The Big Ugly Blog is an honest and uncensored collection of anecdotes recounting the madcap shenanigans of a perpetually 39 year old divorcee, as she wades through the mire of the murky online dating pool - ravenously searching (evidently in vain) for the man of her dreams...Keep On Dreaming, Baby!

BIG UGLY

Saturday, January 23, 2010

No Apologies...No Regrets...No Mercy...

Yeah, yeah...soooo my last post was admittedly a whiny bag o' downers...*meh*...but if it makes you feel any better, it's not as if I enjoyed living and writing it any more than you guys enjoyed trudging through it - so I mean we're all in the same damn boat here, am I right? And even though I did feel guilty as sin to be publishing such a lame-o entry, I was so relieved to finally be done with the stupid freaking thing, that I did not hesitate to click the "publish post" button once it was finished - despite suspecting that the general tone as well as the content (or lack thereof) was of a far more "woe is me" bent than I should ever dare inflict upon you, my beloved audience. Believe me - I was not looking forward to the possibility that I would more than likely be letting everybody down, but it was a little alarming that less than 24 hours after posting, I started getting feedback which corroborated my hunch. After one friend commented on the entry by saying, "Yeah...maybe a little Mr. Clean-ish for me, but hey - Spring's almost here...maybe stuff'll start heating up again real soon..." I couldn't help but think, "DAYum! What kind of a precedent have I set here? Could it be that my Big Ugly Blog is simply not worth a good goddamn unless I doink some well-endowed dude and divulge all the dirty details therein?" Huh...maybe so...And if that is indeed the case - well then - I realized that in order for me to redeem myself in future blog posts, I was gonna havta drag my weary, old ass outta hibernation, kiss those Babyarm blues goodbye once and for all, and get my butt back in circulation - like pronto!

Surprisingly, this was not as daunting a task as you might think it could've been, thanks to one of my few, positive personality traits...an attribute that steps in when the chips are down, to stack them all back up again..."What! What is it? What is that thing that kickstarts your irrepressible spirit of adventure?" (you're bound to be wondering, ha!) Well let me tell you...that thing is "resilience"...plain and simple. Yes, I can be chopped down to bloody stumps same as anybody else, and I might even feel sorry for myself for a minute or two...but - eventually I get over it and move the hell on...it is nearly impossible to keep this old gal down for long...

I kicked off my renewed interest in milling around the online dating circuit, by putting up a new profile pic. on all of my favorite dating sites (and Twitter, as well)...it was a sort of hybrid shot - a composite of soft porn princess meets corny class clown - of myself out in the knee-deep snow, just finishing up a mock sunbathing session in a bikini and rubber boots. And almost immediately after posting it, I began to reap the rewards...I got tons of hits and a boatload of messages. Honestly? I was happier'n a pig in shit. But this still wasn't enough...I had to have MORE! I decided to do the least sensible thing (as we all know - I am wont to do) by opening an account on a new site called CougarLife.com. The name alone suggests a completely ridiculous premise and I knew that joining would be counter-productive to realizing my ultimate goal of finding my forever lover. But this wasn't about landing a long term deal...this was about cheering myself up and trying something new in an attempt to spruce up the blog. Although if you really think about it, the whole cougar/cub scenario isn't exactly a radically novel concept to me. In essence, I've been leading the CougarLife for quite some time now, and not necessarily by choice either...it's just sorta where my wiggle stick has been leading me lately. Anyway, I had threatened to join CL a few weeks prior, and after initially ignoring friends who urged me to scope it out so that they might live vicariously through my inevitable exploits (or perhaps become inspired to join - themselves!) I now felt fully prepared to rise to their challenge.

