Showdown at the O.K. Corral (Billy, Wyatt)

"I think you're just the cutest thing."

 

"Can I hold your hand? I know I shouldn't, I really want to kiss you."

 

"Oh what a night. Late September back in '63. What a very special time for me. What a lady, what a night."

 

"I know us is an impossibility, that doesn't stop me from wanting it."

 

Be sure to wipe the lipstick off...

"No thanks. I like the way it tastes."

 

"You're so smart. So smart and so funny. I haven't laughed like that, like we laughed last night, in years."

 

"I like you and your spirit, Pidge. Your lips, too."

 

"You've got tattoos dedicated to everybody else, when are you getting a tattoo for me?"
"I don't know, but I slept on the couch last night, so..."

 

"Your skin is as soft as I always imagined it to be."

 

"I've had a crush on you probably since the first time I met you. 10 years? But that time you came to my show and we all walked downtown together, that's when I knew it officially. 10 years."

 

"You make it hard to concentrate."

"Enjoy the music. Play it fucking loud."
 

"Yes. Now. Or as soon as you can get to my place."

 

"I like everything about you."

 

"I ain't no jilter, all-caps or not. I am irresistible, though."

 

"I went home and I wrote you this song. For your ears only!!!"

 

"When is a good time to talk? Preferably in person."

 

"Sorry, I just can't get you off my mind. Bummed there was no proper goodbye. Although no form of goodbye would feel good anyways."

 

"Oh my. And you are remarkably adept at sparring. Blog post fodder?"

 

"Not sorry."

 

"Wish you were here."

Brokedown Palace (Ken)

I recently made a submission to The Museum of Broken Relationships: 

"In the summer of 2010 we were preparing to move into our new house in Tucson, Arizona. We spent weekends at antique fairs and shops finding all the perfect things to fill the rooms. One day I stumbled across a little wooden soldier with a round head and a drab canvas overcoat. Ken was in the Army Reserves and I liked the idea that this humble soldier would stand watch at our home when he was away. 

We moved in at the beginning of August and only a couple of weeks later, while we were still unpacking, Ken lost his job in a mass layoff at Fort Huachuca. He panicked. There were very few options for jobs in our area, and we could barely afford the house payment as it was. He started sleeping on a cot in his office, often staying up nights to do job research. He suggested we take a trip to do some scuba diving in Mexico over Labor Day, to relax, forget about our troubles over the long weekend. 

Late Sunday night we returned home to find the inside of our house flooded ankle deep - the tiny hose to the ice maker in the fridge had a hole in it and had been spraying water for three days. Nearly all of our belongings were waterlogged and ruined. The house was unlivable. 

About a month later I found out that Ken had tampered with the hose - he had intentionally flooded our house for the insurance money. He had also taken out an insurance policy on my life just prior to our scuba trip. Had he planned to drown me in the ocean and lost his nerve? There were other deceptions, too. He had maintained a relationship with his former girlfriend and those trips away, the ones where my little toy soldier was standing guard, were rendezvous with her. 

I packed up my remaining belongings and moved back to Idaho."

Listen to a longer version of this story here. 

Letters to the Editor, Memorial Day edition (Rocco, Akio)

12:30 pm

Fuck you and your blog. 

You're damaged and need to hurt other people to make yourself feel better. You know that the blog is an unhealthy public expression and cry for attention. This fact is obvious to everyone who reads it. 

2:11 pm

A I must say your blog, fucking hilarious. Thank you for that.

J Thanks! Have you read the WHOLE thing?! Sometimes it's sad, too.

A I jumped around a few links, randomly like flipping through a book. The number 7 was sad, but a few of the journal entries, esp the coffee guy calling for phone sex was humorous. very well written. Also the Rocco response was tragic but the honesty and way you captured your thoughts was beautiful.

J Thanks. Brutal soul sucking honesty is kind of my modus operandi. I like to tear my heart out before I tuck it back in.

A That is the best way isn't it. I mean life is dull unless we are putting ourselves in an  cyclical nature of hurt and regret. (this was said with no irony intended)

J I hate when people say they have no regrets. If you don't have regrets you're not taking enough chances, enough emotional risk. Regrets are enriching. I have many regrets.

