And To All a Good Night

"Dear Santa,

Please bring me the following:

Men... all shapes and sizes. Preferably the emotionally unavailable type. Make sure they have some sort of blame of their mother/idol worship of their father. Alcoholism, drug usage, criminal record... with or without an anti-depressant prescription... all good. Please-oh-please-oh-please find me the kind still obsessing over an ex-wife/girlfriend, who talks about her ALL the time, even while having sex with me. Or better yet, make sure they don't want to have sex with me at all... that would be absolutely PERFECT. Oh, and if he does want to have sex, how about if he either keeps his eyes closed the WHOLE time, or talks the WHOLE way through, or only wants it a couple of times a month, or fucks like he learned how from looking at porn? That would be totally RAD! Workaholism? YAY! An all-consuming addiction to video games with no real job at all? Be still my heart! All conversations revolve around job/sports/another country? Fabulous! Wants to keep dating other women while having sex with me? Awesome! Owns just one pet and it's a cat? Please make sure he's also a commitment phobic, anally-retentive, obsessive-compulsive, minimalist... cuz then I've hit the JACKPOT! Owns more than one cat without any dogs to balance that out? I don't care how gay anyone else thinks that is, bring that mother on!

Thanks Santa, I know you'll pull through for me. You always do!

Sincerely,
Sherri (Dec 2003)"

Yes, I do think I may have imbibed too much nog and written that letter to Santa last year. Or, shit, maybe I addressed it to Satan? Fuck me and my fucking typos.

Anyway, that was last year. This year, I'm asking only for an internship that turns into a job. That's it, nothing else. And I don't really blame Santa/Satan for the men of 2004 either. I don't seem to have any trouble attracting males. My problem is not saying no to the defective ones. I guess it all boils down to my attraction to quirky men, and the fact that quirky men come with some really great reasons why they're still single.

You may point out the fact that I'M still single and have been for the last 5 years. So what's my damage? Well, my reason is simple: I chose this life. Yup.

While going through a traumatic divorce at the end of 1999, I vowed to myself that I would remain single for no less than 5 years while I finished my Master's Degree and tied up loose ends from a train-wreck of a marriage that had taken away the best 7 years of my twenties and replaced them with responsibility, strife, and general assholery. I was in absolutely no hurry to experience that again, so I kept my heart removed (most of the time) yet somehow I didn't manage to stay out of the fray.

First I didn't date, then I over-dated, then I didn't date for a LONG time again, then I way over-dated again. It's what I like to call the "all-or-nothing" approach to dating in the 21st Century. I'm not saying that it was healthy. I'm just admitting that's what I did, doubtlessly as a sub-conscious means to keeping my promise to myself.

The 5-year contract that I made will be up as of January 1, 2005. I blamed my choices before on "the ring of doom" that I found and gave back to my ex last month, but that was just one step on the way out of a long, dark tunnel.

But the good thing that I can say about me is that when I set a goal, I sure do keep it! My degree will be finalized with the completion of my thesis film this April... a film that I received a fellowship to finish... a fellowship that I was able to win thanks to the focus and intensity that I threw into research during the second LONG dating abstinence that I took.

Seeing goals come to a conclusion is kind of a scary time. Suddenly, you're faced with a moment when you have to choose a new path... set new goals. This is part of the "be careful what you wish for" thing that I sometimes mention in my blogs... and I'm facing that moment right now.

I tend to set five-year plans for some reason, so here's my new plan:

For the very short term...
-I will attain that internship that turns into a job right away.
-I will finish all three films that I'm currently working on now.

For the long term...
-I will, in 5 years time, move from this city to someplace far away (NYC? LA?)
-I will NOT waste any more of my precious time or energy on damaged men.

That's not to say that I won't have to kiss a few more frogs along the way... I can't control that part of the plan. But what I am saying is that they will be identified as such and become but a tiny footnote on my way to bigger and better things.

That's not a threat. That's a promise to myself that I intend to keep. And when I set my mind to something, nothing can stop me.

So I stand on the precipice of a new age for me. I don't mean to make it sound so overly dramatic, but those of you who really know what my last 5 years have been like will understand that, if anything, I'm understating the drama here.

In the last 5 years, I also put out 2 torches that I'd held for well over a decade. They were high school crushes, both of them, and they were the only 2 torches that I'd ever clung to before or since. I'm thankful that I got to find out what it would be like with each of those men in recent years, as fully-formed adults. I'm also glad that the torches have since been completely extinguished and that I still converse with both of those men on occasion, despite any weirdness or friction that occurred after the fact. Thank you, boys. I realized that you were each one-half of my ideal man... neither of you were the whole thing... and thanks to my experiences with you, I've since decided to abandon any thoughts of an "ideal" at all, because it keeps me from seeing the whole person for whom he is. And I don't hesitate to say that I'm sure I turned out to be only one-half of an ideal in reality to each of you as well. I still thank you both, all the same.

All of this heady thought comes at the end of a perfect night. My children went off to have Christmas with their father and I decided to take in a movie, as I'm known to do as soon as they leave the house. It was 8pm when I pulled into the multiplex parking lot and I saw such a great sight: it was nearly empty. I guess Xmas Eve night is a time for families to stay home and wrap. Joy to the World, indeed!

When I purchased my ticket with my Movie Watcher card that has seen MANY MANY slides through the scanner, I was given a free "Large Drink & Popcorn" coupon for having been my 150th credit. Am I dreaming? I asked the girl behind the snack counter to pinch me... she just stared blankly at me and asked what drink I'd like and said "That'll be zero dollars and zero cents." MY FAVORITE PRICE! And at a movie snack counter to boot! Fuck yeah!

I then went into the theater and sat down in my favorite seat: 5th row from the front, dead center. I propped my feet up on the armrests in front of me, looked around to see only 2 other couples in the entire theater sitting waaaaaaaay in the very back, and within seconds, the lights dimmed and the movie started.

Did I die and go to heaven? Someone was giving me the best Christmas present ever! And guess what else? The movie didn't suck! I was seeing CLOSER and despite this being a Julia Roberts movie, I loved it* ... the soundtrack is beautiful too, but I'd been listening to that for the last couple of weeks... the film opens with the first half of Damien Rice's "Blower's Daughter" and ends its last scene with the last half of the song. I actually applauded when it was over. Well, okay... not audible clapping... just motioned it so no one would think I was loony toons.

