Gas? I Think I'll Pass.

I don't know.....I just have terrible luck in the dating world.  It's almost like I'm not supposed to date or something.  However, the last person I went out with gave me a glimmer of hope that perhaps my streak of dating failures was just about over.  He was decent looking; he was a gentleman; he had a good career; he was a father of grown children; he could cook; and, he could fix things.  We went out a few times, and each time, I grew more fond of his company.  Never inappropriate with me, never pushed, never made me uncomfortable.  This was working out pretty well, or so I thought. Unfortunately, the logistics was becoming difficult, as me, with a young child still at home, and he with no such encumbrances, couldn't seem to work out much after the first two weeks as far as getting together.  And so, it became fairly clear to me that this, unfortunately, was probably not going to work out.  I decided to chalk this one up as yet another uneventful chapter in my dating life.

Yes, it seemed to be coming to an end as quickly as it all began.  Or, WAS IT?

That very same week I made this revelation,  and the writing on the wall told me that a blossoming relationship with this fine fellow wasn't written in the stars for me, I got a text from him.  He wanted to cook dinner for me at his house for me the following Saturday.  Well, what a surprise!  Perhaps I had jumped the gun, and perhaps he had a change of heart and decided the logistical nightmare would be a small price to pay to pursue this with me.  I ignored the little voice in my head telling me, "You know, Sheila.....he probably had his date for Saturday cancel on him, and he didn't want to re-freeze those tuna steaks".  No, in my at-times overly-optimistic mind, this was a sign that things were not as dismal as they had seemed to me just a couple of days before.  

This date coming up gave me something to look forward to. This particular week wasn't looking so hot for me--I had my first colonoscopy scheduled for that Friday, and starting on Thursday, I wasn't going to be able to have anything to eat all day but clear liquids.  Thursday night was not going to be pleasant, either--I'll spare you the details of what I had to do in preparation for the procedure the next day.  Suffice it to say, the end of my week was truly going to suck.  Now, instead of dreading the latter part of the week, I was excited! I decided I could get through Thursday and Friday fine, just as long as I had this to look forward to on Saturday.

Let me clue you in a little about me before I go any further.  I have never been a person who found humor in poo-poo, pee-pee, or bodily functions.  I hate The Three Stooges, and when everyone else is laughing to the point of tears at someone belching or letting one rip, I'm the one rolling my eyeballs.  It's not that I don't have a sense of humor, it's that I like to think mine is more highly evolved.  It is with this mindset that I conduct myself the way I do.  I go to great lengths to avoid situations where any involuntary bodily function of my own is experienced by others.  Suffice it to say, I would be mortified in the event I accidentally belched, or WORSE, in public.  I pride myself in being lady-like and elegant.

And so, I got through Thursday and Friday.  I don't know if you've had the opportunity to experience a colonoscopy, but if not, I'll tell you---the worst part is not getting to eat the day before, and what you have to do the night before to ready your colon for examination.  The procedure itself is quite simple and basically discomfort free.  All I know is that I went to sleep, and while I was asleep, and before they would begin the procedure, they would be filling my colon with air---you know, so they could see what was going on in there.  Sorry, but that little fact is important to know.

After my procedure, my daughter took me to lunch.  Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I remembered the nurse reminding me not to eat heavily immediately after, and the next two days--but I was hungry, dammit.  Sensible medical advice be damned, I ordered a whole slab of Memphis ribs, mashed potatoes, and corn. With a full belly,  I came home, and slept a good, solid 12 hours.  

I woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 2 am Saturday morning, rip-rarin' to tackle my day.  I had just lost two days due to hunger and going to the doctor, and I had a lot to do before showing up at Mr. Wonderful's house at 6:30 pm!  My day flew by, and I felt GREAT.  I showed up at my date's house bearing a bottle of red and white wine, and my award-winning chocolate truffle cheesecake.  He greeted me at the door, and ushered me inside, smiling.  He showed me around his house, and I was quite impressed.  He built on additions to the house, he installed his own windows, he had the yard landscaped nicely.  What a guy!  I watched intently as he seared the tuna steaks like a professional.  We chatted, drank wine, and then ate some cheesecake.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, that damned nurse's voice kept echoing "Now remember, don't over do the food right away!".  Again, I chose to shut her up.

After dinner, we watched a movie in his cozy family room.  "What kind of music do you like?", he asked after the movie.  Turns out, we're both Motown freaks, so we went into his living room and proceeded to take turns choosing our favorites and listening to them on his wonderful sound system.  And so, the evening continued listening to Gladys Knight and the Pips, The Temptations, and the Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose.  What a great night, and what great company!  I smiled to myself, and said a silent prayer of thanks to God for allowing me to meet such a wonderful person.  A more perfect night, I couldn't imagine.  I excused myself to use his restroom, with the promise "I'll be right back!"

As I came out of his restroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror.  I curbed a smile, and noted how nice I looked after getting plenty of rest and a few good meals.  I happily trotted into the room, and got ready to take my place on the couch next to my date.  As I sat down, however, an unfamiliar sound, a sound that wasn't supposed to permeate the silence, filled the air.  There was no mistaking what it was, or from where it came.  "Pffffweeeet!"  Dear. God. In. Heaven.  No, no, NOOOOOO!   I felt the blood rush to my face.  I cannot begin to describe the look on his.  Suffice it to say, the remaining hour that I was there wasn't the same.  He barely talked.  I barely talked.  How awkward and embarrassing. I told him it was time for me to leave, and he didn't balk at that suggestion at all.  A few days later, I would remember the look of relief on his face when I told him it was time for me to go home.  I haven't heard from him since.  At first, I thought that maybe I should explain, but then I thought how that didn't work out so well for George Costanza when he tried to explain "shrinkage" after swimming in cold water, so why would I think my explanation of "They had to fill me with air yesterday, you know,  and they told me not to eat like an out of control chow hound, but I did anyway. I was hungry, dammit!" would work out any better for me?

All I wanted was to be the wind beneath someone's wings; instead, I was the person who broke wind in someone's living room. 

So Nice To HAZMAT You.......