A i'm going to take the quiz by the way.

J Yes! Take the quiz.

A I'm printing out all six pages now. Promise that you will post it and write some sharp and stinging criticism on it. along with some social commentary.

Fifty/50/Whiskey (Rocco)

I just left a bag of stuff on your car. Rocco

Response Option #1

Hi Rocco –

Thanks for bringing my stuff by. I'm glad you got your things, too. I hope you are doing well.

I'm not going to pretend to know what you're going through or where you're head and heart have been for the last few months. I can only know how I feel and my response to our interactions. I have tried to be honest and understanding throughout our relationship and continue to try each step of the way. I am sorry if I have not honored your feelings or wishes in the way that you would prefer.

I had been really afraid of what another break-up with you would look like and was sincerely hoping that it would not carry the anger and animosity that was the tone of the last go round. Unfortunately, it seems we have come to the exact impasse we reached before. It feels to me that you are going out of your way to hurt me as much as possible during this already painful process. I don't know why you feel like you need to do that and I really wish you wouldn't. Obviously, I did not want to break up and I still felt a great deal of love and caring towards you up until the end. I felt blindsided and abandoned by you in the final few weeks. However, I have come to realize that breaking up was the right thing for both of us and I am under no illusions that we could have continued interactions or communications as they were.

I don't know if you've read the last or last several blog posts, if they made you mad, or hurt you in some way. If so, I'm sorry. The way I feel is not black and white and I am still processing what happened. I think I'm entitled to that. My feelings for you have spanned "love of my life," to "despising" you. It's the worst to be out and out rejected by someone and you rejecting me was particularly hard since I respect you and your opinion so much. It was especially hurtful because I felt you didn't honor the time we had together and didn't seem sorry at all that it was over. That felt like a betrayal. It would have been nice to hear that you that you were sad, too. That you cared, even just a little. You never apologized for anything except the Facebook posts. I don't believe it is unreasonable for me to be torn, sad and questioning.

Ghosts of Different Days (Joce)

About the only thing that’s perfect about me is my vision. I haven’t taken an eye test in years but it’s never tested lower than absolutely flawless. As a kid, I thought I was really missing out on an accessory opportunity by not getting to wear glasses or bright blue contacts (keep in mind I was also jealous of the girl who broke her leg because she got to wear a pink cast.  Everybody signed it!). I’ve since come to realize that the additional expense of a medically required accessory leaves a little to be desired (sunglasses are more than enough) and I’ve reallocated my jealousies to wishing I had perfect hair, or perfect skin or a perfect ass. Even more unfortunately, there isn’t a glasses equivalent for the ass - that accessory that remedies the less than perfect characteristic. Unless you count Spanx. Which I don’t. Spanx are way less cuter than a pair of specs.

Supposedly hindsight is 20/20. Mine isn’t. The further I get from the past, the harder it is for me to recall what happened, what was going on, how I felt, what I said, how I reacted. I’ve never been one of those people that could recount, word for word, a conversation. Or remember a date, an anniversary. I’ve had lifelong friends that I can’t remember for the life of me what their birthday is. What year did I graduate from college? Good question. What was I wearing? Probably, likely, something cute, but, unless there’s a picture from the moment in question, your guess is as good as mine.

I’ve been going to a counselor lately to work on some life strategies. Clearly, I need some new tools for my toolbox. And he’s been asking me a lot of questions about the past, past relationships, past lives in past places. And, I don’t have a lot of details to give. He asked me the other day about Bryce, “what attracted you to him at the beginning?” (I’d asked him to help me figure out what attracts me to bullies, manipulators, tough and mean guys, so I don’t do it again, HALP!) Honestly, I couldn’t remember anything, anything except the basic timeline. I had to go back and read some emails, my blog, my diary, to fill in the details, to clarify.

