Category Archives: Married men

Challenging the very idea of perfection

Finally….an avenue from which to blog again! Yayyyy!  Sanity will hopefully be mine again soon:)

If I just skip through the past year of non-documented adventures (or mis-adventures) to present moment.  I’m proud to say, I’ve just recently started the online chronicles again – just a few  weeks ago actually.  Prior to then, I hadn’t even visited my dating sites and hadn’t bothered with reading any emails or browsing any guys professing interest in mine.

I’m only chatting with a few intriguing prospects at this time, but have had several offers to meet.  One, I did have lunch with just last Friday.  It was interesting…as these things often are.  I wasn’t wholly in to this “meeting”, but I thought, “Geesh…I gotta start back somewhere!”

He surprised me with his selection of the restaurant: definitely a guy who eats after my own eccentric flair for food.  It was a highly acclaimed local place called  Mia & Grace  …truly a lovely choice!!

He looked just like his photo, so I could pick him out of the lunch crowd immediately.  This is a bonus!  After some introductory conversation, he starts talking about the last woman he dated, that his divorce wasn’t final just yet, and how his soon-to-be-ex still felt it perfectly acceptable to enter his home any time she had the inclination, but that he knew it was really to snoop through his things.  Toward the end of the lunch, I realized the majority of the conversation had been about the ex.  Yeah, I already wasn’t so hip from the get-go about the not being divorced yet part, but this screamed of a guy who was clearly in no position to be trying to date – and certainly not so much, so hard.  I mean, of the 4 different men I had started communicating with, this guy had jumped to exchanging numbers and to meeting in person long before anyone else had even mentioned it yet!

Relax, pal.  What’s your rush?  Shouldn’t you finish your divorce first or at least be a little more emotionally divorced before such date haste?  I felt a little sorry for him though, instead of my usual sarcastic, cynical criticism.  I really wanted to grab his hand and say, “Heyyyy, you’re a handsome man.  You’ll most definitely meet someone.  Just go through the roller coaster divorce and let yourself heal for a bit before jumping the dating/relationship gun…. Ok?”  I didn’t say this though.  After all, who am I to judge his hasty desperation?  Either what it means or what it’s about?

Good luck, buddy!  Thanks for an amazing lunch!  Really wish you the best!!

All in all, not a really bad experience.  I just couldn’t help thinking though, was this really why I had a couldn’t-care-less feeling about the whole thing from the first conversation? OR, was it more because one of the four whom I’ve been talking/writing with just really stands out above the rest?  And that possibility really makes me ponder.  Before I’ve met any of these men, how can one just stand out so FAR above the rest in piquing my interest?  Sure, said profile page was just precisely after my own heart.  Said guy seems that extraordinary balance between manly sexiness, intellectual nerdiness , and artsy sensitivity…all wrapped up in a sexy dark haired, green-eyed, taller than me wordsmith with an amazing knowledge of grammar, spelling, physics and literature, not to mention the beautiful ability to make me laugh out loud from reading his emails!

Okay, okay…so he’s perfect on paper so far…. BUTTTTTT…WHY do I just feel a sense of near loyalty to one specific dating profile before I’ve even met him – or met any others I’m talking with?  Has the seeming charming perfection just swept me off my feet virtually already? How?  Why?  Isn’t this a major conflict and contradiction to online dating?  To the whole concept of “dating” in general?

Dating:  a method of physically spending time with as many promising prospects as possible in order to determine (over time) one candidate who actually fits with the other in the most categories:  in order to defy the odds of the schmucks running amok in the dating world, literally and virtually?

And yet, I confess, I just didn’t care about this date.  Sure, he was attractive and held a great deal of the qualities I would like to find in a romantic partner.  And I’ve not even MET  this other  “Mr. Perfect” yet.  Hell, “Mr. Perfect” might be nothing like his profile and worse yet, there could just be no chemical attraction!  Why would I almost literally shut myself off to even a slight possibility with another decent candidate who has already asked me on a real-live date?

