour by making sure there isn’t anything silly your dog can get into trouble with – it might be chewing inappropriate items, or it might be putting the dog behind a baby gate when visitors arrive so they don’t have the chance to chomp the guest. You teach the appropriate behaviour with clear instruction, kind words and plenty of rewards when they manage to make good choices thanks to your consistancy and patience when teaching the dog what you want it to do, rather than punishing it for what you don’t want it to do. If the dog isn’t getting it, you’re doing something wrong – it’s on the owner (or trainer) to make sure their teaching is appropriate for the dog.

We all learn through conditioning processes, classical and operant. Birds do, chimps do, dogs do, humans do. There’s no magic involved. A rottweiler doesn’t need any more of a ‘firm hand’ than a chihuahua. Motivations might vary though, but that’s a different article, for a different time maybe.

So, why is a dog trainer ruining my love life? The general public, even if they know very little about dogs, have almost all watched dog training TV programmes. Some are better than others, but sadly not a lot of people extol the virtues of Victoria Stillwell. It doesn’t always happen, but often when I’ve mentioned having an interest in dog behaviour and training, a certain celebrity dog trainer has come up.

It’s difficult, particularly when you’re so passionate about something to explain why (in the most sensitive terms) the person they learned everything they know about dog behaviour from is spouting absolute bullshit. And here comes the problem. How do you do it without alienating this shiny new person you want to get to know a bit better? Or do you even want to get to know them better if they watch this show for entertainment, or maybe even advice?

I get where the layman is coming from with this  – before I learned what a stressed dog looks like, I thought the gleaming toothed trainer was alright. I didn’t understand that during filming dogs were wound up, pushed past their threshold to the point of ‘red zone’, and then punished for the actions of the trainer. Who would even think they would do that?

I came across this today. I tried to light heartedly mention that the trainer was a bug-bear of mine, and (semi) briefly, why I thought that way. I spoke about Mech* and his original article about wolves’ social structure and how it was dismissed by Mech himself because the study was inherantly flawed, and then how I would prefer dogs were treated. The guy must not have read what I had written and went on about how dogs form packs…like wolves. *keyboardface*

Now I’m in an interesting position. I don’t really know how to respond to that. Just brush over it like none of the conversation had happened? But, I won’t be happy in a relationship where the other person is happy to use punitive measures on a dog, my dog in particular. I could wind up doing that whole ‘talking at’ thing, as I discussed in my first post, Being Talked At: The Death of Conversation. I could presume he did in fact read my musings and he actually means that dogs form a family-centric ‘pack’ relationship with us, their owners, as I mentioned wolves do with their family unit.

Semantics is diffcult, when dealing with a layman. Different people, hell even different trainers have different ideas for what the term ‘pack’ means. For me, the term comes with baggage, especially when united with that celebrity trainer; if dogs form packs (they don’t), this means that they will try to climb the hierarchy (so many lols) and need to then be ‘put in their place’ with ‘calm assertive (punitive) energy’. That’s a lot of baggage for a simple term to hold, isn’t it?

So…when the short Mexican is mentioned, I tend to die a little inside, even though I was once that person who really didn’t know any better. I grew, I was educated by a fantastic lecturer, and I further educated myself.

I think I need to remember that with every interaction with another life-form be it dogs, people or anything with a brainstem for that matter, that Pavlov is always sitting on my shoulder so the saying goes.

If I go on a rant at this poor unsuspecting guy about the horrors that the self-educated, calm-assertive energy espousing micro-man imposes onto poor dogs who are afraid of going up the stairs, then the silver-coiffeured pseudo-trainer will definitely ruin my love life.

* Here’s a little article if you were wondering Who the Hell is Mech?!