My Three Tiers of Fame

I first recognized my abhorrence for school way the heck back in the 5th grade. I was in the primordial stages of swapping out my never fully successful attempt at pulling off preppy attire for a better-suited, slightly less mainstream look - and on this particularly pivotal day I remember sporting my new, favorite pair of lemon yellow, corduroy Levi's and feeling vaguely cool (for once) accessorizing with the new wave, wraparound sunglasses that I'd recently pinched from my older sister. I don't know if it was the glasses, or what, but this day also marked the first time ever that instead of being terrified to show up at Mrs. Obenshain's English class without my Wordly Wise homework...again...I was like, "You know what? Who cares...what's the worst that can happen?" And this, my friends, was the precise moment at which I began to foster what became an enduring blase attitude towards school and school work, and it signified the beginning of the end of my brief stint as an obedient, participatory student...

My nonchalance towards anything school-related, gradually worsened and finally reached its critical mass just a few weeks before the end of my 10th grade year. I had just recently moved out of my parents' house and in with a family which I barely knew (although I DID have a massive crush on the son, at the time) and immediately following that, I was politely asked to leave the private all-girls school which I had attended since 2nd grade. Although I hadn't quite completed it, the faculty and administration graciously sent me on my way stating in my transcripts that I had actually passed my sophomore year with a (more than generous) 1.5 average. I left that school with 48 detentions, yet unserved...most all of them issued for skipping classes...To this day, I consider this the most noteworthy accomplishment of my illustrious academic career...

The following Autumn, I applied to and was accepted into a coed, public high school for the gifted and my enthusiasm to get off on an academic good foot, lasted oh...maybe a semester and a half into my junior year. After petering out completely, I went to work - painting houses with a friend. The following school year, I applied again, was admitted again and history repeated itself... a g a i n ...(I never have figured out why I was given a second chance, since I was clearly an academic misfit) but anyway, after bailing on the 11th grade for the second time, I finally fully accepted that school was just never gonna be for me, and I found my rightful place as an enthusiastic slacker - shoulder to shoulder - with my fellow Gen X-ers.

I took a job at the epicenter of the local arts and music scene, at a hip(ish) clothing store which among other things - specialized in providing women's shoes in extra large sizes for local transvestites. When I wasn't working, I was under-age drinking at hole-in-the-wall music clubs or swilling 50 cent cups of coffee and free refills, for hours on end at the hot spot in town...hoping to rub elbows with the artists and musicians that I so admired and emulated. In a weird kinda way, even though I'd opted out of doing the college thing or even high school for that matter, I was - by default - still obtaining an education of sorts...simply by being enrolled in the school of life, as it were.

Soon after I turned 18, the matron of the nice family that had taken me in, recommended that I take my GED, and so I did. The day of the test, I arrived - barely under the wire, crippled by a devastating hangover and having never lifted a finger to study for the damned thing (honestly, at the time, I didn't even know that studying for the GED was an option) but somehow (miraculously) I passed...my score? A 98%...So, at least - there was that...

My stodgy, old grandfather (a medical doctor) made it a point to sit us down and ask in turn - first my older brother, next my sister and finally me (when we were each in like the 8th or 9th grade) where it was that we wanted to go to college and...what it was that we wanted to do when we grew up...blah, blah, blah...Naturally, it was his wish that we would all be as driven as he had been, to practice medicine.......I kept it to myself, that for me at least, this was simply not in the cards...

I was very young when Granddaddy interrogated my older brother and sister about their plans for the future, but I do recall that, even at their tender, young ages, they both had at least an inkling as to where they might want to enroll and which subjects they might be interested in studying. When my turn eventually rolled around, I was ill-prepared to deal with my grandfather's scrutiny, although I'd known that it was inevitable (I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but in retrospect, I can vouch for the fact that I wasn't then, nor will I ever be...programed to thrive in any academic setting) I struggled to try and placate the old cooter, but the only thing that I could pull outta my ass was - that I did love animals so...I could become a vet?...or something...I dunno...maybe a vet was a bit of a stretch. More than that though, I loved to draw, and I spent a lot of time doing it. But Granddaddy poo pooed my misconception that being an artist was a respectable career option and he was quick to correct my ignorance...

Either to try and impress him or to attempt to change the subject, I nervously presented to him my rendering of the frog dissection that I had done at school, the week before. He was lost in thought for a moment, and predictably his narrowmindedness brought us right back to where we had started, when he offered up the only legitimate career coming to his mind which married medicine and art...yep, it was decided...his youngest granddaughter would one day make him proud as an illustrator for medical journals and books....uhhhhh yeah...not exactly what I'd had in mind there, buddy...

During the whole uncomfortable conversation with my grandfather, I was pretty much just blowing smoke up his old ass, in the hopes that he would drop the topic...soon. Cuz see...I actually DID know what I wanted to be when I grew up. But I couldn't tell HIM that, for mine was an unconventional and flimsy ambition. The end result was tattooed on my mind, but the avenue by which to arrive at my desired destiny was far more nebulous. I knew that I could never share with my conservative grandfather that what I really wanted to do in life, was to become..........famous...

