Doin' the NaNoWriMo, But Still Finding Time For YOU!

I'm thinkin' it may be a good thing for everyone concerned, that I am (sort of) taking the month of November off from dating and partying and chronicling my shenanigans to participate in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWrimo)...Today is November 15, which means that I am halfway through my month-long sabbatical from blogging. Aaaand...I have written half of the required words necessary to become a NaNo "winner" which brings me great joy as well as a sense of relief since when I embarked on the project, I had no concept of how difficult it would be to stay on schedule. And because I am feeling fairly confident that I will be able to reach my goal of 50,000 words by November 30, I figured it couldn't hurt to take a little time out from all of that wholesome, clean writing to tend to my neglected blog a bit. I am, after all, irreversibly programmed to have Big Ugly-relevant thoughts and the idea of waiting for an entire month to jot them down feels nearly negligent. Plus I just miss you guys and hate the thought of leaving you dangling for so long...

Honestly, there really isn't anything very exciting to relay. The only thing dating-wise that's happened is this: Two Sundays ago, the very day that I was to kick off NaNoWriMo, I was heading home from my daughters' riding event. My hangover from the Halloween party, the night before was beginning to neutralize and as I found myself finally able to process crisp thoughts, I intended to use the 30 minute car ride home to mentally prepare myself to knuckle down in front of my trusty ole Mac, the instant that I got home...I was sorting out my story in my head and was determining to tune out all other distractions in order to log in a hefty helping of wordage, over that initial day of NaNoWriMo. Not 10 minutes into my trip back home though, I received an unexpected surprise, in the form of a text. The Thursday night prior, while attempting to quickly rustle up some fun, since my kids were away and I did not have to work the next day, I came across the familiar face of a man who's been intermittently peeping at my profile on this one dating site, for over a year now. I have always reciprocated and peeped back at his profile and have even sent him a couple of (unanswered) messages, asking him to just say, "Hi" or something - for godssakes. I liked the way that the Silver Fox looked; salt and pepper grey, military short hair, unusually pale eyes and a confident but in-check masculinity. I could tell that he had a decent sense of humor too, since the caption beside his main profile pic. said, "Polar Bear...Something to Break the Ice" I dunno, I just found that to be very cute and clever...call me corny. Ok, so that Thursday night, after catching the Silver Fox snooping around my profile again, I was like, "Fuck it. No more of this namby pamby bullshit. I gotta try and make something happen." I sent him a new message and said something to the effect of, "All right "Silver Fox", you've been sneakin' peeks at me for over a year now. Why won't you just go on and talk to me? How 'bout this...what say we meet for a drink in Winchester...tonight..." and I typed in the digits of my cell.

I never did hear from the Silver Fox, but this did happen to be the same evening that I ended up going on that late, last-minute date with the Creeper...so the night was not entirely for naught.

Anyway, here it was...three days after I'd sent my message to him and the Silver Fox had finally decided to get in contact with me. He apologized for the delay in his response, and explained that he was a reservist in the military and that he had been away on duty for the last few days. He had been interested in meeting me since we first noticed each other online, but since he was not a paying member on that particular site, he did not have the paying members' privilege of communicating via email. He told me that when he saw my most recent message, he had decided to suck it up and pay the $35 dollars to become an official member, so that he would be able to talk to me...but once he saw that I had included my #, he realized that he didn't have to bother with any of that nonsense...he could bypass the site altogether and just give me a ring. I told him, "Well yeah! So, since I saved you from having to cough up that $35, I guess you'll be buyin', if we ever finally go out." The Silver Fox said, "I would have it no other way."

