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?"

Spare the Rod...Spoil the Bastard

I've been champing at the bit to write this entry since before I even finished the last one...cuz believe you me - there's a shitload that I would LUV to get off of my chest! But at the same time...I've def. been dragging my feet - praying (or whatever) that I'll get a dollop of good news - and things will play out the way that I WISH that they would....which as far as this entry goes - would limit me to hiding all provocative info. behind that courteous (albeit lame-o) "gonna keep it zipped" disclaimer. See, the thing of it is...no matter what ultimately transpires in this - the most recent chapter in my desolate dating diary - the subject matter (and the length) of this entry depends entirely on me either choosing to take the high road, and hold my tongue in regards to a certain key player, which would be the courteous thing to do regardless...or - choosing to cast aside the feelings of said individual, for the sake of blogging with veracity and verve...whereby leading you by the hand - my devoted steely-nerved readers - down another sordid path...

Here...I have an idea. I'm gonna go do something to try and speed up this tedious wait-and-see process. Afterwards, I'll sit tight for 24 hours, and see if anything happens. Following that, if the results are nil or negligible - mama gwana blow the lid off this shit, no apologies...Sound good? But hey look...if things go my way - then I hate to say it - but y'all shit outta luck...

Soooo...it's now waaaaay past the allotted 24 hour waiting period (like DAYS later) and it looks like I'M the one who's shit outta luck...I did manage to merit a response outta the culprit in question...but honestly, what he said to me was so freaking lame that I am 95% convinced that I have every right - to totally unload...

A couple of Saturdays ago, I awoke to a dreary, drizzly day. I was licking my wounds after having been blatantly snubbed by several acquaintances at a party that I had attended, the night before, and the tentative plans that I had made to get together that day with a new guy - the overgrown fraternity boy, Bluto - had now fizzled. I was feeling sorry for myself and questioning every single, little aspect of my niggling existence - and was completely unmotivated to do much at all...other than sulk. Poised to write the whole day off to malaise, I exulted when a message appeared in my Facebook inbox...from none other than...my most highly revered crush...the Mystery Man!!! You guys remember him, right? (See the "Holding Out For Something Maybe Better" entry) M.M. opened his message to me with, "You might not remember me..." and I was there like, "Are you effing kidding me? Remember you...I've NEVER stopped THINKING about you!!!" (I did manage to dilute some of my enthusiasm in my actual reply...a little) He then asserted that he was still interested in trying to meet up sometime...and that I should let him know if I was ever in his town. I quickly responded, saying that I could BE in his town in 2 hours, if that would work for him (pretty slick, eh?) I sent him my cell# and within minutes we were talking on the phone. He asked if I was really gonna be in D.C. that night, and I said that I hadn't planned on it before we'd talked, but that (never one to pussy foot around) I was totally up for making the trip out there to see him. He told me that it all sounded fine, but that he could only hang for a few hours, since he was (apparently - perennially) snowed under with work (...and on a Saturday night, too...curious...) but I was actually kind of relieved because if this was indeed the case, it meant that I would be leaving outta there before M.M. and I could do something really regrettable like...fuck...on the first date...

The entire 1 1/2 hour drive to his house was excruciatingly nerveracking...for one thing, my little car is a bitch to drive in the rain but on top of that, I was nervous to the nth degree to finally be meeting my intriguing Mystery Man, who I'd placed on such a prodigious pedestal.

I had no trouble finding the block where M.M. lived as well as a choice parking place, but my noodley driving legs, teetering atop ridiculously high heels, did have difficulty climbing the steps of the first yellow house that I found - which unfortunately...was not actually his - doh! I heard him say my name in that buttery voice of his - and I scurried away from that stupid, wrong house - heart racing - to meet him out on the sidewalk. I was not stoked that his first impression of me was of some space case who couldn't even find the right house on her own, but I quickly got over it cuz GODDAMN if that Mystery Man wasn't even more riveting than I'd imagined he'd be! I was hopelessly smitten from the git-go, no lie. He was just so much cuter in person than in his photos...(and I had already found him to be quite comely in his pics.) I loved his sun-kissed complexion and his tight, compact body, his smile and silver bracelet and his jeans, but most especially his eyes...there was this softness about them that positively slew me. I can't recall ever feeling quite that unstrung, in the presence of another human...silly isn't it? But promising, I thought - to finally feel jittery about a man...maybe I wasn't so jaded after all.

