Three Simple Words: "Four"..."Date"..."Limit"

A few months ago, a Facebook friend posted this as his status update:

"I believe that it is possible to find a soul mate with whom a mutual connection completes body, mind and soul...without any trace of codependent low self-esteem"................

...............All right, so tell me if you would please...how reading this horse shit makes you feel. Chances are, if you are in an established relationship, you might concur, with varying degrees of accord - depending on how fresh or stale your own current state of affairs. But I wonder if you single folks out there can relate at all, to how reading this comment sent me fairly well through the roof!

My knee-jerk reaction was to take it out on my poor, innocent computer screen by wagging my finger frantically and shouting through it at the perpetrator, "OH!...how DARE you! You...you...you SELF-RIGHTEOUS PRICK!" Now this might sound a touch extreme, per the man's assumed intended goodwill...but allow me to explain why it registered in the retinas of this perennially single gal, as egregiously patronizing...and yes, I can admit that it did have something to do with the fact that after aaaaallllll this time searching for my forever lover, I can never seem to find my happiness with any one man beyond that brief, initial period of phony amorous bliss.

But my irritation with the FB friend's post, stemmed mostly from my knowledge that, after a long time searching in his own right for a mate, he had written this vainglorious drivel only after having made it nauseatingly clear via Facebook - that he had finally found his true love...

Naturally, it's a very easy thing to shout from your soap box that "Soul mates DO exist!"...when you're actually IN a committed relationship, duh! So, to hear him make such a declaration, while knowing that he was newly - IN LOVE - was nothing short of infuriating! But I wonder if this cat who ate the canary would’ve so easily barfed this blasphemy on all of us single slobs, if he himself was still milling aimlessly about, with the rest of us who endlessly traverse the barren dating wasteland...somehow, me thinks not. And I seriously doubt that this braggart will be sitting atop his high horse, preaching the same rhetoric, after the sickeningly sweet situation with his new honey - sours...or at the very least, becomes bland - as inevitably - it will...

I have let what the FB friend said, bother me ever since I first read it on my news feed and I have copied and pasted the quote into every subsequent blog entry since then, itching to find the perfect way to highlight it in whatever post I was working on at the time. But it wasn't until I started getting my thoughts sorted out for this entry, that I finally found it to be a good fit...

I can admit that my initial and lingering hostility was driven to a degree, by a modest dose of jealousy combined with an unhealthy helping of bitter resentment. It perturbed me that this person who had found his alleged unyielding happiness with another, would so blatantly ram his own good fortune down the throats of me and all of his other solo FB friends…I actually took it somewhat personally...like literally. But lemme also say this - Facebook does mess with my mind on occasion. There are times when I convince myself that (certain specific) Facebook friends, in response to my oftentimes racy pics. and questionable wall posts, use FB to air their grievances with my behavior, by posting timely, cryptic but relevant comments on their own walls, instead of manning up and sticking 'em on mine...I know, it makes me sound totally paranoid and narcissistic...and even a little mental...but that's just the way that I is...In the case of the above mentioned FB friend's post (who presumably is privy to my dating strife, since I promote the Big Ugly relentlessly on FB) in hindsight, I feel that perhaps he could have possibly written the "soul mate" bit as words of encouragement, or hope or comfort...but at the time, that is definitely not how I interpreted it.

Anyway...enough of all this for a moment…Let's move on, shall we?

So, at the tail-end of my last post, I confessed to having shrugged off any remote semblance of common sense, by making arrangements to meet up with that cute 25 year (oh so very) young man from CougarLife...the beautiful brown-eyed baby boy (who for obvious reasons, I'll simply dub..."B") B had so graciously offered to make the 2 and 1/2 hour drive from his house up to where I live, on a Friday afternoon - mere days after we'd first introduced ourselves to each other online. I was well aware of the implications concurrent with inviting a guy who lived that far away, to drive such a great distance and arrive at my house in the late afternoon for our first date. It was never discussed, but understood (by me at least) that he would more than likely be staying the night (whether I wound up wanting him to or not) simply because it would be inconvenient and somewhat rude of me (I thought) to make him turn right around and drive back home again, should things not work out. I was hopeful that B and I would click...nevertheless, I prepared accordingly by dressing the guest bed with clean linens...just in case...

