They *suck* ... or they *should*. It would make them more interesting.

What is it about guys that makes them think that being polite means that you're overcome with lust for them? Or is that just something common to ex-boyfriends? They figure that since you used to like fucking them, you're always gonna want to fuck them?

I have a habit of staying on good terms with my exes. I'd even go so far as to say that I pride myself on maintaining casual friendships with them. Of course, their wives all hate me, so it's not like anyone's being invited over for Christmas dinner, but I think it's perfectly okay to chat with them on the street or exchange emails or texts.

There's two guys in particular who have made repeated attempts to reignite relationships with me over the years, who I've had to just as repeatedly shoot down. Why the hell do I have to be a complete BITCH before they'll fucking listen?

Now, here's a third ex. He crawled out of the woodwork a week before my fortieth birthday and yanked my chain about turning forty, then as usual tried to turn the IM convo to sex. Equally as usual, I shut him down and dismissed the entire incident. A week later, apparently he saw me in a local diner with my mom, and he IMed me to hassle me about how I didn't say hi. ( Of course, *he* didn't acknowledge me, but evidently that doesn't matter. ) He said he was with his wife and that she thinks he's not over me.

DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN. IT WAS OVER FIFTEEN YEARS AGO, WOMAN. DEAL WITH IT.

Last Thursday, he messaged me, chatted a bit, then told me he was sending me an email. Okay, whatever.

And then I open the email, and I get . . . a proposition. Oh, it was quite lengthy, and started off praising my charms, etcetera, etcetera. Then it becomes a string of backhanded insults ( like, he says, "Thanks for fucking me up so bad." )

From there it's all, I know you want me 'cause you still talk to me and I bet you haven't gotten laid in years and I don't wanna leave my wife, just hook up.

OH, REALLY?

They have websites for that, you know. They're called ESCORT SERVICES. I suggest you investigate a few.

Overall, I'm not even sure what part of his email pisses me off the most: his assumptions about my sex life, his belief that I'd be happy to be available at his convenience for sex, or his ridiculous conviction that I obviously am consumed with an overwhelming desire for his person.

WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK.

So that's it, then? I'm nice and I don't bitchslap his sleazy ass down into the street where it belongs, and so that must mean I want to have sex with him??????

MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLE.

I think that's it. I think that's what infuriates me almost beyond the point of reason: the assumption that pleasant, polite, and conversational must therefore equal lust-addled.

I really wanted to find a way to forward the email to HIS WIFE, but I settled for a return reply of sufficient viciousness that all I heard back was nevermind, won't be writing you again.

To which I can only say a resounding THANK GOD.

I wish I were a tyrannosaurus . . . I'd go stomp his ass into the GROUND. What a DICK.

There's this quote from a FUCKING AWESOME t-shirt I bought last year that I find very appropriate right now:

I'M A T-REX TRAPPED IN A HUMAN BODY

Yeah. I can dig it.

So I was harangued into opening a Facebook account.

I can't believe how many people from my old high school are friending me . . . some of them are people I don't even remember, others are people I never liked, and still others are just the kinds of people I never interacted with, so why on *earth* do they want to know what I'm doing with my life?

It's been more than twenty years since we graduated. It's kind of cool to look at people's profile pictures and see how they've changed. There's a lot of people I wouldn't recognize now from Adam-- they look so different! Personally, I don't think I've changed much-- well, except sideways-- but things always look the same when you're staring at your own reflection.

I saw the FB picture of the guy I had a crush on from . . . let's see. He arrived in fifth grade, and that was pretty much it for me until he moved away in-- ninth grade? Yeah, I think it was the summer between ninth and tenth grades. His folks divorced and he went with his dad. His asshole younger brother stayed with their mom and graduated a year or two behind me.

Anyway, huge and honking crush. I remember running into him a few times in the years following and he was always surprisingly nice to me. Once he saw me walking and pulled over to offer me a ride when he could just as easily driven right by me . . . I had my nose in a book as I walked ( as usual ) and certainly wouldn't have noticed the difference.

