Thursday, October 16, 2014
Speaking of Wyoming, do I have a story for you.
So, I meet this guy online from Wyoming last weekend whom I will call Cractus Man. He's Cractus Man because he's one part Crackie (who wrote me two weeks ago, BTW) and gasp, one part Cactus Man. Horrendous, right?
I didn't know he was Count Cractus Man initially four days ago. Talk about a whirlwind romance that went south. Is THIS the whirlwind romance that Daniel and Joan saw in my future last summer?
Anyway, on paper, this guy looked GREAT! Good looking, educated, lives not far away, and get this A FUCKING PULITZER PRIZE WINNING journalist. Yes, for war-reporting. How often do you meet someone like that? He's all over Google, because, well, he's famous.
Talk about exciting. And he's a novelist. He has 3 books on Amazon for sale.
Marriage made in heaven, right? He's funny, self-deprecating and hunky. Two writers! Two peas in a pod.
Firstly, is it not brilliant that some guys have public FB pages? The sexy race car driver, Wildcat, and this guy? It's brilliant because you can stalk their FB and go back a year or so and find out if they're brave or stupid enough to post stuff about their personal life. Then you can decide if you want their drama or not.
So, I find out that Cractus Man has had apparently a lot of drama. A LOT.
According to his FB page, his "love of my life" threw him out in July back in Florida then he threw a suitcase of clothes and his computers in his "Jag" and proceeded to drive cross country to visit some weirdo friend in California who called the cops on him. Cractus then gave the cops a hard time, so he wound up in jail. Then he drove out to Laramie Wyoming, for who knows what reason, where his car broke down, and he's living in it near the river while doing a guest panel discussion for the journalism department of Wyoming. The ONLY thing he admitted to me was the last sentence about doing a panel discussion for them. Everything else he neglected to mention to me, thanks FB.
So we're emailing back and forth, and I'm not letting on that I've stalked his FB, and he's dying to meet me, saying he's smitten with me, going to buy a motorcycle and come over here and sweep me off my feet, and begging me to call him.
I'm thinking, moving a little fast, buddy, why? Why not find out more about him, first?
So I came right out and asked him, via email, what's going on in his life, that I've read his FB and that seems he has a little drama in his life right now.
Then, no replies. Just crickets. Finally, the only reply to my questions was . . . "Ah, just pull the trigger and call right now. No time for overthinking.,"
Huh? Why a gun metaphor? Then, "Say, where'd you go? Love is so fleeting." WTF.
I wrote him back that I'd like some answers before we proceed further, like what's going on in your personal life? Like, are you homeless? How come you didn't send me any new news articles that you've written? (I mean, wtf. Is he unemployed now and living in his car?) And if so, why? He's famous.
I get this reply:
"I sent you some faves, Nat. Love was a word synomous (sic ) with smitten.
Read______ (his novel, which I'm tactfully removing the title) Or don't. Make it complicated if that's
what suits you. I like it simple and pure and wear my heart on my
sleeve. So, good luck with whatever perceived assumptions keep you
locked up. I gave it a shot, because I'm romantic that way. Cheers,
I guess wanting to know if he's homeless and unemployed is keeping myself "locked up."
Un-fucking-believable. Never a dull moment, kiddies. Doooders said, "Man, Dude, be grateful you dodged a bullet here." Yeah, no kidding.
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Bennie last year about this time. The weather is so gorgeous right now. I can't believe it's October. And it's almost the weekend, a three day long HOLIDAY weekend for me.
Sooooooooooooooooo, did I go out with the Wildcat last weekend? Nope. He said it had rained all week, therefore he was behind on construction so he had to work overtime.
Might I add, that I was right? Hence this quote from last week's blog:
"PLUS, he's got plenty of time to get cold feet and bail on me with some excuse. So why make big plans?"
Bingo. I hung out with a friend instead.
I'm sooooooooooooooooooooo tired of people letting me down. Men in particular. But the good thing is that at least men are predictable.
Wildcat is using his next vacation (he gets one every month for about 10 days) starting Friday, to fly home (Georgia) to see his mother who's in a rest home and his grandchildren.
Sooooo, it's not like I can fault him for that as that's something a "Good Guy" would do, visit family.
Maybe I'll finally meet him in November? But that's Thanksgiving. December? Sigh.
Oh, and Deadwood Dick is still writing me. He, too, makes his money off of North Dakota's energy boom, but he lives just up the road in Deadwood. Nevertheless, boy do we clash or what. I'll fill you in next time. And I have an update on Crackie, too. More to come.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Speaking of "hills" and "hollers" and such, that reminds me that I have a potential date this Saturday with a North Dakota handsome developer who grew up in Kentucky, hence "hollers" and "hills." The so called "date" is not with ONE man but three.
Well, not really, but kinda.