Well, Mr. Talks About His Ex Incessantly sure made this an easy cross off my list experience, practically within the first ten minutes. But I really wasn’t open to giving him a chance anyway, long before he made it so easy not to give him a chance.  And that truly perplexes me.

Regardless, easy it was! So,  I realize over and over, that I really just suck at the very concept of “dating”.  It almost goes against my grain and nature.  If I like someone (obviously even just in virtuality), then I just like him.  At that point, I have to force myself to even communicate with anyone else and a physical date is an almost painful push into the let’s be logical here arena.

I mean, GOSH, there’s even another very handsome local guy who keeps writing and texting and asking me to meet.     In fact, this other guy might be technically more traditionally handsome even than my current Mr. Perfect prospect.  Yet, I keep blowing off his invites with some pretty pathetic excuses and half the time I don’t even respond for several days to his communication initiates.  Just can’t muster up an interest or see any purpose when held up in the light against Mr. Perfect’s ideal qualities and bonus points.

What IS that?  Shouldn’t I be excited to meet as many qualifying candidates as possible in this sport of dating?  Shouldn’t I at least attend the previews of a few interesting movies before deciding one I haven’t seen is my absolute favorite?

I don’t know.  This whole “Mr. Perfect” guy…ummm…GEESH OH PETE….  I keep waiting for him to say something, ANY thing that doesn’t just delight or intrigue me beyond sensibility.  No, really, every time I open a new email or read a text from him, I think…..Okay, here it comes.  It has to.  Because he can’t possibly be actually perfect.  Not a possibility. I’m not perfect…no one else can be either!  So with each and every communique at this point, I know he has to demonstrate something less than my ideal. He must!   Even if it’s not a deal breaker per se, but SOMETHING.  I almost WANT him to do this – mar the image of perfection he presents so far – for several reasons.  One, I’m nervous as hell for a guy this “perfect” to meet me and be total witness to my inevitable and perhaps  overwhelming imperfections and  I’d have some ammunition going in if he’s already short at least a quality or aspect or two.  Secondly, everytime he fails to show me an imperfection of some kind, I am forced to face my literal terror of actually meeting a great-for-me guy.  What would I do?  There is then such a blatant possibility of my following my traditional time-proven M.O. of  sabotaging these things.  And I’m slapped in the face with how deep my issues and fears really go.  Something, I really prefer to (deceitfully?) convince myself I’ve worked out and conquered. And I can live in that pink bubble as long as there’s something wrong with THEM.   This guy terrifies me…and we’v e not even met!  Yeah, terrified is an accurate description.  He makes me feel giggly and excited, intellectually challenged, admiring and self-confident,  hopeful and enthusiastic…and utterly TERRIFIED.

Although, he did FINALLY tell me one less than perfect (for me, at least) quality just yesterday:  He’s NOT a huge football fan like I.  Wait….WHAT?!!  What the hell is going on here?!  How can that be, Mr. “Perfect”?  And as an avid college football enthusiast, just how far can I go with THAT little tidbit of imperfection.  I can see the desperate measures already:  No, Mr. Perfect, I cannot go to the museum with you Saturday!  Are you kiddin’ me?  OMG….there’s a game on!!!  Don’t be ridiculous.  I’ll be watching the game like every other self-respecting human being in America, watching it with fellow football LOVERS….uhh…GEESH!!!  And surely this massive imperfection might lead to other, oh-so-practical and legit excuses for other possible “issues” this little conflict will inevitably create.  Right?  Of course!  After all, I love football; I know how to take that ball and run with it!  Psh!

That said, I’m delighted to say that I’m meeting “Mr. Perfect” today!!!  Yup,  fully armed with my you-can’t-possibly-be-my-idea-of-absolute-perfection ammunition.  Phew…just in time!  And the question becomes, upon meeting him in person, will Mr. Perfect give me more ammunition with which to battle  or will he charmingly stomp all over the meek supply I’ve managed to dig up?