M.M. and I sat across from one another - sipping Prosecco and nibbling sweet, crunchy anchovy snacks in his posh living room. I wondered if he was picking up on my anxiety as I struggled to corral my nerves so as not to wrinkle our otherwise seamless conversation. We quickly skimmed over the polite small-talk and stuff and then effortlessly delved into various formative facets of our individual upbringings, both tragic in their own right, although markedly dissimilar. M.M. cited difficulty with commitment as his stumbling block in relationships with women and theorized that this was most likely the byproduct of a certain appalling aspect of his late childhood...This shoulda been a glaring red flag (as if he was warning, "buyer beware...") but since I tend to gravitate toward the wounded, I chose to regard it as something that I could possibly help fix someday, rather than something that could ever negatively affect me......after which, I resumed admiring his relaxed and confident body language, as he leaned comfortably into the corner of his sleek sofa, his legs crossed Indian style.

After chit-chatting and snacking for an undetermined amount of time, I started to worry about how much longer I had until he decided to kick me out, and right about then - he allayed my apprehension when he suggested that we go grab a bite downtown. As we weighed our dining options, I masked my rhapsody from having scored a substantial amount of additional time with my Mystery Man...(*squeal*)

So often - when I'm on a date with a new fella, out of boredom or disinterest or whatever, I find myself surveying the crowd, hoping to find a more interesting subject on which to fixate, just for shits and gigs - 'til I'm able to make my eventual escape (classic roving eye syndrome, I guess) But when M.M. got up and left the table to go visit the little boy's room, it dawned on me that the entire time that we'd been cocktailing and dining, I had never taken my eyes off of him to peruse the other patrons. I was incontestably captivated by him...in toto. I took this as a good sign, and I was growing ever more sanguine that I had maybe (hope, hope) found the perfect elixir for my dating ennui.

Once dinner was over, we walked across the street, away from the restaurant and sat down on some marble steps to talk and partake in an after-dinner cigarette. A funny thing I thought of days later, was - for how enamored of him I was becoming - it never occurred to me to lean in for a kiss...while we were there - shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip on those giant marble steps. My mindset at that point, must've been of something bigger and better than simply wanting to scrump (which is so not like me) Anyway, we got up to go and I was certain that by now, I must have overshot my time limit with him, and I figured that next, we'd be driving back to his house so that I could hit the road and he could get to work. I even asked him if he needed me to scram, so he could attend to whatever tasks it was that he was meant to be tackling (on a Saturday night, let's not forget) He kind of chuckled and said that it was fine, that his work would keep, and that we could stroll around the city, if I wanted...and of course, I did...but first, I couldn't resist calling him out on what I now knew was his poorly concealed emergency exit strategy for the night...goes kinda like this: Say he'd met me and he'd found me to be a complete bore or dog ugly or a combination of the two...well, then he could legitimately implement the "I have a shit ton of work to do" excuse, and I would've left as planned - without getting my nose outta joint. He loosely concurred that my theory was accurate (teeny red flag?) No matter...I was just happy that I'd had made the preliminary cut...Oh joy!

As we set out on our jaunt about the city, M.M. grasped my hand in his.........the tenderness of this simple gesture which declares to passersby that, "This chick is MINE" - sent me aflutter. I mean, I know it sounds corny and all, but I can't even tell you when the last time was, that a guy held my hand in public (maybe 6th grade at the roller rink?) To me, hand-holding equals pure and innocent affection....and it had to mean (just HAD to!) that he was diggin' on me as hard as I was diggin' on him...

We covered a lot of territory before heading back to his car and the crazy thing was, that I never even noticed ('til the next day!) that the witchy heels that I'd been sporting, had worn deep, oozy craters into various places on my poor tootsies (it's now more than 2 weeks after my date with M.M. and my feet are only just now almost right) But again, I think this illustrates how into him I was...I was so glommed onto him and his every word, that I deferred what should have been pretty rad. pain from my feet being shredded...bizarre...

We got back to his house and went straight into his dimly lit kitchen to pour a nightcap, but got kinda distracted when instead, he grabbed me up tight against his body and we started corybantically kissing...I was thinking, "Oh shit...this could be trouble" Things were getting pretty active, pretty fast and at some point I stopped and said, "I don't know if we should be doing this" and he goes, "What...You DIDN'T think this would happen?" (Wait...what did he mean by that? Why would he say such a thing? It's because of the blog, isn't it...cuz I portray myself as such an "easy lay"...) Oh god no, please not that! That would be an enormous red flag...Maybe it wasn't that...Maybe he was implying that since we'd established a friendship online, he'd been as optimistic as I - that once we met, we would share a mutual attraction...k, yeah...I like that much better. But - just to clarify - NO! I did NOT think that "this" would happen because when we'd firmed things up on the phone before I left my house to go meet him, M.M. had fibbed to me that he could only hang out for a short while, which I had believed! I had planned on showing up, spending a little time with him, possibly punctuating our evening together with a hug and a smooch goodnight, and then going back home at a reasonable hour...and that would've been perfectly FINE with me! Believe me, if I HAD've thought that "this" was gonna happen, I would've stuck an overnight bag in my car...or at the very least, put a freaking toothbrush in my purse. For goddsakes - I hadn't even "groomed" properly, never anticipating that he would be going "there". After all, he was...well...HIM...my Mystery Man...he was on a higher plane than all of those base mother fuckers who'd only been interested in getting me into the sack, right?...He was above such libidinous behavior (wasn't he?)...I'd imagined him to possibly be the panacea to my misery...not an aggravator of it...