As I stepped out into the halls of the multiplex, the music being piped through the speakers was Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill." I fell in love for the second time this evening. And with that feeling having firmly taken hold, I walked out of the building with an extra swagger in my step, like I'd just been fucked senseless by a man who then fed me sushi in bed while offering to clean my house.

I'm listening to the song again here while I finish this. Apparently Gabriel wrote the words while contemplating his break up with Genesis, and in 1986 he said that "It's about being prepared to lose what you have for what you might get, or what you are for what you might be. It's about letting go." I couldn't have picked a more perfect song to end my evening, so I think I'll also use the lyrics to end this entry...

Climbing up on Solsbury Hill

I could see the city light

Wind was blowing, time stood still

Eagle flew out of the night

He was something to observe

Came in close, I heard a voice

Standing stretching every nerve

Had to listen had no choice

I did not believe the information

(I) just had to trust imagination

My heart going boom boom boom

"Son," he said "Grab your things,

I've come to take you home."

To keep in silence I resigned

My friends would think I was a nut

Turning water into wine

Open doors would soon be shut

So I went from day to day

Tho' my life was in a rut

'Til I thought of what I'd say

Which connection I should cut

I was feeling part of the scenery

I walked right out of the machinery

My heart going boom boom boom

"Hey" he said "Grab your things

I've come to take you home."

(Back home.)

When illusion spin her net

I'm never where I want to be

And liberty she pirouette

When I think that I am free

Watched by empty silhouettes

Who close their eyes but still can see

No one taught them etiquette

I will show another me

Today I don't need a replacement

I'll tell them what the smile on my face meant

My heart going boom boom boom

"Hey" I said "You can keep my things,

they've come to take me home."

*Author's note: It's been years since this was written. I no longer have the dating problems mentioned above. And I no longer enjoy that film CLOSER, for that matter. Peter Gabriel is still pretty cool, however.

The new 2005 model is in!

That's right, people... please take note:

The filmmaker formerly known as The She-Creature (well, okay, I still am) has done away with her red locks of the past 3 years and is now back to her natural color (thanks to a store-bought box called "Hot Cocoa").

Don't be alarmed by this new twist. Unlike New Coke --which was really old Coke, repackaged and subpar to regular Coke-- the current model still has all the same features of the previous model: glasses, artsy/creative streaks, geek-grrl accessories, ample front "airbags," junk in the trunk, zero onboard navigational skills, twisted logic. But now she also comes with a new, darker exterior color to match her dark interior humor.

Act now and date her again for the first time!

My Dinner With Adolf

Once upon a time, in a magical land known as "The City Too Busy to Hate," I met a wonderful, funny, brilliant, sexy man who was equally as blown away by our great chemistry as I was and who then swept me off my feet so we could live happily ever after. Forever. The end.

I wish.

C'mon, give me a break. I'm a girl, and as such, I've been sold that tripe since I was in diapers. Some of it was bound to stick. Not much, but some, yes.

Anyway, this is not that story.

This is the yet another example of how good I've gotten at "Name That Goon" and this time I said "I can name that goon in 3 dates." I'm hoping that one of these entries, perhaps in the new year of 2005, I might be blogging about the wonders of happy, blissful discoveries while ensconced in the perfect romance. But for now, I just continue to share my dismal anecdotes in humorously cantankerous ways.

At this point, some of you are probably labeling me as "picky" and I'd say you are right, I am a bit picky. I'm picky about not wanting to date alcoholics in denial. I'm picky when it comes to not dating men who want to also date other women rather than let me meet their friends. And call me petty too, but I'm picky about not wanting to date felons who are registered sex offenders.

Yes, I'm picky all right.

I'm also picky about certain personality flaws and these are the ones that I usually eliminate early on in the "Name That Goon" game. The latest installment of this game came to a head very abruptly when the red flags were waiving so fast and high that I thought they might cause gale force winds from all their flapping.

It started innocently enough: a brief message to me on YES a very crappy dating site that rhymes with "snatch rot bomb" ... the message said "You're perfect." I beg to disagree. I'm far from that. And if someone labels me that upon reading the silly things that I say about myself without taking the time to do a lot more research into what makes me tick, then I should always be suspicious. This time, I wasn't.

The procedure was the usual email/phone/coffee progression of getting to know someone via this online daters market... a practice that I liken to sending in your hard saved allowance as a kid to get those super cool sea monkeys you saw in the back of the comic book, only to get them, pour them in water and watch the water turn cloudy, full of bits of floating crap. Yes, online dating is the sea monkeys of the social strata.

And this experience was par for the course.

He was a man 9 years my senior, which is fine... I'm open-minded about age within reasonable limits. He was 100 percent American, born and raised in the South, but had lived just under 2 decades in Germany. He had been back in the States for over 5 years, but you'd never have known it from his conversations. He was OBSESSED with Germany. Every single topic got steered to how much better life is over there. Again, I'm open-minded and I've never been there, so I listened avidly and asked many questions to show my interest. In the less than 2 weeks that I spent getting to know him, he was never at a loss for another German anecdote.

About one week into our dating process, Colonel Klink asked me to meet him for coffee.

The first thing that I noticed about him was that either he was nowhere near 5'11" as he'd claimed in his profile, or I had magically grown several inches during my sleep. Granted, I was wearing 2" heels, but I'm only 5'5" on a good day without them. So I must've added a couple of extra inches to my height when I walked through the door of the coffee house, because when he stood up, we were looking nearly eye-to-eye.

Experience has taught me that men who lie about their height, without thinking that anyone will notice the discrepancy, generally have built themselves up in their own minds in other ways too. There are a few red flags that I take note of when meeting people in this fashion, and they are: shorter than they say they are, older than they say they are, heavier than they say they are... though that last one has more room to slide, as some people may not have noticed that they gained 15-20 pounds since their last doctor's appointment. However, last I checked, height and birth date are pretty much a fixed thing. Why lie?

Anyway, this set the mood for me to "Crap, not another one of these," which I tried to cheerily brush off and I think I did a pretty good job. Hell, I gave him a second date... most men don't get that far at all.

On our second date, Erich Von Stroheim won me over by the end, though the beginning and middle were pretty rocky... he spent those hours talking MORE about Germany and about women he fell deeply in love with and about how he thinks it's okay for people to stray sexually when in a committed relationship.

