wax on, wax off
I'm getting a lot of search engine hits over here, especially on the east coast. One can go here to read why.
Has my little lovely shop branched out? Started offering franchises? Were they in the news?
I've got some back blogging to do on this side of the fence, but suffice it to say I've been laying low; noone (but me) has missed much (wry smile).
thangs sweet too say too a girl
Those were exactly the words someone typed in Yahoo and found this blog.
Hope he found some thang sweet too say.
trapped in the mailing list
Maybe crazy soap opera shit does happen in real life.
I shared a few email moments with a dude on BPM who said he was cancelling his membership, then gave him an outside email address of mine to continue the conversation. This dude then says he'll add me to his email list, the "Dumb Question of the Day" Before I could holler "Wait up! Don't do that crap to me!", I start getting his daily missive.
Now I've been traveling, and I figured I'd find some time some day to either 1) claim he's spam and block this junk or 2) send him an email to cease and desist.
Saturday morning, I check my mail and what should I find but a note. From his wife to the entire mailing list.
Put his shit on blast, girlfriend did.
This winner is a porn addict, and is physically abusive; he surreptitiously tapes his sexcapades with his booty calls; he solicits and keeps nekkid pics of his internet girlfriends; he's simultaneously soliciting new girlfriends while attempting to reconcile with wifey. Wow.
A number of old (notably female) friends on the list came to his defense, or criticized her for airing their laundry. Old boy sent out a lame-ass "I'm sorry" note. And for her part, girlfriend has been forwarding emails she's received from women who have commiserated on her side of the story, and one today from a gal who fessed up that she'd "been involved" with goober who traveled out of state to "see" her, and she didn't know he was still married. Lordy.
After all this insanity, I thought I'd scan the list for folks I might know, either in real or internet life, so I could gossip, er, chat about this. Whose name should I see but D. The world really is small.
And he's online at that very moment.
I hit him with an IM.
Now, I could divulge all right here, right now; or pull an R Kelly and post sequels. I'll do neither.
However, you know I can't resist posting something, so here's a summary:
**Well, granted, that's my interpretation, but this is my blog.
- Some woman recommended the list to him
- He's read my blogs
- He's recovering fine
- He's a lousy boyfriend 'cause the man can't multitask**
He says that it's difficult to devote oneself both to one's goals and a relationship; I'm as goal oriented as they come, and I say it's not. I stand by that. People do it all the time. If I can date and work and live my life...
It would be a great timesaver and a whole lot simpler to have one or a couple really sweet sweeties to relax, go out a bit, and have great, ahem, with.
And not in a good way.
i'm not carrie
I'm lying in bed right now, laptop actually on my lap. But I can't come up with one good question that neatly ties up my experiences in a bow. And I've got a raging headache.
"Does this have to be so hellish?!"
Goober a few weeks ago said I talked too much, and he's never met anyone who talked as much as me. Let me set the context: We'd driven from his house to the restaurant and I was telling him about my day. It was a 10 minute drive. This idiot, to his misfortune, had on a previous date told me about taking a woman he'd just met to New York; she went out and found someone to buy drugs from, and I don't remember how but the police had to come. I believe this winner doesn't get out much. Oh and he had a gold toofus.
Another goober wanted to play flirty-flirty via email, rather than talk on the phone; he says he lives in Oakland, but in reality is in some boondock outpost around Modesto. When I told him that he needed to get off the pot and call me or stop bothering me, he called. At 6:30am in the morning. Of course I didn't answer. But I did call back later. Have not heard a peep from this one since.
Goober tonight said that he hates the bay area. Just the way it feels. He thinks everyone is snobby. He hates not seeing other black people around him. People here don't "dress nicely" and women don't wear high heels. Therefore, he spends every other weekend out of town, I'm guessing to get his fix of black folk. When I asked what he was looking for since he doesn't have weekends free and he has his daughter 1/2 of each week, he said that he can find time, a few hours every few days or so. He figured that equates to a casual relationship. To me, that barely adds up to an acquaintanceship, let alone a relationship. By the way, dude was wearing a gold chain with a nugget initial pendant, a gold bracelet, an earring, a gold watch. And a tight black t-shirt.
And of course you remember get nasty in the car goober.
There are some freaky, lonely, strange, ill-mannered people out there. Making my ass hurt at least as much as my head does right now.
Now, I know I'm not Miss Gentle 'n Sweet, especially when confronted with ignorance or idiocy. I'm not the good, religious, all up in the church woman. I'm not the instantly hot babe just waiting for the perfect man to pay a booty call. I'm not overly impressed with having a job or a college education. I'm not a head nodder. I'm not tolerant of bigotry, sexism, or homophobia.
And most of all, I'm not interested in impressing them.
but i am
A good listener (and oh, what I've had to listen to) I give good conversation. I'm empathetic. I'm honest. I'm forthright without being hurtful. I'm sexy but I don't see my sexuality as a tool with which to manipulate folks. I'm open and accepting. I'm real - what you see/read/hear is what you get.
what i want
I know now why some folks have been moved to write what they don't want in their online profiles. I'm so tempted, so very tempted.
But what I want is just someone to have good, sweet times with. That's all. That's it. Nothing more.
I believe I need a break.
After an evening of vapid conversation and pointless chat - T, C, K, DW (sigh) - was thinking about the black man. So I called. And got this message saying he was in the hospital and wouldn't be able to pick up his messages.
I was stunned. Upset. Worried. Wondering was it his back again, or something else. And knowing how he hates to lose his independence.