Once I had gotten my account all set up, and began tooling around the site, I was surprised that every handsome, young face and every bare, buff, glistening torso that I saw appear before my covetous eyes, belonged to someone who I'd never seen before. Seriously, I did not see one single familiar face...which literally blew my mind because across the three main sites on which I usually frolic, I consistently see the same old recycled mugs...and the guys on those sites are stuck always seeing mine. But on CL, I was clearly fresh cougar meat, and the cubs were stalking me in droves! I was viewed by dozens of oftentimes, impossibly young men, whose profiles boasted inviting (?) taglines like, "College student looking for an older lady to treat well" (oh boy), "I am rich and have a large wiener" (neat), "Looking for someone to pounce on me", "Young and hung stud on the prowl", "Feline Friendly", "Looking for a great night" (a particular fave...I mean this guy wasn't a bit greedy - he just wanted ONE good night, haha!) "Cub for Cougar", "Where are the fun cougars at?" (preposition at the end of a sentence? deal-breaker, baby) "Looking for a cougar on the prowl"' Seeking cougar training", "Here kitty, kitty"....you get the idea. But when I came across the tagline "Older women are simply better" I paused for a second...I got the feeling that the young man with the inquisitive, dark eyes...and the bee-stung ruby red lower lip...and the flawless tawny complexion...and the angular nose and the...*ehemm* 'scuse me...where was I? Oh yes of course...So what I was thinking was that the bearer of this delectable visage -slash- the author of such a succinct and accurate assertion about older women - might actually have some experience on his resume to back up his tagline, despite having only spent a total of 25 tender years here on the planet...I was definitely curious about him - more so than any of the others that had caught my eye...but since I was not a paying member, I was not afforded the privilege of opening dialog with him. Poop. Well, whatever...I guess it didn't really matter much anyway, because at the moment - mama was behaving like a kid on Christmas Eve - shaking packages under the tree until it was fiiiiinally time to start tearing into them. I scrolled down page after page of beautiful, young, horny studs, clicking on many...and I watched as one after the other, they peeped right back at me...

Almost immediately, my mailbox was inundated with a plethora of messages...most of which I completely ignored, but to some of which - I did reply. Some of these conversations went nowhere, some continued as sporadic IM chats (whenever I bothered to open my IM screen) but after sharing personal email addies, a few of the young men and I became virtual x-rated pen pals, if you will...each of us trying to best the other's last risque photo. You have no idea how badly I wish that I could post a sampling of my brimming new collection of raging hard-on pics. here in the blog, but alas...I cannot breach the trust of my generous donors. Some of the prize-winners, you'd seriously almost have to see to believe...I printed out a particularly noteworthy specimen for Willow to ogle...the guy's prominent johnson spanning the length of the sheet of paper...it was a startlingly "in your face" image...and all I could think while gazing upon it was, "Woah...I could literally do nothing with that" But then the same fella surprised me with an "action shot" you might say, and I found it incredible that he was able to capture at close range and with such remarkable precision - the exact moment at which he totally blew his load...amazing! Kinda reminded me of one of those super slow-mo ballistics pics. where the moment just after the firearm discharges, we see the bullet magically frozen in time and space...I consider this particular photo to be quite a masterpiece...the magnum opus of my curios, if you will...

Anyway, somehow this bumper crop of new picture mail has gotten my computer kind of contaminated and acting sorta screwy. It feels like every time I click to view certain pages, before that page opens - there is this split-second flash of some guy's chubby. It's really strange...and a little disturbing. I have to consider it blind good fortune as well as perfect timing, that I was just recently finally able to afford to get my children their very own trusty ole Mac which lives over at the house with us, instead of out here in my den of iniquity. Lord knows, if their only option was to still work and play on my computer in the studio, I'm not really sure how I would respond to their inevitable inquiries about the recurring, fleeting images randomly appearing on the screen - of boners the size of a rolling pins...