I knew I was toast when M.M. suggested, "Why don't we go finish this, upstairs..." errrgghhh...glaring red flag!...Maybe it WAS my dumb, ole blog...maybe after reading my sometimes vivid descriptions of mixing it up with guys on the first (and often the ONLY) date - he was convinced that he had just as much right to dip his fingers into my pie, as all the rest of 'em had...What if his sole purpose for inviting me there, was to see how the "me" in real life measured up to the "me" about whom I write in The Big Ugly...Trouble was, that I wanted more than to simply satisfy his curiosity...I was seriously wanting to try and date the dude...

I thought about bailing in order to salvage what little respect he might have ever even had for me. But the messed up part is this, and I don't know why I let it be this way so consistently...I sort of feel like whenever I start messing around with a guy, it's like there's no putting on the brakes after that. With me, for some reason...even a little innocent snogging, will nearly always be misinterpreted by a paramour as the very definition of foreplay...which translates to, "I'm gon' be gettin' me some, boyee!"...I sometimes feel almost guilted into sealing the deal...cuz if I didn't - well then, wouldn't that just make me a filthy, little prick-tease? Hard to say which is worse...filthy, little prick-tease or dirty, rotten whore...hmmmm...Anyway, I tried to rationalize - in the heat of that moment there in M.M.'s kitchen - that maybe he was feeling me up because he sincerely liked me? I mean, it's understood by now, that I was undeniably attracted to HIM, but I'd also sensed (I thought) the potential for longevity between us...I was undeniably kind of bummed while thinking that "It sure would've been nice to court a little, before doing the dirty..." soooo...I peeled myself off of him, pushed him back a bit so that I could look into his eyes, and asked (preparing myself for the inevitable), "Well...do you think that we'll ever do "this" again?" I hoped that he'd get the just that I didn't want "this" to end up to be just another one of my sleazy one-night-stands...to which he replied, "I hope so..." Ok good. So stupid me took his vague assurance and ran with it. He DID want to see me again. He just said so himself! And so I chose, what at the time seemed to be the lesser of the two evils...dirty, rotten whore......

After the deed was done, we made our way back down to the kitchen for those forgotten night-caps which we swilled in his back garden. I was no longer angst-ridden, I was calm and I was not feeling slutty at all...I felt confident that I'd made the right choice to doink him...I wanted to believe that this was the beginning of something really good...

When we went to tuck ourselves in for the final time that night, we messed around, again...and I don't know if it was the booze or performance anxiety or what, but there was a minor malfunction with the condom and when I realized that he was no longer wearing it, I was like, "Oh god, uh oh..." Lord knows, mama just don't do the skin on skin thing - casually anymore...it's really just not an option. In a long term, committed relationship, yes...but this wasn't that...M.M. shrugged off the snafu, fixed the problem, everybody found their happy place and we finally hunkered down for the night...his back to my front...spooning apparently, not an option...teensy red flag...

My internal clock woke me at the same time that it always does (which was evidently, earlier than M.M. would have liked) and I stirred a bit, but not excessively so. Soon thereafter, he jumped up in what seemed like a huff, took the faintly ticking clock off of the bureau by my side of the bed, and hid it somewhere. I had no earthly idea why he would do such an odd thing (did he think that I might try to steal it before the sun was fully up? I didn't even have a bag in which to stow the damned thing) He later remarked that he'd removed the clock because he thought that it was disturbing me...and I was thinking, "That's weird...wonder why he thought that?" But I later took it to mean that my moving around in the bed (because of the clock, he supposed) was actually disturbing HIM...ah ha! (so sorry to have disturbed his highness...)

