Being-have is a Double Edged Sword...

It bothers me a little, that so often I begin new blog entries with some sort of apology...either to repent whatever most recent disgraceful behavior I am poised to admit or conversely, to warn that there is literally NOTHING TO SEE HERE, PEOPLE!...This time - I apologize for apologizing, yet again...and on that note...

WARNING! If you are expecting anything remotely as titillating as the last Big Ugly entry, prepare to be very disappointed...and maybe even nod off a little while reading...(sorry?)

Now normally, if I sit here and wait long enough - something blog-worthy inevitably plops right into my lap and provides the inspiration for whatever entry I'm working on at the moment. Well...not this time, evidently...feels like I've been twiddling my thumbs for ages and everything that's presented itself over the last few weeks and about which I've avoided writing - seems particularly dull especially when desperately nipping at the heels of my last juicy post...I want a story with a CLIMAX, damnit! Not this anticlimactic rubbish, sheesh...I'm afraid that I may have raised the sensationalism bar to such ridiculous heights, that it might not only be difficult to clear but also probably be somewhat jeopardous to even attempt doing so. Plus, I did make that silly little pledge to try and be good and all...(humph) and as promised, I HAVE cranked things down a notch or two...although believe you me, it's not for lack of trying...

So following that last crazy weekend of raucous partying, when my deplorable behavior ultimately came to a head (*cough*) with the Rough Rider - the single girl facet of my life feels decidedly lackluster. My sensible head tells me that this is a good thing...that to try and perpetuate that type of head-spinning momentum could be beyond disastrous. But my irrepressible spirit of adventure (or is it my chronic bad judgement...) and constant quest for compelling blog content has me convinced that bein-have is nothing short of boring as hell! And although I am standing solid here on my soapbox, committed (for the meantime, at least) to my "Keep the Cooter Clean" campaign, whereby protecting my health and perhaps polishing my dingy image a skosh, I'm afraid that the one who will truly suffer the most from all of this abstinence - is YOU, dear reader...

Ok, no more excuses..I reckon I just gotta get on with givin' you what I got...

After several unsuccessful attempts to reach the Hired Gun from my primary email account had me so discouraged that I nearly threw in the towel, I apprehensively tried sending him one last note through my other account (just in case)...and whaddya know - he got it...AND wrote back to me almost immediately! Turns out that after the brief pause in our dialog, he was left thinking that I was the one who had dropped the ball on our conversatin' and he assured me that he was still diggin' on me HUGE (awww...) and was delighted that we were back in touch with each other (double awww...) I fixed what turned out to be an overall glitch with my computer caused by an (unbeknownst to me) power outage and now that all systems are go, the Hired Gun and I have resumed communicating - fairly regularly - via email and even on the phone. It makes me smile when he calls me "Honey Bunny" and "Sweetness" which is kinda strange, cuz oftentimes that shit is like nails on a chalkboard to me. And I like the way he always ends each v.m. with his upbeat catch phrase, "Do great things, today, Hun". The confusing part about all of this though, is that the Hired Gun comes across as being genuinely sincere when he assures me that he really DOES want to meet up, someday soon - and yet he has consistently offered a bevy of excuses explaining why he can never seem to do so. If he wasn't always so sweet and verbally affectionate, this would all feel eerily reminiscent of repeatedly getting the shaft from the Mystery Man during the months preceding our singular fated date. Like the Mystery Man, the Hired Gun's job takes him out of the country for varying lengths of time and that is obviously a legitimate reason to be unavailable to meet, but the Hired Gun has been back in the States now for the last month or so, and leading up to both of my childless weekends since his return as well as other random times that I was available, he has without hesitation, declined my invitations to get together. This weekend his excuse was not the token, "Sorry, not this time, Hun...as you can see, my career is the bane of my social life", this time he told me that he was undergoing some sort of surgery which would have him laid up not only for the weekend, but possibly for the next two weeks. He gave me no specific details about the procedure, but promised that he would let me know how things turned out on Mon. or Tues. and then more about the operation, when we do finally meet......Please tell me that he wouldn't make up something so grave - just to circumvent going on a date with me...would he do that? I really just don't understand the point of stringing me along like he's been doing, if he's not really interested. It's honestly starting to pluck my very last nerve. You know like "either fish or cut bait, dude...if it ain't gonna ever happen, then just SAY SO...for cryin' out loud!" My friends caution, after enduring all of my belly-achin' about his constant dismissal of me, that it sounds suspiciously like a classic case of the cliche "he's just not that into you" syndrome...or else...he's married...both of which seem like viable possibilities...

