Big Nothings #'s 1 & 2

Yeah, yeah...I'm still here...sorta...

So, a little over a month and a half ago, I landed an unexpected, new job (which I heart! More on that later) but this positive new development in my otherwise sluggish life - coupled with and compounding my stunted online dating growth - has effectively curtailed my good intentions to more diligently work on this sorely lacking (of late) Big Ugly Blog...Dedicated servant that I am, however...I shall give you what I've got...

I hadn't heard so much as a peep from Mr. Dreamy, in what felt like an absolute eternity (but was more likely just a few agonizingly loooong weeks) I convinced myself that the excuse that he had finally given to me - for constantly bailing on our many tentative "dates" - was utter poppycock and that the (what I considered) moderately embarrassing inconvenience, on which he pinned all the blame for being so noncommittal, was potentially far more grave than he had previously led on. Channelling my ridiculously overactive imagination, I determined that his mysterious disappearance must certainly mean that he was doing like 30 days in the clink or something. Worse yet, maybe he'd fallen for one of the multitude of adoring babes who clearly worship him on Facebook (And no, I do not actually hold the high honor of being one of Mr. Dreamy's official "friends" on said site, but thanks entirely to the fact that his profile is set for public viewing, I am free to [unbeknownst to him] voyeuristically stalk him, unhindered...suck on that!)

After being completely inactive for an abnormally (for him) long while, I concluded with absolute certainty, that Mr. Dreamy was now indefinitely a.w.o.l. from the dating site on which we met, as well as on Facebook. In my best estimation, all of his silence must mean that something was really up, after all...since typically, he was quite the social butterfly. I finally succumb to my insatiable curiosity and emailed him to ask if he was all right. He responded right away, which I definitely did not expect. (Does an inmate have access to the internet or a cell phone while incarcerated, btw?) Mr. Dreamy assured me that he was fine...he was simply overwhelmed with the demands of a new client at work (like 24/7, dude? Me thinks not, but whatevs...) and that if I was able, he could meet me for lunch, the very next Friday. I knew better than to give his impromptu invitation much credence, nonetheless - I answered with a "Yes" (albeit a decidedly skeptical one)

I heard absolutely nothing from Mr. Dreamy, to say firmly - either yea or nay - in regards to this, our most recent, tenuous plan to meet...that is until the eve of the big day. I opened the email he'd sent inquiring as to whether or not we were still on for lunch the next day and I was like, "Feckin' 'ell!" I wouldn't be able to meet him for lunch...I had mistakenly double-booked! To be perfectly honest, it had completely slipped my mind that he had even mentioned the possibility of getting together. After all, he has essentially conditioned me to expect nothing more than disappointment and rejection every time he gets my hopes up, am I right? And so, though it pained me to do it, this time I was forced to be the one to bail.

See, the problem was this - when I had originally given Mr. Dreamy the thumbs up, I didn't realize that my kids (as well as a few of my friends' children) would be home with me on the day of the lunch date, since it happened to fall on Good Friday (no school, duh) I wrote to him and apologized profusely for the scheduling snafu and assured him that the NEXT Friday would work beautifully, if he was still up for it...and do you know what he said? Absolutely NOTHING...not one thing - never...NOT EVER! (It's weeks later now, and I still haven't heard a squeak) Which particularly irks me since most likely HE was gonna find a way to slither out of our date at the eleventh hour, anyway. But besides that...if he was pissed for some reason because I cancelled our 5th freaking attempt to go on a date, he can fuckin' eat me! I mean seriously, I NEVER copped an attitude with him any of the many times he ultimately wound up ditching ME, for godssakes...

You know what? Whatthefreakever. I chalk the WHOLE Mr. Dreamy delusion up to being The Big Nothing #1. My consolation prize? Well, that would have to be The Big Nothing #2...

