The Big Ugly Blog is an honest and uncensored collection of anecdotes recounting the madcap shenanigans of a perpetually 39 year old divorcee, as she wades through the mire of the murky online dating pool - ravenously searching (evidently in vain) for the man of her dreams...Keep On Dreaming, Baby!


Thursday, January 15, 2009

Riding That Wave of Hope

There was a conspicuous ebb in the recent flow of dating activity, following that horrific date with Speedo - you remember - the guy who ate my entire face and slathered it with a nasty shmear of sticky slobber, which then dried on my skin like glue. Uck! Having no new leads upon which to act felt woefully anticlimactic post disaster date but it was somewhat opportune, since I was to have my kids over the weekend. I willingly took advantage of the mandatory downtime by decompressing a bit with my chilluns and friends and keeping my online antics to a minimum.

Over the quiet weekend and as could have been predicted, I initiated what I knew all along would be the inevitable process of allowing Mr. Cynical, my fuck buddy of no more than two measly weeks, to gradually fade into obscurity. The few times we chatted I was never rude, I mean I always replied to his IM messages and all, but I never offered more than succinct, polite, reserved responses to his futile attempts at reviving our short-lived intoxication with one another. I did get a chuckle when he apologized for "being so aloof. This casual dating stuff" was pretty tough for him. Interesting...It almost sounded like he was trying to gently give me the brush off when I had been the one to consistently deny him access into my world, the last several times he had tried to wriggle his way in. Whatever, if that made him feel like the big man for being the one to end it, so be it. I had no problem shelving my ego for the sake of ceasing to force that square peg into the round hole anymore.

I reckon the most interesting little news flash since Speedo was that Cheetah and I finally talked on the phone, last Tuesday night and took the big plunge when we planned a playdate for this Monday. We kept in loose contact during the week and over the weekend, never actually talking after our initial phone conversation, just texting and leaving each other voice mail, but by Sunday night, it looked like we had finally ironed out the details (squeal!) which included moving our date to Tuesday morning (grunt...) barring any unforeseen catastrophes. Remarkably though, I was actually excited about going on this date - after all, I have been growing quite the crush on Mr. Reserved Communicator since first eyeballin' him, in late August. And on Monday, I was soooo wishing that we'd been able to meet then instead, eager beaver that I am! But he had decided that some mysterious appointment should take precedence over meeting me...ME! Phooey! (Another date, I wondered? Perhaps...) Ok, so on Monday, somewhat fretful over Cheetah's sudden, unexpected tweaking of our plans, I distracted myself with my usual drill...I sat down to my trusty ole Mac and alternated making a half-assed attempt at writing this blog entry with hopping around between dating sites and my favorite networking site where I saw an image posted by Al, an old acquaintance who had just "friended" me the week before. He had put up a photo of his "Golden Ticket" which was to be his admission to the Presidential Inauguration, the very next day. He was understandably quite proud of this prize and in the caption under the photo, he announced that it was actually one of two tickets so graciously bestowed upon him by a pal. I sat there wondering if I knew the lucky sod who would accompany him to witness Obama's induction into office...Next, I nosily read a message he had sent to someone on that same site in which he made mention that he was hangin' at his home in D.C. with Paul, another old, even better friend of mine from the crazy '80's back home in Richmond. I probably hadn't actually seen or spoken to either of these guys in nearly 20 years. (Just think, the last time I hung out with either one of them, I was tattooed and pierced probably bombed out of my mind chain-smoking Marlboro reds at some rock and roll show, ultimately stumbling back to my place and hooking up with some scumbag loser for one night only. Meanwhile - my little friend Propel Bottle was suckling on his mama's breast and pooping in his dipees, unable to discern images at a distance further away from his face than the current length of his enormous cock...Kinda puts the whole age gap thing into a different - sorta sick - perspective.) Sorry, I digress...I felt I had to offer my two-cents worth to Al's running dialog, so I said, "Oh ok, now I know who got the other ticket..." which in turn kicked off a rousing IM session between me and Al who also relayed comments from Paul (in the peanut gallery) including an off-the-cuff remark about how Paul had always been sweet on me...So dontcha know I wasted no time in getting reacquainted (via text/pic. text - nothing but savory pics, I assure you) with Paul - this wonderfully colorful man from my dubious past. We even went so far as to tentatively plan to get together sometime over the next weekend. I should tell you that Paul is something of a Richmond icon, a musical legend, a pioneer and a fixture there and around the world really, he's kind of a big deal...And curiously, my enthusiasm for reconnecting with Paul nearly overshadowed my previous excitement about my date with Cheetah, I had almost lost interest in meeting him, altogether. It seemed I was aligning having fortuitously stumbled upon Paul, after all these years, with an Obama-induced, omnipresent feeling of hope. Toning down my overzealousness for Cheetah was probably a good thing though, seeing as how he and I had never talked, texted or e-mailed at all, that day, the very day before we were to finally meet. I had this sneaking suspicion that when I went to text him Tuesday morning, on my way out the door to ask if we were still on, he was gonna say something like, "Well, I never heard from you, so I thought you had changed your mind..."

