Holy Smokes. And I thought my ex-wife was nucking futs.
That’s because the non-crazy stories aren’t much fun to post.
There was this one woman… Shortly after we did it, she told me that she wasn’t actually divorced yet, just separated. Well, not legally separated, just sleeping in separate rooms. Then she said “Woo hoo, my first affair!” A little later she said “If my husband thinks he’s touching me tonight, he’s crazy.”
That was too much for me. It actually made me really sad. But I told her (via e-mail) that I couldn’t continue with her. That was the happiest ending to it that I could see.
My brother married crazy (more like psychotic, crazy would be a complement). Needless to say, they got divorced; the really insane part is that not only did she leave him, but she gave up the kids too. The judge even asked her in the courtroom if she understood what that meant, and she said yes…amazing, what female gives up child support? Like I said…psycho. Just the cherry on top though, this is the girl that didn’t want anyone to touch her laundry, chased people around with frying pans at the drop of a hat, refused to take birth control pills (reason: because she couldn’t remember to, resulting in three children), preffered to sleep all day instead of taking care of her kids (literally she’d take sleeping pills in the middle of the day), and the only thing she cared about was going out with her friends who were far more coo coo ca choo than her. The list actually goes on, a very very long list, these are just a few things I could think of, but I think you get the picture. After the divorce I believe she became a lesbian (not sure, and not that I hold anything against being one, but just one more example, she was obviously confused sexually as well, which makes perfect sense seeing how she hated male genitalia even before they got hooked up).
I’m reminded of that song, “going off the rails on a crazy train”, and no, not the train I drive :D. All this, and the girl was even a virgin when they got together. I’ve learned a lot of things from my brother’s mistakes, from as far back as I can even remember he’s made a series of cascading mistakes one after the other and even multiple at the same time, and I’ve watched each one very carefully to make sure I never make them. Possibly, the best lesson he’s taught me is to never marry a woman only a couple months after meeting her (it may not have even been that long).
It’s also 99.99% possible that my bro is also crazy, so in this case, I’d say it was “Crazy meets Crazier”, stay tuned for “Crazy and Crazierer” :smack::D:eek:
…:dubious:.
As someone else said upthread, I also tend to regard “Dick” as gender neutral in this idiom.
As I’ll never be a lady Eve is, I’ll fess up: I stuck my dick in the crazy when I was still in college. He was a pretty emo-boy with very low self esteem. He was needy, and I was ready to help. Four years later I was broke, but finally on my own. I don’t need that much drama in my life ever again.
Coincidentally, today is the 56th birthday of Katherine Knight.
It’s bad enough being hit with a skillet; ending up in it is really a case of love gone wrong. (you’d think she’d have chosen a boyfriend named Stu.)
I just basically picked “never but looking forward to it” because it depends on attraction. In the one opportunity that arose for me, the crazy was strong in that one, but the hotness was only meh. Truth be told, I probably would have succumbed if she had been a 10.*
*And by “succumbed” I don’t mean the generic “didn’t succumb to sexual temptation,” I mean “had the willpower to follow the adage ‘NSYDITC’” [despite the fact that I didn’t even know the adage at the time.]
Did you ever stick your dick in the crazy, and if not, why not?
Several times. And am currently married to it, though it is fairly well medicated these days. Thank god.
But when the meds are out of whack… yikes.
Sorry. I’ve only been married once. Although we are separated for maybe 12 years now, we never divorced.
Not a contest I really want to come out ahead in, but it wasn’t me sticking the dick in there, so there is that.
I do not have a dick (thank God!), but I did let ‘stupid’ put his dick in me. I think I would rather take crazy. I had ‘Sane Dick’ once and I cannot begin to explain how painfully boring that was.
And by the way, a dick can be an asshole. That doesn’t change because its stuck in ‘crazy’. (Yeah, I mean you ‘ex-boyfriend spawned in the Bowels of Hell’. I may be crazy, but you are one STUPID m-----f----r.)
Never put it in the crazy, but there was this one time with a pickle slicer…
My vote: “I put my dick in the crazy, and it was amazing, but I will never do that again.”
Mainly because, of a somewhat recent experience (after wondering for years why exactly people would stick their dick in the crazy) that it encapsulates my feelings perfectly.
“But wait! Aren’t you happily married, and have had only one sex partner in your life?” you might say if you actually have paid attention to what I’ve said about myself on the Dope (in which case you don’t exist and I claim my £5)
“Yes” I reply simply, and tell you to read the post before you ask any more questions.