Simultaneous to getting fresh attention on all of my old dating sites and being overloaded with hits from strapping young cubs from CL vying to grease my palms by way of the subject matter in their raging erection pics., was a slight boost in the goings-on over on my feeble Twitter account. Suddenly I was being followed by a small new group of peeps, a few of which lived in South Africa...I was perplexed as to how these folks even found me in the haystack, but I didn't question it...I was just tickled that they had. The only male from the South Africa lot, struck up a Twitter-based conversation with me and for a couple of days we excitedly tweeted back and forth to each other, whenever the difference in timezones allowed. It made absolutely no sense to be devoting so much time to a man who lived worlds away from me, but I am prone to getting sucked into dead-end fantasies, whether out of boredom or what, hard to say. One day after I'd left work, South Africa and I decided to talk on the phone (I am terrified to see my next cell phone bill...no earthly idea how much a 20 minute cell phone call from South Africa is gonna run me, but it's done now...) The instant that I heard his luscious accent, I was hooked. I was picturing a rugby playing hunk along the lines of Hugh Jackman (Australian, I know...but whatevs...) but when I asked for and received a photo of his actual face the next day - what I got was something more on par with some guido American actor like say, James Gandolfini? 'Cept with a full head of greasy hair which grew like a cocks comb, starting roughly at the middle of his forehead...and rubbery lips surrounded by a scraggly goatee and absolutely no neck to speak of...all right, so he didn't resemble James Gandolfini, but that's not the point...the important part is that the whole thing was finito once I caught a glimpse of the guy...call me superficial...I do.

It reminded me of the time back when I was 19 or 20, living in Richmond, when I got all hung up on and fell madly in crush with a local dj who manned the late night shift on an am oldies station. The whole thing started with me calling in and making requests and quickly progressed to hours-long phone convos most nights, and then reached its final incarnation when we decided to meet for lunch one day. The DJ had given me a very vague physical description of himself and so I was relying on him to recognize me, which I figured wouldn't be too difficult since at the time my look was fairly distinctive, and he was aware of the specifics.

Can I just tell you how my heart sank when my "beautiful fantasy dj" quickly located me in the middle of the bustling lunch crowd there at the Shoney's, waddled up to me and then hugged me hello? I was like, "Are you fucking kidding me?!" The DJ was uhhhh...how do even I put this...oh I dunno...he made "morbidly obese" look like anorexia? I watched in awe as he squoooooze his rotundness into the booth, and proceeded to demolish three towering plates full of food from the buffet (but he did drink diet coke, as if that might somehow justify or counteract his consumption of thousands of gluttonous calories) and then topped off a meal so extraordinarily grotesque that it turned me on food for days afterwards - by treating himself ("just this once!") to a hot brownie sundae with a chocolate syrup lava floe erupting out of whipped cream snowcaps....the end.

After I completely ceased replying to South Africa's tweets and emails (several carbon copies of which, I noticed that he'd also sent to a Tweeter that we both had in common...some shit about, "Is it my cologne? Cuz I can change it..." puhleeze..."NO, jerkoff! It's your face!") he decided to "unfollow" me, and I found it curious that simultaneously - my Twitter account was hacked and my password settings were repeatedly freaking out...but interestingly enough, the instant that I blocked him, I never had another problem with any of that...huh...whaddya know...

I shrugged off the stupid thing with South Africa and immersed myself into the CougarLife site. I was optimistic about all of the connections that I'd been making, but a little bummed that none of them had materialized yet. It was Sunday, the tail-end of another childless weekend, and I was a bit despondent since the only action that I'd gotten all weekend long, was one of those frantic attempts to lock in a last-call hook-up, by some 22 y/o boy - as we were all being ushered out of the club and onto the street to scatter off into our own...different...lonely...directions. I glumly sat down to my trusty ole Mac, desirous of a last ditch fling before the weekend came to a conspicuously disheartening close. I opened up CL and proceeded to read messages...and next thing I know, I was laughing out loud at a hilarious note sent from a man of the respectable age of...wait for it...34! After we swapped a couple of emails, we moved over to our mutual IM provider and the conversation flowed well, was amusing and resulted in a plan to meet later that evening...SCORE! A direct HIT!

