Desperate? Or Serious...

I decided to "clean house" a little, one morning this week, by deleting like 10 guys' numbers out of my cell. Next I went through my cute, little car and removed and trashed probably 6 different map quest direction print-outs. There was something decidedly disconcerting about acknowledging that all of this purging symbolized failure and/or rejection, nearly across the board - in my online dating endeavors. Frances and I counted up all the different guys with whom I've been on dates so far, since scoring my very first online prize; a gorgeous, 23 year old, tall drink o' water, in early April. We did not, however, include my exclusively webcam/text/IM buddies in this tally - nope. For now, we were only interested in the real, live warm bodies. We came up with 25, but were certain that we had to be forgetting a few, no wait...26 - I just thought of another one. Now that's ridiculous. That's an average of over 3 dates (with different men, mind you) per month and some months all three dates were crammed into one weekend at a time. Also, take into consideration that half of my weekends are "out" each month, because I have my kids with me every other weekend. Amazingly, only a couple of these dates were good enough to warrant planning a sequel, and three dates with the same chap? Well, that is virtually unheard of! I view all of this as an undeniably dismal rate of failure. So what is the matter with me? Is the problem, in fact, with me? Am I too selective, or critical? Am I a profoundly bad judge of character? Should I ignore my gut and start responding to guys to whom I would normally pay zero attention? Or are all of us who resort to online dating to find our perfect match, just a bunch of mixed up deluded losers, destined to ricochet off of each other endlessly? Since I insist on subjecting myself to this mind-numbing monotony, I guess I better just suck it up and deal with the paltry pickings, huh? Do I even know what kind of guy I'm looking for? What superficial characteristics draw me to a guy, in the first place? K, well by now you should all be familiar with my two, hard-and-fast physical requirements (you know, the hands and nose business?) but outside of that, is he cool or rich or young, fun and light, or mature and responsible and professional? Is he a fellow starving artist or a hip musician? Maybe he is fit which would inspire me to get in better shape myself or possibly he has a few minor, physical flaws, which might make him more likely to overlook it if I gain a few pounds. Maybe I need an older guy who would treat me like his queen. (Although the younger dudes ARE irresistibly yummy! There is definitely something to be said for the potent cocktail of the age-specific sex drives ; ) I guess it's safe to say that I don't really know what kind of guy I'm looking for, but one thing I have established is a litmus test by which I determine if a man, preliminarily, makes the cut. You're probably not gonna get this at first, but my litmus test is Jimmy. I am resolute about ending up with a guy about whom Jimmy can give me no grief. I want him to not only be impressed by the man on my arm, I want him to be insanely jealous of him, as well. I could never date a guy, (and I do think about this when I'm initially sizin' one up) of whom I would be anything less than proud if we were ever spotted together by Jimmy. He is the only ex whose opinion matters to me and it's not because I trust his judgement implicitly or value his opinion, it's more that I want him to see me blissfully happy with a undeniably great catch and I want that to hurt, really badly.

In the process of meeting and quickly dismissing so many, many men though, I have made an unsettling discovery about myself...Ok, let's say that after giving some poor sap a try, I find that I am completely repelled by him, (which is generally the case) I still aim to walk away from the deal, knowing that I left an indelible mark, cast a bewitching spell, carved, "Isobel was here!" somewhere on his psyche despite the likelihood that he stormed off muttering something derogatory like what a fucking bitch I am because I barely gave him a chance. It's kinda sick, you know, for me to behave the way I do, as if these people are, well...disposable. It's like I say to myself, once I can tell we're heading into that uncomfortably mushy territory, "Ok, my work is done here!" And then I promptly bolt. The only explanation I have for it is that I must either be deeply insecure and need reinforcement from perfect strangers, like a shot in the arm of temporary assurance that I do in fact have merit, as an attractive, charming, desirable woman or perhaps I simply want to get even for feeling like I've been gypped or misled or duped by these phonies. I experience a rush from the ego boost that comes from having compliments dumped all over me and exasperation from fielding absurdly premature praise, all at once. Do you think these men, who desperately pelt me with glowing remarks, are just so relieved that I didn't show up 30 pounds heavier and 15 years older than my profile pic. suggested (as evidently, a huge percentage of women actually do) that they must frantically, urgently try to lasso me in cuz if nothing else, I'm a far cry better than the Big Bertha alternative? Anyway, their nauseating behavior is completely opposing to that which truly attracts me to a man. I long for a tough-ish guy who keeps his emotions in check, that's not to say that he is emotionless, like good, ole Jimmy, but a man who proves that he can hold back a little, exercise a touch of restraint. I want something of a challenge, I want to have to put forth some effort in order to to fully bag a guy, finally and forever. For some bizarre reason I am positively more interested in the ones whose affection is harder to obtain, i.e. Jimmy who refused to ever tell me that he loved me even though I professed my love for him with heartbreaking regularity. Frances is certain that this is the very reason that I suffered through my agonizingly painful stint with Jimmy for as long as I did, because I refused to give up until I was certain that I had gotten him on the hook, I'd made him fall completely in love with me. And I kind of believe her. I call this the "Danger Boy Syndrome" But it wasn't until I drained my own emotional well from repeated fruitless attempts, that I finally came to the ghastly conclusion that Jimmy simply must be...incapable of loving.

I kept a secret from you guys...I have been talking to a really attractive guy who was living out in Southern Ca. until about a month ago when he relocated to a city just 40 miles or so from my quaint, little town. This week we e-mailed each other and then talked on the phone and ultimately planned to get together on Halloween night...which we did. I kept it from you because I was trying, yet again, not to spoil it, I believed that this one had promise. I am so eating those words, right now. I mean don't get me wrong, I was stoked when he opened the door of his house and he was tall and appeared of a respectable weight. (It wasn't until later that I discovered that in place of muscle he had a gooey layer of blubber coating his entire body! He had absolutely NO muscle tone, NONE! When I casually went to pat him on the thigh, my hand alarmingly sunk into and stuck in a quicksand-like mass. All I could think as I pulled it out was, ewww...There was nothing firm there, at all, like not even a bone. I wondered how he managed to move about so effortlessly considering he appeared to be completely devoid of musculature and maybe even a skeleton, creepy.) Upon my arrival he greeted me with a friendly kiss and doled out bounteous compliments, saying that I was way more beautiful in person than I was on my profile, awwww...So see - things started out great! Well, mostly, I was definitely having trouble warming up to his effeminate voice, and it's not that I have a problem with effeminate voices in general, or effeminate men, for that matter, far from it! But I don't think it's out of bounds for me to want a masculine boyfriend...Anyway, no biggie, maybe I was just hearing him wrong...or something...He made me some yummy hors d'oeuvres, though I was a bit nervous about what kind of dragon breath I would have after eating salmon, capers and onions. But even this shouldn't matter, I figured, since he was eating all of the same stuff. We enjoyed a fire in the fireplace and hung out with his roommate and his roommate's mom, who was in town for the night. And after the two of them turned in, Simon, my date, decided to eat my face, like literally. I have never had a guy ram his tongue so far down my throat, before - it was absolutely GROTESQUE! And even after I attempted to school him on the art of moderate, closed mouth kisses, which I personally find so incredibly arousing, he couldn't manage to deviate away from his own revolting technique, of which incredulously, he derived an inordinate amount of self-satisfaction. I should tell you that I knew, as I was driving out to his house, that I would most likely be staying the night, even if it was on the couch or something (turns out he didn't have a couch, uh oh...) because I was sure that we would be drinking and I didn't even get to his place until about 8:30. But I was never worried about my personal safety because Simon's roommate and his roommate's mom were there, remember? I figured if he got out of hand I could just scream, or something. I worked hard to try and find the good in his method of kissing, but it was so invasive and over the top, that I simply could not. It was a shame too because we actually did have some good things in common and he had a really nice face..But I seriously lost my shit when he completely upset the apple cart by dropping the "L" word, like five times during the night, that's right...he stealthily snuck in a couple of "I love you's", usually as he was going in for one of his disturbing gullet washers.

