Pleading the Fifth on This One...

You may find this plumb unfathomable - but for once...I really just haven't got a goddamned thing to say...

Uhhh...ya' know what? Scratch that. How 'bout this, instead...

After a quick but complicated tangle with a member of the opposite sex a few weekends ago, I'm a veritable wellspring of information. But extenuating circumstances dictate that I remain under a self-imposed gag order...so for the time being - I'm keeping it zipped...I WILL tell you this much...I have not cried over a stupid boy in absolutely ages...like maybe a year and a half or something (that's an impressive milestone if I DO say so!)...but I broke the streak...I mean, it's not like I full-on bawled my eyes out or anything...but they did fill up with water...twice last week (and then again, last night)...because of a fella.........so put THAT in your pipe and smoke it...

Eh, I know...what's with the long face, right? We're supposed to meet up here to make merry over my abundant blunders with men...And normally I am happy to oblige. But this time it's different and as much as I would love to let the cat outta the bag, I truly just cannot. And don't worry about me (ha...ha...ha) - I'm fine, really...I suspect that my wimpiness, was compounded by the untimely coincidence that my kids, as well as Curlymoe and Willow, all left town for the whole bloody week - immediately following the above inferred, Unmentionable Chaos. So on top of all of the mayhem…I've just been plain lonesome. But, since it is my unspoken obligation as a (moderately) committed blogger, to give you something more than just the above paragraph to chew on...here goes nothin'...(literally)

So, during the lull that had befallen my online dating life over the last few weeks and prior to the Unmentionable Chaos, I decided to make the most of the downtime by taking a closer look at blogging in general and investigating the scribing of other bloggers out there in cyber world...you know - just to sorta check out the competition. What I deduced is this...First of all, the chances of my Big Ugly Blog becoming the tremendously popular, thus lucrative endeavor about which I've so vividly daydreamed...are sadly...slim to none. The blogging "market" it turns out (duh) is already super-saturated with egotistical windbags, like myself - who arrogantly assume that everyone in the world should be falling all over themselves to read what only THEY have to say. But I mean think about it...who really gives a shit about some perfect stranger's rantings? Seriously.

I've decided that it's entirely possible that my stories, out of context, bear little or no relevance to anyone who doesn't actually know me. I mean naturally, I'd love to believe that someone who's never met me might still find my anecdotes amusing?...captivating?...provocative?...so much so that they bookmark the blog and anxiously await each subsequent entry (wishful thinking, eh?) But aside from the few positive reviews that I've gotten from online guys who've read and lapped up my ongoing online dating derision, I have no other real way of gauging how strangers who stumble upon it, feel about the blog. My friends check in fairly regularly, to yuck it up over my accounts of their own or mutual friends' cameo appearances in my never-ending nightmare. And I appreciate their honest opinions, even when they offer less than glowing remarks. One trusted friend informed me the other day, that she sometimes wishes I would forgo all of the frilly verbiage and shit, and just get to the friggin' point, already! And Curlymoe (also a blogger) envies my commitment to report my antics with balls-out candor (he himself hamstrung by the threat of social disgrace, dare he write nearly as explicitly as I) But kudos aside, he cautions that if I really am serious about ever ending my agonizing, perpetual quest for the man of my dreams, then certainly The Big Ugly Blog......must first die......

The Big Ugly Blog is also an avenue by which peripheral acquaintances may voyeuristically virtually rubberneck at the "crime scenes" of the neighborhood tramp and then snigger about the highlights amongst themselves, and that's fine too ('tis the nature of the game)...at least they're READING! Comprehending, though? Well, now that's a horse of a totally different color...My blog came up in a recent conversation between Curlymoe and the father of children who attend my kids' school...I loved the father's take on it, "Doesn't she just talk about all of the guys that she's fucked in her blog?" Well, yeah! But there's more to it than just that...at least I thought there was... Anyway, by now it's no secret that I am perfectly happy to forfeit my dignity for the sake of bawdy entertainment, even at the expense of my already tenuous rep. in my small community...Bottom line, I just want people to read the goddamned thing and to hopefully grin, maybe even chortle a bit...to be morbidly fascinated enough to want to come back for more...and then of course to tell all of their friends to read it, as well. HA!

But as it stands, I know better than to delude myself into thinking that anything major will ever come from my diligence to search for and produce compelling material for your pleasure...I have accepted - that at least for now - The Big Ugly Blog is essentially not much more than a public diary...a creative outlet...a glaring self-indulgence...and above all else - a labor of love...

