Being-have is a Double Edged Sword...

It bothers me a little, that so often I begin new blog entries with some sort of apology...either to repent whatever most recent disgraceful behavior I am poised to admit or conversely, to warn that there is literally NOTHING TO SEE HERE, PEOPLE!...This time - I apologize for apologizing, yet again...and on that note...

WARNING! If you are expecting anything remotely as titillating as the last Big Ugly entry, prepare to be very disappointed...and maybe even nod off a little while reading...(sorry?)

Now normally, if I sit here and wait long enough - something blog-worthy inevitably plops right into my lap and provides the inspiration for whatever entry I'm working on at the moment. Well...not this time, evidently...feels like I've been twiddling my thumbs for ages and everything that's presented itself over the last few weeks and about which I've avoided writing - seems particularly dull especially when desperately nipping at the heels of my last juicy post...I want a story with a CLIMAX, damnit! Not this anticlimactic rubbish, sheesh...I'm afraid that I may have raised the sensationalism bar to such ridiculous heights, that it might not only be difficult to clear but also probably be somewhat jeopardous to even attempt doing so. Plus, I did make that silly little pledge to try and be good and all...(humph) and as promised, I HAVE cranked things down a notch or two...although believe you me, it's not for lack of trying...

So following that last crazy weekend of raucous partying, when my deplorable behavior ultimately came to a head (*cough*) with the Rough Rider - the single girl facet of my life feels decidedly lackluster. My sensible head tells me that this is a good thing...that to try and perpetuate that type of head-spinning momentum could be beyond disastrous. But my irrepressible spirit of adventure (or is it my chronic bad judgement...) and constant quest for compelling blog content has me convinced that bein-have is nothing short of boring as hell! And although I am standing solid here on my soapbox, committed (for the meantime, at least) to my "Keep the Cooter Clean" campaign, whereby protecting my health and perhaps polishing my dingy image a skosh, I'm afraid that the one who will truly suffer the most from all of this abstinence - is YOU, dear reader...

Ok, no more excuses..I reckon I just gotta get on with givin' you what I got...

After several unsuccessful attempts to reach the Hired Gun from my primary email account had me so discouraged that I nearly threw in the towel, I apprehensively tried sending him one last note through my other account (just in case)...and whaddya know - he got it...AND wrote back to me almost immediately! Turns out that after the brief pause in our dialog, he was left thinking that I was the one who had dropped the ball on our conversatin' and he assured me that he was still diggin' on me HUGE (awww...) and was delighted that we were back in touch with each other (double awww...) I fixed what turned out to be an overall glitch with my computer caused by an (unbeknownst to me) power outage and now that all systems are go, the Hired Gun and I have resumed communicating - fairly regularly - via email and even on the phone. It makes me smile when he calls me "Honey Bunny" and "Sweetness" which is kinda strange, cuz oftentimes that shit is like nails on a chalkboard to me. And I like the way he always ends each v.m. with his upbeat catch phrase, "Do great things, today, Hun". The confusing part about all of this though, is that the Hired Gun comes across as being genuinely sincere when he assures me that he really DOES want to meet up, someday soon - and yet he has consistently offered a bevy of excuses explaining why he can never seem to do so. If he wasn't always so sweet and verbally affectionate, this would all feel eerily reminiscent of repeatedly getting the shaft from the Mystery Man during the months preceding our singular fated date. Like the Mystery Man, the Hired Gun's job takes him out of the country for varying lengths of time and that is obviously a legitimate reason to be unavailable to meet, but the Hired Gun has been back in the States now for the last month or so, and leading up to both of my childless weekends since his return as well as other random times that I was available, he has without hesitation, declined my invitations to get together. This weekend his excuse was not the token, "Sorry, not this time, Hun...as you can see, my career is the bane of my social life", this time he told me that he was undergoing some sort of surgery which would have him laid up not only for the weekend, but possibly for the next two weeks. He gave me no specific details about the procedure, but promised that he would let me know how things turned out on Mon. or Tues. and then more about the operation, when we do finally meet......Please tell me that he wouldn't make up something so grave - just to circumvent going on a date with me...would he do that? I really just don't understand the point of stringing me along like he's been doing, if he's not really interested. It's honestly starting to pluck my very last nerve. You know like "either fish or cut bait, dude...if it ain't gonna ever happen, then just SAY SO...for cryin' out loud!" My friends caution, after enduring all of my belly-achin' about his constant dismissal of me, that it sounds suspiciously like a classic case of the cliche "he's just not that into you" syndrome...or else...he's married...both of which seem like viable possibilities...

So now...backing up a couple of weeks...Early the Friday morning of my first childless weekend since my tangle with the Rough Rider, I was greeted with an IM on one of my favorite dating sites, from a brand new guy - Comb-over. He was writing to me for the first time, from his home in South Carolina (!) to say that he was just about to jump in his car and head up to an ultimate frisbee tourney taking place in a town very near to where I live, and did I want to meet for a drink when he arrived...and I was like, "Wait...what? I don't even know you, bro...hang on a sec." I checked out his profile and although he had nice photos posted, they didn't show much of his face..the body looked good and stuff, but I wanted to know more about that puss...And then, as I read over his "About Me" section, I quickly discovered that Comb-over is...how you say...married? Yes - MARRIED!......for the love of god......Welp, that WOULD explain the covert photos on his page I 'spose...now wouldn't it. I wrote back and asked him what the heck was up wit dat and he eagerly admitted that he is indeed married, but that he and his wife had recently decided to possibly dabble in....yep, you guessed it...POLYAMORY...oh bliss...

I was bemused when next he had the cajones to ask if he could crash on my couch for the weekend...I was like, "uhhhh...NO?! Let me reiterate...ME...NOT...KNOW...YOU!"...But even STILL, that absurd devil-may-care attitude of mine put common sense into a crippling headlock when I allowed the 30-something married father of two young children to convince me to text him after I got off of work, so that I could let him know where might be a good place for us to possibly meet up later for that drink......(tha hell is my problem?...I mean seriously!)

Interestingly enough, that day at work (as has become the norm) I found myself intermittently daydreaming about the repugnant Rough Rider (why DO I fixate on the bad seeds so?) and literally NEVER thought about Comb-over, not one time ever...he really just hadn't left any kind of a mark. In fact, I had been out with friends for a couple of hours already - later that evening - before it dawned on me that I had totally brainfarted on texting the guy! Now vascillating between the two options of blowing him off completely and trying to stir up a little trouble, I opted to take my chances with the Comb-over and texted him my location as well as to apologize for the delay in doing so. He responded that it was cool, because he was still like 70 minutes away from where I was, and that he looked forward to seeing me real soon...