Here's the trick to this kind of situation...I knew that I had to stay there, right? Because I was not about to risk getting yanked by the po-po for a DUI. But the art of maintaining peaceful relations on the home turf of a horn dog who won't stay the fuck out of your world is definitely tricky. You don't want to piss them off by constantly saying it so you have to just have to hope that they are respectful enough to honor the word, "NO!" This is a very delicate and slick form of negotiating, and one must create a convincing facade, one which keeps the perpetrator sufficiently at bay without pissing him off to the point that he angrily sends you packing, tipsy, in the middle of the night. I finally decided that turning in for the evening might be the best means by which to end the nightmare, you know, just another house guest hunkering down for the night...right? Unfortunately, it also occurred to me that he might view this as a green light to take his unwelcome advances to yet another level, good lord! My mouth and the surrounding areas were on fire from his stubbly face practically sanding the first cutaneous layer off of my face, I just HAD to change it up somehow, I had to at least try and put an end to that madness. I put on my jammies (full coverage and not the least bit sexy) and curled up with a magazine (hint, hint) in the only place I could find to hopefully sleep, not screw, just SLEEP...the outermost sliver of his bed. I was thinking that the pajamas might thwart his efforts, wearing them alone should have been a pretty good indicator that I was not interested in any funny business, but this S.O.B. was about the pushiest mother fucker, ever! I just kept repeating in my head, hoping to will it so, "Get your curly dick the fuck away from me!"

I managed to make it through the night fending off minor, yet regular infringements. I had to raise my voice slightly only a couple of times and he would "SSSSHHHSH!!!" me, not wanting me to wake his house mates, so I knew that he realized it would be nothing for me to get help if I really needed it. And honestly, I was never really worried about whether or not I could handle the physical end of it, you know - keeping his advances to a manageable level of tolerable, in order to keep the peace until I could get the hell out of there in the morning. Frankly, it was his casual use of the "L" bomb that freaked me out the most. I mean seriously...was this guy for real?

Careful What You Wish For...

Pinning mutual blame on myself and Steve for our near miss and subsequently - not looking back, I began to nurture a gradually growing crush on a James Spader look-alike who wrote to me on Fri. asking "How do you feel about 3 day first
dates?" I am here to tell you...this was, bar none, my favorite "Hi, how do you do" that I have ever received! This guy didn't pussy foot around! His message showed confidence in himself and I liked the creative way he subtly declared his attraction to me. At first I wasn't sure if I was into his looks though, there was something funny about his smile, it was huge, maybe too enthusiastic, but every time I peeked back at him, he got cuter and cuter, and eventually I was obsessed with not only wanting to hear from him again but also with checking him out in person so I could find out if my intuition was on target (or not, as was most likely the case) In his profile pic. he was dressed in business attire and he was polished and crisp and cheerful. The more I thought about him the more I entertained the three day first date excursion, he was serious about that...right? I was definitely game, but unfortunately, my first opportunity to meet him was on a boring, single, old Monday night. When I confessed the scheduling glitch he seemed ok with it. So, best I could figure, we were to try each other on for size at dinner on Monday and if things went ok, well THEN we could start planning the 3 day second date. So, riddle me this, Batman, why is it that he suddenly disappeared, just like that...poof!? It appeared that he had all but vanished, over the weekend. I consoled myself by becoming convinced that his photo depicted an overzealous, shifty evangelical preacher type rather than the clean cut professional with a hidden wild streak with whom I had become so unrealistically enamored from repeatedly gazing at his photo. There...that effectively softened the blow of rejection a touch. But I was still curious as to what I had done to frighten him off. He does live in my ex's hometown...wonder if he asked around about me and one of my adversaries, i.e. someone with unwavering allegiance to my ex. - probably some misinformed naysayer, badmouthed me into oblivion. Wouldn't be the first time. It occurred to me that I could've scared him off by checking out his profile too many times in one night. I'm not really sure if the site on which we met operates that way or not, tattling on a voyeur every single time they sneak a peek. Friday night Frances and I kept going back to his profile to see if he got cuter to her each time she looked, like he had to me, since she did not find him particularly attractive at first glance, either. After about 8 or 9 clicks, though we were in total agreement about his looks, he was indisputably damned good-looking! We eventually deviated away from his page and focused our attention on searching for guys who were suitable for her, instead. We came across Dan who, age-wise, was directly in the middle of Frances and me, so theoretically, either one of us could have staked claim. We both liked his dark features and intense mug, but we were looking around for her, so I relinquished him. Here's he thing...Frances and I were searching around under my acct. 'cuz we were on my trusty, ole Mac, so I, me, my account - was getting all the credit for doing all the snooping. None of the guys we viewed knew that we were scoping things out for someone with a different account, they naturally assumed it was..ME. So, yesterday, when I went to that very site to check for action, I had a note from Dan. I was like, "Oh my god! That's the guy we were looking at for Frances, but he's contacting me!" I made the executive decision to determine that Frances was too old for him and that he and I would be better suited for each other (hope you don't mind, old friend!) plus he's a Libra which is a way better sign for me - Sagittarius than it is for her - Virgo. I anxiously answered his note. He seemed to have the cool quotient in spades; he had been an international DJ sensation in his heyday, but had shelved the rock star lifestyle to instead, raise his young son. He was quite different on many levels, than most of the guys with whom I flirt and we shared many life parallels (he loves his Mac, also, to name just one) We swapped well thought-out e-mails, you know the kind that take an hour at a time to write because you a.) have a lot to say, b.) you want to sound eloquent and c.) you want no grammatical or spelling errors.