Right. Ok, so another thing that I noticed in my investigation of fellow bloggers was - best I could tell - there aren't that many blogs out there, devoted to the ridiculously popular pastime of online dating. And the ones that I did unearth, are either now defunct or limp as hell. The Big Ugly Blog is the only one of the genre that I came across which asks the reader to please click a content warning icon in order to enter said den of iniquity...And I'm not saying that mature themes and language validate the importance or the quality of any blog, but when blogging about something inherently adult in nature, one would almost expect mature subject matter to be addressed, no? The safe, wholesome blogs were akin to advice columns and tutorials on the ABC's of online dating, and the few personal accounts that I did find - were weaker 'n shit. I just kept thinking, "Who actually dates this way?..It's soooo b o r i n g..."But all of this then raises still another couple of conundrums regarding The Big Ugly Blog...

#1). I feel as though I'm bouncing around this sort of limboland...stuck somewhere between acceptable content and unadulterated pornography. I got input from someone the other day, who suggested that I consider either cleaning up my blog a scosch...in an attempt to make it more palatable to folks who may be put off by my incessant cussing and bush-league smut, or conversely - take it to the next level by posting fullblown X-rated renderings of my stories, in order to appeal to the most warped of twisted minds. In other words - the way that I currently narrate my stories may be a tinge unsavory for the goody-goodies, but not nearly down and dirty enough for the pervs...

#2). If there are so few online dating blogs out there, then why the hell isn't mine more "searchable"? For godssakes!

Awhile back, I set up "Blogpatrol" - a blog counter which provides blog status reports. It lets me know the basics like how many hits I get (not NEARLY enough) and nifty things like from what countries my readers herald (this week: Bolivia, Australia, United Kingdom, Ireland, Germany, India and of course...the U.S.) but one of my favorite things about the Blogpatrol, is seeing all the different search engines that folks have plugged into their browsers to somehow end up at my Big Ugly Blog.

A few examples:

"meaning of "buddy"" (this one is seemingly so innocent...I worry that some unsuspecting 8 year old may have unintentionally wandered onto my blog...*gulp*)

"fall back girl" (snore)

"sex buddy definition" (warmer, warmer...)

"inurl:blogspot "content warning" latex rubber" (beg pardon?)

"online dating call me "no webcam"" (I get that)

"crush on, he had to fart" (sorry...come again?)

"fuck buddy not my type" (been there, done that)

"removed from his favorites" (no fucking comment!)

"definition of a fucking body" ("body"...NOT "buddy")

""Do you know what a milf is?" so you know what I'm asking" (oh yes honey...mama knows...)

"what is corporate COCK SADDLE" (hell if I know...)

"maiden fuck buddy" (sounds almost demure...ish)

"film mother commits suicide teenage daughter "you haven't kissed me yet"" (I just can't make any sense of this one)

"big ugly dick" (ahhh...a personal fave, naturally)

"fuck buddy vitiligo" (see "Everybody's Fall Back Girl" entry)

"SLUTDOM hypnosis" (wha?)

"unrequited love fuck buddies" (makes me almost misty...)

and finally...

"definition of fuck" (I feel almost honored when I think that the Big Ugly Blog could be considered synonymous with the very meaning of the word, "fuck"...quite a personal coup!)

Ok so yeah...this is all very entertaining and everything...and even though I'm able to make the connection between the search engines and certain specific blog entries no matter how freaking bizarre they might seem...would it be too much for me to ask to get hits from folks simply searching for: "online dating blogs"? I mean COME ON! To my knowledge, not one single soul has ever searched "online dating blogs" and ended up at The Big Ugly Blog...

Well kiddies...looks like all the fun is over...I'm back to thinking about what Curlymoe said about putting the blog to bed for the sake of finding my forever lover...I mean he's kinda got a point. What man who's read The Big Ugly Blog would ever date me? I've definitely missed out on a few sterling opportunities to meet really good guys, because of the stupid fucking thing. Additionally, in order for me to mine interesting material from the online dating wasteland, I have to be willing to do the legwork and quite frankly, I am growing tired of what that entails. It used to be thrilling to compose and send soft porn picture texts, and flattering to know that the recipient would wind up choking the chicken to my likeness. Nowadays, it just annoys me when some horndog whines ceaselessly about needing more pics.. (Although, I have to confess that I did send a couple of humdingers to a new guy, this week. But it was only to quell his incessant nagging, I swear! Well that...and the fact that I needed my ego stroked a little, ok? OK?!...Is there anything so wrong with that?!) Seriously though, more often than not these days, if someone asks for new pics., my knee-jerk reaction is to cross the fucker right off the list because obviously this is not a person interested in something long term. I know...it's taken me this long to figure that out…I really am just about as sharp as a bowling ball...

