No Apologies...No Regrets...No Mercy...

Yeah, yeah...soooo my last post was admittedly a whiny bag o' downers...*meh*...but if it makes you feel any better, it's not as if I enjoyed living and writing it any more than you guys enjoyed trudging through it - so I mean we're all in the same damn boat here, am I right? And even though I did feel guilty as sin to be publishing such a lame-o entry, I was so relieved to finally be done with the stupid freaking thing, that I did not hesitate to click the "publish post" button once it was finished - despite suspecting that the general tone as well as the content (or lack thereof) was of a far more "woe is me" bent than I should ever dare inflict upon you, my beloved audience. Believe me - I was not looking forward to the possibility that I would more than likely be letting everybody down, but it was a little alarming that less than 24 hours after posting, I started getting feedback which corroborated my hunch. After one friend commented on the entry by saying, "Yeah...maybe a little Mr. Clean-ish for me, but hey - Spring's almost here...maybe stuff'll start heating up again real soon..." I couldn't help but think, "DAYum! What kind of a precedent have I set here? Could it be that my Big Ugly Blog is simply not worth a good goddamn unless I doink some well-endowed dude and divulge all the dirty details therein?" Huh...maybe so...And if that is indeed the case - well then - I realized that in order for me to redeem myself in future blog posts, I was gonna havta drag my weary, old ass outta hibernation, kiss those Babyarm blues goodbye once and for all, and get my butt back in circulation - like pronto!

Surprisingly, this was not as daunting a task as you might think it could've been, thanks to one of my few, positive personality traits...an attribute that steps in when the chips are down, to stack them all back up again..."What! What is it? What is that thing that kickstarts your irrepressible spirit of adventure?" (you're bound to be wondering, ha!) Well let me tell you...that thing is "resilience"...plain and simple. Yes, I can be chopped down to bloody stumps same as anybody else, and I might even feel sorry for myself for a minute or two...but - eventually I get over it and move the hell on...it is nearly impossible to keep this old gal down for long...

I kicked off my renewed interest in milling around the online dating circuit, by putting up a new profile pic. on all of my favorite dating sites (and Twitter, as well)...it was a sort of hybrid shot - a composite of soft porn princess meets corny class clown - of myself out in the knee-deep snow, just finishing up a mock sunbathing session in a bikini and rubber boots. And almost immediately after posting it, I began to reap the rewards...I got tons of hits and a boatload of messages. Honestly? I was happier'n a pig in shit. But this still wasn't enough...I had to have MORE! I decided to do the least sensible thing (as we all know - I am wont to do) by opening an account on a new site called CougarLife.com. The name alone suggests a completely ridiculous premise and I knew that joining would be counter-productive to realizing my ultimate goal of finding my forever lover. But this wasn't about landing a long term deal...this was about cheering myself up and trying something new in an attempt to spruce up the blog. Although if you really think about it, the whole cougar/cub scenario isn't exactly a radically novel concept to me. In essence, I've been leading the CougarLife for quite some time now, and not necessarily by choice either...it's just sorta where my wiggle stick has been leading me lately. Anyway, I had threatened to join CL a few weeks prior, and after initially ignoring friends who urged me to scope it out so that they might live vicariously through my inevitable exploits (or perhaps become inspired to join - themselves!) I now felt fully prepared to rise to their challenge.

Once I had gotten my account all set up, and began tooling around the site, I was surprised that every handsome, young face and every bare, buff, glistening torso that I saw appear before my covetous eyes, belonged to someone who I'd never seen before. Seriously, I did not see one single familiar face...which literally blew my mind because across the three main sites on which I usually frolic, I consistently see the same old recycled mugs...and the guys on those sites are stuck always seeing mine. But on CL, I was clearly fresh cougar meat, and the cubs were stalking me in droves! I was viewed by dozens of oftentimes, impossibly young men, whose profiles boasted inviting (?) taglines like, "College student looking for an older lady to treat well" (oh boy), "I am rich and have a large wiener" (neat), "Looking for someone to pounce on me", "Young and hung stud on the prowl", "Feline Friendly", "Looking for a great night" (a particular fave...I mean this guy wasn't a bit greedy - he just wanted ONE good night, haha!) "Cub for Cougar", "Where are the fun cougars at?" (preposition at the end of a sentence? deal-breaker, baby) "Looking for a cougar on the prowl"' Seeking cougar training", "Here kitty, kitty"....you get the idea. But when I came across the tagline "Older women are simply better" I paused for a second...I got the feeling that the young man with the inquisitive, dark eyes...and the bee-stung ruby red lower lip...and the flawless tawny complexion...and the angular nose and the...*ehemm* 'scuse me...where was I? Oh yes of course...So what I was thinking was that the bearer of this delectable visage -slash- the author of such a succinct and accurate assertion about older women - might actually have some experience on his resume to back up his tagline, despite having only spent a total of 25 tender years here on the planet...I was definitely curious about him - more so than any of the others that had caught my eye...but since I was not a paying member, I was not afforded the privilege of opening dialog with him. Poop. Well, whatever...I guess it didn't really matter much anyway, because at the moment - mama was behaving like a kid on Christmas Eve - shaking packages under the tree until it was fiiiiinally time to start tearing into them. I scrolled down page after page of beautiful, young, horny studs, clicking on many...and I watched as one after the other, they peeped right back at me...

Almost immediately, my mailbox was inundated with a plethora of messages...most of which I completely ignored, but to some of which - I did reply. Some of these conversations went nowhere, some continued as sporadic IM chats (whenever I bothered to open my IM screen) but after sharing personal email addies, a few of the young men and I became virtual x-rated pen pals, if you will...each of us trying to best the other's last risque photo. You have no idea how badly I wish that I could post a sampling of my brimming new collection of raging hard-on pics. here in the blog, but alas...I cannot breach the trust of my generous donors. Some of the prize-winners, you'd seriously almost have to see to believe...I printed out a particularly noteworthy specimen for Willow to ogle...the guy's prominent johnson spanning the length of the sheet of paper...it was a startlingly "in your face" image...and all I could think while gazing upon it was, "Woah...I could literally do nothing with that" But then the same fella surprised me with an "action shot" you might say, and I found it incredible that he was able to capture at close range and with such remarkable precision - the exact moment at which he totally blew his load...amazing! Kinda reminded me of one of those super slow-mo ballistics pics. where the moment just after the firearm discharges, we see the bullet magically frozen in time and space...I consider this particular photo to be quite a masterpiece...the magnum opus of my curios, if you will...

Anyway, somehow this bumper crop of new picture mail has gotten my computer kind of contaminated and acting sorta screwy. It feels like every time I click to view certain pages, before that page opens - there is this split-second flash of some guy's chubby. It's really strange...and a little disturbing. I have to consider it blind good fortune as well as perfect timing, that I was just recently finally able to afford to get my children their very own trusty ole Mac which lives over at the house with us, instead of out here in my den of iniquity. Lord knows, if their only option was to still work and play on my computer in the studio, I'm not really sure how I would respond to their inevitable inquiries about the recurring, fleeting images randomly appearing on the screen - of boners the size of a rolling pins...

Simultaneous to getting fresh attention on all of my old dating sites and being overloaded with hits from strapping young cubs from CL vying to grease my palms by way of the subject matter in their raging erection pics., was a slight boost in the goings-on over on my feeble Twitter account. Suddenly I was being followed by a small new group of peeps, a few of which lived in South Africa...I was perplexed as to how these folks even found me in the haystack, but I didn't question it...I was just tickled that they had. The only male from the South Africa lot, struck up a Twitter-based conversation with me and for a couple of days we excitedly tweeted back and forth to each other, whenever the difference in timezones allowed. It made absolutely no sense to be devoting so much time to a man who lived worlds away from me, but I am prone to getting sucked into dead-end fantasies, whether out of boredom or what, hard to say. One day after I'd left work, South Africa and I decided to talk on the phone (I am terrified to see my next cell phone bill...no earthly idea how much a 20 minute cell phone call from South Africa is gonna run me, but it's done now...) The instant that I heard his luscious accent, I was hooked. I was picturing a rugby playing hunk along the lines of Hugh Jackman (Australian, I know...but whatevs...) but when I asked for and received a photo of his actual face the next day - what I got was something more on par with some guido American actor like say, James Gandolfini? 'Cept with a full head of greasy hair which grew like a cocks comb, starting roughly at the middle of his forehead...and rubbery lips surrounded by a scraggly goatee and absolutely no neck to speak of...all right, so he didn't resemble James Gandolfini, but that's not the point...the important part is that the whole thing was finito once I caught a glimpse of the guy...call me superficial...I do.

It reminded me of the time back when I was 19 or 20, living in Richmond, when I got all hung up on and fell madly in crush with a local dj who manned the late night shift on an am oldies station. The whole thing started with me calling in and making requests and quickly progressed to hours-long phone convos most nights, and then reached its final incarnation when we decided to meet for lunch one day. The DJ had given me a very vague physical description of himself and so I was relying on him to recognize me, which I figured wouldn't be too difficult since at the time my look was fairly distinctive, and he was aware of the specifics.

Can I just tell you how my heart sank when my "beautiful fantasy dj" quickly located me in the middle of the bustling lunch crowd there at the Shoney's, waddled up to me and then hugged me hello? I was like, "Are you fucking kidding me?!" The DJ was uhhhh...how do even I put this...oh I dunno...he made "morbidly obese" look like anorexia? I watched in awe as he squoooooze his rotundness into the booth, and proceeded to demolish three towering plates full of food from the buffet (but he did drink diet coke, as if that might somehow justify or counteract his consumption of thousands of gluttonous calories) and then topped off a meal so extraordinarily grotesque that it turned me on food for days afterwards - by treating himself ("just this once!") to a hot brownie sundae with a chocolate syrup lava floe erupting out of whipped cream snowcaps....the end.

After I completely ceased replying to South Africa's tweets and emails (several carbon copies of which, I noticed that he'd also sent to a Tweeter that we both had in common...some shit about, "Is it my cologne? Cuz I can change it..." puhleeze..."NO, jerkoff! It's your face!") he decided to "unfollow" me, and I found it curious that simultaneously - my Twitter account was hacked and my password settings were repeatedly freaking out...but interestingly enough, the instant that I blocked him, I never had another problem with any of that...huh...whaddya know...

I shrugged off the stupid thing with South Africa and immersed myself into the CougarLife site. I was optimistic about all of the connections that I'd been making, but a little bummed that none of them had materialized yet. It was Sunday, the tail-end of another childless weekend, and I was a bit despondent since the only action that I'd gotten all weekend long, was one of those frantic attempts to lock in a last-call hook-up, by some 22 y/o boy - as we were all being ushered out of the club and onto the street to scatter off into our own...different...lonely...directions. I glumly sat down to my trusty ole Mac, desirous of a last ditch fling before the weekend came to a conspicuously disheartening close. I opened up CL and proceeded to read messages...and next thing I know, I was laughing out loud at a hilarious note sent from a man of the respectable age of...wait for it...34! After we swapped a couple of emails, we moved over to our mutual IM provider and the conversation flowed well, was amusing and resulted in a plan to meet later that evening...SCORE! A direct HIT!

