i never been in a relationship, so for the ones that have been in relationships, what are some things you hate about being in a relationship? Just so i feel a bit better lol

 

I love being in a relationship. It beats not being in one on basically every level. I suppose one problem is they do your drugs and chicks never buy their own drugs but otoh if the drugs make them horny it's all good.

Guess that didn't help.

 

Last edited by a moderator: Oct 21, 2023

restrict your repertoire to strippers and pornstars and you wont have "relationship" issues. you might even be able to kipe some of their drugs as well, so it's a win win.

 

Well, there will be other issues there but this is true. Strippers leech on you pretty hard though unless they're the super elite kind which, if you're successful enough to get, you wouldn't be worrying about things anyway.

 

I hate it when there are complaints and nagging about being laundry left on the floor.

If I don't leave it on the floor how else will get washed and re-appear folded and in the closet?

The circle of life.

 

Of course, the "no glove, no love" rule applies universally.

 

I feel you, it sucks to be single sometimes but I guess life happens in phases, I had my relationship phase and with that came relationship problems, now I'm in my single phase and with that... you guessed right: comes single problems.

 

Well, @passeee , you don't have to worry about your blood pressure.
I have a bad habit of finding chics who are smart, logical, and on-point, but then whenever it comes time for any sort of disagreement, I get a barrage of ridiculous circular (il)logic and the dreaded "... well, you might not have said that, but you were thinking that," or "... but that's what you meant!!" The confounding part is I'm an outspoken mf'er to the point of being unfit for general societal outings, so the fact that I wouldn't say anything is beyond ludicrous.
I'm on lock right now, but I'm hard to tolerate so that'll probably change before too long.

Incidentally, @saccamano , I got a couple buddies that'll testify that, if you have a hooker with drugs on her, they're hoping you dip into that stash, as they just tack it onto the fee; stacked prices for mad stepped-on "coke," which is usually supplied by those who're helping those nice ladies remain safe in their endeavors. True Story from the PNW.

 

If you are looking for a healthy relationship I highly advice against dating chicks that smoke weed on a daily basis.

 

Last edited: Oct 28, 2023

Being "in" a relationship implies that it's something to get out of, like being in prison. I dislike being alone in life, but I also dislike the mutual baggage-handling that goes on. Even if you're accustomed to carrying your own, the other will try to wrest it from you and carry it for you; then blame you for how much it had wrenched their spine to do so – and oblige you to bear the weight of theirs in return.

 

Word. I was in one relationship like that. The problem with the adoption of another's baggage is that it naturally implies a full understanding of it, and that's rarely, if ever, the case. Humans are unstable chemistry sets with misfiring synapses, so even similar experiences affect everyone in vastly differently ways.

 

The downside of being in a relationship is... being in a relationship. I've spent almost half of my life in a rs. 4 times so far. 4-1-5-12 years all in all.

Seriously, if you live a creative life, it can be a hindrance. I guess it depends, of course. For it to be successful, you have to set the boundaries early. "This is my space. This is where I'm working. This is where you're not allowed to enter under any circumstance except if there's nuclear war. Or you're bringing sandwiches. Or creative substances. "

 

Agree 100%.
One that I've run into a few times, in what turned out to be twelve-second relationships, is them hearing you tell them that you're a musician etc., but their understanding of it is based off of other people they know who "do the same." They're expecting somebody who has an acoustic guitar laying around the house so they can squeeze a Sublime song out of it at a party, or somebody who smashes around aimlessly in FL Studio twice a month to create snare/hat/808 patterns to blast out their car, meanwhile I'm over here sweating blood trying to get the mess of sounds in my skull put together and thrown out into the world in some cohesive form so I can finally get a few hours of decent sleep.
Those break-ups are usually always amicable though, as they're early-on; it's just a misunderstanding. I don't blame any chic for not wanting to pursue a relationship with someone who cheats on them with their audio neurosis twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five.

 

I'll do my best to be brief, got lots of shit to do today....

My old friend Nicky L. (2nd generation Italian American who's family owned a corner fruit and vegetable store downtown on 2nd Ave. between 7th and 8th streets) is a great guy who is smart, funny and creative but who consistently made bad relationship choices every chance he could take, tells me he's got a new girlfriend, and with the wide eyes of a puppy dog informs me that out she had just gotten out of prison (oh, Nicky!). He brings her around and she's this wiry, tough looking natural redheaded chick about 5' 6", good looking in a sense but with what I right away thought of as "larceny eyes", kinda scary in vibe, and as it turns out is a bad to the bone byitch, and as we shall see in a few moments, dangerous, but not in a good way, and what I correctly sensed in her in a fraction of a millisecond, a very shady person and not for a moment to be trusted. Meet Lola!!