My friends kept teasing me that every fat and disgusting redneck loser who walked through the door, must certainly be my blind date......ha......ha......ha......but when Comb-over did finally make his entrance, they shut their pie holes, cuz at first glance he looked pretty spot-on. He was tall and athletically trim, and had dark, curly tresses and an attractive face. It wasn't until we sat down together at a table to introduce ourselves, that I began to fully appreciate the truly weird way that he chose to coif his mop, which upon further inspection was also in dire need of a good shampooing...ew?

Comb-over exuded this sort of lighthearted innocence, which led me to believe that he would more than likely have been a very polite and well-behaved house guest, had I made the snap decision to let him stay at my place. He was gentle and calm and easy to talk to, but these positive traits belied the machismo perhaps necessary to pull off an extemporaneous extramarital liaison with a perfect stranger, such as the one he had hinted about in our brief IM, earlier that day...I'm not sure if it was his reserved nature or if he just wasn't feeling it for me, but the entire time that we were together he kept a remarkably safe physical distance...which was actually kind of a good thing because despite his endearing personality, that fucked up hairdo was a total deal-breaker for me. (See how I is?) At some point, after we were fairly well acquainted, I simply could not stand it for one more minute. See, the thing was - his whole package was nearly flawless, spoiled only by the unfortunate way that he pulled that greasy shock of hair (starting from a deep part like halfway down one side of his head, so weird) all the way over the top of his head (which happened to not be balding at all, incidentally) and then attempted to plaster the crazy mess down with that icky, naturally occurring pomade. I kinda ribbed him about it a little and then asked if he minded if I tried something...and before he had the chance to say "No", I threaded my fingers through that goofy comb-over, lifted his hair up a little and shook my hands hard and fast to try and create what I was certain would be a better-suited, messier look for him - he did NOT appreciate my altruism. As soon as I was done, he frantically tried to smooth it back down the way that he liked it, and shot me a look as if to say, "Tha fuck's your problem, girl?!" Anyway, after accepting that there was literally nothing could be done to improve that aspect of his appearance, I slipped off to the ladies room to wash my hands of the whole situation...gee-ross!

Comb-over tagged along with my pals and me when we left the bar to go check out a party close by, but soon bade us and our high jinks farewell, opting instead to spend the rest of his night chillaxin' at the Red Roof Inn...and that was perfectly fine with me...there were clearly no sparks flying between us, and it was something of a relief to not have to deal with bangin' some married guy who lives states away...even if his wife does approve of it...

And now, for the only truly bright spot in this whole episode of The Big Ugly Blog...

I swear to goodness, if it weren't for my spirited, fun-loving group of friends and acquaintances, I would wither up from boredom over the weekends that my kids are with their dad and during these times when my online dating landscape is so barren...

The night after the Comb-over non-event, I joined Willow and a few of her girlfriends at one of those raucous parties where a bunch of (much younger than I) folks play drinking games and burn shit and sometimes, graciously invite this old gal to join in on all the fun. The highlights of THIS particular fete included honing my skills in a competitive match of "Tip Cup"...being joined on the couch by a 21 year old charmer for a surprisingly mature and entertaining conversation which he punctuated with a startlingly skilled series of good-bye kisses...and the piece de resistance...when I (or so I've been told) spontaneously tried to take "life of the party" Flemming, out at the knees - Jiu Jitsu style (well...my best rendition of such, at least). Not wanting to take the unprovoked assault standing up, Flemming brought me down to the floor with a thud and so began our 30-ish(?) minute long, rambunctious brawl which sent furniture flying and Willow toppling like a timbered tree (tee hee) and wound up to be by far, my favorite party trick since that time I hurled myself down the stairs! I absolutely LOVED it! And hey, considering that fact that I was fighting well outside of my weight class, it was an astonishingly competitive bout!

The next day, I could barely hoist my ravaged body out of bed, I kid you not. It felt, at the very least, like I had a collapsed lung...hahaha! Once I did finally manage to get myself upright, I disrobed gingerly since every time that I turned even slightly towards the left, it felt like the wind was being knocked outta me. I stepped my battered self into the shower to assess the damage, and beamed proudly as I marveled over my badly bruised knees and shins. But the icing on the cake was realizing as I got dressed in front of the mirror, that the smeared make-up that I kept trying to wipe off of the outside corner of my eye, was actually the early discoloration of the very first shiner of my life(!) which was complemented by a bruised left cheek! Ho ho ho and fiddle dee dee, now THAT'S my kind of paaar-tee!

So I've been bitching and moaning for quite awhile now, that there has been little or no activity in the online dating realm of my singlehood. But, as I claimed in the beginning of this weak ass post, if I patiently wait long enough - shit just winds up falling into my lap...Well, both issues were addressed last week, when nearly simultaneously, two very different online guys began IMing me on the same site. On this particular site, when a person opens dialog with IM, their message is accompanied by a postage stamp-sized photo, which offers varying degrees of accurate depiction of the person's visage. Alongside the photo pops up the person's age and place of residence. Generally I ignore the guys who are too young, or live too far away or whose picture isn't really doin' it for me...

Blue Steel listed his age as being 38 - but after talking a bit, he admitted that since he typically hangs out with a younger crowd, he felt that it would be ok to fudge his real age in order to attract younger women online. He seemed almost ashamed to be admitting this to a woman who clearly did not fall within the parameters of that young girl demographic...ah well. Blue Steel lived not too awfully far away and his postage stamp pic. met my preliminary approval...he was dark complected, with a shaved head and it looked like he had pretty eyelashes, although there was this sort of strange worried look in his eyes, that I wasn't fully loving.

Blue Steel and I chatted for a short while and he seemed decent enough, although he couldn't spell even some of the simplest of words, which for me is a bit of a bone of contention. He informed me that he was not one to dally when it came to his personal method of online dating, stating that if he was interested at all in a woman, he preferred to meet right away in the hopes of discovering an immediate connection, rather than frittering away precious time emailing and IMing indefinitely. I responded that I couldn't agree more. He asked when I was available, I said that I was free for the next 2 nights, he penciled me in for the very next night, we exchanged cell #'s and then he signed off. At this point I decided that it might be wise to go over to his actual profile and investigate a bit. And what I discovered is that his enlarged main profile pic. did not look nearly as good to me as the shrunken one (drats)...and as I scrolled through all of the however many of them there were, they got less and less good (bummer). They were all basically the same headshot, but as I went further down the row, the facial expressions in each one began to make my skin crawl. He was definitely trying to work the bedroom eyes thing, but worse than that was the way that he pursed his lips and/or kinda pouted...it was all far too Zoolander to even be taken remotely seriously. I was regretting having so hastily agreed to meet him. What a desperate dipshit I can be.

