...Feast

By the Sunday after Christmas, the novelty of my unexpected pre-New Year's "cleanse" had definitely worn off and I was hankerin' to put men back on the menu, and in order to do that - I knew that I had to be proactive...lord knows no one else was gonna do my scouting for me. So I shopped around a bit on my favorite dating sites and before long, my keen "new boy" radar honed in on an unfamiliar heavenly body. The target on my screen was tall, built, handsome, ex-military, divorced, had sole custody of his only child, was gainfully employed and lived close by...but I was afraid that maybe he'd think that we were too far apart in age. So, I wrote to him and in the subject line I put, "I may be too old for you..." and then continued my note to him with, "but you seem like an interesting and active guy, so I couldn't resist at least saying, "Hi""

The next morning, I received a nice message that he'd sent after I'd already tucked it in the night before - which he opened with, "Age is in the heart"...I took that to mean that he had no problem with the fact that I am 7 years his senior. So before leaving for work, I wrote back and invited him to go snowboarding with my friends and me, that upcoming Wednesday.

After returning home from work I was delighted to discover that I had more mail from him even though he had declined my invitation to go snowboarding since he had a friend arriving on Wednesday for a week long visit. But after a couple more emails, I learned that he WAS free THAT very night - Monday - and, never one to miss out on a promising opportunity, I asked him if he would be up for meeting me in town for a drink later...and he said that he was. Yip!

We exchanged cell #'s, I hopped in the shower, got all gussied up and left to go meet him at the pool hall up the road from where I live. As I pulled my big boat into the parking lot, I recognized the tall, strapping man walking past my car - as the "heavenly body" I'd seen on the dating site. I pointed at him and smiled and he about-faced in order to meet me at my car so that we could walk inside together...I could tell right away that I liked him already...

We ordered our drinks and instead of cramming ourselves into the limited space amid all the pool tables and other people, we set up shop in a cozy nook away from everyone else, kicked back in two easy chairs and shot the shit...'twas rawther nice.

It was terribly easy to like the guy...he was engaging and open and he had the greatest face imaginable - his Dutch and Italian lineage producing big bluey eyes and long, dark lashes, matte, oxblood lips and a gloriously angular nose - my favorite! And that body, jesus! I caught myself lost in thought a few times, imagining what it would be like to have my body totally enveloped by his...*sigh*

We got along famously and I was already looking forward to going out with him another time very soon, but after only one drink, he jumped ahead a little when he suggested that we save our pennies by playing pool and mixing our next drinks...back at his place......uh oh...oh boy...

Now, here's the thing...I was completely conscious of what this meant and even though I understood that following him to his house right then would most likely mean a dreaded hook-up on the first date which could easily eliminate any chance of ever seeing him again...I am a terribly impulsive lass, a legal consenting adult and was way overdue for a gratifying romp in the hay*...so I was completely down with it. It's like with me there is literally no middle ground, I am either hot or cold...fast or stop...FUCK YEAH! or HELL NO!... and whenever I meet a new guy, I know straight off the bat if I'd do him or not, and if I'm certain that I would, well then, quite frequently - I do...I'm sorry...I'm weak that way...what can I say...

*My most recent "romantic" foray had been just a couple of weeks before, with the Mystery Man and yes...we did have a nice time together and yes...I was as attracted to him as ever and yes...we did (try to) get cozy in the sack, but no...we did not seal the deal which I must say, was not for MY lack of trying, sheesh! In all fairness to the Mystery Man, the deficiency in his prowess that night could've been due to the fact that he did down the better part of my bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin over the course of the evening...nonetheless - snockered or not - it is undeniably damaging to a girl's self-esteem, when the guy with whom she's tryin' to get busy, can't for love or money...manage to get it up. I can tell myself that the Mystery Man was soused or suffering performance anxiety or that he has some physiological problem that the wonders of modern medicine could easily straighten out, but at the time I just took it personally and convinced myself that my relatively fit, naked body, all ripe for the pickin' - just wasn't doing it for him...(dagger!) So what happened was...my not-so-gratifying tangle with the Mystery Man left me dangling and I found myself even more starved than usual for a fulfilling interlude with a real live man...NOT myself...OR my stupid toy...again...

It didn't help matters any, that a particular comment that an acquaintance posted on an older blog entry, has remained stuck in the back of my feeble brain...a comment on which lately I've kind of relied, in order to justify my oftentimes impetuous behavior. After reading an entry about yet another example of my poor snap-decision-making, the old friend asked, "Am I the only person who begins long-term relationships with sex on the first date?" Hmmmm......Now there was something about this, that in essence - I felt kinda gave me license to go on ahead and test the waters with men to whom I felt a strong gravitational pull...because there was always that shred of a chance that the two of us could end up going the distance...you know, like beyond just that first encounter.

So, that bitterly cold Monday night, I left the pool hall and willingly followed my date way the hell on over to the other side of town and then further still out into the country 'til we finally ended up at his house, where I found myself startled by how tidy he was as well as impressed by his tasteful and restrained choice of decor. And it didn't hurt that I immediately bonded with his two adorable doggies! The guy seriously had it going on.

He mixed me a yummy drink in the most elegant, turquoise blue cocktail glass (I mean, c'mon! Was I seriously coveting his glassware?! Ridiculous...) after which we traipsed downstairs to the basement to get that pesky game of pool outta the way.

My lifelong curse of sucking at pool continued as did the conversation, and I learned that he had only just signed up on the dating site where I'd found him, the actual day that I first contacted him (I told you! That "new boy" radar of mine is GOOD!) and he told me that he had already blocked like 6 girls. For real?! I've been online dating for over a year and a half now and I've only blocked a total of like 3 guys on all of my sites, ever! I actually felt somewhat honored that he'd kept me around as long as he already had, hahaha! Anyway, once he'd handed me my ass in our mandatory game of pool, he asked if I wanted to go get in the hot tub and I said that I did, despite (and also because of) the fact that it was 12 degrees with a wind chill of something like a million below...We stood there together in his mud room, stripped down to our skivvies and he gave me a big cushy robe to wear in between the house and the hot tub. Once outside in that damned frigid night air, we wasted no time getting our nakey bodies submerged in the 101 degree water and this my friends, is where things turned from proper and polite to naughty...in a jiff. As soon as we started canoodling, I felt that electrical pull between my middle and his, which I always freaking LOVE! And before long I was introduced to his namesake here in the blog...the Babyarm...

Don't worry, not gonna bore you with all the gory details of the rest of our time in the hot tub through when I actually got my wish to have my body ensconced in his - during our post coitus, snuggly slumber...what I will tell you is that poor judgement or not, going home with Babyarm was for me - precisely what the doctor ordered. (Honestly, it kinda felt like maybe I should go SEE a doctor, afterwards. Fuck me! What glorious good fortune when all afternoon at work the next day my boss had me straddling the ceiling rafters in the attic, after he got the wild hare to have me install 6 recessed can lights......for the love of PETE!) Nevertheless, my tangle with Babyarm was the perfect antidote to my disappointing physical flop with the Mystery Man on many levels...I would even venture to say that the two "dates" were veritable polar opposites.

To start with, the very demeanors of the two men could not have been more dissimilar...Babyarm's ebullience was to the Mystery Man's forbearance like an effervescent waterfall is to a frozen lake...

Aaaand...unlike the Mystery Man, Babyarm wanted "it" as badly as (possibly more than?) I did, which absolutely boosted my ego as well as my libido. And his aggressive domination was well-received by this inherently submissive, rapturously captive audience. I liked that Babyarm was not the least bit shy about his body and stuff cuz that's the way that I am. I like being naked and I want the lights on so that I can see everything as it's happening...and I shrivel when my immodesty is met with overt inhibition...example: I'm the type of person who doesn't think it strange for folks to use the potty in front of each other after they've had seckshal relashuns. I'm not talking about taking a full-on crap in front of them or anything like that, but tinkle is cool...I mean what's the freaking difference at that point, you know? Babyarm was completely good with that, it just wasn't an issue at all...but the Mystery Man acted all awkward and shy in the morning and instead of using the loo right off of my bedroom, he went out and used the hall toilet...which then made me feel somewhat self-conscious...I dunno - it just felt weird.

So let's see...how bout this...

Babyarm = brash

Mystery Man = bashful

Of course there was also the obvious size/readiness discrepancy...and it's probably not even fair to compare the two fella's anatomies...I mean Mystery Man was clearly not on his game and freaking Babyarm was living up to his name! (Felt like my guts had been totally rearranged or shifted or something...for DAYS afterwards...Mother of God! He definitely found those hard-to-reach spots...)

Babyarm = a baby's arm

Mystery Man = a baby's thumb?

Something else that made my playdate with Babyarm extra specially enjoyable (and unusual for most all of my other sleepovers with men - I'm not only singling out the Mystery Man here) was how courteous and considerate he was to me the whole time that we hung out. He was just the absolute most gracious host ever. I have never had a guy bring me a warm, wet wash cloth and a dry towel after sex...I dunno, I just thought it was so sweet and thoughtful. We stayed wrapped around each other all night long, which is something that I personally crave and for whatever reason, I rarely end up with guys who can handle being touched much at all while they sleep. I happen to NEED that! I want to be completely intertwined with my lover til we rise in the morn and Babyarm was either very tolerant of this or he actually liked it himself...Oh yeah! And in the morning he made me coffee and a tasty, no-carb brekky...such a good man!