I ran across a refreshing profile, a few days after digesting Mr. Dreamy's final rejection of me. Jackhammer was artistic, tall and the right amount of quirky, best I could tell. After chatting online briefly - we decided to speed up the process a bit, and planned to meet for dinner, mere days after introducing ourselves (this is all becoming so painfully redundant, no?...y a w n...) I arrived at our mutually agreed upon destination - once again, my preferred "online date haunt" - well before Jackhammer made his appearance, and got comfy in a cozy corner by the fireplace. I waited for a nerveracking 15 minutes or so and became steadily, (and uncharacteristically) more and more jittery. The positive spin on anxiously waiting though, was that I now held the propitious post of manning the catbird's seat...i.e., I had the advantage of being able to size him up first.

Jackhammer finally loped his long, lean body into the pub and as I watched him methodically glance at each face in the room, gradually sweeping his gaze closer to its intended target (yours truly) I took advantage of the 15 seconds that it took for him to finally locate me, and assessed his overall appearance. The verdict? I liked his looks. He had a messy mop of thick, dark, wavy hair...a long, angular nose and once our eyes met...a genuine, friendly smile - brimming with good teeth. He plunked his long, lithe body down, into our intimate corner booth - his shoulder meeting mine at the vertex. We ate and drank and after a couple of hours of relaxed easy conversation, I got the sneaking suspicion that he would be joining me back at my house before this whole thing was all over with. And not surprisingly...he did. Now, here is where all of the positive, promising groundwork that we'd successfully laid, started to backslide just a touch. Jackhammer, by outward appearances, is a tender, mellow almost granola crunchy chap, but when it came time to do the dirty, I was like "Woah there, cowboy! What the hell?" He was so rough, which CAN work (don't get me wrong) but he was devoid of the skills necessary to parlay such savage indelicateness into hot sex. I should also mention that he was completely ignorant regarding rudimentary manual handling of the female anatomy. Basically, throughout all of our "lovemaking" sessions (we hung out a total of 4 times, if I'm not mistaken) I found myself inaudibly chanting at varying intervals, "Ow, ow......ow..." Jackhammer's normally kind and gentle disposition was superseded by his brusque and clueless alter ego the instant that things turned sexual. I shudder when replaying in my mind, the corny catch phrases that he habitually barked at me during sex, which he punctuated by hauling off and walloping my ass so violently that my teeth clanked against each other, that I braced myself for them to shatter. Making each subsequent attempt to find some middle, sexual ground with the Jackhammer even less likely, was the unfortunate fact that he had breath that went from moderately bad to fucking rancid, as each night together wore on. So even kissing him was not really all that great, and completely out of the question by the morning time. I guess I kept getting together with him, because I'm growing so weary from being on the perpetual Man-Hunt, and Jackhammer was definitely not the worst guy that I've met. He was physically attractive and there was a bunch about him and his station in life that could've aligned beautifully with my own weird world, if only I'd had the gumption to try and work through the horrible sex dilemma. And until I concluded that the necessary effort to do just that, would potentially far outweigh any rewards we might reap, I'd remained hopeful over those few doomed dates - that I might eventually coax him into slipping a pair of kid gloves onto those iron fists (heh heh)

The last time that Jackhammer stayed at my house, there was this one funny(ish) thing that happened. You guys know that I am a diehard condom-usage proponent...there is the obvious "safe sex" issue, but using condoms also helps minimize my feeling like a total ho' bag, for some reason...don't ask me why, cuz I don't know. So anyway, this time, after we were done, he properly placed his condom into the trash can (I'm on a septic system and it is my understanding that rubbers should not be flushed), came back to bed and we drifted off to Slumberland. The next morning, it was glaringly apparent that one (or both) of the dogs had gotten into the trash, during the night - oh joy...After picking up the debris strewn all over the bathroom floor, I noticed that the yucky condom was conspicuously missing. I panicked a bit, my primary concern being the welfare of the naughty (and utterly disgusting) little thief who'd absconded with it. I was afraid that if one of the dogs actually did ingest the nasty, latex morsel, then it would certainly clog up her insides and ultimately kill her, or at the very least, end up costing me thousands of dollars for emergency surgery not to mention acute humiliation at my local veterinary clinic. Secondarily though, I worried that should the little mongrel successfully pass the condom, then it could theoretically be spotted by one of my children, (or one of their friends - perish the thought!) in a pile of dog doo, out where they play! I can hear it now, "Mrs. W., there's something really weird twisted up in this dog poop" as umpteen puzzled kids looked away from the pile and up at me for answers...I went on a reconnoissance mission around the yard over the next day or two before it was my turn to have my kids back with me - in the hopes of recovering it, but I never did find the damned thing...and fortunately, neither have the kids. BTW, both dogs are fine...