I thought Hair Gel was cute and all, and really funny in a dry wit kinda way, but he was a bit burly for my taste and there was of course...that freaking hair gel...I can't STAND that shit! All the same, we never stopped talking and finally shut the bar down and as he walked me to my cute little car, I knew the impending drill: he would grab me up, lay a smacker on me and ask if he could follow me back to my place...and it did happen...exactly that way. I hemmed and hawed and wriggled and squirmed, because I was seriously not all that interested in continuing the date...nor ever having a future one, for that matter. But there were a couple of things plaguing my rationale. For one: I kept hearing the haunting echo of my dear friend who had expressed her unapologetic disappointment with my last blog post...presumably because it was devoid of any gnarly sexscapades. The current situation with Hair Gel, if nothing else, held the promise of a blog-worthy anecdote and that did have value...I guess...but my limited desire to actually fuck the guy put a decidedly Catch 22 spin on the sitch.

Secondly though, there is this: I practice safe sex, right? Right. So, like a serious athlete trains for his sport or a dedicated artist hones his craft, seems logical that I too should sharpen the skills concurrent with my own chosen field - by practicing often...

Soooo...I let it happen...but here's the bitch of it...I did not wind up experiencing anything earth-shattering with Hair Gel (it was mediocre at best) and there were things about him that even kind of grated on me, not the least of which were his protruding belly (previously well-concealed by the loose-fitting cotton shirt that his brother had brought him from Mexico)...as well as his inordinately tiny tush, perhaps somewhat dwarfed by his considerable middle? After the deed was done, there was no snuggling, no chance for a second round and no interest on my part in him staying there with me for a single minute more. I considered the whole thing a total waste of time because I was left with nothing super funny to relay, no incredible physical phenomenon about which to report and definitely no romantic legacy. Practically the only exciting element that my night with Hair Gel provided for my ailing blog is the fact that I fucked a fairly fat guy...whoopie!

After my stupid goof with Hair Gel, I was floundering...wondering if my time in the sun had long since passed, and yet I still continued to mill about online, since by now - doing so has become second nature. At some point, a mutual pal on OkCupid introduced me to The Archangel and after just a few emails we noticed an effortless rapport with one another. The Archangel was spoken for romantically, but was still interested in talking to me upon learning that we both shared a fascination with the opposite sex...and also a love of writing. I turned him onto the Big Ugly, and I was surprised when shortly thereafter he told me that he had gone back to the very first entry and was diligently reading forward, working towards the present. The Archangel was getting a most accurate representation of who I am and what I'm about while scouring my stories, and because of that, he encouraged me to adopt a new m.o. in my approach to dating. Restraint. He asked if I would be willing to let him lead me through a few exercises which he thought might help me find more success in my interactions with men. He was evidently quite experienced at the art of taking desperate male losers and turning them into flagrant lotharios, but The Archangel saw in me, a slightly different challenge - kind of the reverse of the magic that he was used to performing. He wanted to see if it would be possible to tame me, to reign me in a bit...to make me less compulsive and willing...to see if I could be reconditioned to become more discriminate about the men with whom I communicate...and commingle...

We got started right away, The Archangel giving me written homework assignments which would presumably help me and him identify what it is that I am actually seeking as well as how my past experiences may have impacted my current behavioral peculiarities. I knew that revamping my online dating site profiles was the next order of business and so I cut my hair short and dyed it dark and was preparing to post photos better suited to attracting men of more appropriate intentions and age. But just as I was getting myself mentally prepared and wholly onboard to find my happiness via his expert tutelage, The Archangel went m.i.a..

I could see from his posts on Facebook that The Archangel was going through some crazy shit in his own life and rather than complicating his already topsy turvy situation by badgering him about my "studies", I took his impromptu abandonment of our little project, and ran the total opposite direction, determining to not just keep my online dating presence at the status quo, but to instead - crank my image up a notch. It felt like one of those "when the parents are a away..." type scenarios. It was like, "Well, as long as The Archangel's not here to frown upon it, I may as well enjoy a last hurrah...until he shows back up to guide me to a better reality." What I realized though, was that it was more than just wanting to perpetuate the kind of attention that I'd grown accustomed to getting from the guys I met online, I was also nurturing my Big Ugly alter-ego, affixing a new photo to all of my sites...one where my costume was nothing but a swatch of fabric tightly wrapped around my tits, a pair of black boy shorts and Emily Post's "Etiquette" teetering atop my new pixie coif. I chose racier versions of this pic. for select sites and the rise in attention from doing all of this impelled me to then tell everyone to whom I spoke, about the blog. I was hellbent on sloughing off any remaining hesitation about promoting it, especially in circles where I'd previously avoided doing so. And I liked the idea of getting the monkey off my back with online guys, before finding myself in another uncomfortable Babyarm/blog type situation. It felt pretty good to not only be honest with folks, but to also see a spike in views of the blog. There were times when I asked myself if this new take-no-prisoners caricature that I was creating - was still actually me...I mean, I'm a pretty regular person when I'm a mom or working for the old people...the absolute contrast to the scantily clad Big Ugly persona who was mere inches away from contributing photos to Twitter's #HNT and #FNF and who would not be bothered by any backlash at all from those who can't handle the blog.

There are many, especially within the confines of my sheltered community, who disapprove of me and the Big Ugly, but what I find interesting is that no one ever confronts me about any of it. Obviously it's a lot easier to bash someone behind their back than it is to directly approach them about it, and so mostly what I get is funny looks, the cold shoulder and underhanded remarks - I'm used to it by now...but it was a little alarming when this one online guy totally lost his shit over my blog...and me...after I used telling him about the blog as a possible way to scare him off...

Bipolar was young and lived states away and I was not the least bit interested in continuing the conversation once I found all of this out. But he was persistent...offering to drive here to meet me and all of this other garbage that really just wasn't working for me. He started out all nauseatingly sweet and sickeningly pseudo-sincere (which only lessened his chances with me) and when we somehow got onto the topic of the fact that writing is a hobby of mine...I used the ole "sic the blog on 'em" trick, thinking that if he read it he would no longer want any part of me and my trail of carnage...and might then go on his merry way. But it didn't exactly happen like that. Nope, instead - after reading a couple of entries - he started typing derogatory remarks into the IM screen and lambasting me for my slutty lifestyle...He was acting as if we'd known each other intimately, and that I'd somehow betrayed him and had some 'splainin' to do...like a furious boyfriend who's discovered you've cheated...(effin' creepy!) Each line that Bipolar typed was more scathing than the one before and although I did not back down from his barrage, I did finally get sick of dealing with the psychotic fuck and finally ended my side of the convo with, "run along now, little boy"...

What I liked about this particular vignette was the fact that I had finally gotten the chance to defend myself against an angry assailant. It felt good, I was not scared or intimidated by him at all, and I proudly stood my ground following every searing remark that he launched at me. It was enormously confidence-building, it pumped me up...and afterwards I was like, "C'mon world! Bring it on!" But although I was gearing up to deflect more possible flack resultant from indiscriminately blabbing to everyone about the blog - instead I was beginning to get a mess of positive critiques...most of which were from men...

For the first time in a long time, I felt like good things were on the horizon. That maybe my recent "no holds barred" attitude towards advertising not only the blog itself but the tramp behind it was liberating another side of me and that I was poised to find my real place in this world...with or without a man in tow. And then just when I thought I couldn't feel any more optimistic, something catapulted me further into nirvana...that cute boy from CL - the one who professed to know that "Older women are simply better" remember? Well, he "winked" at me on the site. The door was now open, for me to talk to him - and so I did. He suggested it might be easier to chat on Facebook - and so we did. We hinted around at feeling attracted to each other (best we could tell from having only "virtually" met) and discussed making a plan to meet - and so we did...

Now I knew that to even entertain meeting a 25 year old man who lives 2 1/2 hours away from me was diametrically opposed to the wee little bit that The Archangel had been able to drill into my head during the short period of time that he'd kept me safely under his wing. But the thing of it was - without his watchful eye, expert advice and nurturing guidance - the a.w.o.l. Archangel had consequently left me to my own devices - armed with my new Big Ugly slogan: "No Apologies...No Regrets...No Mercy..."

Easy C*m...Easy Go

Ok, my sweet peeps - I want you all to know that this time, (ref.: my alarmingly brief albeit hot fling with Babyarm) I do believe that I actually kinda cared a little (I know...right?)...and that I even really did sorta try for once (although those closest to me might argue that I tried maybe a bit toooo hard...eh, whatever) Fact is...I hoped for the best - and yet - my (tenuous) positive and eager attitude and (wavering) sunny, hopeful disposition (thanks to less than favorable conditions, at times) did ultimately knuckle under to (crushing) disappointment, frustration and humiliation...and upon reaching my absolute threshold (when simply feeling a bit unsure morphs into feeling like a steaming pile of dog shit) I was left with only one viable option - to slink off to a dark, desolate place and lick my wounds in solitude.

All of this nonsense is a safe distance behind me now, thank god - but I still shudder when I think of how pathetic and weak I must have looked leading up to when I found myself helpless to do anything other than surrender to cold, hard rejection. And so, with my whopping four week long stab at trying to make something happen with Babyarm - now two solid, silent weeks behind me - I can no longer put off writing about it...I cannot just skip over this whole segment of my continuing online dating saga simply because I dread admitting that I failed...miserably...*guh*...(plus, stuff is starting to get interesting again so I need to hurry up and get this pablum outta the way)

Sadly, there ain't no glossing over the grim truth that my sincere attempt to find some semblance of happiness with a guy that I liked (far more than any other, of late) even if it meant tabling the Big Ugly for a spell in order to protect him (which I was prepared to do) proved to have been nothing more than a lousy freaking waste of time. Evidently it's my destiny to languor here in online dating purgatory for infinity or more - whereby keeping the blog alive (is that the good news?) but the spirits of this hopelessly boy crazy, relationship-starved vixen - intermittently dashed. (Can I just tell you how disheartening it is to be plunked right back at square freaking one? Again?)

I have settled in - with the best intentions of working on this entry - easily a dozen times already by now...I have written and rewritten, and deleted whole paragraphs as the material therein became old news...irrelevant...as my momentary joy was trumped by disillusionment. Each attempt to jot down anything produced negligible results at best. I just kept piddling around, waiting for a better time to get you guys up to speed, like when I actually had something good to report, which might've then tempered all of the bad...you know...like say...a happy fucking ending, or some shit like that. And although I did enjoy a handful of bright spots, the four weeks leading up to when I finally got the boot from Babyarm were tinged with enough uncertainty and insecurity, to make it practically impossible for me to get motivated to really write. Of course, now that I've committed to keeping my pen to the pad until this entry reaches its bitter end, I could try to act all tough, and say things like, "lemme just tell ya' somethin' honey, our boy du jour has jacked mama around for the very last time..." but the truth of the matter is, that Babyarm was the one who decided our fate...and it wasn't what I wanted...and I had absolutely no say in the matter...

I have come out on the other side of these last two weeks of not hearing a single word from him (despite the fact that his last text to me declared, "In a meeting. Will call u later") - and have finally accepted that Babyarm and I are officially toast. I am cheered that the initial sting of rejection has dulled a bit, and quite frankly - I am somewhat relieved to be done with the fluctuating severity of wondering and worrying and stomachaches and angst...all prevalent negative side effects of Babyarm's erratic and icy aloofness...

Furthermore, the rapid deterioration of my thing with Babyarm substantiates something that I've consistently alleged...that apparently I really do have a four date cap. I mean, I've joked about this in other entries, but seriously? Is that really all the better that I can do? I can never seem to make it to that fifth flipping date, either by my own choice or in this case - his. It drives me batty! Like what in the world prevented me and Babyarm from reaching numero cinqo...what went wrong...what did I do wrong...what made him change his mind so abruptly and definitively? My friends scold that I should never have slept with him that first night that we met, that in essence I made it too easy for him, I did not afford him the thrill of the chase. And I do believe that they have a point, that in general this is probably not a good strategy for landing a long term deal. But - Babyarm and I continued to see each other after that first fateful night, and it really didn't seem to impact how he felt about me (other than the fact that he equated me = with getting good and laid) I mean after all, he slept with me on the first date as well...soooo, at least as far as our deal was concerned, neither one of us was any more slutty or "easy" than the other...if you ask me. Yes, it did probably establish the launching of a purely sexual "relationship", but I believe that in time those things can shift and I was hopeful that Babyarm and I might eventually graduate up to a more well-rounded relationship, like with emotions and commitment and all that good stuff.

