A Watched Pot Never Boils

I'm finding it difficult to put any semblance of a positive spin on my recent, social life stalemate. For that matter, daily life in general these days, really just kinda blows. I am uninspired and alone (my kids have been with their dad for the last few days which I have to say - always compounds my loneliness...*sigh*) I'm basically unemployed and therefore - cataclysmically broke. So to you, my few devoted readers, I offer up my sincerest apologies for not only moving at the speed of chilled molasses to get this entry published but also - for only managing to schlock together the most measly, pathetic, puny, weak, whiney, bland, limp and boring entry (with a light smattering of "truly disgusting" thrown in for good measure) - to date. If you ask me, this would be the perfect opportunity for you guys to bypass this shit altogether and go deep into the recesses of the Big Ugly vault and pull up a few older, grittier, livelier entries...sound good? I say go for that!

Alas, for my own benefit...on I plod...

For the past few tedious weeks, I have been galumphing along on all of my dating sites as the last remnants of hope of ever unearthing anything remotely worthy of transcribing here, are all but vanquished...i.e.; I am now nearly convinced that I may have fully shot my internet dating wad, and that I might never again find myself out on one of my patent, ridiculously twisted, online-generated dates - the byproducts of which I count on to provide the fodder for this running monologue. I think my days (and nights) on the prowl - here in front of my trusty, ole Mac - may be numbered. There is literally NOTHING going on, no matter how hard I try to incite action. Even the paltry, few near-misses that I can tally, barely warrant me wasting your time or even my own - for that matter...and yet - in the self-indulgent interest of keeping my fingers loose and my mind from totally congealing, I'll continue on with this vapid pablum...

Let me break it down for you like this: I cannot even recollect the last time that I flashed my tits to some guy on the webcam or sent a tawdry text or received an X-rated email (snore)...I haven't had actual sex in nearly 3 months (yawn)...I haven't been on a date in over 3 weeks (humph!) and up until just a little bit ago, I hadn't even diddled myself in 3 whole days (I know! ME!!!) and even then, I practically had to force myself to do it...if for nothing else then to simply sweep out the cobwebs, for godssakes. I was glad I did it though, because it definitely took the edge off of a hangover that simply wouldn't quit (magical thing, that "Big O"...it'll cure what ails ya'!) Anyway, it's crystal clear to me, that I am teetering on the brink of admitting total defeat here and that I am poised to possibly throw in the virtual dating towel, for good. Naturally though, I can't help but wonder why things have come to such a screeching standstill. It has occurred to me that I may have become this used up, worn out, old face - that every guy online has seen a million times during the last 11 months - and in the process, I have (ironically) essentially become invisible to them. Or maybe my horrendous treatment of the huge percentage of guys that I've met and promptly dismissed, has sicked (sicced?) karma on my ass. I've tried to console myself by blaming the disquieting hush on epidemic, financial hardships. Perhaps folks (myself included) are growing too poor to prioritize boozin' it up at a bar all night long with some "virtual" stranger or gambling (and most likely losing) on finding love over an exorbitantly priced meal, when they should be saving their pennies for gasoline and groceries. Maybe it's that everyone is still in a lazy, hazy state of hibernation...Although after the unseasonably warm, last few days, it seems very unlikely that many peeps could have tuned out the ubiquitous mating calls of early Spring, and avoided stirring from their wintertime slumbers. I ran all of my gripes and theories past Better Jimmy and Juanny Baby the other day, and both guys admitted that things have been equally as dismal for them recently. And let me tell ya', those guys are far more hot and eligible than I'll ever hope to be. So......maybe it's not just me! And believe me, that notion definitely makes me feel a little better, but it still does nothing to solve the dilemma of "What the hell am I supposed to write about in my Big Ugly Blog?" for chrissakes!

Here, I'll give you what I've got: (You ready? Better brace yourselves...this is all VERY exciting stuff, right here!!!)

-My older brother "friend requested" me on Facebook, the other night and I accepted. Now, this might not seem like that big of a deal, but after the Thanksgiving night fiasco at my parents' house, I counted on never hearing from him again. So, this is good news for sure, but nonetheless - far from compelling journalism.

-A bunch of "tweeners" (Jordan's 11 - 13 year old friends from school) attempted to "friend" me on Facebook, as well (mmmm....nope...don't think so)

Ummm...what else, hmmm...

- Ok, there's this - I might be getting desperate enough to ask my mechanic out. Daryl is a wee bit...not country really or redneck exactly...more like a hunter meets a Nascar guy or something like that (nice, tight little body though) He's got a great face, bright blue eyes, short-clipped salt-n-pepper grey hair, naturally tanned skin, a really pretty smile surrounding a perfect set of straight, white teeth all perched atop a barely dimpled chin and chiseled jaw. And Daryl has started flirting with me, too (even though rumor has it that he's married) The other day, he blocked traffic from moving at all when he stopped his big truck smack dab in the middle of the bustling parking lot at Sheetz, just so he could talk to me while I pumped my gas. So, there is always that.

