Oh, I know he’s not acting typical, and my alarm bells keep being tripped too. There is, however, a lot of backstory (five or so months of it in fact), some complications, some pretty serious issues we’re both dealing with, and some twists and turns. In his favour, I will point out that at least he’s now behaving consistently. And he does consistently protect me from incredibly creepy physics prof!
Also, “bent out of shape” is probably an exaggeration on my part, but there were distinct glares happening.
You know how people talk about active listeners? Well, there’s such thing as being an active talker as well. Pay attention to the person you’re talking to (or at, as the case may be.) Just because you worked in a movie theater 15+ years ago does not mean I need to hear all about how the projector works, where the speakers are in the theater, why the drapes are red and an assortment of other movie theater “trivia” while we wait for the movie to start. Every. Time. We. See. A. Movie. So when you start to see my eyes glaze over? Or when I listlessly mumble a “mm hmm” as I play with my phone? That’s your cue to shut the hell up already. I don’t care. Ditto for computer doo-dads and server thingies.
I don’t know if this is a man thing, or what, but…
If you keep playing with my breasts and butt constantly as a sign of affection, I won’t realize the difference when you are interested in sex unless you tell me.
Also, I thought men were supposed to need “man caves,” where they could go to be by themselves for copious amounts of alone time. Don’t you need alone time? I know I do. So STOP FOLLOWING ME, dammit. For one thing, I don’t like the sensation of someone always looking over my shoulder. For another, I bump into you every time I turn around. If you must follow me so closely, could you at least sit down so I can get something done? As an alternative, you could even help me so things get done twice as fast and we can have adult time in the bedroom.
Oh, and I do appreciate the detail in the video games you play. But do I have to sit and watch you play it every time you play? I don’t mind doing it sometimes, but every time? Why?
I have worked many, many years to understand your slightest emotional cues. Nowadays, things that would have been invisible or subtle at the beginning of our relationship are like unto sirens on an ambulance.
So I know when you’re bored. Even if you say you are not. Please stop coming along when I hang out with my friends if you’re going to sit and put up your “I’m bored, take me home” signals within fifteen minutes of us getting there. You say you do it because you want to spend time with me, and you want us to do things together, but you are not doing either, you are sitting like a lump and not participating, and then getting concerned when I cut off early and take you home. “Oh, you don’t have to leave until you’re ready, I’m fine.” No, no you’re not, and its vaguely insulting that you think I don’t know that.
Fortunately we appear to have reached a detente on this–she comes along 1/2-1/3 the time and enjoys herself more.
I was reminded by another one by the other thread - guys, if you say you’re going to do something, do it! Plus, don’t get mad if you don’t do it*, and we eventually hire someone to do it or do it ourselves. I won’t say you have no idea how frustrating that is, but trust me, it’s really frustrating.
*I’m talking months or years here, not hours. I’m not the most patient person in the world, but I can hold onto my shorts for a couple of months while waiting for a task to get finished.
Ugh. Amen (though I’m talking hours and days). In the other thread, I wrote that women shouldn’t get irritated when men don’t do something if they’re not given a timeframe. But, dammit, by that same token, if you ask for a friggin’ timeframe, don’t complain when I give you a reasonable one. For example, if I ask you to clean bottles and you ask, “When?” it’s not unreasonable to expect you to do it before you go to bed. That gives you a whole four hours to do a 20-minute task.
And please, please learn to plan. For example, yes, it takes you X time to shower, so you should get up with at least that much time to get ready. HOWEVER, when there are people living with you and you all need to leave at the same time, you should also consider how much time it takes for them to get ready so you can accurately determine how long you need from getting off your bum to starting the car. And do as much as you can the night before so all you have to do is grab a couple of bags and throw them in the car/bus/cab on your way out.
I would say this about women. I have come to the conclusion that I am all but invisible to the three women in the household, and that I have to drop trou (not a pretty sight) if I want to get anyone’s attention. And even then, I’ll have to repeat myself at least three times.
