Reclaiming My Mojo, But Misplacing My Moxie

Ok, that is freakin' IT! I am SOOOO on the wagon...And I'm not talkin' about layin' off the sauce either, mind you (although that too, is probably imminent) I'm talkin' about taking a requisite, self-imposed hiatus from SEX...until further notice...I fucking broke my bed! Or rather......I broke my bed......fucking...

So by now, you all know that as far as online dating goes, I have reached an impasse of sorts. But don't let this little bump in the road fool you into thinking that I am totally bereft of a social life, oh hell's NO! Mama has definitely been finding her fun - faaaaaar away from her trusty ole Mac! And, giving credit where credit is due...the thing that has saved me during all of this online dating downtime, has been - carousing on my childless weekends with my (16 years my junior) partner-in-crime...Willow.

It practically makes no sense at all, that Willow and I should have cultivated such an effortless friendship. For one thing - she is a gym teacher and a coach at the school which my children attend. One might expect it to be awkward or uncomfortable for my kids to have to tolerate a teacher from their school, hanging out at their house a couple of nights a week sometimes, for cocktails with their mom and dinner and reality TV with them...not so. In fact, my son Jamie asks, every Wednesday afternoon when I pick him up from school, "Is Willow coming over tonight?" and if for some reason she's NOT able to join us, he always humphs, "That sucks, it's always so boring when she doesn't come over". (He's undeniably smitten with her...)

As far as looks go, Willow possesses an altogether preeminent beauty - next to which my own mediocre looks are even more diminished. I should HATE her...seriously. But for some reason I never feel the least bit self-conscious whenever juxtaposed to this spectacular human specimen, despite that fact that I become virtually invisible to men when I'm in her company. This probably has a lot to do with the fact that Willow seemingly has no concept of how gorgeous she really is, and so for me, it is relatively painless to concede to her dominant, yet humble beauty. Her statuesque, athletic frame which is sheathed in unblemished, naturally bronzed skin (as well as killer clothes...always) commands positive attention from nearly everyone who casts eyes upon her. And she has the most exquisite face humanly possible, I swear to goodness! Her "soldiers courses" smile barely knuckles under to her triumphant opalescent green eyes with which she cluelessly slays everyone...man, woman or child (just ask little Jamie...boing!) And I believe that part of what makes her transcendental beauty even more pronounced, and simultaneously makes Willow surprisingly approachable, is her magnetic, party-girl personality. The fucking bitch has it all...and I love her for it! 

Of course, there is also our exaggerated age gap which should negate any semblance of a social middle ground between us, but since my maturity level is retarded at best and Willow is inordinately sage, (per her mere 24 years on this planet) we meld together pretty well. We spend boatloads of time, commiserating over our parallel idiosyncrasies in regards to men. One such example; we are both hypercritical to a fault of nearly every guy we meet. I was chastising myself for horrible behavior towards some poor soul one time, and Willow minimized my dismay by saying, "Ha! That's nothing...I declined an invitation go out on a second date with this one seriously HOT guy, simply because he showed up for the first date, wearing Crocs"...Ahhhahahaha! Loved that!

Anyway, all logic aside, Willow and I do get along famously. And although my appearance is radically incommensurate to hers, I simply shift gears when I'm out with her. I can count on always having a great time, but I never delude myself into thinking that I could ever possibly bag a babe with Willow there by my side. And the weird thing is, that instead of becoming all bunched up about my physical inadequacies, I tend to relax a bit more than usual and catch myself laughing and goofing on the dance floor, rather than obsessively searching for a man. 

A couple of months ago, Willow and I made the usual rounds down in Old Town, traipsing about, from bar to bar until we wound up at the obvious hotspot of the night. Within minutes of our arrival, Willow had a choice target in her cross hairs. Only problem was...she was too bashful to make a move (she is still human, after all) So I - dutiful friend that I am - and with no designs of my own on any potential victims...devoted most of my evening to playing cupid...and it worked. 

After last call, Willow and I followed her handsome jock to a small party in town and while the two of them wiled away the hours getting better acquainted, I entertained myself by learning how to fall down a flight of stairs. I would stand at the topmost step facing forward, pretend to lose my footing, take a header, barrel roll the rest of the way down and ultimately crash into the drywall at the bottom. I even learned how to do it backwards...It never hurt, not once...ever (which could've been due entirely to the excessive amount of alcohol coursing through my system...maybe) Anyone who saw it for the first time, believed that I had actually fallen down the stairs...accidentally. At some point, after most of the partygoers had gotten wise to my prank and subsequently insisted that I STOP such nonsense, a chivalric young man with whom I had enjoyed a delightful repartee (mainly centered around his daffy assertion that his dick was the size of a blade of grass) in between tumbles down the steps and while Willow was indisposed, decided that it would be prudent for him to sit at the bottom of the staircase to catch my fall, not only to spare the sheetrock wall any more undue harm, but also to prevent me from suffering injurious repercussions...awwww, what a sweetie! After about my 20th trip down the flight of carpeted stairs, Shane (24 years old, 6' 5", 250 + lbs., big, bright, inquisitive blue eyes, and a wicked sense of humor) determined to break my lucky streak (as well as quell his anxiety), by curling me up like a warm, little cinnamon bun in his post collegiate, basketball-playin' arms and bestowing upon me, an unexpected kiss. And even though I had been highly entertained while perfecting my kooky, new stunt, I have to say that making out with Shane far surpassed the alternative...that youngin' can KISS! 

At around 5 a.m., Willow and I realized how godforsaken late (early?) it was and after exchanging cell #'s with our adorable boys, we bid all, farewell...

A couple of weekends later, I drove into Alexandria to meet up with Willow and some of her equally wild-ass lacrosse buddies, to make an appearance at a party before hitting the town in the (bigger than Willow's and my own) city. It turned out - that a new (way too young), online guy with whom I'd been chatting for no more than 24 hours, lived within blocks of the apartment where I was to be crashing that night and so I conveniently got him on board to come hang out with all of us gals. One of Willow's friends was particularly interested in meeting my "date" after I informed her that he was mid-20's, Jewish and an online dater, as was she. And since Joel was definitely closer to her age, I willingly offered him up to her, sight-unseen...I had no attachment to the guy and it just seemed to make sense. 

Joel arrived at the party just in time to catch me boisterously engaging in my wholehearted attempt to fudge mad wrestling skills on a half-serious opponent. My inspiration? The Pay-Per-View MMA fights hypnotizing the bulk of those in attendance. (If you ask me, I fairly well held my own, especially considering the fact that my challenger was a trained fighter and easily twice my size) Anyway, once I finally (begrudgingly, grrrr...) admitted defeat, I struggled to catch my breath, and then introduced myself to Joel. His face was...unique, but not totally off-putting. And since I was somewhat ambivalent about his looks, I remorselessly lived up to my promise, and promptly introduced Joel to Willow's friend. It was immediately and painfully obvious that there was clearly no spark between the two of them, in fact, they quickly showed signs of literally detesting one another, whoops. Their conversation escalated into a minor tiff in a jiffy and I broke it up before they commenced their own MMA fight. After all of that, I figured it would (and rightfully should) be up to me to babysit Joel for the night. I definitely did not, however, let his presence cramp my style. 

The entire party relocated to a raucous dance club/bar where I flitted about the dance flo' at will, with Willow and all of her friends, but made sure to check in with Joel (who apparently preferred the bar to the dance floor, which was not necessarily a bad thing) every time I returned to order another drink. And you know? The more I looked at him, the cuter he got, which could've had everything to do with my steady alcohol intake. But no matter how much THEY drank, Willow and all of her friends NEVER found Joel attractive. Every time I tried to endear him to them, they shot me down with wrinkled up noses and sourpuss grimaces, blaming their disapproval on what they unanimously considered to be his alarmingly vampire-esque appearance and demeanor, all pale and skinny and aloof...but whatever - I was drunk and he WAS a great kisser, fangs and all!.

When it was time to hit the road, Joel asserted that I should go back with him to the house where the party had been, so that we could fetch his car together (wink, wink) and I was like, "Umm, nah. I think I'll just go back with the girls, to the apartment where I'm staying" He got instantly seriously pissed off, like ridiculously so, and the rest of us were all so relieved when he quickly left in a huff in his own goddamn cab. The good news?...I didn't really give a shit AND...it looks like mama finally made a good judgement call, for once.

And now, for the big climax (get it?) 

So, a few weekends after my fun time in Alexandria with Willow et al, I was away out of town and got a text in the middle of the night, from Shane. His message was indiscernible (hic!), but the next day when I called him, he explained that he was back in (my) town and asked if I was free to hang out over the weekend. I told him that I was heading home right then, and that I would call him when I arrived. In the meantime, I called "finger-on-the-party-pulse" Willow to find out what those boys were up to, she gave me the skinny and within hours, I was on my way to reunite with brawny Shane.  

For the sake of expediting the conclusion of this entry, I shall paraphrase...

I met up with Willow and Shane early in the evening, at the same house where I learned how to fall down the stairs...got into an argument with some stupid punk...went downtown with Willow and the cute boys to check out the cheesy Apple Blossom Festival midway...pissed off a "carney"...hopped a cemetery fence and slunk around until Willow and the boys alerted me to the fact that the night-watchman had called the cops...climbed back out...walked the boys back to the party and got into an even more heated argument with the dumb, under-age punk (who had made off to a neighbor's party with MY bottle of vodka, the prick) as well as the puerile members of his entourage...left Shane at the house while I drove Willow to her car which was parked downtown...nearly T-boned a cop...narrowly avoided getting a DUI...texted Shane to ask if he wanted to blow the party and come to the country with me...returned to the fucking party...waited in the roadway in my cute, little car while Shane collected his shit and fielded negative rhetoric about his "date" the whole long walk out to my car...drove Shane's adorable ass out to my place where we doinked like a Great Dane and a Chihuahua...annihilated my bed and both of us, along with my two space-invading doggies, all squished together in the low spot of my collapsed bed...finally got some freakin' shut-eye... 

Do you have any idea how humiliating it was for me to have to call the catalog company from which I had ordered my bed frame, unconvincingly act all shocked and surprised that my bed had bottomed out without incident and then have to grovel for them to send replacement parts, pronto...The girl on the phone was like, "              " and so I broke her silence by asking if this had happened to anyone else, before and she was like, "Uhhhh...Not to my knowledge..." And then she gave me the news that my particular model of bed frame was backordered for the next month and a half and that its arrival date in the warehouse would be the soonest that I would be able to get my new parts...So now, every time I crawl into my bed, (these days, simply a mattress on the floor) and then turn my eyes over to my crippled bed frame, leaning against the wall, I can't help but wonder if maybe my bed was just a fucking lemon. But then again...I suppose it really truly could have buckled under strain from my inordinately enthusiastic and somewhat large lover. I just can't accept that I might've racked up such an exorbitant amount of mileage on the derned thing, over my crazy year of online dating, that I plumb wore the fucker out...not possible, right? 

The long and short of this entry is this...instead of giving myself mad props for turning the head of such an eligible, young stud (and in Willow's presence as well as a slew of other more age-appropriate girlies', to boot!) I considered my broken down bed as a sign, that enough was enough already...time to take a little breaky poo from a whole loooong year of excessive wear and tear on my bed as well as on myself...Plus, it did cross my mind that if there ever was to be a "next time", if we weren't a bit more careful, my partner and I could be on pace to crash all the way through the floor and clear on down to the living room...and THAT might be a bit more tricky to gloss over...

Big Nothings #'s 1 & 2

Yeah, yeah...I'm still here...sorta...