The morning of the big Friday afternoon date, I dropped the kids off at school, and returned home to distract myself from an otherwise guaranteed case of the jitters by cleaning my filthy-ass house. I worked diligently until about an hour before B was to make his arrival...and even though the house wasn't quite to the level of immaculate for which I'd planned...it would simply have to do because I still needed to get myself cleaned up and presentable.

About 30 minutes before his e.t.a., I received a text from B which alerted me to his close proximity to my humble abode...and at that point, my nerves did finally kick in...I have to say, there is something so exhilarating about that adrenalized anxiety that precedes certain first dates, partly I think - because it reminds me that I have not become so disillusioned with all of this nonsense, to be completely incapable of experiencing the sensation of, well...feeling. Anyway, so while I was making some last minute adjustments to the house and my appearance, Willow called to see what I had lined up for the weekend. I gave her the skinny on my plans for the afternoon, and while we were talking I saw a slow moving vehicle turn onto my road and towards my driveway...I frantically shouted at Willow, "Uh, uh...I gotta go! He's pulling up to the house right now! I'll call you tomorrow and let you know how things went"

I met B out at his truck and hugged him hello. He was really very cute, with a trim athletic build and a sweet face. My dogs decided that he was someone who could be trusted and because of that, I did too. I invited him to come into the house, but before following me indoors, he reached into the back seat of his truck and pulled out an overnight bag. Yep, looked like he'd planned for that undiscussed overnight, as well.

B and I made ourselves comfortable at the counter in my kitchen, and set about chewing the fat, without benefit of the prerequisite cocktail (I broke tradition and followed his lead to abstain, after he confessed that he was taking a break from drinking for a spell). Once, when something I said or did made him smile, I saw a slight tremor in his cheek near the corner of his mouth, which gave me a hint that he was maybe just a teensy bit nervous, as well. And for some reason, realizing this - totally diffused my own agitation...I'm guessing it was a shift in power kinda thing or something - who knows, the important thing was, that suddenly I was more at ease with the situation, and I now sorta felt like the one in charge. But not for long, because after about 30 short minutes of introductory chit chat, B stood up from his stool and motioned for me to do the same. He reached for my hand and pulled me towards him...and then he kissed me. I found this to be a very confident maneuver, and yet his underlying apprehension was still palpable. We stood there in my kitchen and made out for a few minutes and then just like that, he asked if I thought we should go upstairs...rut roh...

I begrudgingly led him up the stairs and to my boudoir, the whole time whining and moaning about what a bad idea it was to be doing this so soon...so fast. But B assured me that it was fine (well, of COURSE he did!) and as we negotiated this sudden turn of events I realized something, and that was - that I actually really wanted to do it. It wasn't like with Hair Gel, where I'd felt this sort of guilty sense of duty to have do it. Plus, I was aware of the fact that even if I talked my way out of it in the short term, there would be no getting out of it entirely. Let's face it, the guy was there at my house, 2 1/2 hours away from where he lives, with his duffel strategically set on the kitchen floor...there to remind me that he wasn't goin’ anywhere...anytime soon. So it was pretty much inevitable that we would eventually screw, and since I was attracted to him, I figured..."Eh...no time like the present"...(right?)

I mean c'mon people...tha hell is wrong with me?! Sure, we all know that I'm guilty of having more than my fair share of sex on the first (oftentimes "only") date...but sex within the first 30 minutes? Now this was something completely unprecedented...undeniably a landmark achievement...and definitely NOT one about which to gloat...

Anyway, once B and I gilded the lily post impromptu romp, by luxuriating together in a nice, hot shower for a spell...we realized that we were dying of thirst AND hunger. We assessed the current state of my bedroom as we got dressed, and although we were already well aware that we'd demolished my bed (this? again? really?) we now realized that it had also been scooted many feet away from its usual position against the wall and had come to rest in the middle of the room. It was kind of funny to both of us, that we hadn’t noticed til then.

