The Consequences of Pissing where we swim

These days I find myself overusing this philosophy I’ve borrowed from the pool of pop culture and folky “wisdom.”  Might say it’s my new mantra.  “Mantra” means vapid truism we spout all the time but tend to ignore while scolding ourselves for constantly doing so, right? Thought so, this is mine: “Don’t piss where you swim.”  Or as a friend of mine likes to paraphrase it: “Don’t shit where you eat.”  But I think “don’t shit where you eat” is a little too proscriptive… I mean if it were my mantra I would probably actually FOLLOW it.  Because honestly there’s no wiggle room in that mental image (shitting is just too final, too permanent, too GROSS), whereas who DOESN’T piss where they swim? Hmm??  But you shouldn’t.  At least, you shouldn’t if you are speaking metaphorically.

For example, my particular spin on this saying is that you shouldn’t date people you are around everyday, and with whom you share common friendships or acquaintances.  People you very often HAVE to be around. Coworkers are the ultimate example, but that cute girl in your friend-circle who’s finally dumped the loser we all hate is another one to stay away from.  You date where you swim and pretty soon you’re swimming in piss.  Basically. Something like that.

But it’s also something I do apparently constantly.  The summer fling chick was the prime example of this.  I knew knew knew it would be a bad idea but I dove in anyway and it ended up souring my work environment and the budding relationships which were forming with colleagues and coworkers there.  It made me miserable and affected my job.  It continued to negatively impact it up until I quit.  The most stellar example of THAT would be when I overheard her moaning gasps of pleasure as she fucked another coworker in the bathroom.  No piss in the water and that would have just been hilarious instead of terrible.  Instead, I now have one more person in my short list of people I can never ever be in the same room with because I just don’t feel like dealing or letting things slide.  Which gets in the way when there are good reasons to be in that same room.  For example the several work parties I skipped out on.  But enough about that bitch.
How about something fresh and more embarrassing?  So, story time, yes?  Well this involves that girl I slept with in my tent.  Did I mention her at all?  With the no blow jobs?  Ok maybe in passing.  Let’s roll/here goes/boom:

I went camping.  I went in a car full of quality people I’d like to spend more time with.  There were a few more cars filled in a like manner on their ways there as well.  The spot was some presumptive bacchanalian-pastoral solstice party on acreage near the bay north of Long Island.  Is that Long Island Sound?  Ok, that.  Owned by some old bag who was an ex-hippy and very probably did too many drugs during her lifetime.  Sweet, kind, giving soul and I should be more respectful.  Not use phrases like “old bag” to describe people. Yeah yeah yeah.

The view of the sound. Magical(ish)

Anyway, it was a semi-public event with bands and junk and people were allowed/encouraged to camp out on a large expanse of grass abutting the brackish swampy oceany thing there.  It was actually very beautiful and super great to get out of the fucking city for a minute.  It was also great to even be invited and then to actually get a ride out.  I know I know I’m pathetic, but when you live in Siberia it’s awesome to get a ticket out–people included–once in a while.

My tent. I love you, tent!

So, we cruise up to this spot, unload and wander through some more or less manicured wilderness to wind up in a clearing on a rise overlooking the ocean-lagoon.  I tack on “lagoon” because you could see land across the way.  Plus people who went out into the water (aside from the dude who cut his foot) were basically in knee deep the whole way out.  The tides affected the depth, so obviously it was ocean-connected. BLAH BLAH BLAH.  I set up my tent.  Which was pretty damn exciting considering this is my first tent since I was maybe 10 years old.  My tent.  My own little private space on the go.  I can’t wait to use it again, hopefully in the rain because come on, how cozy, right? RIGHT?