So, a little over a month and a half ago, I landed an unexpected, new job (which I heart! More on that later) but this positive new development in my otherwise sluggish life - coupled with and compounding my stunted online dating growth - has effectively curtailed my good intentions to more diligently work on this sorely lacking (of late) Big Ugly Blog...Dedicated servant that I am, however...I shall give you what I've got...

I hadn't heard so much as a peep from Mr. Dreamy, in what felt like an absolute eternity (but was more likely just a few agonizingly loooong weeks) I convinced myself that the excuse that he had finally given to me - for constantly bailing on our many tentative "dates" - was utter poppycock and that the (what I considered) moderately embarrassing inconvenience, on which he pinned all the blame for being so noncommittal, was potentially far more grave than he had previously led on. Channelling my ridiculously overactive imagination, I determined that his mysterious disappearance must certainly mean that he was doing like 30 days in the clink or something. Worse yet, maybe he'd fallen for one of the multitude of adoring babes who clearly worship him on Facebook (And no, I do not actually hold the high honor of being one of Mr. Dreamy's official "friends" on said site, but thanks entirely to the fact that his profile is set for public viewing, I am free to [unbeknownst to him] voyeuristically stalk him, unhindered...suck on that!)

After being completely inactive for an abnormally (for him) long while, I concluded with absolute certainty, that Mr. Dreamy was now indefinitely a.w.o.l. from the dating site on which we met, as well as on Facebook. In my best estimation, all of his silence must mean that something was really up, after all...since typically, he was quite the social butterfly. I finally succumb to my insatiable curiosity and emailed him to ask if he was all right. He responded right away, which I definitely did not expect. (Does an inmate have access to the internet or a cell phone while incarcerated, btw?) Mr. Dreamy assured me that he was fine...he was simply overwhelmed with the demands of a new client at work (like 24/7, dude? Me thinks not, but whatevs...) and that if I was able, he could meet me for lunch, the very next Friday. I knew better than to give his impromptu invitation much credence, nonetheless - I answered with a "Yes" (albeit a decidedly skeptical one)

I heard absolutely nothing from Mr. Dreamy, to say firmly - either yea or nay - in regards to this, our most recent, tenuous plan to meet...that is until the eve of the big day. I opened the email he'd sent inquiring as to whether or not we were still on for lunch the next day and I was like, "Feckin' 'ell!" I wouldn't be able to meet him for lunch...I had mistakenly double-booked! To be perfectly honest, it had completely slipped my mind that he had even mentioned the possibility of getting together. After all, he has essentially conditioned me to expect nothing more than disappointment and rejection every time he gets my hopes up, am I right? And so, though it pained me to do it, this time I was forced to be the one to bail.

See, the problem was this - when I had originally given Mr. Dreamy the thumbs up, I didn't realize that my kids (as well as a few of my friends' children) would be home with me on the day of the lunch date, since it happened to fall on Good Friday (no school, duh) I wrote to him and apologized profusely for the scheduling snafu and assured him that the NEXT Friday would work beautifully, if he was still up for it...and do you know what he said? Absolutely NOTHING...not one thing - never...NOT EVER! (It's weeks later now, and I still haven't heard a squeak) Which particularly irks me since most likely HE was gonna find a way to slither out of our date at the eleventh hour, anyway. But besides that...if he was pissed for some reason because I cancelled our 5th freaking attempt to go on a date, he can fuckin' eat me! I mean seriously, I NEVER copped an attitude with him any of the many times he ultimately wound up ditching ME, for godssakes...

You know what? Whatthefreakever. I chalk the WHOLE Mr. Dreamy delusion up to being The Big Nothing #1. My consolation prize? Well, that would have to be The Big Nothing #2...

I ran across a refreshing profile, a few days after digesting Mr. Dreamy's final rejection of me. Jackhammer was artistic, tall and the right amount of quirky, best I could tell. After chatting online briefly - we decided to speed up the process a bit, and planned to meet for dinner, mere days after introducing ourselves (this is all becoming so painfully redundant, no?...y a w n...) I arrived at our mutually agreed upon destination - once again, my preferred "online date haunt" - well before Jackhammer made his appearance, and got comfy in a cozy corner by the fireplace. I waited for a nerveracking 15 minutes or so and became steadily, (and uncharacteristically) more and more jittery. The positive spin on anxiously waiting though, was that I now held the propitious post of manning the catbird's seat...i.e., I had the advantage of being able to size him up first.

Jackhammer finally loped his long, lean body into the pub and as I watched him methodically glance at each face in the room, gradually sweeping his gaze closer to its intended target (yours truly) I took advantage of the 15 seconds that it took for him to finally locate me, and assessed his overall appearance. The verdict? I liked his looks. He had a messy mop of thick, dark, wavy hair...a long, angular nose and once our eyes met...a genuine, friendly smile - brimming with good teeth. He plunked his long, lithe body down, into our intimate corner booth - his shoulder meeting mine at the vertex. We ate and drank and after a couple of hours of relaxed easy conversation, I got the sneaking suspicion that he would be joining me back at my house before this whole thing was all over with. And not surprisingly...he did. Now, here is where all of the positive, promising groundwork that we'd successfully laid, started to backslide just a touch. Jackhammer, by outward appearances, is a tender, mellow almost granola crunchy chap, but when it came time to do the dirty, I was like "Woah there, cowboy! What the hell?" He was so rough, which CAN work (don't get me wrong) but he was devoid of the skills necessary to parlay such savage indelicateness into hot sex. I should also mention that he was completely ignorant regarding rudimentary manual handling of the female anatomy. Basically, throughout all of our "lovemaking" sessions (we hung out a total of 4 times, if I'm not mistaken) I found myself inaudibly chanting at varying intervals, "Ow, ow......ow..." Jackhammer's normally kind and gentle disposition was superseded by his brusque and clueless alter ego the instant that things turned sexual. I shudder when replaying in my mind, the corny catch phrases that he habitually barked at me during sex, which he punctuated by hauling off and walloping my ass so violently that my teeth clanked against each other, that I braced myself for them to shatter. Making each subsequent attempt to find some middle, sexual ground with the Jackhammer even less likely, was the unfortunate fact that he had breath that went from moderately bad to fucking rancid, as each night together wore on. So even kissing him was not really all that great, and completely out of the question by the morning time. I guess I kept getting together with him, because I'm growing so weary from being on the perpetual Man-Hunt, and Jackhammer was definitely not the worst guy that I've met. He was physically attractive and there was a bunch about him and his station in life that could've aligned beautifully with my own weird world, if only I'd had the gumption to try and work through the horrible sex dilemma. And until I concluded that the necessary effort to do just that, would potentially far outweigh any rewards we might reap, I'd remained hopeful over those few doomed dates - that I might eventually coax him into slipping a pair of kid gloves onto those iron fists (heh heh)

The last time that Jackhammer stayed at my house, there was this one funny(ish) thing that happened. You guys know that I am a diehard condom-usage proponent...there is the obvious "safe sex" issue, but using condoms also helps minimize my feeling like a total ho' bag, for some reason...don't ask me why, cuz I don't know. So anyway, this time, after we were done, he properly placed his condom into the trash can (I'm on a septic system and it is my understanding that rubbers should not be flushed), came back to bed and we drifted off to Slumberland. The next morning, it was glaringly apparent that one (or both) of the dogs had gotten into the trash, during the night - oh joy...After picking up the debris strewn all over the bathroom floor, I noticed that the yucky condom was conspicuously missing. I panicked a bit, my primary concern being the welfare of the naughty (and utterly disgusting) little thief who'd absconded with it. I was afraid that if one of the dogs actually did ingest the nasty, latex morsel, then it would certainly clog up her insides and ultimately kill her, or at the very least, end up costing me thousands of dollars for emergency surgery not to mention acute humiliation at my local veterinary clinic. Secondarily though, I worried that should the little mongrel successfully pass the condom, then it could theoretically be spotted by one of my children, (or one of their friends - perish the thought!) in a pile of dog doo, out where they play! I can hear it now, "Mrs. W., there's something really weird twisted up in this dog poop" as umpteen puzzled kids looked away from the pile and up at me for answers...I went on a reconnoissance mission around the yard over the next day or two before it was my turn to have my kids back with me - in the hopes of recovering it, but I never did find the damned thing...and fortunately, neither have the kids. BTW, both dogs are fine...

So my new, accidental job has been really good for me! I was actually shocked by how perfect it wound up to be, especially since I was prepared to hate it. What is my new "career", exactly? Well...I am a caretaker, cook, driver and gardener for an elderly couple. Essentially I am getting paid to do the job that I have always loved to do the most (minus the diapers)...I get to be a "Mommy"...only now, it's for old folks - instead of for kids. And I think, if nothing else, I'm encouraged to discover that I am capable of getting through the better part of a day, without cussing! The woman (Claudia) is infirm, due to multiple strokes and Parkinson's Disease and because her illness is terminal, the Hospice organization in our community sends nurses and case-workers to the house on a regular basis. One day, soon after I had started working for the dear, old couple, the husband (John) answered a call and when he hung up the phone, he told Claudia and me, that the Hospice-affiliated chaplain would be coming by for a visit, the next day...and this is where my uncontrollable boy-craziness rears its ugly head. The instant that John mentioned that a (male) visitor was to be stopping by the house - instead of doing the sensible thing, which would have been to discuss with him the next day's activities in order to try and plan around the appointment - I found myself biting my tongue just shy of blurting out, "Well, is he hot?" I shit you not, I seriously almost said it! What the hell is wrong with me? But even acknowledging at that moment - what a sicko I am, couldn't even suppress my excitement over the chance to meet a new man (even if he is already in a serious relationship with god, or whatever the deal is with those religious guys) In fact, I think it was actually fuel for my fire...I wondered if I could lure a man of the cloth into cheating on God? This was truly the ultimate challenge...

The next day, the chaplain arrived and settled in with Claudia and John while I tasked away in the kitchen and even though I was just itching to go have a peek, I diligently tackled my chores while unsuccessfully eavesdropping on the low murmur coming from the living room. I finally couldn't take it any more, I mean...what if he left before I had a chance to beguile him? I came up with some bogus question that I could go ask John so that it at least looked like I had a legitimate reason to barge in on them. As I tippy-toed into the next room, I wondered if the chaplain would look anything like Richard Chamberlain did in the Thornbirds...I politely interrupted the virtually nonexistent chit chat by asking John the phony question, introduced myself to the clergyman and after finally getting the opportunity to compare him to my fantasy priest, I shuffled - crestfallen - back to my safe-place in the kitchen. Ummm....yeah...God can have him...

I almost forgot to tell you about my new tenant, Max. So, I met Max at my rental house ages ago (he did agree to sign a yearlong lease, thank goodness!) and he was really handsome, nice body and good job and all, but he's really young, too young for me, even. I'm gonna try and set him up with my good friend, Willow.

And in closing...During the first weekend in April, I spent a chilly Saturday afternoon and into the evening, mowing my seemingly endless yard, for the first time this year. As I putted around on my lawn tractor, all bundled up in a winter coat and hat and mittens, it occurred to me that one year ago to the day, I was doing the exact same thing - freezing my ass off while mowing for the first time of the season. Which then reminded me that it was also the one year anniversary of the eve of my very first online date. (Holy SHIT! Have I really been messing with all of this nonsense for a whole flippin' year? Pathetic...) It was kinda weird though, that there I was - unwittingly spending my weekend doing the exact same thing as I had done, precisely a year ago...well, all except for making plans with a hot 22 year old to shoot pool the next day...

Slowly Crawling Outta the Depths...

I got into a conversation with someone a few weekends ago, about blogging and brutal honesty and all that, and I made an admission that those within earshot, found...odd? I dunno, it seemed to make sense to me. See what you think...