Naturally, I had worried that Babyarm would discover my blog before I gathered the courage to tell him about it. I did not like the idea of him stumbling upon it and forming an opinion about me and whatnot, without being able to explain myself...and my questionable behavior. I had told him that I love to write, but he never bothered to ask me what I write. If he had've, I would've told him the truth about the Big Ugly...but he didn't. So I decided to do my best to keep the goddamned thing under wraps until I was good and ready to broach the topic. I removed the videos that I have posted on my profile, on the site where we'd met, since the blog address is plastered across the bottom of each one of 'em and since he'd told me once early on, that he had tried to view my vids. but his computer was too slow or something and so he wasn't able to do so (woo! bullet dodged) But I figured that someday he'd take a peek at them on some computer someplace else, and that was absolutely NOT the way that I wanted him to find out about the blog...

I'm still not exactly sure how he did it, but I am nearly 100% certain that Babyarm did somehow find my blog. (And if my Nancy Drew skills are on point, it looks to me like he still checks in every once in awhile...in fact, ima take a second to give a good ole-fashioned shout-out to Babyarm, "Hey there, ****! D'you find whatever it is that you keep comin' 'round here lookin' for?") Anyway, it's too complicated (and I'm too lazy) to explain how I think that I know that he unearthed my blog, so you just have to trust me on this one. I am here to tell ya' though, as soon as I figured it out, a wave of panic met my middle like a hollow-point bullet, it was a classic example of one of those horrific, "Oh SHIT!" moments. And compounding my trepidation was the fact that I made the discovery while I was sitting right there with him...on his lap in fact. Anyway, after I'd finally wrapped my brain around the situation, I reasoned that even though he'd read the blog, he must be ok with it, since he'd called me to come over and see him mere hours after finding it. I told myself that he must have an open mind about the whole thing and I was actually almost hoping that he'd go ahead and confront me about it so that we could get the whole mess out in the open and behind us. But that didn't happen. And quite frankly, at the time I was too focussed on the more appetizing matters at hand, to bring it up myself and risk potentially marring our carefree evening.

That whole last night together - from 11:45 p.m. when I arrived at his house under cover of darkness while his tiny daughter slept - until 5 a.m. when we finally called it quits, I could feel myself becoming more and more smitten. I had loved resting my head on the pillow on his lap, staring up at his beautiful face while he offered his commentary on the State of the Union Address, just as much as I'd loved all the crazyfuckingmadsex. Once again, we wiled away an hour or so on another frigid, winter night, soaking in the hot tub, and I relished how he so tenderly made certain that the cast on my arm was propped up safely out of the water. At some point, without prompting, he told me that he liked me (*flutter*) and that he definitely wanted to continue seeing me but that I would have to honor his wishes to take things slowly ("Jesus man!" I thought "Any slower and we'll be going backwards!") for the sake of his daughter who's happiness was understandably his top priority. Babyarm had been burned by the only two women that he'd allowed into his life, and in the process, his daughter had suffered as well. His caution seemed legitimate and I was more than willing to follow whatever guidelines he laid out, if that's what it took for me to stay in the picture. ("Yeah, yeah sure! You wanna take it slowly? Of course, whatever...I'll do anything!") Next he dispelled a concern of mine. I worried that during the extended quiet times in between our visits, he might be mixing it up with other women (his ex-gf included) He assured me that he had not been out with any other girls since he and I first met. Halleluia. Literally every topic and activity covered that night, seemed to indicate that we were definitely moving in the direction of dating...monogamously...and I couldn't have been happier. And so, feeling content and sure, I sunk deep into his big bear hugs and purred quietly along with his grizzly bear growls...

It all seemed so perfect and seamless...each of the few times that I was with him. The problem was, as soon as we were apart, Babyarm's "take it or leave it" attitude and unmitigated disinterest in talking to me beyond just a few texts here and there (and even fewer phone calls) sent me hurling around this vortex of confusion and doubt, fuck! Why is it that I am incapable of adopting such a blase attitude of indifference about the person that I want to be with? Why? I'll tell you why...because I'm an impatient girl...and by virtue of that fact - I'M NOT PROGRAMMED TO BEHAVE THAT WAY! When I want something I wanna have it...whenever I want it! Which can run the gamut from wanting to luxuriate naked in bed for hours on a Saturday morning alongside the object of my affection to simply wanting to call or text him at will (even if it means texting again before receiving a response to my last text - which some believe can be the kiss of death in a budding relationship) Willow (wise young woman that she is) vehemently forbad me from contacting Babyarm, until I'd heard from him again, insisting that I would come across as needy and clingy if I was doubling up on texts (naturally, I texted him anyway...cuz I can be obstinate and ornery like that) But you know what I call the protocol that Willow insisted I follow? I call it - playing games...or playing THE game, more specifically. But maybe that's truly what searching singles are supposed to do, manipulate and suppress their natural inclinations for the sake of perpetuating the chase, as well as striving to earn the title of "top banana" in those fragile first few weeks. I'm sorry, but none of that works for me. I am not into calculated moves, or calculated silences for the sake of getting a leg up. I'm more of a seat-of-the-pants kinda girl who wants to attack the situation full-force. Bottom line, if I feel compelled to do something, even something silly and sweet and random, well then I believe that I have the right to act upon it and that it should be welcomed by the intended recipient. And if they can't handle it, well...then I shouldn't be with that person anyway because either they're not really all that into me...or their never-ending game of cat and mouse will eventually drive me to distraction and fuck that! Is there really anything so wrong with wanting to be demonstrative with the person you like, for chrissakes?!

(easy now...deeeeep breath...)

Lemme rewind for a sec., back to Willow and all of her cockamamie notions about how to effectively snag a beau. Irritating as it is to admit, evidently she is kinda on to something...For months now she has played the "game" with her cards very close to the vest. And her diligent restraint and decorum have obviously paid off. Suffice it to say, Willow and M.C. Ginger have reached the holy grail of courtship bliss...they have made their relationship "Facebook official" Now...that's the real deal, ain't it?!

Sarcasm aside, practicing what she's preached really has worked out for her and Willow is now enjoying an enviably secure romance thanks to her patience and levelheadedness...that bitch...(love ya', babes!)

That last time that I snuck into Babyarm's house and we enjoyed such a cozy, fun night - my desire to be with him and only him, was positively galvanized. But what was it about Babyarm that caused me to become so taken with him? What about him out of all the other guys that I've met recently, had me ready to hide my online dating site profiles and discontinue the few remaining convos I had going on with other men? Why was I so hellbent on lassoing this particular young buck? Was it because he didn't make himself too available, cuz if that was the case, well then wasn't I essentially confirming that the "chase" really does work? It coulda been that I did actually like stuff about him...such as his appearance, and his personality, and his stemware? (ha!) Perhaps it was an addiction of sorts, to the seriously steamy fucking sex and the insane sexual positions with which he manipulated and contorted my obedient body. I mean let's face it - intoxicating physical chemistry is def. a tough thing to come by and if one is fortunate enough to happen upon it, it is NOT an easy thing to give up. I woulda literally done anything for the guy, no matter how weird or warped. Hell, I woulda stood on my head during sex if that's what he wanted (wait...come to think of it...I did stand on my head during sex...)...Or, maybe it was just my obsession with the need to be the one in control of the situation (which clearly, I was not) the lack of which totally short-circuited my common sense and ability to function properly, all of which made me even more determined to somehow realize a shift in that power...in other words, I was itchin' for the tables to turn so that he might instead...start falling for me. No matter what it was that had me so fixated on him, there was no doubt in my mind, that Babyarm was the complete package, embodying (a version of) my ideal man...and I was so hoping that soon I might be phasing out online dating and ultimately even the blog, for good...

All right, so one Friday - when Babyarm completely ignored the fact that he'd invited me to go to the shooting range with him (after he'd given me this lengthy tutorial on how to properly sight a gun etc., right there in his kitchen) and then acted all surprised (and very busy) when I texted to see if we were still on for that day, I got angry...I'm talkin' super freakin' pissed. I was totally fed up with his constant string of flimsy excuses for not being able to meet me. In toto, I saw a couple of precious childless weekends come and go without seeing hide nor hair of him and after that, I began to absorb the possibility that he just wasn't interested. Sure, my feelings were hurt, but one of the worst parts about getting the brush-off from Babyarm, was facing the bleak prospect of getting myself back on the market which meant...stepping up my game online and hitting the dreaded bar scene again...blah...

I was resigning myself to defeat, and yet still resistant to give up completely on Babyarm. I kept holding onto the "take it slowly" line that he'd fed me, believing that he was maybe testing my patience or truly busy or...something. Simultaneously, (adding insult to injury) was the reemergence of the preeminent asshole of the world. Yes, you guessed it, enter my miserable ex-bf: Jimmy. I will never forget my children's reactions, when I looked at my phone and asked, "Why is Jimmy calling me?" In unison my kids shouted out, "Don't answer it, Mom! Don't answer it!"...Precisely. I did not pick up the call of course, but I gotta tell you, the horrible stomachache that ensued, was rawther impressive. (Please dear lord, may I never be the cause of such physical revulsion in any living soul, a la Jimmy - a moi) Naturally I wondered why in the hell he would be calling me, and my prediction was that he had gotten his current gf preggers and/or they were getting married, for he is one of those people who delights in rubbing salt in a wound. It never even occurred to me that he might be trying to schmooze it up with me...that is until he attempted (via text message) to barter the service of helping me install my home stereo system, in exchange for one of my world famous back rubs. Cute...very clever...NICE TRY, DICKWEED!

Ah, yes...it was all making sense now...'deed if his horse-toothed bitch bartender gf hadn't just days before, handed him his walkin' papers...I'm guessing he thought that I'd jump at the chance to fill the void (or to have my own void filled, as the case may be) until he decided to fuck me over once more...lucky me...

I was unsuccessful at shutting him down with my glib "Not gonna happen, Jimmy...you blew your chance with me" but did ultimately leave him dangling after he sent, "But I'm bored and you're fun to hang out with"...prick...

The one ray of sunshine in this whole entire entry is the fact that even with the threat of Babyarm's rejection of me, I was not the slightest bit tempted to anesthetize my disappointment by hopping back into the sack with Jimmy. The whole purpose of online dating for me, way back in the beginning, had been to distract myself long enough to finally break our brutal cycle of repeated break-up's and reconciliations...and I was pleased to acknowledge that online dating had in fact, done its job. Enough time had passed since last being with Jimmy, for me to realize that the scattered few happy memories do not even begin to negate what a complete bastard he was to me back then and quite frankly - that he still is today. I now knew that I would never be so forsaken as to EVER wanna "go there" again. And to that I say, "Amen"...

As the weekend of the big snowstorm approached, my fading optimism was virtually annihilated. I was particularly bummed because I'd believed that if I could just finagle one more visit with Babyarm (especially during a blizzard which could leave us snowed-in together for days...so very romantic!) I'd be able to seal the deal...as well as get more answers...and to talk to him about the blog...to be honest with him.