Then something told me to call again, to listen to the message again. This time it was the plain old "Leave a message" message. Huh?
I hung up. And the phone rang.
It was him. Seems he'd had a double hernia repair (ouch! I had an inguinal - read GROIN - hernia repair 7 years back, and it was a hot mess); he was recuperating on campus for a bit, then he'd be going to his mother's in SAC.
We chatted and laughed, of Vicodin, and shuffling to the bathroom, having your stomach stapled down, and gearing oneself up for rolling over. Of my work, yes I'm still at it, and how I'm in his mom's neighborhood all the time, and maybe I should drop by and visit when he's there and I'm there. And etc.
And how he hasn't yet found that perfect bottom to take care of him.
I asked if he missed me. He said yes - of course.
But that could've been the drugs.
No matter. I'm glad he's well, er, well enough.
He's a mess. Yes, but still the most interesting, entertaining mess I've met in a while.
But again, that could've been the drugs.
so what *is* a girl to do?
Good grief, I really am an idealistic romantic. Ick.
But then again, it's probably too late to change that. Oh well.
yes, the boy's got a name
oxytocin is a mf, y'all
I'm still spinning.
must've not scared him that much
Got my "good morning" call this morning.
useless, i am
Can't get a blasted thing done today. Even so, I feel like I'm in the commercial where the gal walks past and all the flowers bloom, leaving a swath of daisies, butterflies, and bluebirds behind me. Every project for which I thought I'd have to haul ass today, someone else has done it for me.
Wow. Perhaps T.'s my lucky, er, well, talisman.
Or more likely, I'm not sweating a thing; what'd I say a few lines ago? Oxytocin, man; it's a mf!
Yes, me. I'm a hot mess.
Now, don't get me wrong, life is going good, and I've met some folks, well, men folks (smile), and that's all good. But this one dude...
The past two weeks was all sweet and flirty goodness on the phone and webcam. He'd call me at least twice a day, reminding me to drive safe, being supportive and caring, and in the evenings we'd chat for hours, about everything and nothing. And yes, I said webcam. Please don't wretch: We'd talk on the phone and look at each other on the webcam, all pretty G-rated. Okay, some PG-13 rated flashing to each other, but nothing all out there, me giggling like a girl, him grinning and biting his bottom lip.
Then Saturday we met for dinner at Dave & Buster's. Good, clean fun, right? Some chow, some Skee-ball, we'd been bantering about who was gonna whup whose ass and all, and I was game for it. I was late, of course, and looking for him, first outside then in, he'd said he'd be wearing jeans and a white shirt with blue and green stripes; I knew he was 5'11", nicely proportioned, and cute.
I was about to go back outside when I saw this buff, thick honey walking toward me with the sweetest smile on his face and my whole body did this almost swoon-like thing. You see, I never knew what the word "thick" really meant. I mean, it's bandied about. And I never really see any real thick guys except for in the NFL. But there it was, right in front of me. Earlier that day I'd asked his weight and he told me 235: He looked like a running back, perhaps a (kinda short but still powerful) linebacker.
The boy is thick, just like I like 'em.
I now know what I would act like if I met Ray-Ray in person.
We hugged, sat at the booth, I then looked at his face, my God... so cute, so, so, so cute. Now, I wasn't doing bad last night, had on a soft mauve top with spaghetti straps - I'd gotten one of those "cups only" bras that stick to ya and position the girls where you want them to be with no visible means of support - and my new, great Lucky jeans, and the look on his face said... well... (chuckles) Inside I was just a mess, a puddle, and outside I was grinning and giggling and I could feel myself quivering, actually quiv-er-ing.
All I could think was that if the stars were aligned properly, I could possibly get this man naked and get naked with this man.
We held hands across the table, and every so often he'd ask for a kiss and we'd lean across and kiss, and the staff was flustered, and I kept trying to be nonchalant but it wasn't working. Ordering was ridiculous because neither of us could concentrate on the menu. Every time he'd look at me, he'd take my breath away and I'd start giggling again; my God, the humanity... I had no dignity, none. Finally, I couldn't stand it, I couldn't keep myself to myself: Rather than fidget and quiver, I asked him to sit next to me, and he did, with his thick, sweet, good-smelling self.
All night I steadied myself by clutching his arm or his thigh.
I remember bits and pieces of what I said, and those I remember, I'm embarrassed about, but I don't regret. Kinda.
I believe I may have cried at one point.
Sex like that, with a sweet, thick, sexy man like that could make a girl lose her mind, for crying out loud.
And now he seems... well, not as much as he was before. I think I scared the poor man. Rather than stay over, he left. But again, he's got stuff to do and as always, so do I. Frankly, if we'd spent all night and morning together, I think I would have proposed. Had we spent all night, morning, afternoon, and this evening together, I'm sure I would've proposed.
nope, not gonna, no
You know that song "Crazy in Love" by Beyonce?
I. Am. Caught. Up. I can't stop thinking about him. And I want to fight it. I did not expect it. This is ridiculous. I've gotta stop and make some sense here.
I'm actually considering telling him we shouldn't see each other anymore. I don't think I can take it. I don't like this, don't like it.
Thank goodness, this week is a busy one. I think. If it's not, I'm gonna make it one. Distract myself with a few other folks, and my job, and a project or two around the house, perhaps finish a couple of the sweaters. Clean the patio. Clean the fridge. Clean out the closets. Plan for next year's taxes. Paint something.
p o w e r e d b y B l o g g e r
L i s t e d o n B l o g S h a r e s