Also...I am totally unmotivated (lately) to doink random young bucks justa have something meaty to write. I was face to face with a golden opportunity the other night, but I just wasn't feelin' it.

I've been talking to No Car and a couple of new guys pretty regularly, but mostly just to fill the void that the Unnmentionable Chaos created...No Car and the others seem nice enough and all, but the problem is - once I get a particular guy stuck in my head, it's terribly difficult for me to get excited about any of the others...I'm hardheaded that way. It's second nature for me to fixate on an impossible crush...to make the target out in my mind to be the end all be all and the absolute focus of all of my energy to the exclusion of more practical choices. As torturous as they can be, the impossible crushes entertain and protect me in a weird kinda way...by fueling my vivid imagination (and we all know how much fun THAT can be, mmmhmmm), by acting as the dangling carrot that keeps me singleminded (if only temporarily as well as unrealistically) in my quest for my perfect partner, but also - by virtue of the fact that these crushes rarely ever come to fruition - I am safe from suffering the disappointment that might occur, should we meet and not gel...It happened with Mr. Dreamy...and then the Mystery Man...and even though I've met him...and we definitely gelled...there is literally nothing that I can do about my impossible crush on that godforsaken Unmentionable Chaos...

Anyway, my tummy hurts. Please excuse me whilst I continue to wallow in self-pity until the next irresistible opportunity to make another abhorrible choice either snaps me out of or exacerbates my funk...or...I simply fade into oblivion...

It's All Good...

When I was a younger person, you know like late teens...early 20's I was afflicted with (what I now realize were) utterly ludicrous body image issues. It wasn't that I felt that I was particularly overweight really (ummmm...approaching pudgy - at my fattest...maybe) and at times I was even in relatively good shape since for years, my beloved, turquoise beach cruiser with the fancy fenders, whitewall tires and pale pink racing stripes - was my primary mode of transportation. But no matter how fit (or not) I was, I always hated that I couldn't seem to do a thing about all that junk inside-a my trunk and that my moderately muscular build and my lack of a rack negated what little femininity I actually did possess. I didn't even bother to try and look pretty most of the time, and my style during that era could probably best be described as "grungy thrift store tomboy". Oh sure, I would rip and tear and cut up my clothes in order to reveal the better parts of my body (that recessive slut gene has presented itself in varying degrees throughout my life...) but at the same time I would do silly shit like wear shorts over my bathing suit whenever friends and I broke into the neighborhood pools for late night dips, or sunned ourselves on rocks down at the river - simply because I was unduly paranoid about the size and the shape of my butt (what I wouldn't do to have that ass back, right now...oh well, hindsight)

Back then, I adored boys and I masochistically thrived on the torture of impossible crushes...(quite obviously...a legacy...) And if ever I found myself rollin' in the hay with a fella, my most favorite part was always the making out and the tingles and all of that delicious build-up...I liked the actual sex and all, but the damned nakey part was really hard for me...I couldn't stand for guys to see my bare body and my near absence of self-confidence completely slaughtered my ability to demonstrate any real skills. I didn't realize it at the time, but I now know that as a youngster, I really just kinda sucked in the sack. The absolute pinnacle of pain for me though, was the whole "morning after" business. There I'd be, in broad daylight, hunched over right in front of whatever poor soul was still laying there in the bed ...my hands frantically doing their best to cover my "big boom" and my itty bitty titties, while still struggling to pull my clothes back on...mortifying...

Luckily, things took a dramatic change for the better (as far as my self-image was concerned) after I made it through pregnancy and the birth of my first child...Sounds strange perhaps, but I gotta tell ya', the ole modesty goes straight out the window once you've squirted out a pup (or four) in front of a handful of complete strangers, along with your gyno and your husband. Having a baby is like being naked...in triplicate...times a million...under a spotlight...in front of an audience...and the whole humiliating process somehow miraculously eradicated my prior inhibitions. Post pregnancy and childbirth, I was immediately comfortable with my body...I nursed anytime and anywhere that my babies were hungee (descretely, but I wasn't foolin' anyone) I often paraded around the house naked as a jaybird (much to the chagrin of the poor UPS guy) and consequently, so did the rest of my growing family. To this day, I still prefer to be au naturel and find clothing in general, to be a sorely overrated concept.