 After that, I realized that Bryce was well-spoken, interesting, driven, not to mention, actively pursuing me. Mostly, he talked a good game. And I’m such a good listener that I didn’t bother to notice that he didn’t follow the talking up with action. He told me exactly what I wanted to hear, using the best possible words and he presented an elaborate façade that distracted me from who he actually was. He hid the hoarding part, the ‘roid rage, the pet abuse, the shifty financial situation. Until it was too late and I was so over my head that I was afraid to back out. I’m the kind of person who tends to put my money where my mouth is. If I say I’m going to do something, I make a concerted effort to do it. In other words, I’m a man of my word.

And, I tend to take a man at his word. Which is why, perhaps, I ended up with Bryce. And Ken. And Malik. And Conover. And, of course, Rocco. Each of these men presented a self, at least in the beginning, that was far different from whom they actually ended up being. They all said the right thing, talked a good game, but had a much harder time walking the walk. Each of them sold their refrigerator to an Inuit (me), but then couldn’t figure out (or never had the intention of) delivering a unessential major appliance to a remote destination.

Bossa Nova (Bryce)

Joce,

Too much professional writing makes Bryce an unhappy boy...

I anxiously want to craft a letter to you that will express all of my effusiveness that seems to escape at the most inopportune times. It is only Tuesday and I wish I could move time to get to you. 

I am happy to accept the buck.  In fact, I am always the one to carry the heavy stuff.  I enjoy it.  It is what I am good at. Your writing is good and it fuels me to grasp for the written word.  You shouldn't have to hunt and kill your own creativity, unless, of course, the process of killing it makes for good fodder.  I believe work is best approached in the appropriate frame of mind.  I find myself working when I want to write and writing when I want to work.  I tend to be overcome by words myself and took the opportunity this morning to write my impressions to you in order to return the favor you bestowed upon me. 

I misspoke when we parted ways on Sunday.  I said we should do it again soon.  However, I don't want to leave another opportunity to chance.  You accompanying me on another excursion via Chicago would be delightful.  Perhaps, this trip will continue to aid in marking our days together as important and with a positive connotation in your mind.

It seems that the day will prove to be promising for you.  I hold hope that this email meets you with a good frame of mind and ample time to craft the words necessary for its reply.  I haven't had much time to read lately, but I did get a chance to examine an old James Whitcomb Riley collection for a brief period this early morning.  It provided something that made me smile and perhaps it will make you do the same.  

"When you awaken some morning and hear that somebody or other has been discovered, you can put it down as a fact that he discovered himself years ago - since that time he has been toiling, working, and striving to make himself worthy of general discovery."

My knight is moving to e4...Joce Nicole

Bryce

BTW, I love pretty and crazy.

One Dead Donkey (Rocco)

About a week before, you notice tiny ants congregating around your bathroom sink. No bigger than a sesame seed they make elaborate trails up and down the white porcelain, their tiny invisible legs carrying them with confidence, on a hunt for what you can’t imagine. You’ve dealt with ants before, but always in the kitchen, a slightly larger variety that make a straight road from the garden patch, up the stairs and through the teeny tiny hole in the seam of the back door. Those are crumb ants, on the lookout for dog food bits strewn across the floor by your ancient schnauzer. But what do sink ants want? They seem less assured of their destination, meandering aimlessly around and around the faucet and the tap. You buy ant traps, then ant gel, but it seems only to encourage them. Each morning when you turn on the light in the bathroom, there are more and more ants. Soon they are walking the tightrope of the toilet seat, traversing in pairs along the vast expanse of the shower curtain, and scaling the bathroom mirror like Alain Robert. Once poisoned, for whatever reason, they choose to die in the bathtub, and when you turn on the shower, the tiny, weightless carcasses catch a droplet each and make their final ant journey in a graceful swirl down the drain.

The thing about ants is, alone, solitary, they are equivalent to almost nothing. Like a little moving piece of dust. But, there is no such thing as just one ant, one ant means there are a million ants, and a million ants is a problem.