The Creeper was 27, and also lived within a reasonable distance from my home...and as soon as we struck up convo., I immediately went over to his page to get a quick and more thorough assessment of him from the git-go...not gonna make the same mistake twice (in one day, at least) And in his photos - he was never anything less than flat out gorgeous...Yeah, he was young and all, but he had the most adorable dimple in his cheek and a happy unaffected smile and he was Argentine...As is typical for the young ones, he nervously began to explain his fantasy of being with an older woman, especially since he was now finally single after having been in a relationship with a woman his age, for the last 5 years...(oh boy...here we go again). I told him that I never plan very far ahead, that if we agreed to meet and we subsequently experienced a little chemistry, then we could decide at that time whether to proceed or not. He said that he could work with that and like Blue Steel, he pressed me to set a date, asap. I was now thinking that I should just ditch Blue Steel and go ahead and move the Creeper into Blue Steel's Monday night slot, so I did. The Creeper and I planned to meet in a town between our two, the details to be ironed out later. But for now, he would be content to see more pics. of me and I felt quite the same about him, so we swapped phone numbers and sent each other a naughty picture text...(mine was naughtier)...

Monday while at work, I got texts from both men asking if we were "on" for that night. I rarely text or talk on the phone while I'm with my beloved old people so it wasn't until my drive home that I began to try tweaking the evening's plans. Blue Steel had offered to buy me dinner if I would do all of the driving out to where he lives, which would end up to be nearly 2 hours and that was on top of however long we stayed out to dinner. I was reluctant to do all of that, even outside of having lost interest in the date as a whole, so I used - being tired from work and having to get up early the next day - as my excuse for wanting to skip out on all of that travel time. He would not take "No" for an answer and suggested that if we pushed the time back an hour or more, after which the horrible rush hour traffic from his direction would have subsided, then he would be willing to meet me midway and we could instead go dutch treat for drinks only...dag...looked like I wouldn't be gettin' out of this one. I texted the Creeper to apologetically beg off and promised that if he was available, I would make sure that nothing would get in our way the following night. He cordially accepted my apology as well as the change in schedule.

I know it sounds so bitchy, but I was seriously not at all motivated to go to the trouble of getting all dolled up and then making the trek to go out and meet Blue Steel. But I just kept telling myself that I should be glad that I was FINALLY going on a Monday night online date, and that if nothing else, it might give me something about which to write.

I walked into the bar which I had chosen and Blue Steel had given the stamp of approval, and there he was...one of only three patrons sitting there...oh and the bartender, of course. Blue Steel got up from his barstool and just stood there. Now it's been my experience that it is customary to greet your date with a hug, but this guy was like a freaking statue, arms by his side...lookin' at me as if I had cooties or sumpin'. But it was fine, you know? Cuz I knew instantly that this thing would be going no...where.

He listened patiently while I told him this elaborate story that I've been writing in my head, each day at work (it was a greedy self-indulgence, I can admit that) and all the while he kept batting his long eyelashes at me, uck! It was alarmingly apparent that HE was rawther pleased with himself but I found the whole thing terribly disquieting. He even boldly ascertained that this was the very technique that he used and which made him so successful at bagging young girls at clubs...uh...yeah...

Later, he performed a couple of psychological tests on me which were actually pretty cool and then he grabbed my hand and led me to an imaginary dance floor, with imaginary music and unceasingly batted those lashes before embracing and then kissing me..........sooooo not good..........ok, I'm not gonna be too mean here, because I happen to know that Blue Steel does read the Big Ugly. What I will say is this...that kiss...was utterly gag-inspiring. It was like having a cold slab of thick cut balogna slowly driven down the back of my throat...There...I was nice...

Blue Steel walked me to my car and tried to asphyxiate me with that soggy, floppy tongue of his once more, and when I pulled away he asked, "What? Don't you like to tongue kiss?" Out of the goodness of my heart, I started to analyze for him - exactly where he was going wrong - but honestly since I knew that after that night it would no longer concern me, I just didn't see the point. After all...he'd have had me believe that his technique makes all the young girls melt anyway, and so to that I say, "Hey, if it ain't broke...don't fix it."

Not ten minutes down the road on my way back home, I hit a deer with my adorable, little car, damnit...I couldn't help but think that it was some sort of harbinger of...something...b a d...

I arrived back at the safe sanctuary that is...home, relatively early for a typical date night...parked my poor, busted up car, greeted my pups and then traipsed on over to my studio, to set a spell in front of my trusty ole Mac, before going to bed. Literally the instant that I logged onto the site where I'd met Blue Steel and the Creeper, the Creeper was all UP in my worl...

the Creeper: "So, are we on for tomorrow night?"

Moi: "Yeppers"

the Creeper: "Cool"

Moi: "Where shall we meet?"

the Creeper: "How 'bout the "such and such" Plaza in Chantilly?"

Moi: "Like a shopping center?"

the Creeper: "Yeah"

long pause...

the Creeper: "There's a Dunkin' Donuts where the cops always hang out. You can park your car there and then hop into my car and I'll take you for a long drive to a remote location like a secluded park or something"

'nother long pause

the Creeper: "I'm shy and I'm afraid if we go to a bar and have a few drinks, I will lose the courage to talk and get to know you"

Was this guy for real?! Did he actually take me for a COMPLETE idiot?! No one drinks and gets MORE shy, give me a freakin' break! Jesus Christ! Did he not think that his description of how HE wanted things to go, could not possibly sound exactly like I was gonna end up brutally raped, bludgeoned, dismembered and methodically placed in pieces parts in some river at the park's edge, for fuck's sake?!!! Holy mother of god...And what was all that horse shit about the po-po hanging out where we were to meet? Was that meant to alleviate any concerns that I might be having about my well-being? It wasn't like those cops were gonna form a motorcade and escort us safely into the deep, dark wood...Ohhhh no, huh uh...the whole thing just gave me a really baaaad feeling and there was literally NO WAY that I was gonna meet the Creeper in a parking lot and drive away with him...in HIS car...to an undisclosed destination. End of conversation...

Is there a moral to this story? Probably not. What I do know...is that although I may be starved for love and affection and attention and a good fucking lay...I have proven, post Rough Rider, that I AM capable of making at least a few erudite decisions...problem with that is...it's flipping boring as shit...

Errrgh...Another Fucking Jockey With An Accent...

Ok, before I get you up to speed on tricks, I must first confess to being party to such egregious excess last weekend, that I had no other choice but to place myself under indefinite house arrest, whereby (hopefully!) eliminating the possibility of plummeting even further into the depths of degradation and social disgrace...I clearly cannot be trusted to behave responsibly (which should not be confused with behaving maturely or appropriately - I don't give a shit about either of those)...but it seems that lately it's become somewhat force of habit for me to roll the dice with the fundamentals of decorum, and even worse - self-preservation - with little regard for the myriad potentially devastating repercussions...and I'm afraid that if I don't curtail my antics soon, something dreadful is bound to happen (if it hasn't already) Yes, my kids will be home with me this weekend, so I will be safe from faltering - simply by default. But even in a week when they're back with their dad, I fully intend to stay the course...No more fuckin' around!