Late last spring my wife started behaving … differently. I could tell that she wasn’t really herself, and, around the beginning of summer, was starting to “hear voices”. Interestingly, the “different person” she turned into was much more free and open in bed! In stark contrast to the woman I was married to for almost 11 years, who was pretty good in bed (never a complaint from me), but still rather conservative (average made love only about 5-7 times a month, never went down on me and very rarely let me go down on her (and then, only briefly), almost never initiated sex - all of these mainly due to her parents not talking to her about sex much when she was younger and losing her virginity later in life (to me, on our wedding night)), she was turning into a different creature in bed (practically dragging me to the bedroom for sex at least 3 times a day every single day, having no problem with giving and receiving oral sex, even didn’t mind dirty talk in bed (wanted me to “fuck the voices out of her”)). To be perfectly honest, I started to feel like the man’s family in the old joke: “Doctor, you have to have to help me, I think I’m a chicken!” “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” “My family needed the eggs.” - I knew that there was something seriously wrong with her but to be honest, I was having the time of my sexual life “sticking my dick in the crazy”, and didn’t want it to end!
However, my intense love for my wife - my real wife - finally got around to doing my thinking instead of my dick, and I checked her into the hospital for treatment in mid July. She got out in late September; diagnosed with bi-poler, but with her medication, she’s a lot closer to the women I’ve known for over 11 years, except that her sex life is way down, and we haven’t made love once since she got out of the hospital (whereas before she got ill, we would have made love at least twice by now) - I am reminding myself now which head to think with at least.
The sex we had while she was ill was amazing, and I greatly suspect that now that she’s better (or, at least “medicated”, I’m sure Dopers who are acquainted with mental illness will probably say one is never “better”) our sex life will be what it was before - again, don’t get me wrong, I had no complaints before, and would have none if that was the sex I had for the rest of my life, but there was a lot of things we did then that I’d miss. As for the second part of the statement I voted on - I’d never do it again because I want to make sure that my wife stays better, if “the crazy” ever appears again, I promised myself to let my big head do the thinking and get her help immediately, not the little one just because “my family needed the eggs”.
(Apologies if this was long and rambling, and most of it off-topic, but it was something I wanted to get off my chest and just share, the topic was near enough to what I wanted to pour out my feelings about that I shared here.)
dhkendall, you sound like a REALLY good husband.
No need to apologize. If I were ever to get married again, or live with a man whom I loved and loved me back – I would feel lucky if he was as understanding and loving as you are with your wife. This was very touching to read. Thank you for sharing it.
I see what you did there.
I’m innocent an all “crazy” counts, but have been following the exploits of my neighbor and all the poor, unsuspecting men she manages to corral, if only temporarily.
One guy, she met on the phone. He lived out of state. They talked on weeks one, two and three. He came to visit on week four. He moved in on week 5 and they announced their marriage on week six. They both had a smattering of kids from various places.
What this guy didn’t know so well was that she was in a custody dispute with her ex, they both had filed CPS complaints against each other, and she thought it would look better to the judge if she was a married woman. She knew CPS was coming to her house, she just didn’t know when.
When CPS did arrive, of course they asked who this new man was. She told them the whole story- they recently met and were getting married next week. Later, she didn’t really understand why CPS thought the marriage seemed hasty.
Another man (also with kids) got involved with her (after she divorced that last guy). She began a project to clean his very messy house, but she kept asking me “Do you think he’s having me clean his house just to make him more attractive to other women?” I’d say “No. It appears you volunteered to do it. It’s not like he asked you to clean.”
But the house cleaning always lead to a fight. She told me she was 15 feet up on the ladder cleaning his siding with bleach, but he didn’t hold the hose or ladder right, which proved he didn’t care for her properly, so she called the homeowners association and reported him for having damaged siding.
She also freaked out about the fact that he took his teen daughters shopping…at the mall… to buy bras. “Totally inappropriate”, according to her. This fight dragged on for weeks. As the weeks went on, she made it sound more and more lurid suggesting that he went into the dressing room with them, took them to ‘the slut store’ (Victoria’s Secret), bought bras and took them home for the girls to try on, etc. None of that was true. It was just a single dad taking his girls clothes shopping.