Why that wasn't a red flag to me right away, I don't know... but it sure did seem like he was laying some groundwork for a future confrontation where he could say, "Remember our dinner date when I TOLD YOU that I don't have a problem with these indiscretions? Why are you shocked that I've gone ahead and done it now?"

The part of the conversation that won me over was the amount of time that he spent in trying to get to the meaning of a dream that I'd had about him the night before. In this dream, I saw him holding a torch and looking out to the distance, just past me. I interpreted this literally as "Look: he's holding a torch for a past lover/relationship." He'd said some things in email form that suggested just that sort of thing and my bestest gal pal picked up on that bit right away when I ran it past her. So for the sake of conversation, I told him about this dream to see if he really did hold a torch, even though he swore that he didn't.

Otto Von Bismarck wanted not to believe that this image of him had anything to do with himself and how I saw him, but rather how I saw myself and asked me to put myself in his place and see what it is that he/I was looking at out in the distance.

He had a Master's degree in psychobabble, so I bet he just loves pulling this shit on everyone he dates. I refused to do such a thing, because consciously stepping into another character's shoes and looking at something that your subconscious isn't showing you doesn't make it the real explanation... it's forced and feels as silly as role playing games do. He persisted tenaciously, so off the top of my head I listed "ocean, house, dog, football game, car" and of course he stopped me with "Why did you say 'ocean' first in that list?"

Eventually Siggy Freud deduced that I was seeing him as looking at a sea of online dating potentials with a single torch lighting the way and that was because he still had an ad up and so did I.

I told him that I would buy that just to get him to drop it. It was rational enough that I didn't feel he was stretching with the interpretation and I let it lie, feeling tired after an hour and a half of this silly banter. He still swore up and down that he wasn't holding any torch in reality.

Did I sleep with him? Okay, some of my guy friends are going to hate me for this (especially those that I didn't admit this to already), but yes, I did. Why? Maybe he wore me down with that psychoanalytical crap, I don't know. Or maybe I just wanted him to stop talking about Germany for a change. Even though I sort of broke what I promised in my other last dating diatribe, this was technically our second date, so I wasn't doing the "fuck on the first date" thing, not that I'm trying to justify it. I guess I was having a hard time trying to tell if there really was any chemistry and I reverted to my old habit of diving in head first without looking to find out.

I don't normally kiss-and-blog beyond the fact that there was sex and that's that... but can I say this: the man WOULD NOT SHUT UP during sex. I'm serious. He talked the whole damn time like we were role playing, he wanted to pretend we were teenagers who were still virgins and he didn't break character for a moment. This made me laugh on several occasions, especially since I thought he might laugh along with me, but he was totally serious the whole damn time. Afterward, I was quite concerned that this was his "thing" and wondered if I really wanted to look forward to fucking a wannabe dramaturge every freakin' time.

Luckily, that never came to pass.

He took me out for brunch 2 days later and again talked all about Germany for 2 hours. At some point I finally asked him if he loved it so much, why did he leave there 5 years ago. He shot me this really quick look that said "Oh, there it is...THAT question again," and proceeded to tell me what sounded like a pat answer that he'd been restating for years about Germany's age discrimination in the work force and that he left when he was approaching the upper end of their new hire age bracket. I nodded in understanding and shortly after that part of the talk, we both fell silent. While sitting there for what seemed like 20 minutes with no words, I realized that I had been the only person to keep our conversations afloat all this time by asking questions, and realizing that he was not coming up with any questions of interest towards me at that time, I took the initiative yet again.

"So you seem to know exactly what you want and don't want in your life, what are you looking for out of a relationship?" I thought it was a good question, especially for two people trying to get to know each other through dating... seemed topical. Apparently, he didn't think so. He rolled his eyes and threw back his head in this over-dramatic (almost queer) gesture and said, "Do we HAVE to talk about this now?"

"Um, well, not if you don't want to. I just thought I'd ask because we're trying to get to know one another and..." I said; as he interrupted with, "I mean, I was TRYING to enjoy the beautiful day, the nice atmosphere here, you, the quiet between us, then you go and ask me this. Forcing me to talk about that now is like forcing a relationship to happen through words rather than actions."

"I see," I replied. However, when I say the words "I see" rather than "I understand" when I'm getting to know a potential boyfriend, it doesn't mean that I understand. What those words mean is that I've just put a mental marker down in the conversation to come back to re-evaluate it later in private. It's my built in "red flag checker."

I apologized (why, I don't know) and said he didn't have to answer. But then he proceeded to talk for about 5 minutes anyway about his lack of career direction at the moment and wrapped up that topic with about 5 words about what he wants out of a relationship. I no longer remember what that was, because I was glazed over by all the job talk.

After the brunch, we went for a walk in the crisp air where he proceeded to talk yet some more about Germany, about the bane of modern digital cameras (something about making everyone think they're an artist just because they can take a couple hundred pictures of garbage without thinking twice), and about Porches being his favorite car that he would buy if he were to become rich. (BTW, he drives a Volkswagen Jetta, of course.)

I made a slight funny observation while we walked about the fact that he was wearing black jeans, black leather shoes, a black leather jacket, black wrap-around sun glasses, and a black knit cap, which made him look "very German" because of it. He snapped back at me with, "That's a stereotype that simply isn't true and hasn't been since the 80s. Most Germans today don't wear black at all."

"I see," I said for maybe the forth time that day, as well as making a mental note to myself: don't follow that up with monkeys or dancing or Sprockets.

Adolf and I parted ways that day and things seemed okay, but I was feeling a bit bruised from being beaten over the head with red flags. I kind of liked him because he was fairly attractive, but why did he have to be such a tool? I found out why the next day...

While talking to him on the phone the next day, he went on and on about how he'd just applied for a job with Green Peace in Hamburg, even though he was looking to buy a house here in Atlanta and had never yet mentioned going back to Germany for good. He then talked on and on about Germany again, and then somehow started talking about things that bother him. That's when he brought up my relationship question. He said that he thought we'd gotten that out of the way in our profiles and first couple of emails and wouldn't have to talk about it anymore, freeing us up to get to know each other in some other way. You know, rather than talking. He thought we could communicate on some other level.