So, pretty much from Oct. '95 - Sept. '03 I was either pregnant or nursing (my youngest nursed til she was 22 months old, ridiculous - I know - but she was hooked) When I finally snapped out of my years long maternity-induced fog, I not only realized that my ailing marriage was beyond resuscitation but also that my drastically overworked breasts, ehemm...had literally had the life sucked out of them. Unlike Demi Moore and others, I did not come out on the other side of the young mommy years replete with a voluptuous new set...my chest was now nothing more than tightly stretched skin over ribs (with cherries on top!) And it was a demoralizing wake-up call when my 2 year old daughter (whose first word was not surprisingly, "booby" and who continued to climb into bed with me, ever hopeful that I might reconsider this whole ridiculous weaning thing) reached up under my shirt one morning, felt around a bit and jarred me from the tail-end of my slumber when she declared, "litta booby!" Well, that was freakin' it! Something had to be done, and I knew just the thing...

During my consult, the plastic surgeon that I'd chosen to restore my womanhood, told me that throughout his entire career, he had never met a better candidate for a boob job... So see? There ya' go...

I absolutely LOVED my new tits, (to this day, they're my #1 favorite accessory) even taking into account that mine were the smallest implants that my surgeon had ever worked with. He had vehemently tried in vain to get me to go a couple of sizes bigger, promising me that I would be disappointed if I stuck with the size that I'd picked, but I was sure that they would be just perfect for my boyish build as well as - terribly convincing. I'll never forget the first time that I got to check those bad boys out for myself. Standing in front of my mirror, I unzipped and unhooked that Fort Knox of a bra which had kept the precious packages safe and secure during their first 24 hours inside of my body...and then just like that...there they were (can you hear the harps and angel chorus in the background?)...I was flabbergasted by how thrilled I was with 'em. They looked so insanely good to me...that I got horny...no lie...

You're probably wondering where I'm going with all of this pointless blabber. My explanation is twofold.

First: I am not the slightest bit shy about my body anymore, which has dramatically upped my game, so to speak. I have learned how to get what I want out of sex and curiously my selfish motivation to satisfy myself, has helped me to become a much more giving lover. And I hope that by enthusiastically making sure that my own needs are met during sex, thus learning how to truly enjoy it - I may have inadvertently become a better sexual partner in general...especially with the lights on...

Second: Exhibitionism...I'm afraid that I may have let this whole concept sorta run amok...

So by now you know that I've been posting racy(ish) photos of myself on my online dating site profiles to entice more men to "view" me, my falling down stairs vids. and my blog - so there's that. Ok, so a few weekends ago, as is customary, Willow and Curlymoe and I went out to paint the town red. We ended up at our usual, favorite haunt and glory be! There was a DJ spinning all of those crappy pop songs that somehow, like the Sirens, lure my ass out onto the dance floor. This night, the bar was crowded and the place was hot...temperature hot. I was glad that I had made the decision to sport a virtually nonexistent (I'm talking like one step down from pasties) bikini top under my simple black sheath. Down below, it was ripped up black tights and a teeny pair of boy shorts and heels. I lifted my dress a little, to cool my sweaty body and Willow was like, "Awww, just take the damned thing off, already!" And so with a modicum of prodding, I did just that...

After a song or two, I figured it was inevitable that management would be over soon to ask me to please get dressed, and so I decided to beat them to the punch and went to go put my dress back on. I returned to the table where our drinks and pocketbooks were still in place, but discovered that my cute, little black dress was...GONE?!

I didn't react, because I knew that some stupid bitch was just fuckin' with me, and I didn't want the scag to mistakenly assume that she'd gotten to me. (Not sure why any girl would want to draw attention away from herself by mandating that another girl stay nearly naked on the dance floor, but whatever...) The only thing that upset me was losing the little dress, it was cute and I didn't want that ho' to have it...Aaaaand...there was still the potential threat of the staff insisting that I cover up - and at this point - that would pretty much be impossible. But no one ever bothered me. In fact, I wound up ordering drinks for the rest of the night, right up at the bar alongside the hot and sweaty fools who had worn all of that superfluous clothing out to the bar that night (hee hee) and nobody said a word. Only once, did someone untie my tiny top (probably the same hag who stole the dress) but I caught the strings in time and Curlymoe tied it back for me before disaster struck. Everything was cool, until I realized that I would eventually have to make the 3 block walk back to the car, rawther scantily clad, drunk and wobbly on my four inch heels...

My friends and I made it back to the car mostly without incident. Sure, I withstood a few cat calls and all that, but no one solicited me for sex even though I did pretty much resemble a common hooker...so that was good...