We jury-rigged the bed so that we could sleep or do whatever in it, later on, and then descended the stairs back down to the kitchen to grab a bite and a non-alcoholic beverage (couldn't believe that I wasn't jonesin' harder for a cocktail) The clock, told us that it was 8:30 p.m....more than four hours had passed - from afternoon, through evening and into nighttime - since he'd followed me up to my cougar den that first time...neither one of us could believe how much time we'd spent, fucking around in there.

We also marveled over the realization, that we did not have alcohol to blame for our hasty hook-up, it was a conscious mutual decision. But besides that...we noticed that we were both now quite comfortable with each other, with nary a hint of nervousness to speak of. It seemed almost a good thing that we'd gone ahead and gotten the fucking out of the way early on.

Almost immediately following B's departure, early the next morning, I found myself yearning to see and be with him again...and the good news was that he expressed the identical urgency.

So......I drove down to B's place a couple of days later, after work, and stayed through the next day and night, then got up super early the following morning, in order to be to work (sort of) on time. My brief stay with B had been just as nice as I had expected, startlingly romantic, if you will. And I left feeling energized about the prospect of carrying on a meaningful relationship with the little guy. He made me feel appreciated and wanted, and surprisingly - all of his genuine enthusiasm and the sincere intent to try and make something happen between us, did not make me wanna flee...just yet...

Being that I'm getting older, faster then ever these days - I try to resist the natural inclination to sometimes try and hurry through any one day or days even - in order to get on to a more appealing one. But since B's and my crazy schedules dictated that the soonest that we would be able to get together again, wasn't until 10 days later, (which seemed too brutally loooong) I found myself kind of wishing away the days in between, in an attempt to fast-forward to our next conjugal visit. I did take it as a good sign however, that I was missing him so much, especially factoring in his unwavering dedication to keep my enthusiasm from waning by sending sweet texts and messages and calling me for long-distance pillow-talk, late at night. Sometimes that type of sweetness can come across to me as saccharine, and has a tendency to really turn me off. But I lapped up his heartfelt correspondences and enjoyed reciprocating, and in the process, I found myself looking ahead longingly to our possible future together. I hid a couple of my dating profiles and replaced the slutty pics. with more respectable (boring) photos on the sites that I did keep active, and basically desisted communicating with other previous romantic hopefuls.

Now here's where things got predictably sticky...

Much as I enjoyed my next, long weekend with B, I returned home a little bit earlier than we'd planned and was nowhere near ready to make our deal Facebook official (as he had indicated that he was) Instead...I hate to say it, but I'd mentally scooted much further away from all that. You see, there was this thing that occurred while we were doing the dirty right after I arrived at his house, and I have no idea where it came from, or why...but it was definitely a fly in the ointment...

Right in the middle of having (good) sex, something happened. I had no control over it, suddenly it was just there. It was like this little birdy flew in through the window, lit on the sill and peeped, "This is not the person who will rescue you from yourself" and I was like, "Now wait just a minute...where the hell did you come from...and who asked you, anyway?!" But the little birdy had branded his observation on my brain...and as the weekend moved forth, I began to backpedal.

Here's what I think...I think that I've gotta find some way to curb my early onset enthusiasm...to put a metaphorical governor on it or something...and here's why...As much fun as it is to get all excited about a new person and the prospect of finding a potentially fulfilling romance, the chances of me actually hanging up my dating hat and slipping into a comfortable relationship, are not real promising at this point in time...and this is not something that I'm proud to admit. I love the thrill of the newness of courtship, but as soon as I feel like I may be about to sacrifice my independence and my freedom (which I have grown to cherish so) I freak. And complicating all of this, is the fact that it's become way too easy for me to go from gung ho to ho hum in a jiff. Even more disconcerting, is my cold-blooded ability to totally ignore the likelihood that the person from whom I'm preparing to run, may end up hurt by my abrupt departure...Friends tell me that I simply have not met the right person yet...I have yet to meet that remarkable man who will quell my ravenous appetite to hop from guy to guy and inspire me to stick with just him, whereby, encouraging me to retire my Big Ugly persona...for good.