The Wildcat told me that his buddy went to Deadwood a few weeks ago and had a great time, and that the Black Hills were beautiful. So he has decided to come here with his developer-buddies in tow (these people in the energy/development biz have crazy hours and apparently travel a great deal). He told me that his buddies are fun, and I will be entertained by them.
At first he wanted me to meet them in Deadwood. Uh, no. For several reasons. If the guy wants to meet me, not only must he be the one to drive to meet me, but he had better pick up the tab, too. Plus, I hardly know this dude, so I ain't leaving my comfort zone of downtown with my own wheels, albeit bicycle wheels.
PLUS, he's got plenty of time to get cold feet and bail on me with some excuse. So why make big plans?
For that's what 99% of internet men do anyway, disappear, unless they're trolls and fuglies. And this dude is NO fuglie. He's the first cute internet dude I've encountered since Crackie, and that was 2011.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
I'm not sure we can still be "friends." He invited me to go up in the canyon this weekend to view the fall colors. I said sure, and asked that JJ could come along, too, since "the more the merrier with FRIENDS." He said OK.
But then he later texted me this:
"We could leave first thing in the morning, after I come over and stay overnight after my game."
ME: "Why would you come over and stay the night? We're just friends, and you live ten minutes away, not six hours away."
I.G.: "What if it snows?"
ME: "It's supposed to be eighty degrees, my silly FRIEND."
So I figured he was OK with being "just friends," but later on it seemed to me he was NOT OK. Firstly, on our trip into the canyon, he kept grabbing my knee and giving it a loving squeeze, which was embarrassing. Each time, I'd flinch and jerk it away. Do you allow your friends to grab your knees? Your Grandpappie? No. Ick.
Then he started up with the bad jokes and passive aggressive humor. It went like this.
"JJ, Nat said you wanted to go to Jack and Jills's in Sturgis to get some supplies."
"Huh?" asked JJ dumbfounded. "What?"
(Jack and Jill's is a sex shop. Secondly, it is only there during the Sturgis Rally, one week out of the year. And thirdly, I most certainly did NOT tell Indifferent Guy that JJ said this. This is his UNFUNNY way of flirting with me and getting everyone to be mindful of sex and horribly uncomfortable with his "jokes").
"I most certainly did NOT say any such thing," I retorted.
"Ick. Gross. Jack and Jills?," said JJ from the back seat.
"Are you sure? We can stop there. Maybe Nat wants to pick something up for herself, har, har har," he chortled to himself thinking his lascivious, inappropriate and seventh grade humor quite funny.
"Screw sex," JJ suddenly says impassioned. "It's over-rated."
"Yeah, screw sex. Thank god for menapause because that's the last damned thing I have on my mind these days. I'd take a bowl of good potato chips any day than sex." To illustrate this, I shake a bag of kettle chips JJ and I were sharing then pass them back to her.
"SEX, that's the last thing on my mind these days," JJ pipes up from the back, gleefully accepting the bag, and then JJ and I cackle like hens for a good ten seconds.
Dead silence from Indifferent Guy. We pretty much turned him into a Eunuch. And, for once, no sniggling, giggling, self righteous prooling or chortling. In fact, he pretty much ignored us the rest of the day.
I get it that I went too far. I didn't have to emasculate him, but he pushed me past my point. And my sex drive isn't that dead--it's just that I am NOT INTO HIM SEXUALLY WHATSOEVER EVEN IF THERE WAS A NUCLEAR FALLOUT AND HE WAS THE LAST MAN ON THE PLANET. It's just that enough is enough. Do I have to get a blow horn and scream out, LOOK. WE ARE JUST FRIENDS. I LOOK AT YOU LIKE I LOOK AT MY BROTHER.
OK, Universe, I have learned my lesson. Chemistry does matter. I feel badly for him, and I had originally tried to be nice, but now I'm going to have to ignore him because he was obviously NOT listening when I said we could be just friends.
Now, with the new dude whom I'll call Wildcat from North Dakota, that sex drive is oddly re-awoken. He's going to come down here next weekend with some buddies and party with me. Yup, you heard that right. More later.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
One of my friends accused me of doing the Fade Away, but I wasn't a few weeks ago. I was working up enough courage to tell him we would better off friends. Then JJ thought I should just say, "We're better off as friends." And nothing more, and while that's a good line, what if the guy in question wants an explanation? I knew he would so I simply said I was not "girlfriend material."
Because what the hell are you really supposed to say? I can't say, "Look, it's not you, it's me." Because it really is him: his effeminate ways, and bad humor, and other things, but I'm not gonna pick.
The bottom line was this, the biggest lesson I learned.
Look, I know back 50+ years ago since the beginning of mankind, women have had to settle. They've had to marry guys in the olden days where there was no chemistry. 100 years ago, that was common. Your trade off for no chemistry or fugly was a good provider.
But how can you eventually sleep with someone you're not attracted to, especially since men don't lose their sex drives until late in life, which means having sex with someone you feel no chemistry towards, sleeping with them for years?