Well, it had to happen sometime.  Someone on the dating site, in an effort to woo me, has played the Ebola card.  This is someone who has emailed me a couple of times, but I remain not interested for a variety of reasons.  One, he lives two hours away; two, I am not attracted to him; and three, in his previous emails, he seemed pretty bitter about the whole dating thing altogether, and told me in no uncertain terms in his last email that I am picky, I ask for too much, I am a lonely, aging spinster, and Superman isn't out there.  I took offense of course.  Don't tell ME Superman isn't out there ready to swoop in.  Anywho, in my last correspondence to him, which was really intended to be my LAST, I told him that I was offended by what he said.  I told him that I have every right to be picky, and for that matter, I am not desperate enough to settle for just any one just for the sake of having a man.  I told him that I am happy, I love my life, and I am just fine staying busy running my own little show until that special person finally shows up, be it today, tomorrow, or five years from now.

This morning, I woke up and checked my emails.  Sure enough, there was a reply.  I hesitated reading the vitriol that was sure to be inside, but unfortunately, in order to block and individual, which is what I was intending to do, you have to open the email.  What I read wasn't quite what I expected.  He was, I guess you could say, contrite and overly apologetic that what he had said offended me.  But it didn't stop there, oh no.  

"Now is no time to be picky....I would do anything to meet you and make you happy.   With this new outbreak going on, we can't waste any more of our precious time.  It's going to kill us all.  Please call me ***-***-**** as soon as you read this.  Let's die in one another's arms.  I'm your new man........"

Well, a happy bright Sunday to you too, Skippy.

Sweet Blessed Jesus.  BLOCK     ))shudder((

I'd Like You To Meet My Friend(s)

I have had about a three week period of very little activity on the dating site, but I guess that is to be expected when I have visually cycled through every single male within the tri-state area that is on the same dating site as I am.  So used to the inactivity am I,  that some days I don't even bother to check to see if I have any new mail or not.  Pffffft. Just out of curiosity, and for want of some cheap entertainment, I logged on this morning to find not one, not two, but THREE emails from THREE MEN I have never heard from before.  Coincidentally, two of the men are from the same town, one-and-a-half hours away,  and one is from somewhere close to Fort Wayne.  All three are attractive, within my age criteria, and not-a-one of the three spoke to me in anything other than complete sentences.  This, along with the fact that it is Friday, gave me a hopeful little boost that perhaps, PERHAPS, I still may meet the man o' my dreams.  

Full of optimism, I quickly jotted off replies to the three before I left the house at 2:17 for work.   A little thing about me on the dating site:  I never make the first contact.  I'm not a shy little thing, nor am I timid.  I just prefer the man to initiate the contact.  That way I KNOW they're interested.  I'm old-fashioned like that.  One thing I have learned, though, is that for every four gentlemen that I reply to, I will only hear from two.  Why that is, I do not know.  It is what it is.  By lunch, I had an email from one of the gentleman.  True to form, I did not hear from the other two.  Just as well.....I was more attracted to this one, anyway.  Tall, dark, mysterious.......laughing eyes......YEAH.  Suffice it to say, I was pretty happy to see a reply from Mr. TD&H.  Oh, my.....he's giving me ♫ com-pli-ments ♪ ! He likes my pictures, and he thinks I'm funny, too! To paraphrase his email:  He knows this is pretty unusual, but he happens to be coming to Fort Wayne this weekend, and he'd love TO MEET ME!!!!!!!

"Tomorrow....tomorrow...what is going on tomorrow?", I wondered to myself.  Well, other than working til 3:30, really......NOTHING!  My daughter will be gone for the night, so, I guess, for a few hours, anyway, that makes me FREE.  I wasted no time replying that I would be happy to meet him tomorrow night.  


Well, it didn't take long to get slammed back into my dating reality once I got It a reply.  "I'm going to be in town visiting my sudo-sister."  **that took me by surprise.  I tried to decide if he was trying to say "pseudo" or "sumo" **  "I'm coming to Fort Wayne to help her to pick out a car and catch up."  


                                                  

"She's a real hoot, just like you.  I think you two would be great friends, so I thought you could join us".  So, in other words----"I'd like to ask you out on a car-lot-hopping-test-driving (you'd have to sit in the backseat, of course) date because I think you and my pseudo-sumo-sister would really dig one another and become fast friends."

I pondered that unusual invite for a few minutes.  Really let it soak in.  In the end, it came down to the fact that on a first date, I don't do well in groups.  My mind wandered back six years to a situation where I was "fixed-up" with the Podiatrist for the Chicago White Sox.  I know, right?  A doctor.  He had a World Series ring and eva' thin.  Money.  Notoriety. Did I say Podiatrist?  If things worked out, he could possibly fix my feet!  And, did I mention he was cute as HAY-ull?   

Unfortunately, I found out after driving from Fort Wayne to the Hancock Tower in Chicago to meet him, he dates with an entourage that included his attorney best friend, his daughter and her husband, and several other friends of his who would be meeting me for the first time, also.  I am outgoing, and I love people, but I hate being odd man out.  Although the friends and family were very kind to me, and I had a swell time eating at the Bard's Room prior to the White Sox game; but the fact remained that I didn't feel like I fit in with the group.  Long story short, the evening capped with me making a brazen, nail-biter of an un-planned escape from the 54th story of the Hancock Tower, so uncomfortable was I. I tell this story to few people, as it illustrates how I've let several apparent "great catches" slip through my hands. 





                                                

And so here I sit, on this drizzly, cold Friday wondering if I did the right thing.  Maybe I should give the whole "third wheel" thing another go. This time, if I'm uncomfortable, at least all I have is a fifteen minute drive home, instead of having to navigate my way out of a downtown Chicago skyscraper's parking garage and driving 160 miles home.  Does this mean I am anti-social?

It's Not You, It's Me. No, Actually, I Lied---It IS You.

"Picky.  You know what?  That's your problem--you're just too damned picky, Sheila".

This is the assessment that I get from well-meaning friends marveling at the fact that over a ten-month quest to find someone on the online dating sites, I've only had six dates.  Six dates with six gentlemen, and only one of these resulted in a second date.  Out of those six gentlemen, I have gotten exactly ONE kiss.  I don't keep up with the statistics of success for those of us who resort to the online dating forum, but in my mind, that's not something to brag about.   



                                                          

Now, back to the picky comment---yes, I suppose that is correct.  I am a bit selective.  But, in my defense, I'm looking for (cue sappy music) My last first date.  I may be picky, but at least I don't play around and waste huge amounts of time trying to settle and make someone fit that mold.  I have a very good idea who I am looking for, and when I see traits that do not belong to this image that I want in a man, I stop and go no further. Although everyone wants to believe we aren't visual people, the truth of the matter is appearances count, and like it or not, appearances, especially in pictures, speak a thousand words.  Especially when those images, in photos and in print, directly contradict what the person is trying to convey about themselves.  There are lots of clues to what leads me to believe someone is not the right person for me.  So, yes, I pay close attention to the pictures someone attaches to their profile.  They go a long way in telling a story.

