Famine...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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