Perfectly describes my wife and daughter. If the three of us have to leave simultaneously, somehow the person with the shortest amount of time from end of shower to door (me) always has to be first, and they will never coordinate unless I do it for them. They will both think “I need 45 minutes to get ready” and start getting ready 45 minutes before it is time to leave. They will also underestimate their primping time because their 45 minutes is usually an hour at minimum. This morning was the perfect example - we are all leaving at 6:30 for my daughter’s college orientation. Dad (that’s me) gets up at 5:00am and is ready to leave at 5:30. Daughter and Mom are still in bed. They both get up and want to use the shower at 5:45. Mom is about 5 minutes earlier and wins. (Even worse, when daughter wins, she never tells anyone that she’s done, and we can’t hear in summer with ACs going). We leave at 6:50, and daughter is pouty because she had to rush applying the war paint, and I’m wondering why I can’t be the one to get up at 6 because they both need so much post shower time.*
Which, despite years of experience, they still can’t figure out everything they’d need to remove from the bathroom so I could shower, so they want access. Wife can walk in on me, I don’t care, but not kosher if daughter does it.
Women: May your ovaries leap into your throat and strangle you if you ever use your sex appeal to manipulate a man in any way, for any purpose. Anything at all – from a simple I have boobs, you must obey to more egregious acts.
Ladies: Don’t look at me like I’m worthless and something less than a man just because I don’t want to fuck with the broken garbage disposal or the leaking pipe under the bathroom sink.
I’m plenty handy around the house and I guess I could learn to do plumbing but I just don’t want to dick around with it.
It is one of those jobs that usually require special tools and is always a pain in the ass. You see, I’ve attempted plumbing work before and my fail rate is very high. Would you rather have a grumpy SO around?
This is why plumbers get paid the big bucks because the job absolutely sucks sweaty Yak balls.
If you want me to cut the grass, take out the garbage, clean out the gutters, paint the house or even change a light fixture or do other minor electrical work then I’m your guy.
Do not grab, yank, tug, or pull me, ever. Do not take things out of my hands. If you think I need help opening the jar, ask me if I need help. If you think I need help carrying my books or groceries or whatever, ask me. If you snatch my iPod or camera or earring back out of my hand because I’m not operating it fast enough to suit you, you will not be happy with my response.
I am really surprised at the men who think it’s appropriate to take a complete stranger by the arm and yank her with the intent of being helpful. I know you want to help me out of my car or something, or you think you can work my camera better than I can and you “don’t want [me] to get frustrated,” but back the fuck off.
And he started the argument. I was all prepared to discuss this like the rational, intelligent, mature adults we supposedly are. But no, he calls me up at 9 in the morning and starts with the whole “I don’t wanna talk about this today cause I’m mad at you”. Lovely.
Oh, good one! My husband takes things out of my hands all the time and it drives me bonkers. He also steps in and yells at the dog to obey me when she’s being stubborn.
This is me. I have no sense of direction, but if you give me a map and tell me landmarks I can get around. Do not tell me ‘you can’t miss it’ and then give me shitty directions, because I can. ‘Go North’ means jack shit to me, but if you tell me to leave a certain location and turn right heading toward another landmark, I’m fine. I need those * details.*
I’ve always said I was born into the wrong family because all my relatives could be dropped from a plane blindfolded, spun around and then asked where they were and they’d just magically find North. I’ve never heard anyone else describe it in similar terms. Me? I could get lost in a dressing room without a map.
Stop mentioning that my cave is disgusting every time you enter it. It’s not meant to be pleasing to you.
Women, stop complaining about how unpleasant shaving is when you don’t even bother to wet your legs before you use the blade.
Women, if you don’t want us to use something for things that happen in the bathroom, then don’t keep things in the bathroom that look exactly like things that are meant to be used for things that happen in the bathroom (like towels and soap).
Similarly, don’t keep pillows on the bed that aren’t meant to be used like pillows.
And don’t take up sofa space with useless pillows.
Okay, that’s just disgusting.
If you want to walk with us, stop wearing shoes that cripple your natural physical ability to walk.
(And why doesn’t he have his own pair of keys for the car?)
Sorry, not going to happen. We keep our minds busy. They can’t constantly monitor everything. Don’t start telling us something unless you’re sure you have our attention.
Stop trying to replace our old, comfortable clothes with new things. For activities like fishing, looks don’t matter. What matters is how it feels. And new shirts don’t feel right when we’re fishing.
It turns out its just a case of having to deal with an insecure male academic, coupled with the more usual cross-cultural misunderstandings. Though I still don’t appreciate being called “baby” in the middle of an argument!