Who's That Girl?

One of the biggest pitfalls in the online dating world are the players.  They are EVERYWHERE.  They are bold; they are brash; they are really stupid thinking someone they know isn't going to squeal to their girlfriend or wife that they have seen them on a dating site.  Unfortunately, they're in abundance, and you should know better than to believe that they are in search of a "long-term relationship" when certain bright red flags and screaming sirens are telling you otherwise.  Take for instance the fellas that have a cropped group photo among their profile photos.  The problem arises when you clearly see spaghetti straps on a shoulder snuggled right up to our potential suitor.  That, and a cheek nuzzled right up against his.  Is this your ex?   Is this your current significant other?  Is this someone you went out with last week?  It may be a good picture of you, but I don't want to see anything that remotely resembles what could be a past or even a current relationship you may be in.  It makes me think you aren't over something, and that is never good.  At least be like the guy who unabashedly has a selfie of a woman and himself lying prone on a bed of hay making kissy-duck faces into the camera.  I found myself obsessing over the fact that she was really cute and photogenic, and I know right now, she wasn't his sister or his friend. I don't want to start off things feeling inadequate or competitive.  Most despicable was the gentleman who was drop-dead gorgeous, in a tux, with an equally beautiful woman on his arm--the caption read "Calm down!  This is my mother".  Some quick math on this 54-year-old SWM told me  that even if his mother was 16 when she had him, no 70 year old woman looks hot and has THAT perky of boobs.  Move along.

Location, Location, Location

I don't believe I have ever, EVER, felt compelled, no matter how good the lighting may be in there, to take a picture of myself in the bathroom.  Most men on the dating site (and the women, too, from what I have heard), seem to choose the commode as the backdrop of choice for their profile pictures.  To me, nothing screams "No Class!" quite as loudly as a shirtless selfie in a bathroom mirror.  This tells me more than the fact you make lousy decisions in photo-locale, it's telling me you are a slob beyond compare when you neglect to close the shower curtain behind you and the curtain has been torn off of two of the shower curtain hooks, I can see visible soap scum, and worse, I can tell the shower is STILL running.  Not taking a picture in the john is best, of course, but if you must, at least put the damned lid on the toilet down, pick up your flippin' towels, get the can of Barbasol on the counter capped up, make sure I can see a toothbrush, and for the love of God, man, put a shirt on!  As for me, I think I. Gotta. Go.

So, Sweetheart---What Do You DO All Day?

I am an extremely self-sufficient woman. I am not looking for some sugar daddy to finance my every whim and keep me in Dove Chocolate and Calgon Bath Beads for the rest of my life.  That being said, I also have to put it out there that dating an unemployed person, or a person of questionable employment is not a situation that I particularly want to find myself in.  There is a place on the general information area for a person to indicate their profession/employment status.  What I look for are terms like "self-employed", "working at the job of life", or "Hefty Bag Tie-Tester".  Of course, there are some people that truly are self-employed--they have their own business, and they support themselves quite well, but then there are the ones who live in their Mother's basement playing XBox and fantasy football all day.  Fantasy football, I'm sorry, is not steady income.  This can also mean that they make their money via alternative money-making endeavors, such as a self-proclaimed Ebay Kingpin who spent his days and nights haunting auctions and picking through trash to peddle on his Ebay site.  That's great, but a steady job would have kept him from ringing me at 1 in the morning asking, "Hey!  Are you up yet?", then texting me photos of the H.R. Puffenstuff Lunch box, the neat-o watering cans, and the fake Boticelli he scored at an auction.   Keep close tabs on a last name if they slip up and supply it as well.  I used this once to Google the "working at the job of life" guy, and was rewarded with finding out he had been fired from the U.S. Post Office for tampering with packages, then subsequently fired and a lawsuit brought against him when he was also terminated from "Speedy Pizza" for trespassing and harassment. I understand life throws us things and people are unemployed at times through no fault of their own, and if you're okay with a questionable employment status, good for you.  I'm just an advocate of caution.   Be smart.  Be safe. Be nosy as hell.

Name That Dude

I sometimes wonder how much thought goes into what a person chooses for their screen name.  It should convey a little about the person, yet not give away too much personal information.  A simple SteadyEddy, Seeking1234, or even ImURGuy are pretty innocuous--nothing about them would skeeve me away from looking at someone's profile.  And that's the point, right?  To get someone interested enough, past the picture, to find out more about you.   I think so, anyway, which is why when I see screen names that make me squirmily uncomfortable, and, no matter how nice the pictures are, go to the next profile.  Examples that come to mind include "ChiefHuntingTush", or "MyCellinHell" (to Mr. InHell's credit, I will say that he DID come clean about his prison stint), "NytVsnGoggles", and of course my all time favorite, "LetsGetNekkid".   No, No, Over my dead body, and In your dreams.  

Don't Bring Me Down

"What are you supposed to be?"

"Why, I'm a little black rain cloud, of course!"

Well, garsh.....we all have bad days, don't we? However, when you're attempting to attract a potential mate, you don't want to showcase yourself as someone who sits in a dark room brooding over your last failed relationship, or as someone who has been knocked down so many times he needs help from you to get up.  Time and time again, I run across profiles of men who, instead of trying to sell themselves, and play up their best traits, choose to use the online dating profile as a forum to bash their former mate, going so far as telling you how much she took,  informing you that she managed to turn the kids away from him, how far he is behind in his child support, or going into great detail to clue you in about how long it's been since "I been with a woman". Their tag line is a good indicator of the story that is sure to follow:  "She Got Everything, At Least She Didn't Get My Soul", or "I Need A Good Woman--Are U Her?".  If you get past the screen name and tag line, you are sure to find a detailed account of the state of their relationship status which pairs nicely with an unsmiling, unshaven face, shirtless (usually), basking in the ambient glow of their computer screen with an unmade bed in the background, strewn with cans of beer and Cheeto's bags.  Some women are looking for a project, I just happen to not be one of those.  The few of these that I have read have depressed me enough to prompt me to sit under a blanket watching Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman reruns in my pajamas, eating pickles and drinking cheap wine.  Please, don't harsh my mellow, my good fellow.  