So now...backing up a couple of weeks...Early the Friday morning of my first childless weekend since my tangle with the Rough Rider, I was greeted with an IM on one of my favorite dating sites, from a brand new guy - Comb-over. He was writing to me for the first time, from his home in South Carolina (!) to say that he was just about to jump in his car and head up to an ultimate frisbee tourney taking place in a town very near to where I live, and did I want to meet for a drink when he arrived...and I was like, "Wait...what? I don't even know you, bro...hang on a sec." I checked out his profile and although he had nice photos posted, they didn't show much of his face..the body looked good and stuff, but I wanted to know more about that puss...And then, as I read over his "About Me" section, I quickly discovered that Comb-over is...how you say...married? Yes - MARRIED!......for the love of god......Welp, that WOULD explain the covert photos on his page I 'spose...now wouldn't it. I wrote back and asked him what the heck was up wit dat and he eagerly admitted that he is indeed married, but that he and his wife had recently decided to possibly dabble in....yep, you guessed it...POLYAMORY...oh bliss...

I was bemused when next he had the cajones to ask if he could crash on my couch for the weekend...I was like, "uhhhh...NO?! Let me reiterate...ME...NOT...KNOW...YOU!"...But even STILL, that absurd devil-may-care attitude of mine put common sense into a crippling headlock when I allowed the 30-something married father of two young children to convince me to text him after I got off of work, so that I could let him know where might be a good place for us to possibly meet up later for that drink......(tha hell is my problem?...I mean seriously!)

Interestingly enough, that day at work (as has become the norm) I found myself intermittently daydreaming about the repugnant Rough Rider (why DO I fixate on the bad seeds so?) and literally NEVER thought about Comb-over, not one time ever...he really just hadn't left any kind of a mark. In fact, I had been out with friends for a couple of hours already - later that evening - before it dawned on me that I had totally brainfarted on texting the guy! Now vascillating between the two options of blowing him off completely and trying to stir up a little trouble, I opted to take my chances with the Comb-over and texted him my location as well as to apologize for the delay in doing so. He responded that it was cool, because he was still like 70 minutes away from where I was, and that he looked forward to seeing me real soon...

My friends kept teasing me that every fat and disgusting redneck loser who walked through the door, must certainly be my blind date......ha......ha......ha......but when Comb-over did finally make his entrance, they shut their pie holes, cuz at first glance he looked pretty spot-on. He was tall and athletically trim, and had dark, curly tresses and an attractive face. It wasn't until we sat down together at a table to introduce ourselves, that I began to fully appreciate the truly weird way that he chose to coif his mop, which upon further inspection was also in dire need of a good shampooing...ew?

