Post: #1

Quote:Taking Marriage One Year at a Time
JULY 3, 2014

On our honeymoon in Paris, my husband and I were served breakfast every morning by the same short-haired woman. The breakfast came free with our hotel room: croissants, a basket of bread with its little trough of butter, fresh-squeezed orange juice and café au laits.

My husband, Patrick, whom I still thought of as my boyfriend, loved these breakfasts. He ate all of the bread and usually asked for a second coffee, which the short-haired woman provided with glee. I could barely down half a croissant and thought the coffee tasted like soil. This was Paris, and this was my honeymoon, and I was depressed.

Our hotel, with its secondhand furniture and ugly paintings, was dingy instead of cozy. When someone went to the bathroom you could hear them wiping. The French sounded as if they were speaking with their mouths full of milk, and the penmanship on the menu boards across the city seemed to be written by the same imperious hand. [Dusty: Can you imagine wifing up this impossible to please bitch?]

This was Paris, and we were husband and wife, and every day we had to leave the museums, the falafel stands and the cheese shops so that I, the wife, could return to our hotel room to cry. Once I made my husband take a photo of me lying on the bed with a snot-wet tissue squeezed in my fist, my eyes red as a rabbit’s. “This is what a honeymoon is really like,” I imagined saying to anyone who asked to see the photos. I’d had the first panic attack a few months before the wedding, while we were house-sitting for friends. I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed when the thought flashed in my mind: What if I don’t love him?[Dusty: I'm sure he appreciates you writing this in the NY Times for the world to read.]

The question kept repeating in my head. I couldn’t get it to stop. I was shocked; had I buried my true feelings all this time? I grabbed onto the bathroom counter as if to keep myself from falling. I was scared, and even now it scares me: Words are just words, but if they don’t leave your mind, they can feel like truth.

I had never doubted Patrick or my love for him, or our three-year relationship. And yet here I was, preparing to say “I do” and terrified that I was about to make a big mistake.

I told Patrick immediately and he talked me down from panic until, shaken and spent, I fell asleep.[Dusty: I know you are thirsty Patrick, but you should have run man, run!] For the next few weeks, I had calm days punctuated by moments of extreme anxiety. What if I didn’t love the person I was supposed to be with for the rest of my life? What if I’d been deluding myself? What if I got a divorce? Divorce seemed to me the most tragic of fates: lonely, humiliating and unbearable.

Sometimes I would cry in Patrick’s arms, wailing, “But I don’t want to divorce you!” as if I had been sentenced to an unjust future without any say in the matter.

“You won’t,” he would say. “You don’t have to divorce me.”

It sounds funny, but: Imagine being told by the person you love that they’re afraid they don’t love you back, that they’re afraid they never loved you, despite all the evidence to the contrary. And imagine staying; imagine not being driven away by such words. [Dusty: Imagine being a thirsty beta with no self-respect.]

If you tell someone it’s not the wedding you’re worried about, but the marriage, they might rear back and say, “Oh ...?” with a worried look in their eyes. When people did this to me, it only made my anxiety worse, because it suggested my case of cold feet really was a sign I shouldn’t get married. If I had the thought, then it must be warranted.

“Your marriage will be great,” my mom tried to assure me. “At least you’re not marrying someone like your father.”[Dusty: You really know how to raise an emotionally stable daughter there.]

“I almost walked out on your mother during our engagement,” my dad told me. “She and your grandmother were driving me nuts about wedding details.”

(It probably goes without saying, but my parents’ marriage did not go so well. They divorced before I turned 5 and still don’t speak to each other.)

Every day I would tell Patrick how I felt. I would say, “I’m not sure I love you,” and he would say, “I know you’re not, but you do.”

It was strange, that this was my only comfort. He said my brain was playing tricks on me, and it was. I told myself terrible things every day, just to see how terrible they would feel.

Patrick and I had been together for a year and a half when we left for the Midwest so I could get my graduate degree. In Iowa we lived in an apartment with low ceilings and a wasp infestation. We ate our meals on patio chairs. Patrick took a temp job answering phone calls about a standardized test for car mechanics, and he hated it.