Mama Done Take Your Kodachrome Away?

Possibly worse than the bathroom/shirtless selfie, are the "no picture" guys.  A gray silhouette is all you will see of these mystery men.  That leaves much to the imagination.  In this day and age of facebook and cell phone cameras, there's really no reason why someone cannot provide a picture.  After all, we are a visual people, and let's be honest--would you want to know what someone you meet somewhere looks like? Of course you would.  Don't lie.  That's not being superficial, that's being human.  From time to time, someone with no picture will contact me.  When I reply, I simply tell them hello, thank them for their email, then ask why they don't have a picture.  I will tell you that quite a few get offended.  The ones that don't usually begrudgingly provide one.  To my cell phone.  It's more often than not a shirtless, unsmiling, bathroom selfie.  Oh, the irony.

Eeeny, Meeny, Miney, No

There's safety in numbers, but three is a crowd.  I am too old and have so little patience for guessing games.  I suppose that is why I hate the guys that provide a "group photo".  For some reason, the group profile picture usually has three men in it, and nothing to clue you in on which one is the one you are trying to find out more about.  Is it the hunk in the middle?  Is it the guy with the rifle?  Is it the Wally Cox lookalike?  It's anyone's guess, but I'm not taking any chances.  Game over.

So, yes, I'm picky.   But do you know what?   I'm big enough understand that I am not everyone's cup of tea, either.  Although most people seem to get a chuckle out of it, and compliment me on my dating profile,(and even sometimes on my pictures), there are a few that feel just the opposite.  Last month, I got an email from someone on the site who informed me the he had to read my profile twice, just so he could fully digest it before he threw up.  He then went on to attack my personal appearance---".....and you're really not very attractive at all, and why don't you do yourself a favor and lose your GLASSES?"

Lose my GLASSES?  Oh, well......I guess he has his standards, too.

Online Dating For Dummies Part Two--Baby, It's a Wild World

One thing most of us are taught to believe as children, is that there is good in almost everyone.  Unfortunately, after we've lived our lives for a while, we find that this isn't always quite accurate.  You want to remember this if you are participating in online dating, and be prepared for the reaction you will get from friends and family once they get wind of what you're doing--they will all come out of the woodwork voicing their concerns for your safety, and rightly so.  Haven't you heard the horror stories of women who were silly enough to give a complete stranger directions to their house in good faith, only to never be heard from again? Discounting for the random urban legend, some of those stories are actually true, unfortunately, but that doesn't mean that all of those miscreants are lurking on online dating sites, and it doesn't mean you have to worry just yet if your dental records haven't been updated since junior high school, either.   As long as you're savvy and grow some street smarts, you'll be fine, just fine, Clarice.

                            

Sometimes, all the clues you need to avoid running into Dr. Lecter or any of his cohorts are right there in front of you--in his profile.  You just need to be educated in what to look for.  

So, once again, let's peruse another fictitious profile:

About      Non-smoking, chianti lover with wiry body type

Details    59 year old man, 5'10", Other Religion

Intent      HannibalL is desperately seeking a live-in arrangement

Personality   Class Clown

Well, what do you think?  Seems legit to me, but we really can't be sure til we break this mother down just a bit.  Let's dissect this line by line and see what we come up with, shall we?  Okay--so far so good; we have a guy that doesn't smoke and is a wine aficionado.  Pretty sophisticated, too, because when was the last time you saw "Box O'Chianti" sitting on the shelf at the ol' "Swig n' Save" liquor store?  Never, I bet.  Looks like he may be a classy kind of guy. His wiry body type is telling us he doesn't sit still very long, either. He's clearly a go-getter.  He sees what he wants, he goes after it, and he captures it.  He's probably building all sorts of sturdy containment thingy-s in his man-cave, and I'd wager he has all kinds of nervous energy, too.  This one has handy-man potential written alllllll over him.

But hang on here......fifty-nine?  He's getting up there, but so is this guy,

                                               

and I don't think you'd object to him showing up at your door, even though he's got twenty years on Mr. Chianti Lover.  So, don't you worry none about the age--it's just a number, baby.  Fifty-nine is the new thirty-seven, or something like that.  Let's see how he stacks up on the vertical measure.   Five-foot-ten.  You may like them tall, but how much taller do you really need?  He's got a few inches on you, and at a little under six-feet tall he's still tall enough to make you feel watched over and protected.  

Now, how do you feel about religion?  You're decidedly Catholic, but this fella isn't disclosing any affiliation what-so-ever, nor is he letting on who or what he believes in or worships. Don't let your imagination run wild and assume his idea of worshiping is dancing and prancing his little cloven hooves off with his freakish goat friends while playing a flute as his gold pentagram pendant swings wildly around his neck.  He's just not one to follow the mainstream and run with the less open-minded pack.  

Love the screen name!  Kind of "Tom Sawyer-ish", isn't it?  So he has just a touch of "bad-boy" in him, but who wants a Mr. Goody-Two-Hooves anyway?

He's in it to win it---he's not only wanting to share life with someone, a partner-in-crime, if you will--he's desperate, DESPERATE, do you understand,to find her---YOU!

And you like humor, don't you?  This guy is full of it.  Hopefully, not as much as this guy, though.  He was a class clown, too.

                                              

                                                 

This really looks promising, and aren't you glad you are making the little bit of extra effort to read, really READ his information, looking for those red-flags, listening for those blaring police sirens, and lifting your leg to step over that pesky yellow police crime scene investigation tape in order to do it?  Who's a smart, cautious girl? YOU ARE!

Now that we've cleared those hurdles, it's on to the home stretch.  Let's acquire a little more knowledge about our wiry friend.

City   Quantico, VA

Ethnicity     Ask me later

Education   PhD, Post Doctoral

Profession   Fashion Designer

Well, how did this guy get past your "within 50-mile radius" requirement? I'd be willing to go with that is a sign you were meant to find him.  Lot's of people are known to relocate for love, so let's not write him off just yet.  I hear Virginia is for lovers, just sayin'.  

He's a little coy on the ethnicity, but I'm thinking there may be a little European in there, judging by the most excellent and sophisticated wine conoisseur we have on our lily white, unlined hands.

He's a smarty, to boot!  Clever, possibly cunning.   Bet he makes a good living.  That's always important.  I bet he wouldn't mind your occasional indulgence of purchasing mass quantities of your favorite Bath and Body Works lotions.  Just a hunch, but he may even insist you not only buy them, but will want you to wear some at all times.