We're with a bunch of people at the flea market at Canal and Green (now just a big ugly brick building built atop that sacred ground in unforgiving NYC), and when Nick has a moment whispers in my ear to ask her about the jailhouse tattoo, a pair of red cherries on stems there on her right shoulder, and when I find a moment to do just that she pulls me in really, really close, and while cooing into my ear caresses it almost imperceptibly with the tip of her nose, and in a coy and seductive little girl voice breathes, "The girls inside all say I taste like cherries". I'm thinking "of, fuck", look over to Nick who is smiling from ear to ear at me like the cat who has the mouse.. In our momentary clutch I notice that she smells like super-duper good, has like super-power pheromones or something because I'm loosing my mind in an instant and have a hard on and she knows it, counts on it and I just know this isn't gonna work out at all with Nick, and of course it doesn't, it can't and it won't. She's a fucking Venus Fly Trap and Nicky is the fly.

Time goes by and I don't see Nick for a while, maybe six months or so, but I do run into Lola at a Gristedes supermarket in the neighborhood. I ask and she tells me that she and Nick broke up about a week before and sweetly begs me to help carry her groceries to her apartment around the corner, and as she does she puts her fingers inside the waist of my pants above the fly and so pulls me ever slightly forward towards her by my belt. I'm young, dumb, perpetually horny and she smells so fucking good....

We get to her apartment and she offers me a shot of tequila, does one herself and within two minutes she's got my dick in her mouth and it's like a hot velvet oven. We fuck like demons, and in about half an hour after we're both multiply satisfied she says..."Wanna line of coke?"

I don't do coke, never do, don't like it, never did because it crashed my creativity the few times that I tried it and I won't touch it with a ten foot poll. Lola's vibe immediately changes when she hears hears this and kinda gets nasty with me, telling me that I need to leave now because "a client" is coming over. All of a sudden she doesn't smell so good any more. I get my clothing on and hit the street.

Instead of immediately walking home since its such a rare blue skied beautiful Manhatten spring day, I decide to sit on a stoop across the street and have a cigarette, and about 10 minutes later this huge black guy with a brown briefcase presses Lola's top floor buzzer, she buzzes back and her "client" walks in.

A week later I finally see Nick after not seeing him after that good long while and he tells me the story of how he and Lola had been hanging out together and how she was always turning him onto lines of coke, at clubs, before and after sex, all the time and that he now had a pretty bad habit and was totally addicted to that shit. I noticed that he had a splint on his right pinky and that his eyes looked a bit crazy, and he told me this story.

Yes, Lola was giving him lines of coke, as much as he wanted until a week before when she told him that he owed her $30,000 and that he needed to give it to her NOW! Nick didn't have that kind of cash and was arguably upset at the whole thing, being taken advantage of like that, the subterfuge and skullfuckery of it all. Well, when Nicky refused on wholesome grounds of unfairness Lola sent two tough guys over to Nick's apartment who snatched him out by his long black hair, pulled him up to the roof to hold him upside down over the ledge six stories above the cold hard pavement on East 7th Street, and if their point wasn't clear enough, broke his right pinky at the first knuckle and said either the money in two days or the whole hand the next time that they met at a time, where and when could be at any time, at anywhere.

Nick was petrified. He hadn't the money and no prospect of raising it anyway in the next two days and so he had to go to his parents, explaining to them his situation which was totally fucked up and which broke their old world Sicilian hearts. His parents could only muster up about half and so his father Nick senior went to the organization that he'd been paying "protection" money to for the past 25 years, faithfully, always on time and with reverent gratitude which was wholeheartedly appreciated and which was currently under the wing and sharpened talon of the infamous mob boss, the one and only, John Gotti.

Well, when Don Gotti heard that one of his flock was so threatened he told Nick the Senior, totally in character for a mafioso crime boss, "Don't worry about it!". Nick's dad never had to shell out a dime as John sent over two of his very own boys to Madame Lola's apartment, and without much ado informed her that she was moving out of NYC as of NOW, stayed with her as she got to pack one bag, drove her to The Port Authority Bus Terminal, put her on a bus to Youngstown, Ohio where she supposedly still had family, watched the bus depart and follwed it until it hit the New Jersey side of the George Washington Bridge on Route 80, but not before teling her that if she ever came back to New York or had someone come after Nick that they would "cut off her little titties and stuff them in her big whoring cunt".

Lola was never seen again.

Nick, the last time that I saw hair or hide of him (now almost 45 years ago) was hanging out with the granddaughter of one of one of the USA's most famous novelists of the early 20th century, living off her trust fund, and after snorting enough blow together to kill a dozen elephants moved on to crack where he related to me losing a little piece of the rock on the bathroom floor at a party and frantically picking up the kitty litter and lighting it up in his crack pipe, frantically and in the hopes that it was a smokable bit. At least he was honest. I hope that he's doing better now.

Oh boy!

 

Last edited: Oct 28, 2023

You are probably searching for an excuse to not be in a relationship because scared to be hurt.
My advice is to try by yourself and don't ask others, no matter if it will be pain or joy.
Don't give much attention about the look, it's inside that counts.
Most of the time, with few exceptions, who looks apparently so beautiful, happy and perfect are the worst choice.

 

Last edited: Oct 28, 2023

Haha, agreed. I could write a novella about natural redheads. That one has been a bad move every time. Every. Time. But, there's some draw at a base level, and... ya'know... maybe the next one will be different (I think every time.)