She thinks a single dad should ask another woman to take his daughters shopping for bras and underwear. Which then lead to her suggesting that maybe this guy has a sexual relationship with his daughters.
So he finally broke up with her (But not before he loaned her a large amount of money. She’s already missed the first 3 payments). His kids hate her at this point and lock the door and hide when they see her coming.
Which finally ended up with her claiming to me last week that he pays off his ex-wife so she won’t call the cops on him for having a sexual relationship with the daughters, which is obviously the only reason he would break up with her…
I got sick of it all and told her that if she really believed he has ‘relations’ with his daughters, she needed to quit banging him herself and call the cops.
Now she won’t talk to me.
Yay!
There needs to be a multiple choice option. I’ve stuck it in the crazy and the sex was awful and she was a disaster, another girl was amazing in the sack and actually alright but she fled for no reason.
Guess which one I’d married? 
It was that look. That one. The one which you can only recognize in hindsight, and never in real time, because in real time that look catches you and draws you in like vodka to an alcoholic. She was the crazy, and within moments I had regressed a decade when I had dated, screwed, fought with, made up, made love and lived the crazy. Not just the crazy, but the string of crazies. Anyone can put their dick in the crazy once, but when it becomes a vocation, you know you are the crazy yourself.
Her smile danced that dance, the one I knew so well. Her nod invited, called me on.
In a language exchange program, advertised as a mother of two, I thought that it would be a very straightforward study program. And then we met, and she was the crazy. But I didn’t know because her crazy was calling my crazy and making me want to forget that I was a husband and a father of two. The crazy flew across the table and screamed for mine to come out and play.
It would be easy, you see. We would kid ourselves, that we were just good friends. We would admire each other and have a ball. Except that we wouldn’t, because my crazy would just want to get crazy with hers, so any professions of friendship were simply stepping stones to the goal.
Then we would start to tell about all the things wrong our spouses were doing, and why that should never happen to such a wonderful person. And somewhere, maybe helped with a relaxing drink, lines would start to be crossed, one harmless silly line after another. We’re good friends, so when we study together it’s only natural to lean against each other. And when you’re sitting so close, your hand needs to go somewhere. For the sort-of crazy, it should stop there, but I’ve never met a sort-of crazy, only the real crazy.
It‘s a kiss and then more, and it’s OK because you’re such a wonderful person and oh boy is the sex great. But then the jealousy, and why do I go home to a wife, and then the fights as insecurities on both sides fly.
We knew each other the moment we met, like jack daniels always knows his lover. Her father hadn’t beaten her, but had broken her mother’s teeth. Maybe there are those who escape the scarring without the drama, but too many of us keep it close, constantly recreating the chaos of the past.
It’s been more than a handful of years since I had met the crazy. Being married and stopping visiting the bars helps. But like riding a bicycle, you never forget. Your body responds as faithfully as Pavlov determined, and you know that you can get this one too. That used to be important once. No, not merely important, a matter of life and death.
This time I was strong, if closing your eyes and run screaming away counts as strong. Nothing happened between us because the tape fast forwarded to what would occur if I met her again. Nothing happened except for the deep chill within my soul reminding me that I have only tamed and not conquered the beast. Now I have to find a way to fall asleep at night, knowing that a man can live to be a half a
century and still feel the pull of the crazy.
But maybe getting better doesn’t mean that you don’t feel the pull. Maybe getting better means that you can walk away because you’ve gotten past the highs and can recall the lows, while your ears can catch the whispers of wisdom from somewhere deep down within your soul. “Your kids needs you more than you need this.”
And for the sake of those little ones, I really hope so.
In a Berlin Gay bar, when I was in my late 20’s, there was a tall, rugged, gorgeous blonde guy from Holland. We hit it off immediately and went to my place. It was a very wild night and I felt like I had entered a porno film.
After three days of getting together nights, I was worn out and was trying to cool things off.
Then the stalking started - waiting for my at my door.
Then he would start roaming my neighborhood to see where I went shopping and follow me.
Once I was able to sneak home without him seeing me and saw him hanging around the front of the building. He didn’t know I was home, but he pretty much camped out there for the entire night and most of the next day.
He saw me at that Gay bar, faked a collapse and had the paramedics pick him up and, seeing I wasn’t buying into it, then got out of the ambulance and came back in and ordered another drink.
Then I heard he met another guy - a Berlin cop.
Then I heard about two weeks later, that cop had him arrested and eventually the guy moved back to Holland.