I had just that morning, emptied out my text inbox, so there were only a few scattered texts in my phone before the Silver Fox and I started talking. We texted for my entire drive home and for several hours after that and about the time that my inbox was completely full with texts from the Silver Fox and my phone was dead on charge, we switched over to emailing each other. Needless to say, I did NOT get very much writing done, on that first critical day of NaNoWriMo...ugh...But at least I had a date lined up for the following Tuesday night! Weee! (so much for implementing my "nose-to-the-grindstone" method of attacking my NaNo project and curbing my socializing, whoopsie)

All of this build-up, I hate to say, is just a bunch of smoke and mirrors, because the truth of the matter is, that my date with the Silver Fox was positively good...but definitely not as good as great. I liked the guy very much don't get me wrong, but even after spending a couple of hours effortlessly chatting nonstop, I really just wasn't feeling any sort of attraction to him. I do believe that he would make a very nice companion to some other gal, but I myself, simply wasn't blown away by him, on any level. The good and the bad news was, that without the distraction of a new love interest, I would be able to get myself focussed on writing my book, but I was really discouraged to have crossed yet another good prospect off of my dwindling list of hopefuls.

Naturally, during this time of isolation and solitude, hunkered down here in my studio - pouring myself into my mediocre novel, I have had plenty of quiet time to consider my current single girl status and very little opportunity to do anything to improve upon it. My assessment of the situation is pretty disheartening. In the last entry, I glibly made light of the Rough Rider scenario which transpired at Flemming's boisterous Halloween party, but the fact of the matter is - amusing anecdote or not - this was not good decision-making on my part (no shit!) And later that Halloween evening, after my sweet and wonderful friends created interference by breaking up not only the first, but also a couple of follow-up interludes with the Rough Rider - I kinda collapsed...emotionally.

I have the most amazingly devoted friends and even my peripheral acquaintances take my undulating strife to heart...which I appreciate beyond expression. After word got out about my first slip-up with the Rough Rider, I heard from a number of concerned people who offered the inside skinny on the nefarious monster and insisted that I be made aware of his ghastly exploits - the direct byproducts of his rapacious drive to rack up conquests. I heard a particularly tragic story in which the Rough Rider had allegedly introduced an innocent, 18 year old newbie to a sordid world of hardcore sexual deviation, and consequently transformed her into a raving, seasoned swinger in a very short period of time. The side effects of her sudden immersion into this newfound, alternative lifestyle, coupled with the Rough Riders quick abandonment of her, has to this day - left an indelible mark on her ability to function properly in relationships with men. It was alleged that the Rough Rider, during his long career as a sexual marauder, has passed along various venerial diseases to certain of his prey, and has sired 3 children - each with a different mother and none of whom he supports financially...VERY honorable. So why, after hearing all of this following my first run-in with the Rough Rider, did I continue to try and slink off with him every sneaky chance that we found at the Halloween party - which was the second night that we crossed paths? And this very question is the reason that I totally lost my shit when J. finally coaxed me into walking away from the temptation to continue fucking around with that asshole, and instead, to follow him - J. - out to my cute, little car for a minute...to chill. J., like so many of the people to whom I gravitate, is much younger than I and I've said it before, but I'll say it again..it is my youngest pals who consistently prove to be infinitely more wise than I as well as some of my older friends are. But it still felt a little strange to be tenderly scolded by someone so much younger than I. Nonetheless, hearing J.'s take on things, definitely got me thinking...

We all know that there is this glaring, fundamental glitch in my wiring, the result of which is my apparent unwillingness to recognize good men as viable dating options in favor of fixating on the stinky, rotting chum of the dating world. Whether this is a protective mechanism by which to stay safe from commitment or simply inherently bad judgement of character, it's hard for me to say. But either way, hearing J. chastise me for being such a fool, was quite an eye-opener. I looked into that metaphorical mirror that he held up to my tear-soaked face, and saw myself for the ridiculous joke of a human, that I have become. And for a second, I leaned more towards the side of perhaps hangin' up my fishnets and hooker boots and cleaning up my act a tad, in order to get serious about finding a reasonable candidate to date. This is not a totally foreign concept, my god no. I have always waffled back and forth between wanting to find the man with whom I am meant to grow old...and whorin' it up just to fill idle time. J. insists that he knows a really great guy; divorced, my age, has kids and is an artist...and he has vowed to introduce us. Now, whether or not J. will actually go to the trouble of arranging for us to meet, remains to be seen. But I am hopeful, that if an indisputably good thing presents itself, I will have the wherewithal to distinguish it as such...rather than chalk it up later, as another good opportunity - missed.

