Doin' the NaNoWriMo, But Still Finding Time For YOU!

I'm thinkin' it may be a good thing for everyone concerned, that I am (sort of) taking the month of November off from dating and partying and chronicling my shenanigans to participate in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWrimo)...Today is November 15, which means that I am halfway through my month-long sabbatical from blogging. Aaaand...I have written half of the required words necessary to become a NaNo "winner" which brings me great joy as well as a sense of relief since when I embarked on the project, I had no concept of how difficult it would be to stay on schedule. And because I am feeling fairly confident that I will be able to reach my goal of 50,000 words by November 30, I figured it couldn't hurt to take a little time out from all of that wholesome, clean writing to tend to my neglected blog a bit. I am, after all, irreversibly programmed to have Big Ugly-relevant thoughts and the idea of waiting for an entire month to jot them down feels nearly negligent. Plus I just miss you guys and hate the thought of leaving you dangling for so long...

Honestly, there really isn't anything very exciting to relay. The only thing dating-wise that's happened is this: Two Sundays ago, the very day that I was to kick off NaNoWriMo, I was heading home from my daughters' riding event. My hangover from the Halloween party, the night before was beginning to neutralize and as I found myself finally able to process crisp thoughts, I intended to use the 30 minute car ride home to mentally prepare myself to knuckle down in front of my trusty ole Mac, the instant that I got home...I was sorting out my story in my head and was determining to tune out all other distractions in order to log in a hefty helping of wordage, over that initial day of NaNoWriMo. Not 10 minutes into my trip back home though, I received an unexpected surprise, in the form of a text. The Thursday night prior, while attempting to quickly rustle up some fun, since my kids were away and I did not have to work the next day, I came across the familiar face of a man who's been intermittently peeping at my profile on this one dating site, for over a year now. I have always reciprocated and peeped back at his profile and have even sent him a couple of (unanswered) messages, asking him to just say, "Hi" or something - for godssakes. I liked the way that the Silver Fox looked; salt and pepper grey, military short hair, unusually pale eyes and a confident but in-check masculinity. I could tell that he had a decent sense of humor too, since the caption beside his main profile pic. said, "Polar Bear...Something to Break the Ice" I dunno, I just found that to be very cute and clever...call me corny. Ok, so that Thursday night, after catching the Silver Fox snooping around my profile again, I was like, "Fuck it. No more of this namby pamby bullshit. I gotta try and make something happen." I sent him a new message and said something to the effect of, "All right "Silver Fox", you've been sneakin' peeks at me for over a year now. Why won't you just go on and talk to me? How 'bout this...what say we meet for a drink in Winchester...tonight..." and I typed in the digits of my cell.

I never did hear from the Silver Fox, but this did happen to be the same evening that I ended up going on that late, last-minute date with the Creeper...so the night was not entirely for naught.

Anyway, here it was...three days after I'd sent my message to him and the Silver Fox had finally decided to get in contact with me. He apologized for the delay in his response, and explained that he was a reservist in the military and that he had been away on duty for the last few days. He had been interested in meeting me since we first noticed each other online, but since he was not a paying member on that particular site, he did not have the paying members' privilege of communicating via email. He told me that when he saw my most recent message, he had decided to suck it up and pay the $35 dollars to become an official member, so that he would be able to talk to me...but once he saw that I had included my #, he realized that he didn't have to bother with any of that nonsense...he could bypass the site altogether and just give me a ring. I told him, "Well yeah! So, since I saved you from having to cough up that $35, I guess you'll be buyin', if we ever finally go out." The Silver Fox said, "I would have it no other way."