After a night like that one, where hanging out in a bar with nary a stitch on shoulda been awkward, embarrassing or humiliating - but wasn't, I realized that even though I'm probably too old to act the way that I do (although it might not be an age thing, since I don't often see young people display even remotely similar behavior in public...hmmmm...) evidently dignity is a trait of which I may be devoid and that shock value has become a rewarding byproduct of all of my antics. And so, because of my conduct and the fact that I advertise all of my questionable behavior in a public forum, there are lots of people out there in the world who truly don't "get" me. Most people make up their minds that I'm a certain way and they form opinions (some dead-on, some completely off the mark) based on this bizarre persona that I have created...I'm used to it by now (hell - I ask for it, for cryin' out loud!) and I seriously DO NOT care about what people (who are not my close friends or children) say or believe about me, I mean that. I do however, care about the idea of being alone...forever. And so the real question is this...After portraying myself as such a wackjob, what man out there is gonna be willing to put up with all of the nonsense that goes along with, well...me? He'd have to come to the table equipped with a high tolerance for imbecility but also meet my extreme standards of excellence and I'm afraid that finding the embodiment of THAT, may be a tall order to fill...So have I rendered myself undate-able? I'm friend-able, and I'm fuck-able...but am I date-able? Maybe not. And I have recently learned that I might not even be marry-able. After changing my "relationship status" from single to married on Facebook the other day, just to try and incite some innocent laughter...what I mostly wound up with was negative spin including a comment from one sceptic who ascertained that "married to yourself doesn't count" Jesus Christ! Do I seriously come across as THAT narcissistic? This is precisely why I fear that I may be paving the way to miss out on that critical part in anyone's life...settling into the golden years with a buddy, a traveling companion...a forever lover. I don't want to be alone forever. But I also don't want to manipulate my personality in order to fit into society better, or something...I dunno.

I would love to think that I could distract myself from all of this postulation by getting together with some brilliant, new hopeful this weekend (specifically a certain Mystery Man) but it looks like I'm heading into the third straight weekend of deferment from him, and - lest I look even more the fool and under the expert tutelage of my young but wise friends, I have decided to take the hint. (I'm thinkin' that he's way too good for a peon like me, anyway...)

So hey, how about a little online dating absurdity to lift the somber pall that has suddenly draped itself over this entry? Whaddya say, huh?

Late the other night, after my kids were tucked in, I was enjoying a cocktail, fiddling around on my trusty ole Mac when I was IM'd on one site by someone new. I didn't really have any business talking to the guy since he lives 500 miles or so away, but I was bored and buzzed and wanted some company. I'm not really sure why, but I always prefer the ones who dive right into the juicy shit as opposed to the ones who just say what they think that you want to hear...b o r i n g...So anyway, this guy opened the conversation by telling me that I reminded him of his first crush (respectable)...allegedly his neighbor...who was also his mother's best friend (ah ha! The plot thickens!) Right away, I knew that I was in for a treat. I asked him if he'd ever acted on his crush and he said not really, but that the woman had once watched him spankin' the monkey up in his bedroom window, as she sunbathed in her yard below. And that after that, he'd heard his mother and the crush, discussing his more than ample size...which oddly enough - got him more excited about his mother, than the crush...So now, I was like, "Oh dayum! This shit is mess up!" But in the interest of my Big Ugly Blog (and my own perverse fascination with most things off-kilter) I continued to put him at ease and goaded him into telling me more. He asked if I had ever done anything taboo, to which I honestly responded, "Yes" (don't even ask me to tell you what the thing is that I told him, cuz this is one secret that will NEVER rear its big ugly head in my blog) which prompted him to divulge even more...He said that as a young man he had become obsessed with his mother and his sister and that even now, he still ogled mother and daughter duos, while oh - say...strolling around the mall (gulp) He next told me that the reason that he had contacted me was because of the picture on my profile of me with my young (11 YEARS OLD, for godssakes!!!) daughter. Now I was beginning to regret responding to his IM...(CREEPY!) and I was more than grateful that he lived so very far away! Next he willingly offered up the fact that he had messed around with his sister (ewww?!?!) but not his mom (phew)...Feeling almost like I needed to contact some authority or something but before I had bailed out of the convo., the sicko dropped the other shoe, confessing that he'd had REAL LIVE ACTUAL SEX with his sist..."K BUD, PARTY'S OVER!"

You talk about awkward! Sheesh! I couldn't believe the Pandora's box that I had mistakenly opened...Close it, close it, close it up again!!!!

I sew this entry up with the secure knowledge that no matter how demented and warped I am or may appear to be, there are peeps out there who are WAY WORSE OFF THAN I!!! I may put people off with my brazen wantonness, but at the very least, I always feel understood, accepted, cradled and loved by my kids and my true friends, and because of that...it's all good...