Babes in Arms (Rocco)

5 am. First thought.  He doesn’t love you anymore. You were up late. You drank too much. You didn’t have any food. You threw up. Three times. Was it the wine? Or the sadness? He doesn’t love you anymore. Valentine’s Day.  The worst. Because, he doesn’t love you anymore. You get ready for work. Hung over. Your heart is dull. Your head is dull. You make oatmeal and choke down two bites. Throw the rest away. You try coffee. Same thing. He doesn’t love you anymore. A whole year and then, just like that, he doesn’t love you anymore. You go to work. Why is everybody so cheerful? It’s Friday. It’s Valentine’s Day. And they don’t know, he doesn’t love you anymore. You can’t bear to say anything.  It makes you so embarrassed. You’re a failure. Epic failure. The biggest loser. The weakest link. You leave your phone at home. So you can’t obsessively check and see he’s not calling. He’s not calling. He doesn’t love you anymore.

But you still love him. Is that the worst part? You try to stay calm. To say nothing. They ask, “What are your plans for tonight?” No plans. No plans. Everything is okay, you pretend. But, it’s not. Nothing is okay. He doesn’t love you anymore.

High & Dry (Bryce)

Fight or flight (Joce)

A couple of years ago, after a holiday visit to my parent’s house, I went to the airport to fly back to Arizona. As I was walking up to check in to my flight, I recognized the girl behind the counter as someone I went to high school with. Sasha and I had belonged to different cliques (she was a cheerleader, I was a neo-hippie intellectual), and therefore, obviously, we had never been friends. I said a quick prayer that she wouldn’t recognize me as I placed my suitcase on the scale.

“Joce? Hi! How are you?”

Unfortunately, God, once again, wasn’t about to interfere in my favor. I feigned surprise and responded with a similarly enthusiastic greeting.  

“And, where are you going today?”

“I live in Tucson now, just going home.”

“Great. And the name is?”

I’ll admit to being more than a little confused at this question. She had just called me by my name. “Oh, Joce, Joce Stevenson?”

As soon as the answer was out of my mouth, the look on her face changed. No longer was she chipper and smiley. Now, she tilted her head and gave an exaggerated frown, furrowed her brow.

“Really? Still a Stevenson, huh?”

It took me a minute to realize what she was saying, what she was offering up her condolences for: my name hadn’t changed. I wasn’t married. What a poor, pathetic loser. I glanced down at the dime store speck on her ring finger. “Yep, you win the popularity contest, again, Sasha,” I thought to myself.

She printed my boarding pass and slung my bag on to the conveyor, “Good to see you, Joce, and best of luck to you.”

“Yeah, thanks, Sasha.”

The Beginning of the End of the World (Bryce)

But that is not the end. The end comes months later; en route to a new life, a new home, a new job in a hot, desert state that you have never seen before. He says everything is going to change, everything is going to be different, new slate wiped clean. He promises. He wants that for him, for you, for “us.” Before the move you give him a list: these things must happen before we go. Before you agree to take this leap, drive this road with your life puzzle packed neatly in a Penske truck.  He agrees.

You take care of your obligations, your responsibilities. And most of his. You sublet your apartment. You give notice at your job and apply to others in the new city. You sell your couch and give away other pieces and parts. You spend hours online searching for a house close to his new work, in this new town. You set up the utilities, make the calls about the moving truck. You collect boxes and pack them neatly with all your things. He goes to work, he calls occasionally, mostly he just texts you. He checks nothing off the list.

And then it’s too late. It’s three days until your supposed to be on your way. He has packed nothing. Taken care of nothing. He’s still going to his job 12 hours a day, neglecting his inevitable future, your inevitable future. You take boxes and cleaning supplies over to his house. You scrub his bathroom, you wash his laundry. You throw away bags and bags of trash and sweep up mountains of dirt and cat hair. You pack his boxes. You walk his dog.