Babyarm = chivalrous

Mystery Man = chilly

Anyway so, long story short...I was tickled pink to have enjoyed such frisky frolicking with Babyarm. I was left feeling sexually sated and super excited that the swiftly approaching new year might actually be looking up, especially if I could score a sophomore session with Babyarm sometime in the not so distant future...I liked 'im and I definitely wanted to see 'im again, and that is so not like me.

That being said...a few nights later when I was contacted by a way too young, local hottie over whom I've drooled for the short period of time that I've known him - I jumped at the chance to finally sit down and chat with him, just the two of us, out from behind our computer screens, over drinks. We'd been threatening to get together since we met at Halloween, but nothing had ever panned out until that Wednesday night that I was supposed to go snowboarding. Since all of my buddies and I had lost our motivation entirely - to make the trek to the ski resort that night, I considered it divine intervention that I was actually available to meet the Young Hottie, after he suggested it that night.

The Young Hottie is practically half my age, he is exquisitely gorgeous, like I'm serious you guys...you honestly have no idea (Willow and my pixie friend Beth would totally back me up on this one) but besides that - he is a brilliant, accomplished musician and of a higher level of thinking than most guys his age...most guys my age, for that matter...I am severely intimidated by his intellect...I was actually more nervous about sounding like a complete idiot while trying to hold up my end of the evening's discussion, than being overshadowed by his otherworldly physical perfection, which was a given...

T.Y.H and I met at one of my favorite local bars and as soon as I got settled into my seat and got all situated, I drank in exactly how delectable he is...I couldn't help but think though, "This isn't for me" I mean the guy is definitely too young first off, and second, he can do so much better than l'il ole me - in the looks and the age department. But whatever, we were there for the night, the liquor was flowing and we were enjoying thought-provoking dialog over a myriad of enlightening topics. It was immensely entertaining, so much so that when my phone rang and I saw that it was Babyarm, I simply ignored the call...I mean it would've been rude to pick up while I was out with someone else anyway, yes? But I could've at least snuck a text to him or something when I went to the ladies room, you know? But I didn't. All of my attention was undivided that night, by T.Y.H....I was a little shocked that my initial excitement over Babyarm could be so easily displaced, and over something which had absolutely no potential for longevity. Stupid girl...

At last call, T.Y.H. and I left the bar and I offered to give him a ride back to his (parents'!) place since he'd walked downtown to meet me and by then it was beyond brutally cold out. Oh, did I forgot to mention the other little snag?...uhhh...well...I know T.Y.H.'s mom...pretty well actually...so it was a bit unsettling to be in my idling car out in the cul de sac in front of his house, necking and worrying that his mom might peep out the window and recognize my vehicle...T.Y.H. and I said goodnight, and all excited like - vowed to get together again soon.

The next night was New Year's Eve and Willow and I had plans to go into D.C. to ring in the new year at a killer new club there. She was meeting M.C. Ginger and I was hitting the town, stag. I was kinda bummin' that I wouldn't have anyone to stroke at the kiss of midnight...or whatever...but I wasn't too worked up over it, I had enjoyed a pretty prosperous week already, so no real room for whining and complaining. Plus, I was still officially single...I mean who knew what might happen that night...

Before we left to go out, I got a text from Babyarm, asking me what I was doing. I told him that I was in D.C. with friends and that we were about to hit the town, and that was it - I didn't hear back from him after that, not even when I texted him after midnight to wish him a "Happy New Year!" Oh well, it was fine, because sometime shortly before midnight, I was turning to walk away from the the bar and head back over to the dance floor, fresh cocktail in hand, when at the same moment the man standing next to me, also turned (towards me) to leave and it was one of those, "BOI-OI-OING!" moments, when two people get the exact same intense feeling about each other at precisely the same instant...it was crazy...and I liked it!

The Russian (far as I know the guy wasn't even Russian, but for some reason he just seemed Russian to me cuz his name sounded Slavic and was literally unpronounceable, hence the nickname) had riveting, electric blue eyes, close-shorn salt and pepper grey hair, a tall athletic frame and was - I quickly learned - a dentist from Atlanta...well shoot! No matter, we latched onto each other from that serendipitous second at the bar that our eyes met and locked, right up until we left the club to compete for the taxis that would carry us away from each other, presumably - forever...

Even though we feigned cheerful optimism that this could be the beginning of something cool, we both knew deep down that it was pointless for us to even be talking to each other, even stupider still to be getting all cozy together up in the banquette over where he and his friends had reserved a private corner of the room. It was fun though, to entertain the idea of him flying me down to Atlanta to come visit him sometime and it was REALLY fun to have a handsome someone to kiss at the stroke of midnight. It all felt oddly romantic and genuine per the high probability that we would never actually meet or even speak to each other again. I have my good friend Absolut to thank for my lapse in grasping reality...but so what, right? The whole night was an Absolut blast and I just loved every last minute of the old year and each fresh new minute of this year...

The next day ranked high on the list of worst hangovers ever...I literally could not rally my crippled ass to get up and head back home...til like nearly noon or some shit. I knew I would have to rely on a hardcore junk food fix to even begin to feel better...

No more than twice a year, after getting my serious drunk on, I thumb my nose at my low carb diet and go out and order a triple Whopper with cheese, fries, a real coke and a chocolate milkshake from Burger King...after which - miraculously - I am able to slowly rise from the dead and function a touch. New Year's Day was one of those Burger King kinda days...so much for starting the year off right...ugh...

Once I was back home again, and the medicinal effects of my fast food feast finally kicked in, I recharged my battery in quiet solitude and assessed my current situation.

I accepted that the Russian was a fly-by-night, fleeting fancy...end of story.

I then decided that the Young Hottie was most likely toying with me, perhaps merely basking in the pride-swell brought about by my obvious fascination with him. Or possibly slightly intrigued by the notion of hooking up with a moderately attractive, reasonably intelligent older woman who unapologetically fawned all over him, but clearly not wholeheartedly interested in going through with it...which I decided was probably a blessing in disguise.

And finally my mind drifted back to thoughts of Babyarm. I worried that I might have come across as too blase and had maybe unwittingly run him off. Which would've been too bad really, because for the first time in ages I had actually found a man who not only captured my attention, but wasn't of a totally inappropriate age and maturity level. I tried to find one eensy thing about him that rubbed me the wrong way, and I really just couldn't.

I was relieved and ecstatic when Babyarm called me later that evening and invited me to come hang out with him and his out of town guest! I collected my bedraggled ass, did my best to not look like death warmed over and headed over to his place.

The three of us watched a little TV, then relaxed in the hot tub and after bidding his friend goodnight, Babyarm and I retired to his chambre.

I am a fairly loud person, in general. I laugh (loudly) a lot and talk (loudly) a lot...but in the bedroom, I am uncharacteristically quiet. Not reserved physically by any means, just not a particularly noisy lover. Obviously Babyarm and I wanted to do our best to keep the volume at a low enough level so as not to disturb his friend who was sleeping in the adjacent room and I was a little concerned that this could be a bit of a challenge since he had brought out a surprisingly more vocal side of me when I was with him the time before, but I must say...I could not have predicted how shocked I would be - to hear myself shout out so uncontrollably during our lovemaking. I literally could not suppress the audible outbursts resultant from his powerful manhandling of my body...unfreakingbelievable...wooo!

Babyarm and I joined his friend downstairs in the kitchen in the morning, and after sheepishly apologizing for all the racket during the night, we all sat down together and greeted the new day over another outstanding breakfast...Homemade lemon poppy seed morning cake for the men (my contribution) and for all of us - a delicious egg scramble with cheese, venison/crabmeat sausage, Old Bay and plenty of hot sauce....mmmmmm...After which I nestled briefly into Babyarm's bear-hug embrace, and then went on my merry way back home - belly full, mind abuzz, heart swelling...

Famine...

I am of the mindset that it's banal and bromidic and all that, to make resolutions and set goals at the onset of every new year like people do...each one to hopefully (but not likely) be realized to some degree during or at the very least - by the conclusion of said year. Historically, it's just never been my bag to subscribe to that type of thing - and this new year was really no different. True to form, I did not compile some silly list of empty good intentions, i.e.: "this year I will exercise more regularly" (fuck that) or "I'm def. gonna quit smoking entirely" (anybody got a light?) or "I gotta get a better paying job" (can you say, "not qualified"?) But what DID happen, as this new year approached, was that I found myself sweeping up a small pile of wreckage; the shrapnel from run-ins with guys who I'd met and to whom for varying lengths of time I'd shown some interest, but who also categorically and coincidentally ended up on a list of sorts - right at New Years...my shit list. And it's not like writing off some asshole - in and of itself - is anything so spectacular, I've been methodically adding guys to my ongoing list of "Never Again's" since I first dove into the online dating pool a year and a half ago. The difference was, that unlike all of the times before, THIS time there was not one single solitary soul waiting in the wings to step up to the plate after I had literally wrung out the very last drop. It seemed almost odd good timing though, that I should find myself cleaning house (so to speak) and subsequently left with a completely blank dating slate - at the dawn of this new year...and rather than becoming discouraged by the deficit in dating options, I saw it as positive and productive preparation for ushering in a pristine and polished NEW YEAR...