So my new, accidental job has been really good for me! I was actually shocked by how perfect it wound up to be, especially since I was prepared to hate it. What is my new "career", exactly? Well...I am a caretaker, cook, driver and gardener for an elderly couple. Essentially I am getting paid to do the job that I have always loved to do the most (minus the diapers)...I get to be a "Mommy"...only now, it's for old folks - instead of for kids. And I think, if nothing else, I'm encouraged to discover that I am capable of getting through the better part of a day, without cussing! The woman (Claudia) is infirm, due to multiple strokes and Parkinson's Disease and because her illness is terminal, the Hospice organization in our community sends nurses and case-workers to the house on a regular basis. One day, soon after I had started working for the dear, old couple, the husband (John) answered a call and when he hung up the phone, he told Claudia and me, that the Hospice-affiliated chaplain would be coming by for a visit, the next day...and this is where my uncontrollable boy-craziness rears its ugly head. The instant that John mentioned that a (male) visitor was to be stopping by the house - instead of doing the sensible thing, which would have been to discuss with him the next day's activities in order to try and plan around the appointment - I found myself biting my tongue just shy of blurting out, "Well, is he hot?" I shit you not, I seriously almost said it! What the hell is wrong with me? But even acknowledging at that moment - what a sicko I am, couldn't even suppress my excitement over the chance to meet a new man (even if he is already in a serious relationship with god, or whatever the deal is with those religious guys) In fact, I think it was actually fuel for my fire...I wondered if I could lure a man of the cloth into cheating on God? This was truly the ultimate challenge...

The next day, the chaplain arrived and settled in with Claudia and John while I tasked away in the kitchen and even though I was just itching to go have a peek, I diligently tackled my chores while unsuccessfully eavesdropping on the low murmur coming from the living room. I finally couldn't take it any more, I mean...what if he left before I had a chance to beguile him? I came up with some bogus question that I could go ask John so that it at least looked like I had a legitimate reason to barge in on them. As I tippy-toed into the next room, I wondered if the chaplain would look anything like Richard Chamberlain did in the Thornbirds...I politely interrupted the virtually nonexistent chit chat by asking John the phony question, introduced myself to the clergyman and after finally getting the opportunity to compare him to my fantasy priest, I shuffled - crestfallen - back to my safe-place in the kitchen. Ummm....yeah...God can have him...

I almost forgot to tell you about my new tenant, Max. So, I met Max at my rental house ages ago (he did agree to sign a yearlong lease, thank goodness!) and he was really handsome, nice body and good job and all, but he's really young, too young for me, even. I'm gonna try and set him up with my good friend, Willow.

And in closing...During the first weekend in April, I spent a chilly Saturday afternoon and into the evening, mowing my seemingly endless yard, for the first time this year. As I putted around on my lawn tractor, all bundled up in a winter coat and hat and mittens, it occurred to me that one year ago to the day, I was doing the exact same thing - freezing my ass off while mowing for the first time of the season. Which then reminded me that it was also the one year anniversary of the eve of my very first online date. (Holy SHIT! Have I really been messing with all of this nonsense for a whole flippin' year? Pathetic...) It was kinda weird though, that there I was - unwittingly spending my weekend doing the exact same thing as I had done, precisely a year ago...well, all except for making plans with a hot 22 year old to shoot pool the next day...

Slowly Crawling Outta the Depths...

I got into a conversation with someone a few weekends ago, about blogging and brutal honesty and all that, and I made an admission that those within earshot, found...odd? I dunno, it seemed to make sense to me. See what you think...