Honesty, trust and loyalty were highlighted on his dating site profile, as the qualities he most hoped to find in his next partner, leading me to believe that he was a sincere and conscientious man, who had sadly been deceived by the women of his past. But what I found curious, was that these were the qualities that I was starting to think that he most lacked. In fact, the main reason for my stomachaches and moodiness, was the fact that I didn't feel like I could fully trust the oftentimes bizarre excuses he gave for his unavailability. Example: once he told me that he would be out of town all weekend, doing some obscure something or other that, if it really was what he said it was, would have him away from any computer for the better part of that Saturday, at least. However, that very Saturday, for hours during the middle of the day, I noticed that he was regularly signing onto the dating site where we'd met, leading me to believe that he was actually putting me on the back burner in order to pursue other women...or at the very least - simply sitting at home doing everything in his power to avoid having to see me. Call me paranoid...yes, maybe I am. But you have to admit that it does seem unlikely that he was on some covert mission out in the boondocks, somewhere...when at the same time, I could see that he was checking the dating site every 20 minutes or so.

I find that whenever people say things on their profiles like, "Not looking for drama" or "I do not play games" what they're subconsciously telling everyone is that they absolutely look for and do all of those things. I mean, does anyone ever really "look for drama"? Not usually. But the very mention of such, implies to me that this is what this person is actually all about. That whether they know it or not, the reason for all that damned drama that they bitch about, from all of their past relationships, is because they either attract or create it. So I'm wondering if when Babyarm wrote things similar to, "I will not tolerate liars and cheats" was he actually writing a reflection of his own personality flaws? Makes sense to me. (hmmm...maybe I should go back and reread my own profiles to see what idiosyncrasies I've inadvertently pinpointed, myself...)

Any case...so, not only did he feed me that bullshit line about "liking" me (was there really any point to all that?) but Babyarm never did call after sending that final bullshit text...and the more I festered over it, the more I began to realize that it was the text message that he'd sent before that one, that I should not have filed away so deeply into the recesses of my feeble brain. I'd let, "In a meeting. Will call u later" reinstate my shriveling optimism that he was still interested...that I did still stand a chance with him. I used "Will call u later." to help me bury his blunt and hurtful response to my inquiry as to whether or not I'd be seeing him over the upcoming weekend...

It was the quickest reply that I'd ever gotten from Babyarm, appearing on my phone no more than 10 seconds after I'd sent my own message (as opposed to the more typical delay of 6 hours to, well...never) He'd socked me with a hauntingly familiar phrase, one which I myself had arrogantly wielded weapon-like just days before. Reading those exact same words as they appeared on my phone however, did not feel nearly quite as awesome as it had felt to send them from my phone.

After asking him, "Do we get to hang out this weekend?" Babyarm responded with a succinct and biting text which simply read........."Not gonna happen"

Seems I can back up the idea that what comes around...really does go around...............

...Feast

By the Sunday after Christmas, the novelty of my unexpected pre-New Year's "cleanse" had definitely worn off and I was hankerin' to put men back on the menu, and in order to do that - I knew that I had to be proactive...lord knows no one else was gonna do my scouting for me. So I shopped around a bit on my favorite dating sites and before long, my keen "new boy" radar honed in on an unfamiliar heavenly body. The target on my screen was tall, built, handsome, ex-military, divorced, had sole custody of his only child, was gainfully employed and lived close by...but I was afraid that maybe he'd think that we were too far apart in age. So, I wrote to him and in the subject line I put, "I may be too old for you..." and then continued my note to him with, "but you seem like an interesting and active guy, so I couldn't resist at least saying, "Hi""

The next morning, I received a nice message that he'd sent after I'd already tucked it in the night before - which he opened with, "Age is in the heart"...I took that to mean that he had no problem with the fact that I am 7 years his senior. So before leaving for work, I wrote back and invited him to go snowboarding with my friends and me, that upcoming Wednesday.

After returning home from work I was delighted to discover that I had more mail from him even though he had declined my invitation to go snowboarding since he had a friend arriving on Wednesday for a week long visit. But after a couple more emails, I learned that he WAS free THAT very night - Monday - and, never one to miss out on a promising opportunity, I asked him if he would be up for meeting me in town for a drink later...and he said that he was. Yip!

We exchanged cell #'s, I hopped in the shower, got all gussied up and left to go meet him at the pool hall up the road from where I live. As I pulled my big boat into the parking lot, I recognized the tall, strapping man walking past my car - as the "heavenly body" I'd seen on the dating site. I pointed at him and smiled and he about-faced in order to meet me at my car so that we could walk inside together...I could tell right away that I liked him already...

We ordered our drinks and instead of cramming ourselves into the limited space amid all the pool tables and other people, we set up shop in a cozy nook away from everyone else, kicked back in two easy chairs and shot the shit...'twas rawther nice.

It was terribly easy to like the guy...he was engaging and open and he had the greatest face imaginable - his Dutch and Italian lineage producing big bluey eyes and long, dark lashes, matte, oxblood lips and a gloriously angular nose - my favorite! And that body, jesus! I caught myself lost in thought a few times, imagining what it would be like to have my body totally enveloped by his...*sigh*

We got along famously and I was already looking forward to going out with him another time very soon, but after only one drink, he jumped ahead a little when he suggested that we save our pennies by playing pool and mixing our next drinks...back at his place......uh oh...oh boy...

Now, here's the thing...I was completely conscious of what this meant and even though I understood that following him to his house right then would most likely mean a dreaded hook-up on the first date which could easily eliminate any chance of ever seeing him again...I am a terribly impulsive lass, a legal consenting adult and was way overdue for a gratifying romp in the hay*...so I was completely down with it. It's like with me there is literally no middle ground, I am either hot or cold...fast or stop...FUCK YEAH! or HELL NO!... and whenever I meet a new guy, I know straight off the bat if I'd do him or not, and if I'm certain that I would, well then, quite frequently - I do...I'm sorry...I'm weak that way...what can I say...

*My most recent "romantic" foray had been just a couple of weeks before, with the Mystery Man and yes...we did have a nice time together and yes...I was as attracted to him as ever and yes...we did (try to) get cozy in the sack, but no...we did not seal the deal which I must say, was not for MY lack of trying, sheesh! In all fairness to the Mystery Man, the deficiency in his prowess that night could've been due to the fact that he did down the better part of my bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin over the course of the evening...nonetheless - snockered or not - it is undeniably damaging to a girl's self-esteem, when the guy with whom she's tryin' to get busy, can't for love or money...manage to get it up. I can tell myself that the Mystery Man was soused or suffering performance anxiety or that he has some physiological problem that the wonders of modern medicine could easily straighten out, but at the time I just took it personally and convinced myself that my relatively fit, naked body, all ripe for the pickin' - just wasn't doing it for him...(dagger!) So what happened was...my not-so-gratifying tangle with the Mystery Man left me dangling and I found myself even more starved than usual for a fulfilling interlude with a real live man...NOT myself...OR my stupid toy...again...

It didn't help matters any, that a particular comment that an acquaintance posted on an older blog entry, has remained stuck in the back of my feeble brain...a comment on which lately I've kind of relied, in order to justify my oftentimes impetuous behavior. After reading an entry about yet another example of my poor snap-decision-making, the old friend asked, "Am I the only person who begins long-term relationships with sex on the first date?" Hmmmm......Now there was something about this, that in essence - I felt kinda gave me license to go on ahead and test the waters with men to whom I felt a strong gravitational pull...because there was always that shred of a chance that the two of us could end up going the distance...you know, like beyond just that first encounter.

So, that bitterly cold Monday night, I left the pool hall and willingly followed my date way the hell on over to the other side of town and then further still out into the country 'til we finally ended up at his house, where I found myself startled by how tidy he was as well as impressed by his tasteful and restrained choice of decor. And it didn't hurt that I immediately bonded with his two adorable doggies! The guy seriously had it going on.

He mixed me a yummy drink in the most elegant, turquoise blue cocktail glass (I mean, c'mon! Was I seriously coveting his glassware?! Ridiculous...) after which we traipsed downstairs to the basement to get that pesky game of pool outta the way.

My lifelong curse of sucking at pool continued as did the conversation, and I learned that he had only just signed up on the dating site where I'd found him, the actual day that I first contacted him (I told you! That "new boy" radar of mine is GOOD!) and he told me that he had already blocked like 6 girls. For real?! I've been online dating for over a year and a half now and I've only blocked a total of like 3 guys on all of my sites, ever! I actually felt somewhat honored that he'd kept me around as long as he already had, hahaha! Anyway, once he'd handed me my ass in our mandatory game of pool, he asked if I wanted to go get in the hot tub and I said that I did, despite (and also because of) the fact that it was 12 degrees with a wind chill of something like a million below...We stood there together in his mud room, stripped down to our skivvies and he gave me a big cushy robe to wear in between the house and the hot tub. Once outside in that damned frigid night air, we wasted no time getting our nakey bodies submerged in the 101 degree water and this my friends, is where things turned from proper and polite to naughty...in a jiff. As soon as we started canoodling, I felt that electrical pull between my middle and his, which I always freaking LOVE! And before long I was introduced to his namesake here in the blog...the Babyarm...

Don't worry, not gonna bore you with all the gory details of the rest of our time in the hot tub through when I actually got my wish to have my body ensconced in his - during our post coitus, snuggly slumber...what I will tell you is that poor judgement or not, going home with Babyarm was for me - precisely what the doctor ordered. (Honestly, it kinda felt like maybe I should go SEE a doctor, afterwards. Fuck me! What glorious good fortune when all afternoon at work the next day my boss had me straddling the ceiling rafters in the attic, after he got the wild hare to have me install 6 recessed can lights......for the love of PETE!) Nevertheless, my tangle with Babyarm was the perfect antidote to my disappointing physical flop with the Mystery Man on many levels...I would even venture to say that the two "dates" were veritable polar opposites.

To start with, the very demeanors of the two men could not have been more dissimilar...Babyarm's ebullience was to the Mystery Man's forbearance like an effervescent waterfall is to a frozen lake...

Aaaand...unlike the Mystery Man, Babyarm wanted "it" as badly as (possibly more than?) I did, which absolutely boosted my ego as well as my libido. And his aggressive domination was well-received by this inherently submissive, rapturously captive audience. I liked that Babyarm was not the least bit shy about his body and stuff cuz that's the way that I am. I like being naked and I want the lights on so that I can see everything as it's happening...and I shrivel when my immodesty is met with overt inhibition...example: I'm the type of person who doesn't think it strange for folks to use the potty in front of each other after they've had seckshal relashuns. I'm not talking about taking a full-on crap in front of them or anything like that, but tinkle is cool...I mean what's the freaking difference at that point, you know? Babyarm was completely good with that, it just wasn't an issue at all...but the Mystery Man acted all awkward and shy in the morning and instead of using the loo right off of my bedroom, he went out and used the hall toilet...which then made me feel somewhat self-conscious...I dunno - it just felt weird.

So let's see...how bout this...

Babyarm = brash

Mystery Man = bashful

Of course there was also the obvious size/readiness discrepancy...and it's probably not even fair to compare the two fella's anatomies...I mean Mystery Man was clearly not on his game and freaking Babyarm was living up to his name! (Felt like my guts had been totally rearranged or shifted or something...for DAYS afterwards...Mother of God! He definitely found those hard-to-reach spots...)

Babyarm = a baby's arm

Mystery Man = a baby's thumb?