Once the sun was all the way up, and the blinds were raised - I lay, slightly propped against a pillow, comfortably naked in his cushy bed...hands tucked behind my head, tits - sunny-side up, and I marveled at how he nervously hopped around on one foot - frantically trying to step into his boxers...This was not the self-assured intellectual from the night before...he seemed so out of sorts. Maybe it had annoyed him when after I whispered "Don't you need to get up?" (to get to some bike race or something) and he then grunted that he was already too late to make it on time - that I tickled his back and arms for like 30 minutes or something...(can that even BE irritating?) For some reason though, as soon as he was upright, he seemed genuinely agitated. It was odd to me that I now felt so calm and he was the one who seemed unnerved...Was he worried that his girlfriend might stop by, or something? (I mean you never know...stranger things have happened) No matter what it was that had him seemingly so flustered - his current disposition indicated that I was dangerously close to having fully encroached on his personal space. He was, however, kind enough to fix me a yummy cup of coffee and tolerated chatting with me for a bit, before standing and announcing that NOW - he really did have to tackle his obligations, and I was cool with that...he had been far more generous with his precious time, than I'd ever anticipated him to be…

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"...

Pleading the Fifth on This One...

You may find this plumb unfathomable - but for once...I really just haven't got a goddamned thing to say...

Uhhh...ya' know what? Scratch that. How 'bout this, instead...

After a quick but complicated tangle with a member of the opposite sex a few weekends ago, I'm a veritable wellspring of information. But extenuating circumstances dictate that I remain under a self-imposed gag order...so for the time being - I'm keeping it zipped...I WILL tell you this much...I have not cried over a stupid boy in absolutely ages...like maybe a year and a half or something (that's an impressive milestone if I DO say so!)...but I broke the streak...I mean, it's not like I full-on bawled my eyes out or anything...but they did fill up with water...twice last week (and then again, last night)...because of a fella.........so put THAT in your pipe and smoke it...

Eh, I know...what's with the long face, right? We're supposed to meet up here to make merry over my abundant blunders with men...And normally I am happy to oblige. But this time it's different and as much as I would love to let the cat outta the bag, I truly just cannot. And don't worry about me (ha...ha...ha) - I'm fine, really...I suspect that my wimpiness, was compounded by the untimely coincidence that my kids, as well as Curlymoe and Willow, all left town for the whole bloody week - immediately following the above inferred, Unmentionable Chaos. So on top of all of the mayhem…I've just been plain lonesome. But, since it is my unspoken obligation as a (moderately) committed blogger, to give you something more than just the above paragraph to chew on...here goes nothin'...(literally)

So, during the lull that had befallen my online dating life over the last few weeks and prior to the Unmentionable Chaos, I decided to make the most of the downtime by taking a closer look at blogging in general and investigating the scribing of other bloggers out there in cyber world...you know - just to sorta check out the competition. What I deduced is this...First of all, the chances of my Big Ugly Blog becoming the tremendously popular, thus lucrative endeavor about which I've so vividly daydreamed...are sadly...slim to none. The blogging "market" it turns out (duh) is already super-saturated with egotistical windbags, like myself - who arrogantly assume that everyone in the world should be falling all over themselves to read what only THEY have to say. But I mean think about it...who really gives a shit about some perfect stranger's rantings? Seriously.

I've decided that it's entirely possible that my stories, out of context, bear little or no relevance to anyone who doesn't actually know me. I mean naturally, I'd love to believe that someone who's never met me might still find my anecdotes amusing?...captivating?...provocative?...so much so that they bookmark the blog and anxiously await each subsequent entry (wishful thinking, eh?) But aside from the few positive reviews that I've gotten from online guys who've read and lapped up my ongoing online dating derision, I have no other real way of gauging how strangers who stumble upon it, feel about the blog. My friends check in fairly regularly, to yuck it up over my accounts of their own or mutual friends' cameo appearances in my never-ending nightmare. And I appreciate their honest opinions, even when they offer less than glowing remarks. One trusted friend informed me the other day, that she sometimes wishes I would forgo all of the frilly verbiage and shit, and just get to the friggin' point, already! And Curlymoe (also a blogger) envies my commitment to report my antics with balls-out candor (he himself hamstrung by the threat of social disgrace, dare he write nearly as explicitly as I) But kudos aside, he cautions that if I really am serious about ever ending my agonizing, perpetual quest for the man of my dreams, then certainly The Big Ugly Blog......must first die......

The Big Ugly Blog is also an avenue by which peripheral acquaintances may voyeuristically virtually rubberneck at the "crime scenes" of the neighborhood tramp and then snigger about the highlights amongst themselves, and that's fine too ('tis the nature of the game)...at least they're READING! Comprehending, though? Well, now that's a horse of a totally different color...My blog came up in a recent conversation between Curlymoe and the father of children who attend my kids' school...I loved the father's take on it, "Doesn't she just talk about all of the guys that she's fucked in her blog?" Well, yeah! But there's more to it than just that...at least I thought there was... Anyway, by now it's no secret that I am perfectly happy to forfeit my dignity for the sake of bawdy entertainment, even at the expense of my already tenuous rep. in my small community...Bottom line, I just want people to read the goddamned thing and to hopefully grin, maybe even chortle a bit...to be morbidly fascinated enough to want to come back for more...and then of course to tell all of their friends to read it, as well. HA!