Freshman year of college, I went to a Halloween party with Kristin. The guy who threw the party graduated two years ahead of us, so it wasn't too surprising to see some familiar faces from high school, whether in or out of costume. I remember a guy in a werewolf mask and hands coming up and talking to me and asking me repeatedly whether I knew who he was. Duh, you're wearing a full mask! How am I supposed to know?

Eventually, he removed the mask and-- lo and behold! Guess who?

Yeah, you saw that one coming, didn't you?

I remember talking to him some, but mostly I was trying to keep an eye on Kristin, who was staggeringly drunk and kept trying to leave to go to some frat party or other. I remember several of the other party attendees were getting ready to leave and go to see Rocky Horror, and he asked me to go with them. Several times, IIRC. But Kristin was a wreck, she would've gotten hit by, like, ten cars on her drunken way across town, and I couldn't leave her alone when I'd promised to mind her.

Turned out to be a real bummer of an evening, and I wished I'd gone to the movie instead. Especially once I realized that, hey! Yeah, dude was hitting on me.

Aaargh. Yep, pretty much regretted that particular bit of stupid ever since. I was so hopelessly naive when I was eighteen, wasn't I? In my defense, at that time I'd had no experience whatsoever with guys, since I wasn't allowed to date in high school. And to this day I haven't ever been too good at picking up signals . . . mostly, a guy has to hit me over the head with a brick before I get the idea.

I confess, there's always been a big, insecure part of me that never quite believes that a guy I like might return the interest, so I ( consciously or not ) dismiss the more subtle signs as my own wishful thinking. Once when I thought I'd read everything right, I actually screwed my courage to the sticking point and asked the guy out, only to watch him literally recoil in horror, so that pretty much fucked what trust I had in my own senses-- at least when applied to myself.

So how does all this relate to Facebook?

Well, Huge-Honking-Crush guy has a profile.

Someone else from high school who friended me also friended him, and when I spotted the name, I got curious.

Talk about people who've CHANGED DRASTICALLY since high school! There's very little there of the boy I remember-- tall and lanky, white-blond hair and light eyes, wicked grin and sharp cheekbones, sarcastic tilt to his brows. This man is heavyset and balding, face puffy with the extra weight he's carrying, scruffy with days' worth of beard. Granted, a webcam photo is no one's friend, but this one is especially bad. The only thing at all familiar is the eyes.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that there's a baby's high chair visible in the background; I'm the oddball for not being married, not having or even wanting children. It's just another measure of how much all our lives have changed in the last twenty-odd years . . . people who graduated with me are talking about their children's proms and graduations in their turn.

Oh, and you want to hear weird in terms of Facebook friending? This guy I'm talking about, the one I had a crush on? Man, he used to fight with this one boy all the time. I mean, it was legendary.

Now they're friends on Facebook.

Fucking bizarre, I'm telling you.

I wouldn't go back to high school for all the money in the world, but if I could? I'd go back to that Halloween party and handle things quite a bit differently.

And then we have the nights when I don't even realize that a guy is being approachable.

*sigh*

I killed my water bottle on the way out the door from work last night, so I stopped at Green Village Food Market on my way down the street to the train station.

There were a bunch of guys who came in behind me, chattering in a foreign language as I made my way to the cooler cases and they stopped at the front counter where the gum and candy is kept. I had one ear on the conversation, trying to identify the language they were speaking, because I am endlessly fascinated by speech and I love knowing what certain languages, or even accents, might be.

Even though I have a fairly good ear, I couldn't figure it out, but by the time I got to the counter to pay, they had switched to English, anyway.

Of course, the guy in front of me at the register was totally my type: couldn't have been better unless someone stamped FOR MEL on his forehead. He was tall and built for starters, with the kind of light sandy hair that you just know was carroty when he was a kid, fair-skinned with the tiny freckles dotted across his face that come from the sun-- you know, Jensen Ackles-type freckles, dammit-- and pale eyes that could have been blue or green, but looked golden in the fluorescent light.

