Holding Out for Something Maybe Better...

As much as I would love to lavish upon you, my trademark, smutty tales of poor decision-making and dire consequences, I'm afraid that offering up the slew of mistakes that I HAVEN'T made, recently - is all the better that I can do...

Lars (or - "No Car Guy" - as my friends so cleverly refer to him) did in fact, get back to me a couple of weeks ago, about meeting up the following Saturday night, and for a split second I was almost kind of excited about the prospect of getting the heck outta Dodge and finally going on a real date for once in about a million years...not so much because I thought that No Car had the potential to be "the one", but more because if our evening together went anything like most of my prior dates with online guys, it would at the very least provide juicy fodder about which to scribble.

A few days before the slated big night, I pulled up No Car's profile, just to make sure that I still thought that he was cute and all (even though at this point, I was ostensibly locked into our date) and what I discovered was that - yeah - he's still cute and all, but he's only 30 flippin' years old - that's (approximately) 10 years younger than I am...(poop)...I'd had it in my mind that he was like 36...34 at worst! I mean I guess it's entirely possible that No Car is one of those rare, highly-evolved 30 year olds which might improve our odds for success if a long term relationship were to actually be in our cards. Nonetheless, ever since my miserable 15 month tangle with Jimmy (the poster child for why NEVER to date a man [in his case a gross overstatement] 10 years one's junior) I have had no end of difficulty spitting that damned, young guy taste outta my mouth. I am of the firm opinion that guys, 10 years younger or more, are good for one thing and one thing only...casual sex, end of story (Oh incidentally, if you're a new reader and want the low-down on Jimmy, refer back to old entries: "I Just Lost My Blog Virginity" and "Check This Out") Anyway, reinforcing my reluctance to mix it up with yet another youngster, was my gruesome misfortune of having been accosted (again) by fucking Jimmy at a local bar the Friday night before I was to meet No Car. Jimmy's and my conversation was polite at first...nearly friendly, even. But in textbook Jimmy form, he tactlessly drove a jagged dagger deep into my mended heart when he abruptly shifted from benign chit chat about his gardens or some shit - to describing for me, a scenario which featured him and his girlfriend - together in bed, the fuck (there is no bigger asshole in the universe, I can say this with absolute certainty) His callous recollection proved the consummate catalyst to incite my effortless extrication from our deteriorating colloquy (as well as my barstool) and - sincerely grateful to have made even more headway in my methodical ascent from Jimmy's Hell - I confidently strode out of that building to a soundtrack of Jimmy pathetically hollering my name (hee hee) What I particularly liked about this priceless vignette, was the comforting conclusion drawn, that poor, sad Jimmy has been officially self-relegated to a well-deserved relationship purgatory of sorts. Yeah, he's got a girl...he's getting laid (whoop dee doo!) but it is abundantly apparent that he considers her nothing more than a warm body. To wit: (and I quote) "ehh...she's a "space-filler"" (what a charmer) Jimmy's actions further corroborate his palpable ennui, i.e.; in true two-timing fashion, he lamely tries wooing me with cheesy compliments, citing how good I look, these days (damn straight, bitch! Cuz I'm no longer beaten down by you!) and attempts to tug at my heartstrings by reminiscing about all the "good times" that we enjoyed together, HA! The handful of happy memories are completely overshadowed by his unmitigated abuses. He then rounds out the onslaught by chasing me around the place, indecorously pawing my ass, as if my booty is somehow still his property...I'm not sure which is worse, realizing that the behavior that Jimmy's displays these days when he sees me out, depicts the shit that he was pulling behind my back with other girls the whole time that we were dating...or...conjuring up how awful it felt to worry and wonder about what his lame ass was up to all of the times that he went out on the town without me....And just like when he was with me, I do believe that Jimmy is merely "settling" with his current twist. A diabolical smile covers my face each time I hope that he's filled with regret for having run me off forever (cuz truth be told...I was really good to him...and he knows that) But better still, is the fact that I can honestly say - that despite the absence of a bf in my own life - I'm pretty damned calm, these days...and inexplicably...immensely happy. Which is more than I can say for Jimmy.

Woah! That was quite a nasty, little diatribe...I feel much better. Now...where was I? Oh yeah...No Car...