How can you just settle for someone who's simply NICE?
Isn't there more to that? And can you be just friends with a guy who likes you more than that?
More later. And there's possibly more dudes on the horizon.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Speaking of pissing me off, other than having to go back to work at my old job, AND having a lame summer, is someone who's not funny but thinks he is. It's even worse if the said person is NOT funny, thinks he is, and is trying to date you. They say that women are strongly sexually attracted to a man with a great sense of humor. True that.
Likewise, the opposite is true, too, when a man or woman's humor SUCKS ASS. Trying to date? I've got a little tip for you. Humor is like being artistic. It's a gift. Like being able to sing really well, or write well, or being a chef. Most people aren't that creative. So if your humor sucks ass, try other things to impress your date. Knowledge of history, being a good debater, talking about books, showing off your listening skills, or being handy. These are other things you can do to woo your paramour.
EXAMPLES OF SHITTY HUMOR:
In the hands of someone skilled, say like Bill Bryson, this can be a good thing. Howling laughter, tears running down your cheeks when you're reading A Walk Through the Woods. If you don't know Bryson, think George Carlin. What could be better. But in the hands of the UNFUNNY, this is dreadful.
Here's what the Shitty Humorist has been up to.
1. Changing the letters to a word that is slightly different and alarmingly unfunny while you're talking. It usually takes several seconds or minutes to even see it was a joke.
A. "There are a few good places to eat in Custer," I said as we were debating the merits of several restaurants in that town.
"Custard?" The Shitty Humorist asks then giggles.
"Yeah, CUSTER," I say, annoyed. OK, that's not funny. That's STUPID.
B. "I don't know why the tomatoes this year are so over-priced," I say as we walk through the farmers' market the other day.
"Tor-matoes? You have to be careful around tor-matoes, they can blow over your house," he notes and giggles. I stop and stare at him for a few seconds as I have NO IDEA what the fuck he's talking about then realize it's an alarming pun. I shake my head and hope no one heard that.
C. "I've got to mow the yard tomorrow," I noted the other day.
"Whhhhhyyyyyy?" asks the Shitty Humorist in a very feminine 8 year-old way.
"Duh. Because it's long,"" I say, catching on to this fucking game he thinks is funny.
"Whhhhhyyyyyyy?" he asks again.
"Because it's been raining and the lawn has been growing really fast!" I say and walk away. Otherwise the "Whyyyyyyyys?" will keep going. How is this different than the "I know what you are but what am I?" game you'd play in junior high?
It's. NOT. FUCKING. FUNNY. It's a turn off. And it's even worse if the person is genuinely nice.
Manliness. What is it? Why is it important to a tom-girl?
This is something I've been contemplating lately since it appears I've only been dating effeminate men lately. So what is manliness? I'm not sure, but I can tell you what it isn't.
Talking in a baby voice (saying "peas" instead of "please"), giving long plot synopses to Disney movies, not knowing how to chop wood or start a fire, biting one's nails, singing to Micheal Jackson/Micheal Bolton/Winger songs in a falsetto voice, and bustin' out some disco moves in the grocery store, for starters are NOT manly things. They are libido-breakers.
You can't even begin to know what effeminate is until you run into it face-to-face. But some men are just that. Sex and the City even did an episode about it with a friend of theirs who married someone whom everyone thought was a gay, only he wasn't gay. He was just very, very effeminate.
Now, don't get me wrong. I like a dude who's emotionally available. I require it, actually. But I also like a Lee Marvin kinda man who also holds doors open, pays for my tab, chops wood, works on his own Shovelhead. Speaking of, I know someone like this, but he lives 200 miles away in N.D.
He's that old school kind of kinda guy that I can't seem to find. "Old School" around the Black Hills translates to Nascar-watchin'-cammo-wearin' redneck around here. And that ain't either cool or old school.
Here's the kinda old school he is:
1. lots of stylin' black clothes and a deep low voice like Johnny Cash
2. cool tats, (not tats of howling wolves, eagles or the words "Harley Davidson")
3. races modifieds (race cars) semi-professionally. I mean, how sexy is that? (Picturing a pit crew with cool mechanic's shirts on that say his racing team on the back while he calmly gives out orders to his men while they hurry to get the car back on the track is a helluva lot sexier than some redneck belching and watching Nascar on the couch in his cammo, skid-marked underwear.)
4. has a kick start old Shovelhead that of course, only HE works on (swoons in a Sons of Anarchy kind of way). He kinda reminds me of Jax, only his head is shaved.
5. likes cool music (not Micheal Jackson and ABBA)
6. owns his own old house with hardwood floors
7. has grown daughters he is close to (emotionally available!)
But, alas, he works all the time (works in his family's metal shop, sexy=check!) and is totally passionate about his racing, so it takes up almost all of his free time, and again, lives at least two hours away.
Sigh. More later on this one, I hope.