I decided to let myself celebrate reaching the 25k word mark in my novel a couple of days before arriving at the official midway point of NaNoWriMo, by joining Willow and a few other friends in D.C., cuz it also happened to be Friday and my kids were with their dad, this weekend. I'd agreed and was perfectly happy to act as a sort of buffer along with another girlfriend, Janine - since Willow was wanting to hang out with this new guy she likes, but she didn't want it to seem like a date...you know, in case he wasn't thinking about HER, that way. The three of us girls joined up with Willow's guy, M.C. Ginger who brought J. along and we hit the town for a long night of balls out partying. I had just been so sure that hanging out in a different geographical location would equal=tons of new faces which would get my congealing juices flowing again. We started off at dinner, which was yum but not exactly conducive to plumping up my repertoire. I did manage to catch the eye of the two guys restocking the soap and paper towels in the men's room, though. The line for the ladies room was absurdly long, so - like we sometimes do - Willow and I burst into the men's room, past the guys standing at the urinals and back to where the stalls were. Unfortunately all of the potties were occupied, which left Willow and me standing out like sore thumbs, in the middle of the men's room. We ducked into the broom closet and waited til one of the stall doors opened. And when it did, I shot through the broom closet doorway to try and nab the open stall before someone else did, and the instant my high heels touched that disgusting, soaking wet floor, my feet flew out from under me and I nearly fell all the way down to that filthy-ass floor! EWWWW, oh my GOD! It was sheer self-preservation that I was able to catch myself with the inside of my elbow on the sink counter, before suffering the horrible fate of donning urine-soaked clothing, for the rest of the night...Willow and I did our business and as we quickly washed our hands and turned to leave, the two employees looked me up and down and excitedly spoke to me in Spanish...I didn't understand their words, but I felt like I had an inkling as to what it was that they were saying...their eyes did all the talking!...The whole thing was only slightly embarrassing...

The five of us left the restaurant and strolled around, trying to decide what to do next and happened upon a party in a big house full of George Washington University students, presumably. There were tons of peeps, but the absence of vodka and the abundance of trust fund babies with popped collars, tipped the scales toward the decidedly "bunk" category. We lasted maybe 10 minutes before opting to move on and as we neared the abnormally long flight of stairs which would lead us back down to the front door, I could not resist throwing myself down 'em...just like old times! I got a couple of requests from startled observers, to prove that I had done it on purpose, by repeating this - my favorite party stunt, and of course - I was happy to oblige them...Unfortunately, my clothes were now BEER-soaked, BUT - somehow, miraculously...nary a hair on my head was outta place...Hi-YAH!

During dinner, I had gotten a text from this 22 year old boy(?) from one of my dating sites, who had been inquiring over the last few days whether or not I was into dating younger guys cuz, "I think ur hot". I had explained to him about my miserable relationship with Jimmy and the resultant bad taste in my mouth which clearly had not registered with him, and so after this - his first text to me - I suggested that one of my younger friends, like Willow or Janine for instance, might be a more suitable match for him. He immediately snapped back, "I don't date girls my own age" I apologized for offending him and left it at that. After leaving the party and while on the way to our final destination, I got another text from the very young (but admittedly good looking!) Grouchy Guy. He wanted to know if I was interested in getting together at all that very night - and I, now a bit tipsy and hungry for action said, "Oh, why not. I'm hangin out w friends in D.C., come join us if you want" He said that he was in Reston, and that it was too far for him to travel. Maybe tomorrow night. I said "K" and that was the end of that.

My four friends and I finally agreed to end our search for the perfect place to party when we reached a packed-to-the-gills bar in Dupont Circle. Just being in a room with that many people gave me a bogus sense of certainty that there would be no way in HELL, that I could leave outta there without at least one guy's number...or something...

As could've been expected, Willow was fairly well occupied with M.C. Ginger, but Janine and J. and I were def. on the prowl. I kept waiting to locate someone...anyone - in that enormous crowd of people, on whom I might zero in, but I simply could not find a single living soul who whet my whistle, so to speak. I said something to Janine about the shortage of hot guys, wondering if she felt the same way and it turned out that she was just as stymied as I was that per capita, the pickin's could be that slim.