-My 9 year old son Jamie took a crap last week (created a monster in his lavatory) which looked exactly like a hand giving the "peace sign" (an abnormally L A R G E hand - mind you - but it had this teensy, little "thumb"...hee hee) He called me into the bathroom to marvel at it with him...ya' gotta love those tender moments that a mother and son share...together...in the can. (I realize that this snippet may be a little much for some of you out there to handle, but hey! What do you think the content warning in the beginning of this goddamned blog is for? My ass is so covered!

Nevertheless, you may be wondering if there a point to this story. And the answer is: no...not really. It is nothing more than the sad byproduct of acute boredom and the realization that my over-the-top and immature obsession with potty talk and off-color humor has evidently fostered in my young son, his own fascination with the perverse. Way to raise 'em up right, huh? Ok, so even though Jamie's masterpiece was maybe not as remarkable as finding say...the Virgin Mary in a potato chip, it was the best that the little guy could doo, er...do, and I appreciated that he was proud enough to share his triumph with his dear, old Mother.

There......we got the raunchy portion of this entry outta the way. And I mean like - who needs gratuitous sex when poop is always entertaining...

- In other news: I bounced a few checks (fuck), did not win the lottery (fuck), I stopped myself numerous times from contacting Jimmy and Mark (I told you, I'm getting pretty desperate) Mr. Dreamy shafted me again...And yes, his excuse was legit, but I know better than to kid myself that anything will ever happen between us. I'm just happy that he talks to me at all even if it is mostly only ever to confabulate over our mutual love of music...nothing wrong with that, right? I'll take whatever I can get. I've turned him on to a couple of bands that he's wound up really digging and that's been his primary motivation to contact me, either to rave about the good music I've sent his way, or to learn about more. Anyway, for our last unrealized date we planned (on a Friday) to spend the following Monday, snowboarding together. I knew better than to let myself get too excited about it, and even when Monday morning rolled around and I hadn't heard from him all weekend long, I resisted contacting him. The Sunday night before our "date", the town where Mr. Dreamy lives, got 6" of snow dumped on them during the only snowstorm of the whole winter (my own little town got practically nothing...figures) and so I pictured a lovely layer of fresh snow at the ski resort which would've made for an excellent day on the slopes, but when Mr. Dreamy finally IM'd me at nearly 11 a.m., he announced, unapologetically, that he was stuck at home with his kids for a school snow day...

- Oh, here's one for ya'! My cute, little pixie friend Beth and I went out a couple of weekends ago, to a nearby bar, for lack of anything better to do that night. We entered the upstairs bar, which was way too brightly lit (overhead lighting is so oppressive) and with only a few tables occupied by nervous-looking, middle-aged couples (in some cases, I seriously could not tell which one was the husband and which was the wife, most of them looked exactly alike, gender was nearly indiscernible...it was eerie) It didn't take Beth or me very long to figure out that most of them were waiting for their turns up at the Karaoke mic., while a 40-something, reasonably attractive, blond woman performed her lifeless rendition of a song that sounded like it could've been by the Carpenters, or Dionne Warwick, or...I really don't know...songs like that just don't register in my noggin'. Well, as I'm sure you can imagine, as soon as we had settled into the notion of partaking in Karaoke Night, my cute, little pixie friend was perusing the gigantic catalogs of songs just ripe for the picking! Unfortunately, her taste in music wasn't much better than the other participants'. Nonetheless - after much debate - Beth and I finally agreed to perform...as a duo...ABBA's "Dancing Queen".

After suffering through a string of consistently lackluster performances, it was finally our turn. Now, it wasn't that the people before us were bad singers, some of them were actually quite good. It's just that they were so flipping bo-ring...my god! Like zero stage-presence. My thing is this - I'm not the best singer in the world - not by a long shot - but I am a decent performer, ya' dig? I could tell right away, that Beth was gonna be in rare form for our duet, (she is a complete maniac by nature, I mean like calamity and chaos just seem to follow her around, I LOVE it!) so I was prepared for her to put on quite a show! All right, so we got up to our mics. and did the whole, "Check, check" thing, the music started and I was horror-stricken at the high pitch in which our chosen song is sung! I could do very little with it for the first few bars, which was actually fine because Beth almost immediately had me laughing so hard, that I was doubled over and tears were welling in my squinting eyes, I think I even drooled a little. She was singing in this faux operatic voice, it was absolutely bizarre and all wrong, and SO not what the audience had been expecting. I'll put it to ya' this way...anyone who had not been paying attention, now definitely WAS! I managed to collect myself so I wouldn't totally miss out on my chance to dance and sing along with my good buddy, and we had absolutely the most fun, just being retarded really. I had called another good friend (who had wimped out on coming with us, the beotch) and set my cell on a nearby table so that she could at least hear us make complete asses of ourselves, and at the end of our song I hollered, "I wanna give a shout out to my girl, Willow!" and my cute, little pixie friend Beth followed up with, "YEAH! SCREW YOU, WILLOW!!!" I saw a few very proper jaws in the audience land firmly on the tables, simultaneous to most of the members of this convention of goofy goody goodies, fidgeting nervously before remembering to offer obligatory (though in their eyes apparently, undue) applause. I guess they all hadn't hated us though, cuz one highly esteemed Karaoke performer (she had a fan club of followers...ew?) approached Beth and me as we basked in our humiliation at the bar and rather convincingly, this woman blabbed on and on and on...about what great singers we were...(Wait a second...that dork wasn't fuckin' with us...was she?)