Refried Beans 20/20 (Ken, Cooper)

Dear Girls,

Dating dilemma of the week:

Okay, so remember how I told you about that guy Cooper that I was totally in love/lust with but who told me I didn't have the "commitment to fitness" that he required? Well, he's still been keeping in touch, calling, emailing, IM'ing, etc. We went out on Sunday to see an exhibit at a gallery (his idea) and then went for beers. Then, he invited himself over and we ended up having (as per usual) a great deal of fun, (so much fun that he left at 4 a.m.) The thing is, other than that one time when he completely devastated me by saying that we shouldn't date, he is perfect. We are unbelievably compatible; he's charming, funny, sweet, kind, and smart as hell. And, I'm still harboring this MAJOR crush; I’m totally cuckoo for Cooper.

However, I've also gone on a couple of dates with this guy Ken. Formerly in the Army, he has a degree in Economics, a good job, nice car, etc.  Thing is, he has a pretty uninspired personality. I find myself being seriously bored when I’m around him.

I know I should just suck it up and date Ken and forget about Cooper. Ken will be loyal and good to me and easy going, and he’ll probably grow on me. Cooper will destroy me, he already has. But, every time I'm with Ken, I'm thinking about how I wish he was Cooper.

Advice?

Joce

To the moon, Alice! (You, Joce, Conover)

Dear Ones,

Last night the wind whipped like demons and rattled the trees like “plastic for Halloween” bones. There was an exorcism of the environment and I think, perhaps, it hailed. Winds of change? Here’s hoping. I think I’ve mentioned it before, but I’m not much of a sleeper, and when I’m not sleeping, I’m thinking. Last night, as I often do, I was thinking of you and this place. There are a few stories that are itching the tips of my fingers. A new quiz. And perhaps a musical interlude. But first…

I have a lot to say to you, but the thing is, I’m really busy with other stuff, including a new job, plus my old job, and planning a big bash for my 35^th, and being an insomniac, obviously, so you’ve taken a well-worn back seat. Plus, I haven’t been on a “date” (see below*) since January and I’m taking a break, I don’t know for how long, hopefully at least months, because dating is the pits. See The Big Book of Bad Dates.

And when I come back, you might notice some changes. In fact, you might have already noticed some changes. I have yet to finish Part II of this posting but one of the things I’d like to talk about is that I have known many, many wonderful men. Some of them I loved and some of them loved me back. I have not lived a loveless life and sometimes when I read back over my blog it feels like that is how I’ve been portraying the whole shebang. So, I’d like to talk about some of the good ones, the “best men,” if you will. The other thing is that I’ve managed to pigeonhole myself into only talking about one topic: dating, and I think I have other things to say about other things. So, because I’m taking a sabbatical from dating, maybe you’ll indulge me a few postings about my other interests.

So hang in there, kiddo. I’m still here. And I’ll be back.

Luv u 4-evah,

Joce

* Short story short, as often happens, there was an ill-advised re-rendezvous with a bad date. 

There's a hole in the bucket (Cody)

Todays episode would be the one in which a guy who I gave my phone number to, after a flirty conversation in a coffee shop, calls me in the morning while I'm still lying in bed. We have a friendly chat for about 10 minutes and I get my hopes up that he might actually ask me out for the evening, being Saturday and all. And then I get a funny vibe. He seems to be steering the conversation in a direction that is a little too familiar. He asks me how I would describe my sense of style and then wants to know what I'm wearing...he wants to see how "comfortable" I can be with him. I keep chatting because I want to give him the benefit of the doubt; he can't possibly be doing what I think he is doing. It's just too creepy. Keep in mind I've only met this guy once...and this is the first real conversation we've ever had. I change the subject...how many siblings does he have? One sister, named Christy. Where is he originally from? Chicago. Where did he go to college? Notre Dame. He says likes the sound of my voice, and he thinks I'm cute. 

Then he asks me how many guys I've had sex with. Uh, none of your business. I stall and skirt the issue. You're kidding, right? I finally hang up when he asks me how often I masturbate.

Not buying what you're selling (Ken)

I am human, as are you. I know that you were/are deeply hurt, and I am sorry for doing that to you. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't, but the past can't be undone.  But I am sorry, I really mean it. Coming via an email, it probably doesn't seem like much, but I don't wish anything bad for you, only the best.