Last Call was fast approaching, and I was accepting that this night would be remembered as nothing more than a fun night of partying with my buddies...no skanky story to recount in my blog, no potential for long term romance...nada...But wait...What was THIS? Oh nothing really...it was only - JUST ABOUT THE MOST ADORABLE GUY I MIGHT EVER HAVE SEEN IN MY LIFE! I moved away from my perch on the bench against the wall, and slyly positioned myself out more in the middle of the room...closer to the Brit. Ok, now listen to what this guy was wearing, and I'm here to tell ya', most men could not pull this shit off. But for whatever reason, the Brit made a chunky Mr. Rogers-esque cardigan sweater over a rumpled white button-down shirt, complemented with a black skinny tie - absolutely WORK! He had his hair done up all spikey and his face was animated and bright with blue eyes, a broad smile and the most divine, clear complexion. Once I was in his general area, it didn't take long for us to recognize a kindred kookiness in one another. We immediately started talking and goofing off and for those last 30 minutes or so, before management kicked everyone out of the bar, the Brit and I had a really big time. I gave him a Big Ugly business card, which unfortunately has no personal contact info., nothing but the link to my blog. We left the club at the same time, said goodbye with a quick peck on the mouth, turned to walk in opposite directions...and here is where THIS story ends...

I guess I could be bummed that I didn't do a better job of giving the Brit the tools needed in order to contact me if he so chose, and vice versa. But honestly - I was really just happy to close out the night, knowing that the world is not totally barren of interesting guys...

I awoke in the morning, only 3 or 4 hours after we'd gotten back to Janine's place. I couldn't believe that I wasn't more hungover than I was...but as the day dragged on, I realized that it was only because I musta still been drunk when I woke up, HA! The Grouchy Guy texted to see if I wanted to get together that night and I told him that my phone was about to die and that I'd text him after I'd gotten home. He said "Cool"

After I got home, I spent several straight, semi-lucid hours mostly sleeping through a shit ton of TIVO'd America's Next Top Model reruns before regaining full consciousness and realizing that I'd totally spaced on getting back in touch with the Grouchy Guy. I considered my options before contacting him, and decided that I just couldn't go out for another big night of partying. Not so much because I couldn't take it (well, sorta) but more because I had wasted an entire childless Saturday in a sad state of slow recovery...and once I got myself vertical again, all I really wanted to do, was sit in my comfy pj's, in front of my computer and catch up on the writing that I SHOULDA been doing all day. I texted the Grouchy Guy and said that I was kinda wrecked still, from the night before and really didn't feel like driving out of town a second night in a row. He said, "Same" I said, "K" and that was all she wrote...

As I luxuriated here - in front of my trusty ole Mac - for the better part of this unseasonably warm autumn day, windows up and doors thrown open...I enjoyed two notable achievements...#1: This is the very first Big Ugly entry that I have ever written, all in one sitting. And I firmly believe that #1 was made possible only because of #2 which was this: I begged off on meeting the Grouchy Guy, caught up on much needed rest, had a nutritious late breakfast, and suffered no hangover (today) nor remorse for doing something terrifically regrettable over a childless weekend, all of which enabled me to be productive by posting this blog entry...and I still have ample time to work on my NaNo story...

And so I close out this unexpected, new post (maybe not the most exciting one ever) but it's the very lack of gritty material that has me signing off - this time - with a pleasantly satisfied grin on my face...

Mama Gotta Bounce For a Bit...

Is it just paranoia, or does my blog seriously rub some people the totally wrong way? Dumb question, eh? I mean it's kind of a no-brainer that it would. After all...I cuss (a lot)...I am hyper-critical to a fault - of nearly everyone...and I do the most retarded shit imaginable and then advertise it here on the pages of the Big Ugly. This could explain the sudden surge in what now amounts to about a quiver's-worth of antipathetic arrows that have come zinging towards me, lately. Oddly enough though, none have had the accuracy to actually hit their mark. What I mean is - I can sense this vague undercurrent of contempt radiating from a few perturbed readers, and yet - not one of these detractors has had the balls yet, to come right out and share whatever beef it is that they have with me...(hahaha...share their beef...I like that) Just come up off it, already! I wanna hear you say what it is about the blog or me - that has triggered your agitation, haters. And hey seriously! If you don't like the goddamned thing...well then STOP READING IT, why dontcha!"