But as it stands, I know better than to delude myself into thinking that anything major will ever come from my diligence to search for and produce compelling material for your pleasure...I have accepted - that at least for now - The Big Ugly Blog is essentially not much more than a public diary...a creative outlet...a glaring self-indulgence...and above all else - a labor of love...

Right. Ok, so another thing that I noticed in my investigation of fellow bloggers was - best I could tell - there aren't that many blogs out there, devoted to the ridiculously popular pastime of online dating. And the ones that I did unearth, are either now defunct or limp as hell. The Big Ugly Blog is the only one of the genre that I came across which asks the reader to please click a content warning icon in order to enter said den of iniquity...And I'm not saying that mature themes and language validate the importance or the quality of any blog, but when blogging about something inherently adult in nature, one would almost expect mature subject matter to be addressed, no? The safe, wholesome blogs were akin to advice columns and tutorials on the ABC's of online dating, and the few personal accounts that I did find - were weaker 'n shit. I just kept thinking, "Who actually dates this way?..It's soooo b o r i n g..."But all of this then raises still another couple of conundrums regarding The Big Ugly Blog...

#1). I feel as though I'm bouncing around this sort of limboland...stuck somewhere between acceptable content and unadulterated pornography. I got input from someone the other day, who suggested that I consider either cleaning up my blog a scosch...in an attempt to make it more palatable to folks who may be put off by my incessant cussing and bush-league smut, or conversely - take it to the next level by posting fullblown X-rated renderings of my stories, in order to appeal to the most warped of twisted minds. In other words - the way that I currently narrate my stories may be a tinge unsavory for the goody-goodies, but not nearly down and dirty enough for the pervs...

#2). If there are so few online dating blogs out there, then why the hell isn't mine more "searchable"? For godssakes!

Awhile back, I set up "Blogpatrol" - a blog counter which provides blog status reports. It lets me know the basics like how many hits I get (not NEARLY enough) and nifty things like from what countries my readers herald (this week: Bolivia, Australia, United Kingdom, Ireland, Germany, India and of course...the U.S.) but one of my favorite things about the Blogpatrol, is seeing all the different search engines that folks have plugged into their browsers to somehow end up at my Big Ugly Blog.

A few examples:

"meaning of "buddy"" (this one is seemingly so innocent...I worry that some unsuspecting 8 year old may have unintentionally wandered onto my blog...*gulp*)

"fall back girl" (snore)

"sex buddy definition" (warmer, warmer...)

"inurl:blogspot "content warning" latex rubber" (beg pardon?)

"online dating call me "no webcam"" (I get that)

"crush on, he had to fart" (sorry...come again?)

"fuck buddy not my type" (been there, done that)

"removed from his favorites" (no fucking comment!)

"definition of a fucking body" ("body"...NOT "buddy")

""Do you know what a milf is?" so you know what I'm asking" (oh yes honey...mama knows...)

"what is corporate COCK SADDLE" (hell if I know...)

"maiden fuck buddy" (sounds almost demure...ish)

"film mother commits suicide teenage daughter "you haven't kissed me yet"" (I just can't make any sense of this one)

"big ugly dick" (ahhh...a personal fave, naturally)

"fuck buddy vitiligo" (see "Everybody's Fall Back Girl" entry)

"SLUTDOM hypnosis" (wha?)

"unrequited love fuck buddies" (makes me almost misty...)

and finally...

"definition of fuck" (I feel almost honored when I think that the Big Ugly Blog could be considered synonymous with the very meaning of the word, "fuck"...quite a personal coup!)

Ok so yeah...this is all very entertaining and everything...and even though I'm able to make the connection between the search engines and certain specific blog entries no matter how freaking bizarre they might seem...would it be too much for me to ask to get hits from folks simply searching for: "online dating blogs"? I mean COME ON! To my knowledge, not one single soul has ever searched "online dating blogs" and ended up at The Big Ugly Blog...

Well kiddies...looks like all the fun is over...I'm back to thinking about what Curlymoe said about putting the blog to bed for the sake of finding my forever lover...I mean he's kinda got a point. What man who's read The Big Ugly Blog would ever date me? I've definitely missed out on a few sterling opportunities to meet really good guys, because of the stupid fucking thing. Additionally, in order for me to mine interesting material from the online dating wasteland, I have to be willing to do the legwork and quite frankly, I am growing tired of what that entails. It used to be thrilling to compose and send soft porn picture texts, and flattering to know that the recipient would wind up choking the chicken to my likeness. Nowadays, it just annoys me when some horndog whines ceaselessly about needing more pics.. (Although, I have to confess that I did send a couple of humdingers to a new guy, this week. But it was only to quell his incessant nagging, I swear! Well that...and the fact that I needed my ego stroked a little, ok? OK?!...Is there anything so wrong with that?!) Seriously though, more often than not these days, if someone asks for new pics., my knee-jerk reaction is to cross the fucker right off the list because obviously this is not a person interested in something long term. I know...it's taken me this long to figure that out…I really am just about as sharp as a bowling ball...