Never mind that his random suggestion of meeting spots just happened to be my FAVORITE place in a 100 mile radius of my town.  And no, I hadn’t told him how much I loved that place or ANY place!!  GOSH, this guy’s tough to smother in my issues so far OR clobber with my baggage….yet.

I’m sooooo excited…and so very nervous!

Yeah, I stirred the moral gravy pot…and got a little creepy on my shirt…

Very interesting weekend…full of atrocious stupidities, learning experiences, and interesting possibilities of learning experiences to come!

I’ve yet to discuss in depth here contestant #2 in the Who wants to Date a Married Man Show.  The reason for this is primarily that my interest in him is hardly enough to mention.  He is Drunken-Dance(from two years ago)-Guy; I’ve just never had a huge interest in him on any level because …uhhh well, because he just does not hold my interest.  He’s in the basic, semi-attractive category looks-wise and his conversation skills, while they’re not horrible by any means, they are way less than intriguing.  In fact, if I had to compare him to a food, he’d go safely into the simple and bland category of plain white rice or say, whole-wheat bread maybe…but subtract any healthy aspects as he’s married and therefore lacks any health-nutrients whatsoever. If I had to liken him to an activity, it would be something like watching paint dry.  Yeah, he’s that irresistable!

However, he does get five stars for persistence.  I have blown this guy off to the point of rudeness.  I rarely answer his calls at all and I’m only mildly chatty when we do have conversations.  I make no attempt whatsoever to be charming, cute, exciting, or flirty to this man.  I mean ZERO attempts…and he continues to call and proceeds to imply this “thing” between us.  What thing? …as there’s been no “thing” and I’ve demonstrated no interest in creating a “thing” !  Apparently a “thing” in his mind is enough ‘thing” to a “thing” make.  This point leads me to perceive DDG as a self-consumed ass.  No, he’s never been rude or inappropriate directly  but his sheer persistence combined with my obvious lack of interest in him and in having any “thing” with him can only mean one thing: absolute self-consumption.  Self-consumed because he’s oblivious to my lack of interest and “ass” because he’s so persistently and actively looking to cheat on his wife…ummm…yuk!

The last few times he’s asked to see me, if I had plans with friends, then I’d say, Hey I’m going out with some friends later, if you want to meet up, you’re welcome.  He always responds like, I can’t really meet you in groups (really?  Umm…why?  Are you implying we have some secret thing going on or something?).  I simply say, Okay…suit yourself…gotta run…buh-bye.  This annoys me for two reasons.  One:  the thought of sitting somewhere alone with him has loud overtones of an experience akin to counting every grain of sand on the beach.  And two: and once again: there is nothing going on here to “hide”!  Nothing!  Nada!  The only thing to hide here would be his lewd thoughts and depraved intentions!  To imply directly to me that we’re on some secret clandestine journey together which must remain well-hidden from random people whom he doesn’t know and don’t know (or give a damn) about him, is ludicrous to the degree of laughable.  There is nothing going on here pal, aside from your pathetic and futile efforts to get something going on.  Have a hint buddy:  there has to be something to hide before there’s a need to sneak around and stay out of the spotlight…or in this particular case, keep out of random crowds of people in public places.  You’re not Justin Bieber for gawd’s sake – avoiding the paparazzi and possibly horrifying Enquirer headlines.  For the love of white rice…get over yourself already!  Hmph….annoying….!!

On top of which and I reiterate – nothing is going on!  And if he’d use even a smidgeon of thought, intelligence, body language (speech), or intuition, he’d clearly see that NOTHING is in danger of going on either!  Pshh….ridiculous.  Hey schmuck-man, I’ve shown as much interest in you, meeting up with you, or even talking to you as I would a paint-by-number with only one freakin’ number!  Hello??  Is anybody home???

So…one (especially I)  will never know why when he called Friday early evening and asked if I was free to go have a drink, I agreed.  Almost backed out before the conversation even ended though, as he struggled to think of a suitable (i.e. “safe”) place to go.  What’s up pal?  Are you thinking this “meet for a drink” is code for a public make-out-fest?  If you’re as nervous as a whore in church just to sit in a public bar and have a drink with me with 100 other people sitting around sharing the same space as we, then I have to go with, Not a good idea for you to do it fella!