One thing's for sure - with me and men, it's always either feast or fucking famine and actually both, in their own way along with the holiday mayhem, are responsible for the lengthy lapse of time between my last post and this one (which may wind up to be two, depending on how absurdly long-winded I'm apt to become) For a few weeks it felt like I literally had nothing earthshattering about which to scribble...and then I was blessed with a boon of accelerated activity, which left me thoroughly entertained, but with very little time to devote to doodling about it all. I should mention that the date at the top of each new blog entry is actually the date on which I BEGAN writing that post...not the date on which I completed and uploaded it. And in the case of this newest post, it also happened to be the date on which I stopped writing...after I simply ran out of material. But it's January 2, 2010 today, and I am savoring this first quiet moment in eons, not by packing up all of the Christmas shit or attempting to scale the K2-sized pile of dirty clothes overtaking my laundry room, like I SHOULD be doing...but instead by sitting down to my trusty ole Mac and spewing about all that has happened...

A few weeks ago, after diffusing and deferring the sitcheeashun with M3 and then spending umpteen, endless hours on my computer decompressing, I decided that I was cold and tired and the only way to fix THAT would be to go over to the house and thaw out in a nice, hot tubby. I undressed and stood shivering as I turned on the tap...only to have not one drop of water spill forth from the spigot, for fuck's sake! So now I was naked, SUPER cold, pissed AND worried...because my heat is geothermal, and (dunce that I am) I didn't know at the time that the system operates off of its own self-contained water source...so, in order to avoid what I thought could be catastrophic damage to the system - I got dressed, turned off the heat (essentially eliminating ANY chance of getting warm that night) and went back over to my studio (which runs off of the same well) to see if by some stroke of luck, I still had running water over there. And wouldn'tcha know it...I did not...

It was 11 p.m. or later, so calling the plumber to come determine and fix the problem was out of the question. Instead, I delayed going back over to my soon-to-be frigid-ass house and attempted to pacify myself by sitting baaaack down to my trusty ole Mac, in the hopes of finding someone with whom to chat. I logged onto my all-time favorite dating site and opened an email that had been delivered to my inbox, only a minute or two prior. The message began with, "Is a year too late to respond?" When I saw the profile photo attached to the email, I vaguely remembered contacting the author, many months before. And after going through old mail in my "sent box" I discovered that I had written my original, unacknowledged note to him almost exactly a year earlier. While I was composing my response, the sender - Muck Mouth - chimed in with an IM message. We began talking and he explained that he was in the throes of a nasty divorce and when I asked why in the world he had been on a dating site for all this time if he was married, he said that he and his wife had enjoyed an open marriage which worked out beautifully...until she fell in love with one of her extramarital paramours, although at this point she and that guy were no longer together.

Muck Mouth was now a nearly eligible, separated man, who had shed 30 lbs. since his horrible breakup and was eager to put the past behind him and to try and find his happiness with a new woman...preferably a divorcee who would perhaps identify with the pain and suffering that his ensuing divorce was causing him...O-Kaaaaaay...

We conversed effortlessly online for about an hour and before we signed off, I took him up on his offer to take me to dinner and a movie the very next night. I wasn't particularly stoked about the movie portion of the date though, cuz for one thing - I rarely ever go TO the movies, well...except for the local drive-in during the summertime, but that's different. Strange as it may sound, I don't enjoy going to movie theaters at all. I love to WATCH movies, but I prefer to do it in my jammies in my (normally) warm house with my own refreshments and the luxury of pausing for bathroom breaks and rewinding when I miss something. That's just me...I'm strange that way...But on top of that, I have never thought of the "movie date" as a very effective means by which to get to know a new fella. I mean duh...you can't exactly talk. I was kind of hoping that when Muck Mouth and I met for dinner - we would have such a glorious time shooting the breeze that we would forgo the whole movie thing, and just stay put at the restaurant chatting endlessly over drinks...then dinner...then coffee...a pollyanna in rose colored glasses, you say? pffft...

I arrived at the restaurant a few minutes before Muck Mouth got there, and I spent the idle time letting myself get all excited about meeting him. I reminded myself of his black and white profile pic. which showed him in a relaxed reclined position with a confident, devilish smile that washed over his otherwise moderately handsome face...and in the midst of my daydreaming...the real Muck Mouth entered the lobby...much shorter than my 5' 4" frame (which was admittedly somewhat exaggerated atop my signature 4" heels) Every component of his outfit looked suspiciously too crisp, almost as if he'd purchased it all in a panic just that afternoon for the sake of our date...(like the cell phone he produced at dinner - his first ever at age 36 - presumably so that we might better stay in touch after our date, *gulp*) He donned a "Man-in-Black" style dress shirt which was tucked into belted jeans that actually fit (eep!) and was accented by a necktie of an unfortunate, clashing shade of black...guh...I stopped myself from looking any further down for fear I might catch a glimpse of his shoes...too risky a gamble...

You know - it just so totally sucks ass when, after driving an hour with high(ish) hopes that you might actually like this one, the guy walks in and all you wanna do is be honest and say, "I am already certain that we are not a good match" and head home...But Muck Mouth had not committed any heinous infraction...he had not lied about himself in his profile, he was who he said he was...the problem was, that I just didn't dig the guy that he was, once I saw him in person. So I had to do the polite thing and not let my body language give me away. I lifted my slumping shoulders and I did my best to brighten what had to have been a disappointed look on my face...

We sat down to dinner and the moment that he began to talk, my list of grievances with Muck Mouth mounted...beginning with a mannerism (malfunction?) that I found altogether repulsive. Whenever the guy spoke, he made this weird sticky clicking sound with his mouth, almost like his lips were sorta dry or something and the only trace of moisture was of a glue-like consistency. I figured it was because he was maybe a little nervous - which I could've forgiven, but the trouble was, even after a drink and an hour of conversation, the disgusting problem did not subside in the slightest. EVery...TIME...he...UTTered...a SINGle...SYLLable, his lips stuck together for a halfa second - all gooey and gross and then broke apart, audibly (*gak*) And he way overused the word "essentially" which only emphasized the nasty problem. All I could think was that even if I had've liked him, there would literally have been no way in hell that I ever could've willingly let my own mouth touch that mess...ick...

But here's the thing...shit got worse, cuz not only did he make those disgusting sounds when he talked, but he also talked A LOT! And positively everything out of his mouth dug his grave even deeper...not the least of which was the interminable stream of self-incriminating blabber that he was seemingly incapable of suppressing. As soon as it dawned on him that he was indiscriminately rattling off the unflattering details of his bitter divorce, he paused for a second and apologized for broaching a topic perhaps inappropriate for first date convo...but before we had a chance to change the subject, he was back to his inculpating monologue. He willingly divulged the fact that his ex had put herself up in a women's shelter after fleeing their home with their two children (say wha'?!) and that it had been necessary for him to seek the council of a defense lawyer as opposed to a divorce lawyer (oh really) And curiously, Muck Mouth does not have visitation rights with his children. Matter of fact he told me that once he showed up at their school to try and sneak lunch with them, but the principal insisted that he leave and promptly escorted him out of the building (What could've possibly possessed the man to tell me these things? What an idiot!)...Despite all of the negative spin, he was determined to have me believe that he was this erroneously accused and persecuted father and husband. Naturally though, what I gleaned from all that he was telling me was that he was quite possibly a wife and child abuser, nifty!...I wondered if and when he replayed our conversation in his mind later, would he have any concept of how fucked up everything that he told me sounded...and how much (astonishingly) more unattractive it made him...Don't get me wrong, I did appreciate his honesty and all. Lord knows I would rather find these things out about a guy before bringing him into mine or my children's lives (not that that EVER would have happened in this case)

By the time we settled the bill and left for the movie, I was actually relieved that Muck Mouth and I would be relegated to an environment that was NOT conducive to conversation. We basically did not talk again, except to say goodbye in the parking lot after the movie was over. I sent him a message the next day, to say "Thanks for dinner" and he quickly responded with some annoyingly upbeat and hopeful message which I ignored and I have not spoken to him since, nor do I intend to...

So there ya' have it...casualty #1 on the pre-New Year's pile of rejects...