I'm probably certifiable to even consider divulging the details of my step down yet another rung on the ladder of my decline, but out of fairness to all of the other people for whom I've spared no mercy, here on the pages of my Big Ugly Blog, I feel that I've gotta keep hypocrisy at bay, and come clean about my own questionable conduct. I thought about sweeping this shit under the rug to avoid further tarnishing my already soiled image (gulp)...huh uh…nope! Mama ain't gon' do dat. I need to be held accountable for my unscrupulousness, same way that I hold others to theirs. And who am I kidding anyway? After a close friend pulled a National Enquirer by immediately blabbing my personal business all over fucking creation, setting a veritable wildfire of gossip before I'd even had a chance to process the magnanimity of my actions (much less leak the story, OR NOT - at my own leisure!) - attempting to implement damage control at this point, would be moot. And while we're on the subject of this particularly hurtful betrayal by my good friend, let me just say that I still have yet to tell a single person about my whistle blower's own sketchy escapades, equally as appalling as anything that I've ever done...sometimes worse. Bottom line - I try to keep my friends' best interest at heart and to protect them, not exploit them. It was such a dagger to discover that this alleged friend of mine had hopped on that hampster wheel of hearsay, and then quantified it by saying that what he did was no more damaging than when I told someone that he and I had gone to the titty bars, the night before...say huh? From where I'm sitting, there is no comparison...at a strip club it is mandatory to keep one's clothes ON and to NOT touch anyone else...my story is bereft of both. I guess he opened his big fucking mouth to try and get even with me for having cast what he perceived to be an unfavorable light on his reputation (yeah right) I've got so much atrocious dirt on the guy - far worse than going to an innocuous strip club... maybe I should reciprocate by spreading THAT shit around, and see how he likes it.........K, I feel better now...

Anyway...enough about him - back to me. So why AM I doing this...why am I so hellbent on bolstering rather than diffusing this polluted self-image that I perpetuate...all I can say is that this time, I'm kinda thinking that vilifying myself here in the blog might effectively shame me into some sort of submission...let us hope...

And now, folks - without further ado...the news as I see fit to report it...

So, following my foray with the Mystery Man (and I promise not to flog this dead horse much beyond a paragraph or two...) I worried myself to death over the little condom slip-up (or slip-OFF, as it were) The more I thought about the (potentially major) mishap, the more it became my near undoing. I decided that it would be prudent of me to go get an s.t.d. screen...I mean, the way I saw it - Mystery Man travels to the ends of the earth - saving the world and all that stuff, right? And he's clearly not as morally fixated as I had erroneously assumed, so it's entirely possible that the guy keeps girls at every corner of the world...AND - if the condom slippage thing is a recurring theme in his sex life, well then...he could easily have been exposed to all kinds of icky stuff...and then so could have I.

I finally succumbed to my anxiety the following Saturday evening when I plunked myself down in line with the swine flu patients in their masks, the college kid with the limp, the single father with the four sick boys and the feeble old couple - there at my local Urgent Care.

After making it through the long wait, the mortifying process of apprehensively describing the reason for my visit to the doctor on call, then giving blood and being swabbed (fun) and lastly - enduring the agonizing 5 day waiting period til my test results were in...I am happy to report that I was bestowed with a glorious clean bill of health...Although, the nice lady who gave me the good news over the phone, did recommend that I get re-tested for HIV in 6 months (incubation period and all that)...GREAT...so at least I have THAT to fester over, for the next half a year...nonetheless, I was cautiously jubilant.

Following that, I slogged through the last two epic blog entries and met my own personal deadline to post both (in tandem) before my turnaround trip to NYC...and by the time I clicked the "publish post" button for the last time, I had somewhere in the neighborhood of 20 (scattered) hours of writing time (for these two entries) under my belt, it was 2:00 a.m. and I was kaput...literally sapped - emotionally and physically...The trip to New York was my reward, and while I was there - I had the absolute most (clean) fun a person can have in 15 hours...Afterwards, my exhaustion was tenfold, but somehow I was strangely refreshed, and lovin' (more than ever) my new blond do and I was seriously considering the notion of taking back my bitchin' maiden name...it was feeling like this Autumn might be ushering in a dramatic change for the better...

The weekend after my whirlwind excursion to the Big Apple, my chilluns were to be staying with their dad, which meant that I would be flyin' solo...but there was nothing, and I mean NOTHING going on with me and any online guys. I had been talking to the 40-something, chiseled, enigmatic Hired Gun, for the last several weeks. His return to the United States from the Middle East was to coincide with my childless weekend, but for the last few days - every time that I tried to send him an email to ask his whereabouts, it would never leave my outbox...hmmm...I began to wonder if he'd run across the Big Ugly or something, and had decided to block me from contacting him anymore, not wanting to fall victim to my vampiric tendency to suck the dignity out of men in order to provide the lifeblood to a successfully scandalous blog post. So I gave up...for awhile...and switched gears. I now planned on a mellow weekend, spent tending to my neglected yard and catching up on housework like a good, little girl...Oh yeah...and I was to attend the Fall Point to Point Horse Races (almost forgot!) - always a guaranteed drunkfest smack dab in the middle of a Saturday - giddyfreakinup! I had spoken to a friend, earlier in the week, and after she mentioned that she would be working at the races, I jested that maybe she could introduce me to some jockeys or something (nudge, nudge)...what with the suspension in my online dating activity and all, it might behoove me to look a little closer to home for some new material about which to dish.

I worked a bit later than I usually do on Friday evening, which was fine since I had no plans to speak of, and as soon as I hopped into my cute, little car to head home, I answered a v.m. from Curlymoe. He'd asked what I was doing that night. I said, "Nada" and he replied, "Cool, you're going out with me, Big Tall Drink and (our other friend) Duster"...So much for a mellow night at home cleaning and putzing around on my trusty ole Mac, but Curlymoe's plan sounded far more enticing indeed.

Curlymoe, Big Tall, Duster and I had drinks at my house, and then hit the bars downtown - as is the norm. I found it oddly empowering when good ole Jimmy's current gf (a bartender at one of our favorite haunts) walked past me and my arid double old fashioned numerous times, then motioned to me while whispering something to her co-worker who responded to her with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and a comforting glance (oh please...) He then relieved her of the nuisance of having to serve me...Huh?...What tha fudge?...That girl wouldn't wait on me...What the heck was her problem? I'd never done anything to her...well, other than having successfully escaped Jimmy's Hell, which ("Sucks to be YOU, bitch!") was now HER cross to bear...(I guess I'd be pretty bitter, too) And I mean I 'spose she could've overheard me bustin' on her horsey fuckin' teeth and referring to her as "mousy" as shit...and there was that little jab about how awful she looked in those jeans that she was wearing, but come on! Was she really so threatened by me or whatever, that she couldn't pull up her big girl pants and just bring me a fresh fucking cocktail? Honestly, her weakness did nothing but give me this sense of power...of intimidation...and I kinda liked it...