My Mac greeted me the next morning with a big red "1" beside the little postage stamp at the bottom of the screen. Usually there is a number bigger than "1", so I was apprehensive to even open my mailbox, 'cuz I was sure that it would either be useless junk mail or a disheartening message from some dud. It was, to my delight, a message from Dan that he had sent to me in the middle of the night! I was quick to produce a response e-mail, slyly equipped with a phone #, and just a few minutes after admitting in another letter that for whatever reason, I was talking myself out of calling him - my phone rang and it was him. We had a great conversation and since James Spader was A.W.O.L., I went ahead and filled that night's date slot by agreeing to meet Dan for dinner. How 'bout them apples?! Here's the catch...Instantly after hanging up the phone with Dan, I checked e-mail (big red "2" by the postage stamp) and found that both messages had been sent by James Spader...holy shit! What the hell had I done? I was too terrified to open either one or both, afraid to discover that he may be accepting my invitation to meet out for dinner and drinks - that night, the Monday that we had tentatively designated for our pre-3 day date - date. If this was the case, then that would mean that I had erroneously, perish the thought, double-booked!

I finally gathered the courage to learn how deep a hole I had inadvertently dug...and - Hallelluiah! It all turned out to be A-OK! James Spader was unable meet me that night, because he had a conflict. He apologized which was sweet and normally I would have been bummed, but under these circumstances, I was thrilled to not have to bullshit my way out of a screw-up. He was available the next night and I pencilled him into my calendar, pronto. He was my little insurance policy just in case things don't go so well with Dan.

I swear! This is the most interactive blog entry I think I've ever written! It feels like I am writing a minute to minute blow by blow of every single detail of my day, hope you don't mind. But here, I need to ask you something? Can not liking someone's voice be a deal-breaker? Seriously! I picked up a v.m. from James Spader and his voice was ungodly! It was tinged with a strange accent, not so much country as it was crooked and gravelly, almost like he suffered some neurological malady...cerebral palsy comes to mind, no offense to anyone. It was disappointingly the antithesis of smooth and sexy, which was what I was sooo hoping for. It gave me a tummy ache, I'm not kidding. I kept looking at his photo and replaying the message and the two simply did not match up. Maybe he used a body double...Anyway, I was starting to get late for my date with Dan, when I picked up another e-mail from James Spader, in which he suggested we meet for drinks at a downtown bar at 6:30 Tuesday evening. I didn't have time to write much, so I simply said that 6:30, at the designated bar, would be fine.

Ok, here we go again...My date with Dan was pleasant. We met at his house (I know, I know) and he gave me the tour. His place was very nice, smartly and sparcely decorated. He had good taste in furnishings and art, it was very clean but there was a peculiar odor messing with my nose, like the septic was backing up, or something, ick. He was not nearly as attractive in person as he was in his pics. He was much heavier with a barrel middle. I'm sorry, I just cannot picture what it would be like to have sex with someone when there's a big honkin' belly in the way. He was balding and his hands gave me the creeps, they reminded me of my grandfather's hands, the nails were too long, or something, I dunno. I wasn't completely grossed out by him or anything like that, he was fun to talk to and he took me to a really nice, yummy dinner (he spent WAY TOO MUCH MONEY! GUILT!) He was a complete space invader though, and insisted on touching and kissing me a lot, kinda creepy. He made me smell his cologne which was like the worst old lady's perfume, ever..flowery and powdery. He was insecure and constantly repeated things like, "Oh, you're never gonna go out with me again..." he must've said it 15 times during the night. I finally told him if he didn't stop it, it would become a self-fulfilled prophecy (which I had to explain) he followed up with "You are so sexy" which he also must have repeated 15 times during our time together. He didn't hold his cards very close to the vest, he confessed numerous times, that it had been a long time since he'd hung out with a woman, uh oh..He insisted on inundating me with unwanted, generic compliments telling me repeatedly that I was beautiful and cool. He would stroke my hair and say how much he loved it, that he loves brunette, especially brunettes with curly hair. I wanted to scream right in his face which he kept about 2 inches from mine, most of the night, "Stop it! Just Stop! It's too much!" This guy would be a lot of work, as a boyfriend to anyone, I think. He needs too much reassurance, stroking (no, not THAT kind of stroking, well - probably that kind too, but fortunately, I did not have to go there) He really wanted me to stay at his house and I was like, "NO! It is not even remotely an option!" HIM: "But, we don't have to have sex" ME: "I KNOW we don't and we WON"T, don't worry!" I seriously needed to get back on the toll road before the cash lane attendants clocked out at midnight, because I knew my credit card would be declined, even for just a $3.50 charge, sad but true. My exit strategy was based on truth, at least partially.

Tuesday afternoon, I checked to see if I had new mail from James Spader and I was perplexed when I saw that he had deleted his profile. (Uuuhhh...had he somehow gotten wind that his voice made me shudder?) Was this his way of suddenly avoiding me, of trying to back out of the date? It wasn't even that I cared so much to maybe not be going on the date with him as it was curiosity as to why? Then I became even more disturbed when I thought that maybe, perhaps, possibly - he could've deleted himself from the site on which we met and flirted, because he was THAT sure that the date was gonna go so splendiferously well that he could essentially stop looking....Naaahhh! It could not possibly be anything as absurd as all that, right? Please say "NO" I texted to ask him if we were still "on" and he texted back "Oh I am soo gonna be on you, I mean, yeah, we're still on, lol" ha, ha, ha, very fuckin' funny asshole! And then when I hadn't responded in like 2 minutes, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Cuz my tongue is sooo ready for you, tonight" GAG!...That did it! I literally lost every shred of a crush or any good feelings I had previously had about him, immediately, and was wishing I HAD actually done something to run him off, before. But I had to go through with it regardless, you know? A short bit later he called, all fidgety and weird, wondering if I'd gotten his texts, I told him that I had and that he called before I had a chance to send one back, relax. He asked (in that horrific voice) if he should go ahead and reserve a suite...(I think I just threw up in my mouth a little, no shit) You know...what do you even say to something like that? Is he serious, cuz he's definitely not funny! I just don't understand what's wrong with these people. What happened to the thrill of the chase? Both Dan and James Spader have acted so desperate and clingy, urgently smothering me with contrived certainty that we are fated, or something. Needless to say, I am not the least bit excited about this date, tonight. I don't even care what I look like, I think I somewhat intentionally chose to sport a branded "bad date outfit", in fact. These jeans make me look fat and dumpy and I could give a rip, my sweater is conservative and plain. The good news is that I have to drive my kids into town anyway, so at least it's not a gas issue, tonight. I just hope I can get the goddamn thing over with quickly so I can get back here to my jammies and a cocktail and my trusty, ole Mac and start the frickin' process all over again...