And the fact that you ARE this nervous over NOTHING firmly tells me that you’re not at all interested in any kind of friendship or camaraderie with me…in fact, you’ve not even contemplated that possibility…and ewww..that makes me feel dirty all by itself.

Yeah, I don’t know why I went anyway.  Chalk it up to my informal research of immoral asses like this or listening to Sympathy for the Devil too many times, I dunno.   No.  Hey, you know what?  Actually, we can just chalk this up to my growing fatigue at his persistence in the face of my obvious lack of interest; as in, yeah, okay, let’s get this over with my friend; let’s set the record on this straight once and for all pig-cheater-guy; let’s invite the fat lady to sing already so we can get to the more pertinent (and final) act two of you LOSING MY NUMBER, you LOSER-ASS.  Hell, if you’re going to try to have a cheat-on-your-wife-fest with me, then at least be interesting or for the love of gawd, look up the word finesse in the dictionary.  GAWD..something…anything…to make yourself seem appealing in some way, shape, or form to even have a conversation with, much less a freakin’ extramarital affair!!

Thankfully, he selected a local place where many of my friends frequent.  I know Billy the bartender quite well and yay! he was working.  Cheating pig comes in a few minutes after I, acting  all weird-n-creepy-like, pays for my drink and then says, looking straight ahead and not at me, “We can’t be here.  Someone is here that I didn’t expect.”  Ohhh..really?  Okay… you’d probably better go then.  No, he says, my truck is outside parked on the hill.  Meet me out at my truck, but wait a few minutes after I leave to walk out.

What the FUCK?!  Now, I’m starting to think that this guy is doing this just for the “excitement”, as he’s making up drama where there isn’t any and making things look suspicious where there’s NOTHING. Does he fancy himself as the starring actor in some dramatic movie-of-the-week?  Has he listened to a few too many renditions of “Secret Lovers”?  Hell, I’m questioning even his basic intellectual capacity at this point..  OMG…is he just a literal idiot too?  I’m further annoyed. Because of my extreme level of annoyance, I took a reeeeeaaaaally long time to finish my drink: tiny sip…chit-chat with random lady sitting next to me…tinier sip…chat up Billy-the-cutie for a few minutes…sippy-sip…text a few friends….sippiest sip – which was more like a kitten’s little lap…watch some hockey on the bar television….siiipppp….  Finally, about forty minutes or so later, I get up to head outside and Billy asks, Awww, where ya goin’?  I say to meet up with a friend.  He winks adorably at me and says well you should come back…I’m working all night long.  Awwwww…Billy is irresistibly adorable!

Outside, I look back and forth from my car to the hill, debating if I even wanted to bother with whatever was next in this absurdity.  I went to his truck and jumped in.  I realize given my feelings about this kind of thing mixed up with my lack of interest, this seems truly an odd decision, but it was a great choice after all and I’ll tell you why.

Sitting in his truck, he starts talking of the random anonymous person in the bar who made it uncomfortably unsafe for him.  Awww……so I suggested another totally secluded out of the way bar and he said, “I don’t even know where that is”.  Ummm yeah…exactly you idiot.  Geesh!  Then, he says his wife is out of town and we could just go to his house.  Oh my freakin’ gawd…now that is it.  He was clearly not interested at all in maybe sitting and having a drink and an attempt (however futile for him that might’ve been) at some witty conversation. Now, I had all the answers and info I could possibly ever need about this guy and this situation.  Right along with all those answers came my rare ability to just speak plainly sans my politeness and my don’t-wanna-hurt-anyone’s-feelings-rose colored loquacious crayon.  And my irritation became loud and proud.  If you’re that nervous to just have a drink with me when nothing else has happened between us at ALL, then you shouldn’t be doing  this.  Why are you trying so hard to cheat on your wife anyway?  What’s the matter with you?