I had just that morning, emptied out my text inbox, so there were only a few scattered texts in my phone before the Silver Fox and I started talking. We texted for my entire drive home and for several hours after that and about the time that my inbox was completely full with texts from the Silver Fox and my phone was dead on charge, we switched over to emailing each other. Needless to say, I did NOT get very much writing done, on that first critical day of NaNoWriMo...ugh...But at least I had a date lined up for the following Tuesday night! Weee! (so much for implementing my "nose-to-the-grindstone" method of attacking my NaNo project and curbing my socializing, whoopsie)

All of this build-up, I hate to say, is just a bunch of smoke and mirrors, because the truth of the matter is, that my date with the Silver Fox was positively good...but definitely not as good as great. I liked the guy very much don't get me wrong, but even after spending a couple of hours effortlessly chatting nonstop, I really just wasn't feeling any sort of attraction to him. I do believe that he would make a very nice companion to some other gal, but I myself, simply wasn't blown away by him, on any level. The good and the bad news was, that without the distraction of a new love interest, I would be able to get myself focussed on writing my book, but I was really discouraged to have crossed yet another good prospect off of my dwindling list of hopefuls.

Naturally, during this time of isolation and solitude, hunkered down here in my studio - pouring myself into my mediocre novel, I have had plenty of quiet time to consider my current single girl status and very little opportunity to do anything to improve upon it. My assessment of the situation is pretty disheartening. In the last entry, I glibly made light of the Rough Rider scenario which transpired at Flemming's boisterous Halloween party, but the fact of the matter is - amusing anecdote or not - this was not good decision-making on my part (no shit!) And later that Halloween evening, after my sweet and wonderful friends created interference by breaking up not only the first, but also a couple of follow-up interludes with the Rough Rider - I kinda collapsed...emotionally.

I have the most amazingly devoted friends and even my peripheral acquaintances take my undulating strife to heart...which I appreciate beyond expression. After word got out about my first slip-up with the Rough Rider, I heard from a number of concerned people who offered the inside skinny on the nefarious monster and insisted that I be made aware of his ghastly exploits - the direct byproducts of his rapacious drive to rack up conquests. I heard a particularly tragic story in which the Rough Rider had allegedly introduced an innocent, 18 year old newbie to a sordid world of hardcore sexual deviation, and consequently transformed her into a raving, seasoned swinger in a very short period of time. The side effects of her sudden immersion into this newfound, alternative lifestyle, coupled with the Rough Riders quick abandonment of her, has to this day - left an indelible mark on her ability to function properly in relationships with men. It was alleged that the Rough Rider, during his long career as a sexual marauder, has passed along various venerial diseases to certain of his prey, and has sired 3 children - each with a different mother and none of whom he supports financially...VERY honorable. So why, after hearing all of this following my first run-in with the Rough Rider, did I continue to try and slink off with him every sneaky chance that we found at the Halloween party - which was the second night that we crossed paths? And this very question is the reason that I totally lost my shit when J. finally coaxed me into walking away from the temptation to continue fucking around with that asshole, and instead, to follow him - J. - out to my cute, little car for a minute...to chill. J., like so many of the people to whom I gravitate, is much younger than I and I've said it before, but I'll say it again..it is my youngest pals who consistently prove to be infinitely more wise than I as well as some of my older friends are. But it still felt a little strange to be tenderly scolded by someone so much younger than I. Nonetheless, hearing J.'s take on things, definitely got me thinking...

We all know that there is this glaring, fundamental glitch in my wiring, the result of which is my apparent unwillingness to recognize good men as viable dating options in favor of fixating on the stinky, rotting chum of the dating world. Whether this is a protective mechanism by which to stay safe from commitment or simply inherently bad judgement of character, it's hard for me to say. But either way, hearing J. chastise me for being such a fool, was quite an eye-opener. I looked into that metaphorical mirror that he held up to my tear-soaked face, and saw myself for the ridiculous joke of a human, that I have become. And for a second, I leaned more towards the side of perhaps hangin' up my fishnets and hooker boots and cleaning up my act a tad, in order to get serious about finding a reasonable candidate to date. This is not a totally foreign concept, my god no. I have always waffled back and forth between wanting to find the man with whom I am meant to grow old...and whorin' it up just to fill idle time. J. insists that he knows a really great guy; divorced, my age, has kids and is an artist...and he has vowed to introduce us. Now, whether or not J. will actually go to the trouble of arranging for us to meet, remains to be seen. But I am hopeful, that if an indisputably good thing presents itself, I will have the wherewithal to distinguish it as such...rather than chalk it up later, as another good opportunity - missed.