In a weird way, I kinda got my wish...I got stood up, tonight by James Spader - the fucker! What the hell?! I plunked myself down at the bar, not really putting forth the effort to look around and see if any man there looked like they could be him, I'm near-sighted, it would be in vain, anyway! So I ordered a drink and read some mail that I had stuffed into my pocket book. I texted him to say that I was there, where was he?...Nothing. I texted to say,"Hello?"...Nothing. The bartender asked me if I wanted another drink and I informed him that I thought I was in the process of being stood up, that I would finish the drink I had and after that I would see. The hopeless romantic in me thought, "What if I'm here, get stood up, some random guy is wise to the whole thing, takes pity on poor, poor, pitiful me, we start talking and the rest is history... Ehh, fuck that! I'm going home." Under any other circumstances I would have been devastated. Not this time, I was so excited to not have to fend off what I suspected would have been repeated, blatant, unwanted advances, since his last e-mail said something about "if the chemistry in person is anything like that which we have experienced online, we will be going to whatever island we choose, over the next weekend, for our 3 day date" What chemistry online? Jesus, we had flirted a little, yeah! But I had never gotten wet because of it! Quite honestly, the more he demonstrated how heavily he was into me, the further away I squirmed. There WAS no chemistry online between us, we had barely spoken to each other. I considered it one of the less significant interactions between me and an online guy. Ok, so this is the last thing I'm gonna say about the jerk and after that, I'm done with him forever...Why on Earth did he put forth such enormous effort to blow so much smoke up my ass, when he obviously never even intended to meet me, anyway? Hmmm?

I REALLY LIKE HIM! On second thought...

I was all out of inspiration to come up with anything interesting to wear on my first date with Steve. I feel like I've been on soooo many freakin' failed dates, that by now I've gone through nearly every outfit that I own and you know how superstitious I am about that shit, I simply cannot bring myself to don clothes that I previously wore on a first date that ended up - well...a last date. I settled on an assemblage of virgin (never before worn on a date, k?) pieces which I finally managed to throw together; a close-fitting, apple green sweater and low-slung, skinny jeans tucked into tall, tan boots. I think the boots were the only part that I've already worn out on an online date, so I left my house believing that this untainted outfit would certainly bring me much-needed bon chance!

I was just a tad late meeting Steve, which turned out to be fine because he was even later than I was. I wasn't the least bit bothered by his tardiness though, since I am rarely prompt, myself...pot calling the kettle and all that...What did bother me, as I was waiting in the lobby of the restaurant where we were to meet, was how terribly nervous I realized that I was becoming. Maybe "bothered" isn't exactly accurate, I think I was actually encouraged that I was still capable of experiencing a feeling, period...since lately, I profess to be so totally blah about all guys, in general. Maybe this sensation meant that I did in fact still have a real, live beating heart! (Ya' think?) In any case, I awkwardly held my post just around the corner from the front door, the steady flow of human traffic causing me to continually have to slyly lean a bit forward in my chair, careful to not look over at the entrance too eagerly, deliberately trying to mask my overanxiousness with bogus disinterest. But the hostess had my number, she knew I was waiting for someone and she appeared quietly amused by my feeble attempts to conceal my antsiness. Each time it wasn't Steve who walked through the doorway, I reflexively slumped back down in my chair but quickly corrected my posture so as not to come across as the least bit concerned that he still hadn't arrived. It wasn't 'til like the fifth time that the derned door opened, that he f i n a l l y crossed the threshold and rounded the corner. And there he was, tall and casual in his jeans and handsome with eyes that smiled at me despite a sort of downward tilt on their outside corners, I was pleasantly surprised. I was even more nervous now and fumbled over the first few phrases out of my mouth, it was painfully obvious how much I was struggling, in a good way though...I think...

We sat down at the bar on our individual barstools, I was facing mostly forward, but he was facing me and almost immediately my leg was unintentionally at a right angle with his big, strong leg. Uh oh, there it was, that ever-elusive sizzle through my middle (shizzle my nizzle!) the hair on the back of my neck affirming that, Yep - we could have a winner here, folks! I was freezing 'cuz the derned place had the a.c. way too cranked, and displaying a refreshing dose of chivalry he offered to cocoon me in his thick, black sweatshirt which not only helped thaw out my freezing ass but also delighted my olfactories by NOT smelling any particular way. I can't stand it when a guy douses himself in sickeningly sweet-smelling cologne or aftershave. I love a clean soapy smell or a complete lack of smell, but oppressively perfumey and shit - uh, uh. Even worse (though thankfully rare) is when I'm invited into a guy's personal space and some indecipherable, mystery aroma makes me recoil. I went on a date, once, with an attractive, billionaire (for real) friend of a friend. And once we'd gotten fairly well-acquainted over dinner but also after an inordinate number of trips, by him, to the bathroom (seriously like 3 or 4 times during dinner) he gave me a friendly "Well, this has been fun!" hug and instantly I was astonished to catch a whiff of a dull funk frighteningly reminiscent of a dirty baby diaper. "OH! Wow, you smell...good?" I lied, strategically demolishing a near foot-in-mouth faux pas. What the heck was this guy's deal? I mean - he had more money than God, couldn't he afford to fix whatever problem was causing him to smell so frickin' rancid? Good, ole Jimmy was dirt poor but he always managed to smell absolutely deeelicious to me, even after working all day. I used to bury my nose in his arm pits and voraciously savor his personal balm. He patiently tolerated me regularly putting him through this unusual addiction, even though he found it terribly strange. I flat out loved how he smelled, all over, always! "What is the point of all of this drivel?" you may be asking. I 'spose it's just that - equally important to me that I dig a guy's nose and hands (have I mentioned that I don't do girly-man hands?) is that it is critical that I also delight in his scent. Steve, thankfully - was good in all of these areas.

Steve and I sipped our drinks and ate good food but hardly stopped talking. I dug how he was not the least bit a "thinks he is", modestly enlightening me about himself and his life in his sexy, deep voice. Then, 3 1/2 hours into our first face to face, just like that - conversation halted as our eyes insisted on doing the rest of the talking. We were both powerless to or possibly just disinterested in breaking our deep stare, all my mouth could say was, "Hmmm" Then he put his hands on either side of my face and, his eyes still fixed on mine, he guided my mouth to his and punctuated this fascinating conversation with one hell of an incredible kiss.

Adding to his mounting pile of brownie points was the fact that Steve would not allow me to contribute any money towards the check and I am here to tell you that that literally NEVER happens! Of all the men with whom I've been out on dates, Steve is one of the only ones who has refused to accept cash from me to help pay the bill. There! That's all you get. I will not reveal one more thing about my date with Steve. If I give too glowing a report, invariably I will find that once again, I spoke too soon...