Also...I am totally unmotivated (lately) to doink random young bucks justa have something meaty to write. I was face to face with a golden opportunity the other night, but I just wasn't feelin' it.

I've been talking to No Car and a couple of new guys pretty regularly, but mostly just to fill the void that the Unnmentionable Chaos created...No Car and the others seem nice enough and all, but the problem is - once I get a particular guy stuck in my head, it's terribly difficult for me to get excited about any of the others...I'm hardheaded that way. It's second nature for me to fixate on an impossible crush...to make the target out in my mind to be the end all be all and the absolute focus of all of my energy to the exclusion of more practical choices. As torturous as they can be, the impossible crushes entertain and protect me in a weird kinda way...by fueling my vivid imagination (and we all know how much fun THAT can be, mmmhmmm), by acting as the dangling carrot that keeps me singleminded (if only temporarily as well as unrealistically) in my quest for my perfect partner, but also - by virtue of the fact that these crushes rarely ever come to fruition - I am safe from suffering the disappointment that might occur, should we meet and not gel...It happened with Mr. Dreamy...and then the Mystery Man...and even though I've met him...and we definitely gelled...there is literally nothing that I can do about my impossible crush on that godforsaken Unmentionable Chaos...

Anyway, my tummy hurts. Please excuse me whilst I continue to wallow in self-pity until the next irresistible opportunity to make another abhorrible choice either snaps me out of or exacerbates my funk...or...I simply fade into oblivion...

It's All Good...

When I was a younger person, you know like late teens...early 20's I was afflicted with (what I now realize were) utterly ludicrous body image issues. It wasn't that I felt that I was particularly overweight really (ummmm...approaching pudgy - at my fattest...maybe) and at times I was even in relatively good shape since for years, my beloved, turquoise beach cruiser with the fancy fenders, whitewall tires and pale pink racing stripes - was my primary mode of transportation. But no matter how fit (or not) I was, I always hated that I couldn't seem to do a thing about all that junk inside-a my trunk and that my moderately muscular build and my lack of a rack negated what little femininity I actually did possess. I didn't even bother to try and look pretty most of the time, and my style during that era could probably best be described as "grungy thrift store tomboy". Oh sure, I would rip and tear and cut up my clothes in order to reveal the better parts of my body (that recessive slut gene has presented itself in varying degrees throughout my life...) but at the same time I would do silly shit like wear shorts over my bathing suit whenever friends and I broke into the neighborhood pools for late night dips, or sunned ourselves on rocks down at the river - simply because I was unduly paranoid about the size and the shape of my butt (what I wouldn't do to have that ass back, right now...oh well, hindsight)

Back then, I adored boys and I masochistically thrived on the torture of impossible crushes...(quite obviously...a legacy...) And if ever I found myself rollin' in the hay with a fella, my most favorite part was always the making out and the tingles and all of that delicious build-up...I liked the actual sex and all, but the damned nakey part was really hard for me...I couldn't stand for guys to see my bare body and my near absence of self-confidence completely slaughtered my ability to demonstrate any real skills. I didn't realize it at the time, but I now know that as a youngster, I really just kinda sucked in the sack. The absolute pinnacle of pain for me though, was the whole "morning after" business. There I'd be, in broad daylight, hunched over right in front of whatever poor soul was still laying there in the bed ...my hands frantically doing their best to cover my "big boom" and my itty bitty titties, while still struggling to pull my clothes back on...mortifying...

Luckily, things took a dramatic change for the better (as far as my self-image was concerned) after I made it through pregnancy and the birth of my first child...Sounds strange perhaps, but I gotta tell ya', the ole modesty goes straight out the window once you've squirted out a pup (or four) in front of a handful of complete strangers, along with your gyno and your husband. Having a baby is like being naked...in triplicate...times a million...under a spotlight...in front of an audience...and the whole humiliating process somehow miraculously eradicated my prior inhibitions. Post pregnancy and childbirth, I was immediately comfortable with my body...I nursed anytime and anywhere that my babies were hungee (descretely, but I wasn't foolin' anyone) I often paraded around the house naked as a jaybird (much to the chagrin of the poor UPS guy) and consequently, so did the rest of my growing family. To this day, I still prefer to be au naturel and find clothing in general, to be a sorely overrated concept.