Ok, so seeing Jimmy, hammered home how utterly disinterested I am in wasting my time on dead end dudes, which in turn caused me to backpedal (a lot) on my plans to hang out with No Car. I weighed the balance between - canning the date, hence freeing myself up to stay home and mow my grass and weed my gardens and burn my brush piles, and wake up at home in my own bed early the next morning in order to get a jump on my chores, once again...and...driving an hour and a half, to flirt with a young stud, get too drunk to drive home, possibly drunk enough to accidentally fuck him, lose a chunk of my Sunday to traveling home painfully hungover and being totally non-productive once I arrived...hmmm...which one ever shall I choose?

I decided to opt for the former (which is so not like me) Early Saturday morning, I sat down to my trusty ole Mac and typed this note to No Car:

"Hey listen, I've been thinking about us getting together tonight, and I kinda don't really see the point. I know that may sound horrible, but let me explain...

First of all, there is the age gap. My last bf was ten years younger than I and it was easily the most devastating relationship in which I was ever involved, partly due to the fact that we were simply at two totally different places in life. I am nearly convinced that a relationship between an older woman who's done having children and a younger man who will one day want them...has minimal chance for success.

Also, there's the geography issue. Let's just say that we did go out, and subsequently we enjoyed each other's company...what then? You don't own a car, so in order for us to see each other, it would be up to me to drive to and from the city each and every time we wanted to meet which frankly, I'm not all that keen on doing.

And lastly, I am definitely not interested in any sort of random hook-up.

I'm sorry to bag out on you at the eleventh hour like this. I just think it would be better for us to be realistic about the whole thing.

Good luck finding your perfect girl, I'm sure you will have no trouble doing just that!

All the best..."

I was picturing him, opening the email, angrily cursing me as he read it, and then never hearing from him again.

But this was not the case. No Car quickly responded with a kind note that I have to admit, made me feel pretty stinkin' guilty about ditching the guy...

"I'm very sad that you don't want to meet up.

First of all, I actually do have a kid, a 12 year old daughter. I don't list her on my profile because she doesn't live with me and I thought mentioning her might dissuade women from contacting me.

Second, if we do enjoy each other's company then the geography issue can be overcome. I can borrow a car from a friend, rent one, or find other ways to visit you without you having to make the journey each time.

I am definitely not thinking of this as a random hook-up and I am completely cool with you being done having children.

I really think that you should reconsider and at least give it a chance. I promise we'll have a good time. It would be a shame to give up on something before it's even started."

Uggghhh...

Ok, so instead of dwelling on my hasty change of heart, I hopped in my little car and headed to my son's Birthday Party at my ex's house. I parked my cute, little car at the pizza shop, went in to fetch the grub for the party, and when I tried to start my car, it was totally...d e a d.

I convinced a chivalric, young man to help me get the derned thing started, made it to the party, had tons of fun and when it was time to go home, I performed the very same trick with the screwdriver on the starter, that the cute, young man had used to revive my persnickety automobile, before. I left the sickly, little car at my mechanic's, walked home and felt better that I now had an excuse which would legitimately get me off the hook from having to reconsider meeting No Car...I suddenly had no car, myself. I mean I could've driven my big ass Suburban out to the city, but it's such a gas hog and - call me crazy - but wouldn't most guys rather see their date pull up in a shiny, silver Datsun, rather than in some grunged out old hooptie? It may sound silly, but I consider my little car a critical quotient in the coolness equation that is my single girl status. That being said, I responded to No Car's benevolent email by explaining to him that after reading his last note I realized that I might very well be a fool to give up on him before even giving him a chance, and that we should still meet someday...but unfortunately this new transportation snag had, for all intents and purposes, tabled our date...until the next time.

But there's something else impacting my ambivalence about meeting No Car...you see...there is this Mystery Man...

I'm not going to say too much about him (you know how I can be about jinxing myself) What I will tell you, is that the Mystery Man and I were introduced on my favorite networking site, by a mutual friend who believed that if the two of us got to know each other, we would "hit it off"...(I'm game!) I've since learned that the Mystery Man is well-educated, a brilliant writer, his career is beyond commendable, he's a world traveler, he's attractive and active and about my age and...he's read the blog...and he still talks to me...