Something else that made my playdate with Babyarm extra specially enjoyable (and unusual for most all of my other sleepovers with men - I'm not only singling out the Mystery Man here) was how courteous and considerate he was to me the whole time that we hung out. He was just the absolute most gracious host ever. I have never had a guy bring me a warm, wet wash cloth and a dry towel after sex...I dunno, I just thought it was so sweet and thoughtful. We stayed wrapped around each other all night long, which is something that I personally crave and for whatever reason, I rarely end up with guys who can handle being touched much at all while they sleep. I happen to NEED that! I want to be completely intertwined with my lover til we rise in the morn and Babyarm was either very tolerant of this or he actually liked it himself...Oh yeah! And in the morning he made me coffee and a tasty, no-carb brekky...such a good man!

Babyarm = chivalrous

Mystery Man = chilly

Anyway so, long story short...I was tickled pink to have enjoyed such frisky frolicking with Babyarm. I was left feeling sexually sated and super excited that the swiftly approaching new year might actually be looking up, especially if I could score a sophomore session with Babyarm sometime in the not so distant future...I liked 'im and I definitely wanted to see 'im again, and that is so not like me.

That being said...a few nights later when I was contacted by a way too young, local hottie over whom I've drooled for the short period of time that I've known him - I jumped at the chance to finally sit down and chat with him, just the two of us, out from behind our computer screens, over drinks. We'd been threatening to get together since we met at Halloween, but nothing had ever panned out until that Wednesday night that I was supposed to go snowboarding. Since all of my buddies and I had lost our motivation entirely - to make the trek to the ski resort that night, I considered it divine intervention that I was actually available to meet the Young Hottie, after he suggested it that night.

The Young Hottie is practically half my age, he is exquisitely gorgeous, like I'm serious you guys...you honestly have no idea (Willow and my pixie friend Beth would totally back me up on this one) but besides that - he is a brilliant, accomplished musician and of a higher level of thinking than most guys his age...most guys my age, for that matter...I am severely intimidated by his intellect...I was actually more nervous about sounding like a complete idiot while trying to hold up my end of the evening's discussion, than being overshadowed by his otherworldly physical perfection, which was a given...

T.Y.H and I met at one of my favorite local bars and as soon as I got settled into my seat and got all situated, I drank in exactly how delectable he is...I couldn't help but think though, "This isn't for me" I mean the guy is definitely too young first off, and second, he can do so much better than l'il ole me - in the looks and the age department. But whatever, we were there for the night, the liquor was flowing and we were enjoying thought-provoking dialog over a myriad of enlightening topics. It was immensely entertaining, so much so that when my phone rang and I saw that it was Babyarm, I simply ignored the call...I mean it would've been rude to pick up while I was out with someone else anyway, yes? But I could've at least snuck a text to him or something when I went to the ladies room, you know? But I didn't. All of my attention was undivided that night, by T.Y.H....I was a little shocked that my initial excitement over Babyarm could be so easily displaced, and over something which had absolutely no potential for longevity. Stupid girl...

At last call, T.Y.H. and I left the bar and I offered to give him a ride back to his (parents'!) place since he'd walked downtown to meet me and by then it was beyond brutally cold out. Oh, did I forgot to mention the other little snag?...uhhh...well...I know T.Y.H.'s mom...pretty well actually...so it was a bit unsettling to be in my idling car out in the cul de sac in front of his house, necking and worrying that his mom might peep out the window and recognize my vehicle...T.Y.H. and I said goodnight, and all excited like - vowed to get together again soon.

The next night was New Year's Eve and Willow and I had plans to go into D.C. to ring in the new year at a killer new club there. She was meeting M.C. Ginger and I was hitting the town, stag. I was kinda bummin' that I wouldn't have anyone to stroke at the kiss of midnight...or whatever...but I wasn't too worked up over it, I had enjoyed a pretty prosperous week already, so no real room for whining and complaining. Plus, I was still officially single...I mean who knew what might happen that night...

Before we left to go out, I got a text from Babyarm, asking me what I was doing. I told him that I was in D.C. with friends and that we were about to hit the town, and that was it - I didn't hear back from him after that, not even when I texted him after midnight to wish him a "Happy New Year!" Oh well, it was fine, because sometime shortly before midnight, I was turning to walk away from the the bar and head back over to the dance floor, fresh cocktail in hand, when at the same moment the man standing next to me, also turned (towards me) to leave and it was one of those, "BOI-OI-OING!" moments, when two people get the exact same intense feeling about each other at precisely the same instant...it was crazy...and I liked it!

The Russian (far as I know the guy wasn't even Russian, but for some reason he just seemed Russian to me cuz his name sounded Slavic and was literally unpronounceable, hence the nickname) had riveting, electric blue eyes, close-shorn salt and pepper grey hair, a tall athletic frame and was - I quickly learned - a dentist from Atlanta...well shoot! No matter, we latched onto each other from that serendipitous second at the bar that our eyes met and locked, right up until we left the club to compete for the taxis that would carry us away from each other, presumably - forever...

Even though we feigned cheerful optimism that this could be the beginning of something cool, we both knew deep down that it was pointless for us to even be talking to each other, even stupider still to be getting all cozy together up in the banquette over where he and his friends had reserved a private corner of the room. It was fun though, to entertain the idea of him flying me down to Atlanta to come visit him sometime and it was REALLY fun to have a handsome someone to kiss at the stroke of midnight. It all felt oddly romantic and genuine per the high probability that we would never actually meet or even speak to each other again. I have my good friend Absolut to thank for my lapse in grasping reality...but so what, right? The whole night was an Absolut blast and I just loved every last minute of the old year and each fresh new minute of this year...

The next day ranked high on the list of worst hangovers ever...I literally could not rally my crippled ass to get up and head back home...til like nearly noon or some shit. I knew I would have to rely on a hardcore junk food fix to even begin to feel better...

No more than twice a year, after getting my serious drunk on, I thumb my nose at my low carb diet and go out and order a triple Whopper with cheese, fries, a real coke and a chocolate milkshake from Burger King...after which - miraculously - I am able to slowly rise from the dead and function a touch. New Year's Day was one of those Burger King kinda days...so much for starting the year off right...ugh...

Once I was back home again, and the medicinal effects of my fast food feast finally kicked in, I recharged my battery in quiet solitude and assessed my current situation.

I accepted that the Russian was a fly-by-night, fleeting fancy...end of story.

I then decided that the Young Hottie was most likely toying with me, perhaps merely basking in the pride-swell brought about by my obvious fascination with him. Or possibly slightly intrigued by the notion of hooking up with a moderately attractive, reasonably intelligent older woman who unapologetically fawned all over him, but clearly not wholeheartedly interested in going through with it...which I decided was probably a blessing in disguise.

And finally my mind drifted back to thoughts of Babyarm. I worried that I might have come across as too blase and had maybe unwittingly run him off. Which would've been too bad really, because for the first time in ages I had actually found a man who not only captured my attention, but wasn't of a totally inappropriate age and maturity level. I tried to find one eensy thing about him that rubbed me the wrong way, and I really just couldn't.

I was relieved and ecstatic when Babyarm called me later that evening and invited me to come hang out with him and his out of town guest! I collected my bedraggled ass, did my best to not look like death warmed over and headed over to his place.

The three of us watched a little TV, then relaxed in the hot tub and after bidding his friend goodnight, Babyarm and I retired to his chambre.

I am a fairly loud person, in general. I laugh (loudly) a lot and talk (loudly) a lot...but in the bedroom, I am uncharacteristically quiet. Not reserved physically by any means, just not a particularly noisy lover. Obviously Babyarm and I wanted to do our best to keep the volume at a low enough level so as not to disturb his friend who was sleeping in the adjacent room and I was a little concerned that this could be a bit of a challenge since he had brought out a surprisingly more vocal side of me when I was with him the time before, but I must say...I could not have predicted how shocked I would be - to hear myself shout out so uncontrollably during our lovemaking. I literally could not suppress the audible outbursts resultant from his powerful manhandling of my body...unfreakingbelievable...wooo!

Babyarm and I joined his friend downstairs in the kitchen in the morning, and after sheepishly apologizing for all the racket during the night, we all sat down together and greeted the new day over another outstanding breakfast...Homemade lemon poppy seed morning cake for the men (my contribution) and for all of us - a delicious egg scramble with cheese, venison/crabmeat sausage, Old Bay and plenty of hot sauce....mmmmmm...After which I nestled briefly into Babyarm's bear-hug embrace, and then went on my merry way back home - belly full, mind abuzz, heart swelling...

Famine...

I am of the mindset that it's banal and bromidic and all that, to make resolutions and set goals at the onset of every new year like people do...each one to hopefully (but not likely) be realized to some degree during or at the very least - by the conclusion of said year. Historically, it's just never been my bag to subscribe to that type of thing - and this new year was really no different. True to form, I did not compile some silly list of empty good intentions, i.e.: "this year I will exercise more regularly" (fuck that) or "I'm def. gonna quit smoking entirely" (anybody got a light?) or "I gotta get a better paying job" (can you say, "not qualified"?) But what DID happen, as this new year approached, was that I found myself sweeping up a small pile of wreckage; the shrapnel from run-ins with guys who I'd met and to whom for varying lengths of time I'd shown some interest, but who also categorically and coincidentally ended up on a list of sorts - right at New Years...my shit list. And it's not like writing off some asshole - in and of itself - is anything so spectacular, I've been methodically adding guys to my ongoing list of "Never Again's" since I first dove into the online dating pool a year and a half ago. The difference was, that unlike all of the times before, THIS time there was not one single solitary soul waiting in the wings to step up to the plate after I had literally wrung out the very last drop. It seemed almost odd good timing though, that I should find myself cleaning house (so to speak) and subsequently left with a completely blank dating slate - at the dawn of this new year...and rather than becoming discouraged by the deficit in dating options, I saw it as positive and productive preparation for ushering in a pristine and polished NEW YEAR...

One thing's for sure - with me and men, it's always either feast or fucking famine and actually both, in their own way along with the holiday mayhem, are responsible for the lengthy lapse of time between my last post and this one (which may wind up to be two, depending on how absurdly long-winded I'm apt to become) For a few weeks it felt like I literally had nothing earthshattering about which to scribble...and then I was blessed with a boon of accelerated activity, which left me thoroughly entertained, but with very little time to devote to doodling about it all. I should mention that the date at the top of each new blog entry is actually the date on which I BEGAN writing that post...not the date on which I completed and uploaded it. And in the case of this newest post, it also happened to be the date on which I stopped writing...after I simply ran out of material. But it's January 2, 2010 today, and I am savoring this first quiet moment in eons, not by packing up all of the Christmas shit or attempting to scale the K2-sized pile of dirty clothes overtaking my laundry room, like I SHOULD be doing...but instead by sitting down to my trusty ole Mac and spewing about all that has happened...

A few weeks ago, after diffusing and deferring the sitcheeashun with M3 and then spending umpteen, endless hours on my computer decompressing, I decided that I was cold and tired and the only way to fix THAT would be to go over to the house and thaw out in a nice, hot tubby. I undressed and stood shivering as I turned on the tap...only to have not one drop of water spill forth from the spigot, for fuck's sake! So now I was naked, SUPER cold, pissed AND worried...because my heat is geothermal, and (dunce that I am) I didn't know at the time that the system operates off of its own self-contained water source...so, in order to avoid what I thought could be catastrophic damage to the system - I got dressed, turned off the heat (essentially eliminating ANY chance of getting warm that night) and went back over to my studio (which runs off of the same well) to see if by some stroke of luck, I still had running water over there. And wouldn'tcha know it...I did not...