I decided to let myself celebrate reaching the 25k word mark in my novel a couple of days before arriving at the official midway point of NaNoWriMo, by joining Willow and a few other friends in D.C., cuz it also happened to be Friday and my kids were with their dad, this weekend. I'd agreed and was perfectly happy to act as a sort of buffer along with another girlfriend, Janine - since Willow was wanting to hang out with this new guy she likes, but she didn't want it to seem like a date...you know, in case he wasn't thinking about HER, that way. The three of us girls joined up with Willow's guy, M.C. Ginger who brought J. along and we hit the town for a long night of balls out partying. I had just been so sure that hanging out in a different geographical location would equal=tons of new faces which would get my congealing juices flowing again. We started off at dinner, which was yum but not exactly conducive to plumping up my repertoire. I did manage to catch the eye of the two guys restocking the soap and paper towels in the men's room, though. The line for the ladies room was absurdly long, so - like we sometimes do - Willow and I burst into the men's room, past the guys standing at the urinals and back to where the stalls were. Unfortunately all of the potties were occupied, which left Willow and me standing out like sore thumbs, in the middle of the men's room. We ducked into the broom closet and waited til one of the stall doors opened. And when it did, I shot through the broom closet doorway to try and nab the open stall before someone else did, and the instant my high heels touched that disgusting, soaking wet floor, my feet flew out from under me and I nearly fell all the way down to that filthy-ass floor! EWWWW, oh my GOD! It was sheer self-preservation that I was able to catch myself with the inside of my elbow on the sink counter, before suffering the horrible fate of donning urine-soaked clothing, for the rest of the night...Willow and I did our business and as we quickly washed our hands and turned to leave, the two employees looked me up and down and excitedly spoke to me in Spanish...I didn't understand their words, but I felt like I had an inkling as to what it was that they were saying...their eyes did all the talking!...The whole thing was only slightly embarrassing...

The five of us left the restaurant and strolled around, trying to decide what to do next and happened upon a party in a big house full of George Washington University students, presumably. There were tons of peeps, but the absence of vodka and the abundance of trust fund babies with popped collars, tipped the scales toward the decidedly "bunk" category. We lasted maybe 10 minutes before opting to move on and as we neared the abnormally long flight of stairs which would lead us back down to the front door, I could not resist throwing myself down 'em...just like old times! I got a couple of requests from startled observers, to prove that I had done it on purpose, by repeating this - my favorite party stunt, and of course - I was happy to oblige them...Unfortunately, my clothes were now BEER-soaked, BUT - somehow, miraculously...nary a hair on my head was outta place...Hi-YAH!

During dinner, I had gotten a text from this 22 year old boy(?) from one of my dating sites, who had been inquiring over the last few days whether or not I was into dating younger guys cuz, "I think ur hot". I had explained to him about my miserable relationship with Jimmy and the resultant bad taste in my mouth which clearly had not registered with him, and so after this - his first text to me - I suggested that one of my younger friends, like Willow or Janine for instance, might be a more suitable match for him. He immediately snapped back, "I don't date girls my own age" I apologized for offending him and left it at that. After leaving the party and while on the way to our final destination, I got another text from the very young (but admittedly good looking!) Grouchy Guy. He wanted to know if I was interested in getting together at all that very night - and I, now a bit tipsy and hungry for action said, "Oh, why not. I'm hangin out w friends in D.C., come join us if you want" He said that he was in Reston, and that it was too far for him to travel. Maybe tomorrow night. I said "K" and that was the end of that.

My four friends and I finally agreed to end our search for the perfect place to party when we reached a packed-to-the-gills bar in Dupont Circle. Just being in a room with that many people gave me a bogus sense of certainty that there would be no way in HELL, that I could leave outta there without at least one guy's number...or something...

As could've been expected, Willow was fairly well occupied with M.C. Ginger, but Janine and J. and I were def. on the prowl. I kept waiting to locate someone...anyone - in that enormous crowd of people, on whom I might zero in, but I simply could not find a single living soul who whet my whistle, so to speak. I said something to Janine about the shortage of hot guys, wondering if she felt the same way and it turned out that she was just as stymied as I was that per capita, the pickin's could be that slim.