The boys and I bailed on the downtown scene and opted to finish out a typical night of retardedness at a "gentleman's club" in West Va.. I don't know what it is about that place, but I am all the freak over it. I just always have the best time whenever I go there, and that night - I found it terribly amusing that the dancers gave me more attention than they gave to the handsome, young men - squiring me about...

By the time we left the club, it was late as shit and I had been smoking like a fish and drinking like a chimney (or however the hell that goes)...all......night......long...ugh. Big Tall and I wiled away the long car ride home by engaging in a massive make-out scene...until I finally conked out in his lap....so that was fun.

The next morning, the four of us rolled our weary asses out of the various beds in my house where we had crashed (separately!)...and despite all of the smoking and drinking and lack of sleep the night before, I had no other option but to rally, since I was to be a volunteer at a fundraising tent at the races that day...*urp*

Once I arrived at my post, I lubricated myself with a couple of diet sodas before hesitantly accepting a "get-well" Bloody Mary from a thoughtful friend. By this time it was maybe 12 noon............"And they're off!"

Big Tall and Curlymoe opted out of another consecutive day of debauchery so I was instead accompanied by Duster, Panama Jack and Willow at the races.

It was an exceptionally gorgeous, early Fall day. I was recuperating from the shit show the night before - very nicely - and found myself in a festive, cheery mood the whole way around...that is until my heart leapt up to my throat when I got word of a Grey Ghost sighting. Now I've never really told you guys very much about the Grey Ghost, and I'm still not gonna - except to say that he is the cause of the "unmentionable chaos" from the "Pleading The Fifth On This One" entry...I will also tell you that knowing he was within close proximity to me, definitely gave me that pit in the ole tum tum...(which we all know can be as thrilling as it is nauseating...)

Knowing that Grey Ghost had to be somewhere close by, I pretended to innocently stroll the grounds, while actually searching the crowd for him from behind my dark Ray Bans...and after I finally located him, I nonchalantly planted myself (facing away from him) about 20 feet from where he was sitting and made like I gave a shit about the race which was underway...I was unsure if I should approach him or not. Grey Ghost was obviously the bigger man than I, cuz after maybe 5 minutes or so, he walked right up to me and gave me a hug and a kiss on the check...and so began our torturous rest of the afternoon, spent squirming and grimacing at each other over our inability to do all that we wanted to be able to do...together. For the remainder of the day, we either hovered around each other (our personal space overlapping slightly from time to time) or kept tabs on each other from a distance, behind our dark glasses. The chemistry between us is undeniably sick...seriously sick I tell you...and there ain't a goddamned thing that we can do about it...fuckin' sux...

K, so once the races had ended, Panama Jack, Duster, Willow and our absurdly young friend, Eva (I swear to god, if my friends get any younger, I'm gonna be hanging out with my 13 year old daughter's classmates...sheesh!) all met up with a few other buds at a local pub for Happy Hour. Panama Jack - a shameless flirt and wasted to boot - had this one waitress, Jaws (ewww?) all worked up. At some point, when I went to my car to get a sweater, Jaws met me out in front of the restaurant and asked if P.J. was serious about taking her out, like he'd indicated. In an attempt to try and dissuade her from taking him too seriously, I told her that it could probably happen if she wanted it to, but cautioned that if they did get together (knowing P.J.) it would most likely be nothing more than just for that night, "if you get my drift" which she did. Nevertheless, she immediately jotted down her name and number on an order ticket for me to hand to P.J.. I guess my plan to try and get her off his back by portraying him as a sleazy player kinda backfired (tee hee) There were definite oral hygiene issues with the girl, problems so profound that the rest of us teased P.J. that if he did hook up with her (a joke in and of itself) he might be wise to forgo the blowjob (should she offer)...God knows, those few black and jagged teeth of hers could wreak havoc on tender wiener flesh...*shudder*

Next, our jovial group was off to a party nearby, which wound up to be fun and all, but not nearly entertaining enough to warrant us staying there til well after 2 in the flipping morning (although I did take a $10 bet to give a 24 year old guy the first kiss of his life...so that was entertaining) Willow was the only smart one of the lot, cuz she managed to walk away unscathed when she called it a night right about 2...but the rest of us - oh my...well...let me just see here...

P.J. disappeared for awhile with the waitress and returned in time to interrupt a heated argument that I was having with this ridiculously snockered thinks-she-is over her bad refereeing of a stupid drinking game, only to reveal to me that he'd pshawed the group's sensible advice about the blowjob ("if you get my drift")...Evidently 2 a.m. was the witching hour, cuz not long after P.J. returned from his liaison with Jaws, Duster LEFT with her...yeah...it was like that......I was in the house, innocently finding my fun doing pull-ups on the door trim in the dining room, when I realized that I hadn't seen Eva in awhile...she and I were traveling together so I didn't want to totally lose track of her...and at that very moment, something truly bizarre transpired...I had taken a break from my pull-ups, to chat with an interesting young man about his musical genius, when someone beckoned for me to come meet some jockey (the Rough Rider) I whipped around and instantly my eyes met and locked on the eyes of a man my height or shorter...his face unique and interesting...unconventionally attractive. I looked into that unusual face and got stuck there for what felt like eons...When we finally broke our stare, the words, "Woah...what the hell was THAT?" literally fell outta my mouth. I gotta tell ya', in all of my horny, slutty life...I have never been so overpoweringly, immediately physically drawn to a man.

After a brief group discussion and comparison of male nipples (please tell me that I didn't show mine too) the Rough Rider and I slithered away from the crowd that was assembled there in the dining room. I willingly followed him, spellbound by that insane magnetism that held me prisoner within his orbit. We wasted no time getting familiar - first on the steps, and then on the couch in a room where someone was trying to sleep...and finally we ended up out at my cute, little car...At some point during our rapacious tangle, I broke stride and tried to talk to him a bit (perhaps feeling guilty about giving so much over to a man of whom I knew almost nothing) I asked him how old he was and he whispered in his velvety Welsh accent, "Thuh-tee tooo"...I practically dissolved...you know like when Morticia Adams speaks French to Gomez, hahaha! I dunno...something like that...In a nutshell - with those words...in that dialect - the Rough Rider had the power to do whatever he wanted with me...I repeatedly implored him to "Say thirty-two"..."Thuhtee-tee tooo" (oh shiiiitttt...) "Say it again"...

When Rough Rider and I returned to the party, Eva greeted me by sheepishly admitting to having just gotten busy with some guy out in the field and I was like, "What the fuck is going on here?!" First P.J. and Duster both mixing it up with that skanky waitress, and now Eva and me simultaneously messing around with random guys at a party at 2 in the morning? What the hell kind of phase was the moon in that night for four outta the five of us friends to behave like such miscreants? Something was definitely in the air...or something...

