He asked if he could call me after putting his son to be.  It was Friday night.  I was home with no plans to go out and obliged seeing he was a dad in a few of his photos.  When he called me, my first impression of his voice was like seeing something with a rough texture that was surprisingly soft to the touch.  He had a smooth compassionate voice, the kind you want to hear ask you if you need anything because you know they’ll be happy to do anything for you.  It made me feel like sounding a little sweeter and sexier than my regular bubbly matter-of-fact self.  We talked for hours on the phone that night.  I even heard him talk to his little boy in that same gentle manly tone.  I got off the phone with him after learning enough to know that I had met someone I hoped to talk to again.

We talked every evening that weekend and exchanged photos by day .  Monday morning I get a phone call while I’m primping in the mirror for work.  It was him calling to wish me a beautiful day.  I kept thinking about the things he shared about himself and I honestly liked it all.  He was divorced but very much a family-oriented and involved in his son’s life.  He owned his own business and best of all had stories to share about  his experience with relocating for love and career opportunities.  I was pleased to know that he was more open-minded than me about the prospect of moving for a relationship because it seemed very far-fetched to me.

We kept getting to know each other through long conversations and texting photos.  I learned verifying information about him also, like where he worked, lived, and had lived before.    I actually had sprung a task on him to pick a random stranger out of a store he had stopped in after work to put on the phone with me.   It was totally candid but I he obliged.  I even asked the stranger if he had on what he told me he wore to work earlier that morning.  I really wanted to make sure I was really dealing with the person he ‘d portrayed.  At this point I was satisfied with talking to a real likeable person.  I was happy with that but he was ready to take it to the next level.

The topic of meeting came up.   It was inevitable.  I felt more infatuated with having a virtual connection than actually facing the reality of either really liking this man in person or altogether losing all the momentum we had to get to know each other better.  The thing that really propelled me to see him face to face was delving into “fuck it” mode and going for the plunge.  I knew more about him than he knew about me.  I hadn’t even given him my real name yet.  I felt I had the upper hand for this and didn’t want him to come to visit me here.  I felt exhilarated about taking a road trip and meeting him was one of the benefits.

I drove five and a half hours to meet this man.  When I get to his drive way and call him, he tells me to come to the door because he’s still getting ready.  He said he’d be ready soon and to just come in.  I wasn’t going to.  I told him to take his time (so I could send GPS signals and his license plate to my girlfriend back home) and come out when he was ready.  A few minutes later he calls me and says he’s done and come on in.  No fucking way—is what I’m thinking.  I was annoyed with him insisting I come in instead of walking outside to greet me.  He actually fussed with me about it over the phone instead of just walking outside.  I hadn’t been there 15 minutes and was already ready to go the hell back home.

I won the power struggle.  Sort of.  He came out to my car finally to greet me.  He was a bit edgy about it and asked me with an attitude what the problem was.  Wrong tone.  I didn’t just drive through four states for this shit!!!  I snapped back at him unlike we were the giddy friends who’d been planning this and more like a couple who’d been married for years.  I was uneasy.  When his tone and compassion returned to recognizable I had him show me around his house.  I checked every corner, closet, and door in and out of that place.   His condo was decorated with  photos of him and his son.  That made me feel a little more safe but I still didn’t like his attitude about coming out to greet me.

On his kitchen counter was a frozen bag of “dinner”.  I didn’t want him to cook for me.  I did want a drink and I watched him as he made both of us CranVoks (aka Cosmopolitans).  I chose the drink he made for himself.  While we’re about to make a toast he crinkles his nose up at me and accuses me of smelling like tacos.   I remember him telling me he like a clean smelling woman and is sensitive to smell in a previous conversation.  I drank my drink and told him it was his fucking Mexican neighbor’s dinner blowing through the vents.  It was.  I was still mad at the accusation.

He asked if I was hungry and I said yes, “for sushi”, something I knew he couldn’t make or didn’t have by chance in his fridge.  I proposed we go out.  It was still early and I didn’t want to spend an evening in with him.