It wasn’t ideal, and yet it was in Iowa that we taught ourselves how to cook mussels and how to drink red wine, and every Valentine’s Day I wrote him a long love letter that I sprayed with my perfume. I still remember the orgasms I had in that apartment [Dusty: Kind of personal thing to share with the world? Oh , you're an attention whore?], and the way we would cuddle in our tiny bedroom on weekend mornings.

Our second year there, it snowed and snowed and then got very warm, all the trees blooming at once, and we got engaged. It didn’t feel like a surprise. I had been only 21 the night we went on our first official date, but even then I was certain we would grow old together.

In Paris, we went to the Centre Pompidou. I remember watching Patrick as he rode ahead of me on the museum’s famous escalators. I couldn’t take my eyes off his jeans, which were sagging at his butt. I said: “Your jeans are making me sick. It looks like you’re wearing a diaper.”[Dusty: You're a real peach. I wish I had a women like you in my life demeaning me at every turn. And Patrick, you're a fucking pussy putting up with this cunt's behavior.]

He gave me a look but didn’t get angry, despite my meanness. [beta] Then I went and cried in the museum’s dark hallways. When we got back to Los Angeles, I thought our marriage would be over.[Dusty: He failed her shit test, and she cried in disgust.]

I was wrong.

One night near the end of our honeymoon, we ventured into a restaurant near our hotel. It was one of those jewel-box places with seven tables, and we were lucky to be seated right away. For once I felt hungry.

We ate a glorious, multiple-course meal, the waiter presiding over us with grace and fastidiousness. I drank Muscat for the first time and flirted with Patrick in the candlelight. We talked and talked. I had fallen in love with Patrick over our conversations. Talking was our sanctuary.

We went back to our room and undressed each other. We were weightless with relief, however temporary, from my pain. Which wasn’t just mine, of course. It was ours.

We stayed married. We’re still married, in fact.

I wish I could say that after returning home I felt better. In reality, it took a long time to feel normal again: six months if I am kind to myself, two years if I am honest.

In therapy, I finally dealt with my parents’ acrimonious divorce. Patrick and I went to therapy together, and that helped, too. I realized that I resented falling in love so young. I was afraid of growing up, of becoming an adult. Patrick’s love was bottomless, and that scared me.[Dusty: Hamster translation "Patrick is a needy beta and I'm pissed I will never get alpha dick.] I was afraid my own love would never measure up, and my attempts to quantify it left me exhausted.

We eventually gave my fears a name: marriage anxiety.[Dusty: I would call it beta anxiety.] Whenever I felt them resurface, I could just say, “I have marriage anxiety right now,” and then I felt good enough to go about my business. As long as we were honest, we would be O.K. The little restaurant in Paris wouldn’t disappear.

It has been more than seven years since our wedding day. We have a child, we’ve moved to a new city, we have careers. Nowadays, the thought of young, childless newlyweds getting a divorce makes me shrug. “Ah well,” I think. “Good for them. Maybe they were too young.”

On our anniversary every year, Patrick and I agree to stay married. We renew our contract, so to speak. We are committed for life, but sometimes that feels overwhelming. [Dusty: It's not going to last.]It’s the months ahead that must be lived through, whether they are wonderful or weird or terrible or just O.K. — or all of the above, as life usually is. We agree to stay together and love each other for that amount of time — one year — no matter what.

Sometimes Patrick and I talk about having a second honeymoon, a do-over. We can laugh now about how horrible our first was. Seven years later, I know that if we were whisked back to that cafe with the fogged windows and gold poles along the booths, I would eat myself sick, and Patrick would say something clever, and I’d laugh, leaning against the banquette in happiness.

I do, I do, I do.

Edan Lepucki lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her debut novel, “California,” comes out this week.

Post: #2

Is anybody surprised

Post: #3

(07-05-2014 12:57 PM)Checkmat Wrote:  Is anybody surprised

Is that the woman or the man in the article?

Post: #4

Thousand yard stare?



Thousand yard stare.

Broken home and broken culture produces broken woman. Acrimonious parents' divorce, culture that tells her to get alpha dick at every turn.

Video of husband:





The husband has the mentality of "well, it's my job to put her back together again," instead of "bitch is crazy, I gotta bail and find one who isn't."

Post: #5

So is the book about an ungrateful bitch meeting captain save-a-hoe and living unhappily ever after?