I might wonder about the whole fashion designer profession thing he's got going on, though---especially since that doesn't quite fit his education status.  Why would someone with a post-doctorate PhD gravitate into the world of women's fashion?  Because he can, silly!  He's made his fortune, now he's doing what he wants to do!  However, how much of a fashion snob is this man?  Will he look down on you and your expensive bag and cheap shoes?  Maybe.  But let him take you under his wiry wing and school you on what looks best on you.  Maybe he will be that one person who finally, finally, makes you so comfortable in your own skin, you won't care what you're wearing or carrying.  

So, you have my permission to pursue this---see what happens, and get out of that little self-imposed basement pit you've built yourself into, hose yourself off, and just let love happen.  This one's a keeper, and so are you!

                                                        

What God Has Brought Together, Let No Ass Put Asunder

It goes without saying that you will run into all kinds in the online dating world.  To some, even meek, mild-mannered me may fall into someone's category of "all kinds", you never know. However, some stories surpass even these boundaries, and manage to place themselves squarely into just about what anyone consider to be leaning a bit towards the Jerry Springer-esque.   These stories sometimes come out because one person tends to share a little too much information right from the get-go.  You know, the wrong word goes in the right ear, now see what happens?  Someone writes about it on their dating blog. 

There was one gentleman that I talked to briefly on the dating site who I was immediately drawn to for his clean-cut, youthful, and what appeared to be, fairly normal life.  A farmer, yes, but also an entrepreneur who enjoyed cooking, and worked a full-time job on top of all of this.  My farmer friend had a nice profile, and decent, wholesome pictures.  Awwwww....how cute. Three out of six of his profile pictures were of llamas from his farm.  I made a mental note these little critters must mean an awful lot to him, and obviously hold a special place in his heart.  What a guy!


                                     

This potential interest impressed me so much, in fact, I did what I usually do not do---I made the first contact, and to score some points, I mentioned the llamas and how I enjoy knitting.  Commonality.  A real ice-breaker.  It didn't take long for my farmer friend to respond to me, and good-naturedly correct my misconception that these were llamas.   They were, in fact, donkeys.  Oh, well---my bad.  I wasn't brought up on a farm, and you know, just about anyone could make the same mistake.  I found out that this particular Prairie God's entrepreneurial endeavor was fabricating an intricate corn maze on his property, and he was also in the beginning stages of marketing his own line of freezer jam.  As someone who loves to cook, and has been told many times to sell what she makes, this fascinated me to no end.  More!  I wanted to know MORE!  Phone numbers were exchanged, and he agreed to call me that night.  All day, I did as many of us have done that have never spoken to someone we have only seen in a picture---I began to imagine what his voice sounded like.  Deep, but not stern; soft, but not smarmy.  I envisioned standing at the fence of the donkey pen at sunset, patiently waiting for the freezer jam to set, feeling his muscular arms around me, and hearing him purr softly into my ear, "Let's head on back to the house and check to see if the jam is ready yet"  Oh, I'll be the first to admit that I was letting myself get carried away already, but how could I help myself?

And so the day slugged on.....in between muddling through my job, I daydreamed about talking to my donkey farmer that night.  I hoped my voice wouldn't catch and let on how eager I was to hear from him.  I needed to calm my happy ass on down.  The day ended, dinner was finished, and I looked at the clock.  "Seven-fifteen!" I said out loud.  My daughter heard me, and asked "Seven-fifteen what?"  "Oh, nothing..." I countered.  I made some lame excuse that I had laundry to put away, and pocketed my phone, heading upstairs for a little privacy.  Any minute now............any minute.

Good as his word, he rang my phone at seven-thirty precisely.  I then had a small panic attack when I wondered, "Oh, my God!  Is my call-back tone still Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get it On"?  Then I remembered I changed that to Barry Manilow's "Copacabana" quite some time ago.  I didn't want to spoil things by giving him the wrong impression of me while he enjoyed the ring-back tone while his party was reached.  Whew.  That was close.

"Hello?" I answered coyly in my very best telephone voice. "Stacy?", came the response from the unexpectedly high-pitched voice on the other end.  Damned wrong number!  "Ummmm..no.  I think you have the wrong number..", I stammered.  "Isn't this the girl I've been talking on ********** to?"  An eternity passed.......that voice.....screwing my name up with someone else's..NOOOOOOOOOOO!  I probably should have hung up right then and there, but something made me hold the line.  Love isn't always on time, and it doesn't always have a deep voice, either.  True, I wasn't Stacy, but some guys aren't great with names.....so I informed him that, no, this was Sheila, and how the hell are you, my high-pitched-voice, manly-man, donkey-breeding farmer, you?

That was basically my contribution to the conversation, because from that moment on, I was not going to be permitted to get a word in edge-wise until much later.

I was informed within the first two minutes that he had lost his job over two years ago, because of course, his boss "had it in for him".  "No problem, you still have a farm, don't you?", I wondered silently to myself for as I said, I was not permitted to speak.  It sounded like all was well with the farm, and the sporadic handy-man jobs he was fortunate to have in place of the job he was terminated from so unjustly.  The ex-wife was a real b****, now (his words), but they used to get along "real well". Why, she was even very understanding about not receiving child support.  The single mother in me was now beginning to get a bit suspicious---he wasn't supporting his children, and the mother of his children had been all right with getting no support, and  now all of a sudden she wasn't okay with this?  Why, I wondered, was that?  The answer was going to be forthcoming, if I could just learn to shut the voice in my head up, and be patient.  Yes, it seems that the ex-wife was just fine and dandy with absolutely no child support. "What changed all of that?" I silently asked myself, and as if on cue, he told me.  "She never did like the donkeys.  That's why she left, you know. Because of the donkeys. I was spending too much time on them, and she left.  No hard feelings, or anything, but about a year ago, I bought three more of them.  Now she's got a lawyer, and she's going after everything, even the farm.  She ain't touching my freezer jam, though."  I did get a word in edge-wise at this point, because the dots were starting to come together for me,and to be quite frank, again speaking as a single Mom, I was pissed for his ex-wife.  "So, your wife left you because of the donkeys, you aren't paying child support, and she isn't giving you a hard time about it, then you find the money to go out and buy three more?  And you wonder why she's taking you and your asses to court?"  I didn't wait for the reply--I hung up.  


I never heard from the farmer again, and it's just as well.   Any man who is obviously so preoccupied with getting another ass for his stable is not a man I could be interested in.