P.J. skeedaddled and so now it was only me and Eva left to mill around the dwindling party, with guilty looks on our faces like, "What? Who me?" We decided to split, and on the way out to my car I noticed that the Rough Rider was following us. I seriously do not recall making a plan for him to come back to my house, but it seemed he was intent upon doing just that...and I wasn't the slightest bit bummed...

I reached my cute, little car a few seconds before Eva and was horror-stricken to find a spent condom laying deflated - on the roof. Jesus! I must have been more shitfaced than I'd known cuz I had definitely blocked out anything involving a condom. I did however, clearly remember pulling a rawther noteworthy "Jaws" maneuver on the Rough Rider...heh heh heh...

I pulled into my garage and the Rough Rider parked in the driveway. Yup...looked like he would be stayin'. I directed Eva to her sleeping quarters and then the Rough Rider and I geared up for round two. I told him that I needed to go down to my car to get condoms and he whispered, "I'm clean" and I said, "So am I...just got negative test results back a few days ago" and so...like a complete dumbass...I went for it..."raw dog" (as Curlymoe phrases it)...not too cool, eh?

On a bright note though, the sex was insane! The Rough Rider was absolutely the most physically aggressive man with whom I have ever gotten cozy, bar none. His power was particularly impressive considering his diminutive stature. At one point, he bit my lip so hard that it immediately swelled up like I'd been punched in the face. Not long after that, I was absolutely certain that he had bitten my nipple all the way OFF! I wondered (before making sure that it was still intact) if a nipple can regenerate...or is it a body part that if removed, would need to be stitched back on...

When the whole thing was over (and I am NOT exaggerating here) it felt like not only the jockey, but also his mount had had his way with me...holy fucking FUCK! My shit was utterly wrecked...

It was 4:30 in the morning when the Rough Rider and I finally passed out. I awoke at around 6 a.m., to catch a final glimpse of him as he pulled my bedroom door closed behind him...I didn't even know the guy's name...

The next morning, the boys met me and Eva back at my place to swill coffee on my porch and to commiserate over the night's kooky string of events. We considered all of the evidence, and tried to determine who had committed the worst faux pas...but being a diplomatic bunch, we decided that it was pretty much a toss-up...

By Monday morning, I was feeling fairly confident that I in fact, had nabbed the prize in the "Who was the Stupidest One at the Party?" contest, for a multitude of affronts...but by Tuesday, my victory was unquestionably sealed. I picked up a call from P.J. who had found out that - the eponymous Rough Rider...'deed has a steady girlfriend...and that the girlfriend...had been at the party that fateful night...and as it turns out...I know her...whoops!

You know, the strangest thing about all of this, is that no matter how offensive every single little aspect of my acute delinquency, the thing that bothers me the most is the fact that I had sex without a condom. That part really messes with my head. The other stuff, I can almost live with...But now I get to look forward to an(other) uncomfortable visit with my gyno in a few days, get the whole s.t.d. thing done all over again and hope that I haven't used up all of my "get out of jail free" cards.

The funny part is, that in a self-fulfilling prophesy kinda way - I did get my wish...to dish about a jockey…

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned"

I spent the better part of the sunny drive home from Mystery Man's house - on my cell, blithely boasting to my closest friends about my spur o' the moment date with M.M....and how delighted I was after finally making his acquaintance, to have been so taken with him (*swoon*) Naturally, my caring friends offered cordial congrats but then one by one, they hesitantly asked if I'd hooked up with him...I squirmed a little, but answered truthfully - and each time that I squeaked out another, "Uh huh?" there was an awkward, pregnated pause...(ugh)..."But it's ok!" I assured them all, "it was different with him...I think we really clicked!" (I'd be lying if I told you that it didn't feel a wee bit like I was trying to sway the jury...myself included in that lot)

When I got home, the first thing I did was send an email to M.M....I take that back...the VERY first thing I did, was pee like a moose, but after THAT I emailed M.M. to gush about how nice it had been to FINALLY meet him, to thank him for dinner and the drinks and I then proceeded to invite him to come stay out here...in the country...with me the next time...(I threw in some stupid comment about not yet settling my nerves since meeting him, which was true...but it was probably a silly thing to say)...and the last thing that I did before hopping aboard my lawn tractor to mow for the next several hours, was to answer a v.m. from Bluto (the overgrown fraternity boy) which he'd sent to me while I was on my date with M.M.. He wondered if I might be free to grab a bite Sunday night, since our Saturday plans had been nixed at the last minute. My instinct was to completely ignore his message. Why the hell should I be looking to meet somebody new, you know? Wasn't it gonna be all about me and my Mystery Man from now on? Plus, I was supposed to be going to a party, later in the evening...so logistically, mighta been kinda hard to swing it. But you and I know - that declining (even mediocre) invitations is not necessarily my strong suit and...after a year and a half of this online dating nonsense, I have learned at least one thing, and that is to always keep my options open...So, I agreed to meet Bluto for an early dinner, in a charming town, close by (I'm sure you can feel my excitement)

Btw, I should tell you that while I was mowing, whenever I made a pass by the front door of my studio, I jumped off the lawnmower and eagerly ran inside to check my trusty ole Mac - hoping to find an email from M.M....As I'd understood it when he booted me, he was to spend the entire afternoon plugging away on his computer, trying to meet deadlines...so I was pretty sure that he had to have gotten my message, already....Meanwhile, I was enduring 2 1/2 hours of hopping on and off of the flipping mower and worrying and wondering about why he didn't seem in nearly as much of a hurry as I had been - to bask in our afterglow...Didn't he have any idea how stressful that was for me?...the morning after?...to be left dangling?...like that? I was like, "Tha fuck is your problem, man? I had meaningful sex with you, last night and you're gonna do me like THIS?" When he did eventually send me a note it was about as enthusiastic as, "Yep...that was fun...".......wow......n e a t - o...

Sorry, where was I? Oh yeah...Ok, so after weeks of casually emailing each other since meeting online even longer ago - Bluto had begun to put on the hard sell, recently. We had made plans, they'd fallen through, I'd filled the gap with the Mystery Man, and we were now on our second attempt at trying to line something up. When I had read over his profile (ages ago) and looked at his photos, I learned that he was my age and seemed to be an attractive, preppyish party boy - so it wasn't like I was opposed to meeting him or anything, it was more that I just wasn't particularly inspired to do so. But I figured, if nothing else, our date this night should prove to be an entertaining way to kill time 'til the soiree, later in the evening.

