Monday, August 18, 2014


The first story I sent him to read got the following response:

YOU WIN!!!!!

My story (stories) aren't nearly as interesting as that one.  It seems physical descriptions don't mean much online. I was on the computer working one night and got an IM. Well, being the nice person I think I am, I responded.  She told me she read my ad and saw me on line and wanted to talk. My thought was "how did she know I was online?" We chatted for a couple of hours. Needless to say I didn't finish what I was doing, but we seem to hit it off real well.

She even sent me a picture. Well, it wasn't a real clear picture and she was in a chair.  I could see a pretty smile and she looked nice. For weeks we chatted online. She even found my phone number and called (several times). After about 2 months of chatting I mentioned I was going to be at FloraBama for the Mullet toss. I told her I was there with one of my buddies from Montgomery and where we were staying. I didn't think anything about it. 

Well, my buddy and I had been at FloraBama most of the day. Needless to say we were pretty tore up. We went back to the room about midnight. At about 1 a.m. the phone rang. My buddy answered it and it was the front desk telling him someone was there to see me and wanted to talk to me. I had no clue who it was, but had no desire to talk to anyone, so I told him to find out who it was. It was her and her friend. I told my buddy to tell them I was drunk and passed out. They wanted to go out. No way I was going, so Jim said he would. He's a real trooper. 

They came up to the room to get him. It was dark and I was pretending to be asleep. My God, when she walked in she could have blocked the sun. I'm a kinda big guy, 6'3" 220#'s and I think she weighted more than me. I still pretended to be asleep and they left to go out. About 5 a.m. they stumbled back in the room. I still acted like I was passed out (wish I was). Well she proceeds to take her clothes off and climb in to bed. I didn't move. I'm not sure I even breathed. I didn't want a muscle to move. All I could feel was this big body next to me in bed.

Usually I am very friendly and a real morning person. I got up at 6:00 and couldn't think of enough excuses to get out of there. My buddy was thinking this was the funniest thing he had ever seen. He knows what type women I like and she wasn't one of them. But he kept dragging and it took forever to leave. I apologized for being "hungover" and left at about 7:30 cussing my friend as he laughed his head off. 

Well, she continued to call and email me wanting to see me again. I finally learned how to screen people. She would go to AOL profiles and see I was on line and IM me. It was like being stalked online. It has been several weeks since I last chatted with her, but she still IM's me and I ignore it. I hate doing that, but you gotta do what you gotta do. I assure you, I had NO broken heart. I was just glad I didn't get any broken bones.

Saturday, August 16, 2014


Back when online dating first became the newest craze for gluttons for punishment and eternal optimists, about every 6 months or so I'd put an ad on one of the many dating sites that promised to help a person meet their soul mate.  I used to call it "trolling" because I felt like I was dragging my line slowly through the water waiting to see what bites. Over a period of time I tried all the better known, reputable dating sites, if there really are any and probably a few of the sleazy sites as well. Each time I posted an ad what ensued was like repeatedly banging my head against a brick wall and you know what they say the definition of insanity is...doing the same thing over and over again and each time expecting a different result. Each time I posted an ad I always promised myself I'd never do it again. Ha! Isn't that what a drunk says after tying on a good one and having the hangover from Hell? Okay, so I'm insane, a psycho, a lunatic and mix that with having a very hard head what you get is an expansive list of online dating experiences.   In the process of my online search for Mr. Right many times I felt it was the technological equivalent of Looking For Mr. Goodbar. 

The next five blog posts are stories shared between a man and I as we lamented over how our respective searches never came close to getting a decent hit and if we got on base, it was only as a result of being thrown some horrible pitches or some cosmic fluke.  We chatted with each other laughing out loud on many occasions and we formed a strange bond through the stories we exchanged via email.  We never met each other...I think we wanted to keep each in a perpetual state of perfection by never meeting.  The 1st story I shared with my mystery man wasn't about someone who had responded to one of my ads, but was a man I had contacted as a result of his online ad. 
Internet Story #1

Actually, I responded to this gentlemen’s ad online. The words he had written tugged at my heart and I felt almost duty bound to respond. After e-mailing and talking on the phone for several weeks, one Saturday evening about 6:30 p.m. he called me and asked me out to dinner. I explained I had been cleaning house all day, hadn’t even had a shower yet and was worn out. He said it didn’t matter and to just throw a pair of jeans on and we’d have casual dinner. Although it was on the spur of the moment, I love spontaneity, so I accepted with the stipulation he had to give me at least an hour to get ready. His drive to pick me up would be at least that long, so he said that wouldn’t be a problem.

As he drove, he called me on his cell phone a few times with the last time being about 10 minutes from my house. We talked until he arrived at my place. During this last conversation he told me he was allergic to strawberries and had inadvertently consumed some in a drink the day before and had broken out in a rash. This was not a problem and I asked him out of concern about the allergy and how he treated the rash. He also, at this point mentioned that his office staff referred to him as looking like a retired football player. That certainly wasn’t a problem. That just meant he was a rugged man. Well, let me tell you that when he got out of his car I almost fell over. If it had been daylight, he would have blocked out the sun!