I said, "But you and I only just started to get to know each other 2 weeks ago. How do you find out what's in a person's head without talking? If you have ideas about that, share them with me and I'll gladly go along! I'm flexible, really." He insisted there are other ways of falling in love. I asked him if I was supposed to read his mind and just know these ways. Then he began to recall the moment in his life when he fell the most deeply in love with a woman.

"We were sitting in a cafe, each of us with our individual newspapers open, silently reading and not saying a word, just enjoying each other's company... that's when I knew I was in love."

And there it was. The torch in my dream.

Not only that, but WHAT THE FUCK??? No talking? I said to him, "I see." Followed by, "Whenever I spot couples sitting at tables together reading and not making any attempt at communicating with one another, I think to myself, 'Damn, how much do those two hate each other that they can't even look at each other and talk any more?'" He said, "Maybe they've found another way of communicating." I said, "What? Telepathy? Sonar? What?"

But what I really wanted to say was, "Oh yeah? Well see if you can guess what I'm saying to you right now." I held my tongue instead.

I talked to him just one more time after that. The very next night he called and again started talking about his job hunt in German want ads. After about 20 minutes or so of silently listening with just an occasional "Uh huh" or "I see," I finally said, "Oh, look at the time. I've got to get to work. Good luck with the search. Night." Click.

I named that goon in 3 dates, which reminds me of a joke someone told me recently:

"Knock! Knock!"
"Who's there?"
"Control freak...NOW YOU SAY 'CONTROL FREAK WHO?'"

Several X's and a Whole Lotta O's

"There was a little girl, who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead. When She was good, She was very VERRRRY good. And when She was bad, She was TORRID."

In my last big blog entry, I wrote about my attempt to return my ex's wedding ring found buried in a junk drawer... an attempt that I likened to returning the blasted thing to its evil source and getting rid of the ring-wraiths that have been circling me for 5 years. Now I would like to tell you all, my close-close "friends" (and about 100 other people who lurk here and stalk my entries every week without even a "hello"... I feel so loved) about the wraiths of 2004.

NOTE: If you're reading this and you're one of the wraiths like I know you are, don't worry, I'll be kind and better than that, I won't name names. If you're reading this and you're one of the wraiths from Jan 2000 to Dec 2003, you're in luck... no stories will be shared.

ALSO NOTE: Like the wraiths in LOTR, I believe these were once normal human men until something happened to them... call it lust or greed or, I don't know... my curse, I guess. Anyway, for whatever reason, none of them were normal when I met them... and thus, they make good fodder for the rest of you to read.

I have only myself to blame, really. It's true. Last January, I fell in lust with a boy I'd been occasionally chatting up on Friendster... actually, he would occasionally chat me up, then disappear for a few weeks, then chat me up again... but about a year ago, I believe it might have been Xmas eve, he asked me to give IM a shot with him while he was house-sitting... and by New Years I was in full on lust. Then we added webcams to the mix and, well, it just got too steamy to mention here... but mostly it was just sweet kinda fun stuff.

He was a six-and-a-half foot tall Texan living on a little island off the coast of Maine. He worked in a theater as a projectionist and last winter was brutal, so he'd stay late and talk to me before bundling up like Nanook of the North and heading on his 20 minute walk home. I don't know how he survived those walks, frankly, but the next evening he'd always be there again... my IM boyfriend in a box.

We'd chat about the silliest things ever and have each other rolling on the floor with laughter... we'd affect a fake Swedish accent while typing, list things randomly and all stream of consciousness, use scotch tape to misshape our faces or add mustaches, make up movie plot lines and cast them with quirky B-movie actors and give them soundtracks of the worst 80s music ever, and best of all, he wanted to make love to me while I wore those googly eye glasses you see staring at you here if you're reading this around the time that I've posted it (if you're reading this a week or so later, that pic might be gone... sorry).

This went on nightly for 4 whole months and it was some of the most fun I've had on a keyboard. One day, I bought a ticket to Maine and that is pretty much when the fun ended. He got worried that we were living a fantasy that would go horribly wrong when we met. I talked him back into letting me come there, but he said things were going to be "different." And boy-howdy was he different.

I got there and he was quite happy to see me, but a little shy, yet otherwise very funny and giggly and silly like our IM sessions... and he was HUGE. I mean, I knew he was big, but I hadn't expected Paul Bunyan. Being the horny little sex vixen that I am, I immediately jumped him when we got to his room that night. And to my surprise, he didn't want any part of that... he said he just met me and was too shy and wanted to go slow... I was only there for 5 days, how slow can you go??? But I climbed off the mountain of a man and respected his wishes... until the next night came.

Then we were in a hotel in Portland, staying there for a film event that I was attending the next day... and he'd come along only to take advantage of shopping for used records in a little shop there. Oh yes, indeed, I had my way with him that night... but it was odd. I can't explain how odd, but it was just very odd. It's good that I have enthusiasm enough for 2 people, because I think it was the only thing carrying us through that night. Perhaps it just takes a long time to properly pump blood through such a huge frame, I don't really know. It was odd though.

The rest of my stay on the little island in Maine was very sexless. I'd never known any guy who could have a girl in his bed and yet choose to focus on Play Station or various dvds instead of nookie. The good thing was that I got to watch all of the second season of THE OFFICE while there, which (at least by comparison to the sex I'd had that week) was definitely "better than sex." I left the little island a day early, filled with more anecdotes than I can share here. He seemed relieved to have his little world get back to normal again by my leaving, so I bid him goodbye and gave him a hug... to which he said "oh no, you didn't just pat me, did you?" I said, "yes, I did... take care." I knew that would be the last time I would see him, because he was afraid of flying and because he was uncomfortable being around anyone for more than 24 consecutive hours. "Good luck with that," I told him.

During the few weeks leading up to my Maine trip, another Friendster man had started to chat me up. Technically, I guess I contacted him first. But you know, when you see Tor Johnson has a profile on Friendster, you gotta grab that puppy, am I right? Turns out that Tor's keeper took a shine to me right away and used Tor as an "in" and I spoke to him on the phone a week before my Maine trip, right after Paul Bunyan told me that he was getting cold feet (and not from the sub-zero temps there). While in Maine, I received frequent text messages to my phone from Tor's keeper, who lived in Kentucky. When I left Paul Bunyan behind a day early, I immediately text messaged back to KY that I was staying in a hotel that night and he could call me there. With that, KY guy and I were off and running.