So, I was telling this girl (who also blogs, but she writes about gardening and organic veggies all savory and pure) about how in life, in general, I tend to "wear it on my sleeve" and when it comes to my blog, things are no different. I spare the reader few of the gory details of my dating adventures, whether they like it or not. But there is one thing that I have always intentionally omitted (well, until now that is) and planned on never revealing, and that is the fact that I smoke cigarettes...sometimes. And the reason behind that is cuz I never want my CHILDREN to know that I sometimes smoke. Now don't get me wrong...I don't HAVE to smoke, in fact I regularly go for long periods of time without smoking at all. I can even hang out in a smoky bar drinking, and abstain (although I might struggle with hanging out in a smoky bar smoking and not drinking...but that's a completely different topic for a whole nother day) But there are times, when all I want in this life for lord's sake, is a fucking hollow-filtered Parliament Light...and so I have one, and sometimes still another...

I am fairly certain that my chilluns have never read my Big Ugly Blog and for now, they seem to sincerely have zero interest in checking it out, even though they are aware that I write a blog and they know of its basic premise. But let's just say that one day they accidentally stumble upon it, or even intentionally take a peek - it would freak me out far worse knowing that I had written about and they subsequently discovered that I partake in the utterly disgusting closet habit of puffing away on cigarettes, than if they found out...oh say...that I don't mind being strangled a little during sex. Is that abnormal? I guess I can understand how this hypothetical situation might seem a bit obscure to the naked ear, but it seems totally reasonable to me. After all, sex is natural and in general, when properly practiced, has few negative ramifications (plus, I have a much better handle on my affinity for sex than I do for smoking, though it's not always by choice goddamnit) And although reading about some of my more outre sexscapades might tarnish my children's blissfully untainted(?) image of their mama, it's still not something that I consider to be a nasty vice. If they, or anyone else, called me on any of my questionable behavior, I would look them square in the eye and unfalteringly back myself up. Cigarette smoking on the other hand, has no redeeming qualities best I can figure, and I am in a near constant state of embarrassment about the fact that I subscribe to such stupidity. Fortunately for them, my children are inundated with nothing but negative spin on the matter, via the media and in the classroom. All of this has imprinted on their tender, young minds, the horrible consequences that can potentially occur from smoking, and that's why I am a bit touchy about the thought of inadvertently admitting to my babes that I smoke, sometimes. If they knew, they would rightfully assume that their mommy's lungs might very well resemble that text book photo of a smoker's lung - all ucky like a mish-mash of rotting liver and charred fatty tissue and worse than that, I believe that my kids would lose their respect for me, they'd look down on me, they'd be disappointed in me. Bottom line...it's ok (for grown-ups!) to have sex, but it's not such a great idea to smoke...(as I stub out, yet another...)

Lately, my online dating activity has been so slow and stagnant, that I rarely scamper out to my trusty ole Mac after my little darlings are tucked into their beds at night, to eagerly check on progress like I used to, simply because there's almost never anything going on online anymore. Instead, I hurry out to my studio to FINALLY haves me a smiggy, in silence and solitude and without risk of getting caught...I guess it's good to have at least something about which to get excited...even if it is likely killing me...

So there, I've said it. I've announced in a public forum that I smoke. The footnote to this potentially damaging revelation is that I went to buy a pack of cigs. a few nights ago, and the girl behind the counter said, "Ok, do you want to know how much they are, first?" and I said, "Well, yeah, I guess so...Why? Did they go up again?" And she said, "Yes, just yesterday. Your brand is now $5.25 a pack" I was like, "Holy crap! Never-the-freak-mind! Damn!" So, I have decided that I can no longer afford to smoke, and therefore I am quitting. I just smoked the last cigarette in my possession, like 15 minutes ago...we'll see how long it lasts...

Well, it didn't last very long...Sheetz still has smokes for under $4.

Nevermind, P-Funks are now $4.50, at Sheetz...Fuck! I guess I really am gonna have to quit...

On to other things...I have this friend, he's an artist, has the most amazing hands in the world and a terribly good-looking face (imagine Hugh Jackman with bigger, better, brown eyes) and this guy was my first major, post divorce crush...and boy was it a doozie! After consistently swooning in his mere presence, I was elated when the Octopus (I'll explain in a minute) and I initiated the process of striking up a more-than-platonic relationship. But all of our perfectly respectable intentions were annihilated when his pesky on again/off again girlfriend got wind of our mutual curiosity and - mermaid mane a-flowin', demon eyes a-glinting, scorpion claws a snappin' - she effectively put the kibosh on our, no more than 2 week, budding romance - the bitch. The Evil Mermaid and the Octopus reconciled for a spell, but their thing did eventually fizzle, finally and for good (muahhahaha!) I found it amusing when in her ensuing singledom, of all the men in the world for her to try and seduce, rumor has it that she unsuccessfully attempted to make my ex-husband her next victim. Did I mention that this hypocritical hag is one of my least favorite people on the planet? Anyhoo, following my abrupt dethroning, I slowly managed to soldier forth, through my heartbreak and mortification and surprisingly, as Octopus and I repeatedly found ourselves crossing paths at social functions and around the neighborhood and at events where both of our children competed, I eventually moved beyond that devastating sting of dejection and the Octopus and I were able to become civil towards one another and ultimately even friends. 

Several times, over the last 4 years, he has come by my place to visit and each time, before we say good-bye, he inevitably puts the moves on me. He's a big, strong man and when he launches his inevitable attack, I find it almost comical. The guy grows like 6 extra arms and as hard as I try to push his hands off of my breasts and pull them out of my pants, there seems to always be another one exploring some other part of my body. There are just so many hands, too many - I can't keep up! Eventually, I manage to break free from his relentless assaults and shoo him away, laughing nervously...Jesus! What I can't figure out is how each time he attempts to rekindle our short-lived flame, I feel absolutely nothing for him, which I find perplexing considering the fact that I carried that godawful torch for him, way back when. Best I can figure, it's a variation on the "Too Little, Too Late" syndrome, only this one should be called the "Way Too Much, Too Late" syndrome

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, he stopped by for one of his Tuesday evening grope-fests. You see, whenever he calls and asks if he can pop in for a drink, I always say, "Yes", perhaps hoping that maybe THIS time I might be able to dredge up my old feelings for him, I mean - I have always liked the guy and he does basically typify my physical ideal. So, the other night during his visit, we talked at length about my blog - for the first time ever, which in hindsight, could have been a subconscious attempt on my part to derail his impending advances by scaring him off with the details of my recent, grimy existence. He seemed truly amazed (and not necessarily in a good way, mind you) by my online dating antics and I found his comparison of my often reckless behavior to "hitchhiking", an interesting and somewhat accurate analogy. He swilled glass after glass of Glen Fiddich  and in classic form, he quickly became inebriated...As I could've predicted - he pawed me mercilessly on his way out the door and as usual, I sent him packing as I straightened my rumpled clothing ("Go on now! Git!") I regained my composure and in the end, shrugged the whole thing off...no harm no foul. I simply cannot figure out what happened to all of those feelings that I used to have for the Octopus...How could I have been so enamored of him just a few years ago, but literally feel nothing for him now? That shit just don't add up...

Normally, it takes a few months for the Octopus to come clambering back for another round of rejection, but this time I was surprised when he called the very next week and asked if he could come back by. I was like, "Damn! This guy's a glutton for punishment!" But, as usual, I told him it was fine. Once he got there, we manned our posts at my kitchen counter, each with our beverage of choice, and we carried on yet another uninhibited, captivating conversation. It is mindboggling to me, that following his predictably invasive advances, we never make strange with each other, things rarely feel awkward between us. 

So, as this particular Tuesday evening wound down, I prepared myself for his inevitable onslaught, but things were different this time when he left. He finished his last drinky, walked towards the door, and merely said "Thanks" and "Goodbye" and finally, "I know better than to try anything, you always kick me out..." and he got in his truck without laying a single one of his many roving tentacles on my person...Even weirder yet, was that for the first time in a  L  O  N  G time, I found myself astonishingly somewhat attracted to him. Evidently, "hard(er) to get" works a little better for me, huh...

Ok, so I hesitate to even tell you guys about the 54 yr. Ohio guy, Viagra...I shudder at the thought of my brief interaction with him, and if it freaked ME out, you know it has to be bad...I myself, still haven't quite gotten over it, yet...Oh well, sorry to do it to ya' - but here goes...

Viagra is a silver-haired, fit, tan, extremely attractive, older (for me) man (notice I intentionally omitted the "gentle" in "gentleman") After running across his profile, I was definitely interested in getting to know him, that is until I learned early on in our very first IM chat, that he lives nearly 5 hours away---what the hell am I supposed to do with that?! Viagra however, is an extremely persuasive son of a gun, and after charming me into a few more conversations, he insisted that he would gladly make the long drive to come see me sometime, citing "serious potential between us" as his motivation - which at the time I found kinda sweet. It didn't take long for me to realize though, that all the old horndog really wanted, was simply, to get down my pants. How could I tell? Well...our conversations morphed from the appropriate "how do you do's" to the dreaded dirty talk in a jiffy and during our third or fourth IM session, Viagra confessed, completely unprovoked mid-convo, to being "as hard as a rock"...oh bliss...Remember when that shit used to actually (un)zip my fly? These days it really just grinds my gears. (Am I becoming a prude?) Vaigra then started bragging to me, that during sex he's like the Energizer Bunny...he just keeps going and going......What he didn't understand was that this was not such an impressive sales pitch to me, since I tend to be more of a sprinter and less of a marathon runner, and when I reach the finish line, I'm usually completely spent and like to take a little rest. 

As you can see he was already starting to lose me, but things took a decided turn for the absolute WORST!!! 

In the upper corner of most any IM screen, there is a little box in which one can post a profile pic., if they so desire. Vigra's photo had always been a flattering, head and shoulders shot, featuring his handsome face, tawny complexion and neatly clipped, grey hair. He wore a golf shirt, not my favorite men's attire, but it accentuated his nice, broad shoulders, which I liked. I noticed as we talked this time, that his photo kept changing, as if he were putting on a little slide show for me, which I found distracting and somewhat egocentric. Most of these new photos were variations on a theme of his hairless and rather buff torso...whatever...All of a sudden though, there was a brief flash of something nearly indiscernible. I knew it had to have been lewd, cuz he yanked it almost immediately, and I was fairly certain that it was of his weiner. The scary part was that in that nanosecond in which I was able to catch that fleeting glimpse, I already knew that something was screwy. I asked him to please put it back up so that I could have another look, not because it got me all hot under the collar (which unfortunately, I'm sure he supposed), but because I was seriously confused and a little frightened by what I THOUGHT I saw. Viagra willingly put the mysterious image back on the screen and I can honestly say, that of ALL the many, many cock pics. I have viewed in my year of online dating, NEVER have I seen anything as terrifying as Viagra's joint...First of all, it looked sandy and rough and darkish grey like sharkskin, like it was dead or rotten or something. And it was all floppy...limply falling away from the camera, like it was barfing over the side of the couch where Viagra was apparently reclining. It was nothing short of absolutely disgusting, the texture and the color, for sure, but even the little pee pee's pose was all wrong. I mean who tries to impress a girl with a flaccid dick pic.?. I have never seen anything like it. Why in the world did he show me that? Doesn't he know how wrong it looks? Hasn't he ever seen another man's pretty pink, perky peener to know that his is illin'? And where the hell was all that rock hard shit that he bragged about so much. But wait, there's more...an unsightly 2nd weiner shot. In this photo, he was standing and his putrid, little penis hung out of his fly like it had no choice but to point south. He was holding it by a loose piece of skin, as if trying to encourage it, "C'mon l'il buddy, please stand up for everybody!" He asked me, "So....whaddya think?" WHAT DO I THINK??!! I had no idea what to say...There was this part of me that wanted to be perfectly honest with him and alert him to the obvious fact that he was severely malformed and that he should maybe consider hiding the derned thing from public view, forever! But instead I think I told him I had to answer the phone or something and then I split. I was so repulsed, I could not wait to never talk to him again. But I did talk to him, one last time. He opened dialog by asking, "You want me?" I thought I might vomit, seriously. I told him that it felt like all he was after anymore, was a booty call, seeing as how everything out of his mouth lately, was of an oppressively sexual nature. He huffily informed me that if he wanted a booty call, he could easily score one at home and spare himself the hassle of having to drive 5 hours to get laid and that maybe we should just drop it. I said, "Ok" and he said, "Good luck to you" and that was the end of that...thank god. 