Online Dating For Dummies Part One

  I cannot tell you that my online dating experience has been successful.  That does not mean, however, that it isn't possible to find someone in this venue, it simply means that I have not been so fortunate.  I have come to the conclusion that if someone is going to realize the best possible outcome, and meet someone who lives up to their expectations, they have to go in with a little bit of knowledge, and put their blinders on for the rest.  It's too bad that you don't have to take some sort of a tutorial first, before submitting your profile on one of the plethora of online dating sites out there.  Perhaps if one was available, it would take some of the frustration out of the whole experience, and save those who are on it from wasting their time.  With that being said, I am willing to share some of the pratfalls and pitfalls I have commonly ran into during my quest for finding Mr. Pretty Okay.  If I can help but one person, my job here will be done.


Let's start with the basic statistics that the individual lists on their profile. This is the typical format for the first part:
     

About                                                

Me                    Non-smoker/average body type                                                                   

Details             53 year old man, 5'9, Non-Religious                                       

Intent               Looking for a Relationship                                                                

Personality     Adventurer


**This is not an actual profile of anyone living or dead. Any similarities between this profile and any actual profile are purely coincidental.  Please don't freak out, because it isn't yours--I swear!**

Okay, this looks pretty promising so far--we have a non-smoker (always a plus for some of us), and he is telling us he falls within the range of not being too thin, and not being overweight. He is taller than me by a couple of inches, so I can wear a bit of a heel should we go somewhere they have wine with a cork and not a screw-on cap.  He is right within my age parameter, but, uh-oh....he's non-religious. Well you know something?  How many people are really religious, anyway?  Don't go getting your knickers in a twist just yet over that one.  He isn't saying he doesn't believe in God, he is likely to be saying he doesn't go to church every Sunday.  However, we cannot completely rule out an Atheist at this point, so give him the benefit of a doubt until proven otherwise if and when a conversation between the two of you actually happens.

All right!  He's looking for a relationship. So, as far as you know now, he's looking for something serious.  Of course, his idea of a relationship and your idea of one may be entirely different, but again, this is something you will be able to pull out of him later if you actually talk to him.

His personality is that of an Adventurer.  Now, see, here is where we can be led astray into the valley of disappointment, because when I read "adventurer", I get this mental picture:

                                        

When, in fact, Mr. Pretty Okay's idea of adventure may be this:

                                    

Point being, you may be disappointed on this one.  I'm not saying that will be the case, but just keep this in the back of your mind, will you?

Okay, on to the second part of his information disclosure.  



City     Your City       

Ethnicity     Caucasian

Education         PhD, Post Doctoral

Profession          Medical


Now let's see what we have to go on here with Mr. Pretty Okay.  

How about that! He's right here in your city!  No Google Maps, no driving great distances only to be disappointed, he's practically in your backyard!  This is pretty promising so far, isn't it?  He's Caucasian---if that's what you're looking for, if not, well too bad, because there's nothing that can be done about that one.  Shut the front door!  He's got a PhD!  You know what that means, don't you?  He's probably pretty smart (hopefully not TOO smart, though).  And, look, this just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?  He's in the medical profession.  Now, we can put two and two together right here and now and assume this fella is a DOCTOR.  You may want to start doodling on paper right now how this looks in your prettiest handwriting, Dr. and Mrs. HootieHoo request the honour of your presence at the marriage of their daughter.....

Okay, wake the hell up and stop that!  Again, never assume anything at this point and let us not get ahead of ourselves and set the wheels in motion for disappointment.  Remember, you still haven't read his profile, yet.

Let's back this up.  We left out the picture, didn't we?  Well, that IS kind of important, after all.....  Okay, before we read any further, let's take a minute to drink in what Mr. Pretty Okay looks like, shall we?

                                                    
Damn, I say DAMN,woman! Isn't that...........I think that's....why, that's George Flippin' Clooney!  Well, that can't be right....George Clooney certainly isn't desperate enough to resort to online dating, is he? Now you have an idea how you can just fritter away twenty minutes of your life you'll never get back.  This actually happens quite frequently with posers on these sites.  I personally have never ran into a profile where someone actually thought women were so gullible not to recognize George Clooney as the profile picture, but I was sucked in to one where the lesser-known, but equally hot Rob Thomas was.  You have two choices here, you can either play along, have some fun, and be part of the joke, or you can block this idiot and bail.  Next!!!!

                                             

Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Spurred

                                                     

Clear and concise as I thought I was with what I am and am not looking for in a man, some found loopholes and slid on under my otherwise carefully-guarded radar.  I find that on the dating site that I am on, the men can be easily classified in two ways:  Those that ride motorcycles, and those that do not.  I cannot tell a lie---I don't go out of my way to search for a Harley-ridin' type, but then again, I never came right out and said I wanted nothing to do with them, either.  Come to think of it, I've never ridden a motorcycle in my life.  Who knows?  Maybe if I ever did put on a pair of ass-less leather chaps, don a wife-beater, get a few tatts, and head out on the open road with the wind in my hair and a Lynyrd Skynyrd song in my heart, I'd be gone all the time.  But, then, who'd take care of the young'ens, make the cookies, and let the dog out?  So, avoiding the road to temptation, I simply never went down it to begin with. But, yet, the siren song called out........"ComeRideWithMe54" left me a message.

So tell me you don't do the same thing- notice someone's appearance first, that is.  That's what I did.  There he was, in all of his bodacious, muscle-bound glory astride his Harley.  Fifty-four years old, and lookin' good.  Dark hair, dark eyes, six-foot-three.  Owned his own contracting company in Greenwood (employed), has children (grown), articulate, sounded sane....oh, yeah.  He was apparently all that and a bag of Sun Chips.  But the distance.....a good hour-and-a-half away.  And so we emailed back and forth for a few days, and he offered to meet me half-way in Marion.  For dinner.  My choice.  I liked that.  

And so the day dawned that I was going to meet CRWM54 in Marion at a little Italian bistro.  While driving, I received a text from my date stating he would be a little late, as he had to stop on the way and get a Reese's Cup at a convenience store.  I texted back, and being the Mom I am, admonished him that "You're going to ruin your dinner".  He replied that the Reese's weren't for him---they were for me.  Sure enough, I did put in my "Interests" column that I had an affinity for Reese's.  I also put "Diet Coke" as one of those likes as well, but apparently he was bypassing a Big Gulp in favor of chocolate.  This, THIS, was a man who was paying attention already.  I was now in the full-on throes of giddy anticipation.

