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...