A soon as the Mystery Man and I began corresponding with one another, I totally lost interest in the IM's and email from other men who now paled in comparison to my (potentially hyped-up) image of him. And if I did allow any of these jackleg suitors to breach my fortress, it was only in order to stall their incessant requests to meet for lunch or to go bowling or to come over and help me with my yard work (uhhh...that ain't ever gonna happen, bro)...I shut down a boatload of guys, this week, when I asserted that - no - I am not currently dating anyone, but there is someone new who has tickled my fancy a smidge...and that I just want to see how things go with him before I say "Yes" to anybody else....(again...not like me at all) In the old days I wouldn't have necessarily paid favoritism to any one man, instead I would've strung along as many of them as absolutely possible. In the past I've been more about quantity than quality. Like, "let's see how everly many different guys, no matter how questionable, I can get under my belt before the weekend's out" type of thing.

My recent lackadaisical attitude about dating is somewhat perplexing. What happened to the panic to occupy every childless minute in the company of some new man? Lately, I'm fine staying right here at home, or messing around downtown with Willow and Curlymoe. I can't help but wonder...Am I calming down? (perish the thought) Is complacency something that is suddenly ok with me? Am I just worn out from trying too hard for so long and for what? Nothing but a big, fat goose egg...Or am I really just holding out for something maybe better?

During this interim period of kicking back until I can (hopefully) make the Mystery Man's acquaintance, I have been using the time wisely by focussing on promoting my "falling down stairs" videos and trying to generate more interest in the blog. Since I have included links to both the vids. and my blog on the dating sites where I continue to loiter, I decided to update my profiles, by putting up an unapologetic cheesecake shot in the hopes that it might attract some new viewers/readers. Attracting bf material has become slightly less of a push.

I was thunderstruck by the immediate and absurd spike in "views" of my profiles on all of my favorite sites, since posting the shameless frontal shot of my glistening, wet, bikini-clad torso. Evidently, the photo was too racy for one such site. I got an email from the administration who fussed at me for breaking the photo-upload rules and consequently, they deleted my pic....the killjoys. Anyway, the good news is that I experienced a glut of messages from folks yuckin' it up about my unusual hobby of falling down stairs (and somehow not killing myself) But even more exciting, was the feedback that I was getting from men who had read the blog...and actually really LIKED it!

Somewhere during these last few weeks, I got a call from an airline pilot who'd witnessed Willow and Curlymoe videotaping a couple of my first big falls. The pilot, (or Jesus Sandals, as Culrymoe dubbed him) was mesmerized by the stunt and blabbed on and on about knowing some hot movie producer who he thought might find my talent(?) of interest. I gave him my # on the back of my Big Ugly Blog business card, hoping that something might come of it...

What came of it was Jesus Sandals calling me up, and inviting me to meet him back at the same restaurant for drinks, one night. It was kinda late when I got his message, and I wasn't terribly motivated to shower and get dressed to go out, but I kept thinking about his connection with the producer...

It was overwhelmingly apparent after talking over drinks for an hour or so, that Jesus Sandals' m.o. for calling me had little to do with advancing my "career", all he really wanted was for me to go back with him to the place where he was staying while he was in town (great)...I actually contemplated joining him there and most likely fending off his unwanted advances - my single objective - to continue encouraging him to plug the "falling down stairs" vids. (as well as the blog!) to his producer friend. But I was starting to think that all of that was horse shit, now...so instead...I went on home...

Here's the part where I recap (and toot my own horn, a bit)...

So...Inspired by my acute disdain for Jimmy as well as my developing friendship and collateral fascination with the Mystery Man, it was nothing for me to nix Jimmy's attempt to schmooze his way back into my good graces (and possibly my pants?)...I did not (yet) waste gas or time to gamble and potentially lose on a date with the age-inappropriate No Car...I stiff-armed a bunch of overzealous Romeo wannabes...and I did not prostitute myself with Jesus Sandals for the sake of possibly (but not likely) getting my videos and blog into the hands of some movie producer...Proud of me?

And Speaking Of...

Right this very minute, I literally cannot find one teensy tinesy thing about which to gripe, grouse or groan...I am perfectly content to be lazily lounging poolside, bathed in sunshine and lighthearted banter. Meanwhile, my kids are frolicking nearby with their own friends under the watchful eye of our attentive lifeguard, Kevin...(god love him!) Adding to the transcendent tableau is the fact that I am mere moments away from mixing my very first cocktail of the day. And guess what? The forecast predicts a three month long continuation of this idyllic sojourn, to be spent right here in my own, tiny town - yet far away from the tedium of cold, dark days, endless packing of school lunches, sporting piles of bulky clothing and clocking in and out of the daily grind. Come Autumn? Shit will predictably revert back to a less palatable version of humdrum and ho hum, but for the time being, I am basking in this desirable display of vacuous decadence.