It's like this, I am not entirely opposed to the idea of having a bf. There is almost nothing in the world that I love as much as being in love...but I can't force it, even if the guy is sweet, and considerate, and good in bed and attractive...the instant that even a minor tremor of doubt taints (haha...funny word) my enthusiasm...it's almost certainly doomed...especially when it happens within the first few weeks. And so...the dreaded four date curse rears its ugly head...once more...

I noticed as I drove away from B's house and towards my own, that I began feeling a trifle downhearted, which was kinda confounding. I wondered, "Why am I so blue?" Was I possibly (hopefully?) missing B or something? Huh...maybe. But that would have been totally inconsistent with how that little birdy'd made me feel. Perhaps after such a whirlwind weekend, the idea of being all alone in my empty house was woefully anticlimactic. But I'd chosen to leave B's house early, so that I might have a minute of solitude before another workweek was upon me. And then it struck me...my melancholy might in all actuality, be the byproduct of shrouded regret, for having unintentionally misled B into believing that we were an item...

As soon as I was home again, I doled out lotsa good lovin' on my lonely pups and then scampered out to my studio...to dust off my neglected dating sites, and get back to my old tricks...

I always tell people, when talking about the blog and the guys that I meet, that I try to protect the "good ones"…and I will adhere to that credo in regards to B. I have nothing cross to say about him. I did have a wee tiny complex over the fact that my arms are bigger than his…but it wasn’t a deal-breaker by any means. He is a remarkable, hard-working, determined young man and he will be fine. He’s just not the guy meant to take me away from all of this stuff that I have grown to love…my freedom, my independence and researching and writing my blog…

I was almost too chicken shit to come clean with B about my change of heart. But I needed to get this new blog entry posted and if I would've slithered away without approaching B (who does read the blog) about the matter beforehand, this would've marked the first time that I've ended something with an online guy, via the blog…again, nothing about which to be very proud…So, I did the slightly less wimpy thing by sucking it up and sending him a "Dear John" email...There, now I was all set to get this derned thing posted...worry-free...

I've gone over this before, I know...but it's pertinent to the story...so it bears repeating. Too often, I treat people in general as if they are expendable. By and large, it is frighteningly easy for me to sever ties...this goes for men that I meet and/or date, my family with whom I have virtually no contact anymore (save my four dear children) and even close friends. I've seen some previously tight friendships wind up in the shitter and that is largely due to my policy of refusing to let folks who are supposed to be my allies, mistreat, betray and exploit me. But where I should feel some sort of residual effect, either remorse, or sorrow or a void where their once valuable friendship used to be, I instead find relief and solace. At the rate that I'm going, I'm apt to wind up totally friendless, the thought of which - curiously - causes very little distress. The only positive constant for me in regards to relationships, is my unconditional devotion to my kids, lord knows I couldn't fathom their absence from my life...I've always said that I wanted to live on an island someday...maybe I'll just end up becoming one, instead...

My rancorous sentiment towards the aforementioned FB friend's post remained resolute, until upon further consideration, I had a change of heart.

After aligning my own experiences to the FB friend's philosophy, I realized that I should not actually let myself be threatened by what he'd said. Although it admittedly touched a nerve at first, I no longer gave credence to any of that garbage that he espoused. The best way that I can think to illustrate my enlightened take on his nonsense is this: In general, I do not let things in which I do not believe, bother me. For example: all of that business about Heaven and Hell is utter poppycock to me. Ending up in either place has never frightened nor intrigued me, simply by virtue the fact that I don't believe that either place even exists. Similarly, after spending my entire adult life either single, manically searching for love, or in relationships that neglected to garner a "soul mate", I have come to the conclusion that the chances of actually finding a captivating, lifelong love - are slim to none. And since this is my newly adopted conviction, I am no longer worrying ceaselessly about ever finding mine...because I don't necessarily think that anything so perfect is waiting in the wings for me or anyone else, for that matter...

And so, "I believe that it is possible to find a soul mate with whom a mutual connection completes body, mind and soul...without any trace of codependent low self-esteem" doesn't rub me the wrong way, anymore. I see it as a trite series of words, which I now view to be a meager attempt by its delusional author to convince himself that the thing that he has found, is actually golden...the poor misguided soul…

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...