Next was M3...Ok, so as you know - after sorting out our differences, we'd made tentative plans to meet in a public place and if he turned out to be the guy who I met in the mall, then we were onboard to go back to my place and live out all of his warped fantasies. Although my gut was telling me that I might be putting myself in a potentially dangerous situation, there is definitely this sorta sick side of me that is titillated by the idea of being blindfolded and bound and boinked 9 ways to Sunday, so I was still kind of up for it. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that yeah - I definitely look forward to the day that I can dabble in that arena - but wouldn't it make more sense to experiment with a person with whom I'd already established some trust, like within the confines of a committed relationship? I didn't know dick about M3, I mean it was entirely possible that he really is some sicko who after the deed was done, would dice me up and ditch my bagged-up corpse into a culvert somewhere. But even so, I still felt obliged to move forward with our plan....if for no other reason than that he was my only good prospect for getting laid any time soon and writing about the experience would definitely crank up the heat in my tepid blog...(ima 'tard)

But before I had an opportunity to either fish or cut bait, M3 sealed our fate...He sent me an email in which he angrily announced that he had lost all interest in meeting me...for you see, he had read my blog...the entry about him to be exact...and as he put it, the things that I'd written were pretty shitty...As I scrolled down his note, the words "ohmygodohmygodohmygod!" kept running in a continual loop insida muh head. My insides seared hot with embarrassment and I was totally regretting having capitalized on his candid forthrightness on the pages of my blog for the sake of a little shock value. But the more times that I read over his hostile dismissal of me, the more I became galvanized in my steadfast suspicion that M3 was still just as full of sheize as ever. I became convinced that he was using his chagrin with unearthing the blog as his only viable exit strategy, knowing that we could never actually meet since he was more than likely NOT the guy from the mall. The more I thought about everything, the more my mortification morphed into irritation.

M3 had made it virtually impossible for me to learn much at all about him after he'd blocked me from viewing his profile...I mean after we'd met, all I'd wanted was to just peep at his photos and compare his real face to his pics., but Noooooo! And when I resorted to Google searching the name attached to his personal email account in the hopes of learning something...anything about him, I came up with plenty...but each of the numerous search results first needed to be translated from either Danish or Arabic into English, in order for me to be able to do anything with them...flippin' weird...So then I knew that even the name on his email account was fake. No two ways about it, M3 just oozed bullshit. It further drove me nuts that HE was able to snoop around and find out god knows what about ME, not the least of which was the very thing that derailed us; my damning, dirty blog. And while we're on that subject...M3's message to me was scolding and skewed which was unquestionably irksome, but the thing that bugged me the most was a simple, insignificant technicality. I'm still not sure why it bothered me so much when he inaccurately described my depiction of him and our interactions in the blog as "smarmy"...I mean, "smarmy"? Really? Sure 'bout that? Might wanna look that one up, buddy...I could definitely understand his malcontent with my decision to print his lusty emails, but he only bitched about that for a second, almost as an afterthought. Mostly he incorrectly recollected our correspondence by blatantly misquoting my reply to one of his first emails (must have gotten it confused with a note from one of his other bitches) which really frustrated me because since he'd BLOCKED me on POF (the asshole) I no longer had access to my messages to him, and was left powerless to effectively defend myself. Honestly, the general tone of the blog entry in question was not that far removed from my last phone convo. with M3. I mean if you ask me, it was all old news (with maybe just a pinch of irreverence) Again...I truly believe that he was simply seizing a fortuitous opportunity to legitimately back out. I decided that it wasn't even worth it for me to waste my breath responding to him...never look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say...

M3 was a sketchy piece of shit, no denying it, and after reading his note for the final time I was no longer wincing from acute shame. In a weird kind of way, I was actually relieved to be done with the whole thing before it had even really gotten started. I know I sound like a complete wuss, but the whole time I had definitely been more than a little leery of getting together with the guy, it just seemed like doing so had the all the earmarkings of something seriously regrettable...or possibly worse...

Mmmmhmmm...that's right...#2 (how very fitting) adds himself to the New Year's heap...

Alas, there is still one final fuckwad who found his place appropriately at the very apex of my shit list. I don't intend to waste more energy or time than necessary raking this one over the coals, enough is as good as a feast I dare say...I just need to state the facts simply, maybe ask your opinion and lay to waste once and for all, my fluctuating fixation on the prick. To whom pray tell, could I possibly be referring? Oh, well that would have to be none other than the misogynistic Mystery Man (from the older entries, "Spare the Rod..." and "Heaven has no rage...") a.k.a. "the guy from the past"...the name with which I not so slyly attempted to disguise him in my last post.

As I said in the last post, I was ecstatic to be invited to be suddenly reunited with the Mystery Man and even more delighted that he'd offered to make the drive out to see ME, this time. That being said, I still made light work of keeping my emotions in check. I'd adopted a sensible (though dreadfully unoriginal) mantra that perfectly suited my thing (whatever it was) with the Mystery Man: "it is what it is"...

Ok, so following our little play date, we were heading into the holiday week...Christmas was merely days away. While we were together, the Mystery Man had mentioned something about me or me with my kids, joining him at a party a couple of nights later, which he was attending at his sister's house not too far away from where I live. I was completely into it and hoped that he would follow up and officially invite us...but he didn't and I was surprisingly cool with that.

Next, I got an email from him which he'd also sent to a mutual friend and some girl that I don't know, inviting us all to come to his place Christmas night - for drinks, then dinner out and a night on the town in the big city. I was thrilled! And I told him so...Big mistake? Perhaps...

I got to thinking though, what if the other girl was meant to be the Mystery Man's date, and he was setting me up with the mutual friend? Well now, that might be just a tad awkward...but whatever, I was still excited to get out of town and go hang with good peeps.

I responded without delay and asked if it would be ok if the mutual friend and I (we were to be traveling together) arrived a bit late because of other obligations. He said that would be fine, but looking ahead at the abysmal weather forecast for that night, he predicted that there was a very good chance that none of us would be going anywhere...(the old grump)

K, so Christmas day arrived and I had the most amazing morning with my kids, ever. Their dad came to fetch them and whisk them away for a week long trip to my favorite tropical locale (*sniff*) I packed the things that I needed for my short trip to the city and left to go sup with friends. It was cold and rainy, but the roads were totally fine.

After dinner but before I left my friends' house, I checked in with the mutual friend, to see about making arrangements to meet up. He said that he was enjoying a relaxing, mellow night with family and thought that he might prefer to just stay put. Which was fine. I then texted the Mystery Man to tell him that the mutual friend was bailing, and asked if he was still up for having a visitor to which he replied, "I'm at my sister's. But another time soon, I hope"

Now...correct me if I'm wrong, but..............WHAT THE FUCK?!!!

I refuse to let myself go on some huge tirade about what a dickhead move it is for someone to invite a person (clearly an insignificant peon, no doubt) to drive an hour and a half to come out for a visit and then fucking brainfart on alerting them to the fact that not only did you renege on your invitation altogether, but that you aren't even AT HOME!

And so...after brutally curb stomping asshole # 3 in my vivid imagination and then tossing his limp (pun intended, but that's for another time) carcass onto the pyre...I happily flew solo for a few days before setting the table for......the FEAST...

Looking for an Oasis in the Middle of the Desert

A couple of weeks ago, after a modicum of surreptitious detective work, an old friend of mine tracked me down on OkCupid, my most favorite dating site of the multitude that I frequent. We had not seen nor spoken to each other at all, in nearly 20 years, so it was a really nice surprise to be able to catch up with him after so long and I also liked knowing that I had a new ally...a pal...a buddy! - on that site. The Professor had just recently joined OkC and after skimming over my profile he was not ignorant to the fact that I have become a somewhat seasoned online dater, so he asked me to please check out his profile and share any ideas I might have with which to improve his own page, so I did both. He then poked around some more on MY profile, and before too long he'd unearthed the web address of my dreaded, dirty blog...and - like a good little soldier - he promptly set about getting himself up to speed on my well-chronicled online (and otherwise) dating catastrophes from the last year and a half. After reading just a few entries, he sent a message, complimenting me on what he considered to be "outstanding writing" (why gracias!) and then concluded his note by saying he wished that he knew how much of what I wrote was based on truth and how much of it was merely "inspired"...which got me to thinking...

I guess it had never occurred to me before, that folks could be out there, merrily reading along on my blog site, all the while rolling their eyes thinking, "Oh she is SO full of malarkey, this one!" I mean yes - I do tweak quotes and names (for obvious reasons) and I do sometimes condense the string of events in order to expedite reaching each bitter end before I get like 5000 words deep, for godssakes. But the bulk of each entry is full-on truth. Believe me, I couldn't make this shit up if I had to! Which brings me to another little factoid...I'm beginning to wonder if I even have it in me to write fiction at all. I struggled with this conundrum, last month while working on my NaNo book. I chugged along effortlessly, during the memoir-ish portion of the novel, but the minute I reached the part in the story where I had to rely on creative imagination to guide me the rest of the way (and with only about 7000 words to go) I completely seized up. I definitely hadn't anticipated that happening, either - it totally threw me for a loop! I guess I'd figured that making up the moderately fantastical ending would be just as simple for me as the autobiographical part had been if not more so, but it wasn't - not even close!