Steve and I spoke briefly the next night, it was just enough to affirm that we'd both enjoyed each other's company and that more good times were soon to follow, but when Frances asked me, three nights later, how things were going with him, I had to confess that we had not exchanged e-mail, nor spoken on the phone since the night after our first date. It also occurred to me that the lack of follow-up wasn't really that big of a deal to me. In the not so distant past, I would've been absolutely beside myself, riddled with stomach aches, panic and general debilitating discomfort, if I wouldn't have heard from him or any guy, by that point. But now, I barely realized that I was missing anything. So what the heck was up with that? I had been so stoked about him just a few days before, and already I had lost all my oomph? Immediately following the date I had made a concerted effort to stay off of the dating site on which we had met, so he wouldn't think that I was already sniffing around for new leads (as I actually was doing on all the other sites where I post profiles) but two days later I was like, "Awww, fuck it!" and I was up to all of my old tricks in no time. Don't worry, I'm not going to go off on the "no emotion anymore" tangent, feel free to insert previous rantings, here...

I feel like I've scared off a bunch of guys this week, post Steve (and possibly, including Steve) Don't know why I've been so cantankerous. Maybe I'm bored or altogether sick of young guys looking for a milf, and fatigued from fielding contact from fat, disgusting losers barking up the wrong damn tree. Nowadays I get seriously pissed off when, momentarily hopeful that the new message I am about to read may be from someone worthwhile, it turns out to be from some friggin' disappointing disaster piece! So many of the responses I've been sending to curious gentleman, recently have been snippy or ornery or just plain rude. It's like, "Fuck all of you, I just don't give a shit anymore." Maybe if one of the recipients was brave enough to contact me after my first sneering response, that would be some indication that he had moxie and I should give him a chance. But the best example I can give of anyone demonstrating such brass was when this 26 year old fat fucker, (and I am not exaggerating for the sake of effect- I could barely see his facial features they were so completely swallowed up by his general largeness) sent me this note...and I quote, "hey, whats up? i just wanted to send u a message and tell u that u do not look ur age..ur fine...i want to hang a root up n ur ass..." Hang a root up in my ass...What the hell does he even mean by that? I mean I think I know, but it is a most original way to phrase it. Frances and I mulled it over for a long time trying to figure out how one can "hang" anything "up" someone's ass and still we remained stumped...We were already rolling with laughter when I told her that I had responded to his unusual declaration with, "WOW! That sounds really neat..." and then he said, "yup, it does sound real neat...u ought to try it..." I sent one more smartass e-mail, the sarcasm in which he clearly did not "get" since in his response he forwarded his cell # and encouraged me to call him, uhh...No?...After making much merriment, mocking this ignoramous, I bestowed upon him the unheralded honor of being my first "blockee" (Steve had, on our date, suggested that I implement this handy tool to eliminate irritating, unwanted cling-ons) thus officially severing ties with the obese country bumpkin from WVa.. After the deed was done, I couldn't help but wonder how many potentially GOOD ties I had irrationally severed on account of my harsh indifference and cool aloofness...

"Your Pu**y is What I Want to Eat"

I am really lonely for my kids, this weekend which woefully began a few days earlier than it normally does since I suddenly have no job to speak of, anymore. I miss them even more than usual, and I'm not sure what the deal is. I shuffle aimlessly around this empty place, and every once in awhile, I catch myself inexplicably blurting out some random, irrelevant comment. For a split second I'm like, "Oh my God, who was that?" frightened to then realize that it was me and that I had no control over the fact that those words left my mouth and that they reached no apparent audience, other than myself and my dogs...and their English is only so-so. It's making me feel marginally insane, seriously. I'm a little scared. My stomach hurts and I'm teary. I tried positioning myself here in front of my trusty, ole Mac hoping that I could skitter around online and unearth some new treasure which might cheer me up, but try as it might, even my devoted computer can't seem to provide respite from this debilitating funk. The more I try to manipulate my fate, the more isolated I feel. The longer I sit here, flitting from site to site, and back around the sequence again and again and again...the less happens. It's brutally monotonous, I feel as if I'm spinning my wheels. I guess I'll go mow my yard for 5 more hours...

Well, after zoning out on the mower for a veritable coon's age, I was no better for the time away from my computer. I was powerless to extinguish a reemerging preoccupation, I simply couldn't, (haven't been able to for a while, now) get a certain someone out of my mind and believe me, this did absolutely nothing to lift my spirits. I spent the majority of my 5 hours of yard work irrationally pining for my old favorite - Mark. For whatever reason, he remains my only indelible, unrequited crush. I've had no difficulty scratching every last one of all the others completely off the list. I compare past and current guys to him and they just don't cut the mustard...There is no one else upon whom I am nearly as fixated. I hate to even admit that I still think about him because after things between us tanked he turned into such a dick. I need to remind myself that here was a man, living with a woman, fooling around with a single girl, online, and when the single girl, who lived 300 miles away, did the natural thing and dated other guys, he got preposterously incensed. In hindsight, I find his anger and resentment utterly inappropriate, per the situation. No doubt at the time though, it was a bitter pill. Regardless, these days I do the best I can to stave off my jealousy towards the new girls with whom I'm sure he romps, in my stead. I see him on IM all the time and for long periods of time. I am literally sitting there, pretending like I have something interesting going on, hoping that he thinks so too (if he even notices) when in reality I am bored to tears and completely alone. It's all I can do to NOT send him a message. I simply couldn't bear the inevitable agonizing humiliation of being ignored by him, certain that he would blow me off because a.) he detests me and b.) he couldn't be disturbed since he's most definitely in the middle of some erotic collaboration with a new twist. I miss our torrid romance, I miss the danger element and the sparks that flew. I miss the electric excitement I experienced when he rang, and the butterflies and giddiness resultant from our trysts. My cell phone was too full to receive new texts, the other day, so I was going through it and deleting all the superfluous crap, and I still had like 40 or 50 texts from Mark, which I had never erased. I got so fucking misty poring over them all again for the first time in ages, I couldn't stand it! My favorite was a text he sent me one night, I think while he was out drinking with friends. He said, "U love me?" I remember being dumbfounded and positively elated that he would even ask me such a thing and weirder yet, was the fact that I seriously felt like I truly did...I cautiously answered with, "How did you know?" and he closed the convo. by saying, "I'm smart...glad you do" I was unquestionably smitten.