And Speaking of vacuous decadence...Way back, 10 years ago or so, when I was a happily married, financially secure, stay-at-home-mommy, my station in life afforded me the luxury of setting a precedent to which I now - post-divorce - shakily persevere to still adhere. Since abandoning my marriage, I make the necessary sacrifice in order to stay home with me kiddles during the summer. I forgo enrolling them in endless camps and/or daycare which, if they went, would allow me to stay on at whatever "job" I might currently be slaving for some piddly-ass $10/hr. wage. Consequently though, I am forced to limp along on even more negligible fundage than most of the rest of the year. And because my summertime income doesn't even come close to covering our general living expenses, to say that we exist "hand to mouth" during these months, is quite the understatement. I can always count on getting way behind on my bills and by the end of the summer, my phone line will be inundated with calls from unfamiliar area codes, presumably utility providers and credit card companies trying to collect something...anything, that they might apply to my disastrously delinquent accounts. Last summer, after Directv had no other option but to cut off our service, the kids and I attempted to mask our dismay by adopting the mindset that NOT having television, might not necessarily be such a bad thing...right? Pseudo-positive attitudes notwithstanding, it was apparent that every one of us found the loss of this basic privilege to be more of a stigma and an embarrassment, than an inconvenience. This summer won't be much different, I'm afraid. I will only be working for my beloved elderly couple, on the one day during the week that my ex keeps the children, making the pittance that I will be bringing home, hardly worth the gas consumption and hour's worth of travel time to get there and back. But you know? I sincerely enjoy the gig and the folks for whom I toil and therefore, I shan't complain about making a brief, weekly appearance in exchange for a little coin and more time with my kids. Also...I am determined to be most efficient with the plethora of extra time that I will be spending at home, carving out hours-long chunks of every day (which I will gleefully spend here...in front of my trusty ole Mac) plunging ever deeper, into the receding world of online dating in the hopes of dredging up something noteworthy about which to blog. I am geared up to grit my teeth behind an upbeat smile, as I muddle through the next 3 months of financial strife. Nothing, not even poverty, will prevent me from relishing my summer of dating and writing, and hangin' wif my kids and my tight-knit group of loyal friends...(you buyin' it?)

And speaking of "loyal" friends...I felt wounded for only about a nanosecond, upon learning that someone - who I've apparently erroneously believed to be a genuine friend as well as a staunch supporter and promoter of my blog - was instead a fountainhead of vituperation in regards to me, my blog AND my hair color. Rumor has it that the perpetrator (I'll call her Miss B.S......short for Miss Backstabber among other things) is on some sort of campaign (along with her equally two-faced sister) to dissuade random folks from reading my "trampy" blog, citing the content - too trashy for general human consumption. I have to admit, that after I digested the recounted derision, the betrayal was not actually all that surprising to me. I've been warned that you can't trust her as far as you could throw her, so I shoulda seen this coming, long ago. But then again, I do tend to be a "benefit of a doubt" kinda gal. My consistent bad judgement of character has turned around and bitten me right in the ass cheek, innumerable times before. You know though, it's really ok...I feel good that I never wasted my breath on her in my Big Ugly Blog ('til now, that is). And following this - her 15 minutes of Big Ugly fame - she'll have gotten herself officially written out of the script, for good! Frankly, washing my hands of this "friendship", is no skin off my back. I don't have a problem with trimming the friend fat, a little...the fewer, the truer...the better.

And speaking of my hair color...ok fine, so I dyed my hair a fucked up color, but what the hell difference does it make to HER, anyway? Answer me that! And...even though I don't really NEED to explain why I did it..I shall...There are several reasons why I dyed my hair navy blue:

#1.) It's a freaking free country and I can do whatever the fuck I so desire - to my own person

#2.) I had my hair this same color, for a short period of time 20 years ago...and I loved it...I've always wanted to have it that way, again

#3.) I was on this whole, "Fuck online dating" kick for a spell, and figured that since it appeared that there was nobody left on the planet for me to date, what better time to fulfill a nagging desire, eh? (But then again, what if I reverse jinx myself, in the process? Like, say after all of this languorous online dating downtime, I finally stumble upon the most amazing guy ever...But then tragically, it turns out that he's not the kind of fella to dig on some bizarre, "blue-haired old lady"...)