It was 11 p.m. or later, so calling the plumber to come determine and fix the problem was out of the question. Instead, I delayed going back over to my soon-to-be frigid-ass house and attempted to pacify myself by sitting baaaack down to my trusty ole Mac, in the hopes of finding someone with whom to chat. I logged onto my all-time favorite dating site and opened an email that had been delivered to my inbox, only a minute or two prior. The message began with, "Is a year too late to respond?" When I saw the profile photo attached to the email, I vaguely remembered contacting the author, many months before. And after going through old mail in my "sent box" I discovered that I had written my original, unacknowledged note to him almost exactly a year earlier. While I was composing my response, the sender - Muck Mouth - chimed in with an IM message. We began talking and he explained that he was in the throes of a nasty divorce and when I asked why in the world he had been on a dating site for all this time if he was married, he said that he and his wife had enjoyed an open marriage which worked out beautifully...until she fell in love with one of her extramarital paramours, although at this point she and that guy were no longer together.

Muck Mouth was now a nearly eligible, separated man, who had shed 30 lbs. since his horrible breakup and was eager to put the past behind him and to try and find his happiness with a new woman...preferably a divorcee who would perhaps identify with the pain and suffering that his ensuing divorce was causing him...O-Kaaaaaay...

We conversed effortlessly online for about an hour and before we signed off, I took him up on his offer to take me to dinner and a movie the very next night. I wasn't particularly stoked about the movie portion of the date though, cuz for one thing - I rarely ever go TO the movies, well...except for the local drive-in during the summertime, but that's different. Strange as it may sound, I don't enjoy going to movie theaters at all. I love to WATCH movies, but I prefer to do it in my jammies in my (normally) warm house with my own refreshments and the luxury of pausing for bathroom breaks and rewinding when I miss something. That's just me...I'm strange that way...But on top of that, I have never thought of the "movie date" as a very effective means by which to get to know a new fella. I mean duh...you can't exactly talk. I was kind of hoping that when Muck Mouth and I met for dinner - we would have such a glorious time shooting the breeze that we would forgo the whole movie thing, and just stay put at the restaurant chatting endlessly over drinks...then dinner...then coffee...a pollyanna in rose colored glasses, you say? pffft...

I arrived at the restaurant a few minutes before Muck Mouth got there, and I spent the idle time letting myself get all excited about meeting him. I reminded myself of his black and white profile pic. which showed him in a relaxed reclined position with a confident, devilish smile that washed over his otherwise moderately handsome face...and in the midst of my daydreaming...the real Muck Mouth entered the lobby...much shorter than my 5' 4" frame (which was admittedly somewhat exaggerated atop my signature 4" heels) Every component of his outfit looked suspiciously too crisp, almost as if he'd purchased it all in a panic just that afternoon for the sake of our date...(like the cell phone he produced at dinner - his first ever at age 36 - presumably so that we might better stay in touch after our date, *gulp*) He donned a "Man-in-Black" style dress shirt which was tucked into belted jeans that actually fit (eep!) and was accented by a necktie of an unfortunate, clashing shade of black...guh...I stopped myself from looking any further down for fear I might catch a glimpse of his shoes...too risky a gamble...

You know - it just so totally sucks ass when, after driving an hour with high(ish) hopes that you might actually like this one, the guy walks in and all you wanna do is be honest and say, "I am already certain that we are not a good match" and head home...But Muck Mouth had not committed any heinous infraction...he had not lied about himself in his profile, he was who he said he was...the problem was, that I just didn't dig the guy that he was, once I saw him in person. So I had to do the polite thing and not let my body language give me away. I lifted my slumping shoulders and I did my best to brighten what had to have been a disappointed look on my face...

We sat down to dinner and the moment that he began to talk, my list of grievances with Muck Mouth mounted...beginning with a mannerism (malfunction?) that I found altogether repulsive. Whenever the guy spoke, he made this weird sticky clicking sound with his mouth, almost like his lips were sorta dry or something and the only trace of moisture was of a glue-like consistency. I figured it was because he was maybe a little nervous - which I could've forgiven, but the trouble was, even after a drink and an hour of conversation, the disgusting problem did not subside in the slightest. EVery...TIME...he...UTTered...a SINGle...SYLLable, his lips stuck together for a halfa second - all gooey and gross and then broke apart, audibly (*gak*) And he way overused the word "essentially" which only emphasized the nasty problem. All I could think was that even if I had've liked him, there would literally have been no way in hell that I ever could've willingly let my own mouth touch that mess...ick...

But here's the thing...shit got worse, cuz not only did he make those disgusting sounds when he talked, but he also talked A LOT! And positively everything out of his mouth dug his grave even deeper...not the least of which was the interminable stream of self-incriminating blabber that he was seemingly incapable of suppressing. As soon as it dawned on him that he was indiscriminately rattling off the unflattering details of his bitter divorce, he paused for a second and apologized for broaching a topic perhaps inappropriate for first date convo...but before we had a chance to change the subject, he was back to his inculpating monologue. He willingly divulged the fact that his ex had put herself up in a women's shelter after fleeing their home with their two children (say wha'?!) and that it had been necessary for him to seek the council of a defense lawyer as opposed to a divorce lawyer (oh really) And curiously, Muck Mouth does not have visitation rights with his children. Matter of fact he told me that once he showed up at their school to try and sneak lunch with them, but the principal insisted that he leave and promptly escorted him out of the building (What could've possibly possessed the man to tell me these things? What an idiot!)...Despite all of the negative spin, he was determined to have me believe that he was this erroneously accused and persecuted father and husband. Naturally though, what I gleaned from all that he was telling me was that he was quite possibly a wife and child abuser, nifty!...I wondered if and when he replayed our conversation in his mind later, would he have any concept of how fucked up everything that he told me sounded...and how much (astonishingly) more unattractive it made him...Don't get me wrong, I did appreciate his honesty and all. Lord knows I would rather find these things out about a guy before bringing him into mine or my children's lives (not that that EVER would have happened in this case)

By the time we settled the bill and left for the movie, I was actually relieved that Muck Mouth and I would be relegated to an environment that was NOT conducive to conversation. We basically did not talk again, except to say goodbye in the parking lot after the movie was over. I sent him a message the next day, to say "Thanks for dinner" and he quickly responded with some annoyingly upbeat and hopeful message which I ignored and I have not spoken to him since, nor do I intend to...

So there ya' have it...casualty #1 on the pre-New Year's pile of rejects...

Next was M3...Ok, so as you know - after sorting out our differences, we'd made tentative plans to meet in a public place and if he turned out to be the guy who I met in the mall, then we were onboard to go back to my place and live out all of his warped fantasies. Although my gut was telling me that I might be putting myself in a potentially dangerous situation, there is definitely this sorta sick side of me that is titillated by the idea of being blindfolded and bound and boinked 9 ways to Sunday, so I was still kind of up for it. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that yeah - I definitely look forward to the day that I can dabble in that arena - but wouldn't it make more sense to experiment with a person with whom I'd already established some trust, like within the confines of a committed relationship? I didn't know dick about M3, I mean it was entirely possible that he really is some sicko who after the deed was done, would dice me up and ditch my bagged-up corpse into a culvert somewhere. But even so, I still felt obliged to move forward with our plan....if for no other reason than that he was my only good prospect for getting laid any time soon and writing about the experience would definitely crank up the heat in my tepid blog...(ima 'tard)

But before I had an opportunity to either fish or cut bait, M3 sealed our fate...He sent me an email in which he angrily announced that he had lost all interest in meeting me...for you see, he had read my blog...the entry about him to be exact...and as he put it, the things that I'd written were pretty shitty...As I scrolled down his note, the words "ohmygodohmygodohmygod!" kept running in a continual loop insida muh head. My insides seared hot with embarrassment and I was totally regretting having capitalized on his candid forthrightness on the pages of my blog for the sake of a little shock value. But the more times that I read over his hostile dismissal of me, the more I became galvanized in my steadfast suspicion that M3 was still just as full of sheize as ever. I became convinced that he was using his chagrin with unearthing the blog as his only viable exit strategy, knowing that we could never actually meet since he was more than likely NOT the guy from the mall. The more I thought about everything, the more my mortification morphed into irritation.

M3 had made it virtually impossible for me to learn much at all about him after he'd blocked me from viewing his profile...I mean after we'd met, all I'd wanted was to just peep at his photos and compare his real face to his pics., but Noooooo! And when I resorted to Google searching the name attached to his personal email account in the hopes of learning something...anything about him, I came up with plenty...but each of the numerous search results first needed to be translated from either Danish or Arabic into English, in order for me to be able to do anything with them...flippin' weird...So then I knew that even the name on his email account was fake. No two ways about it, M3 just oozed bullshit. It further drove me nuts that HE was able to snoop around and find out god knows what about ME, not the least of which was the very thing that derailed us; my damning, dirty blog. And while we're on that subject...M3's message to me was scolding and skewed which was unquestionably irksome, but the thing that bugged me the most was a simple, insignificant technicality. I'm still not sure why it bothered me so much when he inaccurately described my depiction of him and our interactions in the blog as "smarmy"...I mean, "smarmy"? Really? Sure 'bout that? Might wanna look that one up, buddy...I could definitely understand his malcontent with my decision to print his lusty emails, but he only bitched about that for a second, almost as an afterthought. Mostly he incorrectly recollected our correspondence by blatantly misquoting my reply to one of his first emails (must have gotten it confused with a note from one of his other bitches) which really frustrated me because since he'd BLOCKED me on POF (the asshole) I no longer had access to my messages to him, and was left powerless to effectively defend myself. Honestly, the general tone of the blog entry in question was not that far removed from my last phone convo. with M3. I mean if you ask me, it was all old news (with maybe just a pinch of irreverence) Again...I truly believe that he was simply seizing a fortuitous opportunity to legitimately back out. I decided that it wasn't even worth it for me to waste my breath responding to him...never look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say...

M3 was a sketchy piece of shit, no denying it, and after reading his note for the final time I was no longer wincing from acute shame. In a weird kind of way, I was actually relieved to be done with the whole thing before it had even really gotten started. I know I sound like a complete wuss, but the whole time I had definitely been more than a little leery of getting together with the guy, it just seemed like doing so had the all the earmarkings of something seriously regrettable...or possibly worse...

Mmmmhmmm...that's right...#2 (how very fitting) adds himself to the New Year's heap...

Alas, there is still one final fuckwad who found his place appropriately at the very apex of my shit list. I don't intend to waste more energy or time than necessary raking this one over the coals, enough is as good as a feast I dare say...I just need to state the facts simply, maybe ask your opinion and lay to waste once and for all, my fluctuating fixation on the prick. To whom pray tell, could I possibly be referring? Oh, well that would have to be none other than the misogynistic Mystery Man (from the older entries, "Spare the Rod..." and "Heaven has no rage...") a.k.a. "the guy from the past"...the name with which I not so slyly attempted to disguise him in my last post.

As I said in the last post, I was ecstatic to be invited to be suddenly reunited with the Mystery Man and even more delighted that he'd offered to make the drive out to see ME, this time. That being said, I still made light work of keeping my emotions in check. I'd adopted a sensible (though dreadfully unoriginal) mantra that perfectly suited my thing (whatever it was) with the Mystery Man: "it is what it is"...

Ok, so following our little play date, we were heading into the holiday week...Christmas was merely days away. While we were together, the Mystery Man had mentioned something about me or me with my kids, joining him at a party a couple of nights later, which he was attending at his sister's house not too far away from where I live. I was completely into it and hoped that he would follow up and officially invite us...but he didn't and I was surprisingly cool with that.