I started getting that little nervous tickle in my tummy as I approached ever-nearer to my destination---possibly OUR destination.  I prepared for a meet-cute, and how twenty years from now friends would still cajole us into telling how we met and how he brought me my beloved Reese's Cups just to make me happy.........

Here I was now, at 3909 South Western Avenue.  I pulled down the interior mirror, freshened my lipgloss, fluffed my hair, and got the hell out of the car.  Not knowing what my date was driving, I perused the parking lot, shrugged, and began to walk towards the door of the restaurant.  "Sheila!", came the call.  I turned and looked in the direction of the voice.  That couldn't be right--it was a Ford Excursion.  A big-ass Ford Excursion with very, very large tires and a motorcycle handle bar hood ornament.  Good.  God. A'mighty.  And then out he came.  He foisted himself from the behemoth's cab and landed with a thud on the concrete.  Sure enough, he was six-foot-two; not quite the six-foot-three he claimed to be.  I also didn't mind that I saw a receding hairline that I didn't notice in any of his profile pics, but one disturbing fetish-like detail wasn't mentioned that was now quite evident, were the spurs.  That's right.  My date wore spurs.


                                                 

It's funny how the mind fixates on certain things....say a blemish, an unruly hair, or pointed, sharp, metal objects affixed to the back of ass-kickin' boots.  Wyatt Earp handed me my Reese's, and I put it into my purse.  He mumbled something to me how he hated Mexican food (this was an Italian Restaurant, so whatever), and in we went.  

It's been my experience, that the easy part of going into a restaurant is finding a seat.  That wasn't going to be the experience today, however. As we were led to a booth, CRWM54 suddenly seemed hesitant, NO, petrified.  He explained the reason for his seat-skittish-ness.  You see, he felt the need to be seated in view of the door so that should any knife-wielding trouble-makers decide to storm Rosie's Little Italy, he could get a clean shot in.  This was said as he patted his jacket.  I felt the color drain from my face.  My date had spurs.  AND a gun.  

Once seated, I ordered my drink, he ordered his, and soon, the spurs, the gun, the avenging vigilante were behind us.  Now it was time to talk and get to know each other.  We talked about our children.  I bragged about my children and their activities as any mother would, then it was his turn.  Out came his IPhone, along with the query "Do you follow the rodeo circuit?"  Darn it, no, but I've ALWAYS wanted to......sure enough, pictures followed of his daughter, who is indeed touring on the professional rodeo circuit.  Well, shut the front door!  I couldn't bring myself to mention ballet shoes and color guard flags again, lest I be "out-extra-curricular-activitied" by this feller.

And so we exchanged what we did for a living, and in his favor, he seemed intrigued about my work for a large women's handbag manufacturer. He asked me if I carried a gun.  I toyed with replying "I sure do!", but then that would be lying, and I didn't want to piss him off if he decided he wanted to see something I couldn't produce, seeing as he was carrying one, and all. "Guess how many I carry every day to work---go on---GUESS!", he fairly shouted to me.  "Oh, gee...you know, I'm bad about guessing that kind of thing...I don't know----ONE?"  Seemed reasonable to me.  "ONE?" he laughed.  "Hayulllll NO!  FOUR!  I'm putting up an apartment complex in downtown Indy right now!"  Well, great day in the morning, excuse the hell out of me.  And so it went.  Apparently, with all this talk of firearms and the need for them, he also felt the need to let the expletives fly.  "F***" this, and "F***" that began to pepper the increasingly loud conversation.  I'm conservative politically, but I was now face-to-face with a true right-wing zealot.  I felt uncomfortable, and found I couldn't finish my food at this point. I was sure anytime now he would be able to smell my fear, sense my growing irritability, see me eyeing the EXIT sign......would I ever again breathe the air of freedom, see my children's faces, or buy that gallon of milk I made mental note I needed to get on the way home?

"Well, you know.....I wasn't going to ask you out at all....." came the astonishing revelation.  "Oh?' I asked, wishing he had followed his gut in the first place.  "Yeah...all I could think was how "June Cleaver" you looked".  Wow.  Here buddy, take that knife out of my back now.  "Like June Cleaver" is a bad thing, I guess?  "That's all you're gonna eat?", he asked me.  "I just want to be sure I have room for this Reese's", I said as I patted by handbag.  I think on my feet, you know.  

We headed out to the parking lot, he to his big-ass Ford Excursion, me to my Chevy Cruze.  "Hey, careful driving home, now!", bellowed CRWM54.  "Haha!  I'll try.  I like to drive fast!" (especially away from spur-wearing freaks such as yourself), I cleverly shot back.  "Shee-it!....Drive fast in your little Chevy?", was the reply.  At that time, only one word sprang into my mind as I burned rubber from my little Chevy out of Rosie's Little Italy: "Jackass".

Fortunately, I had the little diversion of stopping for a gallon of milk on the way home.  It was still light out, and I had dodged one unpleasant bullet that night.  But, this too did indeed pass, and I vowed to be more vigilant towards the biking crowd in general next time.

Still, though, I wondered, as I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed, what his impression of me was.  Usually, a man will call, email, or text to let you know what they thought of you.  As I climbed under my covers, my phone went off.  A text message.  From that jackass outlaw. Never before, and likely never again will I get such an endorsement.   "Sheila--you're a great American". 

Within Ten Miles of 46804......or Not

Fort Wayne, Indiana.  A city of 255,000 people (give or take a few).  To me, that means that 125,000 (give or take a few), are likely to be male.  Let's go ahead and chop that number in half, allowing for those too young, and those too old for me to date.  Now we have about 62,500 men (give or take a few), that are within my age parameters.  To be fair now, I have to discount the ones that are married, gay, or otherwise unavailable to me.  I'm going to be generous and take away a whoppin' 75% of that.  I now have 17,500 men (give or take a few), in Fort Wayne, Indiana to cull from.  Out of this 17,500, now, I will once again, be generous and remove those with qualities that will not work for me, such as  the unemployed, those who hate children, those who wear makeup,men who drink heavily/smoke, are borderline unintelligent, have anger management problems, may be better looking than I am, are shorter than I am, and are skirt-chasers.  We now have 8,750 men available in the greater Fort Wayne area.  That still seems like a lot, doesn't it?  Unfortunately, the elimination process isn't complete---I still must allow for those I still must pull from the bunch--those that are incarcerated, those who have the likelihood of being serial killers, and other ne'er do-wells.  Out of that, I shall pull 3000.  5,750 now remain. In reality, there are not actually 5,750--no, no, NO.....take out now for those who are married to their jobs, those who want no real commitment, those who have vastly different political and religious views, those who ask women for money, and lastly, those who cannot/will not spell my name right, and that now leaves.............three.  There are three men in Fort Wayne, Indiana who are actual, viable dating prospects.  That means.........let's check out Muncie.