It wasn’t long before we were seated side by side at some local Japanese steakhouse.   I ordered a drink for him I thought he’d really enjoy and he was moved by that some kind of way.  Soon as our waitress takes our menus  he leans to ask me, “You love me boo?”, then pouts his lips to kiss me.  I put my hand in his face and bust out laughing WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!  He said “Sike I’m playing” but it was so way out of context I just thought he was livid dumbass.  My sake bomb couldn’t get there fast enough!

I don’t know why I stole the sake.  Either it was me acting out on the reality that kicked in when my buzz did for having actually driven all the way to Durham, North Carolina to see this gump—or what!  I was antsy sitting there watching him finishing a new glass of Sapporo.  I grabbed the beer, the sake container and tucked them into my big tote purse and belted out of the restaurant telling him to come on.  I was already outside waiting for him when he finally moseyed out looking for me.  He was shocked I had taken the sake china.  I reached in to grab it out my purse and instead splashed my hand into all the hot rice liquor that had spilled out.  Arrrrgh!  I grabbed the container out my bag and flung it toward the water fountain in front of the restaurant.  I thought it would float (don’t do physics while tipsy) but instead it shattered.  He hollard “WHOA……..SHIT!!!” and sprinted for his car like ninjas with katanas were chasing his dumb jock ass.   I didn’t run.  The beer was still standing up and I didn’t want to spill it.

That night I changed in the bathroom into my ‘just in case he’s ugly or crazy’ pijamas; stained sweat pants with a really long, strong drawstring and a stained tee shirt.  I completed my “I’m not sexing you buddy” outfit with a dingy silk scarf.   When I came out the bathroom he was in a pair of high water plaid Skidz sprawled out across the bed.   He was drunker than me as planned so I felt comfortable getting some rest around this strange dude.  In the morning I woke up to him spooning me.  It was endearing but I hip-shrugged his morning wood away.

I woke up and left to GPS my way to strong fresh coffee.  He had never had Starbucks’  so I brought him a caramel macchiato, a pussified coffee compared to my vulgarly robust ‘Venti Red Eye Soy Misto’.  When I came in the door he was making breakfast; scrambled eggs, turkey bacon and wheat toast.  He did pretty good.  I was ready to see Durham and do something fun soon as the coffee kicked in.  This dude needed to iron and actually went into the bathroom with a broom to clean up after me.  Anal.  I had already cleaned up after myself but his OCD vision saw a need to sweep, swift and disinfect before leaving the house.  At this point I was just about making the most of it.  There was no love connection and the ice hadn’t really been broken.  He looked like his photos but how I saw him was unsexy and regular.  I didn’t care how he saw me either.

Durham sucks.  It took longer to drive to downtown than to actually drive through it.  There was nothing remarkable about it at all.  I looked forward to the baseball game he bought tickets happening later that Saturday night.  The hard part was finding something fun to do all day with him until the game.  We ended up parked outside a museum for hours taking camera phone photos to distort with my Funny Face App.  And, we talked.  No romantic connection still.

Later that evening we’re back at his place and it starts raining.  He suggests we make drinks and just chill.  I learned that the game could be postponed hours before actually being canceled.  A holding pattern; Great.   He turned on his stereo system and starts playing some old slow jams.  I’m looking at him like the only person in the audience forced to watch him perform on The Apollo as he lip synchs  corny lyrics about baby—this and lovemaking—that.   I stirred my drink on my knee and just sat there bored as fuck watching him skip tracks before the song finished, song after son after song.  After a while I couldn’t take it any more.  I was tired of feeling like a pissed off teddy bear wearing a dress and drinking make-believe tea.  He actually tried to flip to a song I might like – instead of doing something instead that didn’t suck!!

We headed out for the game and it was a long wait before it started.  The stadium was empty but the food stands were full of people to watch for amusement.  The beer was good too.  I was happy to be out and about even though it was still raining.  The game was one and we got in to the completely empty front row in great seats by third base, which also happened to be where some of players were warming up.  Hot players!  I don’t care for baseball but I love live sports and was finally enjoying myself.  He and I actually had fun goofing off.  We even kissed just for the hell of it.  Just a peck in the stands.  I wiped my mouth off afterwards and he smirked at me.  Still no real romance.  I even got a baseball.  I didn’t catch it.  The pitcher walked one over to me when dude left to get us more beer.  He was hot too… from far away.