Next, I got an email from him which he'd also sent to a mutual friend and some girl that I don't know, inviting us all to come to his place Christmas night - for drinks, then dinner out and a night on the town in the big city. I was thrilled! And I told him so...Big mistake? Perhaps...

I got to thinking though, what if the other girl was meant to be the Mystery Man's date, and he was setting me up with the mutual friend? Well now, that might be just a tad awkward...but whatever, I was still excited to get out of town and go hang with good peeps.

I responded without delay and asked if it would be ok if the mutual friend and I (we were to be traveling together) arrived a bit late because of other obligations. He said that would be fine, but looking ahead at the abysmal weather forecast for that night, he predicted that there was a very good chance that none of us would be going anywhere...(the old grump)

K, so Christmas day arrived and I had the most amazing morning with my kids, ever. Their dad came to fetch them and whisk them away for a week long trip to my favorite tropical locale (*sniff*) I packed the things that I needed for my short trip to the city and left to go sup with friends. It was cold and rainy, but the roads were totally fine.

After dinner but before I left my friends' house, I checked in with the mutual friend, to see about making arrangements to meet up. He said that he was enjoying a relaxing, mellow night with family and thought that he might prefer to just stay put. Which was fine. I then texted the Mystery Man to tell him that the mutual friend was bailing, and asked if he was still up for having a visitor to which he replied, "I'm at my sister's. But another time soon, I hope"

Now...correct me if I'm wrong, but..............WHAT THE FUCK?!!!

I refuse to let myself go on some huge tirade about what a dickhead move it is for someone to invite a person (clearly an insignificant peon, no doubt) to drive an hour and a half to come out for a visit and then fucking brainfart on alerting them to the fact that not only did you renege on your invitation altogether, but that you aren't even AT HOME!

And so...after brutally curb stomping asshole # 3 in my vivid imagination and then tossing his limp (pun intended, but that's for another time) carcass onto the pyre...I happily flew solo for a few days before setting the table for......the FEAST...

Looking for an Oasis in the Middle of the Desert

A couple of weeks ago, after a modicum of surreptitious detective work, an old friend of mine tracked me down on OkCupid, my most favorite dating site of the multitude that I frequent. We had not seen nor spoken to each other at all, in nearly 20 years, so it was a really nice surprise to be able to catch up with him after so long and I also liked knowing that I had a new ally...a pal...a buddy! - on that site. The Professor had just recently joined OkC and after skimming over my profile he was not ignorant to the fact that I have become a somewhat seasoned online dater, so he asked me to please check out his profile and share any ideas I might have with which to improve his own page, so I did both. He then poked around some more on MY profile, and before too long he'd unearthed the web address of my dreaded, dirty blog...and - like a good little soldier - he promptly set about getting himself up to speed on my well-chronicled online (and otherwise) dating catastrophes from the last year and a half. After reading just a few entries, he sent a message, complimenting me on what he considered to be "outstanding writing" (why gracias!) and then concluded his note by saying he wished that he knew how much of what I wrote was based on truth and how much of it was merely "inspired"...which got me to thinking...

I guess it had never occurred to me before, that folks could be out there, merrily reading along on my blog site, all the while rolling their eyes thinking, "Oh she is SO full of malarkey, this one!" I mean yes - I do tweak quotes and names (for obvious reasons) and I do sometimes condense the string of events in order to expedite reaching each bitter end before I get like 5000 words deep, for godssakes. But the bulk of each entry is full-on truth. Believe me, I couldn't make this shit up if I had to! Which brings me to another little factoid...I'm beginning to wonder if I even have it in me to write fiction at all. I struggled with this conundrum, last month while working on my NaNo book. I chugged along effortlessly, during the memoir-ish portion of the novel, but the minute I reached the part in the story where I had to rely on creative imagination to guide me the rest of the way (and with only about 7000 words to go) I completely seized up. I definitely hadn't anticipated that happening, either - it totally threw me for a loop! I guess I'd figured that making up the moderately fantastical ending would be just as simple for me as the autobiographical part had been if not more so, but it wasn't - not even close!

The same thing applies when writing my blog. There are times when I literally have nothing noteworthy to report, especially during the extended time periods when my kids being here at home with me, limits my socializing or when I'm simply stricken by a particularly dull, s l o w phase. I'll moan and whine to my friends about how badly I'm jonesin' to write, but extenuating circumstances render me impotent to harvest any new material for my poor, neglected blog. Without fail, my friends will fuss, "Just make something up - for cryin' out loud!" And to that I say - not only would I never dare post glaring untruths for the sake of simply getting my blog up, but even if I wanted to fabricate some fabulously far-fetched fable - I am nearly convinced that I am virtually incapable of fudging the facts. Except for, that is...when my psychotic imagination takes the reins. There IS a difference, you know - between creative imagination and psychotic imagination - especially when it comes to theorizing about the unusual situations in which I find myself with the guys I meet online...Creative imagination needs no explaining, everybody knows what that is...but for me at least, psychotic imagination steps in (whether I want it to or not) whenever I need help solving a mystery or resolving a problem, by conjuring up oftentimes ridiculous explanations which usually either placate me...or totally wig me out. Agreed, I do throw out some pretty bizarre shit from time to time while waxing philosophic on the pages of my Big Ugly Blog, and it may seem like utter balderdash to the naked ear, but if I sincerely believe my wacky suppositions to be true, then it doesn't matter how off-the-wall they sound to everyone else - to me they are fucking creed and ain't nobody gonna change that!...(until I look a total foo' once they're proven otherwise, of course) But here, allow me to attempt to back up this hypothesis with a story about my recent, curious interaction with Mr. Model Man, or M3, as I prefer to call him...

Sometime in early November, I wrote a short note to M3 immediately after happening upon his beautiful face on one of my dating sites. Discovering a handsome, fresh face, among all of the worn-out old familiar ones, seems to me - comparable to finding an oasis in the middle of the desert. Needless to say, I did not hesitate to attempt staking my claim on the "ripe for the picking" - newbie. M3 mentioned on his profile that he is a Scorpio, and since it was November and all, I wrote to him and wished him, "Happy Birthday! It must be sometime soon, right?" He responded with an "LOL" and then asked where I live in relation to where he lives. He then suggested that we get together for coffee, sometime and closed his note out with one of these: " ;-) " which I have since learned is his punctuation mark of choice, throughout and at the end of every email and text...seriously annoying, but whatevs...I told him how far I lived from him and said that coffee sounded great, and asked him to let me know where and when would suit. After which I heard not a peep from him until more than two weeks later.

When he did get back to me, out of the blue he sent his cellular digits and asked me to call him that day, so that we could formulate a plan to get together. I texted (so he'd have MY #) to tell him that I would be working in my studio all day, and invited him to call me whenever he found a free moment...but I never heard word one from him. So, THEN...I dunno...like maybe another week later, he wrote to me asking what my schedule looked like over the next few days and from there we set wheels into motion, and FINALLY decided on a time and a place to meet. I should tell you though, that soon after we'd ironed out our plans, M3 sent me a note in which he wondered, "You do know that I am interested in finding a monogamous, sexually-focussed relationship, right? I just thought that I should be clear about that before we go too much further, I don't want anyone to be disappointed" I was a little confused because, no - he had never specified what kind of relationship it was that he was after and honestly, I wasn't 100% certain what he meant by "monogamous/sexually-focussed". I mean I knew what the words literally meant and all, but what was he saying - that he was basically on a mission to find a faithful fuck buddy, no emotional strings attached? Not wanting to let insignificant minutiae stand in the way of a potentially good time, and - talking outta the side of my mouth, I answered back that it seemed as if we were looking for practically the same thing...(or something)

The last time I partook in "Date Night", was that heinous night when Blue Steel gagged me with his slab-o-bologna tongue and I then topped off our less-than-impressive evening together - by hitting a deer while driving my cute, little car home, grrr...So, not last Tuesday, but the one before that, I got the chance to resurrect and hopefully redeem "Date Night", by driving an hour east of where I live, in order to meet up with M3 for coffee. As I was parking my cute, little car I got a text from him, warning that the Starbucks where we were supposed to meet was closed and that he was waiting for me instead, on the third level out in front of Saks. He also threw in that his hair was shorter now than it was in his pictures online. Ok, no problem...it's coo', esse...I then reminded HIM that my hair was now blond, not knowing if he'd noticed the updated photos that I had recently added to my own profile.

I approached the fawn colored, leather sofa at the entrance of Saks, where I saw a slender, well-dressed man seated and slightly facing the other way. He was sporting tidy, business attire; a dark grey, lightweight woolen suit, and smart, black leather shoes. As he turned towards me, I was struck, not by the fact that M3's hair was much shorter than in his photos as he had warned, but more that it seemed to be so much darker than I'd remembered, and his face seemed a bit different too. At the time I kinda mentally poo-pooed the discrepancies in his appearance, because short hair or dark or whatever - the guy there before me - my date for the night - was perfectly turned out and delectably gorgeous and mama definitely wanted summa dat!

It only took me a few minutes though, to realize that this was not going to wind up to be one of those fun, spontaneous, seat-o-the-pants kinda dates. In fact, it wasn't looking like it was going to be much fun at all. Directly following our "How do you do" hug, we sat down on that jumbo, cold couch and I asked, "So, since Starbucks is closed, whaddya wanna do?" thinking that maybe we would head on over to one of the many restaurants in the mall and grab a drink or two, or even dinner. But he dashed that idea with, "Oh, I told you - I have to meet a client at 9 o'clock, so I was thinking that we'd just sit here and talk until I have to leave" I thought to myself, "Uhhh...pretty positive that you never told me that, but that's fine...we can sit here and just...t a l k..."

Allegedly, ours was M3's very first official online date, and it was clear that he had been instructed by someone, to follow to the letter - the unwritten guidelines of appropriate first date protocol;

1.) meet in a public place

2.) avoid consuming alcohol

3.) hang out for one hour only

( B O R I N G ! )

The whole thing was very sorta stiff and formal and polite and to put it bluntly, M3 really just didn't seem all that into me. I have to say, when he stood up to leave, at exactly the one hour mark, I felt like I had just endured a probing and somewhat clinical interview...for what, though? The position of his concubine? And even so, it appeared that my performance (in his eyes) was definitely not the equivalent of a slam dunk.

We hugged once more, then turning to leave, I sifted through the contents of my bag for my single car key and came up empty-handed. Seemed I must have absentmindedly left it in the ignition of my cute, little car! I do that all the time, back in my safe, quiet little town - it's become kind of a (bad) habit. But M3 and I nervously joked that especially since I'd parked it in a bustling parking lot in a big city, directly underneath one of those glaring pole lights, there was the very distinct possibility that my car might not be there when I returned to where I'd parked it...hahaha??

Fortunately, my car WAS still there and the key WAS in the ignition as suspected, and so I texted M3 to let him know that everything was cool. Not that I thought he would be driving to his very important meeting in a state of panic - worrying about me or anything lke that, but this did give me an opportunity to also offer up the obligatory, "It was so nice to meet you" bullshit. He promptly sent a few back to back texts in which he said collectively, Yes - it had indeed been nice meeting, he apologized for having to cut our visit so short, asked if I would share my regular email addy with him, and closed by saying that he'd enjoyed talking to me and looked forward to doing more than just continuing our conversation, the next time that we got together ;-)...And so began M3's gradual shift from proper business man to over-the-top sexual dictator...

For the entire hour drive back home, I analyzed the date with M3. I was itching to get back to my computer, in order to compare his photos to the way he looked in real life. I was also kind of confused by the bubbly effervescence that spewed from his enthusiastic texts, but which contradicted his dry, staid disposition in person. Stuff just wasn't adding up...the whole thing felt kinda weird to me.

