idn’t have all of it. He said he had been putting money into fixing his car. I told him I would cover what he was lacking. The next month it happened again, but I thought nothing of it. After all, a man needs a car, right? I figured everything would get easier after his car situation was better. I continued to give him rides to work everyday. I took him to the store to get cigarettes, to restaurants, to buy groceries. Even on my days off, I got up early so I could take Ted to work. Then something happened. I began to notice that I was the one paying for the cigarettes, the groceries, the restaurants, and the gas to take him to work. A seed of resentment and doubt began to grow. It had been three months now, and Ted’s car still wasn’t running. He had put no money away to get his own place. What Relationships. They’re complicated, right? At least that’s what we’ve been told, well, since childhood, girlhood, womanhood…whatever. The point is they’re not easy. Growing up, adults try to explain away the differences between men and women in every way imaginable. “Boys tease you because they like you.” “Women are more in-tune with their emotions than men.” When I was in my first relationship, my dad (yeah, that’s right, my DAD! Ughh!!!) gave me this book by a doctor named John Gray. Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, was the name of it. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, or perhaps even read it (I, myself, only made it through about 30 pages or so). Even if you haven’t read it, even if you didn’t know it was actually a book, I’m sure you’ve heard that “men are from Mars, women are from Venus” thing used in conversation, on TV, somewhere, everywhere. Well, it certainly seems sometimes, (all right…all the time), that men are from a different planet. But, what happens when you start dating guys that are all not just from Mars, but from the same country in Mars, state, even city? What happens when every guy you end up with, seems, well, like the same guy?

I guess I was about 15 when I had my first boyfriend. Boring stuff. Not at the time of course, but far too droll to write an article about. You know the score. First time holding-hands, then first kisses, first kisses with tongue, first 2 hour make-out sessions in the back row of some movie theater, where you can’t even recall what was playing (“So how was the movie kids?) It wasn’t until somewhere around 21 that the real dating began, if you could call it that, the “real” part, I mean. Everybody knows that in the beginning of a relationship no one is “real.” I’m not even sure that there is a “real” before at least 25 or so, but that’s a whole other article. Anyway, we’ll call this one “Ted,” to protect the innocent. Innocent? That doesn’t sound right. We’ll go with it though, for lack of a better word that doesn’t rhyme with “Bass-mole.” I digress. Ted seemed charming enough. Like most red-blooded American boys, he, of course, wanted to get laid, and would do anything and say anything to do just that. But getting “laid” wasn’t the problem. At least sex is something you can count on. I mean, you know they want it, think they need it to survive, and you know you hold the key, like some super-hero power. It is, at least, something you can control, understand, something ingrained in you by Mother Nature. In many ways it’s the easiest part of a relationship. But after the sex part is out of the way, what then?

Ted was a nice, sensitive guy. Not long after we met he fell into some bad luck. His roommate situation went sour and he needed help. He had nowhere to go, and his car wasn’t running. I had been independent for a long time, and was settled, neatly, into my own place. I had a good car, a fairly good job, and no real relationship with my parents (long story). So when he asked if he could move in for a while, I said “Of course!” After all, I did really like him. He promised to help with bills, and I agreed to give him rides to work. Things didn’t go exactly as planned. The first month passed, and rent was due. Ted didn’t have all of it. He said he had been putting money into fixing his car. I told him I would cover what he was lacking. The next month it happened again, but I thought nothing of it. After all, a man needs a car, right? I figured everything would get easier after his car situation was better. I continued to give him rides to work everyday. I took him to the store to get cigarettes, to restaurants, to buy groceries. Even on my days off, I got up early so I could take Ted to work. Then something happened. I began to notice that I was the one paying for the cigarettes, the groceries, the restaurants, and the gas to take him to work. A seed of resentment and doubt began to grow. It had been three months now, and Ted’s car still wasn’t running. He had put no money away to get his own place. What w

ng used in conversation, on TV, somewhere, everywhere. Well, it certainly seems sometimes, (all right…all the time), that men are from a different planet. But, what happens when you start dating guys that are all not just from Mars, but from the same country in Mars, state, even city? What happens when every guy you end up with, seems, well, like the same guy?