That night leaving the game, dude tried to kiss me again.  I said, “eh.  That’s ok, just hold my hand”.  I knew it would be my our last night together and wanted to maintain the platonic nature between us at that.  He made another attempt to get a little romantic by grabbing my hand.  It was awkward—awkward as when the stranger seated next to you touches you and doesn’t move away.  I couldn’t take the pressure of wanting to NOT be holding hands on the way back to his car.  I wanted to bust the idea of us going back to his condo any more intimate than we had been before.  The hand-holding was driving me nuts.  I panicked and put his hand on my butt.   I had the guts to muster up every bit of ‘touchy-feely’ repellent I could to fart on demand and let it ass-belched onto his hand.  HE.  FLIPPED.  OUT!  He couldn’t finish the sentences he was yelling at me for his disbelief that I had actually just farted on him.  I did.  And it stank, too.   Did he want some pussy after that?  Nope.  #WIN

Now we’re like two naked straight men in a locker room with the personal space.  We slept in the bed with about three feet of space between us.  I may have over done it because the spooning was comfy. Had I just tooted or teased about farting on him I might have suffocated any motivation he could have about having sex—but no, I ripped ass on his hand like I was trying to scratch my asshole hands-free.

He couldn’t even walk me to my car when I left the next morning.  He was still sleep in his bed when I crept out.   I text him a ‘So Long… it was fun” after I got on the road then another when I finally made it home.  He didn’t  respond to either.  My only regret is leaving my FAVORITE SUNGLASSES behind.  Karma?

I joined a dating website and I remember meeting Omar.  His energy was good.  He was personably funny as if we were cellmates in for the same thing:  Being Single.  Our first date was a group outing.  He lived with four roommates who were all single and juniors in their career.  These and his other friends who were newlyweds or co-habitating couples had a ritual of getting together for pre-flight drinks and a night at some trendy dance club.  I was pretty excited by the idea to meet him and his friends together for the first time.  Actually it sounded like it would save me a lot of time figuring out who he really was.

When I arrived at his place there was a crowd of people in his house and one of his roommates opened the door to greet me.  He was still getting ready.  I don’t remember how long it took him to come greet me but by the time he did, I had a drink in my hand and the ice was already broken with his roommates.   In fact, there was no ice to break at all; I just fit in.   Everyone was a creative working in the art field and they either attended school together or worked together.   We wrapped up the pre-flight cocktails and poured out the house together to check out an 80’s rave-themed party.

He still attended to me as if we were on a date; he paid my way, bought me a drink and found a seat in a quieter space for us inside the club.  I already liked him from our phone conversations and his friends impressed me.  Face to face he upheld that energy I liked about him but honestly wasn’t attracted to him immediately.   I was, however, immediately interested in hanging with them again.  I got us out on the dance floor and that night I met the free woman inside me who had been suffocated by a relationship.

We went out on several other dates that involved some gathering with his friends.  I realized I missed that more than actually being in a relationship.  When I was alone with him I learned more about the relationship he had been in.  I heard a lot about that and about his ex.  It irked me I forced empathy without disclosing how I was also adjusting from a break up.  The difference between he and I is that he had a group o friends and I had just gotten out of a relationship with my 1^st and only friend since relocating.  We didn’t get too much time alone, thankfully, as I wiggled my way out of invites where he wanted us to spend alone time without his friends.  I was prepared if he ever questioned me for only going on group outings.   In a way I was happy he was jaded about his ex because I was, I just didn’t want to tote that baggage along for new opportunities.  He had the potential to become more attractive to me but always talking about his ex was a big turn off.  More than anything I cringed for the desire it gave me to reveal my own baggage.

I think he got accustomed to our budding friendship because one day the chivalry in our courtship stopped.  I say courtship because my last relationship happened so instantaneously after we met that I didn’t get the time to pursue other types of friendships.  He invites me out for brunch but when we’re at the table and eyeing the menu he suggests we split one breakfast or split the tab.    I was hungrier for food than I was eager to attack the issue.  Cooly, I told him what I was ordering for myself and was too hungry to share.   I was obscenely annoyed behind the menu.   He pushed a little further in his demand and said he didn’t want to spend $17 on a meal; terms he should have presented at the time he invited me out to eat.  I obliged with class and said I’d pay for my own meal and he was fine to pay for whatever he wanted.   My patience and composure, while still each a practice, have proven themselves to be like money in unreal situations like these.   When it was time to settle the tab he had a surprise coming.