So, pretty much from Oct. '95 - Sept. '03 I was either pregnant or nursing (my youngest nursed til she was 22 months old, ridiculous - I know - but she was hooked) When I finally snapped out of my years long maternity-induced fog, I not only realized that my ailing marriage was beyond resuscitation but also that my drastically overworked breasts, ehemm...had literally had the life sucked out of them. Unlike Demi Moore and others, I did not come out on the other side of the young mommy years replete with a voluptuous new set...my chest was now nothing more than tightly stretched skin over ribs (with cherries on top!) And it was a demoralizing wake-up call when my 2 year old daughter (whose first word was not surprisingly, "booby" and who continued to climb into bed with me, ever hopeful that I might reconsider this whole ridiculous weaning thing) reached up under my shirt one morning, felt around a bit and jarred me from the tail-end of my slumber when she declared, "litta booby!" Well, that was freakin' it! Something had to be done, and I knew just the thing...

During my consult, the plastic surgeon that I'd chosen to restore my womanhood, told me that throughout his entire career, he had never met a better candidate for a boob job... So see? There ya' go...

I absolutely LOVED my new tits, (to this day, they're my #1 favorite accessory) even taking into account that mine were the smallest implants that my surgeon had ever worked with. He had vehemently tried in vain to get me to go a couple of sizes bigger, promising me that I would be disappointed if I stuck with the size that I'd picked, but I was sure that they would be just perfect for my boyish build as well as - terribly convincing. I'll never forget the first time that I got to check those bad boys out for myself. Standing in front of my mirror, I unzipped and unhooked that Fort Knox of a bra which had kept the precious packages safe and secure during their first 24 hours inside of my body...and then just like that...there they were (can you hear the harps and angel chorus in the background?)...I was flabbergasted by how thrilled I was with 'em. They looked so insanely good to me...that I got horny...no lie...

You're probably wondering where I'm going with all of this pointless blabber. My explanation is twofold.

First: I am not the slightest bit shy about my body anymore, which has dramatically upped my game, so to speak. I have learned how to get what I want out of sex and curiously my selfish motivation to satisfy myself, has helped me to become a much more giving lover. And I hope that by enthusiastically making sure that my own needs are met during sex, thus learning how to truly enjoy it - I may have inadvertently become a better sexual partner in general...especially with the lights on...

Second: Exhibitionism...I'm afraid that I may have let this whole concept sorta run amok...

So by now you know that I've been posting racy(ish) photos of myself on my online dating site profiles to entice more men to "view" me, my falling down stairs vids. and my blog - so there's that. Ok, so a few weekends ago, as is customary, Willow and Curlymoe and I went out to paint the town red. We ended up at our usual, favorite haunt and glory be! There was a DJ spinning all of those crappy pop songs that somehow, like the Sirens, lure my ass out onto the dance floor. This night, the bar was crowded and the place was hot...temperature hot. I was glad that I had made the decision to sport a virtually nonexistent (I'm talking like one step down from pasties) bikini top under my simple black sheath. Down below, it was ripped up black tights and a teeny pair of boy shorts and heels. I lifted my dress a little, to cool my sweaty body and Willow was like, "Awww, just take the damned thing off, already!" And so with a modicum of prodding, I did just that...

After a song or two, I figured it was inevitable that management would be over soon to ask me to please get dressed, and so I decided to beat them to the punch and went to go put my dress back on. I returned to the table where our drinks and pocketbooks were still in place, but discovered that my cute, little black dress was...GONE?!

I didn't react, because I knew that some stupid bitch was just fuckin' with me, and I didn't want the scag to mistakenly assume that she'd gotten to me. (Not sure why any girl would want to draw attention away from herself by mandating that another girl stay nearly naked on the dance floor, but whatever...) The only thing that upset me was losing the little dress, it was cute and I didn't want that ho' to have it...Aaaaand...there was still the potential threat of the staff insisting that I cover up - and at this point - that would pretty much be impossible. But no one ever bothered me. In fact, I wound up ordering drinks for the rest of the night, right up at the bar alongside the hot and sweaty fools who had worn all of that superfluous clothing out to the bar that night (hee hee) and nobody said a word. Only once, did someone untie my tiny top (probably the same hag who stole the dress) but I caught the strings in time and Curlymoe tied it back for me before disaster struck. Everything was cool, until I realized that I would eventually have to make the 3 block walk back to the car, rawther scantily clad, drunk and wobbly on my four inch heels...

My friends and I made it back to the car mostly without incident. Sure, I withstood a few cat calls and all that, but no one solicited me for sex even though I did pretty much resemble a common hooker...so that was good...