And speaking of amazing guys...I've been loosely communicating with Lars over the past 3 months or so....The other night, while IM'ing me for the first time ever, he ended up asking me out. (Hot damn! A real live date...FINALLY!) The deal is this...I will drive an hour and a half into D.C. (and later, back home again) and once I arrive, Lars will squire me about the city. (Sounds like mama's getting the short end of the stick here, but whatev...) I have to admit that he did lose a bit of his "amazing guy" cred. when he cited that not owning a car was the reason that he needed me to do all of the driving...(Isn't that sorta strange? I mean, who doesn't own a car?) But who am I to judge...I've got problems of my own...namely the hair color dilemma. So, now I've gotta figure out how to handle the blue hair sitch. Like, do I come clean with Lars about my unusual choice of hair color prior to our date? Do I just show up and hope that he either doesn't notice or that he simply doesn't give a rip? Do I hope that by the time I go on the date, the color has faded dramatically and it'll have become a non-issue? Or do I do the suck-ass thing and dye it a "normal" more acceptable color? I'm half tempted to re-dye it an even more intense shade of blue just to thumb my nose at Miss B.S...Oh, and if you're reading this, could you kindly ask your kids to refrain from gluttonously gorging themselves on our pool snacks every time? Preesh...

And speaking of my date on Saturday night...it might now be a moot point.

I believe that I mentioned that I've recently become obsessed with a favorite new hobby - falling down flights of carpeted stairs. I've decided to have my friends film me performing the stunt on as many different staircases as absolutely possible and to then post the videos on YouTube with my blog address emblazoned across the bottom of screen, in the hopes of maybe generating a little more interest in the blog. Additionally, I added the link to my videos (and hence - the blog address) to my profiles on my favorite dating sites (a little risky, no doubt, since any guy that might end up reading the blog would most likely have zero interest in getting mixed up in my ongoing soap opera) I happen to know that Lars peeked at my profile soon after I made the new additions, and...surprise, surprise...I haven't heard from him since. It's entirely possible that I've run the guy off for good...

And speaking of having my friends videotaping me falling down stairs...My friends Willow, Curlymoe and a new, young buck - Tall Drink-o-Water - recently met me out at a venue with an exceptionally long, carpeted set of stairs. We all sat at the bar and chatted for a spell, preparing to film the big fall, during which time I got Tall Drink up to speed on the blog and it's general theme and candidly narrated a few of the more noteworthy stories. In the process, I think I unwittingly misled him into believing that since I portray myself as such an easy lay, that he himself might be getting lucky sometime in the near future, and possibly even make his own appearance in my Big Ugly Blog. But frankly, from the first minute that I saw him, I thought that he and Willow would make a very handsome couple (turns out...she did too!) and so even though he continually cast his line my way, I wasn't at all tempted to nibble on his worm...

Instead, I fell down the stairs a couple of times and canvassed the crowd, handing out business cards and talking up the blog. It cracked me up when a well-known, local socialite and her date, stopped me to tell me how much they liked my "look" (huuh?) and I said to the woman, "Hey, Sheryl! How are you?" She answered with a blank expression but when I told her that I was So-and-So's ex...the light bulb immediately went off (on?). Simultaneously, a light bulb went off (on?) with her beau as well, who upon learning that I blog about online dating, realized that not only had he viewed my profile, numerous times, but that he'd even sent me an email or two...I seriously did not recognize the guy and I apologized for not responding, at which time Sheryl chimed in, relieved, "Well I'm so glad that you didn't!"

My three friends and I closed down the bar, Willow said "Goodnight" and the two boys and I came back to my house for a nightcap. When it became obvious that Tall Drink was sticking around in the hopes of gettin' some, I pleaded with Curlymoe to back a sistah up and please take Tall Drink on home...Unfortunately, they were both totally hammered and I worried that if they drove away from my house, chances were better than good that they would end up wrapping their car around a tree and would I be able to live with that? Curlymoe, curled up on the couch with one of my pups and frickin' Tall Drink followed me up to my room, as I chanted over and over again, "We are NOT going to have sex! We are NOT going to have sex!"

And speaking of not having sex...The instant my fully-clothed body flopped onto my broken down bed right next to Tall Drink's fully-clothed body, the only thing that we did was fall fast asleep...no kissing...no snuggling...no fucking. Looks like mama's making good on her pledge to stay on the sex wagon...