Cue montage of drinking, BBQ’ing, sun going down, singalongs (in which HIE doesn’t participate), drinking, drinking, dogs playing, people laughing, more drinking.  Cut to full night.  Psychotic fireflies tweaking out in the treetops and on the ground, the drinks are still flowing, but now it’s harder to see.  As I wander back from my 500th trip to the port-a-john up at the main farmhouse/compound (where a bona fide band is playing), I get word that some new people have arrived, related to our group, and they brought a pizza (for fuck’s sake).  I’m not sure why, but there’s something incredibly wrong, yet undeniably right about taking a pizza out camping.  Anyway, I smell the pizza and wander over.  It’s these three chicks who, after a little introductory conversation, are revealed to be crazy young.  And I can tell one of them is “flirting” with me.  I think the sentence was something like “You really aren’t that old; I like older guys.”  The actual verbatim transcript escapes me, but basically I could tell this one chick was both interested in me and way too fucking young to even really go there.  I remember recounting the conversation immediately to my friends and us laughing at how awkwardly terrible it was.  She had asked me some question that was a dead giveaway for how absolutely new-to-life-young she was and it depressed me.  I closed the tale out with a prediction: that she’d try again.

And she definitely did.  We ended up standing in the same area and chatting again about shit.  She asked me if I remembered her name (god I hate that shit), and of course I didn’t.  She seemed fairly upset by this and in fact in general had a very reactionary personality.  She seemed to take strong offense to a lot of my normal conversation style.  RED FLAG.  But whatever, I could tell it was a done deal if I wanted to get in there.  Sorry to be blunt, but it’s true.  You can tell.  Later we were sitting in the grass watching some Long Island chick hula hoop this lit-up psychedelic hoop and I was PLASTERED in a fairly lucid way, so I go, “Ok, I think I’m done.  Going to bed.”  In a fairly open ended way.

The hula girl was about 4 times better than this:

“Yeah, let’s go.” She says, and follows me to my tent.  I take her clothes off (let me just stop here to say that, for me, her body is fucking amazing.  Young supple olive skin, giant tits, smooth large thighs, score) and we fuck.  And then she wants to go again and I’m like… huh?  Wait.  Oh GOD.  This girl is 22, and she knows my friends.  I had already gathered that she was very immature, but it was also clear that she was at that age where she was absolutely sure of her view of the world.  In her view (my drunken tired mind is calculating feverishly now), guys can always fuck twice, because she’s young, and if I can’t it’s because I’m old and impotent and she will definitely share this with her two girlfriends.  She hasn’t been initiated into the world of whiskey-dick, much less guys who would rather get some sleep than bone twice.  TONS of pressure to perform again.  Which I’m very shocked to say I was able to do.  The second time I had to cut loose and get ‘er done ASAP, and unfortunately my friend in the tent next door heard that round in its entirety.  Which became a not so tongue in cheek theme for the next few get-togethers.

Anyway, long story short I did my due diligence with this girl and tried to connect on another level, but it just wasn’t working.  My tendency is to try to work out emotional rough spots up front, and this girl has some SERIOUS mental problems that she absolutely isn’t ready to confront yet. Basically she’s fresh out of a blue-blood sorority fucked up family world and unable to even conceptualize the weird psycho hangups she’s dealing with.  So.  I pull back for the sake of not getting involved with someone I can’t connect with.  Add to this the information a friend of mine shared: that she has fucked at least 5 other guys in our extended group.  I make one or two more moves to just connect psychologically and it doesn’t work.  So rather than fuck and let her imagine our relationship however she wants it, I push her away.  She tries to get me back to her house a few times and I refuse.  She gets mad and tells me to never contact her again and storms out in an ostentatious and flouncy way.  Friends snicker.  But that’s not the end of this.  Keep in mind, this is a girl who was texting her roommates immediately after we fucked (the third and fourth times).  About fucking.  Her friends know my friends, etc, etc, etc.  Nightmare.

She is now telling all and sundry that she once dated this guy who called her the wrong name.  Holy crap what a psycho.  Lord knows how the story will continue to warp in the future!  So now I have this fucking baggage to deal with at group events and I never know when someone is going to be told something incriminating yet false about me.  Good times.  Don’t piss where you swim, HIE.

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In other news, I am on day 18 of my 30-day dating fast.  This has been a seriously amazing idea, but I’m glad I gave myself permission to have one night stands because damn.  When you’re off the market is exactly when girls want to get up in that.  And might I say that, regarding my theory about the blowjobs disappearing, women in their 30s who are just getting out of and recovering from long term relationships are still on board?  My faith in equitable and mutually enjoyable sexual relations has been partially restored.  Ok not really because she’s from a different state (kudos for not pissing where I swim!).  New York ladies still suck… i mean they don’t suck.

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