Might surprise you, but I am not a confrontational person - quite the contrary. Don't get me wrong though...if you can even GET me backed into a corner, trust me...you won't keep me there for long. But that's not to say that I don't appreciate people's honest opinions of me, I'm just not easily intimidated by their input - ESPECIALLY if it happens to be to my own discredit. In essence, I relish any opportunity to be critiqued and to subsequently stand by or when necessary - even denounce my questionable lifestyle choices, MYSELF. Unfortunately however, these virtually mute critics of late, don't have the courage to give me a fair shake to do either...all that I have gotten from them are weak, underhanded jabs...lame-o...

This negative vibe towards me and my blog does make me wonder though, if it's possible that I have taken this whole "Carousin' in the Country" thing a wee bit too far...perhaps my crescendo-ing deplorable behavior and oftentimes cruel assessment of others are indicative of what has become a grotesque lack of ethics and couth. Maybe I've sunk to such deep, dark depths of degradation that there is literally nowhere for me to go - but up...or out...

It's funny to me, how sometimes things really do just seem to happen for a reason...

So, sometime in late September, I stumbled upon this nifty thing called NaNoWriMo...or National Novel Writing Month. During the month of November, writers are challenged to scribe a 50k word long novel, doesn't matter how good or how awful...the "contest" is entirely about literally logging in the words...quantity over quality, at this stage in the game...I was immediately hypnotized by the thought of tackling such a formidable task and without hesitation, signed myself up to participate. One day at work shortly afterwards, my story began to present itself...I swear to god, the derned thing just came to me with like zero effort on my part...it felt as if it was TELLING itself to ME...and I'm not just saying that. Mere minutes after my novel began to unfold, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably upon realizing the tragic fate of my protagonist - and hurriedly dashed off to go hide in the pantry, for fear that John might walk in on my spontaneous emotional meltdown. It went on like that, throughout the day...I burst into tears while I cleaned the house, I dabbed my wet eyes while I fed Claudia, I sobbed in the car on the way to fetch my chlluns from school. When I finally got me and all of the kids home, later that night...I filled everyone in on the whole NaNoWriMo deal...including the premise of my story. I predicted ahead of time, that it would draw out more than a few tears from at least a couple of us...and it did. The poor little boogers got weepy before I'd even GOTTEN to the really sad part...yeah...it's like that...

Needless to say, I feel that I am strategically and mentally equipped to at least attempt this NaNoWrimo thing...but here's the catch...since I have no earthly concept of how time-consuming it will prove to be, I have gone back to my Summertime hours at work, planning on only showing up on Mondays for a 10 hr. shift, which SHOULD provide ample time to write, but who can say...I'll be poor as hell, but such is the sacrifice of an artist, right? Obviously my main priority will be to pen this novel, which I'm afraid will be much to the neglect of my social life as well as the Big Ugly. The timing couldn't be more perfect though really, what with the recent rise in my fucked up behavior and the resultant ill will. Might be beneficial for me to step away for a little while and let things simmer down a bit (and just when they're really starting to heat up again, too...dangit! But more on that in a minute...)

My dear sweet children seem genuinely excited about the NaNo project, for some reason - and they love my story despite it's gut-wrenching twist. I think that they just want - for once - to be able to be proud of me for accomplishing something that they or even their friends can enjoy (unlike my strictly off-limits-to-them - blog). Which brings up an added facet to the NaNo challenge...My kids have petitioned me to please try and write the book, without bunging it all up with my trademark foul language...they want me to prove to them that I can produce something devoid of distasteful content, even perhaps respectable enough to sit comfortably on the shelves next to all of those other widely accepted books...in their own school library...someday...maybe...