Lookin' For Love in All The Wrong Places

And so she found herself alone in this great big world.  Funny, she didn't feel lonely...yet, something was missing.  She didn't fancy going out in the usual places to chance upon someone, as time did not permit her to very often.  So, against her better judgement, and despite not having much luck with it ever before, she set her cap to the forum of online dating.  In an effort to only draw those to her with the qualities she admired, whilst deterring those with afflictions she did not, she drafted her profile:

About Sheila

Here we go again.  Time and time again I jump into the pond, then back out, only to decide I'm going to give it just one more shot. 
 I don't care what dating advice anyone wants to throw me; it isn't working. 
 "Look for someone at the grocery store!  There's LOTS of single men there.  Just ram your cart into one that doesn't have a ring on, then wait for the fireworks!"  Yes, and the charge of battery that surely will follow.

"Church! You'll meet a nice guy at church.  Find one sitting all by himself, and just sit down next to him!"  That worked out well and fine until the wife returned to the seat after retrieving their six children from Sunday School.  I found nine to be a bonafide crowd, and so I halted my pursuit.

So....online.  Kind of a dicey, chance-y, scary thing, isn't it?  Anyone can be ANYBODY on here.  I found you cannot trust pictures, or profiles sometimes, yet I still return arguing that I"M on here; MY pictures depict me to a 'T',  I'M honest, therefore, there's bound to be someone else on here in the same boat in this big pond.  I am making it my mission to find him.

So, without further adieu, here is a little about me and what I am, and am not looking for:

I am a fifty-one-year-old mother of five children.  (Five that I know of, anyway).  Three of these children are still at home with me.  I work. I work quite a bit, actually, and take a great deal of pride in making sure my children have all of what they need, and some of what they want.  I am also taking classes to obtain my degree in Management.  My lofty goal is to be able to walk to the stage to get my diploma, rather than being wheeled.  Let's see if that works out for me :/  My children are my world, therefore, personal experience has taught me that trying to make it work with someone who has never had children and is uncomfortable around them will not work out.  Sorry, that's just the way it is. While my children don't need a father, they should feel comfortable around who I'm with, and hopefully, look up to him.
Here is what I am looking for:  
I want a man who is stronger than me.  I want someone who will say to me, even though I am fiercely independent and strong, "Relax and don't worry. I've got this".  I want a man who is capable, who is gregarious, outspoken, gentle and loving.  A killer sense of humor is kind of necessary, too, as laughter is as important to me as breathing.  I want a decent looking man who takes care of himself and doesn't exhibit jackass behavior.  He should know how to pick a good bottle of wine, and not just be able to lob a case of Bud into the cart at CVS.   It would be nice to find a man who can cook. Not because I can't, but because I love to and want to share that with someone.   A man who knows how to sew a button on and won't look at me with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look when something goes wrong expecting me to fix it.  Most of all, I want a man that I catch looking at me with a look that can only be described as love, admiration, and respect.

Hang on.  That was the easy part.  What I DON'T want will take a bit longer:
I don't want a man who ever again says to me, "You know, it bothers me that if there were a fire, you'd save your kids before me...".  You know, it bothers ME that I wanted a man that would tell me "I'd die trying to save you and the kids" :/ I don't want a man who is uncomfortable around people.  Shy is one thing, awkward is another. I don't want a man who throws a full-on hissy fit if his candy gets thrown away due to rules regarding what you can and cannot carry in to Lucas Oil Stadium.  If you can't handle your just-purchased-with-your-hard-earned-money-Sour Patch Kids and Gummi Worms hitting the trash so we can gain admittance to the stadium, I must know this now to avoid an embarrassing repeat performance, and yes, this really did happen.  Although I did say that I would like a man who looks decent and takes care of himself, I must draw the line at ever again being with a man that I have to sit around waiting on in order for HIM to put HIS make-up on and painstakingly choose his wardrobe. Man up, Princess, and let's get going, already.  No make-up, please, and I'll not mention that one again.  No cursing in public or rude behavior--especially not in front of my children, but never, please.  I cannot tolerate ridiculous rudeness.  No heavy drinking.  If you have to drink daily, and your recycling bin is filled with bottles and empty cartons every week, please pass me by.  I love a couple of glasses of wine a couple times a week, but I will not tolerate heavy drinking.  Also, I cannot tolerate smoking.  Any.  None. Zilch.  Sorry, call me picky, but this is what I insist on.  I'm fifty-one; I'm not settling.  

Here are some other things to remember about what I am looking for and not looking for.  Please don't take this wrong, but spelling and grammar are kind of important to me.  If your profile is rife with misspellings and unintelligible stories, anecdotes, or ramblings, we won't get along, and this will never work out.  Sorry.  I am not a snob, so please don't tell me that I am.  I just am a firm believer that if you pay attention to those details, you are a person who pays attention and cares---it's part of the big picture, believe it or not.  If you display selfies of you and your buff out-of-the-shower bod from the waist up, I won't respond.  If you have a profile picture depicting yourself standing at attention sucking it in in a two-sizes-too-small Speedo, in front of a mattress on the ground, with a dresser visible in the background bedecked with children's dolls and toys, not only will I not respond, I'm toying with alerting the authorities.  If you choose to send me an email, please do not address me as "Babe", or begin the conversation with "Wass up?"  The moment that I sense that you are some out-of-control gutter-crawling horn-dog, it's over, too.  Here's one that some women wonder why the heck this bothers me, but I must address it:  Youngsters. I'm not talking about men that have kids, no, no, NO.  I'm talking about the young fellas 18 to 30 that like the older ladies.  Although I know a lot of women that are flattered by attention by the young guys, I find myself annoyed.  I can tell when there's a snow day, or someone got grounded from their XBOX because these young men decide to email me. With all due respect, please go clean your room, do your homework, and take out the garbage for your Mom--leave this "Cougar" alone.   Picky?  Hell. Yes.  Trust me, I've earned the right to be.


There.....that ought to do it.