He bluntly says, I’ve wanted you since the minute I first saw you.  When I see you somewhere, I can’t pull my eyes away from you.  I think about you too much…all the time really…

WHAT.  THE.  FUCK?!  Are you freakin’ kiddin’ me?!  You’re an utter weirdo?! Psh…no I didn’t say that  utter weirdo part.

So I say, I was willing to have a drink with you and chit-chat, but if your sole endeavor here is to cheat on your wife, I gotta break  it to you, you picked the wrong girl.  I can’t be certain I’d be interested in whatever you’re suggesting even were you single, but I do know for certain that being any part of you cheating on a sacred thing like marriage holds zero interest for me. I’ve been cheated on by a husband before and I will never be that person who takes part in that kind of ugliness or creates that much pain in another human being’s heart.

He nods his head and says he understands.  I start to get out of his truck and he says, I just want you to know you’re beautiful. And whenever I see you anywhere, I’ll be thinking of how much I want you…just know that…

Yeah, you go with that pal…seal that coffin.  Because that little last gift you offered up, just makes me feel wrong and so freakin’ dirty that I now feel like I need to go home and immediately take a shower just to cleanse myself of the pile of disgust you’ve just immersed me in.

No, I didn’t say that part..although I kinda wish I had..  I just hopped out of the truck and walked the few feet to my car, debating whether to go back in and chat with Billy the adorably sweet bartender and drown my disgust in yager bombs and bloody mary’s or go home and scrub myself down head-to-toes with a harsh disinfectant and holy water.

Again, the debate was tough.  I just felt so horrible that I’d even met up with this guy…so disgusted with myself, with him, with the debauchery and casual nature of this kind of thing in general.  Hmm…drown the mind/thoughts in a haze of alcohol… or scrub myself fresh and clean…??

I opted to just go home and take a two hour shower, washing away the entire nasty ass residue that creeper-man had  radiated onto me.  Umm…yuk!

Screams of an highly imaginative guilty conscience

So in the Who Wants To Date a Married Man game show of life…and yes, I use the word “date” very loosely here! Perhaps it might more aptly be called “how to gracefully dodge married men”, with the primary emphasis there being on gracefully…and secondarily on dodge.
Contestant number one, we’ll call him Z and here,  Z is for Zirconia…yeah, as in cubic zirconia. That lovely gem which makes a fairly decent attempt at being a successful imposter.
I see Z as this: He looks good, almost wholesome even; he’s certainly no “God of men” in the looks department like say Chris Pine… or the whole beef, bean, chicken, rice, and veggie enchilada that Matt Damon effortlessly encompasses (psh…umm as if anyone….), but I’d gander that Z would be rated at least above average attractiveness by the majority of females over 25.   Z is educated, and has a charismatic flair which just might be able to cause the likes of Angelina Jolie to take momentary notice. Yeah, the level of charisma involved here borders on lethal. In fact, if stripped down to the basic naked truth here, it’s entirely possible that it’s Z’s level of charisma which allows me to even write of the man in the same paragraph as the every-level-of-extraordinary Matt D.

Shamelessly childish Matt Damon disclaimer:

image via gettyimages.com

 Have I yet mentioned my encompassing, overwhelming, extraordinary adoration, devotion, respect, desire, and attraction to the phenomenal Matt Damon anywhere here? No? Well, I am that girl: a Matt Damon girl. Mr. Damon represents my absolute ideal; he’s boyishly handsome, yet still sexy beyond sexy; well above highly intelligent, dedicated to his ethics and causes, extraordinarily talented, wickedly witty, and yet his ego appears to be intact. If you stripped the Matt-ster of his physical appeal, I feel absolutely certain I’d still find him absolutely irresistible and wondrous. My one true love thus far in life only got a first date because he has a smile like Matt Damon. I married a man with the initials M.D.   Matt is the only “star crush” I’ve ever had. I’d not hesitate to shamelessly cover my walls, even at my age, with posters and magazine pictures of this man. Possibly the only reason I haven’t is merely because his photos, as devastatingly appealing as they are, are not a true representation of his million other qualities which captivate and enthrall me. I cried when he married. Matt Damon simply IS the epitome of my every ideal and fantasy on every level of attraction.