The reality is - that this may be the last entry for awhile, and just to change things up a little, and possibly leave you guys on a positive note - I've decided to try and finish this "sayonara" post following a couple of guidelines:

1.) attempt to appease the folks who it seems - would prefer that I "Do unto others...blah, blah, blah" by biting my tongue and avoiding verbally cutting everyone down to stumps, like so often I do...as well as tone down some of the more graphic sexual shit...grrr...

2.) in preparation for writing during NaNoWriMo, omit all expletives

This is gonna be HARD, like I mean REALLY hard! And you know? I would venture to say that the end result will be far less entertaining than usual. But listen, this prim and proper slant on the blog is definitely NOT me repenting or even attempting to clean up my act...it's more of a kind of experiment...to really just see IF I can do it, and if I do pull it off, to see how bland this entry winds up to be. I predict that my blog as a whole, would suffer catastrophically if I made a commitment to continue to clean up my language and stories as well as refrain from making slanderous and degrading remarks in lieu of exclusively positive and favorable comments. Anyway, let's just see how it goes...

I was bestowed with a bit of timely luck this week, when as a sort of last hurrah before hunkering down in front of my computer for the next full month, I managed to score two (count 'em TWO!) dates with online guys. Wednesday night - I was to finally meet the Other Hired Gun (O.H.G.) who I've been talking to via email, for more than a month now while he's been stationed somewhere in the Middle East. In his photos he looked tall, had a really nice body (slim, fit and hairless) and he had a shaved head, which I always like. And his notes to me were always brimming with good grammar and impeccable spelling, ahhhh...

Once O.H.G. had arrived back on this continent, we finally got to talk on the phone (it's always so nice to be able to attach a voice to a fella's photos) and we made plans to go get sushi out near where he lives. We met in the restaurant parking lot, and gave each other a friendly hug...and even though I had been hopeful that we might really connect - as is so common - I knew right away that he was not my type. Not gonna beat him up for his choice of attire, or list my hang-ups with certain of his physical attributes (although he DID actually have a really nice bod) but what I WILL do is repeat to you, something disconcerting that he brought up in our chat over dinner. Somehow we got on the subject of Viagra and Cialis. He told me that soldiers buy and use that shit (oops) like crazy, even if they don't have trouble "getting it up" - something about staying power and quicker recovery and whatnot...Anyway, somewhere in the midst of all of this, he blurted out that he was determined to one day invent a drug that would double as a hair-restorer as well as a penis enlarger, and target the enormous market of balding men who are cursed with a teeny johnson.........huh.........interesting...My immediate thought was, "Is there actually as large a population of men who suffer from both of these maladies simultaneously, (as he'd have me believe)...or is O.H.D. simply unwittingly admitting to being slightly less than well-endowed?" I mean he was obviously balding (yes he shaved his head and all - but I mean, you could look at the whisker shadows on his head and see exactly where no hair would ever sprout, again) so I was left to assume that his pipe dream to develop this double-duty "Hair and Dick" drug (as HE coined it), wasn't a philanthropic effort to spread goodwill among his fellow man at all, but instead - had everything to do with growing his OWN cock bigger (wait, is "cock" considered foul language? might have to change that). Sure, he could continue shaving his head to address the balding issue, but until the day that his dream drug hit the shelves...looked like he'd have to be content being hung like a mouse...

That was it for me, I was done...

Next night, kinda late-ish, like 9:30 maybe? I was IM'd by the Creeper who was still adamant that we meet. He asked if I was up for doing something spontaneous. I asked what he had in mind. He suggested that we meet at a bar in a town about an hour away, have a few drinks and then see how we felt about making those "fantasies" of his come to fruition...

I have no idea why I agreed to meet him, especially after he'd freaked me out so badly the last time that we talked. Nevertheless...I did. I jumped in the shower quickly, got dressed and sped up the road - willy nilly.