I know from being in a relationship how expensive it can be to date.  I also know that I would never invite anyone and then explain the “fine print” after they show up.  It’s more than impolite; it creates politics.  I didn’t want to judge the dude with out understanding what made him feel ok to tell me all this at the breakfast table.   Instead our breakfast was served and I enjoyed my meal despite his terms.  I paid my tab and even hugged his arm walking out of the restaurant after he paid for his.  For a half second I actually thought he had ‘come to’ and would handle both our bills but he didn’t.  He actually walked out with me on his arm gleaming as if he were a proud man who had just provided for his woman.  I strolled tightly beside him in silence until I was ready to drop ‘it’ on him—I leaned in to his ear and whispered, “I want to spend the rest of the day fucking you.”  He reacted too hot and fast without knowing what the fine print said.  As he picked up the pace to get me to the car I asked if he had condoms.  He did.  Then (betting on the likeliness that they were latex) I asked what kind he had.  Jackpot:  “Latex”.  I stopped yanking him still.

I was really testing this dude here.  If he really was having an economical set back that day but wanted to spend time with me as usual, he just had no etiquette in how to go about it.  If he was just trying to treat me how he treats his roommates, he should have established his new nature for us prior to inviting me out.  Mind you, I didn’t sass him or dispute the issue.  His credibility at this point was riding on how much I like the people who like him.

I was disappointed to inform him that we can’t have sex then because I’m allergic to latex.  He was quick to ask what I needed so I sent him in the super market by where we had just eaten for the right brand name and type to buy.   Less than ten minutes later he resurfaced with a fresh box of $20 condoms.

We got in his audio and floated home like we were in a space saucer.  He didn’t even take the time to select a sound track for the ride as usual.  I peeked in the bag at the big box of polyurethane condoms and smiled for him.  I know how much non-latex condoms cost.  They’re $20—more than my meal.

We rushed in to the door to my place.  This would be the first time for us.  He wanted us to shower together but I had just showered before brunch.  He slipped in for a quick shower while I lit candles and incense in my bedroom and slipped out of my jewelry.    When he came out the shower, I imagine butt naked and dick-first , he was greeted by the smoke from the cooling wicks in my dark, empty bedroom.

When he came out down the hall looking for me I was fully dressed in the kitchen perched by his car keys waiting to see him to the door.   I told him since he took care of just himself on our date that he could go home and take care of himself too and handed him his clothes.

It’s $2/hr to park, 2 hour max.  We dig up 8 quarters and he goes to buy A ticket.

A puzzling 7 or 9 minutues later myman comes back.  I reach out for THE ticket to put on the dash and his big hand looks like he’s gotta be holding a winning Pick 3′s LOL!  He had 8 parking tickets.  While he’s explaing how the thing kept kicking out tickets for every quarter, i’m thumbing through them looking for the one with the oldest time to display.

They all say 10:00PM.
::head goes sideways like “Question Mark!!”

I just put alla them on the dash–gambling for parking police karma LOL– then we mash on up the block.  Doubt stops me to look at the meter.

OH!  Free parking after 10 pm. I smirk pointing it out and we fall into LOLs  at his honest effort to be sure we pay for 2 full hours.

A week ago a friend told me about the line waiting for lottery tickets. I was surprised. He has two high paying jobs and several profitable side businesses. I’d guess his income was around $12-20k a month from the things he’s shared with me. His house is immaculate and fully furnished with the latest technology, hand-crafted furniture and designer embellishments. Yes he’s single. No he doesn’t have kids. And he’s black. I was really surprised to find out he played lottery. I don’t know much about the lottery. What I know, I learned from the security guard at the library where my office was. He was a stripper turned security officer who was smaller than me but made me feel obliged about having him see me to my car. He taught me how to read my first lotto ticket and I remember it read I won $20. I never got hooked on playing but this week something changed.