For 2 months straight, we IMed nightly while he ran his coffee house late into the night of a sleepy college town and then we would talk for hours on the phone when he would go home at 2am. I became an insomniac and a phone sex freak, and I dare say that I started taking on the pallid look of Frodo after the ring had started to take it's toll. All in the name of lust though, I continued onward and upward with KY.

By June 1st, KY came to me for our first full weekend. Upon first glance at him, I thought "gay" ... and then I thought maybe it was the car he drove, so I got him inside my house ... still "gay" ... and then I got him in the bedroom ... still "gay" but at least into me, so I ignored the "gay" aspect. I took him to meet a good friend of mine who promptly pulled me aside and said "he's a nice guy and all, but isn't that dude gay?" Followed a couple weeks later by my mother seeing photos of the two of us together, shaking her head and saying "Sherri, are you dating a gay man?" Yet for some reason, I was undaunted. June through August 1st, I traveled to KY or he traveled to me in GA every other weekend. We watched all manner of MST3K movies together and more than that, we drank. A lot. I don't think there was a moment when we weren't getting drunk. And when we weren't together, we were on the phone all night together, occasionally having a whole night of "movie date night" which entailed watching dvds together and getting supremely blitzed out of our gourds. The combined insomnia, phone sex, real sex, and alcoholism were taking it's toll on me even more.

By August 1st, as some of you who've followed my blogs will recall, I broke down and blogged about all the stuff that was bothering me. There had been a lot of lies and things that didn't add up, and other things that I didn't blog about that seemed suspiciously more and more... well, "gay" frankly. So I ended it. Bluntly and probably not very well. I will not dredge up the blogs of that time period, as they've since been deleted. Suffice it to say, it got ugly. He continued to text message me every Saturday night at 3am for a couple of weeks until I told him that I thought he was having a secret affair with his best friend, a guy that he never let me meet. Then the text messages stopped. For a while.*

Within about 3 weeks, I was back on the horse. I decided to give the online personals that I'd abandoned years earlier a try again. Less than 24 hours online there, I had another wraith circling and I went along with it. He was a doctor and I figured that I had NOTHING at all in common with him, so why not go on a coffee date, sure. What could it hurt? Right? I say, right?

Yeah sure, if I weren't such a horny vixen and I hadn't just met my sexual medical match. So when I came home from that date 26 hours later, I was firmly ensconced in a new affair. Little did I know that it had been Viagra fueled on his end, but my end was feeling groovy and after 5 rounds of slap-n-tickle, I wanted more... ahem, so to speak. I affectionately refer to him as "the butt doctor" ... that was not really his line of work, but rather more of a hobby.

This time I had someone local, which all of my friends were relieved to discover... some had chastised me early on with, "Another boyfriend? Is this one at least in this state? Wait, let me guess... Canada... no wait... France." NO, not Canada. Well, not yet. And not France, but hey, I LOVE to travel... and if I can get great sex AND a place to stay AND see the world, why not? I believe that used to be the Army's slogan. My friends don't see it that way... but then, they weren't being influenced by the ring of doom, so how would they know what it's like.

The doc and I continued for about 9 weeks when I finally realized that he was taking other women to meet his doctor friends and felt that I was just too weird for them to ever find out about me. I don't know why I was surprised by this info, afterall, he told me he wanted to "keep dating other people" even though he and I were the best of fuck buddies. I was just an art-tart he was having great sex with in private... he kept the boring, sexless girls for his public persona. I had enough of that and confronted him, asking him to choose... he chose to let me go. My ass got fired from the bed warmer position that I'd become accustomed to. That stung a little. Well, a lot, actually.

I came to the realization of how wild a ride I'd been for the last year and decided to change for the better. But I hadn't returned the ring yet to its source and therefore had one more adventure ahead of me, little did I know.

So a couple weeks later... new online dating site, new people, new start... or so I thought. I started chatting up about 8 different dudes at once. Any of you who know me from that, I'm sorry. It's true. There were 8 of you at once. If there was one thing that I learned from the doctor, it was how to date like a man. While sleeping with him, I went out on dates with 4 or 5 new people... all first dates and all very wholesome, thank you... but admittedly, some of those dates followed immediately on the heels of a "doctor's appointment," which did make me feel a little dirty while sharing pleasant conversation and appetizers with someone new. Still, I never jumped into the sack with any of those boys. I may be easy, but I'm not coordinated enough to juggle more than one set of balls at a time. I can, however, adeptly get to know 8 ball owners at once, apparently.

Of the octet, I only met a trio... one was just a bad match and there were no sparks for me at all; another one was good, clean (well, kinda) wholesome, fully-clothed meetings with a little dirty talk on the side. The last one was all wholesome conversations and seemed really promising but... well, our date was at night. And there was alcohol. And a dark parking lot. And a big back seat. And my damned hormones at full throttle. It was good though, very VERY good... hot and steamy and sticky and passionate and we were well matched. He is also an extremely nice guy and we'd been hitting it off quite well in conversation too. He's probably reading this blog now (Hiya, I do still think you were my best first date ever, really!) and I will not say anything to identify him here... it's none of the rest of you's business.

Anyway, I thought we were very well matched in so many ways... until 2 days after our date, that is. In an effort to offer full-disclosure, he decided to come clean about the fact that he had a criminal record. I was still okay with that, because being the good Liberal that I am, I believe everyone deserves a second chance. But what I wasn't prepared for was that his record involved being a registered sex offender. And not just that, but the conviction was for attempted sexual assault on a minor.

I cannot begin to explain to you all how my stomach sank with that news. It's like some big cosmic joke being played on me... I feel half of my life is spent waiting for Alan Funt to come tell me there's a Candid Camera hidden in the plant over there. You see, I'm a parent and I have actively spent time busting people on the web for pedophilia. Suddenly there comes a man who says that his conviction was part of a sting, someone that pushed all my buttons, someone that... well, there's no point in going on. It had to end and 24 hours after he told me the news, I matter-of-factly ended it without any big to-do.

At that point, freaked to the point of being immobile, I deleted all of my connections that I'd made in that time period. All of them. I could not figure out what in the hell I was doing, but I certainly couldn't trust my judgment anymore. I had all of my friends shaking their heads in disbelief over me and I was lower than low at that point. A few days later Thanksgiving hit and you all know what happened that day... and if you don't know, then scroll down a couple of entries here to find out.