I think you'll move on and heal just fine. I'm not the only relationship you've ever had, and others have dicked you over in some way. I stated earlier that we are human beings, and human beings screw stuff up in relationships. Not all relationships are perfect and harmonious - we each have our past relationships to reflect upon to realize that. This one is another ruined relationship among many others in the world that are in ruins. The terrible thing is that I did it. That it happened to you. When you read about something like this in People about Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie/Jennifer Aniston, we take perverse pleasure in absorbing all the details. When it happens to us, it's a damned tragedy. Again, you know this.

But don't get sanctimonious and act as if you're perfect. We know enough of each others pasts to go back and forth and turn this into a dirt-slinging mudfest. Is that what you want?  Do you really want me to go point-by-point? I don't want that, I'm certain that you don't, either.

What I would like is this - to know that you've moved on, that you're successful, that you're business is flourishing and that you're family is well. I haven't contacted you yet because I knew that it would only result in something like this, something mean. While I may understand your anger and bitterness, I'm sure that you know that this really accomplishes nothing in the long-run. 

I am sorry, Joce, and I wish I never hurt you. You're right about many things - one of the biggest is that I never really knew what I had until I didn't have you anymore. You were a large part of my life that I didn't truly respect and honor. I am sorry, but you don't believe that, and there's nothing I can do to change how you feel.

I wish you the best.  I hope everything works out the way you want it to. 

take care,

Ken

Fire Snakes (Kurt)

Kurt Hey Joce, so I meant 2 ask you earlier, what’s ur bday?

Joce March 2 what’s yours?

Kurt Let’s see…nice u r an 8 of spades. Means u r a strong person. Have a book 2 show you mine is 11-7, I’m the King of Clubs ;)

Kurt Oh and we’re both fire snakes which is just cool

Joce You’re a Scorpio, Scorpio’s are mean, are you mean?

Kurt Yes, but I make up for it after

Kurt You should come over and hang out. I know things that will blow your mind.

Joce I’m not coming over. We haven’t even been on an official date yet! There is a strong chance we’ll dislike each other when we get to know each other ;)

Kurt U think we’ll butt heads. Possible, but I got u beat. Ur an 8, and we share the same power. But I’m a king and a Scorpio! Lol, we’ll see. Wine tonight?

Joce Tomorrow or Thurs? I’m glad you’re so confident in your power, my ways are surely more subtle and wiley. Of course, I’ll always let you think you’re winning!

Kurt Lol, ur cute. Very Piscean of u. Yeah lets do tmro, 7ish. That way if we like each other u can come over.

Kurt Bite the bullet and go to drinks with me, if we like each other we can leave quickly lol

Kurt That or just come over now, I have a GREAT bottle of reisling chillin in fridge ;)

Joce I’m not coming over now, nor tomorrow, no matter how well we get on. Pushy pushy!

Kurt Why even meet if ur that deadset against coming over? That makes no sense 2 me.

Joce I just don’t want to go to your house on our first date, I don’t know what is the big deal. R U just trying to get laid?

Kurt Where’s that coming from? No, not “just get laid” but if the attraction is there definitely. U r really killing the interest I had for you.

Kurt Maybe u were right, not compatible, jeez!

Joce Okay. Oh, well. 

Part 6, The End: Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")

 “How the hell did I get away with it? I was a cheater and a liar, and it takes one to know one. That’s why he never suspected me. Because he’s not a cheater and a liar. He never thought in that way.” From “A Brutally Candid History of Breaking Up” by Adam Sternbergh, New York Times, March 11, 2011

Ken and I had been dating exactly a year. I knew that I was in love with him and cared deeply about our relationship. I believed he felt the same way. However, I was aware, from the beginning, that he had emotional problems. I thought with enough love and support, we could overcome those difficulties.