Did I mention that he was WEARING A TUXEDO?

*is ded*

So, I have this problem with attractive men. We all remember the tale of Hot Tattoed Guy In Target, right?

Yeah, basically, the equation goes like this:



So when he dropped his money and I saw where it landed, instead of just saying something out loud like a normal person would, my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth and I just started reaching past him to point it out or maybe grab it and hand it to him.

Except that he spotted it, snapped it up, then noticed my reaching hand and glanced at me with a smile, saying jokingly, "Hey, trying to steal my money, I see that!"

Instead of being equally amusing and providing a witty comeback, I manage to unstick my tongue long enough to say, "No, I was actually going to tell you it was there."

Yeah. That's the kind of conversation just fucking guranteed to get a man's attention.

Whatever. At least I didn't start blushing. I just paid for my water and was on my way out of the store when hot guy and his companions started chattering away in that other language again....

And I couldn't stand it! My curiosity was piqued!

Clearly, my curiosity can overcome even THE BRAIN MELTDOWN OF DOOM, because I turned back and said, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but I just have to know... what language are you speaking?"
And it was the hot guy who turned around with a smile and said, "Spanish."

Since everything that comes into my head comes out of my mouth, I said, "Really? It doesn't sound like Spanish."

And he actually turned towards me, body language all open and welcoming, big smile on his face, and started to say something else, and I chattered, "I guess it's not a dialect I've ever heard. Okay, well, thanks!"

AND I LEFT THE STORE.

*HEADDESK*

I was halfway down the street before my belated comon sense kicked in and subsequently kicked me in the ass with a hey STUPID, the guy was at least willing to TALK to you!

Sure, it doesn't mean that he would've been smitten with me or anything like that, but it might have been a nice chat. But no, I had to be completely overwhelmed and practically immobilized by the hotness and basically just act like a clueless freaking moron. Which I totally was.

I've been smacking myself upside the head all night.

And if I thump my head on my desk any more this morning, I'm gonna have a goose egg.

See, stupid behavior such as above? That is why I don't go to cons. Can you imagine the proportional meltdown that would take place if I were actually face-to-face with, you know, any ONE of my tv boyfriends?

Gonna go smack myself some more, now. KTHXBAI.

You know, every time that I have an opportunity to remember that I like boys.... I subsequently discover yet another opportunity to recall that THEY ARE FUCKING STUPID.

And that ends your PSA for today. Thank you and drive safely.

Boys suck.

I should be out tonight, having dinner, flirting madly, and hopefully getting screamingly laid.

Instead, I am sitting in front of my computer, sulking.

Being blown off like this does NOTHING for my trust issues.

*grumbles*

Bits and pieces, cobbled together from the dusty, sleepy rooms of my mind . . . .

How pretentious is a guy whose screen name is DRKRTHANANGELUS??? Please. You're not anywhere near hot enough to even try that one.

Pretty, cute underwear is a real mood-lifter. Today's panties are hot pink with tangerine polka dots and matching tangerine lace trim, with little ribbon bows in strategic places. They are so adorable that I wish I could wear them on the outside of my clothes.

Kristin is still furious at me. I am still massively confused.

Last night's dreams included one wherein I run off to Canada to join the Atlanta Falcons football team. Because, yes, it makes so much geographical sense.

I am currently reading Fire From Heaven, the fictionalized biography of Alexander the Great. And dear God in Heaven . . . wow, is this hot or what? I'm halfway through and am itching to get back to it and see what happens next. Oh, I know it will all end badly and the world will just go to hell in a handcart, but my God, the love developing between Hephaistion and Alexander is something to behold.

Of course, this gave rise to yet another dream, one in which Lex and Clark held starring roles and featured me in a prominent location.

*Sigh.*

Also, I write better porn when I am horny, I have discovered. That will probably follow in a later post.

Dammit.

Jeff, formerly known as Licorice-Eating-Cute-Guy from last summer, was just here.

And he's wearing a wedding ring.

Crap.

At least I have the consolation of knowing that I'm way cuter than his wife.