And of course, in a strange twist of ring wraithing, the other 3 came circling back for more last month. First on the scene was KY man during the election returns. He texted me again at 3am telling me that he was depressed. I responded back "I'm not, I'm in denial. Whee!" He said he felt sick, I replied with "I feel pretty. Oh so pretty." He started to get turned on by my responses, I said "Look at the unicorns and leprechauns... oooh, yes, I'd love some cotton candy." He got so turned on that he called my cell, which I didn't answer, and he texted back "What the hell?" I responded with "Sherri cannot answer her phone right now, for she's off visiting that river in Egypt." He said "Please." And I said something to the effect of "Sherri is too different for you. She enjoys Japanese rope bondage, anal sex, and pie. Lots and lots of pie." He said he liked all those things too and called again. I couldn't shake him, my zaniness had backfired and only fueled his lust for me. I didn't answer the second call either. By morning, he texted again "I will delete your number from my list and not bother you again." Actually, I thought the fact that I told him he was most likely gay back in August would have done that. Apparently not.

Then about 2 weeks later, I received an email from Paul Bunyan. He wanted to know where I had disappeared to after 7 months and if I would be willing to chat on IM again. So I signed on and our conversation lasted all of 20 minutes. I asked him if he'd had any adventures and he began to talk about aliens and robots and an attempt to have 45,843 successive orgasms and stopping at just 2 and eating an orange and that he was drunk. I knew he wasn't drunk, though, because he really didn't drink at all. I said "Off your meds, maybe. Drunk, no." His last words to me were "Oh" and "My" and "Lord" and with that he got off the IM never to return. Ah well, never a dull moment when you live with a serious case of foot-in-mouth disease, as I do. (I only just now remembered that he actually is on meds.)

An hour later, my cell phone beeped a text message at me. It was a different Texan... the doctor. He wanted to know where I'd disappeared to. I told him that I'd met a great guy and that it was best if I didn't talk to him anymore because he was only asking if I wanted to have sex with him again and I wanted a relationship and I wished him the all the best and good luck. His last words were "U too." Then just a couple of hours later, I was hearing about my latest paramour's arrest and conviction story and within 24 hours I was letting him go. He too came back, just a couple of days later at the end of the week, perhaps having read my blog that stated he was the best first date ever, and wanted to know if we could still go see movies together or talk on the phone. I had to tell him no again.

In lamenting this all to another ex of mine who is one of my best friends in the world (Hiya! You really are!), he told me that I've just got some "addictive stuff" (sexually)* and they all come back for more, including a time period when he did too. I guess. But is it too much to ask that I'd like someone who could appreciate my "addictive stuff" and have some staying power without being some freaky bad match for me? It was the ring, wasn't it? I believe my ex probably used that the way a gypsy woman would use a voodoo doll, cursing me with bad juju, all while he happily remarried a lawyer and has never spent a moment single in these 5 years.

But I'm free of the curse now, people! I can feel it... ever since Thanksgiving night. It's like there's a heavy weight that has been lifted and I'm ready to start over again... this time with a new tactic: no sex on the first (or second, or for that matter third) meeting. It's a brand, spanking new me. (Ooh, I said spanking.) Yeah, I'm still the same over-sexed, horny vixen that I was... just smarter about it. That's all. Here's to 2005. Maybe the list of X's will be much, much shorter.

CHICKS RULE

That's what my underwear says.

Just thought I'd share it with you.

(no, I will NOT post pictures)

Ode to a Dead Stereo

You were so faithful for so many years.

And then this morning, without warning:

Kaplooey! Ka-ka-ka-crack-plooey!

On. On. On. Volume. Volume. On.

Why won't you come back on????

I was listening to Cocteau Twins,

You inconsiderate bastard!

..........................Fuck.

Do you ever...?

Do you ever notice how when you're driving at night on a dark road with very little sleep that 2 hanging red lights up ahead look an awful lot like a giant chupacabra in the distance, peering at you, waiting for you to roll up so it can strike?

And do you ever wonder why the word "funky" means cool or good things until it's applied to a smell? Compare: "Dude, where'd you get those funky shoes? They're awesome." -with- "Damn, you smell funky. Like a combination of bleu cheese and wet dog."

And do you ever try to stay awake as long as possible to see what kinds of fucked up tricks your mind will start playing on you? Like trying to drive at night and avoid the chupacabras, or mistaking a slab of bleu cheese for your deodorant and tragically get mauled by your own dogs?

Yeah, I hate when that happens.

I'm at 38 hours awake and counting... time to crash.

Me thankful? F**k off!

You heard me, fuck off.

Here's been my bountiful Thankscrappygiving Day:

Yesterday, I went to my mother's house with children in tow to celebrate early (she had to work on the holiday and I had to get rid of the crumb-crunchers before my head exploded anyway, so a day early is fine by me). My mom's boyfriend snored soundly on the couch (as usual) the whole time, until food was called and luckily my mom didn't burn her foot as she did Thanksgiving 1995... that was a fun one. That day I had to rush her to the ER for 3rd degree burns that she got when she tried to remove the turkey from the oven with just one hand, tipping scalding turkey grease all over her bare foot. Ah, good times.

So I stuffed myself yesterday and started feeling ill within an hour afterward. By this morning, I had liquid spewing from either end of my gastrointestinal tract, and when either end wasn't imitating a fountain, I was in bed trying desperately to sleep despite the pain emanating from my gurgling guts. I don't blame my mother's cooking, for no one else got sick... just lucky, lucky me. But what this meant was that while the rest of you were happily watching your parades and football games and dog shows while scarfing down goodies out there in the rest of the free world, I was huddled under the covers until 5pm between visits to the vomitorium.

By 5pm, I decided that I should at least shower and shake off the plague that had taken me over (mainly because the Imodium finally kicked in). After the shower, I made my way downstairs to see what was left of the day. The kids had done their best to destroy my house further and I needed to wrangle them to get their things together to go to their dad's so that I could have 3 days of much-needed quiet solitude. In my illness, they'd eaten every bit of sugar in the house and then used my living room lamps as swords while acting out scenes from The Lord of the Rings. My oldest managed to go digging in the kitchen junk drawer and located, to my surprise, my ex's old wedding band... he then proclaimed it "the one ring to rule them all" and put it on a chain around his neck, bound and determined to return it to it's source and destroy it once and for all before it found its way back into the hands of man again. I should have done that myself 5 years earlier, but it had been lost in a murky sea of Chinese restaurant menus, paint swatches, strewn about batteries of questionable power, dried up Playdough containers, coupons, random tools, dog nail clippers, and what I believe might be the original Dead Sea Scrolls (or perhaps just some really crapped up children's artwork).