I had a nice IM chat with Mr. Dreamy, the other day. We small-talked it for awhile and the good little angel that sits on my one shoulder kept reminding me to stay calm and NOT suggest we find a time to redeem his mounting rainchecks. I was doing great at first, I stayed under control and was just so happy that we were talking at all. But that damned devil guy, on my other shoulder finally couldn't keep it zipped and bulldozed the good little angel's advice shouting, "Fuck this!" as he forced me to type into my IM screen, "So, are we meeting in Middleburg for lunch, today?" I swear to god, it was totally out of my control...it wasn't ME who typed in those words. I knew better than to put myself out there again, like that - that fucking little devil made me do it, the bastard! Anyway, Mr. Dreamy was absolutely silent and I went cuckoo...I could not take the fact that he was ignoring me. I got up and went to the bathroom, I went over to the house and had a snack, I could not sit there in front of my trusty ole Mac and endure him not answering me, it was brutal. But I did finally return, thinking that he couldn't possibly be so rude that he would just disappear completely, could he? When I sat back down, there was a message from him and it said, "Can I tell you something about my social life?" and I was like, "Oh god, here we go...he's married or gay or diseased or I don't know, but it ain't gonna be good" And guess what? What he told me was a totally benign non-issue, I truly could not believe that he had gotten himself all worked up over it. This problem with which he is dealing, is a 100% surmountable obstacle. It's just gonna take a few months to get through it, and NO, it does not have a single thing to do with another woman. And since I like Mr. Dreamy, I am afraid that I cannot gonna divulge what "it" is...cuz even though he might never read this Big Ugly Blog, I still don't want to risk betraying him. I can't explain why I'm so hellbent on protecting this perfect stranger, but I'm gonna keep my pie hole shut...sorry. You're probably all like, "Well, why the hell'd ya' bring it up, then?", huh? 

I talked on the phone for over an hour (first time ever!) with Mr. Dreamy, a couple of nights after he explained to me why he's been so noncommittal about meeting me. His sumptuous voice matched all the visuals I'd already conjured of him, nice! We ended the call both optimistic that would would in fact, meet very soon...ahhh...

I went to D.C. for a field trip to the Air and Space Museum with my 2 oldest daughters. I was escorting the group that I was chaperoning, over to the flight simulators when who did I see lurking near an exhibit but Christopher, remember that sorry excuse for a man? A hot wave of fear seared my whole body and I quickly ducked behind a display so that he wouldn't see and possibly approach me. Writing this makes me realize that I've written about two different Christopher's on my Big Ugly Blog (sorry for the confusion) The Cristopher I saw at Air and Space was the short one with the itty bitty pecker (see: the "A new Star on my Walk of Shame" entry for clarification) Anyway, the long and short of this little snippet is that it felt really strange for my online dating world to collide with my normal(ish) parent/mommy world...It felt seedy and grungy and gross...I didn't like it at all...

A guy responded to my online ad for my "house for rent" and I guess I must be totally programmed to treat every man with whom I make contact online, as if he were a dating potential, cuz I'm all excited to meet this fella and show him the house, tonight. It's absolutely ridiculous! I know positively NOTHING about him, don't know how old, or what he looks like...nothing, well - I do know in what town he works, but that's it. And yet I'm treating the situation as if I'm going on a date. I took a shower and put on a cute pair of skinny jeans and even put on make-up, what? (My horoscope today, did say that I should pay special attention to my appearance, for some reason, hmmm...) Obviously, I am cheered by the possibility of renting my vacant house and padding my bank account a tad, but curiously, I am dying to meet Max, despite all logic. I'll let you know later, how it goes...But just think...I could be meeting the man of my dreams and if he likes the house he will be living only a mile away from where I reside...how convenient...love that!

A Watched Pot Never Boils

I'm finding it difficult to put any semblance of a positive spin on my recent, social life stalemate. For that matter, daily life in general these days, really just kinda blows. I am uninspired and alone (my kids have been with their dad for the last few days which I have to say - always compounds my loneliness...*sigh*) I'm basically unemployed and therefore - cataclysmically broke. So to you, my few devoted readers, I offer up my sincerest apologies for not only moving at the speed of chilled molasses to get this entry published but also - for only managing to schlock together the most measly, pathetic, puny, weak, whiney, bland, limp and boring entry (with a light smattering of "truly disgusting" thrown in for good measure) - to date. If you ask me, this would be the perfect opportunity for you guys to bypass this shit altogether and go deep into the recesses of the Big Ugly vault and pull up a few older, grittier, livelier entries...sound good? I say go for that!

Alas, for my own benefit...on I plod...

For the past few tedious weeks, I have been galumphing along on all of my dating sites as the last remnants of hope of ever unearthing anything remotely worthy of transcribing here, are all but vanquished...i.e.; I am now nearly convinced that I may have fully shot my internet dating wad, and that I might never again find myself out on one of my patent, ridiculously twisted, online-generated dates - the byproducts of which I count on to provide the fodder for this running monologue. I think my days (and nights) on the prowl - here in front of my trusty, ole Mac - may be numbered. There is literally NOTHING going on, no matter how hard I try to incite action. Even the paltry, few near-misses that I can tally, barely warrant me wasting your time or even my own - for that matter...and yet - in the self-indulgent interest of keeping my fingers loose and my mind from totally congealing, I'll continue on with this vapid pablum...

Let me break it down for you like this: I cannot even recollect the last time that I flashed my tits to some guy on the webcam or sent a tawdry text or received an X-rated email (snore)...I haven't had actual sex in nearly 3 months (yawn)...I haven't been on a date in over 3 weeks (humph!) and up until just a little bit ago, I hadn't even diddled myself in 3 whole days (I know! ME!!!) and even then, I practically had to force myself to do it...if for nothing else then to simply sweep out the cobwebs, for godssakes. I was glad I did it though, because it definitely took the edge off of a hangover that simply wouldn't quit (magical thing, that "Big O"...it'll cure what ails ya'!) Anyway, it's crystal clear to me, that I am teetering on the brink of admitting total defeat here and that I am poised to possibly throw in the virtual dating towel, for good. Naturally though, I can't help but wonder why things have come to such a screeching standstill. It has occurred to me that I may have become this used up, worn out, old face - that every guy online has seen a million times during the last 11 months - and in the process, I have (ironically) essentially become invisible to them. Or maybe my horrendous treatment of the huge percentage of guys that I've met and promptly dismissed, has sicked (sicced?) karma on my ass. I've tried to console myself by blaming the disquieting hush on epidemic, financial hardships. Perhaps folks (myself included) are growing too poor to prioritize boozin' it up at a bar all night long with some "virtual" stranger or gambling (and most likely losing) on finding love over an exorbitantly priced meal, when they should be saving their pennies for gasoline and groceries. Maybe it's that everyone is still in a lazy, hazy state of hibernation...Although after the unseasonably warm, last few days, it seems very unlikely that many peeps could have tuned out the ubiquitous mating calls of early Spring, and avoided stirring from their wintertime slumbers. I ran all of my gripes and theories past Better Jimmy and Juanny Baby the other day, and both guys admitted that things have been equally as dismal for them recently. And let me tell ya', those guys are far more hot and eligible than I'll ever hope to be. So......maybe it's not just me! And believe me, that notion definitely makes me feel a little better, but it still does nothing to solve the dilemma of "What the hell am I supposed to write about in my Big Ugly Blog?" for chrissakes!

Here, I'll give you what I've got: (You ready? Better brace yourselves...this is all VERY exciting stuff, right here!!!)

-My older brother "friend requested" me on Facebook, the other night and I accepted. Now, this might not seem like that big of a deal, but after the Thanksgiving night fiasco at my parents' house, I counted on never hearing from him again. So, this is good news for sure, but nonetheless - far from compelling journalism.

-A bunch of "tweeners" (Jordan's 11 - 13 year old friends from school) attempted to "friend" me on Facebook, as well (mmmm....nope...don't think so)

Ummm...what else, hmmm...

- Ok, there's this - I might be getting desperate enough to ask my mechanic out. Daryl is a wee bit...not country really or redneck exactly...more like a hunter meets a Nascar guy or something like that (nice, tight little body though) He's got a great face, bright blue eyes, short-clipped salt-n-pepper grey hair, naturally tanned skin, a really pretty smile surrounding a perfect set of straight, white teeth all perched atop a barely dimpled chin and chiseled jaw. And Daryl has started flirting with me, too (even though rumor has it that he's married) The other day, he blocked traffic from moving at all when he stopped his big truck smack dab in the middle of the bustling parking lot at Sheetz, just so he could talk to me while I pumped my gas. So, there is always that.

-My 9 year old son Jamie took a crap last week (created a monster in his lavatory) which looked exactly like a hand giving the "peace sign" (an abnormally L A R G E hand - mind you - but it had this teensy, little "thumb"...hee hee) He called me into the bathroom to marvel at it with him...ya' gotta love those tender moments that a mother and son share...together...in the can. (I realize that this snippet may be a little much for some of you out there to handle, but hey! What do you think the content warning in the beginning of this goddamned blog is for? My ass is so covered!

Nevertheless, you may be wondering if there a point to this story. And the answer is: no...not really. It is nothing more than the sad byproduct of acute boredom and the realization that my over-the-top and immature obsession with potty talk and off-color humor has evidently fostered in my young son, his own fascination with the perverse. Way to raise 'em up right, huh? Ok, so even though Jamie's masterpiece was maybe not as remarkable as finding say...the Virgin Mary in a potato chip, it was the best that the little guy could doo, er...do, and I appreciated that he was proud enough to share his triumph with his dear, old Mother.

There......we got the raunchy portion of this entry outta the way. And I mean like - who needs gratuitous sex when poop is always entertaining...

- In other news: I bounced a few checks (fuck), did not win the lottery (fuck), I stopped myself numerous times from contacting Jimmy and Mark (I told you, I'm getting pretty desperate) Mr. Dreamy shafted me again...And yes, his excuse was legit, but I know better than to kid myself that anything will ever happen between us. I'm just happy that he talks to me at all even if it is mostly only ever to confabulate over our mutual love of music...nothing wrong with that, right? I'll take whatever I can get. I've turned him on to a couple of bands that he's wound up really digging and that's been his primary motivation to contact me, either to rave about the good music I've sent his way, or to learn about more. Anyway, for our last unrealized date we planned (on a Friday) to spend the following Monday, snowboarding together. I knew better than to let myself get too excited about it, and even when Monday morning rolled around and I hadn't heard from him all weekend long, I resisted contacting him. The Sunday night before our "date", the town where Mr. Dreamy lives, got 6" of snow dumped on them during the only snowstorm of the whole winter (my own little town got practically nothing...figures) and so I pictured a lovely layer of fresh snow at the ski resort which would've made for an excellent day on the slopes, but when Mr. Dreamy finally IM'd me at nearly 11 a.m., he announced, unapologetically, that he was stuck at home with his kids for a school snow day...