Post: #6

The fact that there are people willing to pay actual money to purchase words produced by this wretched twisted cunt is proof enough of a great cultural rot happening within America.

Post: #7

Lol at her complaining about Paris. I'd be willing to bet that while her husband had his arm around her while looking at the Eiffel tower lit up at night, she was reminiscing about various drunken one-night stands.

Post: #8

It's obvious she fees nothing but disgust and loathing toward Patrick, because she can't get any better [then again, I don't think any guy could make her happy]. She likes to inflict emotional torture on him to punish him, like how she humiliated him about his jeans. This whole article is designed in part to humiliate and torment Patrick for being such a wuss. She's emotionally abusive.

This is an evil witch.

Post: #9

She's mentally ill. This is why the things she writes are madness. She's mad.

Post: #10

Could you imagine if the genders were reversed? Say it was a guy who didn't love his wife, and made comments about how bad she looked in her jeans? It would be misooooooogyny, the NY times would never publish it, and if another paper did, there would be calls for boycotts and firings.

Post: #11

What a lovely couple. I guess one could say they deserve each other.

Post: #12

(07-05-2014 02:18 PM)void Wrote:  What a lovely couple. I guess one could say they deserve each other.

Say hello to the next generation of Americans who contribute absolutely nothing to society.

What purpose would people like this serve 100 or even 1000 years ago? I imagine the woman might have some limited use from sucking some barbarian off in a tavern somewhere but I am not sure what the man's purpose could have been. He's obviously too frail to do manual labor and emotionally weak for anything more challenging than cleaning out chamber pots.

Post: #13

Quote: Our hotel, with its secondhand furniture and ugly paintings, was dingy instead of cozy. When someone went to the bathroom you could hear them wiping. The French sounded as if they were speaking with their mouths full of milk, and the penmanship on the menu boards across the city seemed to be written by the same imperious hand.

This is a neurotic, miserable woman determined to see the worst in any situation. To grow upset over penmanship is pure insanity. Of course: short hair and androgynous sexuality.

If I ever seriously date a woman, I set up certain frustrating situations to test their reaction. If they react with a shrug, a make do attitude and good humour, they're keepers. If they go into Princess / Bitch mode, I fade the relationship away.

Post: #14

(07-05-2014 02:06 PM)Dusty Wrote:  It's obvious she fees nothing but disgust and loathing toward Patrick

Thats all thats happening here.

Whats the old saying? "Don't do anything in private you wouldn't want printed in the NYTimes?"

Despite any societal downfall musings, all we have here is a chic who just doesn't dig her man. Enough to not write a book about it, or have it broadcasted in the NYTimes. I think its pretty obvious.

What's unique is the NYTimes prints this crap, and he still wants to stay married to her.

Post: #15

(07-05-2014 02:06 PM)Dusty Wrote:  It's obvious she fees nothing but disgust and loathing toward Patrick, because she can't get any better [then again, I don't think any guy could make her happy]. She likes to inflict emotional torture on him to punish him, like how she humiliated him about his jeans. This whole article is designed in part to humiliate and torment Patrick for being such a wuss. She's emotionally abusive.

This is an evil witch.

Yup. All these women have been told they are perfect, beauty comes in all shapes and sizes, entitled to whatever they want and anyone who tells them otherwise is a misogynist.

All these women run smack first into a thing called reality. Then they become bitter because what they have been taught is a lie. And no quality guy is going to lock down a girl who looks like that, who on top of her masculine appearance has an awful personality.

(07-05-2014 02:08 PM)Dusty Wrote:  Could you imagine if the genders were reversed? Say it was a guy who didn't love his wife, and made comments about how bad she looked in her jeans? It would be misooooooogyny, the NY times would never publish it, and if another paper did, there would be calls for boycotts and firings.

So true.

Someone should write an article titled "My Fat Wife" in response and see if it gets published.

Post: #16

(07-05-2014 02:47 PM)AnonymousBosch Wrote:  

Quote: Our hotel, with its secondhand furniture and ugly paintings, was dingy instead of cozy. When someone went to the bathroom you could hear them wiping. The French sounded as if they were speaking with their mouths full of milk, and the penmanship on the menu boards across the city seemed to be written by the same imperious hand.