So, I was telling this girl (who also blogs, but she writes about gardening and organic veggies all savory and pure) about how in life, in general, I tend to "wear it on my sleeve" and when it comes to my blog, things are no different. I spare the reader few of the gory details of my dating adventures, whether they like it or not. But there is one thing that I have always intentionally omitted (well, until now that is) and planned on never revealing, and that is the fact that I smoke cigarettes...sometimes. And the reason behind that is cuz I never want my CHILDREN to know that I sometimes smoke. Now don't get me wrong...I don't HAVE to smoke, in fact I regularly go for long periods of time without smoking at all. I can even hang out in a smoky bar drinking, and abstain (although I might struggle with hanging out in a smoky bar smoking and not drinking...but that's a completely different topic for a whole nother day) But there are times, when all I want in this life for lord's sake, is a fucking hollow-filtered Parliament Light...and so I have one, and sometimes still another...

I am fairly certain that my chilluns have never read my Big Ugly Blog and for now, they seem to sincerely have zero interest in checking it out, even though they are aware that I write a blog and they know of its basic premise. But let's just say that one day they accidentally stumble upon it, or even intentionally take a peek - it would freak me out far worse knowing that I had written about and they subsequently discovered that I partake in the utterly disgusting closet habit of puffing away on cigarettes, than if they found out...oh say...that I don't mind being strangled a little during sex. Is that abnormal? I guess I can understand how this hypothetical situation might seem a bit obscure to the naked ear, but it seems totally reasonable to me. After all, sex is natural and in general, when properly practiced, has few negative ramifications (plus, I have a much better handle on my affinity for sex than I do for smoking, though it's not always by choice goddamnit) And although reading about some of my more outre sexscapades might tarnish my children's blissfully untainted(?) image of their mama, it's still not something that I consider to be a nasty vice. If they, or anyone else, called me on any of my questionable behavior, I would look them square in the eye and unfalteringly back myself up. Cigarette smoking on the other hand, has no redeeming qualities best I can figure, and I am in a near constant state of embarrassment about the fact that I subscribe to such stupidity. Fortunately for them, my children are inundated with nothing but negative spin on the matter, via the media and in the classroom. All of this has imprinted on their tender, young minds, the horrible consequences that can potentially occur from smoking, and that's why I am a bit touchy about the thought of inadvertently admitting to my babes that I smoke, sometimes. If they knew, they would rightfully assume that their mommy's lungs might very well resemble that text book photo of a smoker's lung - all ucky like a mish-mash of rotting liver and charred fatty tissue and worse than that, I believe that my kids would lose their respect for me, they'd look down on me, they'd be disappointed in me. Bottom line...it's ok (for grown-ups!) to have sex, but it's not such a great idea to smoke...(as I stub out, yet another...)

Lately, my online dating activity has been so slow and stagnant, that I rarely scamper out to my trusty ole Mac after my little darlings are tucked into their beds at night, to eagerly check on progress like I used to, simply because there's almost never anything going on online anymore. Instead, I hurry out to my studio to FINALLY haves me a smiggy, in silence and solitude and without risk of getting caught...I guess it's good to have at least something about which to get excited...even if it is likely killing me...

So there, I've said it. I've announced in a public forum that I smoke. The footnote to this potentially damaging revelation is that I went to buy a pack of cigs. a few nights ago, and the girl behind the counter said, "Ok, do you want to know how much they are, first?" and I said, "Well, yeah, I guess so...Why? Did they go up again?" And she said, "Yes, just yesterday. Your brand is now $5.25 a pack" I was like, "Holy crap! Never-the-freak-mind! Damn!" So, I have decided that I can no longer afford to smoke, and therefore I am quitting. I just smoked the last cigarette in my possession, like 15 minutes ago...we'll see how long it lasts...

Well, it didn't last very long...Sheetz still has smokes for under $4.

Nevermind, P-Funks are now $4.50, at Sheetz...Fuck! I guess I really am gonna have to quit...