When I did finally get face to face with my trusty ole Mac, I opened my inbox on the site where I'd met M3 and it was the strangest damn thing...all of the messages that he had ever sent to me were no longer there. So I went to the "sent" messages...and all of the messages that I had ever sent to HIM were now suddenly missing, as well. Now THAT really was odd! I've never known messages to disappear, unless I deleted them or the admin. on the website removed them after they'd reached their life expectancy. Additionally, when I searched his username, he was nowhere to be found. The only explanation I could come up with, was that M3 had BLOCKED me from contacting him and viewing his profile. If he had closed his account, our exchanged messages would've still been intact, there would simply be a blank spot where his profile name used to be - that happens all the time. And when searched, his profile name would've appeared and I would've seen, "So and So closed their account on such and such date"...So why in the hell would he block me? Was he already home from his meeting and so disgusted with me after our date that he wanted literally NOTHING to do with me ever again, and vice versa?! Or...did he simply not want me to be able to compare the face that I'd seen on our date with the one that appeared on his profile...hmmmm...diabolical...

By the next day I had really kind of written the whole thing off, I mean seriously...M3 was way too good looking for me and honestly - totally out of my league. I "got" why he wanted nothing to do with me, and it was no big deal. But I did find it sorta rude, the way that he'd gone about giving me the axe, sheesh!

Anyway, later that same day, while I was busily plugging away at my job, I was surprised to receive a text from M3 which read simply, "You've got mail ;-)" I assumed this meant that he'd reconsidered and presumably sent something to my regular email account since we were apparently no longer communicating on the dating site. (What in the world was going on? He was acting like everything was just hunky dory!) I told him that I was at work, but that I looked forward to reading what he'd sent, when I got home later that evening....and I finished out my day at work with a giant question mark hovering over top of my head...

The email that I opened that night, was the first in a string of increasingly more and more racy emails that flowed forth over the next few days. And they really did not seem to jibe with the demeanor of the man who I'd met out in front of Saks. (Enter my psychotic imagination...) I was beginning to seriously wonder if the man that I met had been some sort of a decoy for a more shady character skulking around online, looking to prey on a stupid, single, desperate divorcee. But since I am not a shy person and always one to up the ante a bit (so often for the sake of my blog) I egged him on (whoever he was) by answering each email, candidly.

Here's what happened when he asked me this series of questions:

(oh, and btw - a T.M.I. Warning is in effect! If you're at all squeamish, you might consider skipping this next section...)

1) What is your favorite position? - I am always willing (and happy!) to try most anything. But the amateur contortionist in me particularly likes it when I'm squished all up into a little ball…knees up beside my ears…you get the picture...Sure - I like it from behind, no doubt! But it doesn’t usually “get me there” unless I prop myself up underneath, with a pillow...if I do that, well then - I'm golden!

2) Do you prefer to be more submissive or more dominant? - Although I am not this way so much in daily life - I definitely gravitate more towards the submissive role with a lover...suffice it to say - I like to be told what to do...

3) Do you enjoy oral sex? - Hells yeah!...I’m more of a “giver”, though. I’ve never really warmed up to “receiving”...not totally sure why. I think that I always feel selfish or guilty or something.

4) When a man cums in your mouth, do you spit or swallow? ;-) let’s just say that I don't remember ever spitting…

5) Have you ever had a relationship based on sex? No...not really...I've had extremely passionate relationships, where sex was a huge push, but most of my relationships have encompassed far more than just "sex"

6) What would you like to do the next time we meet—any particular fantasies? - I've never gone on a second date with anyone, expecting to live out any specific sexual fantasies...necessarily. But I've already told you that I am submissive...so I guess, assuming we do in fact click in a more intimate setting - I would have to just do what I was told...(or...give you a blow job in the shower, ha!)

(Hey! Don't give me that look...you were given fair warning...)

Next, he sent me a detailed note depicting the way that HE wanted things to go, the next time that we got together...and here is where I really started to wonder if I was getting myself in just a leetle over my head...

Ok. This is how I picture the next time I see you. Let me know what you think...

You will prepare for my arrival. You will dress in a skirt (above the knee), white button up blouse, and no bra. You will wear black lace panties, until instructed to remove them. Your hair will be worn down. Your bedroom will be tidy, with candles burning and the blinds closed. The bedcovers will be pulled down. Two scarves will be placed on the bed; just so you know, one will be used as a blindfold, and one may be used to bind your hands…

I will call you as I get near to your house. You will open a bottle of wine, pour two glasses, and drink half of yours--to allow you to relax. As you begin to think about what we are going to do, you may begin to pleasure yourself…

When I park out front, I will call you again. You are to do the following: unlock the front door, go to your bedroom, put on the blindfold, and kneel at the foot of your bed. You will hear me enter your place. You will hear me enter your bedroom, and taste the wine you have poured. You will hear me walk over to stand in front of you, and you will feel me gazing at you hungrily. You will hear the distinct sound of my zipper slowly opening, and you will open your mouth…

Uh oh...that not sound so good...

I was almost a smartass when I responded to this last note. He just came across as SO imperious and I couldn't resist tempering his bossiness with a touch of my own assertiveness (so much for being submissive, eh?) I corrected him on many of his demands, such as: "I almost never wear my hair down anymore, my room is ALWAYS tidy, I don't own that type of clothing, I do not drink wine recreationally - it'll be vodka for me thank you very much, and if I DO wear the blindfold, I WILL have to peek out from under it to make sure that you're the same guy from the mall and not accompanied by five of your friends looking to get in on the action" I mentioned that I have 2 dogs who are somewhat protective and the chances of him actually entering my house and my bedroom, unescorted and unscathed, were slim to none. As I hit the send button, I knew there was no way in HELL that I could ever go through with something like this. No freaking way! The fact that he wanted to spend our next visit together at my house, led me to further worry about the possibility that he might not be the person that I met at the mall, and I must admit...I was beginning to retreat...

Simultaneous to setting a date for all of M3's kinky fantasies to go down (this past Sunday, to be exact) a certain someone from my not so distant past (who will remain anonymous for the time being) popped back into the picture after months of understandable silence. I almost felt like the fact that he was contacting me, must surely mean that I was being punked or something. I just couldn't comprehend why he would ever want to talk to me again, after I had so viciously, verbally castigated him here in the Big Ugly. But the weirder part was, that I was really happy to have heard from him, and even more delighted when he asked if I was available to do something over the weekend...I would have willingly put him in M3's slot on Sunday, but the guy from the past wanted to do something on Saturday, so I would not be able to use him as my excuse for getting out of the planned sex-fest with M3.

I was super stoked to have something much more savory (in comparison to the thing with M3) to wrap my brain around though, and the idea of reuniting with the guy from the past made it easier for me to disconnect from M3, who sent repeated, nagging texts telling me that he needed to know what I would be wearing, that he NEEDED that visual...and spooky shit like that. I would wait hours and hours before responding when I did at all, he was creeping me out pretty hard and I was totally backpedalling. I did finally ask him if he had blocked me from viewing his profile to which he replied, "I deactivated my account after we met ;-)" (Suuuure ya' did and what does "deactivate" mean, anyway...there's no "deactivate" button on Plentyoffish) Finally as we were nearing crunch time, and I was becoming even more remiss in responding, he said, "I guess I should assume from your lack of response, that you've lost interest and I should reactivate my profile" I said, "I wish you WOULD reactivate your account, I've been wanting to look at your pictures" He then said that if I wanted to see pictures of him so badly, that he would just email some to me, but he never did.

I was thrilled to be distracted from the M3 debacle, for the endurance of the guy from the past's visit. I was finally able to let my psychotic imagination take a break from filling my head with thoughts of being some fledgling serial killer's maiden victim. Quite frankly, I really didn't care if M3 eventually got so pissed off by my inattentiveness, that he just went away. Plus I was looking forward to having another, maybe better chance, of getting cozy with the guy from the past...

I had a very nice time with the guy from the past. It's always nice to visit with him...he's intelligent, fun, attractive...all of that, but he is definitely not into me beyond just a quick little overnight here and there. And this time, since I acknowledged that, I did not get my nose all outta joint over it. I just accepted that it is what it is, and realized that that was perfectly fine with me. So there...

Once the guy from the past had left my house late Sunday morning, the M3 dilemma was in my face yet again, after having checked my phone and finding a half a dozen unread texts from him, from that morning alone. Each one some variation of, "Looks like you're not interested...good luck to you...blah, blah, blah" I decided to call him on what my psychotic imagination had me totally convinced was his utter horse shit...

We texted back and forth and I immediately addressed my discomfort with the idea of him showing up at my place. I insisted that before we get carried away with living out all that he had in mind for us, we needed to first meet in a public place so that I could be certain that he was the guy that I'd met at the mall and that he was not traveling with an entourage. He took offense to my audacity to dare suggest that he might be as underhanded and deceitful as all that. But I unwaveringly insisted that if he was such an upstanding guy, as he claimed, then he should have no problem respecting and honoring my desire to play it safe. He said that attacking his character like that was hurtful. (Awww...poor baby!) And that meeting ahead of time sorta ruined the thrill factor (pshaw!) Anyway, this banter went on for awhile until I finally got fed up with texting the same exact thing over and over again. I said that we were getting nowhere with the texting and if he wanted, he should just call me. My phone rang a few minutes later and although I did not remember his voice in person sounding the way that it did on the phone, he did have a slight Michigan accent. I mean, I knew that M3 was from Michigan and all, but I did not remember him sounding quite like that.

By late Sunday afternoon (too late to still get together that day, phew!) we finally reached a middle ground of sorts, and after he accepted my concerns about my safety and I assured him that I was not questioning his character, we agreed that meeting at a coffee shop or restaurant up the road from my house first (when and if we do finally meet) would be fine. He asked when I would be free again, I told him NEXT Sunday, he said that would work for him and we left it at that.

Now, even though my sensible head tells me that I might genuinely have it all wrong...that M3 could actually be the handsome man from the mall, his intentions kinky but not sinister...my psychotic imagination STILL has me mostly convinced, that the guy behind the texts and the emails and on the phone, is NOT the guy who met me out in front of Saks...and if I'm correct, 50 bucks says that I never hear from him again. And if THAT turns out to be the case, then it really frightens me to think what might've happened if I'd just let him show up at my house, like he so adamantly insisted upon doing at first. It is psychotic imagination-driven speculation that M3 could be grossly overweight, or hideously ugly or too old or too young for me, or even physically perfect, but either way - clearly lacking the skills necessary to win the affections of a girl on his own merits...Or even worse still - what if he IS some sort of psychopath, looking to do horrible things to a disposable, dumb girl like me...I KNOW! It sounds CRAZY! But this is what I've been trying to tell you guys...even if the idea that I get in my head sounds utterly preposterous and IS completely "made-up" (FICTION!) I write about it because to me it's truth until I get some sort of proof that either debunks or quantifies it. I'm a whackjob...what can I say...

And so here's me...still nomadically roaming that vast online dating desert...and yeah, I've been lured towards some mighty tantalizing oases, to be sure! But each time that I reach what I'm hoping will be the edge of a clear, blue pool - I inevitably discover that it's nothing more than a stupid, freaking mirage...differentiating fact from fiction is clearly not my strong suit...

(Oh shit...looks like I owe you guys $50, too...I just got a text from M3..."Good Morning! ;-)"...I guess we're still on for this Sunday...wish me luck...burn a candle...say a prayer?)