And there you have it, folks...All the news you wish you'd never had to read!

All right, so I implemented my tried and true trick of changing things up by posting a new profile pic. on a few of my favorite dating sites. This new one is more of a body shot than a face shot, in fact you can't really see my face at all. It's a side view of me in tall rubber boots, and short shorts, bending over and washing my cute, little car. But the photo is really more of my adorable car than of me, which I thought might appeal to the motorheads out there who have an appreciation for the righteousness of a 1972 Datsun 240Z. And as predicted, I did get a new wave of attention, but within 36 hours of posting the new pic., things were once again...silent. All I can think is that guys were stoked for a minute, to see what they thought was fresh meat, but once they dug around my profile a bit, and discovered nothing but the same crusty, old ME, they musta been like, "Oh...Hell's bells...it's just that ole washed up twat, again" I swear to god, I might just post that picture of Jamie's "peace sign" crap as my profile photo...Obviously I haven't got a goddamned thing to lose…

A Taste of My Own Medicine

Several weeks ago, while resigning myself to the grim probability that my online dating well might indeed be running dry, I was rattled from my discomfiture when I found myself face to face with the most insanely gorgeous profile picture I have ever beheld. I had been listlessly trudging through a bunch of absolute nothingness all around my online dating stomping grounds, seemingly incapable of digging up any novel, new shit to get into, when I was instantly stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of that breathtaking image of Robbie...shirtless, from bronzed shoulders to the top of his perfectly shaped, shaved head. His high cheekbones and swarthy complexion suggested a Native American heritage...yummo. As we all well know by now, a photo of such sublime splendor is almost always too good to be true, and more often than not - a flawless photo, such as his, is merely a false exterior behind which hides some insecure imposter. But after delving deeper into Robbie's profile, I found a veritable treasure trove of increasingly more pleasing images...fuck an A! Now I can say, with absolute certainty, that THIS guy is verifiably smokin' hot!

My cute, little pixie friend Beth stopped by for a visit, a few days into my drool-fest and after poring over the plethora of pulchritudinous pics. herself, which included one of Robbie in board shorts, tanned and toned - standing beside his surf board, she nearly tripped over her tongue. She was like, "Oh Isobel...you have to go for that.....he is.....b e a u t i f u l!" I explained to her that I had already sent him a brief note in which I had chuckled about the fact that on his profile he had described his "ideal woman" as someone who height-wise, would measure between 3' 1" - 5' 9" (that's funny!) and in his "About Me" section he had stated that, "laughing about weird and stupid stuff is a staple" in his life. So, I figured that giving him a verbal wink and a nudge about his tiny, ideal woman would be the perfect means by which to pander to his fascination with life's little inanities and possibly cajole him into talking with me. And surprisingly, he did...just a little bit and only to say that, yeah...he probably couldn't actually be with someone who was that small and was that wrong? Which made me chuckle...again...

Slowly, Robbie and I moved from that topic to several others through a series of brief emails. And although the messages I sent to him wound up to be short in length, like only a few sentences long, it wasn't for lack of effort, believe you me. You're talking to the girl who can spend ten minutes composing a simple text to a girlfriend, so you can just imagine how much time I can devote to a letter which actually matters. I would ruminate ceaselessly, (to the tune of over an hour, procuring one such note) tweaking the verbiage and double checking the tone and even then I was only moderately confident enough to click the "send" button. He probably gave the fruits of my labor about 15 seconds of his attention, and once finished, never gave them a second thought, but that's ok! Anyway, after adding IM'ing and texting to our repertoire, we arrived at the conclusion that we might should maybe meet somewhere nearby for drinks or grub...perhaps as soon as that weekend. Now normally, I would be bouncing around the room, in a juvenile, boy-crazy frenzy, all giddy and optimistic....but that was absolutely not the case this time, and here's why...The problem with all of this is the fact that Robbie is entirely out of my league, like seriously for real. Sure, I've contacted otherworldy men before, but the difference there was that none of those guys ever bothered to reply and frankly - I never expected them to. Like with those other hotties who were totally out of my dating realm, I justified contacting Robbie by latching onto the few things in common that did make us potentially compatible. For instance, there is the fact that he has children and that he is my age almost exactly and that we both share a love of snowboarding and surfing. But physically speaking, it's clear that I am many echelons below his rank. I'm not fat or ugly, per se, I consider myself average at best, but trust me on this one - my overall look is not nearly sufficient enough for me to comfortably dangle from the arm of someone so superior. The fact is, I've never fared well in relationships where the attractiveness scales were tipped in my lover's favor. Don't get me wrong, ideally I'd like to end up with a fella who has a nice body and definitely a good face (especially the nose), but I think I would have a hard time being with someone who was model perfect. I just know that I would be paranoid that people who saw us together would be there thinking, "Hmmmm, check that out...it's like Beauty and the Beast in reverse...poor guy, he could do so much better..."