I thought Hair Gel was cute and all, and really funny in a dry wit kinda way, but he was a bit burly for my taste and there was of course...that freaking hair gel...I can't STAND that shit! All the same, we never stopped talking and finally shut the bar down and as he walked me to my cute little car, I knew the impending drill: he would grab me up, lay a smacker on me and ask if he could follow me back to my place...and it did happen...exactly that way. I hemmed and hawed and wriggled and squirmed, because I was seriously not all that interested in continuing the date...nor ever having a future one, for that matter. But there were a couple of things plaguing my rationale. For one: I kept hearing the haunting echo of my dear friend who had expressed her unapologetic disappointment with my last blog post...presumably because it was devoid of any gnarly sexscapades. The current situation with Hair Gel, if nothing else, held the promise of a blog-worthy anecdote and that did have value...I guess...but my limited desire to actually fuck the guy put a decidedly Catch 22 spin on the sitch.

Secondly though, there is this: I practice safe sex, right? Right. So, like a serious athlete trains for his sport or a dedicated artist hones his craft, seems logical that I too should sharpen the skills concurrent with my own chosen field - by practicing often...

Soooo...I let it happen...but here's the bitch of it...I did not wind up experiencing anything earth-shattering with Hair Gel (it was mediocre at best) and there were things about him that even kind of grated on me, not the least of which were his protruding belly (previously well-concealed by the loose-fitting cotton shirt that his brother had brought him from Mexico)...as well as his inordinately tiny tush, perhaps somewhat dwarfed by his considerable middle? After the deed was done, there was no snuggling, no chance for a second round and no interest on my part in him staying there with me for a single minute more. I considered the whole thing a total waste of time because I was left with nothing super funny to relay, no incredible physical phenomenon about which to report and definitely no romantic legacy. Practically the only exciting element that my night with Hair Gel provided for my ailing blog is the fact that I fucked a fairly fat guy...whoopie!

After my stupid goof with Hair Gel, I was floundering...wondering if my time in the sun had long since passed, and yet I still continued to mill about online, since by now - doing so has become second nature. At some point, a mutual pal on OkCupid introduced me to The Archangel and after just a few emails we noticed an effortless rapport with one another. The Archangel was spoken for romantically, but was still interested in talking to me upon learning that we both shared a fascination with the opposite sex...and also a love of writing. I turned him onto the Big Ugly, and I was surprised when shortly thereafter he told me that he had gone back to the very first entry and was diligently reading forward, working towards the present. The Archangel was getting a most accurate representation of who I am and what I'm about while scouring my stories, and because of that, he encouraged me to adopt a new m.o. in my approach to dating. Restraint. He asked if I would be willing to let him lead me through a few exercises which he thought might help me find more success in my interactions with men. He was evidently quite experienced at the art of taking desperate male losers and turning them into flagrant lotharios, but The Archangel saw in me, a slightly different challenge - kind of the reverse of the magic that he was used to performing. He wanted to see if it would be possible to tame me, to reign me in a bit...to make me less compulsive and willing...to see if I could be reconditioned to become more discriminate about the men with whom I communicate...and commingle...

We got started right away, The Archangel giving me written homework assignments which would presumably help me and him identify what it is that I am actually seeking as well as how my past experiences may have impacted my current behavioral peculiarities. I knew that revamping my online dating site profiles was the next order of business and so I cut my hair short and dyed it dark and was preparing to post photos better suited to attracting men of more appropriate intentions and age. But just as I was getting myself mentally prepared and wholly onboard to find my happiness via his expert tutelage, The Archangel went m.i.a..