The same thing applies when writing my blog. There are times when I literally have nothing noteworthy to report, especially during the extended time periods when my kids being here at home with me, limits my socializing or when I'm simply stricken by a particularly dull, s l o w phase. I'll moan and whine to my friends about how badly I'm jonesin' to write, but extenuating circumstances render me impotent to harvest any new material for my poor, neglected blog. Without fail, my friends will fuss, "Just make something up - for cryin' out loud!" And to that I say - not only would I never dare post glaring untruths for the sake of simply getting my blog up, but even if I wanted to fabricate some fabulously far-fetched fable - I am nearly convinced that I am virtually incapable of fudging the facts. Except for, that is...when my psychotic imagination takes the reins. There IS a difference, you know - between creative imagination and psychotic imagination - especially when it comes to theorizing about the unusual situations in which I find myself with the guys I meet online...Creative imagination needs no explaining, everybody knows what that is...but for me at least, psychotic imagination steps in (whether I want it to or not) whenever I need help solving a mystery or resolving a problem, by conjuring up oftentimes ridiculous explanations which usually either placate me...or totally wig me out. Agreed, I do throw out some pretty bizarre shit from time to time while waxing philosophic on the pages of my Big Ugly Blog, and it may seem like utter balderdash to the naked ear, but if I sincerely believe my wacky suppositions to be true, then it doesn't matter how off-the-wall they sound to everyone else - to me they are fucking creed and ain't nobody gonna change that!...(until I look a total foo' once they're proven otherwise, of course) But here, allow me to attempt to back up this hypothesis with a story about my recent, curious interaction with Mr. Model Man, or M3, as I prefer to call him...

Sometime in early November, I wrote a short note to M3 immediately after happening upon his beautiful face on one of my dating sites. Discovering a handsome, fresh face, among all of the worn-out old familiar ones, seems to me - comparable to finding an oasis in the middle of the desert. Needless to say, I did not hesitate to attempt staking my claim on the "ripe for the picking" - newbie. M3 mentioned on his profile that he is a Scorpio, and since it was November and all, I wrote to him and wished him, "Happy Birthday! It must be sometime soon, right?" He responded with an "LOL" and then asked where I live in relation to where he lives. He then suggested that we get together for coffee, sometime and closed his note out with one of these: " ;-) " which I have since learned is his punctuation mark of choice, throughout and at the end of every email and text...seriously annoying, but whatevs...I told him how far I lived from him and said that coffee sounded great, and asked him to let me know where and when would suit. After which I heard not a peep from him until more than two weeks later.

When he did get back to me, out of the blue he sent his cellular digits and asked me to call him that day, so that we could formulate a plan to get together. I texted (so he'd have MY #) to tell him that I would be working in my studio all day, and invited him to call me whenever he found a free moment...but I never heard word one from him. So, THEN...I dunno...like maybe another week later, he wrote to me asking what my schedule looked like over the next few days and from there we set wheels into motion, and FINALLY decided on a time and a place to meet. I should tell you though, that soon after we'd ironed out our plans, M3 sent me a note in which he wondered, "You do know that I am interested in finding a monogamous, sexually-focussed relationship, right? I just thought that I should be clear about that before we go too much further, I don't want anyone to be disappointed" I was a little confused because, no - he had never specified what kind of relationship it was that he was after and honestly, I wasn't 100% certain what he meant by "monogamous/sexually-focussed". I mean I knew what the words literally meant and all, but what was he saying - that he was basically on a mission to find a faithful fuck buddy, no emotional strings attached? Not wanting to let insignificant minutiae stand in the way of a potentially good time, and - talking outta the side of my mouth, I answered back that it seemed as if we were looking for practically the same thing...(or something)

The last time I partook in "Date Night", was that heinous night when Blue Steel gagged me with his slab-o-bologna tongue and I then topped off our less-than-impressive evening together - by hitting a deer while driving my cute, little car home, grrr...So, not last Tuesday, but the one before that, I got the chance to resurrect and hopefully redeem "Date Night", by driving an hour east of where I live, in order to meet up with M3 for coffee. As I was parking my cute, little car I got a text from him, warning that the Starbucks where we were supposed to meet was closed and that he was waiting for me instead, on the third level out in front of Saks. He also threw in that his hair was shorter now than it was in his pictures online. Ok, no problem...it's coo', esse...I then reminded HIM that my hair was now blond, not knowing if he'd noticed the updated photos that I had recently added to my own profile.

I approached the fawn colored, leather sofa at the entrance of Saks, where I saw a slender, well-dressed man seated and slightly facing the other way. He was sporting tidy, business attire; a dark grey, lightweight woolen suit, and smart, black leather shoes. As he turned towards me, I was struck, not by the fact that M3's hair was much shorter than in his photos as he had warned, but more that it seemed to be so much darker than I'd remembered, and his face seemed a bit different too. At the time I kinda mentally poo-pooed the discrepancies in his appearance, because short hair or dark or whatever - the guy there before me - my date for the night - was perfectly turned out and delectably gorgeous and mama definitely wanted summa dat!

It only took me a few minutes though, to realize that this was not going to wind up to be one of those fun, spontaneous, seat-o-the-pants kinda dates. In fact, it wasn't looking like it was going to be much fun at all. Directly following our "How do you do" hug, we sat down on that jumbo, cold couch and I asked, "So, since Starbucks is closed, whaddya wanna do?" thinking that maybe we would head on over to one of the many restaurants in the mall and grab a drink or two, or even dinner. But he dashed that idea with, "Oh, I told you - I have to meet a client at 9 o'clock, so I was thinking that we'd just sit here and talk until I have to leave" I thought to myself, "Uhhh...pretty positive that you never told me that, but that's fine...we can sit here and just...t a l k..."

Allegedly, ours was M3's very first official online date, and it was clear that he had been instructed by someone, to follow to the letter - the unwritten guidelines of appropriate first date protocol;

1.) meet in a public place

2.) avoid consuming alcohol

3.) hang out for one hour only

( B O R I N G ! )

The whole thing was very sorta stiff and formal and polite and to put it bluntly, M3 really just didn't seem all that into me. I have to say, when he stood up to leave, at exactly the one hour mark, I felt like I had just endured a probing and somewhat clinical interview...for what, though? The position of his concubine? And even so, it appeared that my performance (in his eyes) was definitely not the equivalent of a slam dunk.

We hugged once more, then turning to leave, I sifted through the contents of my bag for my single car key and came up empty-handed. Seemed I must have absentmindedly left it in the ignition of my cute, little car! I do that all the time, back in my safe, quiet little town - it's become kind of a (bad) habit. But M3 and I nervously joked that especially since I'd parked it in a bustling parking lot in a big city, directly underneath one of those glaring pole lights, there was the very distinct possibility that my car might not be there when I returned to where I'd parked it...hahaha??

Fortunately, my car WAS still there and the key WAS in the ignition as suspected, and so I texted M3 to let him know that everything was cool. Not that I thought he would be driving to his very important meeting in a state of panic - worrying about me or anything lke that, but this did give me an opportunity to also offer up the obligatory, "It was so nice to meet you" bullshit. He promptly sent a few back to back texts in which he said collectively, Yes - it had indeed been nice meeting, he apologized for having to cut our visit so short, asked if I would share my regular email addy with him, and closed by saying that he'd enjoyed talking to me and looked forward to doing more than just continuing our conversation, the next time that we got together ;-)...And so began M3's gradual shift from proper business man to over-the-top sexual dictator...

For the entire hour drive back home, I analyzed the date with M3. I was itching to get back to my computer, in order to compare his photos to the way he looked in real life. I was also kind of confused by the bubbly effervescence that spewed from his enthusiastic texts, but which contradicted his dry, staid disposition in person. Stuff just wasn't adding up...the whole thing felt kinda weird to me.

When I did finally get face to face with my trusty ole Mac, I opened my inbox on the site where I'd met M3 and it was the strangest damn thing...all of the messages that he had ever sent to me were no longer there. So I went to the "sent" messages...and all of the messages that I had ever sent to HIM were now suddenly missing, as well. Now THAT really was odd! I've never known messages to disappear, unless I deleted them or the admin. on the website removed them after they'd reached their life expectancy. Additionally, when I searched his username, he was nowhere to be found. The only explanation I could come up with, was that M3 had BLOCKED me from contacting him and viewing his profile. If he had closed his account, our exchanged messages would've still been intact, there would simply be a blank spot where his profile name used to be - that happens all the time. And when searched, his profile name would've appeared and I would've seen, "So and So closed their account on such and such date"...So why in the hell would he block me? Was he already home from his meeting and so disgusted with me after our date that he wanted literally NOTHING to do with me ever again, and vice versa?! Or...did he simply not want me to be able to compare the face that I'd seen on our date with the one that appeared on his profile...hmmmm...diabolical...

By the next day I had really kind of written the whole thing off, I mean seriously...M3 was way too good looking for me and honestly - totally out of my league. I "got" why he wanted nothing to do with me, and it was no big deal. But I did find it sorta rude, the way that he'd gone about giving me the axe, sheesh!

Anyway, later that same day, while I was busily plugging away at my job, I was surprised to receive a text from M3 which read simply, "You've got mail ;-)" I assumed this meant that he'd reconsidered and presumably sent something to my regular email account since we were apparently no longer communicating on the dating site. (What in the world was going on? He was acting like everything was just hunky dory!) I told him that I was at work, but that I looked forward to reading what he'd sent, when I got home later that evening....and I finished out my day at work with a giant question mark hovering over top of my head...