Blame it on my inherent masochism, but I have politely accepted apologies from Robbie for his consistent and sudden cancellations of each potential date, thus far (a total of four by now, if I'm not mistaken) and then waited around with baited breath to see if and when he will make good on his promise to claim his revolving "rain checks" And you know...I can say til I'm blue in the face, that the reason I keep putting up with his ambivalence and continue pressing the issue of going out with him, is purely the challenge of lowly me scoring a date with superlative him...or that I'm doing it if for lack of anything better to do. But no matter how patient or forgiving or bored I profess to be, the reality is that I seem to be incapable of eschewing the preposterous fantasy looming in the back of my feeble brain, that something good or permanent could actually develop between Robbie and me...someday. Silly, isn't it? So, simultaneous to weakly espousing this whole charade to be an antidote to my boredom, I am lamentably, cultivating quite a crippling crush on the guy...

Enter my recent onslaught of stomach aches...I can't help but wonder if Robbie is just toying with me, (possibly out of his own boredom?) since it's awfully difficult for me to believe that a guy of his calibre would have a serious interest in mediocre, ole me. I Google searched him and was able to peruse his profile on my favorite networking site, and let me just say that it's not like Robbie is hurting for hot snatch. Practically every "friend" on his page is some absurdly statuesque goddess. So why does he even bother contacting me? (btw, I have not initiated even one conversation since he first blew me off a couple of weekends ago) He keeps throwing me a bone, but almost immediately, he gingerly asks for it back. His excuses for constantly bailing on me seem legitimate, he hasn't really given me any reason to think that they're crap. So I continue to let him string me along, and in the process, I have ignored and avoided other respectable suitors, i.e.: Pierce (who has e-mailed and left voice mail, attempting to set up another play date) and Blaine (ditto) and otherwise: I have relished avoiding Big D and his aggravating pleas to see my "smile only" on the webcam, the scumbag. It felt like a veritable coup to deflate Christopher's enlarged ego by declining his invitation to meet for dinner, last Friday night and I even resisted the tempting offer from cute and adorable but totally age-inappropriate Juan to squire me to a fraternity party, that same night. And so here I sit...in front of my trusty ole Mac, in near silence, my stomach tied up in nervous knots for every minute that I wait to inevitably find out that Robbie has ditched our plans...again. Tummy - now much worse. Ain't paybacks a bitch? It serves me right to get a potent dose of how yucky it feels to be jerked around...God knows my insensitive behavior recently, has probably led to half a dozen guys suffering from gastro-intestinal distress.

Anyhow, in order to defer my dismay over being yanked around multiple times by Robbie, that first weekend that it looked like we might get together, I focussed on another online hottie who I've been peepin' at for some time now. He is a triathlete and he is stacked, plus he has a killer smile! I'll call him Red Hat because in his profile shot he is wearing this red baseball cap and that damned picture jumps out at me each and every time I log in to this one particular dating site, and so I wrote to tell him just that. He dragged his feet a little about investing time in getting to know me, claiming that the distance and years between us was too great (he lives a mere hour away he's only 5 years younger than I am, for lord's sake) but then he reconsidered and jumped at the first opportunity we found, to meet. We talked on the phone to make the necessary arrangements and I have to admit, I was more than put off by his tinny, shrillish voice. Additionally he came across as rawther self-impressed and his personal brand of humor fell flat with me. But I went ahead and moved forward with our plans...

We decided on a restaurant near where he lives and works and as I drove to meet him, I realized that I had not properly paced myself and that it looked like I would be about 7 minutes late. I texted to tell him so and he said that was fine, but that I would have to make it up to him, somehow, "JK!" ha...ha...ha...ha...there's that great sense of humor, again...

I found my place at the bar and found him conspicuously absent. He called to apologize because he was also going to be late. Well, duh...he was already 10 minutes or so late when he called, didn't he think I had figured it out by then? And what the hell was all that nonsense about me making it up to HIM? What the freak...Why didn't he just tell me when he replied to my text that he was running behind schedule also, rather than making me feel like I owed him something because of my own tardiness? Due to the fact that I was experiencing tinges of disdain before ever even meeting Red Hat, I was starting to have doubts that this shit was gonna pan out.