Last Call was fast approaching, and I was accepting that this night would be remembered as nothing more than a fun night of partying with my buddies...no skanky story to recount in my blog, no potential for long term romance...nada...But wait...What was THIS? Oh nothing really...it was only - JUST ABOUT THE MOST ADORABLE GUY I MIGHT EVER HAVE SEEN IN MY LIFE! I moved away from my perch on the bench against the wall, and slyly positioned myself out more in the middle of the room...closer to the Brit. Ok, now listen to what this guy was wearing, and I'm here to tell ya', most men could not pull this shit off. But for whatever reason, the Brit made a chunky Mr. Rogers-esque cardigan sweater over a rumpled white button-down shirt, complemented with a black skinny tie - absolutely WORK! He had his hair done up all spikey and his face was animated and bright with blue eyes, a broad smile and the most divine, clear complexion. Once I was in his general area, it didn't take long for us to recognize a kindred kookiness in one another. We immediately started talking and goofing off and for those last 30 minutes or so, before management kicked everyone out of the bar, the Brit and I had a really big time. I gave him a Big Ugly business card, which unfortunately has no personal contact info., nothing but the link to my blog. We left the club at the same time, said goodbye with a quick peck on the mouth, turned to walk in opposite directions...and here is where THIS story ends...

I guess I could be bummed that I didn't do a better job of giving the Brit the tools needed in order to contact me if he so chose, and vice versa. But honestly - I was really just happy to close out the night, knowing that the world is not totally barren of interesting guys...

I awoke in the morning, only 3 or 4 hours after we'd gotten back to Janine's place. I couldn't believe that I wasn't more hungover than I was...but as the day dragged on, I realized that it was only because I musta still been drunk when I woke up, HA! The Grouchy Guy texted to see if I wanted to get together that night and I told him that my phone was about to die and that I'd text him after I'd gotten home. He said "Cool"

After I got home, I spent several straight, semi-lucid hours mostly sleeping through a shit ton of TIVO'd America's Next Top Model reruns before regaining full consciousness and realizing that I'd totally spaced on getting back in touch with the Grouchy Guy. I considered my options before contacting him, and decided that I just couldn't go out for another big night of partying. Not so much because I couldn't take it (well, sorta) but more because I had wasted an entire childless Saturday in a sad state of slow recovery...and once I got myself vertical again, all I really wanted to do, was sit in my comfy pj's, in front of my computer and catch up on the writing that I SHOULDA been doing all day. I texted the Grouchy Guy and said that I was kinda wrecked still, from the night before and really didn't feel like driving out of town a second night in a row. He said, "Same" I said, "K" and that was all she wrote...

As I luxuriated here - in front of my trusty ole Mac - for the better part of this unseasonably warm autumn day, windows up and doors thrown open...I enjoyed two notable achievements...#1: This is the very first Big Ugly entry that I have ever written, all in one sitting. And I firmly believe that #1 was made possible only because of #2 which was this: I begged off on meeting the Grouchy Guy, caught up on much needed rest, had a nutritious late breakfast, and suffered no hangover (today) nor remorse for doing something terrifically regrettable over a childless weekend, all of which enabled me to be productive by posting this blog entry...and I still have ample time to work on my NaNo story...

And so I close out this unexpected, new post (maybe not the most exciting one ever) but it's the very lack of gritty material that has me signing off - this time - with a pleasantly satisfied grin on my face...

Mama Gotta Bounce For a Bit...

Is it just paranoia, or does my blog seriously rub some people the totally wrong way? Dumb question, eh? I mean it's kind of a no-brainer that it would. After all...I cuss (a lot)...I am hyper-critical to a fault - of nearly everyone...and I do the most retarded shit imaginable and then advertise it here on the pages of the Big Ugly. This could explain the sudden surge in what now amounts to about a quiver's-worth of antipathetic arrows that have come zinging towards me, lately. Oddly enough though, none have had the accuracy to actually hit their mark. What I mean is - I can sense this vague undercurrent of contempt radiating from a few perturbed readers, and yet - not one of these detractors has had the balls yet, to come right out and share whatever beef it is that they have with me...(hahaha...share their beef...I like that) Just come up off it, already! I wanna hear you say what it is about the blog or me - that has triggered your agitation, haters. And hey seriously! If you don't like the goddamned thing...well then STOP READING IT, why dontcha!"