- Oh, here's one for ya'! My cute, little pixie friend Beth and I went out a couple of weekends ago, to a nearby bar, for lack of anything better to do that night. We entered the upstairs bar, which was way too brightly lit (overhead lighting is so oppressive) and with only a few tables occupied by nervous-looking, middle-aged couples (in some cases, I seriously could not tell which one was the husband and which was the wife, most of them looked exactly alike, gender was nearly indiscernible...it was eerie) It didn't take Beth or me very long to figure out that most of them were waiting for their turns up at the Karaoke mic., while a 40-something, reasonably attractive, blond woman performed her lifeless rendition of a song that sounded like it could've been by the Carpenters, or Dionne Warwick, or...I really don't know...songs like that just don't register in my noggin'. Well, as I'm sure you can imagine, as soon as we had settled into the notion of partaking in Karaoke Night, my cute, little pixie friend was perusing the gigantic catalogs of songs just ripe for the picking! Unfortunately, her taste in music wasn't much better than the other participants'. Nonetheless - after much debate - Beth and I finally agreed to perform...as a duo...ABBA's "Dancing Queen".

After suffering through a string of consistently lackluster performances, it was finally our turn. Now, it wasn't that the people before us were bad singers, some of them were actually quite good. It's just that they were so flipping bo-ring...my god! Like zero stage-presence. My thing is this - I'm not the best singer in the world - not by a long shot - but I am a decent performer, ya' dig? I could tell right away, that Beth was gonna be in rare form for our duet, (she is a complete maniac by nature, I mean like calamity and chaos just seem to follow her around, I LOVE it!) so I was prepared for her to put on quite a show! All right, so we got up to our mics. and did the whole, "Check, check" thing, the music started and I was horror-stricken at the high pitch in which our chosen song is sung! I could do very little with it for the first few bars, which was actually fine because Beth almost immediately had me laughing so hard, that I was doubled over and tears were welling in my squinting eyes, I think I even drooled a little. She was singing in this faux operatic voice, it was absolutely bizarre and all wrong, and SO not what the audience had been expecting. I'll put it to ya' this way...anyone who had not been paying attention, now definitely WAS! I managed to collect myself so I wouldn't totally miss out on my chance to dance and sing along with my good buddy, and we had absolutely the most fun, just being retarded really. I had called another good friend (who had wimped out on coming with us, the beotch) and set my cell on a nearby table so that she could at least hear us make complete asses of ourselves, and at the end of our song I hollered, "I wanna give a shout out to my girl, Willow!" and my cute, little pixie friend Beth followed up with, "YEAH! SCREW YOU, WILLOW!!!" I saw a few very proper jaws in the audience land firmly on the tables, simultaneous to most of the members of this convention of goofy goody goodies, fidgeting nervously before remembering to offer obligatory (though in their eyes apparently, undue) applause. I guess they all hadn't hated us though, cuz one highly esteemed Karaoke performer (she had a fan club of followers...ew?) approached Beth and me as we basked in our humiliation at the bar and rather convincingly, this woman blabbed on and on and on...about what great singers we were...(Wait a second...that dork wasn't fuckin' with us...was she?)

And there you have it, folks...All the news you wish you'd never had to read!

All right, so I implemented my tried and true trick of changing things up by posting a new profile pic. on a few of my favorite dating sites. This new one is more of a body shot than a face shot, in fact you can't really see my face at all. It's a side view of me in tall rubber boots, and short shorts, bending over and washing my cute, little car. But the photo is really more of my adorable car than of me, which I thought might appeal to the motorheads out there who have an appreciation for the righteousness of a 1972 Datsun 240Z. And as predicted, I did get a new wave of attention, but within 36 hours of posting the new pic., things were once again...silent. All I can think is that guys were stoked for a minute, to see what they thought was fresh meat, but once they dug around my profile a bit, and discovered nothing but the same crusty, old ME, they musta been like, "Oh...Hell's bells...it's just that ole washed up twat, again" I swear to god, I might just post that picture of Jamie's "peace sign" crap as my profile photo...Obviously I haven't got a goddamned thing to lose…

A Taste of My Own Medicine

Several weeks ago, while resigning myself to the grim probability that my online dating well might indeed be running dry, I was rattled from my discomfiture when I found myself face to face with the most insanely gorgeous profile picture I have ever beheld. I had been listlessly trudging through a bunch of absolute nothingness all around my online dating stomping grounds, seemingly incapable of digging up any novel, new shit to get into, when I was instantly stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of that breathtaking image of Robbie...shirtless, from bronzed shoulders to the top of his perfectly shaped, shaved head. His high cheekbones and swarthy complexion suggested a Native American heritage...yummo. As we all well know by now, a photo of such sublime splendor is almost always too good to be true, and more often than not - a flawless photo, such as his, is merely a false exterior behind which hides some insecure imposter. But after delving deeper into Robbie's profile, I found a veritable treasure trove of increasingly more pleasing images...fuck an A! Now I can say, with absolute certainty, that THIS guy is verifiably smokin' hot!

My cute, little pixie friend Beth stopped by for a visit, a few days into my drool-fest and after poring over the plethora of pulchritudinous pics. herself, which included one of Robbie in board shorts, tanned and toned - standing beside his surf board, she nearly tripped over her tongue. She was like, "Oh Isobel...you have to go for that.....he is.....b e a u t i f u l!" I explained to her that I had already sent him a brief note in which I had chuckled about the fact that on his profile he had described his "ideal woman" as someone who height-wise, would measure between 3' 1" - 5' 9" (that's funny!) and in his "About Me" section he had stated that, "laughing about weird and stupid stuff is a staple" in his life. So, I figured that giving him a verbal wink and a nudge about his tiny, ideal woman would be the perfect means by which to pander to his fascination with life's little inanities and possibly cajole him into talking with me. And surprisingly, he did...just a little bit and only to say that, yeah...he probably couldn't actually be with someone who was that small and was that wrong? Which made me chuckle...again...

Slowly, Robbie and I moved from that topic to several others through a series of brief emails. And although the messages I sent to him wound up to be short in length, like only a few sentences long, it wasn't for lack of effort, believe you me. You're talking to the girl who can spend ten minutes composing a simple text to a girlfriend, so you can just imagine how much time I can devote to a letter which actually matters. I would ruminate ceaselessly, (to the tune of over an hour, procuring one such note) tweaking the verbiage and double checking the tone and even then I was only moderately confident enough to click the "send" button. He probably gave the fruits of my labor about 15 seconds of his attention, and once finished, never gave them a second thought, but that's ok! Anyway, after adding IM'ing and texting to our repertoire, we arrived at the conclusion that we might should maybe meet somewhere nearby for drinks or grub...perhaps as soon as that weekend. Now normally, I would be bouncing around the room, in a juvenile, boy-crazy frenzy, all giddy and optimistic....but that was absolutely not the case this time, and here's why...The problem with all of this is the fact that Robbie is entirely out of my league, like seriously for real. Sure, I've contacted otherworldy men before, but the difference there was that none of those guys ever bothered to reply and frankly - I never expected them to. Like with those other hotties who were totally out of my dating realm, I justified contacting Robbie by latching onto the few things in common that did make us potentially compatible. For instance, there is the fact that he has children and that he is my age almost exactly and that we both share a love of snowboarding and surfing. But physically speaking, it's clear that I am many echelons below his rank. I'm not fat or ugly, per se, I consider myself average at best, but trust me on this one - my overall look is not nearly sufficient enough for me to comfortably dangle from the arm of someone so superior. The fact is, I've never fared well in relationships where the attractiveness scales were tipped in my lover's favor. Don't get me wrong, ideally I'd like to end up with a fella who has a nice body and definitely a good face (especially the nose), but I think I would have a hard time being with someone who was model perfect. I just know that I would be paranoid that people who saw us together would be there thinking, "Hmmmm, check that out...it's like Beauty and the Beast in reverse...poor guy, he could do so much better..."

Blame it on my inherent masochism, but I have politely accepted apologies from Robbie for his consistent and sudden cancellations of each potential date, thus far (a total of four by now, if I'm not mistaken) and then waited around with baited breath to see if and when he will make good on his promise to claim his revolving "rain checks" And you know...I can say til I'm blue in the face, that the reason I keep putting up with his ambivalence and continue pressing the issue of going out with him, is purely the challenge of lowly me scoring a date with superlative him...or that I'm doing it if for lack of anything better to do. But no matter how patient or forgiving or bored I profess to be, the reality is that I seem to be incapable of eschewing the preposterous fantasy looming in the back of my feeble brain, that something good or permanent could actually develop between Robbie and me...someday. Silly, isn't it? So, simultaneous to weakly espousing this whole charade to be an antidote to my boredom, I am lamentably, cultivating quite a crippling crush on the guy...

Enter my recent onslaught of stomach aches...I can't help but wonder if Robbie is just toying with me, (possibly out of his own boredom?) since it's awfully difficult for me to believe that a guy of his calibre would have a serious interest in mediocre, ole me. I Google searched him and was able to peruse his profile on my favorite networking site, and let me just say that it's not like Robbie is hurting for hot snatch. Practically every "friend" on his page is some absurdly statuesque goddess. So why does he even bother contacting me? (btw, I have not initiated even one conversation since he first blew me off a couple of weekends ago) He keeps throwing me a bone, but almost immediately, he gingerly asks for it back. His excuses for constantly bailing on me seem legitimate, he hasn't really given me any reason to think that they're crap. So I continue to let him string me along, and in the process, I have ignored and avoided other respectable suitors, i.e.: Pierce (who has e-mailed and left voice mail, attempting to set up another play date) and Blaine (ditto) and otherwise: I have relished avoiding Big D and his aggravating pleas to see my "smile only" on the webcam, the scumbag. It felt like a veritable coup to deflate Christopher's enlarged ego by declining his invitation to meet for dinner, last Friday night and I even resisted the tempting offer from cute and adorable but totally age-inappropriate Juan to squire me to a fraternity party, that same night. And so here I sit...in front of my trusty ole Mac, in near silence, my stomach tied up in nervous knots for every minute that I wait to inevitably find out that Robbie has ditched our plans...again. Tummy - now much worse. Ain't paybacks a bitch? It serves me right to get a potent dose of how yucky it feels to be jerked around...God knows my insensitive behavior recently, has probably led to half a dozen guys suffering from gastro-intestinal distress.

Anyhow, in order to defer my dismay over being yanked around multiple times by Robbie, that first weekend that it looked like we might get together, I focussed on another online hottie who I've been peepin' at for some time now. He is a triathlete and he is stacked, plus he has a killer smile! I'll call him Red Hat because in his profile shot he is wearing this red baseball cap and that damned picture jumps out at me each and every time I log in to this one particular dating site, and so I wrote to tell him just that. He dragged his feet a little about investing time in getting to know me, claiming that the distance and years between us was too great (he lives a mere hour away he's only 5 years younger than I am, for lord's sake) but then he reconsidered and jumped at the first opportunity we found, to meet. We talked on the phone to make the necessary arrangements and I have to admit, I was more than put off by his tinny, shrillish voice. Additionally he came across as rawther self-impressed and his personal brand of humor fell flat with me. But I went ahead and moved forward with our plans...

We decided on a restaurant near where he lives and works and as I drove to meet him, I realized that I had not properly paced myself and that it looked like I would be about 7 minutes late. I texted to tell him so and he said that was fine, but that I would have to make it up to him, somehow, "JK!" ha...ha...ha...ha...there's that great sense of humor, again...