I could see from his posts on Facebook that The Archangel was going through some crazy shit in his own life and rather than complicating his already topsy turvy situation by badgering him about my "studies", I took his impromptu abandonment of our little project, and ran the total opposite direction, determining to not just keep my online dating presence at the status quo, but to instead - crank my image up a notch. It felt like one of those "when the parents are a away..." type scenarios. It was like, "Well, as long as The Archangel's not here to frown upon it, I may as well enjoy a last hurrah...until he shows back up to guide me to a better reality." What I realized though, was that it was more than just wanting to perpetuate the kind of attention that I'd grown accustomed to getting from the guys I met online, I was also nurturing my Big Ugly alter-ego, affixing a new photo to all of my sites...one where my costume was nothing but a swatch of fabric tightly wrapped around my tits, a pair of black boy shorts and Emily Post's "Etiquette" teetering atop my new pixie coif. I chose racier versions of this pic. for select sites and the rise in attention from doing all of this impelled me to then tell everyone to whom I spoke, about the blog. I was hellbent on sloughing off any remaining hesitation about promoting it, especially in circles where I'd previously avoided doing so. And I liked the idea of getting the monkey off my back with online guys, before finding myself in another uncomfortable Babyarm/blog type situation. It felt pretty good to not only be honest with folks, but to also see a spike in views of the blog. There were times when I asked myself if this new take-no-prisoners caricature that I was creating - was still actually me...I mean, I'm a pretty regular person when I'm a mom or working for the old people...the absolute contrast to the scantily clad Big Ugly persona who was mere inches away from contributing photos to Twitter's #HNT and #FNF and who would not be bothered by any backlash at all from those who can't handle the blog.

There are many, especially within the confines of my sheltered community, who disapprove of me and the Big Ugly, but what I find interesting is that no one ever confronts me about any of it. Obviously it's a lot easier to bash someone behind their back than it is to directly approach them about it, and so mostly what I get is funny looks, the cold shoulder and underhanded remarks - I'm used to it by now...but it was a little alarming when this one online guy totally lost his shit over my blog...and me...after I used telling him about the blog as a possible way to scare him off...

Bipolar was young and lived states away and I was not the least bit interested in continuing the conversation once I found all of this out. But he was persistent...offering to drive here to meet me and all of this other garbage that really just wasn't working for me. He started out all nauseatingly sweet and sickeningly pseudo-sincere (which only lessened his chances with me) and when we somehow got onto the topic of the fact that writing is a hobby of mine...I used the ole "sic the blog on 'em" trick, thinking that if he read it he would no longer want any part of me and my trail of carnage...and might then go on his merry way. But it didn't exactly happen like that. Nope, instead - after reading a couple of entries - he started typing derogatory remarks into the IM screen and lambasting me for my slutty lifestyle...He was acting as if we'd known each other intimately, and that I'd somehow betrayed him and had some 'splainin' to do...like a furious boyfriend who's discovered you've cheated...(effin' creepy!) Each line that Bipolar typed was more scathing than the one before and although I did not back down from his barrage, I did finally get sick of dealing with the psychotic fuck and finally ended my side of the convo with, "run along now, little boy"...

What I liked about this particular vignette was the fact that I had finally gotten the chance to defend myself against an angry assailant. It felt good, I was not scared or intimidated by him at all, and I proudly stood my ground following every searing remark that he launched at me. It was enormously confidence-building, it pumped me up...and afterwards I was like, "C'mon world! Bring it on!" But although I was gearing up to deflect more possible flack resultant from indiscriminately blabbing to everyone about the blog - instead I was beginning to get a mess of positive critiques...most of which were from men...

For the first time in a long time, I felt like good things were on the horizon. That maybe my recent "no holds barred" attitude towards advertising not only the blog itself but the tramp behind it was liberating another side of me and that I was poised to find my real place in this world...with or without a man in tow. And then just when I thought I couldn't feel any more optimistic, something catapulted me further into nirvana...that cute boy from CL - the one who professed to know that "Older women are simply better" remember? Well, he "winked" at me on the site. The door was now open, for me to talk to him - and so I did. He suggested it might be easier to chat on Facebook - and so we did. We hinted around at feeling attracted to each other (best we could tell from having only "virtually" met) and discussed making a plan to meet - and so we did...

Now I knew that to even entertain meeting a 25 year old man who lives 2 1/2 hours away from me was diametrically opposed to the wee little bit that The Archangel had been able to drill into my head during the short period of time that he'd kept me safely under his wing. But the thing of it was - without his watchful eye, expert advice and nurturing guidance - the a.w.o.l. Archangel had consequently left me to my own devices - armed with my new Big Ugly slogan: "No Apologies...No Regrets...No Mercy..."

1 comment:

  1. I like your new hairstyle. It looks really good.

    ReplyDelete