Bluto and I cordially introduced ourselves out in the parking lot, and as we ambled up to the restaurant, I immediately got a taste of his mildly contrived wit and of how self-impressed he was. I made a quick assessment of his face (which looked better in his pics.) and his body (which looked better in his pics.) It wasn't that he was ugly or fat exactly, but he definitely paled in comparison to M.M...on every level. It did cross my mind, that if I'd met Bluto before having met M.M., I might've given him more of a chance...but that was neither here nor there.

Most of my date with Bluto, was spent chowing down on our incomparable meals...I was presented with an enormous helping of the most delicious liver and onions - EVAH - and it took me forever to finish it all (but I DID!) so my mouth was full a lot of the time, which hampered my participation in the convo..I mean we definitely talked and stuff...I found out that he's taking a break from sex for awhile, he had his reasons and they were legit...(his stories kicked my stories' ASS!)...and it turns out that he is in the entertainment biz...Now normally, hearing such a thing trips my self-promotion alarm, after which I begin to relentlessly plug the blog... but there was something shifty about Bluto, and I resisted giving him the skinny on The Big Ugly. I told him that I DO blog, but I wouldn't tell him about the premise...I was wary that he might take the whole idea and run with it...and get to the finish line, before I could. I dunno...I just didn't fully trust the guy. The rest of my time with Bluto was spent feeling guilty-ish about being on a date with an online guy, less than 24 hours after my big night with M.M., along with staving off complete boredom by doing my usual...scoping out every other male diner who was arriving or leaving or eating...until the date with Bluto was through...at which time - I left, never expecting to see or even talk to him again...except perhaps to send a polite "thank you for the delicious dinner and a swell time" email...

I made it to the partay on time and it was there, amongst my excruciatingly young but extremely wise friends, that I could finally effectively bleed the valves of my elation over having mixed it up with the Mystery Man, over the weekend! Pierre (the first person to hear the big news) retorted sarcastically, "One-night-stand, eh? Sounds blog-worthy to me" (*wink*)......"No, it's not like that...This was with the Mystery Man...I've told you about him...the Mystery Man, remember?" I stammered, "No, this one is for REAL...seriously...we WILL go out, again...swear" Pierre apologized, halfheartedly, but not really...rolled his eyes and predicted that my future with M.M. would be lived out exclusively on the pages of my Big Ugly Blog...end of story...

Well, as they say, "Outta the mouths of babes..."

My 21 year old friend was evidently a quick study, cuz over the short period of time that we had known each other - he had evidently acquired a much better understanding of ME than even I had...not to mention that he'd displayed such remarkable perspicacity (per so few years under his dating belt) in regards to relationships...amazing...And Pierre has a boyfriend of his own, so it wasn't as if he was trying to derail my thing with the Mystery Man for his own benefit. Nope, his was a completely unbiased observation. Here I'd burst into the party, all bubbly and shit about this promising, new love interest - and Pierre had met me at the door with a slice of humble pie...and then proceeded to ram it right down my fool throat (intentionally, or not)...It was beginning to register (thank you, Pierre) that what had happened the night before with M.M., wasn't a budding romance at all...it was just a typical load of dating horse shit, and all that I could think was, "Oh my god...Pierre's exactly right..."

Being at that party was kind of a blessing and a curse. Pierre's cut and dry assessment of my fling with the Mystery Man, left me reeling...How could I still be so absurdly naive after all this time aggressively dating? Christ! I felt like such a dolt...but on the bright side, I was there with me peeps, playing stupid drinking games and goofing off on the trampoline, all of which helped to keep that inevitable sinking feeling at bay...for a little while at least...

Curlymoe (never a big fan of the Mystery Man and his trademark "I'm too busy" excuses) IM'd me, a night or two after my thing with M.M.. He glibly asked if the Mystery Man and I had been talking (obviously pretty confident that he already knew the answer)...I told him that I had gotten that email from him the day after, and a brief text which said basically the same thing as the email...but nothing since...I admitted to my sweet, young friend that I was sorta bummed, but I defended M.M., alleging that he was prolly incommunicado cuz he was so slammed with work, or whatever...Curleymoe was like, "That's bullshit, and you know what? You need to wait until he contacts you, ok? Do not say one more word to that fuck until he gets in touch with you, ya' got it? Nobody is so busy with work or anything else, that they can't text or email or CALL YOU more than just once, this early in the game...unless of course...they're not all that interested in you..." My heart took a nosedive into my stomach...I knew he was right, but I hated to agree with him...I was still clinging to that thin thread of hope, that the Mystery Man really did like me...and that he DID want to see me again, as soon as his chaotic schedule allowed. And then Curlymoe typed, "You gave it up too soon"....................You know? I love Curlymoe dearly, I really do...but this comment was more than I could take at that moment. I ended our conversation and basically ignored him for the next few days. I was incensed that my good friend, could be that insensitive. I mean really...didn't he know that I was well aware of the fact that fucking the guy on the first date was kind of a no-no?

I tolerated a couple of days of silence from M.M, and that's when I went against Curlymoe's astute advice and sent that goading email that I'd hoped would garner a comforting response. I'm sorry, I'm a girl...and there's something about girls that makes us buckle under the pressure of not knowing whether a guy is into us or not. So, I told M.M. that I couldn't help saying,"Hi" (hope he didn't mind the intrusion) and wondered if he would be interested in spending one of the last days of summer out on the Shenandoah River with me and a few close friends - Saturday, next. Before I'd heard back from M.M., I saw a status update on Facebook - posted by Slim - M.M's and my mutual friend.. Slim had stated that he would be visiting his family farm (a mere 20 mins. from my house) that very same weekend...so I extended the invite to him, as well (via his "wall")...thinking what fun it would be for the 3 of us to get together, out there on the water...and stuff...

The Mystery Man wrote back, a day later or so, saying basically, "Nope...No can do...way too swamped here...won't get out to do much this weekend, but maybe ride my bike...hit me back in a couple of weeks...and have a beer for me on the river, cheers"...and I was............c r u s h e d...........Everything that Curlymoe had instinctually ascertained about M.M. seemed decidedly so.

I cried...I cried hard...and yes, I had been drinking but even still - it was different than the time that I cried after that last, unmentionable fuck-up...that time I cried out of frustration...cuz I was powerless to get my way, sorta like a tantrum...This time I cried because I was sad...and hurt...sorta like - destroyed...I am - after all - no matter how horrific and idiotic my general behavior, still a living, breathing, thinking, FEELING human...and the Mystery Man's excruciating rejection of me was the bitterest of pills.

Amazingly though, even as I trudged through all of this misery, I continued to give M.M. the benefit of a doubt...to a degree. He had come to me so highly lauded by friends. He's got us all snowed into thinking that he's "saving the world" and shit, and that's why he's always so BUSSSYYY!!! And I have to admit, upon meeting him myself, I totally concurred - he comes across as the picture of a quality guy. He certainly couldn't be as maliciously deceitful as he appeared, right? I kept wistfully recounting our tale...here on the pages of my beloved blog, but I was prepared to bury all of the time and angst that I had poured into this piece, if he would just give me some indication that he really was sincerely bogged down with work over the weekend, and that he genuinely DID want to see me again...when things calmed down a bit...I clung to that ridiculous notion until he revealed (either inadvertently or intentionally, hard to say which) the full extent of his duplicitousness...