I found my place at the bar and found him conspicuously absent. He called to apologize because he was also going to be late. Well, duh...he was already 10 minutes or so late when he called, didn't he think I had figured it out by then? And what the hell was all that nonsense about me making it up to HIM? What the freak...Why didn't he just tell me when he replied to my text that he was running behind schedule also, rather than making me feel like I owed him something because of my own tardiness? Due to the fact that I was experiencing tinges of disdain before ever even meeting Red Hat, I was starting to have doubts that this shit was gonna pan out.

When he FINALLY got his ass there, he arrogantly swaggered up to me, perhaps trying to compensate for his height deficit (he was absolutely NOT the 5' 8" that he'd claimed in his profile, more like 5' 5", if that) and he was sporting that (now ridiculous looking, to me) red hat, which he explained he wore because he thought that it would be relevant and "cute"...ralph! As badly as I wanted to see him lose the hat, once he took it off, I wished that he had left it on. There was something decidedly disconcerting about the way his bald head kind of sprung loose from it's containment, it's like it expanded and grew to huge proportions, once out from under that goofy, red hat. It took on the shape of an oversized light bulb. I kept hoping that the big indentation in his forehead would fade after awhile too, that maybe the brim had been pressing into his head and had left the unfortunate mark...but the neanderthal-like dent never did diminish, and believe me, I kept checking. It seemed that we were not really off to such a great start...And things continued their downward slide when I asked him what he wanted to drink, since on his profile he had answered the question, "Do you drink?" with "No". He kept saying, "You go ahead and order what you want" and as much as I wanted a nice, stiff cocktail, I didn't want to be poisoning him with alchie breath if he wasn't going to be drinking. He said that it's not like he can't or doesn't drink, more that he just doesn't really like the taste of alcohol. Honestly, I would've preferred it if he had told me he was a recovering alcoholic and couldn't drink at all, rather than basically admitting to being some candy-assed wimp who "doesn't like the taste", jeez! So I was like,"Fuck it, I want a drink so I'm getting one" He followed suit, ordered a beer and it pained me to watch him struggle to sip through only half of a draught beer, over the period of about an hour. He also informed me that he doesn't drink coffee for the same reason and at this point, I felt certain that we were toast...I will say that he did have just about the prettiest teeth I've ever seen...

We left the bar to get dinner at a nearby Chinese restaurant and I hated the way he explained to me, as if I were a child, how to order my dinner. He acted like he was an authority on each and every subject, really irritating. As was the fact that he ate his Chinese food with a fork, rather than chopsticks. (seems you don't know it all there, do ya' buddy?) I ordered a yummy but harmless sangria and he ordered...a Sprite (what is he? like 10?) When we had finished our dinner, he excused himself and went to the little boy's room. Red Hat was gone for what felt like an eternity. He had to have been in the bathroom for a good 15 - 20 minutes, I shit you not, and I know it wasn't because he was waiting in some huge, long line, cuz for the most part, the dinner crowd had all but dissipated, by then. All I could think was that he was in there, pinching some gigundo loaf and the visual associated with that thought was terribly distracting. I'm pretty sure that I have never taken a crap in a public potty, in the middle of a date. Even if I felt the urge to do it, I think I would've tried my damndest to hold off doing so, until I was back home...alone. But maybe that's why he did it at the restaurant, because next he invited me to come back to his house for a cup of hot tea, which seemed harmless enough, although I did warn him that I couldn't stay for long because I was getting up early in the a.m. to go snowboarding.

We arrived at his townhouse which was immaculate, and he asked me to remove my boots before walking across his white carpet (so, he's anal too...oh joy!) He asked me if I wanted anything and I was there thinking, "Didn't he say he was gonna make me a cup of hot tea?" I said that a glass of water would be fine and that is all I got. Well, that along with a sudden physical assault which went from innocent (but not very good) kissing to attempted heavy petting - rather rapidly. Not one thing about him was working for me, especially not when he took off his shirt and kept his stubbly chest (either in need of a fresh shave or in the midst of a grow-out) puffed up and permanently flexed. Well...at least he thought he looked hot.

After freeing myself from his tightening snare by literally rolling off of the couch and onto the floor, I picked myself up and started for my boots and the door. He followed close behind me, grabbed my hand and placed it on his crotch, I did not react. Even his big, hard cock couldn't provide the necessary incentive to make me want to stay there for one more minute (and that's not really like me) As I walked down the sidewalk towards my car, he thanked me for a fun time, and said that he looked forward to seeing me again, soon. I lied that I would talk to him later and drove away, knowing damn well that I would never see him again.

My friends were furious with me when I told them that I had gone back to Red Hat's apartment. Frances in particular, really lit into me about my careless stupidity. And as usual, I blamed my poor judgement on my perpetual hunt for the next intriguing story to relay on my Big Ugly blog. Well...she absolutely let me have it, "I hate your blog!"..."You don't even read my blog"..."Well, I hate how you use your blog to explain away your ludicrous behavior! I wish you didn't even write the damned thing, I really just hate it!!!" I have never seen her lash out like she did, and to make it worse, she did this in front of several of my close friends as well as my children...at what was meant to be a cheerful, relaxed dinner party...

Robbie blew me off...again...this past Friday night, and by Sunday afternoon, I hadn't heard from him so I correctly assumed that we would not be going out then, either, as he had bluffed. I had basically starved myself for the two weeks prior, so that in the event that we did get together, I would be as skinny as absolutely possible, and so it was nothing for me to take Frances up on her offer to treat me to a late lunch with her and her daughter Leigh at a local hamburger joint. I ordered my usual bun-less burger with all the fixins' but was surprised when it was placed before me, nestled in it's little basket under a blanket of greasy fries (had I ordered those?)...I consider French fries and basically all carbs. (well, 'cept for my evening cocktails) to be illicit substances and I rarely deviate from my protein-heavy diet. But you know what? Sunday, I was like "Aw, fuck it!" I was so hungry and I had decided that I didn't care anymore if I got as big as a house, hell...everyone else is! And I had deprived myself of basic sustenance holding out hope that all that dieting would pay off when I finally locked in a date with Robbie...my Mr. Dreamy...But that evidently was never to be. So, I ate my burger and my whole basket of fries doused in vinegar and dipped in mayonnaise as well as about half of Leigh's fries and I made an enormous black and white milkshake when I got back home (burp) and it felt flippin' great (that is until the next day when I swear, my jeans didn't fit right)

So, as it stands, it seems I am all hung up on Robbie...my Mr. Dreamy, to the exclusion of all other possibilities and even though I am convinced he is a chain-yanker who strings me along just so he can feel adored, (makes no difference to him that I am but a lowly peon) and even though I'd bet dollars to doughnuts that he has literally no intention of ever meeting me, for some reason - as long as he's talking to me at all, I cling to the notion that I still have a chance with him...this fully sucks...

Vienna Sausages and Easy Cheese

Anytime my kids are with their dad, I tend to put very little energy into food prep and feeding myself. Like the other night, for example. I had spent most of the day and into the evening, trying (mostly in vain *sigh*) to find some new shit to stir up online, as well as applying what little data I had gathered into a new blog entry and even though at some point I realized that I was absolutely famished and that I would eventually have to go put something in my belly, I couldn't stand the thought of wasting valuable computer time in my kitchen. After succumbing to my irrepressible hunger, I hurried over to the house and rooted around the fridge, freezer and cupboards, searching for something quick and easy to put into my hungee tummy and I finally decided on an unusual combo which I had never tried before. First I pulled the lid off of a can of Vienna sausages. The pop of the top coupled with an aroma startlingly similar to Alpo, prompted my two ghetto dogs to covetously hold vigil by my side. Next I poured out the gelatinous juice, then one by one, removed the precious, pink weenies and squirted a decorative, ruffly stripe of Easy Cheese down the length of each one. Mmmmmmm...I didn't even bother to dirty a plate, I just took each ingredient straight from their cans, directly to my mouth - very classy, wouldn't ya' say? I was shaken from my junkfood-induced euphoria when my agitated pups initiated a relentless campaign to score some of the spoils. It was during this intermission from devouring this un-epicurean concoction that I paused to marvel at my disturbing dinner. The magnitude of its disgustingness began to register and was then galvanized upon my disquieting discovery that the first ingredient in Vienna Sausages is: "mechanically separated chicken"......You don't think that such a gruesome process takes place while the animal is still alive, do you?...(God I hope not)...I begrudgingly relinquished a few morsels to my mongrels, and continued the short break from feeding my own face by cleansing my palate with a couple swigs of my favorite, eveningtime cocktail, at which time I had a minor epiphany...In a weird kind of way, those gnarly, nummy nibbles were the perfect companion food to my Big Ugly Blog, you know? Like if a blog could have a food mascot...well then, wouldn't Vienna Sausages slathered in Easy Cheese be the obvious perfect fit?

I went out on Friday night with Pierce, not an online guy...just a friend of a friend. I think I told you about him a few months ago when after peepin' at each other from across many rooms at assorted weddings and random parties over the span of 3 or 4 years - both finally simultaneously single - we tinkered with the idea of going on a date. For whatever reason though - we never formalized a plan back then and it wasn't until I got a message from him about a month ago on my favorite networking site, that we struck up fresh conversation and decided to meet, for real this time. I thought it was cute the way he initiated our most recent correspondence with, "Ok, Isobel...may I please come in from out of the doghouse now? It's kinda cold out here" I don't even really remember giving him the shaft the last time, as his note implied - but whatever. So I answered back with, "All right Pierce, come on inside and warm yourself up" And so began a new dialog which led to our eventual date, a week ago, Friday. 

I was a few minutes late in arriving at our destination but once inside, I walked right up to Pierce where he appeared to be somewhat anxiously hovering around the outskirts of the Friday night Happy Hour set which had apparently relegated him to the periphery of the busy bar. He was short, I already knew that, but it was a bit more in my face than I had remembered, as in - his face was literally in my face (I'm 5' 4") And I was definitely not diggin' on his nose either. It was sort of like someone had blopped a big dollop of clay right onto the middle of his face and you know how twitchy I can be about that type of thing. To make matters worse, I could not warm up to his less than appealing, cloddish hands...He had these kind of crunchy breadstick-like fingers and his nails were way too short, I reckoned because he munched them down to nubs. I'm sorry, but bitten nails make me nervous (by association, I guess) plus, if I don't like a guys hands in general, it's really difficult for me to get excited about the thought of having them all over me...someday.

Dinner was nice (there's that dreaded four letter word, again) and we never had a problem talking but that's partly due to the fact that I sometimes think that I do better when I feel I have the upper hand, like when I can tell a guy is liking me more than I am liking him. I felt and acted confident and didn't hesitate to go into elaborate detail about all my crazy online stuff and examples of my horrible conduct with men which in some instances has led to several relationships ending bitterly. Oh and of course I couldn't resist pushing the envelope a smidge, by hammering home my love of and addiction to masturbation (would you believe that he insisted that he has not masturbated in 2 whole years? That has to be absolute bullshit, dontcha think?) I didn't hold back in the slightest. It was as if I was trying to see if there was anything I could've said to him that would have tarnished his impression of me. I was uncharacteristically cocky and forthright, was I trying to run him off?