On to other things...I have this friend, he's an artist, has the most amazing hands in the world and a terribly good-looking face (imagine Hugh Jackman with bigger, better, brown eyes) and this guy was my first major, post divorce crush...and boy was it a doozie! After consistently swooning in his mere presence, I was elated when the Octopus (I'll explain in a minute) and I initiated the process of striking up a more-than-platonic relationship. But all of our perfectly respectable intentions were annihilated when his pesky on again/off again girlfriend got wind of our mutual curiosity and - mermaid mane a-flowin', demon eyes a-glinting, scorpion claws a snappin' - she effectively put the kibosh on our, no more than 2 week, budding romance - the bitch. The Evil Mermaid and the Octopus reconciled for a spell, but their thing did eventually fizzle, finally and for good (muahhahaha!) I found it amusing when in her ensuing singledom, of all the men in the world for her to try and seduce, rumor has it that she unsuccessfully attempted to make my ex-husband her next victim. Did I mention that this hypocritical hag is one of my least favorite people on the planet? Anyhoo, following my abrupt dethroning, I slowly managed to soldier forth, through my heartbreak and mortification and surprisingly, as Octopus and I repeatedly found ourselves crossing paths at social functions and around the neighborhood and at events where both of our children competed, I eventually moved beyond that devastating sting of dejection and the Octopus and I were able to become civil towards one another and ultimately even friends. 

Several times, over the last 4 years, he has come by my place to visit and each time, before we say good-bye, he inevitably puts the moves on me. He's a big, strong man and when he launches his inevitable attack, I find it almost comical. The guy grows like 6 extra arms and as hard as I try to push his hands off of my breasts and pull them out of my pants, there seems to always be another one exploring some other part of my body. There are just so many hands, too many - I can't keep up! Eventually, I manage to break free from his relentless assaults and shoo him away, laughing nervously...Jesus! What I can't figure out is how each time he attempts to rekindle our short-lived flame, I feel absolutely nothing for him, which I find perplexing considering the fact that I carried that godawful torch for him, way back when. Best I can figure, it's a variation on the "Too Little, Too Late" syndrome, only this one should be called the "Way Too Much, Too Late" syndrome

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, he stopped by for one of his Tuesday evening grope-fests. You see, whenever he calls and asks if he can pop in for a drink, I always say, "Yes", perhaps hoping that maybe THIS time I might be able to dredge up my old feelings for him, I mean - I have always liked the guy and he does basically typify my physical ideal. So, the other night during his visit, we talked at length about my blog - for the first time ever, which in hindsight, could have been a subconscious attempt on my part to derail his impending advances by scaring him off with the details of my recent, grimy existence. He seemed truly amazed (and not necessarily in a good way, mind you) by my online dating antics and I found his comparison of my often reckless behavior to "hitchhiking", an interesting and somewhat accurate analogy. He swilled glass after glass of Glen Fiddich  and in classic form, he quickly became inebriated...As I could've predicted - he pawed me mercilessly on his way out the door and as usual, I sent him packing as I straightened my rumpled clothing ("Go on now! Git!") I regained my composure and in the end, shrugged the whole thing off...no harm no foul. I simply cannot figure out what happened to all of those feelings that I used to have for the Octopus...How could I have been so enamored of him just a few years ago, but literally feel nothing for him now? That shit just don't add up...

Normally, it takes a few months for the Octopus to come clambering back for another round of rejection, but this time I was surprised when he called the very next week and asked if he could come back by. I was like, "Damn! This guy's a glutton for punishment!" But, as usual, I told him it was fine. Once he got there, we manned our posts at my kitchen counter, each with our beverage of choice, and we carried on yet another uninhibited, captivating conversation. It is mindboggling to me, that following his predictably invasive advances, we never make strange with each other, things rarely feel awkward between us. 

So, as this particular Tuesday evening wound down, I prepared myself for his inevitable onslaught, but things were different this time when he left. He finished his last drinky, walked towards the door, and merely said "Thanks" and "Goodbye" and finally, "I know better than to try anything, you always kick me out..." and he got in his truck without laying a single one of his many roving tentacles on my person...Even weirder yet, was that for the first time in a  L  O  N  G time, I found myself astonishingly somewhat attracted to him. Evidently, "hard(er) to get" works a little better for me, huh...