Back to the Z though… Although Z seems to have an element of the Matt’s naturally charismatic nature, there’s something going on there with Z which, in spite of all demonstration and evidence to the very opposite (boyish charm, undeniable natural charisma)…something that flirts around in the “dangerous” zone with a truly deeply layered possibility of sinister. I almost hate to use the word “sinister”; it seems a tad extreme for what I’m actually describing, but I can’t grasp a word which perfectly describes this particular element. And perhaps Z is merely your typical boy-next-door type with that not so unusual bad boy undercurrent? I don’t know… There are tiny implications in his aura/presence/energy which suggest it might go a tad beyond that stereotype, but these only come as hunches and flashes of intuition to me.  There’s nothing in anything the man has actually said or done in my presence which should indicate this darker depth. I just sense it and I *almost* fear it, while also, of course, I find it intriguing and mystifying.

I know without “knowing” that Z is a player of the game. This seems undeniably evident because he’s married and is an outrageous flirt…and a successful one at that, in that he has the ability to actually make one think maybe, just mayyyybe, this guy doesn’t flirt like that with every cute chick he crosses paths with. But, my BS detector has that little inadvertent deception in check. In spite of his talent to make me think there might be limits to his flirtatious activities, my gut screams that this is not so. My intuition hollers at me that his flirtations are, in fact, without any limits whatsoever and perhaps all that’s required is a basic attraction to any quality. What I hear and feel between the lines of his words and actions are closer to something like: she has a nice butt- wonder what I gotta do to get me a piece of that; that one’s lips are nice- how can I get them wrapped around my joystick; oooohhhh look at that cute chin- cool! Somethin’ I can grab ahold of to pull her in for a sensuous kiss. In fact, my gut says this might go so far that the only stipulation he might have at all is simply that the target is female. Um…yukk!!
Not that I’d date him anyway. Yeah, if he was single I admit I might fall briefly for his charm and wit. However, he is most definitely not, thus… Big fat NO to the Z!
…but I have been having a little fun doing some informal research of sorts into how this married-man thing works. I have several friends who have engaged in this kind of thing and I’ve always been curious, but never wanted to ask for much specific info on the subject for obvious reasons…
So, I’ve had wings and beers alone with the Z, but mostly and to his chagrin I might add, we text. Our texting sessions tend to go along the lines of him trying to catch me available to hang out for an afternoon rendezvous. It’s so strange how he just never accomplishes that..hehe… When I AM available and/or alone, I don’t respond to his calls or texts until a few days later when I’m not available and feel certain he won’t be either.  And when I’m NOT available, I respond immediately just to find out what kinds of things he’ll say or do, knowing I have a legitimate excuse promptly on hand for not hanging out.
In spite of my huge attraction to the study of human nature, informal investigations into practices I can’t comprehend, and (yeah I confess) the appeal of his charisma, this whole questionable association/attraction has a distinct downside.  

but..but..I love to watch hockey!

Although I’ve not allowed this to cross any major ethical lines, I no longer feel comfortable going to watch my non-FWB buddy play hockey, which I enjoyed immensely before the onset of this tempting flirtation. And this irritates me, particularly since I’ve done nothing wrong!