Ken had been raised by a mostly absentee career military Dad and a stepmother who supposedly despised her stepchildren. Ken spoke of cruel punishments and neglect when he referred to his childhood. After a failed first semester of college he went into the Army and spent the next ten years as a soldier, he spent time in Bosnia and did two tours in Iraq. His time in combat had left him deaf in one ear, impotent and physically scarred. He was also hyper-vigilant; he had loaded guns throughout the house, had an alarm system installed and talked of making our master closet into a safe room with a panic button. Once, when I was still living at my apartment and Ken was visiting, I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I didn’t turn on a light and as I was shuffling, half-asleep down the hall I was met with the loudest, most fearful screaming I have ever heard “GET THE FUCK OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” I stopped dead in my tracks, was he having a flashback? “Ken, it’s me!” I yelled, “It’s just me!” I turned on the light; he was standing next to the bed, clutching the only weapon he could find, a water bottle. His adrenaline was pumping so hard he was shaking. I realized that had we been in his apartment, I might have well been shot.

Part 5: Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")

Part 4: Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")

MOLLY

March 2008 - We met and started dating. The first year was pretty amazing. (He sent me notes and messages telling me how much he loved me and surprised me with little gifts/flowers/trips. We spent a lot of time with my extended family and with his family and friends. I was busy a good part of the time because my grandmothers were dying and passed away during the year, but he was really, really supportive. I went with him to drill a lot and got to meet his unit in GA, so it just seemed normal to visit him during his drill weekends later.)

Feb/Mar 2009 - Ken brought up and we started discussing marriage and kids. For our 1-year anniversary (which coincided with his spring break) he surprised me with a trip to Vegas, St. George, Zion, Bryce and the Grand Canyon. He even conspired with my sister to make sure I took the right clothes & shoes to Georgia with me so he could surprise me at the last minute.

June 2009 - I spent the week before he left Georgia doing laundry, packing his things, loading the U-Haul, etc. He was pretty grouchy all summer, but it seemed to me that he was always hateful when he was under stress. I was never in a hurry, but thought we would get married eventually.

July 2009 - Ken asked me to go with him to a military event in Utah the 10th-12th (I think) but I couldn't find a flight that would get me back east in time for my trip to Costa Rica and Nicaragua. He told me he loved me before I got on the plane, and then seems he went on his first date with you while I was out of the country.

JOCE

Ken and I had our first date on July 19. We really hit it off and even though he was living 1 ½ hrs away, Ken made an effort to come visit and take me out about every third day. He called every night as soon as he got off work. I was a little intimidated by the attention but enjoyed his company although I will admit it wasn’t love at first sight.

We dated for about a month and then unexpectedly, he just disappeared. He wouldn’t take my calls or return emails. I thought it was really crazy and weird. And then apropos of nothing, I got this email: http://thebigbookofbaddates.blogspot.com/2009/09/you-should-have-known-better-kyle.html (This, by the way, is my blog. You can see other references to Ken under the name “Kyle”)

MOLLY

August 09 - After disappearing for so long that I started to panic, he finally sent me a Facebook message about a job in DC. He started acting strange, lying to me and to his friends for reasons none of us understood.

September 1^st, 09 - Ken broke up with me, citing his job search as the reason while insisting that he was still in love with me. I asked him if he wanted to see other people and he insisted vehemently that he did not.

JOCE

In hindsight, I never should have returned the communication. I think it’s pretty clear that from his email that he realizes that he has some emotional problems. But, I emailed him back and told him that I thought he owed me an apology in person. I felt that he had been under a lot of stress with his cross country move, the job change, etc. and I could be the bigger person and offer him forgiveness. That was Sept. 8, 2009. From that point forward we saw each other regularly, at least a couple of times a week unless he had drill. Early on Ken made it very clear that because of his position in the military, there would be times when he was unavailable or unreachable for days and that I shouldn’t be concerned if he was out of town and I didn’t hear from him. Having never known anybody in the military, I took him at his word.

The first weekend that I spent in Sierra Vista was the 17^th and 18^th of October.

Part 3: Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")

NOVEMBER 15, 2010
Joce,
Your message was quite a shock to me, but I appreciate the info. Although we did break up last fall, Ken and I have continued to see each other since then. I have been out to visit him at least 5 times in the past year, most recently this month. He has never mentioned you, and I was decidedly unaware that he had been seeing anyone else - at all - since he and I met in 2008. For my own curiosity, would you mind telling me when you began seeing each other?

Molly