Might surprise you, but I am not a confrontational person - quite the contrary. Don't get me wrong though...if you can even GET me backed into a corner, trust me...you won't keep me there for long. But that's not to say that I don't appreciate people's honest opinions of me, I'm just not easily intimidated by their input - ESPECIALLY if it happens to be to my own discredit. In essence, I relish any opportunity to be critiqued and to subsequently stand by or when necessary - even denounce my questionable lifestyle choices, MYSELF. Unfortunately however, these virtually mute critics of late, don't have the courage to give me a fair shake to do either...all that I have gotten from them are weak, underhanded jabs...lame-o...

This negative vibe towards me and my blog does make me wonder though, if it's possible that I have taken this whole "Carousin' in the Country" thing a wee bit too far...perhaps my crescendo-ing deplorable behavior and oftentimes cruel assessment of others are indicative of what has become a grotesque lack of ethics and couth. Maybe I've sunk to such deep, dark depths of degradation that there is literally nowhere for me to go - but up...or out...

It's funny to me, how sometimes things really do just seem to happen for a reason...

So, sometime in late September, I stumbled upon this nifty thing called NaNoWriMo...or National Novel Writing Month. During the month of November, writers are challenged to scribe a 50k word long novel, doesn't matter how good or how awful...the "contest" is entirely about literally logging in the words...quantity over quality, at this stage in the game...I was immediately hypnotized by the thought of tackling such a formidable task and without hesitation, signed myself up to participate. One day at work shortly afterwards, my story began to present itself...I swear to god, the derned thing just came to me with like zero effort on my part...it felt as if it was TELLING itself to ME...and I'm not just saying that. Mere minutes after my novel began to unfold, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably upon realizing the tragic fate of my protagonist - and hurriedly dashed off to go hide in the pantry, for fear that John might walk in on my spontaneous emotional meltdown. It went on like that, throughout the day...I burst into tears while I cleaned the house, I dabbed my wet eyes while I fed Claudia, I sobbed in the car on the way to fetch my chlluns from school. When I finally got me and all of the kids home, later that night...I filled everyone in on the whole NaNoWriMo deal...including the premise of my story. I predicted ahead of time, that it would draw out more than a few tears from at least a couple of us...and it did. The poor little boogers got weepy before I'd even GOTTEN to the really sad part...yeah...it's like that...

Needless to say, I feel that I am strategically and mentally equipped to at least attempt this NaNoWrimo thing...but here's the catch...since I have no earthly concept of how time-consuming it will prove to be, I have gone back to my Summertime hours at work, planning on only showing up on Mondays for a 10 hr. shift, which SHOULD provide ample time to write, but who can say...I'll be poor as hell, but such is the sacrifice of an artist, right? Obviously my main priority will be to pen this novel, which I'm afraid will be much to the neglect of my social life as well as the Big Ugly. The timing couldn't be more perfect though really, what with the recent rise in my fucked up behavior and the resultant ill will. Might be beneficial for me to step away for a little while and let things simmer down a bit (and just when they're really starting to heat up again, too...dangit! But more on that in a minute...)

My dear sweet children seem genuinely excited about the NaNo project, for some reason - and they love my story despite it's gut-wrenching twist. I think that they just want - for once - to be able to be proud of me for accomplishing something that they or even their friends can enjoy (unlike my strictly off-limits-to-them - blog). Which brings up an added facet to the NaNo challenge...My kids have petitioned me to please try and write the book, without bunging it all up with my trademark foul language...they want me to prove to them that I can produce something devoid of distasteful content, even perhaps respectable enough to sit comfortably on the shelves next to all of those other widely accepted books...in their own school library...someday...maybe...