My ex was due to pick them up at 6pm, so at 6:47 sharp as usual, he rolled into the driveway. When he made his way up the front steps, I handed him back the ring of doom... which he took from me rather gingerly and said "Thanks, I guess." I felt relieved, having just returned it to its evil source, but now I wonder if I shall begin to rapidly age as Bilbo had after he relinquished the ... okay, I've spent too much time watching those damn movies. By returning that ring to its evil source, I hope that I'll finally be rid of the ring-wraithes that have been circling me for the last 5 years... otherwise known as "dates." You laugh, but until you've had the kind of luck that I've had in the dating department, you'll never truly understand the full shock and horror of what I've experienced. Seriously. You're still laughing? Okay, well when you find out that the person you had one of the best first dates ever in recent history turns out to actually be a registered sex offender, we'll see if you're still giggling then.

After the week that I've had, I really needed to get away from my life for a bit. So with quietude settling upon the house, I decided to set out into the world to the one place all single losers end up on holidays... the movie theater. I showed up in time to grab one of the last remaining tickets to see Oliver Stone's sold-out (and I mean that in every sense for the word) epic, ALEXANDER. I had no hopes of this being "epic" in the slightest, seeing how the cast includes both Angelina Jolie and Val Kilmer... a double-whammy filmic curse indeed. But still, I needed pure escapism.

Of course, I didn't get it.

Do you ever get to a theater and find the most perfect spot, only to have it sullied by those who fill in the seats around you? All the time, right? Okay, so get this...

I sit down in the middle of the 4th row from the front... one row too close for my taste, but good enough. Soon thereafter, 3 of the redneckiest rednecks sit down to my left and the one closest to me pops open a container of what I believe smelled like a combination of Schiltz and grape juice... not a good odor for one who had just been spewing forth something that smelled a bit like that earlier in the day, so I pushed my nose into my bag of popcorn/Thanksgiving dinner. Next came the other set of "necks" to my right, reeking of cheap wine and pot and feet (they took their shoes off right away, thanks), and both being of the "mouth-breather" variety... guess you can afford to smell that bad when neither of you have been able to access your olfactory senses for the last decade.

But here's the topper: a woman plops down slightly in front of me, almost taking my foot off at the ankle as it had been wedged between the seats. She then flags over the rest of her party... 2 daughters that look like the Bush twins and their significant others (one looks like an Ethan Hawke variety pre-anorexia, the other looks like an all-American football star)... immediately I hate the whole lot of them. Last but not least, however, is the patriarch of the clan, who sits down directly in front of me and MY HAND TO GOD he is Santa Claus. I shit you not. He had the long, flowing white beard and longish, wavy head of white hair... if he wasn't Santa, then he was God himself. I was pissed. Not only was I forced to have a shitty holiday sick as a dog, but now I was given the constant reminder that Christmas is just around the corner. I truly hate Christmas... not as much as I hate Valentine's Day, but I'll bitch about that one in 2 months... and the 2 sets of happy couples flanking Santa and Mrs. Claus made my guts churn just thinking about that other dreaded holiday. I still can't figure out how either of the parents produced two stunning daughters, but it just made me hate them more for the hell of it.

It is at this point I should tell everyone right here and now that I live in Gwinnett County, Georgia... a firmly sanctimonious, fairly redneck, holier-than-thou Christian, family-values Conservative place that gives me nightmares to occasionally think that I've managed to live here for nearly 9 years without being either converted or murdered in my sleep for heresy. And Oliver Stone's movie is so NOT their cup of tea, full of male-on-male love and lust... the audible groans and comments from the audience were almost worth the admission price, if Stone hadn't created such a fucking dog of a movie. My favorite comments heard were "Disgusting!" and "Oh, good Lord!" and best of all "Sweet Christ, no!" Heheheheh. But I digress.

Or do I?

It was quite a way to wrap up a crappy holiday at the end of a truly crap week, with a crappier movie that made a packed theater full of religious flag-wavers queasier than I had been earlier that day. And I'm still pissed that I missed the Purina National Dog Show. Anyone know who won?

Ah hell, I don't care really. Like I said when I started this rant...

Fuck off.

Theocracy at Its Finest

Today I got a letter from a distant friend in Maine (one of only 2 states that smartly dole out electoral votes based on a real representative sample, rather than the all-or-nothing version the rest of us get) who summed up my sentiments exactly. I'd like to share his thoughts with you here:

"I'm sure you had a good time last night, envisioning the practical reality of Theocracy. With that in mind, here is a short list of other folks who were elected:

Senator-elect Jim DeMint: Thinks that unwed pregnant women and gays are unfit to be schoolteachers.

Senator-elect Tom Coburn: Wants the death penalty for abortion doctors.

Senator-elect John Thune: Mr. School Prayer Amendment.

Voters in 11 states voted to ban same-sex marriage. The lowest margin was 57%-43%. The highest (Mississippi) was 86%-14%. Kentucky also bans civil unions. That one was 75%-25%.

The Senate will likely be split 55-45 in favor of Republicans, creeping closer to a filibuster-proof supermajority. Meanwhile, 89% of these guys are older than 65.

But you'll also get a tax cut, if you accept Christ as your personal savior and accountant.

Without hesitation, I sincerely urge everyone to READ and PAY ATTENTION, always. And read lots of books about the Roman Empire. --Mr. Gage"

------

Last night while watching the returns, I managed to eat all of my children's chocolate Halloween candy, probably in an effort to elevate myself to a chocolate high, and succeeding only in a massive chocolate hangover today.

I went to the gym for a healthier high and was on the treadmill no more than 5 minutes when W came across all the monitors with his acceptance speech. I ran hard for 30 minutes and attempted to stare through the digital display feeling a little like Superman trying to spin the world backwards in time just a few minutes to buy more time to save Lois's life. It didn't work for me, of course.