It is now a quarter of a century later. I am, by definition, a "grown-up" and yet I am no closer to determining my very reason for being...here on this planet...at all. The only constant, counter-balancing my endless laundry list of variables, is the fact that I have never let go of the silly longing to someday wind up famous. How could I ever possibly get there? I have no idea. How famous would I want to be? No clue. The whole pipedream sounds so ridiculous when I actually say it out loud. But it's deeply ingrained in me and it also explains a lot of my silly behavior, not the least of which was my jumping at the chance to finally meet - face to face - with Alex P. Keaton, after months of exchanging platonic emails since getting to know each other on a dating site roughly a year ago.

His nickname should need no explaining, but just in case you're stumped...from the pictures that I'd seen, Alex P. looked nearly identical to Michael J. Fox, he even confessed (unprompted) to being short.

When Alex P. originally contacted me, he had been searching an online dating site for fellow artists in his neighborhood, and my profile popped up since I'd made mention that I do dog portraits. At the time he was in a committed relationship with a girl and allegedly was not interested in anything romantic, and I was there thinking, "Dude...calm down...you contacted ME, remember?" Frankly, I couldn't see the point in him striking up conversation with a gal who was on an aggressive manhunt, but whatev...he was interesting to talk to, well-versed, witty and an extremely talented comic book artist, so it was cool.

It's now almost a year after we first began communicating and Alex P. is single...and has been since Christmas and yet we still haven't met in person. A few weeks ago, in an email, he surprised me by asking if I would be interested in posing for reference photos which he hoped might help him to create a female character that he planned to submit to a comic book "penciler" contest...Are you kidding me?! Of course I'll do it! My god, I am an extreme exhibitionist as it is, so posing semi-nude would be a snap. And the thought of possibly being the inspiration behind a new female comic book character, was to fucking DIE for! I know, I know...his request did sound suspiciously like one of those thinly veiled "Come up and see my etchings..."-type lines, but so what! I was all about the chance to have an emerging artist flesh out his next brainchild to my likeness, and to potentially taste "fame", if only on a minute scale...

Alex P. and I got our plans in order and I promptly cut food out of my diet and spent as much time under the sun as I could. My mission? To come as close to resembling a super hero as humanly possibly, in a limited amount of time.

This past Monday, somewhere in the midst of pulling my hectic 10 hour shift - bustin' my hump for my beloved old couple as their overworked, under-paid Cinderella - I found myself in a surprise state of near panic...Out of the blue, it occurred to me that I had absentmindedly broken one of the cardinal rules of online dating...I had given my home address to an online guy, sight unseen...

In my excitement to get together with Alex P. and apply for the position as his muse, I had completely brainfarted on a fundamental safety principal...I had invited him to come over to MY HOUSE for the big photo shoot. Sharing my home address isn't such a big deal, but that's because so far I've only given it to men who lived far enough away that stalking me would be difficult at best. Alex P. lives fairly close to me and drives practically right past my house to go to and from work...so theoretically, it would be a cinch for him to stalk me...should he feel so inclined...

While still at work, my imagination started to get the best of me and my anxiety became nearly debilitating as I trailed from one horrifying, fabricated scenario to the next...When I would finally snap out of it, I realized that I'd been doing shit like vacuuming the same square foot of carpet for the last 5 minutes or so...

Alex P. had known about the Big Ugly for awhile, but had taken a peek for the first time, only a few days before he'd asked to photograph me. He was complimentary, no doubt, but his comments were tongue in cheek in spots, which now gave me pause. I began to convince myself that maybe his sudden idea to meet had to do with him settling a vendetta...Like, what if he was preying on the fact that I am a shameless attention-seeker with those cliche stars in my eyes, and that - coupled with his potential comic book character ploy - would make gaining entry into my home, a piece of cake! What if he was taking it upon himself to act a vigilante, defending the good names of all of my online dating victims - past, present and future members of a persecuted brotherhood - from my wrath...*gulp* What if his plan was to show up at my house...down a few cocktails of courage...appease me by snapping a few bullshit photos...snuff me out...remove my fingers, and teeth AND breast implants...and leave my unidentifiable corpse to bleed out in a suitcase, somewhere...Fame? Yes...Worth it? Uhhh...possibly not...

These gruesome images sabotaged my ability to work efficiently, and caused me to seriously consider canceling my appointment with Alex P.. But then I thought, "Wait a minute...what would be the point of that? He already HAS my address...If the guy wants to kill me...he will" plus there still was the chance that he was legitimately stopping by to finally meet me but more importantly, to take those derned reference photos...which could mean for me...immortalization on the pages of a comic book series...Damn you, foul fame!

When Alex P.'s visit was mere hours away, I called my friend Annie to give her the heads-up about the threat of my possible disappearance. She did not take my semi-serious concerns, lightly. She told me to text her Alex P.'s info, which I did, she then instructed me to leave my cell phone in a discrete but accessible place, with her ph. # up on the screen so that if I got into any trouble I could simply press "send". The deal was, if a call went through to her phone from mine, she'd take that as a signal that I was fucked and she would send her husband over to deal with the sitch, pronto. Our little plan made me feel a ton better...K...I could do this...