Comb-over exuded this sort of lighthearted innocence, which led me to believe that he would more than likely have been a very polite and well-behaved house guest, had I made the snap decision to let him stay at my place. He was gentle and calm and easy to talk to, but these positive traits belied the machismo perhaps necessary to pull off an extemporaneous extramarital liaison with a perfect stranger, such as the one he had hinted about in our brief IM, earlier that day...I'm not sure if it was his reserved nature or if he just wasn't feeling it for me, but the entire time that we were together he kept a remarkably safe physical distance...which was actually kind of a good thing because despite his endearing personality, that fucked up hairdo was a total deal-breaker for me. (See how I is?) At some point, after we were fairly well acquainted, I simply could not stand it for one more minute. See, the thing was - his whole package was nearly flawless, spoiled only by the unfortunate way that he pulled that greasy shock of hair (starting from a deep part like halfway down one side of his head, so weird) all the way over the top of his head (which happened to not be balding at all, incidentally) and then attempted to plaster the crazy mess down with that icky, naturally occurring pomade. I kinda ribbed him about it a little and then asked if he minded if I tried something...and before he had the chance to say "No", I threaded my fingers through that goofy comb-over, lifted his hair up a little and shook my hands hard and fast to try and create what I was certain would be a better-suited, messier look for him - he did NOT appreciate my altruism. As soon as I was done, he frantically tried to smooth it back down the way that he liked it, and shot me a look as if to say, "Tha fuck's your problem, girl?!" Anyway, after accepting that there was literally nothing could be done to improve that aspect of his appearance, I slipped off to the ladies room to wash my hands of the whole situation...gee-ross!

Comb-over tagged along with my pals and me when we left the bar to go check out a party close by, but soon bade us and our high jinks farewell, opting instead to spend the rest of his night chillaxin' at the Red Roof Inn...and that was perfectly fine with me...there were clearly no sparks flying between us, and it was something of a relief to not have to deal with bangin' some married guy who lives states away...even if his wife does approve of it...

And now, for the only truly bright spot in this whole episode of The Big Ugly Blog...

I swear to goodness, if it weren't for my spirited, fun-loving group of friends and acquaintances, I would wither up from boredom over the weekends that my kids are with their dad and during these times when my online dating landscape is so barren...

The night after the Comb-over non-event, I joined Willow and a few of her girlfriends at one of those raucous parties where a bunch of (much younger than I) folks play drinking games and burn shit and sometimes, graciously invite this old gal to join in on all the fun. The highlights of THIS particular fete included honing my skills in a competitive match of "Tip Cup"...being joined on the couch by a 21 year old charmer for a surprisingly mature and entertaining conversation which he punctuated with a startlingly skilled series of good-bye kisses...and the piece de resistance...when I (or so I've been told) spontaneously tried to take "life of the party" Flemming, out at the knees - Jiu Jitsu style (well...my best rendition of such, at least). Not wanting to take the unprovoked assault standing up, Flemming brought me down to the floor with a thud and so began our 30-ish(?) minute long, rambunctious brawl which sent furniture flying and Willow toppling like a timbered tree (tee hee) and wound up to be by far, my favorite party trick since that time I hurled myself down the stairs! I absolutely LOVED it! And hey, considering that fact that I was fighting well outside of my weight class, it was an astonishingly competitive bout!

The next day, I could barely hoist my ravaged body out of bed, I kid you not. It felt, at the very least, like I had a collapsed lung...hahaha! Once I did finally manage to get myself upright, I disrobed gingerly since every time that I turned even slightly towards the left, it felt like the wind was being knocked outta me. I stepped my battered self into the shower to assess the damage, and beamed proudly as I marveled over my badly bruised knees and shins. But the icing on the cake was realizing as I got dressed in front of the mirror, that the smeared make-up that I kept trying to wipe off of the outside corner of my eye, was actually the early discoloration of the very first shiner of my life(!) which was complemented by a bruised left cheek! Ho ho ho and fiddle dee dee, now THAT'S my kind of paaar-tee!

So I've been bitching and moaning for quite awhile now, that there has been little or no activity in the online dating realm of my singlehood. But, as I claimed in the beginning of this weak ass post, if I patiently wait long enough - shit just winds up falling into my lap...Well, both issues were addressed last week, when nearly simultaneously, two very different online guys began IMing me on the same site. On this particular site, when a person opens dialog with IM, their message is accompanied by a postage stamp-sized photo, which offers varying degrees of accurate depiction of the person's visage. Alongside the photo pops up the person's age and place of residence. Generally I ignore the guys who are too young, or live too far away or whose picture isn't really doin' it for me...