Feeling prostrate about the grim memory of my failed romance with Mark and determined to relieve my loneliness-induced melancholia, I decided to pick myself up and put myself out there this weekend and diligently worked my tail off to make something happen. I immediately responded to an e-mail I got early Fri. morning, from Cary, who lived close by and by Fri. night we had discussed the possibility of finding each other downtown at a new brew pub. Frances and I were both without kids, so we were hot to trot and did in fact, wind up crossing paths with Cary and one of his friends. They turned out to be supremely fun guys who took excellent care of both Frances and me at the two clubs where we played but even though Cary was a super nice fella, he was not my physical ideal. I know...I'm way too picky. But I have been racking my brain to try and think of someone to set him up with 'cuz he's way too good of a catch to not share with some deserving gal, unfortunately though - she's just not me. Then, right at last call I was approached by a tall, dark (in the sinister sense of the word) gorgeous hunk of a man who greeted me with a surprise kiss on the mouth, (oh my!) and next by telling me that he was prepared to eat my pussy for the next 4 hours. Wait, didn't the last guy who offered to do that say he'd do it for 5 hours? I'm sorry, but 4 hours is simply not good enough! (But in all honesty...if it actually did take 4 or 5 hours...wouldn't something be drastically wrong?) The bummer is, initially I was intrigued by the hunk's enigmatic aura and was nervously excited when he entered my sphere, and then he had to go and ruin the whole thing by saying...THAT! Get this, though (jumping ahead a bit) - on Sunday night I got an e-mail from a new guy who also could not stop talking about eating my pu**y, as he put it. He must've sent me 15 notes mere seconds apart, declaring "Your pu**y is what I want to eat", "Your pu**y is what I want to eat" over and over again, you guessed it- "for 4 hours"! What in the world is wrong with these people? Jeez frickin' Louisus!@#*$

Sunday was dominated, once again, by yardwork. But just about everytime I made a pass by my studio, I would jump off the mower and skip inside to check my computer for new messages, which I was enjoying from one dude in particular. Wouldn't you know, he lived only 15 mins. away, convenient, but not necessarily a good thing if there wound up to be an "in the long run". We flirted mercilessly with each other, on and off all day long and finally that night he invited me to get a drink with him...over at his house. Hmmm...I informed him, as if there was any possible way he could not know this, that meeting a guy at his house for the first date, would be breaking the #1 stranger danger rule of online dating, duh. But we were both too poor to go out as well as a little weary from cumulative partying side effects from a bacchanalia-esque weekend, so like a dunce, I agreed to meet him at his house. I guess it's entirely possible that I was subconsciously looking for trouble, something to spice up this tedium. I still haven't confessed any of this to Frances, she would massacre me! I did leave all of the info I had about him, on a little slip of paper by my computer, in case the authorities needed to initiate a manhunt...

I got to his apartment which was sparsely furnished and that's a good thing. I prefer when men living alone don't have a bunch of knicky knacky crap everywhere, like useless baskets stuck to the wall and fake greenery all over the place, barf! But basically all he had the energy to do was sit and stare at the TV....boring! It was painfully reminiscent of many dull, wasted hours with Jimmy. Uhhh, we didn't even really talk. Once South Park was over, I announced that I thought I'd better get and only then did he become interactive, at all, which was - far as I was concerned - too little, too late. So I split without incident and even though there was something endearingly cute about his New Yawk personality and tough guy looks, I figured if this was the best he could offer, the very first time we that met, it could only go downhill from there, so...no thanks.

When I woke up the next morning, I realized that it was now time to focus on that evening's date with Steve (you remember, one of the Big Three, the one that Jordan likes) which we'd planned a few days earlier. Steve and I met online, just one week after he joined one of my favorite dating sites. He had put me on his Favorite's list but hadn't contacted me. I rarely get in touch with guys, simply because they put me on their Favorite's in fact most times I remove myself from their Faves, but Steve was attractive, I liked the photo he posted of himself wearing a white tee and shades while manning a "crash boat". I wrote to him and said, "So, you put me on your Favorite's list but you don't even say "Hi", tsk, tsk" He got back in touch with me fairly quickly, coyly apologized and for the last three weeks we have communicated intermittently through e-mail and over the phone. He is 10 years older than I am and even though I like that he seems hip, cool and open-minded, I am particularly drawn to his mature calm and confident reserve. All this aside, it was no effort for me to keep my emotions in check, since nothing really moves me anymore.

Hey, know what? I just realized that I made it through, what had all the earmarkings of a potentially desolate weekend, and I was no worse for the wear. I'd had a little fun, my yard looked great, I had gotten to talk to my kids, I was looking forward to a date with a nice guy...Shee-ot! I might actually be just fine without Mark, after all...

"Fine" is Never Good

What is it with my flippin' ex-es? Forgive me, I must give in to an irresistible urge to make a random broadcast announcement here. For the record, my ex-husband is a self-righteous, ego-maniacal, money grubbing prick and a complete and utter sonofabitch!" There, that was sufficiently cathartic, I feel a lot better. You know, it's not like I don't feel badly enough already about the fact that my life is in the shitter, but on top of it all I've got to endure being belittled and berated by him about what a fucking useless loser I am and evidently, in his eyes, have always been. Sure, I fritter away endless hours online trying to meet a honey and yeah, I spend infinite amounts of time documenting my quest, and waste tons of cash on fuel, driving all over creation to inevitibly be disappointed with the end result, I guess there truly is no real value in any of that, (I'm doing research for the blog?) and to compound my steady decline, I now have the added bonus of being indefinitely laid off from my first real job since my kids all got in school. That's right, I've got $60 to my name and when my lawnmower repair guy tries to cash the $213 check I wrote him on Fri., I can't imagine that it's gonna go very well. But my ultra-responsible, hard-working (cough!) ex is still a tightwad millionaire and somehow he can declare to me in all honesty that he "helps me out a lot!" Like lending me a boatload of cash so I could finish building a decent house for the kids and me, which I do appreciate, but I'll be paying the loan back to the tune of 8.75% interest! Who's doing whom the favor? I swear to god, after he lit into me about how great and wonderful he is and how fucking pathetic I am, I seriously wondered if it would be better for everyone; him, my kids who probably won't really have a Christmas at my house, this year, my family who has for all intents and purposes, disowned me anyway - if I just parked my cute, little, shiny, silver car in my brand new, garage, left the engine running and drifted off into slumberland...forever. But I'm way too much of a pussy to do that. I keep clinging to the notion that it simply has to all work out one day. (There is still the lottery)...But just when I thought I could not possibly sink any lower festering over every single miserable aspect of my tiny life, Jimmy sent me an outta-the-blue text, in which he tenderly declared that he misses my butthole, hmmm...Way to cheer a girl up, buddy! Why couldn't he have told me that he missed the way I spoiled him with yummy meals and the lunches I packed for him to take to work and how I never complained when he completely ignored me while I rubbed his feet with Burt's honey and almond hand cream for hours while he spaced in front of the TV and how I tirelessly worked in his yard, planting cheerful, new gardens and did all of his laundry and cleaned his bathrooms and picked up his psych meds. for him and played nurse when he was sick and took his dog to the vet and gave him a practically brand new fridge and a queen sized bed in which he cheated on me while we were still dating. Must be National Asshole Ex-es Week, or something. I don't remember ever sounding as bitter as this, what's my problem? Strangely, none of this has anything to do with online dating so I'm sure you're all very confused by my tirade. I'm sorry, I just had to get all of that off my chest before I delve into the bland pablum that is my ongoing, online dating debacle.*

I just don't know what it's gonna take for me to get excited about any man again, ever. I'm starting to get seriously worried that I may officially be emotionally null and void. Get this...I'm not even a teensy bit horny. I can't remember the last time I played with my toy. This is SO not like me, as by now, I'm sure you all know. Frances is convinced that none of this should be cause for alarm, that maybe my apathy could be a means by which I am preparing myself to experience a genuine, potent, all-consuming tremor when I finally do stumble upon my ideal dream boat. She says that she prefers the blase me to the insecure, neurotic nightmare I had become, post Jimmy. I 'spose I can relate to her rationale...