When he FINALLY got his ass there, he arrogantly swaggered up to me, perhaps trying to compensate for his height deficit (he was absolutely NOT the 5' 8" that he'd claimed in his profile, more like 5' 5", if that) and he was sporting that (now ridiculous looking, to me) red hat, which he explained he wore because he thought that it would be relevant and "cute"...ralph! As badly as I wanted to see him lose the hat, once he took it off, I wished that he had left it on. There was something decidedly disconcerting about the way his bald head kind of sprung loose from it's containment, it's like it expanded and grew to huge proportions, once out from under that goofy, red hat. It took on the shape of an oversized light bulb. I kept hoping that the big indentation in his forehead would fade after awhile too, that maybe the brim had been pressing into his head and had left the unfortunate mark...but the neanderthal-like dent never did diminish, and believe me, I kept checking. It seemed that we were not really off to such a great start...And things continued their downward slide when I asked him what he wanted to drink, since on his profile he had answered the question, "Do you drink?" with "No". He kept saying, "You go ahead and order what you want" and as much as I wanted a nice, stiff cocktail, I didn't want to be poisoning him with alchie breath if he wasn't going to be drinking. He said that it's not like he can't or doesn't drink, more that he just doesn't really like the taste of alcohol. Honestly, I would've preferred it if he had told me he was a recovering alcoholic and couldn't drink at all, rather than basically admitting to being some candy-assed wimp who "doesn't like the taste", jeez! So I was like,"Fuck it, I want a drink so I'm getting one" He followed suit, ordered a beer and it pained me to watch him struggle to sip through only half of a draught beer, over the period of about an hour. He also informed me that he doesn't drink coffee for the same reason and at this point, I felt certain that we were toast...I will say that he did have just about the prettiest teeth I've ever seen...

We left the bar to get dinner at a nearby Chinese restaurant and I hated the way he explained to me, as if I were a child, how to order my dinner. He acted like he was an authority on each and every subject, really irritating. As was the fact that he ate his Chinese food with a fork, rather than chopsticks. (seems you don't know it all there, do ya' buddy?) I ordered a yummy but harmless sangria and he ordered...a Sprite (what is he? like 10?) When we had finished our dinner, he excused himself and went to the little boy's room. Red Hat was gone for what felt like an eternity. He had to have been in the bathroom for a good 15 - 20 minutes, I shit you not, and I know it wasn't because he was waiting in some huge, long line, cuz for the most part, the dinner crowd had all but dissipated, by then. All I could think was that he was in there, pinching some gigundo loaf and the visual associated with that thought was terribly distracting. I'm pretty sure that I have never taken a crap in a public potty, in the middle of a date. Even if I felt the urge to do it, I think I would've tried my damndest to hold off doing so, until I was back home...alone. But maybe that's why he did it at the restaurant, because next he invited me to come back to his house for a cup of hot tea, which seemed harmless enough, although I did warn him that I couldn't stay for long because I was getting up early in the a.m. to go snowboarding.

We arrived at his townhouse which was immaculate, and he asked me to remove my boots before walking across his white carpet (so, he's anal too...oh joy!) He asked me if I wanted anything and I was there thinking, "Didn't he say he was gonna make me a cup of hot tea?" I said that a glass of water would be fine and that is all I got. Well, that along with a sudden physical assault which went from innocent (but not very good) kissing to attempted heavy petting - rather rapidly. Not one thing about him was working for me, especially not when he took off his shirt and kept his stubbly chest (either in need of a fresh shave or in the midst of a grow-out) puffed up and permanently flexed. Well...at least he thought he looked hot.

After freeing myself from his tightening snare by literally rolling off of the couch and onto the floor, I picked myself up and started for my boots and the door. He followed close behind me, grabbed my hand and placed it on his crotch, I did not react. Even his big, hard cock couldn't provide the necessary incentive to make me want to stay there for one more minute (and that's not really like me) As I walked down the sidewalk towards my car, he thanked me for a fun time, and said that he looked forward to seeing me again, soon. I lied that I would talk to him later and drove away, knowing damn well that I would never see him again.

My friends were furious with me when I told them that I had gone back to Red Hat's apartment. Frances in particular, really lit into me about my careless stupidity. And as usual, I blamed my poor judgement on my perpetual hunt for the next intriguing story to relay on my Big Ugly blog. Well...she absolutely let me have it, "I hate your blog!"..."You don't even read my blog"..."Well, I hate how you use your blog to explain away your ludicrous behavior! I wish you didn't even write the damned thing, I really just hate it!!!" I have never seen her lash out like she did, and to make it worse, she did this in front of several of my close friends as well as my children...at what was meant to be a cheerful, relaxed dinner party...