Ok, so I hesitate to even tell you guys about the 54 yr. Ohio guy, Viagra...I shudder at the thought of my brief interaction with him, and if it freaked ME out, you know it has to be bad...I myself, still haven't quite gotten over it, yet...Oh well, sorry to do it to ya' - but here goes...

Viagra is a silver-haired, fit, tan, extremely attractive, older (for me) man (notice I intentionally omitted the "gentle" in "gentleman") After running across his profile, I was definitely interested in getting to know him, that is until I learned early on in our very first IM chat, that he lives nearly 5 hours away---what the hell am I supposed to do with that?! Viagra however, is an extremely persuasive son of a gun, and after charming me into a few more conversations, he insisted that he would gladly make the long drive to come see me sometime, citing "serious potential between us" as his motivation - which at the time I found kinda sweet. It didn't take long for me to realize though, that all the old horndog really wanted, was simply, to get down my pants. How could I tell? Well...our conversations morphed from the appropriate "how do you do's" to the dreaded dirty talk in a jiffy and during our third or fourth IM session, Viagra confessed, completely unprovoked mid-convo, to being "as hard as a rock"...oh bliss...Remember when that shit used to actually (un)zip my fly? These days it really just grinds my gears. (Am I becoming a prude?) Vaigra then started bragging to me, that during sex he's like the Energizer Bunny...he just keeps going and going......What he didn't understand was that this was not such an impressive sales pitch to me, since I tend to be more of a sprinter and less of a marathon runner, and when I reach the finish line, I'm usually completely spent and like to take a little rest. 

As you can see he was already starting to lose me, but things took a decided turn for the absolute WORST!!! 

In the upper corner of most any IM screen, there is a little box in which one can post a profile pic., if they so desire. Vigra's photo had always been a flattering, head and shoulders shot, featuring his handsome face, tawny complexion and neatly clipped, grey hair. He wore a golf shirt, not my favorite men's attire, but it accentuated his nice, broad shoulders, which I liked. I noticed as we talked this time, that his photo kept changing, as if he were putting on a little slide show for me, which I found distracting and somewhat egocentric. Most of these new photos were variations on a theme of his hairless and rather buff torso...whatever...All of a sudden though, there was a brief flash of something nearly indiscernible. I knew it had to have been lewd, cuz he yanked it almost immediately, and I was fairly certain that it was of his weiner. The scary part was that in that nanosecond in which I was able to catch that fleeting glimpse, I already knew that something was screwy. I asked him to please put it back up so that I could have another look, not because it got me all hot under the collar (which unfortunately, I'm sure he supposed), but because I was seriously confused and a little frightened by what I THOUGHT I saw. Viagra willingly put the mysterious image back on the screen and I can honestly say, that of ALL the many, many cock pics. I have viewed in my year of online dating, NEVER have I seen anything as terrifying as Viagra's joint...First of all, it looked sandy and rough and darkish grey like sharkskin, like it was dead or rotten or something. And it was all floppy...limply falling away from the camera, like it was barfing over the side of the couch where Viagra was apparently reclining. It was nothing short of absolutely disgusting, the texture and the color, for sure, but even the little pee pee's pose was all wrong. I mean who tries to impress a girl with a flaccid dick pic.?. I have never seen anything like it. Why in the world did he show me that? Doesn't he know how wrong it looks? Hasn't he ever seen another man's pretty pink, perky peener to know that his is illin'? And where the hell was all that rock hard shit that he bragged about so much. But wait, there's more...an unsightly 2nd weiner shot. In this photo, he was standing and his putrid, little penis hung out of his fly like it had no choice but to point south. He was holding it by a loose piece of skin, as if trying to encourage it, "C'mon l'il buddy, please stand up for everybody!" He asked me, "So....whaddya think?" WHAT DO I THINK??!! I had no idea what to say...There was this part of me that wanted to be perfectly honest with him and alert him to the obvious fact that he was severely malformed and that he should maybe consider hiding the derned thing from public view, forever! But instead I think I told him I had to answer the phone or something and then I split. I was so repulsed, I could not wait to never talk to him again. But I did talk to him, one last time. He opened dialog by asking, "You want me?" I thought I might vomit, seriously. I told him that it felt like all he was after anymore, was a booty call, seeing as how everything out of his mouth lately, was of an oppressively sexual nature. He huffily informed me that if he wanted a booty call, he could easily score one at home and spare himself the hassle of having to drive 5 hours to get laid and that maybe we should just drop it. I said, "Ok" and he said, "Good luck to you" and that was the end of that...thank god. 