The reality is - that this may be the last entry for awhile, and just to change things up a little, and possibly leave you guys on a positive note - I've decided to try and finish this "sayonara" post following a couple of guidelines:

1.) attempt to appease the folks who it seems - would prefer that I "Do unto others...blah, blah, blah" by biting my tongue and avoiding verbally cutting everyone down to stumps, like so often I do...as well as tone down some of the more graphic sexual shit...grrr...

2.) in preparation for writing during NaNoWriMo, omit all expletives

This is gonna be HARD, like I mean REALLY hard! And you know? I would venture to say that the end result will be far less entertaining than usual. But listen, this prim and proper slant on the blog is definitely NOT me repenting or even attempting to clean up my act...it's more of a kind of experiment...to really just see IF I can do it, and if I do pull it off, to see how bland this entry winds up to be. I predict that my blog as a whole, would suffer catastrophically if I made a commitment to continue to clean up my language and stories as well as refrain from making slanderous and degrading remarks in lieu of exclusively positive and favorable comments. Anyway, let's just see how it goes...

I was bestowed with a bit of timely luck this week, when as a sort of last hurrah before hunkering down in front of my computer for the next full month, I managed to score two (count 'em TWO!) dates with online guys. Wednesday night - I was to finally meet the Other Hired Gun (O.H.G.) who I've been talking to via email, for more than a month now while he's been stationed somewhere in the Middle East. In his photos he looked tall, had a really nice body (slim, fit and hairless) and he had a shaved head, which I always like. And his notes to me were always brimming with good grammar and impeccable spelling, ahhhh...

Once O.H.G. had arrived back on this continent, we finally got to talk on the phone (it's always so nice to be able to attach a voice to a fella's photos) and we made plans to go get sushi out near where he lives. We met in the restaurant parking lot, and gave each other a friendly hug...and even though I had been hopeful that we might really connect - as is so common - I knew right away that he was not my type. Not gonna beat him up for his choice of attire, or list my hang-ups with certain of his physical attributes (although he DID actually have a really nice bod) but what I WILL do is repeat to you, something disconcerting that he brought up in our chat over dinner. Somehow we got on the subject of Viagra and Cialis. He told me that soldiers buy and use that shit (oops) like crazy, even if they don't have trouble "getting it up" - something about staying power and quicker recovery and whatnot...Anyway, somewhere in the midst of all of this, he blurted out that he was determined to one day invent a drug that would double as a hair-restorer as well as a penis enlarger, and target the enormous market of balding men who are cursed with a teeny johnson.........huh.........interesting...My immediate thought was, "Is there actually as large a population of men who suffer from both of these maladies simultaneously, (as he'd have me believe)...or is O.H.D. simply unwittingly admitting to being slightly less than well-endowed?" I mean he was obviously balding (yes he shaved his head and all - but I mean, you could look at the whisker shadows on his head and see exactly where no hair would ever sprout, again) so I was left to assume that his pipe dream to develop this double-duty "Hair and Dick" drug (as HE coined it), wasn't a philanthropic effort to spread goodwill among his fellow man at all, but instead - had everything to do with growing his OWN cock bigger (wait, is "cock" considered foul language? might have to change that). Sure, he could continue shaving his head to address the balding issue, but until the day that his dream drug hit the shelves...looked like he'd have to be content being hung like a mouse...

That was it for me, I was done...

Next night, kinda late-ish, like 9:30 maybe? I was IM'd by the Creeper who was still adamant that we meet. He asked if I was up for doing something spontaneous. I asked what he had in mind. He suggested that we meet at a bar in a town about an hour away, have a few drinks and then see how we felt about making those "fantasies" of his come to fruition...

I have no idea why I agreed to meet him, especially after he'd freaked me out so badly the last time that we talked. Nevertheless...I did. I jumped in the shower quickly, got dressed and sped up the road - willy nilly.