This is a neurotic, miserable woman determined to see the worst in any situation. To grow upset over penmanship is pure insanity.

First world problems: My husband spends his life savings on a honeymoon in Paris, but the penmenship on the menu boards was so awful I just couldn't enjoy myself.

Post: #17

1. Has short hair
2. Questionable relationship with her dad
3. Product of a single mom (who clearly has been telling her that her dad/all men = evil since the age of 5)
4. Sees a therapist
5. Career girl chasing her dream to Bumfuck Iowa while the guy tags along like a puppy
6. Despite spending years in Bumfuck in uninspiring living conditions, isn't capable of feeling any positive emotion at spending time in an iconic city such as Paris
7. Explicitly says she doesn't love him
8. Thinks that marriage is a series of rolling 1 year contracts
9. Has no problems telling the entire world about all of this
....

And this guy went ahead and married her and put a kid in her (is he sure it's his?). This is why the message put out by sites like this are so important. But at the end of the day you can only do so much.

Post: #18

I find it incredibly ironic that the first thing they did after getting married was go into therapy. Absolutely preposterous.

Post: #19

This is what "manning up" looks like in the 21st century. Patrick "manned up" and married this cunt.

Post: #20

The article can be summed up in one pic:
   

And he is thanking her afterwards. But unfortunately men have been so conditioned both by the institutionalized feminism as well as the natural feminine imperative that they have to remain calm and steady and she will come around. It is funny, how Red Pill psychology is so clear at addressing the mental issues at hand. The PUAs should start offering couple therapies and charge 500$/hour. Certainly worth 10x more than the fem-crap they put the couples through.

Post: #21

Many men are entirely clueless about women. Patrick is so pussy-whipped that he does not see that this harpy not only has no respect for him, belittles him, and only married him with extreme reluctance. This makes for a lifetime of put downs and demands from a wife with an entitled attiitude, which Patrick meekly endures in exchange for her allowing him a few moments of coital bliss.

Guys like this need to weed these women out by observing patterns in her behavior. Initial shit tests are okay, as that's their way of evaluating you, but that's when you need to assertively put her in her place by either letting her know that you will not accept her bitchy behavior, or some type of reverse shit test that puts her down equally, if not more. If she backs down, then she accepts your more dominant position. If your reverse shit test causes her to go bat apeshit on you, then you know you cannot dominate her. If she continually denigrates or tries to order you around, you must know you probably cannot handle her. You must find another woman, otherwise suffer a lifetime of emotional misery, possibly leading to divorce.

Post: #22

(07-05-2014 01:05 PM)samsamsam Wrote:  

(07-05-2014 12:57 PM)Checkmat Wrote:  Is anybody surprised

Is that the woman or the man in the article?

It's uncanny. 'She's' a dead ringer for my childhood friend Steve, including what my sister called his 'snode' nose.

His teenage game involved pretending to be the cousin of the singer in this band. You can see the resemblance. Same hair, ears and nose.

Post: #23

(07-05-2014 02:01 PM)thedude3737 Wrote:  Lol at her complaining about Paris. I'd be willing to bet that while her husband had his arm around her while looking at the Eiffel tower lit up at night, she was reminiscing about various drunken one-night stands.

She was probably wondering where all those hot, swarthy Parisian men were, like those ones from the chick crack romance movies she undoubtedly watches on repeat. Sounds like she was also suffering from some Paris Syndrome.

What a catch you got Patrick. The only time she sounds genuinely happy in her article is when she's stuffing her face with overpriced food while being waited on hand and foot.

Quote:We ate a glorious, multiple-course meal, the waiter presiding over us with grace and fastidiousness.

She's a lighthouse beacon of Do Not Marry. Somebody should pass this article out to everyone who attends Patrick's seminars, so they know exactly the kind of schmuck they're supposed to be getting advice from.

Post: #24

Dismal Operator broke this bitch down to the core! she's a divorce kamikaze that's about to blow herself and her "husband" big time. unfortunately I predict a suicide for that men since he'll get toasted in rape divorce court once SHE decides not to renew the contract. Just SMH on this one!!

Post: #25

Just watched the video posted and this bitch is obviously still with him to try to make it as an author. Wish he could be helped but he's a lost soldier. Hope he'll bounce back after the imminent divorce hell hole that he's gonna face