Two posts in one day can only attest to the fact that I am bored as hell today. Or quite possibly drunk from lack of sleep. Actually while making my blog run this afternoon a post over on Cowgirl's blog, Left Alone With A Full Moon, reminded me of something I was going to blog about last week and then forgot about in all the shock surrounding the death in my family.
Dating. Not my favorite thing even as a teenager. I am not good at going through the motions required to get to know someone. It bores me to tears. Well that and the fact that I have to actually get out of my pajamas and leave the house to date.
I can just imagine my profile on one of those dating sites Cowgirl mentions:
Looking for a sugar daddy who has enough money to support me in a lavish lifestyle and take me on extravagant vacations. Preferably in bad health or terminal and willing to name me in your will.
Sturdily built, sometimes described as fluffy.
I am 5'1" tall so if your over 5' 5 " please bring a step stool before coming to pick me up. I like to be eye to eye when someone pisses me off, and you will eventually piss me off, people always do.
Must love pets. Given more room to house them I could easily become the "Crazy Pug Lady" that you remember from your childhood.
Must love children. I have children, three of which are grown and gone from the house. The last two may be with me forever since we don't live in a country that supports a dowry. Without that, I fear I won't be able to bribe someone to put up with them.
Not into someone who wants to be stuck up my ass all the time. Please have your own set of friends and hobbies.
No snorers please. If you lie to me about this I will slit your throat while you sleep.
You must have the ability to wipe your ass thoroughly and not leave skid marks in your underwear. This is negotiable if you're near the end of your life and have already signed the will.
Sane relatives are a must. My own are crazy enough I don't want to have to take on yours too.
You must address me as "Queen" at all times, "Queenie" is acceptable in times of intimacy.
I do not share the television remote with a smile on my face.
Last week a friend fixed me up with a guy her husband works with. I really didn't want to go but she happened to catch me on a day when my fibro was acting up and I didn't have the strength to bitch slap her. The date started out nice enough. He was very good looking and he took me to an expensive restaurant. We were sitting there just chit chatting and suddenly out of the blue he looked at me and asked if I had ever had sex with an animal. Me thinking he meant a man that acts like an animal replied that I had been married to a guy like that. He quickly informed me that he didn't mean that, he meant four legged animals. I'm sure the view he got of the chewed up food still in my mouth when my jaw dropped was appealing to him. I told him no and that I didn't want to hear about it if he had. I spent the rest of the dinner fighting the urge to text my sons and tell them to get the dogs out of the house to safety before the idiot brought me home. I tried to make small talk for the rest of the meal. Do you know how hard it is to make small talk to someone that you're pretty sure is screwing all the pets in his neighborhood? When dinner was over he asks me if I would like to take a tour of the local water treatment plant. WTF? My jaw hits the floor for the second time that night. That was the moment I secretly changed his name, I now call him "Dexter". I'm pretty sure he is a serial killer. Why else would you take someone to a water treatment plant at 10 pm? I told him it was getting late and that my son and I had a pact that if I am not home when I say I will be he is to call the police and have them launch an APB on me. Unfortunately I was going to have to pass on the water treatment plant because I told my son I would be home by 10:30 pm. Dexter took me home. I almost broke his car door in my haste to get out of his car and into my safe house. I thought that was the end of him. Not so easy. He called me the next day and ask if I would like to go visit a goat and pig farm with him. With all the fake regret I could muster up I turned him down. He called me the third day and ask if I wanted to go tour the fish hatchery with him. My death by water at the hands of an animal fucking serial killer floated before my eyes and I turned him down. What is with this guy and his strange fascination for animals and stinky water dates? Is he just socially inept or crazy? I'm not willing to find out so I no longer answer any of his calls or texts.
Is this the kind of men in the dating pool now? I am going to stay home, grow the hair out on my legs and arm pits, get fat and shave my head so that no man will even want to ask me out.
Unless of course he is rich, terminal and the signed will has my name in it as the sole beneficiary.