It was late evening when Alex P. arrived at my house. Even so - the temperature was still in the upper 80's and I was sweating like a prostitute in church, despite wearing nothing but my favorite microscopic, black bikini. My nerves weren't helping matters either, that's for sure. When he stepped out of his car, I paid close attention to how my dogs reacted to him...I feel like I can always rely on my pups to give me accurate character references on most humans...their instincts have yet to be off the mark. Their decision was unanimous...Alex P. appeared to be...a totally ok guy. I knew it as well, pretty much right away. Realizing it, made me almost embarrassed to think that I had gotten myself worked up into such a frenzy...over nothing.

I finally stopped sweating so profusely, we shot the shit over drinks for awhile and even after he dropped the bomb that his father was a convicted murderer who had done 6 years in the clink for shooting a guy 9 times in the head, I was no less at ease in his presence...go figure...

We eventually got around to the "photoshoot" which was as effortless as the rest of our interactions. Alex P. was the picture of politeness, never overstepping any physical bounds. But no shrinking violet either...we touched on just about every adult topic imaginable, in elaborate detail. We said goodnight around midnight and that was pretty much it.

So for now...I sit and wait patiently to savor the fruits of his labors...fingers crossed that he rises victorious in the comic book contest!!!

I made my entrance into a neighborhood party, the other night, and not so surprisingly, was greeted with averted eyes and the cold shoulder from more than a few people, who are normally quite civil to me. The one who stood out as being the iciest of all, was the misinformed father who - in a conversation with Curlymoe over drinks, awhile back - admitted to having his mind made up about me and my blog, (without ever having read it himself, mind you)...and there wasn't a goddamned thing that anybody was gonna say to convince him otherwise. His behavior was indicative of my perceived consensus among many, that I am a heretic...an incorrigible nonconformer...and reprehensibly incapable of subscribing to acceptable, mature behavior. To top it all off, the fact that I brazenly, publicly admit to my questionable behavior is - to many...inexcusably depraved...

The negative vibe that was so palpable from some in attendance at the party, torqued me at first...I was literally fuming. How dare those people judge me..at all...but especially when most had formed their opinions of me on hearsay since they'd never taken the time to find out firsthand, what all the stink was about. If they ever bothered to actually read The Big Ugly, they might discover that a.) they enjoyed it because b.) what I am doing is no different than what they and plenty of other folks around here do, the main discrepancy being (and we've been over all of this, ad nauseum...) that I publish written accounts of my exploits and that may be a bit hard for some to swallow, but fuck those close-minded, little shits!

I considered admitting defeat and slinking out of the party...tail 'tween my legs...but then it occurred to me...My blog is my thing, it really just is. The whole point of putting it out there is so that people will read and (hopefully) appreciate it...Why not, instead of backing away from the negative press, proudly promote the blog. I got an idea...I could diffuse some of the whispering and perhaps educate the shallow by looking my skeptics square in their hairy eyeballs, giving them a Big Ugly synopsis and bidding them adieu - business cards in their hot, little hands. I first broached the subject with 2 well-respected, affluent local businessmen, who acted surprised when I mentioned that I blog about online dating. They said that they knew nothing about it (I believed one...but not the other) When they asked me how they could find my blog online, I said, "Reach into my back pocket, my business cards are in there" (My hands were both conveniently occupied - one carrying my own drink and the other in charge of a friend's cocktail...) both men - first one and then the other - took a turn sliding a hand into my tight-ass blue jean's pocket and pulling out their own card...without hesitation. How's that for a gimmick?

Oh...and now...here's this - the unveiling of my Three Tiers of Fame...

Level 1.) While doing "research" for a new blog entry, the online date that I'm on, goes horribly wrong...I wind up dismembered, mutilated and in a body bag

(obviously, this is the least appealing of the 3 possible paths to my fame, and by its very nature...eliminates the latter 2)

Level 2.) I continue to travail as a dedicated blogger, determined to win the admiration of judgmental colleagues...but sadly, my irreversible status as the local pariah and the focus of a witch hunt of sorts, has me sidestepping honorable fame for something more on par with smalltime infamy...

(who am I kidding...I currently SIT on this, the dreaded second tier...)

Level 3.) I somehow parlay my own ability, merits, determination and/or luck...into an esteemed career which carries me to the zenith of notoriety where I find my permanent place in the celebrity spotlight...

You know, I just started thinking...I have - in my adult life - never really cared (for more than a few minutes at a time, at least) about what people (outside of my friends and family) think or say about me. I consider this trait my armor and I hope that I'm always clad in it. Lately, I see the value in negative attention, because lord knows...it is attention, nonetheless. So, I've decided that - even though I will be opening myself up to increased criticism and bullying - I think the best thing that I can do right now, is to ramp up the blog's visibility...to turn as many people on to it as I possible can, thus bettering the chances that it ends up in the hands of more folks who truly appreciate it and possibly even in the nurturing hands of someone capable and willing to escort The Big Ugly Blog (with its author in tow) from its seat on the dreaded "2nd Tier" to the coveted "Third Tier of Fame"...