The email that I opened that night, was the first in a string of increasingly more and more racy emails that flowed forth over the next few days. And they really did not seem to jibe with the demeanor of the man who I'd met out in front of Saks. (Enter my psychotic imagination...) I was beginning to seriously wonder if the man that I met had been some sort of a decoy for a more shady character skulking around online, looking to prey on a stupid, single, desperate divorcee. But since I am not a shy person and always one to up the ante a bit (so often for the sake of my blog) I egged him on (whoever he was) by answering each email, candidly.

Here's what happened when he asked me this series of questions:

(oh, and btw - a T.M.I. Warning is in effect! If you're at all squeamish, you might consider skipping this next section...)

1) What is your favorite position? - I am always willing (and happy!) to try most anything. But the amateur contortionist in me particularly likes it when I'm squished all up into a little ball…knees up beside my ears…you get the picture...Sure - I like it from behind, no doubt! But it doesn’t usually “get me there” unless I prop myself up underneath, with a pillow...if I do that, well then - I'm golden!

2) Do you prefer to be more submissive or more dominant? - Although I am not this way so much in daily life - I definitely gravitate more towards the submissive role with a lover...suffice it to say - I like to be told what to do...

3) Do you enjoy oral sex? - Hells yeah!...I’m more of a “giver”, though. I’ve never really warmed up to “receiving”...not totally sure why. I think that I always feel selfish or guilty or something.

4) When a man cums in your mouth, do you spit or swallow? ;-) let’s just say that I don't remember ever spitting…

5) Have you ever had a relationship based on sex? No...not really...I've had extremely passionate relationships, where sex was a huge push, but most of my relationships have encompassed far more than just "sex"

6) What would you like to do the next time we meet—any particular fantasies? - I've never gone on a second date with anyone, expecting to live out any specific sexual fantasies...necessarily. But I've already told you that I am submissive...so I guess, assuming we do in fact click in a more intimate setting - I would have to just do what I was told...(or...give you a blow job in the shower, ha!)

(Hey! Don't give me that look...you were given fair warning...)

Next, he sent me a detailed note depicting the way that HE wanted things to go, the next time that we got together...and here is where I really started to wonder if I was getting myself in just a leetle over my head...

Ok. This is how I picture the next time I see you. Let me know what you think...

You will prepare for my arrival. You will dress in a skirt (above the knee), white button up blouse, and no bra. You will wear black lace panties, until instructed to remove them. Your hair will be worn down. Your bedroom will be tidy, with candles burning and the blinds closed. The bedcovers will be pulled down. Two scarves will be placed on the bed; just so you know, one will be used as a blindfold, and one may be used to bind your hands…

I will call you as I get near to your house. You will open a bottle of wine, pour two glasses, and drink half of yours--to allow you to relax. As you begin to think about what we are going to do, you may begin to pleasure yourself…

When I park out front, I will call you again. You are to do the following: unlock the front door, go to your bedroom, put on the blindfold, and kneel at the foot of your bed. You will hear me enter your place. You will hear me enter your bedroom, and taste the wine you have poured. You will hear me walk over to stand in front of you, and you will feel me gazing at you hungrily. You will hear the distinct sound of my zipper slowly opening, and you will open your mouth…

Uh oh...that not sound so good...

I was almost a smartass when I responded to this last note. He just came across as SO imperious and I couldn't resist tempering his bossiness with a touch of my own assertiveness (so much for being submissive, eh?) I corrected him on many of his demands, such as: "I almost never wear my hair down anymore, my room is ALWAYS tidy, I don't own that type of clothing, I do not drink wine recreationally - it'll be vodka for me thank you very much, and if I DO wear the blindfold, I WILL have to peek out from under it to make sure that you're the same guy from the mall and not accompanied by five of your friends looking to get in on the action" I mentioned that I have 2 dogs who are somewhat protective and the chances of him actually entering my house and my bedroom, unescorted and unscathed, were slim to none. As I hit the send button, I knew there was no way in HELL that I could ever go through with something like this. No freaking way! The fact that he wanted to spend our next visit together at my house, led me to further worry about the possibility that he might not be the person that I met at the mall, and I must admit...I was beginning to retreat...

Simultaneous to setting a date for all of M3's kinky fantasies to go down (this past Sunday, to be exact) a certain someone from my not so distant past (who will remain anonymous for the time being) popped back into the picture after months of understandable silence. I almost felt like the fact that he was contacting me, must surely mean that I was being punked or something. I just couldn't comprehend why he would ever want to talk to me again, after I had so viciously, verbally castigated him here in the Big Ugly. But the weirder part was, that I was really happy to have heard from him, and even more delighted when he asked if I was available to do something over the weekend...I would have willingly put him in M3's slot on Sunday, but the guy from the past wanted to do something on Saturday, so I would not be able to use him as my excuse for getting out of the planned sex-fest with M3.

I was super stoked to have something much more savory (in comparison to the thing with M3) to wrap my brain around though, and the idea of reuniting with the guy from the past made it easier for me to disconnect from M3, who sent repeated, nagging texts telling me that he needed to know what I would be wearing, that he NEEDED that visual...and spooky shit like that. I would wait hours and hours before responding when I did at all, he was creeping me out pretty hard and I was totally backpedalling. I did finally ask him if he had blocked me from viewing his profile to which he replied, "I deactivated my account after we met ;-)" (Suuuure ya' did and what does "deactivate" mean, anyway...there's no "deactivate" button on Plentyoffish) Finally as we were nearing crunch time, and I was becoming even more remiss in responding, he said, "I guess I should assume from your lack of response, that you've lost interest and I should reactivate my profile" I said, "I wish you WOULD reactivate your account, I've been wanting to look at your pictures" He then said that if I wanted to see pictures of him so badly, that he would just email some to me, but he never did.

I was thrilled to be distracted from the M3 debacle, for the endurance of the guy from the past's visit. I was finally able to let my psychotic imagination take a break from filling my head with thoughts of being some fledgling serial killer's maiden victim. Quite frankly, I really didn't care if M3 eventually got so pissed off by my inattentiveness, that he just went away. Plus I was looking forward to having another, maybe better chance, of getting cozy with the guy from the past...

I had a very nice time with the guy from the past. It's always nice to visit with him...he's intelligent, fun, attractive...all of that, but he is definitely not into me beyond just a quick little overnight here and there. And this time, since I acknowledged that, I did not get my nose all outta joint over it. I just accepted that it is what it is, and realized that that was perfectly fine with me. So there...

Once the guy from the past had left my house late Sunday morning, the M3 dilemma was in my face yet again, after having checked my phone and finding a half a dozen unread texts from him, from that morning alone. Each one some variation of, "Looks like you're not interested...good luck to you...blah, blah, blah" I decided to call him on what my psychotic imagination had me totally convinced was his utter horse shit...

We texted back and forth and I immediately addressed my discomfort with the idea of him showing up at my place. I insisted that before we get carried away with living out all that he had in mind for us, we needed to first meet in a public place so that I could be certain that he was the guy that I'd met at the mall and that he was not traveling with an entourage. He took offense to my audacity to dare suggest that he might be as underhanded and deceitful as all that. But I unwaveringly insisted that if he was such an upstanding guy, as he claimed, then he should have no problem respecting and honoring my desire to play it safe. He said that attacking his character like that was hurtful. (Awww...poor baby!) And that meeting ahead of time sorta ruined the thrill factor (pshaw!) Anyway, this banter went on for awhile until I finally got fed up with texting the same exact thing over and over again. I said that we were getting nowhere with the texting and if he wanted, he should just call me. My phone rang a few minutes later and although I did not remember his voice in person sounding the way that it did on the phone, he did have a slight Michigan accent. I mean, I knew that M3 was from Michigan and all, but I did not remember him sounding quite like that.

By late Sunday afternoon (too late to still get together that day, phew!) we finally reached a middle ground of sorts, and after he accepted my concerns about my safety and I assured him that I was not questioning his character, we agreed that meeting at a coffee shop or restaurant up the road from my house first (when and if we do finally meet) would be fine. He asked when I would be free again, I told him NEXT Sunday, he said that would work for him and we left it at that.

Now, even though my sensible head tells me that I might genuinely have it all wrong...that M3 could actually be the handsome man from the mall, his intentions kinky but not sinister...my psychotic imagination STILL has me mostly convinced, that the guy behind the texts and the emails and on the phone, is NOT the guy who met me out in front of Saks...and if I'm correct, 50 bucks says that I never hear from him again. And if THAT turns out to be the case, then it really frightens me to think what might've happened if I'd just let him show up at my house, like he so adamantly insisted upon doing at first. It is psychotic imagination-driven speculation that M3 could be grossly overweight, or hideously ugly or too old or too young for me, or even physically perfect, but either way - clearly lacking the skills necessary to win the affections of a girl on his own merits...Or even worse still - what if he IS some sort of psychopath, looking to do horrible things to a disposable, dumb girl like me...I KNOW! It sounds CRAZY! But this is what I've been trying to tell you guys...even if the idea that I get in my head sounds utterly preposterous and IS completely "made-up" (FICTION!) I write about it because to me it's truth until I get some sort of proof that either debunks or quantifies it. I'm a whackjob...what can I say...