My friend (term used loosely, I’ll say why later) told me what the jackpot was and said he always played. I was impressed (he seems to have it all already) so the concept of playing intrigued me more. I took his encouragement to play as a sign and went out that night to buy a ticket. I won $3. I used that money to buy $1 scratch off and a $2 scratch off. I won $5 or $10.   I kept buying them!  I would cash in, scratch them off in my car in the parking lot and go back and cash in, reinvesting what ever it was I had won. Off several cards, collectively, I won $37. Then $28. On a new lotto game I won free “Quick Pick” tickets.

Today, I asked a colleague if I could borrow a penny. He offered a nickel and looked long at me hoping I’d offer an explanation. He’s Jewish, too. I held my breath hoping he wouldn’t chastise me for buying lotto tickets. I always thought there was a stigma to playing “duh loTTo”. He tossed a nickel up in the air and I caught it. I’m not good at catching– but I caught it.

I won 3 free “quick pick tickets” and $5. When I gave the nickel back he asked if I won. Wining made saying yes less embarrassing. Then I found out we have “scratch offs” in common.

I’m going to write down what I’ll do when I win 6-figures or more so you can hold me accountable! Under 6-figures, the answer is easy. I’d keep on being who I am but would just have cushioning to love, bless, work and live with.

When I hit the lottery I am…

Sponsoring MILF’s. That is a mom Making Independence Look Fun out of PURE optimism because we know Milfin Ain’t Easy! I would add an “Adopt a Milf” tab to my blog and feature the beautifully dedicated women who put their kids first without resentment. I’d secretly donate to it to help women like me when we need money for the big field trip, cash help to get us to payday for that oil chan

ge miles over due, and that gift card when wanting to make your baby’s birthday ::spesho:: needs some sponsorship.

Next. Paying off my parents automobiles and get their basement finished. I would do it just to free up money for them and put a little earning potential back in their life.

Next. Build and pay off my custom log cabin home/bed &breakfast home and host retreats for couples.

Next. Find, join, and invest in promoting every single MLM business that provides a credible and valuable daily living service and business start up cost. I’d sign up with women like me who are hungry but just don’t have the reach, support or the resources to set their businesses on prosperous viral fire.

Next. I want to say that I’d travel to help communities third world countries but I’m scared to do that as I am.

I would spend my time writing. Helping people and writing about helping people. And, helping people some more.

This week I helped someone in a significant way. Have you? Give painfully from time to time. It will make you feel really good.

That’s my message for today. For dinner, I made lightly breaded chicken tenders with honey pepper mustard and baked potatoes. Presentation is everything. I served them in a bowl pre-loaded with bbq sauce and pre-drizzled in sweet tangy spiceyness.

Lotto drawing is tonight. Here’s my tickets

Click to view slideshow.

The reason I never met him in person is a simple thing.  He looked mean in all his pictures.  He was nice on the phone but all of his pictures were of him making a stoic stupidfuckingface.  He wasn’t smiling in any of the pictures he had on his profile.  That’s it– the reason we never met.  I really don’t care if a maintenance man smiles in his picture– and if this came over to help me get the furnace working and turned out to be great then WIN WIN.  But, if he expects me to meet him in person on the dating tip, it won’t happen unless I know what kind of smile he’s working with.  A smile with straight, ivory white veneers teeth is stunning but that’s not my fixation.  I just want a clean tooth cared-for smile.  I think a gapped-tooth smile can make a man more alluring.  I even think Tupac, Jake Gyllenhaal and Denzel’s teeth are yummy to watch.  They have straight top teeth with that one out of place on the bottom.  It adds sex appeal to watching them using their mouth.  It doesn’t matter how fine a man looks though, I will not meet him for a dating-type date without seeing a photo of his smile.  The reason:  the attitudes of people who won’t smile in pictures because of how they think it makes them look.  That is very telling about a person!  If a man thinks it makes himself look corny, weak, etc than chances are he is weak, corny, etc.  I only want the kind of man who smiles easy.  If he has a really nice body though, I just want to see what he looks like smiling way more.  In this case, this dude didn’t get that instant credibility which is why he hadn’t hear from me until now.