The Creeper and I also introduced oursleves with a hug in the parking lot outside of our intended destination...but the difference in my physical response to the Creeper vs. my reaction to O.H.G. was astonishing. Damn, was that little Creeper cute! Very young...but totally adorable. And he smelled so good...He was 6' with the most perfectly proportionate, masculine build - more stacked than O.H.G., even though he admitted that he doesn't exercise much at all. Oh, and his face...with those sparkly, dark eyes and a frequently occurring, cheerful smile that put deep dimples in both of his cheeks...He spoke with a faint accent (a particular penchant of mine) a now nearly imperceptible legacy of his early childhood in Argentina. Suffice it to say, we were off to a good start. It was a little strange for me to compare the Creeper who is 26, to myself back when I was his age. I got married and soon after - became pregnant during my 27th year, and I remember at that time, feeling like such a mature grown-up and oddly, I considered myself sort of "old" to be having my first child. But the Creeper just seemed like such a baby, to me. I couldn't imagine someone as fresh-faced as he was, married with a baby on the way...Eh, it's all relative, I guess.

After a little more than an hour and a couple of drinks, I could tell that he was messing with his phone in his lap and I was thinking, "Who in the world (translation: "Who the fuck") is he texting in the middle of our date?" The Creeper set his Iphone on the table and slowly slid it over to me. (Awww...He'd been writing to ME!) On it he had typed, "So how are you feeling about what we talked about?" I dropped my head down onto the table hard, as if to say, "Come on, man! THAT again?" You know, I had just been so enjoying his company and all, that the fantasy thing had completely escaped my mind. But I had to face the fact that this HAD been his big push from day 1...and it was sort of our whole reason for having each gotten in our cars at 10 p.m. and driven an hour away, to finally meet and see what was what. I went to the ladies' room to try and figure it out and when I returned, I scooted in close to him on his side of the booth...I definitely felt those cataclysmic lightening bolts straight up my middle as soon as I was next to him. We talked it over for a little bit and decided that it might be best to continue the conversation, outside...

We got to his Jeep, he leaned up against it, pulled me towards him and gave me a crash course in the meaning of the term "Latin Lover". That boy knew how to kiss...(and stuff)

We hopped into his Jeep, drove to that aforementioned and somehow now not nearly as threatening to me - "remote location" and lived out BOTH of his fantasies...(not to mention, a particular one of my own)

I'm sorry, but that's all that I am at liberty to say here...gotta keep it clean dontcha know...

Halloween weekend marked the last chance for me to get my ya-ya's out before holing up in my studio to write the novel, and by god - I was definitely gonna get the most out of it! Friday night was all about close pals and partying like idiots, downtown at the hot spots...and once again, I left the last bar to head home, nary a single male prospect on the horizon. It seems I suffer from a condition, and it goes something like this...GUYS DON'T TALK TO ME AT BARS EVER! If you don't believe me, just ask my friends! By now, everybody notices it...I swear to goodness, it can be me and a girlfriend sharing a table, and inevitably when men approach us, it's like they look right past me, eyes locked onto my friend, whoever she may be. After a little while, they sort of turn my way and act almost startled to see me there like, "Oh! Hey! Didn't see ya' there...what's up?" and then their eyes move right back over to my friend. At first it used to kinda bother me, but by now - I've come to expect it and I can always count on having fun just being stupid with my pals...so I rarely ever call it a night - disappointed. It is interesting to me though, that the guys who contact me ONLINE are so absurdly brazen in their advances...so forward and flirty and abundant. It's that derned internet, I swear...it's got everyone's social skills all outta whack, you know? Men have all the courage in the world, when it comes to talking to girls from in front of their computer monitors...cuz if they're rejected, they just scroll down the list and pick another target, simple as that! Plus their cohorts aren't there to ridicule them when they get stiff-armed by girls who are simply not charmed by there feeble skills...Essentially the world of online dating is a land of make-believe, it's just not real life, and people act all screwy...but bearing in mind my abysmal luck meeting men the traditional way, the internet seems a far better venue in which to have at least a shred of a chance to find a man...not to mention, it is virtually impossible to get a D.U.I while cruising the internet....which brings me to another little nugget of news...