When I woke up on Tuesday morning, I got myself in date mode and focussed on Cheetah while trying to put Paul out of my mind for a minute. I did in fact text Cheetah on my way to the bank before aiming my big boat towards our destination, a charming, little town 30 minutes away. I asked, "So, are we still on for 9:30 this morning?" After making me squirm through a tedious 5 minute lapse in response time (which felt more like a half an hour) he finally replied, "Nope...Just Kidding! See you there!" Woah, that was a close one! For a split second I thought I was gonna have to get medieval on somebody ass...But we were still cool. 

I got to the coffee shop at 9:30 on the dot and Cheetah was waiting for me inside. He was attractive enough, a little short, but not prohibitively so. He had really pretty, big blue eyes and a full head of closely cropped hair which I did like. Nose? Ok...Hands? Very good. He was casually but well-dressed. I busted on him for not wearing socks, it was like 9 degrees outside, the foo'! He likes the right kind of music, (mostly) and we never broke stride in our lively conversation, although that was partly because he likes to talk...a lot...and he is also a chronic interrupter. I'm not sure if I ever finished a complete thought before he was steamrolling me with his own opinion on whatever subject was being addressed, or just changing the subject completely to something more interesting to him, hmmm...When he did let me talk during those rare, brief moments, he only seemed to be half paying attention. He would piddle around on his phone or inspect his hands and absentmindedly interject little comments, his timing way off. I would be mid-sentence and he would throw in a, "Right?" or something and I would stop for a sec. and think to myself, "That didn't really fit there, he is totally not listening to me" it was so jarring, just completely derailed my train of thought. I guess I should be grateful that he was at least acknowledging that he heard me making noises, unfortunately he just didn't really seem to care enough to process the actually words I was using.  

Anyway, we finished the coffee portion of our date and since we had had a respectably good time during our first hour and a half together and we did still have practically a whole day ahead of us, we decided to give lunch a try. Cheetah offered to drive and once we were out in the parking lot my impression of him took a dramatic turn for the better. Call me shallow, but he had this gorgeous seal blue/grey Chevy truck (I am usually a FORD girl, but I do make exceptions when the vehicle in question is that exemplary!) which had these really big tires with super aggressive treads. But that's not was a diesel (proper) and...TURBO-CHARGED, for cryin' out loud - Love that! This was not the first time that a fella's wicked wheels had swayed my opinion of him, you know? Just then, the pavement of the parking lot blurred and I found myself gazing at the most lovely mirage...there was this enormously sloppy, deep, muddy bog, and suddenly I was a passenger in Cheetah's big truck, donning only a bikini (naturally) The windows were down and we were tearing through that oozy, muddy mess, executing one perfect doughnut after another, our chariot as well as our scantily clad bodies fairly well splattered with mudspray...d i v i n e...I snapped out of my hallucination just about the time we parked that beast out front of the restaurant. The lunch spot where we ended up was deluxe. We ate in the basement pub, all stone walls and sexy. The Inauguration was being aired on the TV behind the bar, it was pretty cool to actually witness such a momentous occasion, had he not taken me there I would've missed the whole thing completely, for I do not turn on the television of my own volition. We drank wine with our yummy food and for dessert he ordered Port, snickering that he was trying to get me drunk (good luck with that one!) The strange part was that Cheetah actually did seem to get a little tipsy. I was tipped off when his volume level increased rapidly and dramatically. I could see folks in the lunch crowd shoot dagger-like glances over at him as if to say, "Pipe down there, Buddy!" That part was a wee bit embarrassing, not terribly so, but whatever. My favorite part of the afternoon though, had to be when he took my hand and put it on his chest and slid it around until I said, "Oh!" He then scooted it over to his other pec at which point I said, "Let me see that" I peered down through the neck hole of his t-shirt and it was certainly true, the guy did indeed have pierced nipples and the rings going through them were, uh...BIG? This was when he started to make promises that if we were ever to end up getting intimate I would have to get over my squeamishness with his piercings and be prepared to pull hard on them during sex. He boasted that he used to have a whole row of rings, going down the entire length of his nut sack but when two of them got infected he had to remove, what? All 12 of 'em? Too bad! And finally, the Port now kicking in nicely, he put the icing on the cake when he informed me that he had some nifty little cord wrist-restraints that he looked forward to implementing in our love-making, should we ever get to that point. OhhhhhKaaaaay...