Dinner was over and we both had 30 min. drives home, respectively - so we skipped grabbing one last cocktail at a neighboring bar and instead Pierce walked me to my car and I then drove him to his. We sat and talked in my car, briefly. He said "Goodbye" and turned as if he were about to disembark my shiny, little Datsun. But then he reconsidered, leaned over towards me and laid quite an "I had a great time, hope to see you soon" kiss on my surprisingly receptive mouth. It's just the darndest thing. I was not really attracted to Pierce...at all, during dinner. We had a decent time and everything, but I wasn't blown away by him on any level, and yet that scrumptious kiss that he had lavished on me, told a completely different story. I got the lightening bolts, in spades, in fact the tingles through my middle were so intense that they actually hurt, almost like when you go up really high on a swing and on the downward phase, your tummy hurts, for a sec. - in a good way. Pierce abruptly pulled away saying, "Your lips are so soft" I interjected that I thought he smelled good because he genuinely did...all clean and soapy. But almost immediately afterwards, he announced in a high pitched, nearly panicked voice what a nice time he'd had and that he looked forward to hanging out with me again, and then he bolted. Pierce was clearly out of sorts and I watched through the rear window as he kind of hobbled back to his car, slightly hunched over. I felt certain that he was about to reset the clock on his masturbation-free last two years...possibly even on the car ride home, heh heh...But there's another side to this unpredictable coin of attraction...

On Sunday afternoon, I had originally planned to get together with the Aussie, but he turned up missing and I'll tell you about that later. Instead I filled the now vacant slot with an impromptu first meeting with Blaine, another new guy. Blaine and I met for our late, alfresco lunch on an unseasonably warm Sunday afternoon in February, coincidentally in the same exact town as Pierce and I had met, the Friday before. Blaine was younger and cuter than Pierce, but a wee bit on the metrosexual side for my taste, i.e. - I strongly disliked his girly man shoes with the pointyish toes, ewww...But counteracting his taste in fashion was the fact that he wasn't terribly hard on the eyes...I especially liked his nose and hands. We enjoyed a perfectly acceptable afternoon together. At one point, after having relocated from our lunch spot to the neighborhood biker bar, I remember studying his face and thinking to myself, "Yeah, I could go out with him again..." 

Frances, her daughter and Frances' sister were coming to my house for dinner that night and after a few pesky texts from Frances, I told Blaine that I had to head back home. We walked to our cars which were practically side by side in the parking deck. It was a cinch to put off parting ways for a few more minutes, the excuse being that we both needed to gush a bit about how cool each of our fine automotive specimens were. But ultimately, as has become the customary culmination of my first dates, Blaine and I slid up next to each other and partook in an obligatory goodbye kiss. I was crestfallen to have felt literally nothing, not even a tiny flutter. I just couldn't make any sense of the incongruity. Here was this guy whose package I much preferred to Pierce's, and yet there was absolutely no flippin' chemistry...go figure...

So...you wanna hear my favorite subject heading attached to an email received on an online dating site, this week? Ok, here it is, "What's up girl? You are mad sexy!" Awwwwww! The simplicity and the sweet sentiment of it made me twinkle and if it hadn't been written and sent by a 20 year old, I would have definitely replied enthusiastically to the flattering snippet...

Now...wanna read my least favorite email of the week? Ok. Let me preface by saying that the profile pic. being displayed with this message showed a middle-aged man, very attractive with lots of dark hair and a straight, angular nose, riveting stare and a strong jaw line. His look was professional and posh, and if I had to wager money on what he did for a living, I would venture to say that he was an architect...Anyway, here is what he wrote to me...

Hello Dear,

Nice Profile that no Matured Minded man whom knows the Joy of Love is all about would ever pass By, I must let you know that you have a wonderful Profile Without beign Greedy, I would like to be a Friend to this wonderful woman, Knowing you the more and Probably seeing in Person someday. If you wouldn't mind my Hand in Friendship, Kindly let me know asap, here is my Private Email Address, you can send mail or invite me for a Chat, (**************)

Once again, I adorn your Profile,

your's Admirer,

******* *******

Say what? If my hunch is on target, there is no way in hell that this note could possibly have been written by someone with such unprecedented good looks and reeking of education as I had gleaned from the photo which now, after reading his pathetic note, I deduced must have been plucked from a library of online images. I mean really...the author of this baloney was clearly an imbecile. It never ceases to amaze me that folks think that they can actually get away with blatantly false self-representation.

Which brings me to the frustrating and irritating run-in with the Aussie...I first started talking to the Aussie on the morning of the Friday that I went out with Pierce, after coming across his irresistible photo on my #1 dating site. I sent him a message which stated that outside of the fact that he lived a little bit far away from me, he seemed practically perfect. He responded without delay and by the end of the day we had gone from e-mail, to IM, to phone. He said that he had been single for 10 years and that he was a child psychologist and that he had a horse farm with a 20 stall barn and that he competed in equestrian events and was raised in Australia but had lived in America for the last 20 years (I reasoned that that was why his accent wasn't particularly strong or consistent) and that he hoped to move back there someday and did I want to go with him? Wow! That was fast! the Aussie was quite the Romeo, wooing me with promises of exotic vacations and jaunts on horseback...Fool that I am, I liked the sound of it all and found myself wrapped up in a fascinating romantic fantasy. I was brimming with optimism that meeting this appealing Australian man (a newbie to the online dating world) would definitely be on the weekend's docket...

We chatted online Saturday morning and when I informed him that I was childless for the entirety of that weekend - his ears pricked and although he was unable to meet me on Saturday, we made a loose plan to picnic in a mutually beloved, historic cemetery on Sunday. So, Sunday arrived and I could see that he was logged into our shared IM provider, but curiously he held his tongue. I resisted contacting him because I was sensing that he was having a change of heart and I didn't want to risk suffering unmitigated rejection if his silence persisted. However, not wanting to waste a perfectly gorgeous Sunday waiting around to see if the Aussie would follow through or not, I emailed him to ask if we were still on for that day and after about an hour and a half of his sudden estrangement, I sent one last message to say that I would take that as a "No". He eventually emailed back that it was absolutely not a "NO", that he was working right then but that he would get in touch with me once he had a better handle on how his day was gonna unfold. Uh huh, yeah...I'll just bet you will...

The Aussie never did contact me as he promised he would, hence my decision to go out with Blaine. So, late Sunday night, post date with Blaine and dinner soiree with friends, I sat down to my trusty ole Mac and blocked that awful Aussie's ass from ever contacting me again on my #1 dating site. I have no earthly idea why his flakiness pissed me off so badly but I diffused my disappointment by convincing myself that he must have been some hideous porker and not the strapping hunk in his profile pic. or that he was actually still married or had a girlfriend or something equally unforgivable. My shaky ego had no choice but to deflect the blame for his expeditious dismissal of me. 

So, today is Valentine's Day...which I typically consider to be an utterly annoying, pointless holiday, I'm talking - absolutely freaking useless...But this year, Valentine's Day takes on a whole new meaning and actually marks a significant milestone. This year, on Valentine's Day, I jubilantly celebrate the monumental one year anniversary of my gloriously successful, permanent break-up with Jimmy. Exactly a year ago today, when yet another stupid fucking Valentine's Day was marred by a ridiculously unromantic series of events, I tenuously tromped away from Jimmy, yet another time, uncertain about my ability to steer clear of reconciliation with the undeserving pig...And, save one teeny slip-up in March (yeah, ok...so we had sex because we were lonely and horny, but by that weekend's end I had peeled outta his place in one of my classic huffs upon finding a spent condom in the trash can after he had lied to me that he hadn't been with anyone since we broke up)...I have remained diligent in my efforts to remain Jimmy-free! 

One of the best side-effects since banishing Jimmy from my life was the eradication of my crippling, stress-induced acid stomach. I have been virtually devoid of tummy pain, except for during a few isolated tangles with Mark, until now...For the last few days I have had an unsettled feeling, evocative of the abdominal angst I chronically suffered during my tenure with Jimmy...I'll give you all the details in the next episode, I promise...But let me assure you that it has absolutely nothing to do with my consumption of Vienna sausages and Easy Cheese...

Everybody's Fall-Back Girl

I mentioned in the last entry, a banal date I had a couple of Tuesdays ago with the "Outlaw in Peru" (as he described himself) and I now realize that this date, easily the least exciting one of all time, is barely worth the effort of retelling, it was that insignificant. I will say that the guy was a bit of a freakazoid. In one of the first e-mails he ever sent to me, he boasted that he had seduced many women with his sensuous trombone playing (was he for real? I mean, Flamenco guitar - yes, maybe...but the trombone? Me thinks not) and that he had written many award-winning operas...(Did he actually expect me to believe that shit?) Anyway, his comically contrived personality coupled with my insatiable inclination to make really bad choices was what motivated me to agree to meet him. We settled on my suggestion to grab a cuppa Joe at a bookstore rather than doing yoga at the public library which was oddly, his idea of a sensible first date.

As soon as I spied him entering the building I got this really creepy feeling, like a sickeningly sour stomach. I can't put my finger on what exactly it was about him that just didn't sit right with me. He wasn't totally unattractive, not necessarily my type and a tad bit short, but he seemed fit and his face was fine. He did have heinous breath which knocked me back a little when we introduced ourselves. Another problem that I had with him was that once we got settled at a table and began chatting, I quickly realized that I didn't understood one thing that he was saying to me - every utterance was gobbledygook. I think he was attempting to sound esoteric and philosophical but each nonsensical comment that dribbled from his mouth was absolute crap, whole sentences went right over my head, and I consider myself somewhat with it. I seriously think he was concocting his own made-up language as he went along but since I wasn't all that interested in him or what he was trying to say, I didn't bother to ask him to clarify. I just nodded and said a lot of , "Hmmm"'s. Fortunately for me, he was enormously taken with himself, so he didn't really need me as a captive audience, anyway. After enduring an hour and a half of his drivel, I lied and said that I had a dental appointment and that I needed to get. He hugged me and that was that. Pretty boring, really...

About a week after my date with the "Outlaw in Peru" he texted me some nonsense about the site on which we had met and a girl on the site who was stalking him and how he was worried because she could have seen my number in an e-mail and that she might try to bother me. He told me that the girl had "hijacked" his page, but I seriously had no idea what that even meant. Once again, he had totally lost me with his bizarre rambling. Here's the weirdest part...just a minute ago, I went into my inbox to look for the "sensuous trombone" e-mail so that I might reference it in this entry and best I can tell, the "Outlaw in Peru" has up and vanished. All of the messages that he had sent to me had evaporated. Usually even if someone deletes their profile, the mail that they have sent remains in your inbox and there is just a little blank spot where their username used to be. Not so with his account, all of the notes that he had sent to me were gone along with his username. So I searched his name and it said that he had closed his account on Jan. 1, 2008. That's just not possible. We only ever communicated through that site and we met in person after exchanging e-mails for only a few days. His account had to have been active several weeks into January. I don't get it...maybe he's...a ghost...yeah, a ghost! That would explain why I could never understand a word that he said...he was talking to me in some sort of spooky specter speak...or maybe he really is just an outlaw...