The Creeper and I also introduced oursleves with a hug in the parking lot outside of our intended destination...but the difference in my physical response to the Creeper vs. my reaction to O.H.G. was astonishing. Damn, was that little Creeper cute! Very young...but totally adorable. And he smelled so good...He was 6' with the most perfectly proportionate, masculine build - more stacked than O.H.G., even though he admitted that he doesn't exercise much at all. Oh, and his face...with those sparkly, dark eyes and a frequently occurring, cheerful smile that put deep dimples in both of his cheeks...He spoke with a faint accent (a particular penchant of mine) a now nearly imperceptible legacy of his early childhood in Argentina. Suffice it to say, we were off to a good start. It was a little strange for me to compare the Creeper who is 26, to myself back when I was his age. I got married and soon after - became pregnant during my 27th year, and I remember at that time, feeling like such a mature grown-up and oddly, I considered myself sort of "old" to be having my first child. But the Creeper just seemed like such a baby, to me. I couldn't imagine someone as fresh-faced as he was, married with a baby on the way...Eh, it's all relative, I guess.

After a little more than an hour and a couple of drinks, I could tell that he was messing with his phone in his lap and I was thinking, "Who in the world (translation: "Who the fuck") is he texting in the middle of our date?" The Creeper set his Iphone on the table and slowly slid it over to me. (Awww...He'd been writing to ME!) On it he had typed, "So how are you feeling about what we talked about?" I dropped my head down onto the table hard, as if to say, "Come on, man! THAT again?" You know, I had just been so enjoying his company and all, that the fantasy thing had completely escaped my mind. But I had to face the fact that this HAD been his big push from day 1...and it was sort of our whole reason for having each gotten in our cars at 10 p.m. and driven an hour away, to finally meet and see what was what. I went to the ladies' room to try and figure it out and when I returned, I scooted in close to him on his side of the booth...I definitely felt those cataclysmic lightening bolts straight up my middle as soon as I was next to him. We talked it over for a little bit and decided that it might be best to continue the conversation, outside...

We got to his Jeep, he leaned up against it, pulled me towards him and gave me a crash course in the meaning of the term "Latin Lover". That boy knew how to kiss...(and stuff)

We hopped into his Jeep, drove to that aforementioned and somehow now not nearly as threatening to me - "remote location" and lived out BOTH of his fantasies...(not to mention, a particular one of my own)

I'm sorry, but that's all that I am at liberty to say here...gotta keep it clean dontcha know...

Halloween weekend marked the last chance for me to get my ya-ya's out before holing up in my studio to write the novel, and by god - I was definitely gonna get the most out of it! Friday night was all about close pals and partying like idiots, downtown at the hot spots...and once again, I left the last bar to head home, nary a single male prospect on the horizon. It seems I suffer from a condition, and it goes something like this...GUYS DON'T TALK TO ME AT BARS EVER! If you don't believe me, just ask my friends! By now, everybody notices it...I swear to goodness, it can be me and a girlfriend sharing a table, and inevitably when men approach us, it's like they look right past me, eyes locked onto my friend, whoever she may be. After a little while, they sort of turn my way and act almost startled to see me there like, "Oh! Hey! Didn't see ya' there...what's up?" and then their eyes move right back over to my friend. At first it used to kinda bother me, but by now - I've come to expect it and I can always count on having fun just being stupid with my pals...so I rarely ever call it a night - disappointed. It is interesting to me though, that the guys who contact me ONLINE are so absurdly brazen in their advances...so forward and flirty and abundant. It's that derned internet, I swear...it's got everyone's social skills all outta whack, you know? Men have all the courage in the world, when it comes to talking to girls from in front of their computer monitors...cuz if they're rejected, they just scroll down the list and pick another target, simple as that! Plus their cohorts aren't there to ridicule them when they get stiff-armed by girls who are simply not charmed by there feeble skills...Essentially the world of online dating is a land of make-believe, it's just not real life, and people act all screwy...but bearing in mind my abysmal luck meeting men the traditional way, the internet seems a far better venue in which to have at least a shred of a chance to find a man...not to mention, it is virtually impossible to get a D.U.I while cruising the internet....which brings me to another little nugget of news...