We drove back to where my car was and he said that the date was not officially over, and I asked why and he said, "Because you haven't kissed me yet" I know, I know, but he had spent nearly a hundred bucks on our inaugural (get it?) lunch, together...didn't I owe him at least one stinkin' kiss? Plus I am always interested to know if there will be kissed. It was all right. I saw this as a personal challenge to see if I could help him improve his technique at all by working a little of my subtle magic and you know what? By the end of the mini-make-out sesh, he was actually pretty good, I considered this quite a coup! The only problem was...there had been no lightening bolts up my middle, no electrical currents setting the hair on the back of my head on end...there was a distinct lack of chemistry...

Cheetah and I said goodbye, promising to meet up again, this Friday night, but I am just not sure...

Now, before I scat, I have to share just one last tidbit. And this is a true story, I swear...I have witnesses to prove it! My kids already know about Paul and his famous band. I've told them the stories about when I used to live in Richmond and how I had the good fortune of collaborating with Paul and his band from time to time on different projects. They've seen photos and heard the cd's and they ask me regularly when I will let them look at the movie that Paul's band made, ages ago, in which I had a fun cameo appearance in a scene which was shot in my own tiny, Richmond kitchen. Normally I am very liberal with my children about the films that they may watch for example, my youngest daughter Blish got the 4 or 5 however many disc set of every Jackass episode ever made - from Santa for Christmas two days before her 3rd Birthday. Yet, I still consider Paul's band's movie to be a bit out of their realm just yet, it's just a totally different level of spew and blood and heinous acts than they are accustomed to, and so I continually tell my sweet and adorable children that I will let them see his raunchy masterpiece someday when they have kids of their own. So, last night, the first night I've had my kids back with me since I've been in touch with Paul, I told them that I had been talking to him for the first time in forever and that I might get together with him over the weekend and they thought that this was quite a coinkeedink since the boy that Jordan likes, was just telling a bunch of kids on the bus the other day that he wanted to do his 8th grade report on Paul's band...Weird, huh? I know! So, next we were in the car driving over to a friend's for dinner and I remembered that Paul had sent me a few pic. texts of himself and I decided to pull up the one of his face all done up as some sort of hideous monster man thing, instead of the one where he looks completely normal. I handed my phone back to the kids so they could have a look, giggling to myself. The girls were all like "Ewww, Mom, YUCK - That's not him!" I assured them that it was (at least I'm pretty sure it was him...) and then asked my son, who I knew was holding the phone at the time, if he would please hand it back up to me. All he could do was mutter something unintelligible. I stopped at the next intersection and looked back to check on him and he had rolled down his window and had hung his head out of it and was spitting and retching and gagging, he did everything except actually puke. The rest of us were like, "What the hell, Jamie?" Now granted, this little boy does have an inordinately weak stomach; bad farts, rotten food, maggots, vomit not his own, can send him hurling in a jiffy, but I have never known him to spontaneously dry heave upon looking at a still photograph. Turns out that picture text of Paul in full make-up, literally made my son sick. I nearly died, the girls and I were rollin'! And I know Paul would be very proud if he knew it, too...



    You need this in Karaoke.

    Great Job!

  2. Thanks, guys! How'd you find my blog? And how the heck do I go about getting "this in Karaoke"?