Now I'm seeking comfort from music with darkly poignant lyrics. This one's on repeat as I type:

"Well we stick our fingers in
The ground, heave and
Turn the world around
Smoke is blacking out the sun
At night I pray and clean my gun
The cracked bell rings as
The ghost bird sings and the gods
Go beggin here
So just open fire
As you hit the shore
All is fair in love
And war" --Tom Waits, "Hoist That Rag"

I'm disappointed people. Disappointed, scared, angry, and down. I'm also considering moving to New England or the West Coast (if not out of the country entirely)... anyone want a gloomy roomie?

--She

Scariest Halloween House EVER!

Hope everyone had a safe and grand All Hallow's Eve... and a muy bueno Dia De Los Muertos.

I just wanted to take a moment to acknowledge the scariest house that my kids visited that night. It had crime tape strewn across the front and signs everywhere saying "Danger" and "Beware!" There were two dummies in lawn chairs hacking at each other's necks with bloodied hatchets while a soundtrack blared screams and moans from somewhere in the bushes and lights in the house blinked on and off. But the worst horror of all was out by the mailbox. That's right... they had a sign up that read "Vote Bush/Cheney 2004." Not sure if it was meant to be part of the fright fest that night, but it certainly ran a chill down my spine.

Please get out there and vote, people. Don't make that spook house a living nightmare for the the next 4 years that will haunt us for decades to come.

I'm The She-Creature and I approved this message.

Butterflies, Accidents and Hermitage

I would like to thank Shawn for this link to the poems of Russell Edson. The poems are absurd and eccentric and yet so very insightful and visual in their descriptiveness. Actually, they're so much like the way that I think sometimes that I found it uncanny (but only those of you who know me really well would know that). Here's two that I really enjoyed (and be sure to click the link above to see more):


THE MARIONETTES OF DISTANT MASTERS

Russell Edson

A pianist dreams that he's hired by a wrecking company to
ruin a piano with his fingers . . .
On the day of the piano wrecking concert, as he's
dressing, he notices a butterfly annoying a flower in his window
box. He wonders if the police should be called. Then he thinks
maybe the butterfly is just a marionette being manipulated by
its master from the window above.
Suddenly everything is beautiful. He begins to cry.

Then another butterfly begins to annoy the first butterfly.
He again wonders if he shouldn't call the police.
But, perhaps they are marionette-butterflies? He thinks
they are, belonging to rival masters seeing whose butterfly can
annoy the other's the most.

And this is happening in his window box. The Cosmic
Plan: Distant Masters manipulating minor Masters who, in turn,
are manipulating tiny butterfly-Masters who, in turn, are
manipulating him . . . A universe webbed with strings!
Suddenly it is all so beautiful; the light is strange . . .
Something about the light! He begins to cry . . .




A HISTORICAL BREAKFAST

Russell Edson

A man is bringing a cup of coffee to his face, tilting it to his
mouth. It's historical, he thinks. He scratches his head: another
historical event. He really ought to rest, he's making an awful
lot of history this morning.
Oh my, now he's buttering toast, another piece of history
is being made.
He wonders why it should have fallen on him to be so
historical. Others probably just don't have it, he thinks, it is,
after all, a talent.
He thinks one of his shoelaces needs tying. Oh well,
another important historical event is about to take place. He
just can't help it. Perhaps he's taking up too large an area of
history? But he has to live, hasn't he? Toast needs buttering
and he can't go around with one of his shoelaces needing to be
tied, can he?
Certainly it's true, when the 20th century gets written in full
it will be mainly about him. That's the way the cookie
crumbles--ah, there's a phrase that'll be quoted for centuries
to come.
Self-conscious? A little; how can one help it with all those
yet-to-be-born eyes of the future watching him?
Uh oh, he feels another historical event coming . . . Ah,
there it is, a cup of coffee approaching his face at the end of
his arm. If only they could catch it on film, how much it would
mean to the future. Oops, spilled it all over his lap. One of
those historical accidents that will influence the next thousand
years; unpredictable, and really rather uncomfortable . . . But
history is never easy, he thinks. . .

Men, Women and Chainsaws

Have you ever been stalked? I don't really know if this qualifies in the true meaning of the word "stalk," but there's a way on Friendster to bookmark people. The default is to do it without them seeing that you've bookmarked them (so you're invisible, in a way). But there's also a box to check if you want the person you're bookmarking to be able to see that you have him/her bookmarked. Okay, so...

For the last, oh, year now, there's a guy on Friendster by the name of Walter who has had me bookmarked so that I can see him. That's not so bad, I mean, the first boy I ever EVER had a crush on was a boy named Walter. I was in the 4th grade and Walter looked like a young Bing Crosby, which means he was really, really nerdy... just the beginning of a long line of my own obsession with brainy geeks. I mean, I think brainy men are hot. And I am always attracted geeky men in a way that befuddles all of my friends. And I truly, madly, deeply adore nerdy, brainy, geeky men. That's not the only kind that I would date, but it does seem to be the only flavor of man that I date long-term and/or marry.

This Walter on Friendster is definitely what one would call geeky. Abso-fucking-lutely. But he is not one of the kind that I would fall for because he also fits into a category of what I call "geeky men who are Unabomber scary." Why? Well, at first glance, maybe not so much. I mean, his opening photo shows him wearing the standard-issue geek glasses and there seems to be a garden gnome in the background:




This is Walter.



Innocuous enough, right? Maybe not. Is that gnome slightly menacing? Perhaps. I mean, I've never trusted the fuckers myself. Certainly wouldn't turn my back on one. But, upon closer inspection of the rest of his photo gallery, I became --as one of my favorite geeky male friends is fond of saying-- completely "skeeved out." You see, in one gallery of pics, Walter has managed to embody two of the films from my childhood that gave me the heebee jeebees for years with residual psychological scars that remain with me today. Those films were Tobe Hooper's 1974 classic THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE and Richard Attenborough's 1978 sleeper MAGIC.

You don't believe me? Here, see for yourself:




"I just can't take no pleasure in killing.
There's just some things you gotta do.
Don't mean you have to like it."




"Abracadabra, I sit on his knee.
Presto, change-o, and now he's me!
Hocus Pocus, we take her to bed.
Magic is fun...we're dead."


If that's not enough for you, I think the weirdest photo of them all is the last one, where he casually reads an old issue of GOOD HOUSEKEEPING magazine:




"Hmm, to remove blood stains from fabric and upholstery..."


Well, I could use a man with a chainsaw this weekend... and a mini Bobcat too, but I think I'll pass on this one. Shallow graves make me claustrophobic.