Robbie blew me off...again...this past Friday night, and by Sunday afternoon, I hadn't heard from him so I correctly assumed that we would not be going out then, either, as he had bluffed. I had basically starved myself for the two weeks prior, so that in the event that we did get together, I would be as skinny as absolutely possible, and so it was nothing for me to take Frances up on her offer to treat me to a late lunch with her and her daughter Leigh at a local hamburger joint. I ordered my usual bun-less burger with all the fixins' but was surprised when it was placed before me, nestled in it's little basket under a blanket of greasy fries (had I ordered those?)...I consider French fries and basically all carbs. (well, 'cept for my evening cocktails) to be illicit substances and I rarely deviate from my protein-heavy diet. But you know what? Sunday, I was like "Aw, fuck it!" I was so hungry and I had decided that I didn't care anymore if I got as big as a house, hell...everyone else is! And I had deprived myself of basic sustenance holding out hope that all that dieting would pay off when I finally locked in a date with Robbie...my Mr. Dreamy...But that evidently was never to be. So, I ate my burger and my whole basket of fries doused in vinegar and dipped in mayonnaise as well as about half of Leigh's fries and I made an enormous black and white milkshake when I got back home (burp) and it felt flippin' great (that is until the next day when I swear, my jeans didn't fit right)

So, as it stands, it seems I am all hung up on Robbie...my Mr. Dreamy, to the exclusion of all other possibilities and even though I am convinced he is a chain-yanker who strings me along just so he can feel adored, (makes no difference to him that I am but a lowly peon) and even though I'd bet dollars to doughnuts that he has literally no intention of ever meeting me, for some reason - as long as he's talking to me at all, I cling to the notion that I still have a chance with him...this fully sucks...

Vienna Sausages and Easy Cheese

Anytime my kids are with their dad, I tend to put very little energy into food prep and feeding myself. Like the other night, for example. I had spent most of the day and into the evening, trying (mostly in vain *sigh*) to find some new shit to stir up online, as well as applying what little data I had gathered into a new blog entry and even though at some point I realized that I was absolutely famished and that I would eventually have to go put something in my belly, I couldn't stand the thought of wasting valuable computer time in my kitchen. After succumbing to my irrepressible hunger, I hurried over to the house and rooted around the fridge, freezer and cupboards, searching for something quick and easy to put into my hungee tummy and I finally decided on an unusual combo which I had never tried before. First I pulled the lid off of a can of Vienna sausages. The pop of the top coupled with an aroma startlingly similar to Alpo, prompted my two ghetto dogs to covetously hold vigil by my side. Next I poured out the gelatinous juice, then one by one, removed the precious, pink weenies and squirted a decorative, ruffly stripe of Easy Cheese down the length of each one. Mmmmmmm...I didn't even bother to dirty a plate, I just took each ingredient straight from their cans, directly to my mouth - very classy, wouldn't ya' say? I was shaken from my junkfood-induced euphoria when my agitated pups initiated a relentless campaign to score some of the spoils. It was during this intermission from devouring this un-epicurean concoction that I paused to marvel at my disturbing dinner. The magnitude of its disgustingness began to register and was then galvanized upon my disquieting discovery that the first ingredient in Vienna Sausages is: "mechanically separated chicken"......You don't think that such a gruesome process takes place while the animal is still alive, do you?...(God I hope not)...I begrudgingly relinquished a few morsels to my mongrels, and continued the short break from feeding my own face by cleansing my palate with a couple swigs of my favorite, eveningtime cocktail, at which time I had a minor epiphany...In a weird kind of way, those gnarly, nummy nibbles were the perfect companion food to my Big Ugly Blog, you know? Like if a blog could have a food mascot...well then, wouldn't Vienna Sausages slathered in Easy Cheese be the obvious perfect fit?

I went out on Friday night with Pierce, not an online guy...just a friend of a friend. I think I told you about him a few months ago when after peepin' at each other from across many rooms at assorted weddings and random parties over the span of 3 or 4 years - both finally simultaneously single - we tinkered with the idea of going on a date. For whatever reason though - we never formalized a plan back then and it wasn't until I got a message from him about a month ago on my favorite networking site, that we struck up fresh conversation and decided to meet, for real this time. I thought it was cute the way he initiated our most recent correspondence with, "Ok, Isobel...may I please come in from out of the doghouse now? It's kinda cold out here" I don't even really remember giving him the shaft the last time, as his note implied - but whatever. So I answered back with, "All right Pierce, come on inside and warm yourself up" And so began a new dialog which led to our eventual date, a week ago, Friday. 