My mom's from New York, and her father was employed by a major, nationwide magazine, as he was a highly regarded photographer and artist, doing the layout design for the sets seen in the magazine as well. She didn't begin to put two and two together until she was older though, all of the well-dressed Italians who would come by the house, large amounts of bundled cash found stashed around the house, and then changing hands during late-night visits. She never knew the nature of the visits, and he's dead now, as is her mom, but she's always assumed that he was involved as a sort of go-between for them and the magazine since mob presence between NYC and White Plains was thick, at least at the time. I have to imagine that you're older than me, so I'm sure you have some stories.

Ha!! Real talk here. Years back, I was delivering a duffel bag of green to someone who wanted that sort of weight, even though he dealt in all sorts of harder stuff. The guy was older than me by a decade, but wasn't too bright and had already broke a few cardinal rules of the trade, but easily one of the dumbest rules he decided to disregard was keeping people around the property who were hooked, for no other reason than easy sales. Despite higher financials that should have kept him fully removed from his customers, overall, he was on some street-corner mentality that some people can't leave behind. One of his favorite things to do, as a bit of entertainment for people who he did business with, was to flick some dope onto his white, shag carpet and watch people scramble, pawing around endlessly for it... except, it was the old pretend-to-throw-the-tennis-ball trick you pull with dogs, so they'd search for days, never finding the dope that never was. Every once in a while someone would "find it" it though and smoke it and I'm sure(ish) it was something, but it sure wasn't dope. So, yeah. One hundred on that one... minus the kitty litter.
... so, in conclusion, that's why relationships are... ... I got nuthin'. I think we may have wandered slightly off topic.

 

That's a very interesting, awesome story Mrs. Lane. Thank you so much for sharing it with us. I enjoyed every bit of it, thoroughly. Oh well, I must admit some bits were more enjoyable than others, the bit when I envisioned this juicy redhead ... I'm a sucker for redheads. Never been with one, though! Actually, I have... but she dyed her hair blonde. She was cool... but quite shallow. That didn't last long.

Anyway, mowadaysI also tend to get attracted to what's inside, and I don't mean guts. I'm not Jack the Reaper, honestly! It was a very long time ago when I would go for the greatest looking birds I met. Two out of a little more than a dozen times it somehow managed to last longer than a day/week/month, 4y and 1y, but after the 1y case 25y ago I figured "I'm probably not choosing right...". Then I became a philosopher. I found myself in an rs with an average looking girl, who was too young for me... It did last, until she grew up and wanted to take things further. I didn't. It was nice 5 years. Then I met my last female - my wife, who was actually cute and nice, not too shallow, and good in bed... the Aussie one. 12 years it lasted, 7 years of marriage. After she left me I figured I'm a stupid git nobody could live with permanently, so better to be alone. Essentially I went MGTOW... and I'm not in the best of health, I feel tired of females, just gonna work and die working...

Music is my life. No way around it. I'm working harder than ever on promoting my shit everywhere, so I could have some more fun in life, other than taking care of a woman. cheers!

p.s sorry for a rushed post. I'm sooo tired, I should go to bed.

 

Last edited: Oct 31, 2023

Don't forget that a woman taking care of you is possible too, taking care of each others should be mutual and never just by one side only. Taking care of your needs, time and feelings without asking anything back is the base for an healthy relationship.

According to my experience, nowadays, there is a trend to use a partner as an object to obtain what it can't be obtained by them self.

 

In my view, "love" is accepting all the good and bad in your partner.
If you're not ready to put up with all of your partner's bad traits, it's best not to get in a relationship.
Just my thought...

 

From someone who's been there a few times—with real redheads, the type with that strange energy and natural fury—you didn't miss much, unless you're big on lamenting mental and physical scars.

After a couple serious relationships that lasted for a solid amount of years each, with a bunch of smaller few-month hook-ups surrounding them, I got burnt; I'm basically shooting in the dark at this point, testing the water, trying to remain cautiously optimistic. I have people telling me I need to get out there more and that I shouldn't have any trouble getting with a nice, intelligent chic with a tolerance for my blunt nature and music-obsession (I missed a couple branches when I fell out the ugly tree, though at best it just offsets the immediate flight response of females when they find out I'm a musician.. and not even one of those I'm-in-a-band musicians, not any more,) but I just meet the same people over and and over and over again, roaming around with the same general demeanor and self-serving views when it comes to relationships, rarely finding any we're-in-this-to-make-it-work type attitudes, and it becomes depressing. There may already be some warning signs in my current/new-ish relationship, but maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there—we'll see. It may be another couple month endeavor. Either way, I'm cool with my fail-safe of hanging out with my feline compatriot and working on music; surprisingly—or, maybe not—I'm quite adept at being alone. (One of my buddies, like "... no shame in being a recluse with a cat... ya'know, 30-40 years from now," ... he's not wrong, I may be a bit too eager to jump that timeline, but I'm trying to stay grounded. )