I guess I was about 15 when I had my first boyfriend. Boring stuff. Not at the time of course, but far too droll to write an article about. You know the score. First time holding-hands, then first kisses, first kisses with tongue, first 2 hour make-out sessions in the back row of some movie theater, where you can’t even recall what was playing (“So how was the movie kids?) It wasn’t until somewhere around 21 that the real dating began, if you could call it that, the “real” part, I mean. Everybody knows that in the beginning of a relationship no one is “real.” I’m not even sure that there is a “real” before at least 25 or so, but that’s a whole other article. Anyway, we’ll call this one “Ted,” to protect the innocent. Innocent? That doesn’t sound right. We’ll go with it though, for lack of a better word that doesn’t rhyme with “Bass-mole.” I digress. Ted seemed charming enough. Like most red-blooded American boys, he, of course, wanted to get laid, and would do anything and say anything to do just that. But getting “laid” wasn’t the problem. At least sex is something you can count on. I mean, you know they want it, think they need it to survive, and you know you hold the key, like some super-hero power. It is, at least, something you can control, understand, something ingrained in you by Mother Nature. In many ways it’s the easiest part of a relationship. But after the sex part is out of the way, what then?

Ted was a nice, sensitive guy. Not long after we met he fell into some bad luck. His roommate situation went sour and he needed help. He had nowhere to go, and his car wasn’t running. I had been independent for a long time, and was settled, neatly, into my own place. I had a good car, a fairly good job, and no real relationship with my parents (long story). So when he asked if he could move in for a while, I said “Of course!” After all, I did really like him. He promised to help with bills, and I agreed to give him rides to work. Things didn’t go exactly as planned. The first month passed, and rent was due. Ted didn’t have all of it. He said he had been putting money into fixing his car. I told him I would cover what he was lacking. The next month it happened again, but I thought nothing of it. After all, a man needs a car, right? I figured everything would get easier after his car situation was better. I continued to give him rides to work everyday. I took him to the store to get cigarettes, to restaurants, to buy groceries. Even on my days off, I got up early so I could take Ted to work. Then something happened. I began to notice that I was the one paying for the cigarettes, the groceries, the restaurants, and the gas to take him to work. A seed of resentment and doubt began to grow. It had been three months now, and Ted’s car still wasn’t running. He had put no money away to get his own place. What

you could call it that, the “real” part, I mean. Everybody knows that in the beginning of a relationship no one is “real.” I’m not even sure that there is a “real” before at least 25 or so, but that’s a whole other article. Anyway, we’ll call this one “Ted,” to protect the innocent. Innocent? That doesn’t sound right. We’ll go with it though, for lack of a better word that doesn’t rhyme with “Bass-mole.” I digress. Ted seemed charming enough. Like most red-blooded American boys, he, of course, wanted to get laid, and would do anything and say anything to do just that. But getting “laid” wasn’t the problem. At least sex is something you can count on. I mean, you know they want it, think they need it to survive, and you know you hold the key, like some super-hero power. It is, at least, something you can control, understand, something ingrained in you by Mother Nature. In many ways it’s the easiest part of a relationship. But after the sex part is out of the way, what then?

Ted was a nice, sensitive guy. Not long after we met he fell into some bad luck. His roommate situation went sour and he needed help. He had nowhere to go, and his car wasn’t running. I had been independent for a long time, and was settled, neatly, into my own place. I had a good car, a fairly good job, and no real relationship with my parents (long story). So when he asked if he could move in for a while, I said “Of course!” After all, I did really like him. He promised to help with bills, and I agreed to give him rides to work. Things didn’t go exactly as planned. The first month passed, and rent was due. Ted didn’t have all of it. He said he had been putting money into fixing his car. I told him I would cover what he was lacking. The next month it happened again, but I thought nothing of it. After all, a man needs a car, right? I figured everything would get easier after his car situation was better. I continued to give him rides to work everyday. I took him to the store to get cigarettes, to restaurants, to buy groceries. Even on my days off, I got up early so I could take Ted to work. Then something happened. I began to notice that I was the one paying for the cigarettes, the groceries, the restaurants, and the gas to take him to work. A seed of resentment and doubt began to grow. It had been three months now, and Ted’s car still wasn’t running. He had put no money away to get his own place. What

you can control, understand, something ingrained in you by Mother Nature. In many ways it’s the easiest part of a relationship. But after the sex part is out of the way, what then?