When Jimmy Johnson was the coach for the Dallas Cowboys, he had a thing for BIG men on his offensive line.....somewhere in the neighborhood of 350lbs each. This guy made them look tiny!!!!! Okay, I’m not into looks and knew I could handle sitting through dinner with this man so his size was unimportant, but when we went inside the restaurant and I saw his allergic reaction, I lost my appetite. I’m no doctor, but whatever was all over his skin was more than one day old. It was scaly patches covering all visible skin with some of the patches having scabs. Not to sound gross, but some patches had scabs that were open and looked like they were oozing. Now, being the type of person I am I could have handled his skin problem and the fact that anything I had done, he had done better, but as he sat through dinner telling me what I should and shouldn’t do with my poor dismal life, he suddenly transformed from a very sweet, compassionate person I had gotten to know on the phone to an overbearing, egotistical asshole.

I quickly got to the point where I just wanted to get through dinner and go home, but he had other ideas. He prolonged the agony by insisting on dessert which included showing me a portfolio of pictures of his ex-wife he still had in his wallet. He took extreme pride in pointing out how good she looked in a bikini. I sat in amazement wondering how much more I could tolerate when he started telling me he couldn’t stay out late because he had to fly out to DC early that next morning to testify before the Congress or Senate on some subject. At that point I was so tone deaf, I really couldn’t do anything more than try to imagine this HUGE OOZING male sitting in front of nation's leaders speaking about anything. I smiled and told him I'd make sure I turned my TV to CSPAN in the morning so I could watch him testify. Needless to say, he never appeared on TV and I never got asked out for a second date. As broken hearted as I was, I managed to pull myself together and struggle onward to be captivated by the next perfect man.

I waited in breathless anticipation to read his first story secretly hoping that his story would be so horrific that it'd make me forget all about my own escapades as a freak magnet.

Thursday, August 14, 2014


This week's Words For Wednesday are: boreal, rocky, tempest, lake, rising, breathe or  the phrase, "the summer rain washed her face with bitter tears".

A crisp, tempest wind rustles through the color splattered trees
And on each lake a lonesome loon awaits a warmer summer breeze
The salty, boreal air tiptoes across the once warm, sunlit rocky shores
While the equinox signals summer’s end and opens autumn’s doors. 

Reds and yellows replace the once lush foliage greens
And once again we start our plans for a season that redeems
With each rising sun cooler days have silently begun to emerge
Now the summer’s passing and a frigid transformation will converge.

The seasons come and they will go, each has beauty of its own
The artist who creates it all is more than just well known.
But autumn captures nature’s best with painted landscape hues
Like growing trees that bend and breathe we, too pay our seasonal dues.

Painted by yours truly!

Saturday, August 09, 2014


How can I  ever leave the house without feeling guilty when I have these 3 beautiful faces giving me their best "Momma, please don't leave me" look?

B.A., Libby and Fenway

Wednesday, August 06, 2014


This week's Words For Wednesday beckoned me to write a story about a place where the line is a very fine one between what's real and what lags into the realm of mental illness. It's a shame in this day and age that mental illness still carries with it such a social stigma and that so many people feel the need to hide being "different" from everyone especially those closest to them for fear of being chemically restrained. 

This week's prompts are: fragmented, gravel, blistering, mundane, clairvoyant, grasshopper or the phrase, "incidentally yours". From those prompts I wrote the beginning of a fantasy filled story: Each night I awoke at precisely the same time. It had been happening for months and tonight was no exception. As I quickly opened my eyes wanting to catch what seemed just out of reach, I looked at the ornately carved antique clock on my nightstand. It told me what I already knew. Like each night before, it was precisely 3:15am. 3:15? Did that mean something? Could it mean 3/15, the Ides of March? Could it be that simple? Would something happen on March 15th?

My attention drifted from the clock back to the fragmented dream from which I awoke each night. Once again I saw a small girl digging in the gravel that had been used as a pathway throughout a beautifully landscaped English flower garden. Above her the birds were happily chattering away in the giant oak trees that outlined the space used for the garden. The girl kept busily digging and sifting through the gravel as if she was looking for one special stone. She stopped digging when a colorful dragonfly landed on the wicker basket she was filling with carefully selected pebbles.

She curiously gazed at the motionless dragonfly and reached out to touch it to see if it was real. When it spoke, it startled her and she dropped her hand tool. It told her to listen to the grasshopper because he was the wisest of all the garden creatures. She smiled and thanked the dragonfly as he flew away. What she had to do finally became crystal clear.

What her grandmother told her was true. She was different! She not only heard voices, but she saw things as well. Her grandmother had called her a clairvoyant and although she didn’t know what that word meant, she knew it distinguished her from everyone else. Her grandmother was certain she was marked for greatness and would help many people throughout her life. Her grandmother claimed the gift the little girl possessed would lift her above the mundane and the ordinary. It would allow her to not only hear the grasshopper, but to understand his message as well.

Before she could hunt for the elusive grasshopper, her mother came rushing out into the garden hollering at her for not wearing her hat. It was hot and she always removed her hat because she like how the sun felt on her face. But her mother was sure the sun would have a blistering effect on her fair skin without it. She scooped her up and scolded her all the way back into the house. The girl had reached out for her basket, but her mother kicked it aside scattering all the carefully selected pebbles back to where they had originally laid. Her important project would have to wait until tomorrow and hopefully the grasshopper would come find her to give her the message she was supposed to hear.

As they quickly walked past the large mirror in the front hallway on the way to get cleaned up from playing outside, the little girl was startled by what she saw. The reflection in the mirror was of a face she knew very well. It was that refection that had jarred me awake at precisely 3:15 each night. The face of the little girl was my face. I was the clairvoyant and yes, I was awaiting a message from the grasshopper. His was a voice I needed to hear even though my mother didn’t believe in such malarkey and poppycock. She said hearing voices was a sign of mental illness and had threatened to have the family doctor put me on some medication that would make the voices stop.