I left the bar on Friday night and began to make my way home. The traffic patterns downtown have recently been all changed around, i.e. where there used to be stop lights, there are now 4 way stops instead, and that night - as I came up to an intersection where a light USED to be, I didn't realize 'til the last second that it was now a 4 way stop. I was already nosing into the intersection when I noticed the cop car to my immediate right at which point I tried to apply the brakes, but my big ass boots got my feet all tangled up and while depressing the brakes, I was accidentally pressing on the accelerator as well...I proceeded to roll into the intersection. As soon as I was all the way through it, the cop who had been sitting catty-corner to me, pulled up behind me and flashed his lights. (&#*@!) He asked me if I knew why he'd pulled me. I said yes and tried to explain the reason for my spaz-out...he went back to his patrol car with my license and when he returned, he asked me if I'd been drinking...and I told him that I had (duh) He asked me to please get out of the car and meet him on the sidewalk, so that I might perform the dreaded Field Sobriety Test for him and his partner - a female cop. I was grateful right about then - that I had kept my consumption to more of a minimum than usual because I was actually able to perform with precision, each challenge that he presented. Once I was done, he offered to give me a breathalizer test, just in case I was curious to know my blood alcohol level (ummm, how bout a big "NO" on that one) and then told me that after he finished writing me a ticket for running the stop sign, I was free to go (schwing!) But at that moment - the woman cop totally took the wind outta my sails when she uttered, "If it were me, I'd take her in" (&#*@$%+ *#%?!) I was like,"What?! I just passed the test with flying colors! Why she wanna be all harshin' my happy and stuff?" (Only thing I could figure was that my costume - [I was a "trick"] - had pissed her off...as it had so many other women, that night...Ha!) But I kept it zipped and went to wait in my car like an obedient girl, until the NICE officer came over to hand me my ticket and then tell me to git. I thanked him and apologized for my blunder and as he walked away I asked him if he could at least smile. He shot back, "No I cannot".

Ok, so this was one hell of a wake-up call and is yet another reason why laying low here in my studio for the month of November (if not longer) is probably the wisest decision I've made in a LOOOONG time...

But it was October still, and the next night was Halloween. I couldn't hibernate just yet. I was determined however, to be smart about my alcohol intake and how much time I spent behind the wheel of my car. Willow and a couple of friends met over at my house before we all caravanned further out into the country to a party. I had my sleeping bag and pillow and a change of clothes in my car and I was fully prepared to crash at the party, if need be.

The party was lighthearted good fun, in it's purest form...Everyone dug the spoils from the condom-rich pinata, and my wrestling match redux with Flemming was the highlight of MY evening, fo shiz. Things did take a turn for the scurrilous though, when I walked back into the house from the yard and wound up face to face with..(well, maybe more like my mouth to the forehead of)...the dastardly Rough Rider...It was no more than half a minute before he was dragging me by the hand out to a shed in the backyard. He pushed me through the doorway and closed the door hard, behind us. We were furiously kissing and biting and slapping and as he tried to undress me, I hit him square in the side of the head, more than once - with a loose fist. This did nothing to deter his advances, it only made him bite harder. He undid his belt and trousers and he (in the words of an old friend) "broke me down like a double barreled shotgun"...All the fun was soon over though, when Willow shone a flashlight through the window of that little ole love shack - and insisted that I get my (bare) ass outta there, right then! She met me in the yard - highly irritated, refused to let me tag along with that psychopathic sexual predator and then brought it to my attention that the Rough Rider's girlfriend happened to be sleeping in his truck, which was parked right out front...

And on that note, I think I'll go bury my head in the sand for the entire next month...and hope that it gets gnawed off by sand crabs...See you guys in December...

Oooooh wait, sorry...there is just on more thing...I opened this entry, belly-achin' about the weenies out there, who ruffle my feathers with their wimpy, underhanded wisecracks and whiney "tsk tsk-ing", but I feel that I must temper their negativity by applauding the benevolence of my (tiny in numbers but mighty in spirit) wonderful supporters...your upbeat and empathetic comments are the very things that keep me from totally douching this ridiculous blog...thank you guys, everly so much! Muah!

(P.S. How'd I do? You know...following my "wholesome blog" guidelines, huh?.........Yeah...that's kinda what I thought...)

Being-have is a Double Edged Sword...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moi: "Yeppers"

the Creeper: "Cool"

Moi: "Where shall we meet?"

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

Moi: "Like a shopping center?"

the Creeper: "Yeah"

long pause...

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

'nother long pause

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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