And so here's me...still nomadically roaming that vast online dating desert...and yeah, I've been lured towards some mighty tantalizing oases, to be sure! But each time that I reach what I'm hoping will be the edge of a clear, blue pool - I inevitably discover that it's nothing more than a stupid, freaking mirage...differentiating fact from fiction is clearly not my strong suit...

(Oh shit...looks like I owe you guys $50, too...I just got a text from M3..."Good Morning! ;-)"...I guess we're still on for this Sunday...wish me luck...burn a candle...say a prayer?)

Something Ventured, Nothing Gained

Well...I did it, thank freakin' god! I got my 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo - 50,107 to be exact, and I still have a couple more days to increase my word count, should I care to do so. What's funny though, is that reaching the 50k word mark might actually prove to have been the easy part. Now I get to look forward to the overwhelming task of taking this absurdly contrived, atypically reserved, skeletal structure of a manuscript and revising, editing and injecting it with an interesting voice in the hopes of winding up with at the very least, a halfway decent novel. In my best estimation though, doing THAT could easily take every bit of the year leading up to the NEXT NaNoWriMo...(*sigh*)...But more than anything else right now, I'm just so happy to be able to get back to work on the Big Ugly...I've been missing writing with abandon about decidedly edgier stuff...

All right, so even though writing my story was priority #1 this month, I still couldn't help but collect a little data for my next blog entry. I mean think about it, I was basically firmly fixed to my desk chair, in front of my trusty ole Mac for much of the entire month of November (and I've got the atrophied ass to prove it too, btw) and because I am something of the human equivalent of Pavlov's dog - conditioned to peruse all of my favorite dating sites whenever I'm at my computer - I kept a few tabs open at all times, so that I could bop back and forth between sites and keep an eye out for any new developments (I'm doing just that as we speak, matter of fact) So, one random, childless weeknight, I was diligently working on my book, with my Facebook page peeking out from behind my novel document, when I noticed that Willow was IMing me on FB. She was taking a break from tackling the formidable chore of straightening up her messy-ass room and she sounded pretty chipper. I was glad to see that she was in a good mood, because ever since our fun Friday night in D.C. a few weekends ago, she hasn't really heard much from M.C. Ginger, and since she is a girl who tends to fester incessantly over boys, needless to say, she's been a bit of a bundle of insecurity over his uncomfortable silence. While we were chatting, she mentioned that she might keep her options open by trying to reconnect with a couple of former, promising online options rather than just sit around waiting for M.C. Ginger to make a move. I told her that I thought this seemed like a very wise idea. After all, it definitely can't hurt to keep one or two on the back burner, just in case stuff doesn't end up panning out with your #1 pick. So, while Willow and I were IMing, I got a text from the 22 year old Grouchy Guy from the last entry. You remember...the one with whom I never managed to finalize a plan to get together, over the D.C. weekend? In his text he asked simply, "You still wanna try to get together?" I said "Sure" He then sent, "We could meet halfway and then find someplace to stay" I thought to myself, "Mmmm yeah...you'd like that, wouldn't ya', little boy..." I didn't even bother to respond. Anyway, after marveling with Willow over the Grouchy Guy's brazen presumptuousness, I completely ducked out of working on my story for the moment, and skittered over to the site where the Grouchy Guy had first contacted me, and I discovered that he had just viewed my profile. Now let me remind you guys - that Friday night while I was in D.C., I had mentioned to the Grouchy Guy in a text, that perhaps Willow or Janine might be more reasonable dating possibilities for him. After which, he abruptly corrected me by quipping, "I don't date girls my own age"......OK! I got it dude...sorry - MY BAD!

I knew that Willow was nosing around on the same site over at her house on her own computer, and I suggested that she go check out the Grouchy Guy, so that she could see for herself what I was dealing with. I actually thought that there was the slim chance that she might find him, like I did at first, to be a somewhat better looking version of M.C. Ginger. And I dunno, maybe she would even be slightly interested in getting to know him despite his increasingly more grating personality. I forwarded his screen name to Willow and she immediately responded with, "Wait! That guy just IM'd me like 10 minutes ago" (How weird was that?! Like what are the chances, you know?...That he would be communicating with Willow and me simultaneously, and that we would actually catch him doing so?!) I said to Willow, "Oh really? How very interesting...cuz I mean - aren't you HIS age, and wasn't he just asking me if he and I were still gonna get together...the fucktard" So I texted the Grouchy Guy and said, "U know what's funny? Turns out ur talking to a friend of mine, right now. The same girl I tried to set u up w the other weekend?" and then I sent, "Small damn world, eh?" Willow on her end, was IM'ing him saying, "I think you're also talking to a friend of mine, about getting together with HER. You told her you don't date girls your age. So why are you talking to me?" He attempted to cover his ass by saying, "Well...I PREFER older women, but I think you're kinda cute. Wanna hang out sometime?" Both Willow and I were in a state of total amazement. Like did this douche bag actually think that he could effectively work both angles with two very close friends, who both happened to be privy to his stupid greediness? I mean honestly, man.

Willow and I ignored him after that, and I was this close to deleting his # from my phone. But I've done that before, deleted some irritating fella's number - I guess mistakenly believing that it would somehow miraculously make the owner of the # disappear, as well...which we all know, it does not. To this day, I still get texts from guys that I deleted ages ago, and it kind of drives me crazy to not know who the sender is, even though I'm pretty positive that I have no interest in talking to them. So, I decided that I better leave the Grouchy Guy's name and number in my phone, that way I could better moderate future interactions. And not surprisingly, after about a week, I got another text from him - it was his staple, "Still wanna try to meet?" message. I feigned ignorance with, "Who is this?" and then heard nothing until 4 hours later when he sent, "The young guy from D.C." Needless to say, I did not reply...and I haven't heard anything from him since.

Last Friday afternoon, I was swiftly approaching the NaNoWriMo finish line. I had already written about 3000 words that day, and the momentum I was generating indicated that I might actually be able to log in the last 2000 necessary to finish, which would merit rewarding myself with a celebratory night out on the town with Willow et al. True to form, I was intermittently writing and jumping between dating and networking sites, when I got a message on one site, from a 31 year old man, listed as "available" - which anyone floating around in the online dating netherworld knows - means that he is either married or is in some sort of committed relationship, yeah... His profile pic. displayed no face, only just about the most jacked torso imaginable. His note to me read, "WOW! You are one hot woman!!!!!!" I thanked him and told him that I appreciated him saying so. To which he replied with, "You have a smokin' body" I said, "Ditto" We continued swapping messages and after he willingly answered "Yes" to my question, "So, I guess I am to assume that you already have a significant other?" we switched from emailing to IMing and the conversation quickly became rawther educational. Clothespin, let's call him (you'll see why in a minute) is in the 7th year of a nearly sexless marriage. He claims that his high sex drive and his affinity for the more kinky, does not bode well with his wife's unapologetic lack thereof. Specifically, she has a particular distaste for his interest in BDSM. Now I know the basic premise of BDSM but little else outside of that, so I couldn't help but ask him to tell me about some of his fetishes. He first informed me that he likes to masturbate with clothespins on his balls.........I mean call me sheltered, but I had never even heard of such a thing, woah! I tried putting one on my nipple, just to see how bad it was and I'm here to tell ya', it was BAD! I tolerated it for about a half a nanosecond and ultimately found the clothespin to be much more useful as a hair clip.

But Clothespin continued, and really aroused my curiosity when he told me that he especially enjoys "orgasm denial"...Again, I had no formal knowledge of this facet of BDSM, but I urged him to elaborate. He said that he likes to hold off climaxing until his lover tells him to do so. Oh ok, well I did sort of get that. I have to say, the best sex for me has always been when I've successfully manipulated my mind and my body in order to finish, at the exact same moment that my partner does...makes it like 1000 times more intense. Anyway, I had gleaned from our conversation, that like mine, Clothespin's own sexual leanings were of a more submissive bent than of a dominant one. Pity...for mama DOES like to be bossed around by a paramour. Nevertheless, despite having, hours earlier already answered the daily call to pleasure myself, I was once again, seriously turned on - thanks to my uninhibited, in-depth discussion with Clothespin. Next he asked me if I could send him a photo and I said that I'd gladly do so as long as he sent one to me in return. After admiring each other's pics., both of which were of a "leave a little to the imagination" level of revealing, there was suddenly no holding back. We both admitted to feeling quite lusty and after a bit more dialog, he said that looking at my picture was taking him to that happiest of happy places and that he couldn't hold off any longer. I told him I had already gotten there and encouraged him to have at it.