I was a few minutes late in arriving at our destination but once inside, I walked right up to Pierce where he appeared to be somewhat anxiously hovering around the outskirts of the Friday night Happy Hour set which had apparently relegated him to the periphery of the busy bar. He was short, I already knew that, but it was a bit more in my face than I had remembered, as in - his face was literally in my face (I'm 5' 4") And I was definitely not diggin' on his nose either. It was sort of like someone had blopped a big dollop of clay right onto the middle of his face and you know how twitchy I can be about that type of thing. To make matters worse, I could not warm up to his less than appealing, cloddish hands...He had these kind of crunchy breadstick-like fingers and his nails were way too short, I reckoned because he munched them down to nubs. I'm sorry, but bitten nails make me nervous (by association, I guess) plus, if I don't like a guys hands in general, it's really difficult for me to get excited about the thought of having them all over me...someday.

Dinner was nice (there's that dreaded four letter word, again) and we never had a problem talking but that's partly due to the fact that I sometimes think that I do better when I feel I have the upper hand, like when I can tell a guy is liking me more than I am liking him. I felt and acted confident and didn't hesitate to go into elaborate detail about all my crazy online stuff and examples of my horrible conduct with men which in some instances has led to several relationships ending bitterly. Oh and of course I couldn't resist pushing the envelope a smidge, by hammering home my love of and addiction to masturbation (would you believe that he insisted that he has not masturbated in 2 whole years? That has to be absolute bullshit, dontcha think?) I didn't hold back in the slightest. It was as if I was trying to see if there was anything I could've said to him that would have tarnished his impression of me. I was uncharacteristically cocky and forthright, was I trying to run him off?

Dinner was over and we both had 30 min. drives home, respectively - so we skipped grabbing one last cocktail at a neighboring bar and instead Pierce walked me to my car and I then drove him to his. We sat and talked in my car, briefly. He said "Goodbye" and turned as if he were about to disembark my shiny, little Datsun. But then he reconsidered, leaned over towards me and laid quite an "I had a great time, hope to see you soon" kiss on my surprisingly receptive mouth. It's just the darndest thing. I was not really attracted to Pierce...at all, during dinner. We had a decent time and everything, but I wasn't blown away by him on any level, and yet that scrumptious kiss that he had lavished on me, told a completely different story. I got the lightening bolts, in spades, in fact the tingles through my middle were so intense that they actually hurt, almost like when you go up really high on a swing and on the downward phase, your tummy hurts, for a sec. - in a good way. Pierce abruptly pulled away saying, "Your lips are so soft" I interjected that I thought he smelled good because he genuinely did...all clean and soapy. But almost immediately afterwards, he announced in a high pitched, nearly panicked voice what a nice time he'd had and that he looked forward to hanging out with me again, and then he bolted. Pierce was clearly out of sorts and I watched through the rear window as he kind of hobbled back to his car, slightly hunched over. I felt certain that he was about to reset the clock on his masturbation-free last two years...possibly even on the car ride home, heh heh...But there's another side to this unpredictable coin of attraction...

On Sunday afternoon, I had originally planned to get together with the Aussie, but he turned up missing and I'll tell you about that later. Instead I filled the now vacant slot with an impromptu first meeting with Blaine, another new guy. Blaine and I met for our late, alfresco lunch on an unseasonably warm Sunday afternoon in February, coincidentally in the same exact town as Pierce and I had met, the Friday before. Blaine was younger and cuter than Pierce, but a wee bit on the metrosexual side for my taste, i.e. - I strongly disliked his girly man shoes with the pointyish toes, ewww...But counteracting his taste in fashion was the fact that he wasn't terribly hard on the eyes...I especially liked his nose and hands. We enjoyed a perfectly acceptable afternoon together. At one point, after having relocated from our lunch spot to the neighborhood biker bar, I remember studying his face and thinking to myself, "Yeah, I could go out with him again..." 

Frances, her daughter and Frances' sister were coming to my house for dinner that night and after a few pesky texts from Frances, I told Blaine that I had to head back home. We walked to our cars which were practically side by side in the parking deck. It was a cinch to put off parting ways for a few more minutes, the excuse being that we both needed to gush a bit about how cool each of our fine automotive specimens were. But ultimately, as has become the customary culmination of my first dates, Blaine and I slid up next to each other and partook in an obligatory goodbye kiss. I was crestfallen to have felt literally nothing, not even a tiny flutter. I just couldn't make any sense of the incongruity. Here was this guy whose package I much preferred to Pierce's, and yet there was absolutely no flippin' chemistry...go figure...

So...you wanna hear my favorite subject heading attached to an email received on an online dating site, this week? Ok, here it is, "What's up girl? You are mad sexy!" Awwwwww! The simplicity and the sweet sentiment of it made me twinkle and if it hadn't been written and sent by a 20 year old, I would have definitely replied enthusiastically to the flattering snippet...