Ted was a nice, sensitive guy. Not long after we met he fell into some bad luck. His roommate situation went sour and he needed help. He had nowhere to go, and his car wasn’t running. I had been independent for a long time, and was settled, neatly, into my own place. I had a good car, a fairly good job, and no real relationship with my parents (long story). So when he asked if he could move in for a while, I said “Of course!” After all, I did really like him. He promised to help with bills, and I agreed to give him rides to work. Things didn’t go exactly as planned. The first month passed, and rent was due. Ted didn’t have all of it. He said he had been putting money into fixing his car. I told him I would cover what he was lacking. The next month it happened again, but I thought nothing of it. After all, a man needs a car, right? I figured everything would get easier after his car situation was better. I continued to give him rides to work everyday. I took him to the store to get cigarettes, to restaurants, to buy groceries. Even on my days off, I got up early so I could take Ted to work. Then something happened. I began to notice that I was the one paying for the cigarettes, the groceries, the restaurants, and the gas to take him to work. A seed of resentment and doubt began to grow. It had been three months now, and Ted’s car still wasn’t running. He had put no money away to get his own place. What

idn’t have all of it. He said he had been putting money into fixing his car. I told him I would cover what he was lacking. The next month it happened again, but I thought nothing of it. After all, a man needs a car, right? I figured everything would get easier after his car situation was better. I continued to give him rides to work everyday. I took him to the store to get cigarettes, to restaurants, to buy groceries. Even on my days off, I got up early so I could take Ted to work. Then something happened. I began to notice that I was the one paying for the cigarettes, the groceries, the restaurants, and the gas to take him to work. A seed of resentment and doubt began to grow. It had been three months now, and Ted’s car still wasn’t running. He had put no money away to get his own place. What was he doing with his money? We began to fight a lot. Finally one day, guns were blazing and I told him it was over and he needed to move out. After an unpleasant departure, Ted was gone, and I had my home back again.

After a few months I met a new guy, “Collin.” It was Christmas Eve, and I, having no family to spend the holidays with, was doing my laundry at a nearby Laundromat. Collin and I started up a conversation while transferring clothes to the dryer. He was very handsome, and we seemed to have everything in common. A few days after we met, Collin’s roommate “got them evicted,” he said, and asked if he could stay with me for a while. I said yes, and helped him move in. He’d had a DUI a few months back and couldn’t drive. At first, we had a lot of fun together. We went out every night. Collin played guitar, and sometimes would play me songs for hours after we got home. We talked about everything. When we had been living together for about a week I got very sick. Collin woke me when he got home from work, and asked me to drive him to the bar. When I said no, a little hurt that he seemed so uncaring about my illness, he got very angry. I finally got up and took him. I started to notice bottles of bourbon came and went very quickly around Collin. When rent came due, he didn’t have it. How was this possible? I’d asked him to pay very little, and he didn’t have a car or any other bills, so what was he spending all his money on? Booze. It didn’t take me as long to kick Collin out as it had Ted. Perhaps, I had learned and was applying my knowledge. Perhaps it was because the better I got to know Collin, the more he lost his temper, and the less I liked him.

There were a few more (than I’d like to admit) cases of “the guy who needed a place to stay.” I began to wonder, “Why do I always end up with guys who can’t take care of themselves?” And then it clicked. They needed me. Not in the good way, but that didn’t matter. I mentioned before that I didn’t really have a “family,” so to speak. I felt alone. These men, losers or not, needed me, depended on me. They couldn’t leave, because they had nowhere to go, and no way to get there. Once I had identified the pattern, it was easy to avoid. I hung out with friends more, participated in healthy activities with healthy people, and before long, I started to meet healthy men. While these stories are factual, and, sadly, it did take me quite a few years and experiences to realize my mistakes, it doesn’t have to for you. Take the time to analyze your past relationships and recognize aspects of them that seem to repeat themselves. Once you recognize the recurring themes of your relationships, you too can begin to change them. Then you can move on to another “country” of men. Hopefully this one will be the healthy one you’ve been looking for. If not, at least by the time you get there, you’ll be well traveled.