After it was all over with, my instinct was to hurriedly sign off and get the hell back on task, but then I thought, "Wait a minute...maybe I shouldn't be so hasty...what if he's really just lonely and still wants to talk and stuff..." But moments after he had collected himself, he dispelled my misplaced sympathy when he stated, "I'm sorry, I gotta go. Can we chat again later?"...could I be a bigger idgit? I mean I really should know better, shouldn't I? The whole thing felt eerily reminiscent of my cyber relationship with Mark, waaaaay back in the beginning of all of this nonsense (see ancient entry "Let the Games Begin, Again!") I asked myself, like I had for the endurance of my stupid thing with Mark, if what Clothespin and I had done together online, could be categorized as "cheating", and the answer that I came up with was twofold:

1.)If I ever found out that my boyfriend or husband had done something like that, I would be nothing short of fucking pissed!

2.)It's really no different than jerking off to porn or more accurately - a dirty magazine, being that Clothespin and I only had the benefit of typed words and a still photograph as our inspiration...

K, think I'll go with #2

Oh but hey, real quick - while we're on the subject of masturbation and all that goes along with it...might interest you to know (as it did me) that according to an article I came across in some silly women's magazine (so don't quote me on this), recent studies have shown that people who have regular orgasms throughout their adult life, (I for one started diddling myself in the 5th grade, and my enthusiasm has never waned) either through actual sex with a partner or singlehandedly (*snigger*) enjoy numerous positive side effects including: lowered risk of prostate cancer in men and breast and uterine cancer in women, nice! Also, turns out that the rhythmic motion of sex and whatnot, helps strengthen and tone the stomach muscles. I feel like I can kinda vouch for that, since the only excuse I have for being even remotely fit anymore, is the modicum of sex that I have and the abundance of the other. Masturbation is seriously like the closest thing that I've got goin' on nowadays, to a regular fitness regimen...Anyway, get this - just 4.5 minutes of vigorous, whatever - is equal to jogging for 15 minutes...No freakin' way! Additionally, after reaching climax, one experiences a 30 % higher level of the antibody immunoglobulin A coursing through their anatomy, which subsequently keeps horn dogs like me somewhat impervious to common illnesses. Sounds preposterous, I know! But I am perfectly fine with believing that this may be the reason that I rarely ever get even so much as a common cold...and here I'd been thinking it was my daily Airborne tablet that's been keeping me well, Ha! I personally have always maintained (even before reading the article) that having an orgasm is the best way to snap oneself out of a nagging hangover as well, and as it turns out, an increase in the hormone oxytocin (in women) post orgasm, raises the pain barrier by 40%, making the "Big O" as effective or more so than a common analgesic - so see? I was right! And finally, I take solace in the assertion that sex strengthens and protects cardiac muscles...makes me feel a little bit better about all o' them ciggies I puff...

Ok kiddies, class dismissed...Now get out there and have some great sex - with yourself or someone else - it matters not...either way is fine. And you know what else? Fuck the apple, turns out it's the orgasm that keeps the doctor away!

Friday night, after friends stopped by my place for a few drinks, before we were to descend upon downtown Winchester, I felt primed and ready to celebrate winning NaNoWriMo, driven by the mindset that is so typical of the common (desperate?) single person out on the prowl - "TONIGHT...I WILL score a bed-mate, I refuse to come home empty-handed!" For me at least, it's not so much that I have been lacking in the casual sex department, but every time that I've hooked up with a guy recently, it's either been in a car, or in a shed or some stairwell or couch...Is it really too much to ask, for the next time that I doink a dude, that it take place in my own cozy bed? (btw, I did finally reassemble and jury rig my busted bed frame [see older entry: "Reclaiming My Mojo, But Misplacing My Moxy"] by supporting the sagging middle with a pile of magazines...preeeetty sure it'll hold...looooking forward to finding out...) But taking hooking up with someone even a step further...Recently, I've been contemplating the kooky concept of seeing a person MORE than just once, you know like maybe even DATING them..............K, nevermind that...makes me sound like I've fallen off the deep end.

Earlier that Friday evening, like always, I put fresh, clean linens on my bed, guided by my unflagging optimism that certainly someone besides my dogs would help me get those nice, crisp sheets all dirty again, later on that night. And then while I was in the shower I found myself getting kinda misty over something that I hadn't really let myself ponder in awhile. It occurred to me how much I seriously do miss having a steady beau in my life...you know - someone with whom to sleep naked, tucked in tightly together under the covers...someone to greet in the morning with a big ole breakfast of bacon, scrambled cheesy eggs, cinnamon toast, baked apples and coffee with homemade whipped cream...someone with whom to romp in the shower - I mean it just feels like forever since I've soaped up a lover's body, or vegged out together on the shower floor, drunk as shit after a long night of partying, til the hot water runs out...Ehh well, fuck it...

As has become commonplace, my big night out on the town was as disappointing as ever, as far as men go. I mean it never fails that I end up having a blast with my friends, acting like total retards on the dance floor and stuff, and thank goodness for that, right? But honestly, the only bright spot in the Man Department was so ridiculous, that I hesitate to even address it...But of course...I shall...

Seems like every time I go out in Winchester anymore, I run into this really righteous guy, who I just always love to see! Copper Top is an M.M.A. fighter and an instructor at the gym where my son used to take Jiu Jitsu. He's a stellar, upbeat, young guy and every time I see him out, I try to finagle a love connection between him and Willow (he is clearly besotted by her otherworldly beauty, but she is always kind of on the fence about him) Anyway, so Friday night, I crossed paths with Copper Top again, and this time I was delighted to discover that he was accompanied by another trainer/fighter from the gym...the painfully young, but startlingly gorgeous - Les Yeux. I have to admit that I have always found him to be physically pretty fucking perfect...tall, cut, a badass...but my most favorite of his plethora of remarkable features, are definitely his eyes. This guy has the most beautiful eyes, ever! Big, bright and blue and rimmed with lashes so long and dark, that it almost looks like he's wearing eyeliner, it adds a sort of sweetness to his otherwise tough exterior. I've never really talked to him, other than to just say, "Hi" cuz for as long as I've known him, I've been pretty sure that he had a girlfriend, and knowing that has definitely helped to keep my cougar-esque tendencies in check. But Friday night, Les Yeux and I actually got the chance to chat a little, since Copper Top and I were spending a fair amount of time together trying to snag him a babe. After gathering the courage to inquire, Les Yeux informed me that he does not in fact, have a girlfriend at the moment, and this golden nugget of a news flash had the cougar literally clawing to get out of her cage...Les Yeux only exacerbated things when he ever so politely offered up a few glowing compliments which even made me blush a little, and I couldn't help but daydream about the idea of spoiling him on young girls forever...

Last Call was swiftly approaching and Willow and my other friends had gone up the street to get food. Even though I was trashed and definitely thinking impure thoughts about Les Yeux, I was still ambivalent about the idea of suggesting taking him back to my house or vice versa...But before I had the chance to decide whether to not to embarrass myself by either being unequivocally rejected by him or waking up next to one of my son's trainers, he mentioned to me that if he could leave with anyone that night, it would be the girl in the green hat. Dagger in the heart! A little - but not too much, cuz I actually did know that girl and I truly do like her and she would be a much more suitable match for Les Yeux. I told him all of that and led him over to her table to introduce the two of them and then I left to go find Willow and everyone else. And in a weird kind of way, I was sort of relieved...to be going home all by myself...

The next morning, after greeting my haggardly face in the bathroom mirror, I was even more glad that I had woken up alone. God! I just looked so old and worn out from too many long nights of partying, and well, the fact that I AM just plain OLD! I couldn't imagine the trauma that someone, especially a 22 year old man like Les Yeux, might experience upon waking up next to something that looked so rough. These consecutive nights of extreme partying and desperately searching for a mate are definitely starting to take a toll, both physically and mentally, and for what? They never produce any real results. I'm almost to the point of giving up on the bar scene, completely. It just feels like such a stupid fucking waste of time...(We'll see how long that attitude lasts, huh?)

That was Saturday, and I spent most of the day, here at my desk writing. And I was perfectly content with that. I friend requested Copper Top and Les Yeux on Facebook and they accepted, so that was kind of fun, and I wrote a quick note to Les Yeux, asking if and sincerely hoping that things had worked out with him and the Green Hat. He said that they really didn't have a chance to talk all that much, since it was Last Call and all, but that she'd told him that she was gonna be out again THAT night and he thought that he might go try to find her...and I was happy for him.

But here's where my impulsiveness rears it's ridiculous head. All that day, I kept thinking about Les Yeux's gorgeousness and different things, (ehemm)...and by 5:30 or so, I caved to the whim to send him yet another message, and I was stone sober...go figure! I told him that it was probably inappropriate of me, and I hoped that he didn't find it creepy, but just in case he should ever want to use it - "my cell # is:.........." (So to answer my own question - YES! I CAN be a bigger idgit!) But even so, do you know how Les Yeux responded to my glaring faux pas? He handled it in a more gentlemanly manner than I ever could've hoped. He simply...thanked me ;)

I have a date lined up for this Tuesday, with a former model (or so he says) Judging by his photos, he is way too good looking for the likes of me, but the good news is that he does happen to be my same age...so we'll see. We're meeting at 7 o'clock at a Starbucks which bisects the hour and a half distance between our two homes, so I'm really hoping that even if I dig him, there will literally be no way for me to end up doing something totally stupid. Although there was that little thing that he mentioned about looking for a sexually-focused relationship...Ah well...