I left the bar on Friday night and began to make my way home. The traffic patterns downtown have recently been all changed around, i.e. where there used to be stop lights, there are now 4 way stops instead, and that night - as I came up to an intersection where a light USED to be, I didn't realize 'til the last second that it was now a 4 way stop. I was already nosing into the intersection when I noticed the cop car to my immediate right at which point I tried to apply the brakes, but my big ass boots got my feet all tangled up and while depressing the brakes, I was accidentally pressing on the accelerator as well...I proceeded to roll into the intersection. As soon as I was all the way through it, the cop who had been sitting catty-corner to me, pulled up behind me and flashed his lights. (&#*@!) He asked me if I knew why he'd pulled me. I said yes and tried to explain the reason for my spaz-out...he went back to his patrol car with my license and when he returned, he asked me if I'd been drinking...and I told him that I had (duh) He asked me to please get out of the car and meet him on the sidewalk, so that I might perform the dreaded Field Sobriety Test for him and his partner - a female cop. I was grateful right about then - that I had kept my consumption to more of a minimum than usual because I was actually able to perform with precision, each challenge that he presented. Once I was done, he offered to give me a breathalizer test, just in case I was curious to know my blood alcohol level (ummm, how bout a big "NO" on that one) and then told me that after he finished writing me a ticket for running the stop sign, I was free to go (schwing!) But at that moment - the woman cop totally took the wind outta my sails when she uttered, "If it were me, I'd take her in" (&#*@$%+ *#%?!) I was like,"What?! I just passed the test with flying colors! Why she wanna be all harshin' my happy and stuff?" (Only thing I could figure was that my costume - [I was a "trick"] - had pissed her off...as it had so many other women, that night...Ha!) But I kept it zipped and went to wait in my car like an obedient girl, until the NICE officer came over to hand me my ticket and then tell me to git. I thanked him and apologized for my blunder and as he walked away I asked him if he could at least smile. He shot back, "No I cannot".

Ok, so this was one hell of a wake-up call and is yet another reason why laying low here in my studio for the month of November (if not longer) is probably the wisest decision I've made in a LOOOONG time...

But it was October still, and the next night was Halloween. I couldn't hibernate just yet. I was determined however, to be smart about my alcohol intake and how much time I spent behind the wheel of my car. Willow and a couple of friends met over at my house before we all caravanned further out into the country to a party. I had my sleeping bag and pillow and a change of clothes in my car and I was fully prepared to crash at the party, if need be.

The party was lighthearted good fun, in it's purest form...Everyone dug the spoils from the condom-rich pinata, and my wrestling match redux with Flemming was the highlight of MY evening, fo shiz. Things did take a turn for the scurrilous though, when I walked back into the house from the yard and wound up face to face with..(well, maybe more like my mouth to the forehead of)...the dastardly Rough Rider...It was no more than half a minute before he was dragging me by the hand out to a shed in the backyard. He pushed me through the doorway and closed the door hard, behind us. We were furiously kissing and biting and slapping and as he tried to undress me, I hit him square in the side of the head, more than once - with a loose fist. This did nothing to deter his advances, it only made him bite harder. He undid his belt and trousers and he (in the words of an old friend) "broke me down like a double barreled shotgun"...All the fun was soon over though, when Willow shone a flashlight through the window of that little ole love shack - and insisted that I get my (bare) ass outta there, right then! She met me in the yard - highly irritated, refused to let me tag along with that psychopathic sexual predator and then brought it to my attention that the Rough Rider's girlfriend happened to be sleeping in his truck, which was parked right out front...

And on that note, I think I'll go bury my head in the sand for the entire next month...and hope that it gets gnawed off by sand crabs...See you guys in December...

Oooooh wait, sorry...there is just on more thing...I opened this entry, belly-achin' about the weenies out there, who ruffle my feathers with their wimpy, underhanded wisecracks and whiney "tsk tsk-ing", but I feel that I must temper their negativity by applauding the benevolence of my (tiny in numbers but mighty in spirit) wonderful supporters...your upbeat and empathetic comments are the very things that keep me from totally douching this ridiculous blog...thank you guys, everly so much! Muah!

(P.S. How'd I do? You know...following my "wholesome blog" guidelines, huh?.........Yeah...that's kinda what I thought...)