After I punctuated my last blog entry by glibly dropping the bomb about Bill's mysterious make-up, I can say with absolute confidence that it was a glaringly insensitive bumble. I guess the best way that I can describe how I've been feeling since the unfortunate incident, is mostly like a sack of shit. Monday morning, after not hearing from Bill even one time over the weekend, I got a text from him which simply read, "Google search "vitiligo"" and even though I wasn't 100% sure what it even was, I was fairly certain that it was some sort of skin malady, per the situation at hand. Immediately I knew that he must have read my blog, even though he had promised that he wouldn't. This meant that he had to have also read my comment about how his make-up had made my stomach hurt and I surmised that this text was his way of trying to help me understand why he needed to wear it, and consequently - I was nothing short of mortified! I paced, zombielike around the room, repeating, "Shit, shit, shit" - all of my insides were churning hot and fast. I didn't know what to do or what to say or if I should say anything to him at all, or if I could even muster up the courage to ever talk about this with Bill or anyone else...ever. I just felt sick and sicker because I'd been so hasty and stupid and he definitely didn't deserve to be treated that way. I got another text from him later in the day and I simply could not bring myself to open it...for like 4 hours. I couldn't bear to read one more word regarding this uncomfortable predicament...I really just wanted the whole thing to go away and I wanted to disappear, completely. I finally texted back to say that I thought I might just crawl under a rock and stay there, indefinitely...and that's pretty much what I've done. Here is this perfectly decent guy with a legitimate reason to use concealer on his face, and yet I had let myself run with the misguided notion that he wore make-up because of vanity or something else completely ridiculous like that, despite the fact that after I had blabbed on and on about it to my friends, they had conjectured and encouraged me to believe that he must've had a logical excuse for applying it. I'm all jumbled up about the whole thing...this little snag has put a halt on the momentum of our exciting beginning. I can't seem to reclaim that initial ooomph and the reason for that is nothing other than sheer embarrassment on my part. I am too much of a chicken to confront him about the matter, even though he left a voice mail in which he stated - in the kindest most sincere voice - that he wasn't upset with me, that he had never been upset with me. God! I'm such a wuss! I talk to myself about it (I can't talk to Frances about it anymore, she is so blown away by what a cold bitch I can be. I am just too ashamed, plus it would be futile of me to try and rationalize my irrational behavior to her, how could I?) This little hiccup - the sudden pause in our forward motion - gave me time to realize that there are several things working against Bill's and my chance for success, outside of the make-up misunderstanding. Since retreating from him, I reminded myself that I really do not want to get involved with a native of my ex-husband's hometown, even taking into account the fact that Bill does seem to be a great guy with a lot of qualities that I like, and he made it pretty clear that he doesn't care at all about what other people say or think. I've talked a bit about this before, of my moderately strong desire to meet a man from out of town, which might keep my personal life slightly more anonymous (sort of a silly thing to say, considering I write about every single facet of my love life and post it on a public forum, but oh well). Since my divorce, I have carved my own, little niche in a neighboring town, but around my ex-husband's hometown I am thought of as something of a scorpion woman, by many folks for various reasons which I do not feel like divulging right now. Let's just say that to drag another of their local boys down my selfish, destructive, sordid path, could prove to be the final nail in the coffin...death by social suicide. I was admittedly uncomfortable the other day when Bill and I met for lunch, kissing hello and goodbye, right out there in the open on the pedestrian mall in the heart of Old Town. I am not a bashful person, generally, but I did not like feeling so exposed that day. There are just too many familiar faces, downtown - wandering around and peering out of shop windows and restaurants, and I am not the least bit motivated to provide further fuel for my naysayers' fire. Additionally, I believe that Bill doesn't deserve to be the victim of possible future slander within my blog, lord knows I have zero self-control in this area. He is a quality guy and I can't bear the thought of him slogging through the bullshit backlash that so often goes along with hanging out with me. And on top of that, the thought of locking myself into any sort of boyfriend/girlfriend scenario or regular dating at all - kinda freaks me out, right now. I'm getting pretty used to this bachelorette shit, I am terribly comfortable in my independence, these days. I embrace my status as a self-proclaimed online dating junkie and I don't see any signs of my terrible addiction dissipating anytime soon. Frances keeps reminding me that it would be ok for me to "date" (but not fuck) multiple guys at a time, because I can and I should. I understand that but I don't think that I am capable of effectively pulling it off. I believe that I am truly a one man at a time, kinda gal, even if that means one date only with fifteen different guys in a row.

I don't know...my gut tells me that the thing with Bill was a classic case of catch and release...I was pleasantly surprised when he just appeared there before me, but after studying him for a brief period, I felt that it would be selfish of me to take him home and eat him up. Heartless as it may sound, I feel I have no other choice but to toss him back into the dating pool and recast my line...

So, I guess my punishment for dissin' Bill is the absurdly large pile of garbage that has been continually dumped on me all week long. There was a resounding theme amid my online dating antics and it was definitely not my favorite...

My despair over my callous treatment of Bill shifted to unbridled fury when just about every major asshole with whom I've ever been in contact reappeared to try and rekindle the fire with me, and I spent the better part of my week violently cross. The first perpetrator was a guy I mentioned a few entries back, I call him Angry Elf. He is a much younger dude who lives nearby and every time he contacts me he opens conversation with something like, "Come to my apartment and let's watch a movie" to which I always reply, "I will not meet you at your apartment, if you want me to come see you, then it will have to be in a public place" and he always gets raving mad and starts typing his IM's to me in all capital letters, almost like he's yelling at me. I hate it. I have never seen someone's temper more effectively demonstrated in simple written word. Once I was like, "Damn! You're an angry little elf, aren't you?" and he shouted, "YES!!!!" Scary...I have no idea why I ever still talk to him, he's got definite anger management issues. Must be the fact that he is phenomenally G O R G E O U S ! This week, when he tried to sleaze his way into my good graces as well as my pants, we went through the same tiring rigamarole about me coming to his apartment. I droned on as usual, about how I was looking for a quality, long term relationship and NOT some scuzzy booty call and he said that he doesn't date old gals like me (such a sweetheart!) that the girls he dates are usually 18 - 24. I said, "You know...you talk to me as if I should consider it my duty to be your personal Pro, or something" and he comforted me by saying, "Oh, don't worry, there won't be any money exchanged" Neat. So I said, "Well, it's obvious that we're looking for two totally different things, might be better for you to call on one of your 18 year olds to service your needs" to which he responded with, "JUST COME TO MY APARTMENT!" and I said, "Stop yelling at me, you get so mad! I am not gonna come see you, cuz you're gonna be mean to me!" and I closed out my IM screen after he followed up with, "YEAH, BECAUSE YOU ARE SO DIFFICULT!"

Next there was the ever-refreshing Big D who churlishly disregards each adamant "NO!" that I fling at his pathetic pleas for me to come and see him. As you know, I ultimately gave him the boot once I found out that he was married and I have consistently maintained a frosty disposition in our rare and brief conversations. His new angle, which I guess in his mind justifies staying in contact with me, is that we should still meet, see if we have chemistry and once we discover (his predicted) undeniable attraction to one another - he, myself and his wife, can all live out his fantasy of having a threesome. DOUBLE NO! I gotta tell ya', conversation with Big D is the epitome of exasperation. He is beyond obstinate and his egregious pushiness sends me into an unprecedented state of choler. Finally, the other night, after ignoring several days worth of his desperate IM'ing, I decided to shut his ass down once and for all. He was clearly bombed out of his thick skull and I didn't hesitate to berate him for being a shitty husband and a scumbag. Tuning me out completely, he begged for me to turn on my webcam, "C'mon, I just wanna see your smile, I know I'll never have you...just turn on your cam" I suggested that he IM his beautiful wife and have her turn on her webcam and please leave me the fuck alone, and do you know what he had the gall to say? He said that his wife can't use a computer because she has no hands.........What a cocksucker! It was official - I absolutely detested the retarded troglodyte and from that moment on all that I would say to him was, "Turn on YOUR cam" I don't even really know why...perhaps some sort of subconscious reverse psychology thing, I dunno. Anyway, he finally acquiesced and I am here to tell you that I was completely disgusted by his goofy face and his plastered-on self-impressed smile, which, by my estimation, was nothing short of obnoxious and imbecilic. I HATED how he looked and I was so glad that I had never wasted my time and gas to drive an hour and a half only to discover that the loathsome blockhead wasn't even physically attractive. I closed out the webcam window and refused to reopen it no matter how many times he pitifully pleaded with me to do so. I was so done with that dolt, FOR GOOD! And it felt terrific! Oh wait, there was one more small incident...The next day, Big D IM'd me to apologize for being such a boor the night before, blaming his infantile behavior on "too much Scotch" - which I totally disregarded. But then I accidentally sent an IM to Big D which I had actually meant to send to a new guy whom I'd met over the weekend. All that it said was, "I just sent you some pics." Well, dontcha just know that Big D got all excited and replied with, "You did?! Oh Great!" I extinguished his elation by simply saying, "Sorry, wrong person" His response? "DAMN!"

Simultaneous to being subjected to Big D's inanity, I was tolerating IM's from Speedo, who I relished ignoring completely...and Christopher, the young guy from DC who was so forthright with me when we first met awhile back, about his sexual needs and wants and his curiosity about my predilections. I don't know if you remember, but right around Christmastime, he up and disappeared, without any warning at all. He removed me from his favorites list and simply never communicated with me again. Back then, I remember wondering what the hell I'd done to cause such an abrupt dismissal from his life, it felt, well...yucky. So now, he's back - lucky me! And the fucker acts like he has the right to just pick up where we left off. His presumptuousness made me positively fit to be tied. I mean how dare he saunter back into my sphere and start insisting that I describe to HIM all of the ways that I would want him to probe me with his peener, 6 ways to Sunday! You know what? Christopher fully blew his chance with me. (It's so funny to me how quickly I can change my tune about a guy who originally, I found so beguiling - once I've been even a little bit burned) He weakly apologized for having bailed on me and then chastised me for being incapable of getting over it and not allowing myself to get excited about him all over again. I told him that if he just would've explained it to me at the time, than I would have had no problem getting reacquainted with him now. I am a big girl and I could have handled the fact that he had met someone. In fact, I would've wished him well. Hell - we had no real ties to each other at that time. Christopher offends me in the worst kind of way, there is nothing sexy or cute about the way he acts like he deserves to be adored. Yeah, so he says he's got a great job and all and a beautiful home in an expensive neighborhood in DC and he's relatively handsome, but that doesn't mean that I should have to fawn all over him just because his last twist flew the coop and he's urgently looking to get laid. The pompous asshole kept me IM'ing me til like 2:30 in the morning - hashing and rehashing the same ole horse shit. After insisting that I had no interest in a casual hook-up, that I was looking for a real bf, and that I WANTED TO GO TO BED! he would infuriate me further by saying things like, "Well, if I drove all the way to where you live to meet you, would you make it worth my while, would you let me do it in that tight ass?"...AAAARRRGGGHHHH! You are just not hearing me, man!

We finally left it that I would call him the next day and we could decide then if we would hang out or not...(I already knew that it wasn't EVER gonna happen, but I really just needed to end the conversation) He gave me his number which I did not write down and in the middle of his endless badgering I wrote, "I'm signing off now" but he still kept hounding me...so I typed, "3", then "2", then "1" and then I closed my IM screen.

Mr. Cynical has been poking around, and sexual deviate extraordinaire Soldier Boy Jack has reared his sick and twisted head a couple of times, to no avail. Even cheeky, young Ryan from way the heck back in July (see the "Never a Dull Moment" entry) made an unwanted and typically rude appearance when he IM'd me and simply asked "Horny?" I said, "Nope" and he asked, "Do you wanna be?" and I told him to go to hell, in so many words...But probably most disappointing was when my good buddy and confidant, Better Jimmy, with whom I talk on the phone (just as friends) several times each week - had the audacity to ask if I wanted to help him rise from the ashes of his string of dating disasters by coming up to visit him so we could screw...Et tu Brute?

About the only asshole who hasn't come around to bother me is Mark...but it's not like I ever expect to hear from him again. I did laugh a little at his random choice for a new profile pic. when he posted a photo of two slices of pizza on a paper plate. I had no idea what that was all about, but I found it strangely amusing along with the way that he would change his status to say things like, "playin' the ponies" or, "right now my asshole itches" or my mostly favorite one of all, "I am administering a self-colonic" Asshole or not, he is undeniably funny but besides that even, I feel he deserves mad props for not following the herd and making me HIS fall-back girl, as well.