My conscience is apparently bigger than Texas. The thought alone of getting in my car to purposely drive to anywhere this man is going to be without his wife, fills me with heavy guilt. I ask myself, will I be able to come up with another excuse to leave early once again…avoiding any one on one, face-to-face moments? Would I be able to even enjoy myself, sitting there with all the weight of the guilt? More importantly, would the bleachers even be able to hold me, plus the weight of my guilt or would they tellingly heave and sag directly under me? What if they come crashing down and Mr. Charisma gracefully skates over to my side, falsely claiming I require mouth-to-mouth and in my unconscious state, I mindlessly uttered,  No, no no…you’re MARRIED! Or Stop, I have an important appointment I must get to immediately, or worse yet, what if in my temporary shock at falling I were to go full fledge into damsel in distress mode and merely gasp breathlessly, Oh Z…you’re my hero!
Or… what if his wife were to show up? I wouldn’t know how to act under such circumstances, but I do know the stress and guilt might then combine and I could truly hyperventilate and actually faint…how freakin’ embarrassing that would be! I imagine a scene straight out of Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart, more aptly entitled Kay’s Consuming Guilty Conscience of Just Thinking of Such a Scandalous Tryst! …my furiously beating conscience oozing my slutty red thoughts all about me, all over the damned rink forcing me into a temporary state of Slut’s Tourette’s…randomly bellowing out confessions like, I DID IT….it’s ME…I texted him!! Yeah, I had wings and beers ALONE with him too!  PLEASE forgive me?  Umm…I lived in Vegas for three months! 

This might seem out of the realm of all actual likelihood, I know. But I’m not so sure. I did once go tubing down the river in a rather low and unhealthy temperature for an activity such as submerging my bottom half in bitterly cold rapid waters and with the added bonus of an unexpected and more-than-chilly rainfall, during which I imbibed three stiff cuba libres. 

Famiily-ish River tubing party

 Holy drunken river-tuber-girl, Batman!  …Halfway down the river, bordering on hypothermia, I did develop a rare case of Tourette’s and I began randomly bellowing out swear words and phrases I’ve never vocalized prior in my life!  Oh and this was a group outing too and I should add that this behavior was beyond inappropriate given the variety of people tubing.  We were 15 tubes all tied to each other.  Apparently ( I don’t have any recollection of this), at one point even, I weakly (yeah, thankfully my vocal cords were not at their usual capacity in my diminished physical and mental state of near-hypothermia) attempted through intense and debilitating shivering to scream at a passing motor boat something along the lines of, I will blow every mate on your ship if you’ll f–#@– take me with you!  And as they passed our group in spite of my whispered screams Ialso allegedly said, Fine! Don’t save me then you rat bastard momma screwing, little kitty cats.  So you see, the sudden onset of Tourette’s-Under-Stress phenomenon is not at all out of the question for me during excessively uncomfortable situations. 

Nahhhh, since I lack the will-to-silence of Hester Prynne,   I’m avoiding any possibility of ANY of those OMG-what do I do now situations! …and then of course I have to wonder what in the hell would I be like if I actually ever followed through with anything like having a fling like this?  Gasp! The guilt alone might consume me alive. Geesh, how do people DO things like this and just walk around like nothing?!

Excuse me, is that a temptation band on your other hand?