My date with Chris on Tuesday night was totally fine, but the trouble is...I don't want "fine" - I want FUCKING AMAZING, for cryin' out loud! I mean he was cute and all but he's VERY short, like seriously shorter than I am, in flat shoes...Here, let me illustrate...When I met him for date #2, we opted out of taking his Harley to lunch, thank god because frankly, I would not be caught dead on the back of that bike, I mean he's fastidious about keeping it immaculate, but for me it was purely an aesthetics thing, it was just too frilly, busy...I don't like Harleys, end of story! Instead, we hopped into his very cool, 1960-something Chevy Nova (phew!) and headed out of his homogenous, suburban neighborhood towards some homogenous, suburban shopping center for lunch, neat. Next thing I know, I could see him out of my peripheral vision, grab the steering wheel hard, pull himself so far forward that his hiney was in about the middle of the seat, but his leg still barely reached the peddle as he floored the excellerator and burned rubber up the street. He was trying to be so cool, but instead he ended up looking absolutely ridiculous, like a little kid playing in his Daddy's car, it was definitely NOT my favorite, not to mention I was completely mortified to be peeling up the road at breakneck speed in an otherwise placid neighborhood, so stupid. But let's revisit date #1, shall we...Chris and I met for drinks and eats at what is swiftly becoming "the spot" where I meet most of my "first dates", anymore. I'm sure that the nice people who work there are like, "What the hell is up with that woman, how many different guys can one person go out with?" but what the frick ever. Anyway, Chris and I had no trouble striking up and carrying on active conversation, we like a lot of the same stuff; cars, guns, alcohol. And we enjoyed this one amusing verbal exchange about obese America which after overlapping with our dismay with the crappy economy, particularly oppressive gas prices, we hatched a plan to convert "liposucked" fat into automobile fuel. Both of us thought this was pure genius, revoltingly disgusting, but a radical idea, nonetheless! Hell, I know folks around here who've made their millions by turning roadkill into chicken feed and they hold their heads up high and even strut around like they own the damn place with their gold-plated everything. So see? Even the kookiest concept can generate a wad of cash, no matter how gruesome. Once again though, I simply wasn't blown away enough to be motivated to line up a follow-up date. The next day, I glumly recapped the prior evening's events to Frances, as usual, saying that it had been "f i n e"..."Oh no..." she replied, "FINE is never good" I explained that I had felt no connection and even though she and I are always on the exact same page about the whole chemistry thing, (if it ain't there from the get-go, it ain't ever gonna be there...chemistry can essentially be neither created nor destroyed, and so on and so forth) she suggested that maybe I should go out with him one more time, just to make sure. He sounded like a decent guy, and who knows, if I gave him another chance, I may discover that we have potential. I know she doesn't really believe this, fundamentally, but maybe she's as convinced as I am that just for the moment, my acute, emotional dysfunction is sabotaging my chances of meeting a suitable mate because I'm giving up too quickly, on guys who might normally capture my attention. I was thinking about it the other day, how in the past, when I was entirely at the mercy of either my friends setting me up with guys or bar hopping and frequenting parties as suitable avenues by which to meet men, I think I sank my claws deep into the first decent option I came upon, relieved to give up the hunt. This is exactly why I landed with Jimmy (and lived to fully regret it) Back then, whenever I found someone satisfactory, I just stopped looking, where nowadays, I refuse to settle. I'm addicted to searching for the next better thing. I've said it before, I just don't see the point in wasting time on someone when there is no real chemistry. But, taking the sage advice of my best friend, I took Chris up on his offer to meet the very next day. At first he said that he would come out my way to grab lunch and check out a local art show, I've been wanting to hit, which would've been great, because, I'll be honest, I was on my last 1/2 tank of gas and wasn't gonna be coming into any major moolah anytime soon, so the idea of rationing my gas was practical and appealing. Somehow plans got shifted around though, and I wound up driving out to where he lives which, if I want to make myself feel better about the gas, I can at least take solace in the fact that the specific location of my residence is still privileged information. I would venture to say that date #2 was even less impressive than date #1. I started to discover little aspects of Chris' personality that repelled me; for one thing I could sense a squelched temper, barely suppressed beneath his surface. And for another he was pushy as hell. I had barely made it out of his driveway and he was asking me how late the art show would be going on that evening, as if he wanted to come and check it out after all. I said it was over already. Then he asked if we could meet at the pub, again, that Friday (the next time we had planned to meet) was just too far away. I said that I had a shitload of stuff to get done that night and that I probably shouldn't. He told me there are lots of things that we "shouldn't do", but if I though it was best to wait 'til Friday, he was fine with that. I did not reply, he was really crowding me. Frances said that I should be honest and tell him that I wasn't feeling a connection, that I had always been good about doing that with other guys when things hadn't worked out. I was like, "What?" Usually I just disappear and hope that the dumpee gives up pretty quickly. But that was irrelevant because fortunately, Chris beat me to the punch. He wrote to me and said that since I hadn't answered his last text and we hadn't talked at all the following day, he assumed that I had changed my mind. If for some reason he had gotten it wrong, he hoped I would feel free to get in touch with him, but otherwise, good luck with my search. Problem solved.

With one of the contenders knocked out of the Big Three, that left only two remaining, John and Steve, both of whom seem pretty laid-back and more relaxed than Scott, plus they're both really tall. No plans to meet John, yet, but we keep shooting each other inquisitive e-mails and I would definitely go out with him if he asked me to. I did, however, make arrangements to meet Steve for drinks, in the very near future. It was funny because Jordan and I were out here at my computer, the other night and I pulled up Steve's profile and asked her what she thought of him. I should tell you that normally when I think a guy is hot or a good possibility, my kids are like, "NOOO! MOM! He's scary! He's NOT attractive at all, yuck" and I'm stunned, cuz generally I have myself convinced that whoever it is, is decent and might be right for me, damn! But the little tykes are consistently dead-on in their initial impression of the guys to whose profiles I allow them to be privy. Why is it that my children possess consistently razorsharp intuition yet I am virtually devoid of it. Anyway, for the first time ever, Jordan gave a guy in whom I was interested, a decisive stamp of approval. She liked the way Steve looked and she said that she thought that he seemed fine. Hmmm...There's that dreaded four-letter word, again. I reckon I have to accept that "fine" to her, my pristine, 12 year old daughter, still carries a favorable connotation...