This is the point at which I rose from the ashes of my emotional implosion and the fucking gloves came of...

Ya' gotta love Facebook, you know? Ok, so the first clue that something was seriously amiss between me and my Mystery Man, was when I tried to go to M.M.'s profile (to check for new pics., and whatnot, as I am wont to do...) and I got this pop-up thingy which stated that his profile was unavailable at the moment, and that I should try again another time...and I was like, "Wha?" At first I chalked it up to being some annoying FB glitch, later though - after checking back again and again - still being shut out - it finally clicked, "Holy Shit! M.M has unfriended me!" So, I raced over to my friends list and miraculously, he was still on it. So now I was wondering if maybe he'd "blocked" me from viewing his profile, or something...which of course made me instantly feel like I might projectile vomit...I just couldn't figure out what I could've possibly done to him to warrant such a snub. Naturally, I continued to attempt to view his profile (to no avail) and almost immediately after this uncomfortable sitch prompted me to post a status update on my own page (which went something like, "looks like I've cornered the market on fucking shit up") M.M.'s profile was suddenly viewable...well howdya like that? But the real bitch of it was...once I was finally able to peek at his updates, I made the distressing discovery that...mere hours after sending me the brush off email about being too busy to float down the river with me, he had messaged back and forth with Slim. Apparently M.M. had seen on Slim's wall, that he was going to be in Virginia, for the next few days, and after Slim offered to have M.M. as his guest at his mom's, M.M. said that he could be there on Friday, but probably not 'til 8 p.m. He then proceeded to brag about how stoked he was to be going to some punk rock show in D.C. on Sat. night and yucked it up about the probability of winding up all beer-soaked and stuff...HAHAHAHA! Mystery Man made a FUNNY!!!...

I wondered why he couldn't have done the respectable thing and told me that he really just wasn't feelin' it for me, and sorry but it ain't gonna happen? I'm a big girl...I can actually handle rejection. Sure, it stings for a minute, but then you move on and you retain a little respect for the person doing the dumping, because they were honest and upfront. But this motherfucker had to be cruelly underhanded. Did he think that I wouldn't see his posts to our mutual friend with whom I was also currently actively corresponding on Facebook? M.M. is way too intelligent to be that fucking stupid, right? So maybe he wanted me to see his posts, maybe he was rubbing my nose in the fact that he WASN'T and would NEVER choose me, "So THERE, you dumb cunt!" Did it not occur to him how hurtful that would be, even if I am just a fucking one night stand...And on top of all of that, the fact that he reads my blog makes him so much more despicable than all of the other guys that I shouldn't have fucked. At least those slobs were clueless about my history...But M.M. disregarded all of my ranting and sniveling and insecurities and still fucked me...and ran...

Just goes to show ya', that no amount of intellect or education or privilege can negate an inherent mean-spiritedness...Best I could figure, after the things that he told me about his childhood and the way that he so callously misleads and strings me and god knows how many other adoring women along, Mystery Man is a textbook example of the classic misogynist. I would venture to say that he's probably not even really cognisant of it, but fuck if he doesn't reek of it.

You know what the real bitch of it is? After all of this spewing and fuming...I go back and look at his pictures and I still like him. I should hate him but I can't seem to do it. I look at his photos the very same way that I looked at him when I first approached him on the sidewalk in Georgetown and I literally liked everything about him...I liked his hands and the hair on his arms and his cute cotton slippers. I tried to find something not to like and I couldn't and I'm crying while I'm writing this...I've been drinking again, sorry...I don't usually write when I'm drinking...I just feel cursed, I swear to god, like every guy who's ever into me, is so wrong for me and the scant few who I wind up liking want nothing to do with me...I must've been a real mother fucker in my last life to deserve this shit...or I guess it could totally be because of how I've lived THIS life...maybe this is absolutely what I deserve. I'm just so sad and embarrassed and humiliated...you know, I just felt like I had finally found the perfect guy for me and all he wanted was to get laid...this whole thing just sucks...I've never rambled on so...and I just can't seem to stop crying, I'm sorry. I flipping hate this. I just hate that he didn't like me..in fact he disliked me so much so that he was intentionally mean to me...It might surprise you but I really do want to fall in love, and it's so rare that I actually meet a good candidate for such a crazy thing...so why when I do, does he never feel that way about me...I'm tired of being sick about something that I cannot control...or change...I'm going to bed

(Beg pardon...that was from a few nights ago...ehemmm...)

The final nail in the coffin was hammered home the other night while I was checking my newsfeed on dear Facebook. At first I was enraged, but then I found myself laughing. The Mystery Man had posted a status update which announced that he had completed the final stages of some silly Mafia game there on FB, and I was like, "Are you effing kidding me?" I mean, even if it was true that he'd played and won(?) the stupid computer game, why would he publicly confess to something so utterly ridiculous. But beyond that, (and I do realize that all of his FB activity is not done with me in mind) how can he in all seriousness, expect me to not feel the fool - yet again, when he's basically there admitting that all of that shit that he dumped on me about enduring an oppressive, work-related firedrill was nothing more than lip service, since he was really just pissing away the hours fucking around online. My immediate reaction was to comment on his update, "Wow! You really HAVE been busy!" But I resisted...And then...a woman (I'm guessing a work colleague, and hopefully a well-respected one, at that) commented that because of his FB update she felt that his habitual claim of being perpetually "in the trenches" was "losing credibility"...This time I did not hold my tongue (or whatever) - I remarked that she (the woman) had taken (most of) the words, right outta my mouth...I was nervous and shakey to go through with it, but I forced myself to click the "comment" button and immediately, I felt vindicated for my anger and exonerated for my suposition about M.M., thanks to a complete stranger. This effectual insight gave me that last injection of confidence that I had needed to finish writing and ultimately posting this diatribe, especially knowing that M.M. would probably wind up reading it...

I have to believe that I am doing the right thing by lambasting M.M., like I am...no matter how adored he is by his peers and whomever else. This cannot be a guy that I should stay hung up on, for lord knows, if the behavior that he has presented thus far is the best that he can offer...then I should want nothing to do with him...

I know that eventually the Mystery Man will wince with mortification as he reads my interpretation of all of this horse shit - right here in my blog...And because of that, there's this little thing that keeps running through my mind, essentially giving me the thumbs up to click the "publish post" button. What's funny, is that it's the very same thing that he said to me when he first upset the apple cart…"What? You DIDN'T think this would happen?"