Blue Steel listed his age as being 38 - but after talking a bit, he admitted that since he typically hangs out with a younger crowd, he felt that it would be ok to fudge his real age in order to attract younger women online. He seemed almost ashamed to be admitting this to a woman who clearly did not fall within the parameters of that young girl demographic...ah well. Blue Steel lived not too awfully far away and his postage stamp pic. met my preliminary approval...he was dark complected, with a shaved head and it looked like he had pretty eyelashes, although there was this sort of strange worried look in his eyes, that I wasn't fully loving.

Blue Steel and I chatted for a short while and he seemed decent enough, although he couldn't spell even some of the simplest of words, which for me is a bit of a bone of contention. He informed me that he was not one to dally when it came to his personal method of online dating, stating that if he was interested at all in a woman, he preferred to meet right away in the hopes of discovering an immediate connection, rather than frittering away precious time emailing and IMing indefinitely. I responded that I couldn't agree more. He asked when I was available, I said that I was free for the next 2 nights, he penciled me in for the very next night, we exchanged cell #'s and then he signed off. At this point I decided that it might be wise to go over to his actual profile and investigate a bit. And what I discovered is that his enlarged main profile pic. did not look nearly as good to me as the shrunken one (drats)...and as I scrolled through all of the however many of them there were, they got less and less good (bummer). They were all basically the same headshot, but as I went further down the row, the facial expressions in each one began to make my skin crawl. He was definitely trying to work the bedroom eyes thing, but worse than that was the way that he pursed his lips and/or kinda pouted...it was all far too Zoolander to even be taken remotely seriously. I was regretting having so hastily agreed to meet him. What a desperate dipshit I can be.

The Creeper was 27, and also lived within a reasonable distance from my home...and as soon as we struck up convo., I immediately went over to his page to get a quick and more thorough assessment of him from the git-go...not gonna make the same mistake twice (in one day, at least) And in his photos - he was never anything less than flat out gorgeous...Yeah, he was young and all, but he had the most adorable dimple in his cheek and a happy unaffected smile and he was Argentine...As is typical for the young ones, he nervously began to explain his fantasy of being with an older woman, especially since he was now finally single after having been in a relationship with a woman his age, for the last 5 years...(oh boy...here we go again). I told him that I never plan very far ahead, that if we agreed to meet and we subsequently experienced a little chemistry, then we could decide at that time whether to proceed or not. He said that he could work with that and like Blue Steel, he pressed me to set a date, asap. I was now thinking that I should just ditch Blue Steel and go ahead and move the Creeper into Blue Steel's Monday night slot, so I did. The Creeper and I planned to meet in a town between our two, the details to be ironed out later. But for now, he would be content to see more pics. of me and I felt quite the same about him, so we swapped phone numbers and sent each other a naughty picture text...(mine was naughtier)...

Monday while at work, I got texts from both men asking if we were "on" for that night. I rarely text or talk on the phone while I'm with my beloved old people so it wasn't until my drive home that I began to try tweaking the evening's plans. Blue Steel had offered to buy me dinner if I would do all of the driving out to where he lives, which would end up to be nearly 2 hours and that was on top of however long we stayed out to dinner. I was reluctant to do all of that, even outside of having lost interest in the date as a whole, so I used - being tired from work and having to get up early the next day - as my excuse for wanting to skip out on all of that travel time. He would not take "No" for an answer and suggested that if we pushed the time back an hour or more, after which the horrible rush hour traffic from his direction would have subsided, then he would be willing to meet me midway and we could instead go dutch treat for drinks only...dag...looked like I wouldn't be gettin' out of this one. I texted the Creeper to apologetically beg off and promised that if he was available, I would make sure that nothing would get in our way the following night. He cordially accepted my apology as well as the change in schedule.

I know it sounds so bitchy, but I was seriously not at all motivated to go to the trouble of getting all dolled up and then making the trek to go out and meet Blue Steel. But I just kept telling myself that I should be glad that I was FINALLY going on a Monday night online date, and that if nothing else, it might give me something about which to write.