*Footnote: Frances just called and said that she read in the paper that my ex, along with his father and someone else, just sold 135 acres of prime real estate to folks who plan to build some high end retirement home. So now, the bastard has even more millions in his kitty, yet still pays no spousal support and less than half of the child support that the state of Virginia would require him to pay, if he adhered to their guidelines. And I, the pauper mother of his offspring, am unable to buy a gallon of milk, this morning. But it's all really just fine...and dandy...yeah...

The Big Three

Beau and I exchanged e-mail addresses that first fun night we accidentally met and we shot each other a couple of surprisingly longwinded and informative e-mails up 'til and into the weekend which led to a tentative plan to talk on Sunday at which time we might possibly meet for a drink. We did text on Sunday but it was evident that the novelty of our unique happenstance and the potential for friendship plus, was beginning to wane. And by Monday morning it was glaringly apparent that we had officially fizzled. I was disappointed that we had lost our steam but it didn't have anything to do with Beau on a personal level, or anything like that, I think I was bummed because Jordan and I had built the idea up in our minds that it would be the strangest turn of events if after all of this online dating, I wound up meeting the man of my dreams because I simply dialed a wrong number. But, consistent with all of my other dating failures, this was nothing more than a flash in the pan, providing about 48 hours worth of excitement and a minor distraction from my online dating doldrums.

In firmly establishing myself as an inveterate online dating LOSER, I believe that I have become a much more resilient gal, which is a good thing I guess. Lately I kinda just limp along through this virtual dating minefield, unfazed by an emotional disconnect and ironclad in my uncharacteristically apathetic coping mechanisms. Nothing gets me fired up in either direction anymore. Sucks! Anyway, after things flopped with Beau, I wasted no time in getting right back on that internet dating bicycle, completely out of reflex, and definitely NOT because of deluded optimism that something good will ever actually come of all of my mysteriously unwavering effort. I wonder what it will take for me to become enthusiastic about participating in all this nonsense again. I am so blahh! Shortly after diving back into the online dating pool, almost at once I was contacted by three new guys who are all strangely similar to each other in their stats... They're attractive but not too perfect looking, they are responsible men all gainfully employed, all three live roughly 30 miles away from me, perfect, and they are all appropriate ages. And even though conversation with each one is interesting enough individually, I find myself answering their e-mails, almost identically, sometimes it takes me a minute to inventory messages received and sent in order to avoid sending duplicate notes, I'm like, "Wait, did I write to him again, already?" At the same time I was making the acquaintance of the Big Three, I was contacted by a young guy with a smokin' hot bod who I'd talked to a bit, before, but who I let slip through the cracks because of distance between us in geography and age. He wrote wondering if I'd forgotten about him and kicked off a vigorous campaign to have me meet him in the very near future. I told him I didn't see the point but he refused to give up, citing an inability to let me "get away", hmmm...It was silly to even remotely entertain the notion of getting together with him, but I was flattered by his tenacity and we decided to meet somewhere in the middle of our two towns, this upcoming Tuesday night. He chose the town after hunting around on mapquest and, admitting that I knew nothing about the place, I asked him if he recommended any particular destination. Don't you know that he absolutely wowed me with the brilliant, well-thought out, wildly romantic plan that he hatched...He suggested that we take the first exit off the highway and get a room, ho ho! The really funny part was that he was completely serious, huh...don't know why didn't I think of it? Tempting as his offer was, I told him that I had no interest in a booty call but thanks anyway and he retorted, "What? No booty call? But I wanna touch you, smell you..." I was like, "DELETE!" You know, I'm just so over the whole MILF thing, I mean I totally get it, we old girls are definitely righteous, but that doesn't mean it's our duty to babysit all of these horny young bucks, jesus! I had a 21 yr. old write to me the other day and all he said in his e-mail was, "Do you know what a MILF is?" Duh! I answered, "Do you know what a cougar is?" not so much to perpetuate conversation with him, but more to let him know that us old gals can play predator too, if we want. I guess I effectively scared him off because I never heard from him again, oh shucks. But back to the Big Three...The first guy, Steve, is ten years older than I am and I know that that can work for me because I happily (until the end, of course) dated a guy, ten yrs. my senior, for 18 mos. not long ago. I made a colossal error in judgement by dumping him for Jimmy (ten yrs. my junior). I remember, at the time, a good friend of mine, several years older and infinitely wiser than I am, saying, "It's always better to be an old guy's queen than a young man's slave" I shrugged it off back then but in hindsight, her advisory comment resounds with eagle eye precision. Anyway, Steve is physically active and his pictures reveal a physique to prove it, he's got a sexy, deep voice of which he genuinely seems oblivious, and we share a fascination with cars. Trouble is, his dream car is some souped up, high-performance Corvette, ugh. I don't know what it is, but for me there is something intrinsically off-putting about a guy who loves his Harley, his Corvette, or wears an excessive amount of jewelry. As far as I'm concerned, it's grounds for dismissal. But there are good things about Steve that redeem him and keep me curious enough to stay in touch; his good job is somewhat art-based, he had a slightly more refined air about him than the guys I've met who are in love with Corvettes and he is the primary care-giver of his two children, I think that says a lot about a fella! Next is John, tall with an athletic body and a shaved bald head and a goatee, sporting a great-looking crisp blue, polished cotton dress shirt in his profile photo. He is the one who makes it the most fun to write back and forth because he is always asking a ton of questions as well as taking the time to address whatever unusual or nosey topics I bring up. I'm not fully stoked about his taste in music, he takes a shine to heavy metal and glam rock bands, not necessarily my cup-o-tea, but at least he does care about music. And finally there's little Chris, "little" because he's only 5'5'' (you all know how well short worked for me the last time) but I literally just got really excited because I made a surprise discovery while filling Frances in on all of his details- a new picture on his profile - and I suddenly can't think of anything bad to say about him, he's definitely got a nice body and looks like he knows how to party, he's CUTE - giddyfrickinup! Chris and I, just 20 minutes ago, firmed up plans to meet at one of my favorite haunts for drinks and grub...TONIGHT! Ok, this seems as good a place as any, to sew up this entry. I'm gonna go shower and make myself beautiful and I'll let you know later, how things went, don't wait up for me!