I had a nice IM chat with Mr. Dreamy, the other day. We small-talked it for awhile and the good little angel that sits on my one shoulder kept reminding me to stay calm and NOT suggest we find a time to redeem his mounting rainchecks. I was doing great at first, I stayed under control and was just so happy that we were talking at all. But that damned devil guy, on my other shoulder finally couldn't keep it zipped and bulldozed the good little angel's advice shouting, "Fuck this!" as he forced me to type into my IM screen, "So, are we meeting in Middleburg for lunch, today?" I swear to god, it was totally out of my control...it wasn't ME who typed in those words. I knew better than to put myself out there again, like that - that fucking little devil made me do it, the bastard! Anyway, Mr. Dreamy was absolutely silent and I went cuckoo...I could not take the fact that he was ignoring me. I got up and went to the bathroom, I went over to the house and had a snack, I could not sit there in front of my trusty ole Mac and endure him not answering me, it was brutal. But I did finally return, thinking that he couldn't possibly be so rude that he would just disappear completely, could he? When I sat back down, there was a message from him and it said, "Can I tell you something about my social life?" and I was like, "Oh god, here we go...he's married or gay or diseased or I don't know, but it ain't gonna be good" And guess what? What he told me was a totally benign non-issue, I truly could not believe that he had gotten himself all worked up over it. This problem with which he is dealing, is a 100% surmountable obstacle. It's just gonna take a few months to get through it, and NO, it does not have a single thing to do with another woman. And since I like Mr. Dreamy, I am afraid that I cannot gonna divulge what "it" is...cuz even though he might never read this Big Ugly Blog, I still don't want to risk betraying him. I can't explain why I'm so hellbent on protecting this perfect stranger, but I'm gonna keep my pie hole shut...sorry. You're probably all like, "Well, why the hell'd ya' bring it up, then?", huh? 

I talked on the phone for over an hour (first time ever!) with Mr. Dreamy, a couple of nights after he explained to me why he's been so noncommittal about meeting me. His sumptuous voice matched all the visuals I'd already conjured of him, nice! We ended the call both optimistic that would would in fact, meet very soon...ahhh...

I went to D.C. for a field trip to the Air and Space Museum with my 2 oldest daughters. I was escorting the group that I was chaperoning, over to the flight simulators when who did I see lurking near an exhibit but Christopher, remember that sorry excuse for a man? A hot wave of fear seared my whole body and I quickly ducked behind a display so that he wouldn't see and possibly approach me. Writing this makes me realize that I've written about two different Christopher's on my Big Ugly Blog (sorry for the confusion) The Cristopher I saw at Air and Space was the short one with the itty bitty pecker (see: the "A new Star on my Walk of Shame" entry for clarification) Anyway, the long and short of this little snippet is that it felt really strange for my online dating world to collide with my normal(ish) parent/mommy world...It felt seedy and grungy and gross...I didn't like it at all...

A guy responded to my online ad for my "house for rent" and I guess I must be totally programmed to treat every man with whom I make contact online, as if he were a dating potential, cuz I'm all excited to meet this fella and show him the house, tonight. It's absolutely ridiculous! I know positively NOTHING about him, don't know how old, or what he looks like...nothing, well - I do know in what town he works, but that's it. And yet I'm treating the situation as if I'm going on a date. I took a shower and put on a cute pair of skinny jeans and even put on make-up, what? (My horoscope today, did say that I should pay special attention to my appearance, for some reason, hmmm...) Obviously, I am cheered by the possibility of renting my vacant house and padding my bank account a tad, but curiously, I am dying to meet Max, despite all logic. I'll let you know later, how it goes...But just think...I could be meeting the man of my dreams and if he likes the house he will be living only a mile away from where I reside...how convenient...love that!