I walked into the bar which I had chosen and Blue Steel had given the stamp of approval, and there he was...one of only three patrons sitting there...oh and the bartender, of course. Blue Steel got up from his barstool and just stood there. Now it's been my experience that it is customary to greet your date with a hug, but this guy was like a freaking statue, arms by his side...lookin' at me as if I had cooties or sumpin'. But it was fine, you know? Cuz I knew instantly that this thing would be going no...where.

He listened patiently while I told him this elaborate story that I've been writing in my head, each day at work (it was a greedy self-indulgence, I can admit that) and all the while he kept batting his long eyelashes at me, uck! It was alarmingly apparent that HE was rawther pleased with himself but I found the whole thing terribly disquieting. He even boldly ascertained that this was the very technique that he used and which made him so successful at bagging young girls at clubs...uh...yeah...

Later, he performed a couple of psychological tests on me which were actually pretty cool and then he grabbed my hand and led me to an imaginary dance floor, with imaginary music and unceasingly batted those lashes before embracing and then kissing me..........sooooo not good..........ok, I'm not gonna be too mean here, because I happen to know that Blue Steel does read the Big Ugly. What I will say is this...that kiss...was utterly gag-inspiring. It was like having a cold slab of thick cut balogna slowly driven down the back of my throat...There...I was nice...

Blue Steel walked me to my car and tried to asphyxiate me with that soggy, floppy tongue of his once more, and when I pulled away he asked, "What? Don't you like to tongue kiss?" Out of the goodness of my heart, I started to analyze for him - exactly where he was going wrong - but honestly since I knew that after that night it would no longer concern me, I just didn't see the point. After all...he'd have had me believe that his technique makes all the young girls melt anyway, and so to that I say, "Hey, if it ain't broke...don't fix it."

Not ten minutes down the road on my way back home, I hit a deer with my adorable, little car, damnit...I couldn't help but think that it was some sort of harbinger of...something...b a d...

I arrived back at the safe sanctuary that is...home, relatively early for a typical date night...parked my poor, busted up car, greeted my pups and then traipsed on over to my studio, to set a spell in front of my trusty ole Mac, before going to bed. Literally the instant that I logged onto the site where I'd met Blue Steel and the Creeper, the Creeper was all UP in my worl...

the Creeper: "So, are we on for tomorrow night?"

Moi: "Yeppers"

the Creeper: "Cool"

Moi: "Where shall we meet?"

the Creeper: "How 'bout the "such and such" Plaza in Chantilly?"

Moi: "Like a shopping center?"

the Creeper: "Yeah"

long pause...

the Creeper: "There's a Dunkin' Donuts where the cops always hang out. You can park your car there and then hop into my car and I'll take you for a long drive to a remote location like a secluded park or something"

'nother long pause

the Creeper: "I'm shy and I'm afraid if we go to a bar and have a few drinks, I will lose the courage to talk and get to know you"

Was this guy for real?! Did he actually take me for a COMPLETE idiot?! No one drinks and gets MORE shy, give me a freakin' break! Jesus Christ! Did he not think that his description of how HE wanted things to go, could not possibly sound exactly like I was gonna end up brutally raped, bludgeoned, dismembered and methodically placed in pieces parts in some river at the park's edge, for fuck's sake?!!! Holy mother of god...And what was all that horse shit about the po-po hanging out where we were to meet? Was that meant to alleviate any concerns that I might be having about my well-being? It wasn't like those cops were gonna form a motorcade and escort us safely into the deep, dark wood...Ohhhh no, huh uh...the whole thing just gave me a really baaaad feeling and there was literally NO WAY that I was gonna meet the Creeper in a parking lot and drive away with him...in HIS car...to an undisclosed destination. End of conversation...

Is there a moral to this story? Probably not. What I do know...is that although I may be starved for love and affection and attention and a good fucking lay...I have proven, post Rough Rider, that I AM capable of making at least a few erudite decisions...problem with that is...it's flipping boring as shit...