Now...wanna read my least favorite email of the week? Ok. Let me preface by saying that the profile pic. being displayed with this message showed a middle-aged man, very attractive with lots of dark hair and a straight, angular nose, riveting stare and a strong jaw line. His look was professional and posh, and if I had to wager money on what he did for a living, I would venture to say that he was an architect...Anyway, here is what he wrote to me...

Hello Dear,

Nice Profile that no Matured Minded man whom knows the Joy of Love is all about would ever pass By, I must let you know that you have a wonderful Profile Without beign Greedy, I would like to be a Friend to this wonderful woman, Knowing you the more and Probably seeing in Person someday. If you wouldn't mind my Hand in Friendship, Kindly let me know asap, here is my Private Email Address, you can send mail or invite me for a Chat, (**************)

Once again, I adorn your Profile,

your's Admirer,

******* *******

Say what? If my hunch is on target, there is no way in hell that this note could possibly have been written by someone with such unprecedented good looks and reeking of education as I had gleaned from the photo which now, after reading his pathetic note, I deduced must have been plucked from a library of online images. I mean really...the author of this baloney was clearly an imbecile. It never ceases to amaze me that folks think that they can actually get away with blatantly false self-representation.

Which brings me to the frustrating and irritating run-in with the Aussie...I first started talking to the Aussie on the morning of the Friday that I went out with Pierce, after coming across his irresistible photo on my #1 dating site. I sent him a message which stated that outside of the fact that he lived a little bit far away from me, he seemed practically perfect. He responded without delay and by the end of the day we had gone from e-mail, to IM, to phone. He said that he had been single for 10 years and that he was a child psychologist and that he had a horse farm with a 20 stall barn and that he competed in equestrian events and was raised in Australia but had lived in America for the last 20 years (I reasoned that that was why his accent wasn't particularly strong or consistent) and that he hoped to move back there someday and did I want to go with him? Wow! That was fast! the Aussie was quite the Romeo, wooing me with promises of exotic vacations and jaunts on horseback...Fool that I am, I liked the sound of it all and found myself wrapped up in a fascinating romantic fantasy. I was brimming with optimism that meeting this appealing Australian man (a newbie to the online dating world) would definitely be on the weekend's docket...

We chatted online Saturday morning and when I informed him that I was childless for the entirety of that weekend - his ears pricked and although he was unable to meet me on Saturday, we made a loose plan to picnic in a mutually beloved, historic cemetery on Sunday. So, Sunday arrived and I could see that he was logged into our shared IM provider, but curiously he held his tongue. I resisted contacting him because I was sensing that he was having a change of heart and I didn't want to risk suffering unmitigated rejection if his silence persisted. However, not wanting to waste a perfectly gorgeous Sunday waiting around to see if the Aussie would follow through or not, I emailed him to ask if we were still on for that day and after about an hour and a half of his sudden estrangement, I sent one last message to say that I would take that as a "No". He eventually emailed back that it was absolutely not a "NO", that he was working right then but that he would get in touch with me once he had a better handle on how his day was gonna unfold. Uh huh, yeah...I'll just bet you will...

The Aussie never did contact me as he promised he would, hence my decision to go out with Blaine. So, late Sunday night, post date with Blaine and dinner soiree with friends, I sat down to my trusty ole Mac and blocked that awful Aussie's ass from ever contacting me again on my #1 dating site. I have no earthly idea why his flakiness pissed me off so badly but I diffused my disappointment by convincing myself that he must have been some hideous porker and not the strapping hunk in his profile pic. or that he was actually still married or had a girlfriend or something equally unforgivable. My shaky ego had no choice but to deflect the blame for his expeditious dismissal of me. 

So, today is Valentine's Day...which I typically consider to be an utterly annoying, pointless holiday, I'm talking - absolutely freaking useless...But this year, Valentine's Day takes on a whole new meaning and actually marks a significant milestone. This year, on Valentine's Day, I jubilantly celebrate the monumental one year anniversary of my gloriously successful, permanent break-up with Jimmy. Exactly a year ago today, when yet another stupid fucking Valentine's Day was marred by a ridiculously unromantic series of events, I tenuously tromped away from Jimmy, yet another time, uncertain about my ability to steer clear of reconciliation with the undeserving pig...And, save one teeny slip-up in March (yeah, ok...so we had sex because we were lonely and horny, but by that weekend's end I had peeled outta his place in one of my classic huffs upon finding a spent condom in the trash can after he had lied to me that he hadn't been with anyone since we broke up)...I have remained diligent in my efforts to remain Jimmy-free! 

One of the best side-effects since banishing Jimmy from my life was the eradication of my crippling, stress-induced acid stomach. I have been virtually devoid of tummy pain, except for during a few isolated tangles with Mark, until now...For the last few days I have had an unsettled feeling, evocative of the abdominal angst I chronically suffered during my tenure with Jimmy...I'll give you all the details in the next episode, I promise...But let me assure you that it has absolutely nothing to do with my consumption of Vienna sausages and Easy Cheese...