I’ve been home now since mid October…back in the stompin’ ground of my youth…and beyond! A little battered, a smidge beaten even, but I made it. Dating hasn’t been a priority and I’ve not bothered to even check my aquarium account or check in at all with that little diapered-man. Instead, I’ve been nursing broken hearts, repairing wounded self esteems, and communicating regularly with my attorney in my fight for retribution. I’m typically not big on the retribution thing, as there actually isn’t anything in the world valuable enough to compensate for what has been broken and lost in this; mostly I just want my house back. That place of comfort and security which we left in July….sighhhhh….
However, being back in the Stompin’ Ground does have a few advantages of which I’ve become newly aware. 1. I actually know people here! 2. I know my way around, which minimizes my irrationally chronic fear of getting lost. 3. My father is not only near, but without a doubt, a blessing from God.
Although my focus hasn’t been on online dating, I have had a few opportunities to get out and about and meet up with people, both new and old acquaintances. I’ve come to a huge discovery in this process of reacquainting myself here: What’s up with the married men around here? Lived here on and off for the majority of my life and have had very limited (as in merely ONE) exposure to the married man hitting on me in all that time.
I move away, move back and WHAM! (No, don’t wake me up before you go-go….in fact, don’t even come over-over at all-all…just go-go before you come-come, okay?)
I am suddenly a married man MAGNET! What is this? Did living in the city of sin stamp me with a “no moral fiber” tramp stamp of which I’m totally unaware? Where are these men coming from? What’s wrong with their marriages? Okay, strike that one please, as that little question could take months for me to properly analyze alone! But… what IS up with this? What is up with me that I seem to be suddenly drawing them in like unemployed lumberjacks to the forest?
Hmmm… I might have an easy answer to that, if I were frequenting single’s bars, presenting myself as one “looking for action”, but I swear to you, I am not! The two primary contestants in this quiz-show I stumbled across in the most innocent of fashions. One, at a men’s hockey league game which I attended to watch a friend (no, not a FWB, just a friend) play and the other, during a brief trip to the mall while last-minute Christmas shopping. There I was,  in grey sweatpants and a hoodie which in all likelihood had long-forgotten, permanent stains on it from some zestfully eaten lunch-on-the-run from days gone by when passing by the Verizon store, I lock eye contact with guy-I-once-shared-one-drunken- slow-dance with almost two years ago.
I’m not without any vanity, so yeah, I was embarrassed to see him (even just in passing) while in such an inappropriate state of dress. I blushed and then remembered the guy is now married and I’m sure couldn’t care less what I wear on any given day. Hell, I hadn’t spoken with this guy in so long, he probably can’t even recall where he knows me from.
Uhh…. Wrong-wrong. Approximately three hours later I get a call from a number I don’t recognize and guess who…?? Yup, disastrously-drunken-dance-from-two-years-ago guy! Seriously, how does he still have my number even? I have always been under the mistaken assumption that to keep a number that long which you don’t use then, you must have dated, had sex, or been the best of friends…something, anything, even mildly momentous in some way in which you might at some point want to re-visit or experience again. It’s the “just in case I re-think that one” or “in the event I have a moment of weakness when I doubt my past choice” number preservation system. None of which apply here as he and I shared one thing and one thing only: one disastrous drunken dance.
Suffice to say, I was quite taken aback when guy identifies himself. I’m sorry, who is this again?? Unfortunately, my breeding doesn’t allow me to follow that up with a snide “and why are you calling me?” No. So, after the identification process, I just listened. He asks if I’m in Vegas still and just visiting or if I’m back…WHAT?!! How did…? Who told…? Ahhh don’t get me started on the glories of small town livin’ where even the lady three blocks over has a second uncle removed who knows you moved to Vegas…there will be plenty about that to come!
Anyway, not wanting to jump to conclusions, I talked little and briefly and listened long and well… exercising my rarely used ability to put silence in places for the distinct purpose of creating those telling moments of discomfort. I mean, after all, perhaps he just wants to be friends…
OMG, did I really just type that without laughing?
Nahhhh…he wants to meet up….hang out….what-not…. hob-nob….all behind his wife’s back! This, coming in a time-frame where I’m still smack-dab in the midst of figuring married hockey man’s lingering attraction.
…which I still am in the midst of and have so far only learned one thing in regard to this sudden married man phenomenon: the blessing of a married man affectionately calling is that he’s MARRIED and doesn’t have nearly as much time or freedom to call. Which in turn, eliminates a great deal of my personal problem of maintaining my social grace in awkward situations while still oh-so-subtly blowing off said advances…or perhaps dodging them is a more accurate verb. I confess, I’m struggling with blowing these guys off completely. Well, at least one of them I am…
Life’s irony never fails to shoot many blows to my over-analytical mind. As I struggle to maintain basically old-fashioned ethics in the shadowy face of temptation, I’m suddenly smacked with constant media and entertainment concepts that romanticize this issue and remove a bit of the GASP! factor from my temptations: movies, stories, articles, personal friends…all about either cheating on their significant or cheating with someone else’s significant. It seems to be everywhere I turn! Now, what in hell is this message? I can’t tell if I’m being signaled the go-ahead to try this adventure out or if I’m being tested to a new limit of my personal ethics.
Either way, I’m still hanging strong…in limbo, yes, but hangin’ strong just the same.