NOW.  Another reason a smiling pic matters is because I’m gunshy.  I had an attractive dude give good face in photos without ever letting a glimpse of his teeth debut in any of his pics.  I was pumped about meeting him in person after talking and emailing so much with him.  We met for the first time at night for dinner.  Our seating arrangement was skewed by the modern booth furniture so I was sitting more next to him than directly across from him.  We sat across from each other on our second date though.  I remember saying something funny to him and his lips bust back revealing major Cavity Creep vandalism!

It reminded me of a photo I saw on Rotten.com of a meth head.  I was uber blown 0_O.  It was awkward squiggling out of a hug and dodging his fvcking kiss after having all that chemistry.  When I went back and looked through all the photos I noticed that fake pursed-lip smirk posing as a smile in every one.  Ever since I REFUSE to be set up like that again.  I know teeth can be fixed– which is why I chalked that relationship up as having different values.  I value toothpaste, mouthwash, cleanings.  He obviously did not.

I’ve gone out with guys that strike me as sexy at first glane but because their smile was radiant I took the time to discover what more was there to them.  I’m not saying a smiling photo is a good measure in judging a person– it’s just my prerogative.

So basically dude tonight brought up my issue with not meeting him because he looks mean in all his photos.  He had a bunch of blab to support why saying “cheese” is stupid to him; who all can vouch for him being a good guy, and blah blah.  There was no talking me in to meeting him better than texting me a happy cam pic.  He won’t do it.  I felt that stupid tension again where something’s got to give to move to the next topic.  I told him I was going to get my bootleg snuggie (a blanket with a hole for my head) and get ready for bed.

My heat is still not working.

I’ve got a space heater though.

I just took a quick inventory of my wardrobe.  It’s black-tie event dresses, tea party dresses, summer dresses, business suits, cargos, jeans and vintage logo tees.  Oh, and tons of pj’s, too.  There’s no “party girl” clothes though.  Impromptu-dinner-party-at-home-clothes, yes but no hot single chick clothes.  In fact, I have more pajamas than all the other attire combined.  I wear bodacious vibrant colors; my magenta, lime, or salmon button downs, royal blue, purple, and hot pink knits, and helluva-statement tees.  Do I wear my “Kiss Me, I’m Magically Delicious” tee or my girly pinky and grey leopard print with the frills on it?  I don’t even have black shirts– except the one knit I’m wearing as pj’s right now.

I’m no club chick.  I’m a housewife without a husband– or a child support check and I need to get out!  I’m a country girl with urban swag.  Not the dime piece type.  A peach.  A hand-picked fuzzy sweet peach you rub against your lips before biting into that you want to savor.  That’s how I see myself.  I live in a family-oriented county and shop and run errands like the other suburban soccer moms out here but at night I’m like a secret from the world of men who meet women on the streets.  Far from a trick, chicken head, ho, hoochie, whatever who’d be out at a club trying to meet a guy.  Although!– I do have a collection of remarkably stanky high heels and matching self-pleasuring sex toys in my possession.  However, those shoes just don’t go with anything I actually would wear out the house.  Those are what I call my “play shoes”

I’ve become somewhat of a homebody.  Tonight, I made roast turkey wings for dinner tonight with basmati rice and gravy like somebody’s casserole making SAHM housewife.  I’m not hating on ladies with that advantage, I’m just fronting like I subscribe to Good Housekeeping until I actually get to see what that life is all about.  Will I find out what that’s all about?  I’m not sure but I will spend more time thinking about it than thinking about what to wear out tonight. I’m a tricenarian– the kind of woman who gets a bad rap for not being “settled down”.  I am settled down– but the woman in me is too generous and attentive to self to keep self all to myself.

I’m going out tonight.

This video right here reminds me of Janet Jackson’s old school videos.  What the world would be like if it were a musical in real life.  Crossing Guard’s shimmying.  Cashier’s doing the robot during your check out.  Power walkers Cupid Shuffling up the paved walkway while I’m moonwalking to the mailbox…  Yaaaayyuh!  That’s what’s up.  Check out the clip!