After a night like that one, where hanging out in a bar with nary a stitch on shoulda been awkward, embarrassing or humiliating - but wasn't, I realized that even though I'm probably too old to act the way that I do (although it might not be an age thing, since I don't often see young people display even remotely similar behavior in public...hmmmm...) evidently dignity is a trait of which I may be devoid and that shock value has become a rewarding byproduct of all of my antics. And so, because of my conduct and the fact that I advertise all of my questionable behavior in a public forum, there are lots of people out there in the world who truly don't "get" me. Most people make up their minds that I'm a certain way and they form opinions (some dead-on, some completely off the mark) based on this bizarre persona that I have created...I'm used to it by now (hell - I ask for it, for cryin' out loud!) and I seriously DO NOT care about what people (who are not my close friends or children) say or believe about me, I mean that. I do however, care about the idea of being alone...forever. And so the real question is this...After portraying myself as such a wackjob, what man out there is gonna be willing to put up with all of the nonsense that goes along with, well...me? He'd have to come to the table equipped with a high tolerance for imbecility but also meet my extreme standards of excellence and I'm afraid that finding the embodiment of THAT, may be a tall order to fill...So have I rendered myself undate-able? I'm friend-able, and I'm fuck-able...but am I date-able? Maybe not. And I have recently learned that I might not even be marry-able. After changing my "relationship status" from single to married on Facebook the other day, just to try and incite some innocent laughter...what I mostly wound up with was negative spin including a comment from one sceptic who ascertained that "married to yourself doesn't count" Jesus Christ! Do I seriously come across as THAT narcissistic? This is precisely why I fear that I may be paving the way to miss out on that critical part in anyone's life...settling into the golden years with a buddy, a traveling companion...a forever lover. I don't want to be alone forever. But I also don't want to manipulate my personality in order to fit into society better, or something...I dunno.

I would love to think that I could distract myself from all of this postulation by getting together with some brilliant, new hopeful this weekend (specifically a certain Mystery Man) but it looks like I'm heading into the third straight weekend of deferment from him, and - lest I look even more the fool and under the expert tutelage of my young but wise friends, I have decided to take the hint. (I'm thinkin' that he's way too good for a peon like me, anyway...)

So hey, how about a little online dating absurdity to lift the somber pall that has suddenly draped itself over this entry? Whaddya say, huh?

Late the other night, after my kids were tucked in, I was enjoying a cocktail, fiddling around on my trusty ole Mac when I was IM'd on one site by someone new. I didn't really have any business talking to the guy since he lives 500 miles or so away, but I was bored and buzzed and wanted some company. I'm not really sure why, but I always prefer the ones who dive right into the juicy shit as opposed to the ones who just say what they think that you want to hear...b o r i n g...So anyway, this guy opened the conversation by telling me that I reminded him of his first crush (respectable)...allegedly his neighbor...who was also his mother's best friend (ah ha! The plot thickens!) Right away, I knew that I was in for a treat. I asked him if he'd ever acted on his crush and he said not really, but that the woman had once watched him spankin' the monkey up in his bedroom window, as she sunbathed in her yard below. And that after that, he'd heard his mother and the crush, discussing his more than ample size...which oddly enough - got him more excited about his mother, than the crush...So now, I was like, "Oh dayum! This shit is mess up!" But in the interest of my Big Ugly Blog (and my own perverse fascination with most things off-kilter) I continued to put him at ease and goaded him into telling me more. He asked if I had ever done anything taboo, to which I honestly responded, "Yes" (don't even ask me to tell you what the thing is that I told him, cuz this is one secret that will NEVER rear its big ugly head in my blog) which prompted him to divulge even more...He said that as a young man he had become obsessed with his mother and his sister and that even now, he still ogled mother and daughter duos, while oh - say...strolling around the mall (gulp) He next told me that the reason that he had contacted me was because of the picture on my profile of me with my young (11 YEARS OLD, for godssakes!!!) daughter. Now I was beginning to regret responding to his IM...(CREEPY!) and I was more than grateful that he lived so very far away! Next he willingly offered up the fact that he had messed around with his sister (ewww?!?!) but not his mom (phew)...Feeling almost like I needed to contact some authority or something but before I had bailed out of the convo., the sicko dropped the other shoe, confessing that he'd had REAL LIVE ACTUAL SEX with his sist..."K BUD, PARTY'S OVER!"

You talk about awkward! Sheesh! I couldn't believe the Pandora's box that I had mistakenly opened...Close it, close it, close it up again!!!!

I sew this entry up with the secure knowledge that no matter how demented and warped I am or may appear to be, there are peeps out there who are WAY WORSE OFF THAN I!!! I may put people off with my brazen wantonness, but at the very least, I always feel understood, accepted, cradled and loved by my kids and my true friends, and because of that...it's all good...