Here we go again!

It was recently brought to my attention that my ex is now dating a woman he met online.  They're evidently over the moon for each other, he's moved in with her already, and is in love with his "instant family," spending his weekends carting "his kids" to Chuck E. Cheese and whatnot.  And if the trend of my life is any indication, he'll probably marry her.  They all marry the one they date after me.  He always wanted children, so I guess I should be happy that he finally found someone to provide them for him.  Lord knows I couldn't do it.

I know I shouldn't let it bother me, but more than the fact that he's got a new girlfriend, I'm bothered by the fact that online dating actually worked for him.  He's one of about three people I know who've had any modicum of success with the medium, and it pisses me off.

I hate online dating.  I despise it.  I hate the fact that it's superficial and full of nonsense and preconceived notions.  It's an artificial construct that doesn't allow people to really get to know each other or allow people to give each other a chance because too many people will look at a list of interests, likes, and physical stats and think, "nope, not for me."  And that's not fair.  In real life I'm a pretty awesome person, and I'm not terribly bad-looking.  I'm overweight, but I see plenty of overweight women with boyfriends and even husbands - so that can't be all there is to it, can it?

Maybe it's just the area I live in, or the fact that I'm Childfree.  There's nothing "wrong" with me, other than the fact that I take a long time between relationships because the whole process is just a pain in the ass.  And at this age, the pickin's are pretty slim.  They consist of  lunatics, losers, and drunks, or married guys looking for something on the side.

Over it.  All of it.  I've done crazy, I've done loser, I've done drunk (all in one, in one case!), and I've done married.  None of it worked very well.  Crazy loser drunks tend to be abusive, and married guys will always put their wives first (as it should be).  You can't rely on these types of men, and that's such an important part of a relationship.  For if you can't rely on your partner, then what's the point?

Anyway, I was ranting about the whole online dating thing, and someone asked to see what I'd written in my profile.  My account had been deactivated for awhile, but once you log in again you're reactivated and cannot re-deactivate for another week.  So now I'm stuck for a week, and already the bullshit has started.

From "cublookin4cougar" I get this:

Hey there I know I'm a younger guy but I really love being with older women. There a real turn on for me. If you'd like to have some fun maybe we could grab some lunch sometime and talk too see if we could make it to the bedroom ;) lol

Oh, brother.  Yeah, why don't I just jump right into the sack with you?  Now, my friends are offering varying views on this.  Some are sympathetic, but others are telling me, "just go for it!" and "think of it as practice!"

Um. Practice?  Practice for what?  I don't need practice.  Jesus Christ, if you people had any idea what goes on behind my closed doors...practice?  None needed, believe me.  What I need practice in is interacting with men my own age, men who are emotionally available, men who want to treat me like a partner and not just a piece of fucking meat (literally).  I'm not knocking FWB situations, but I'm over it at this point. 

I'm told, "just hold on, it'll happen when you least expect it."

And to this I say, FUCK YOU.  And I mean that in the nicest possible way, because I know when people say shit like that, they mean well.  But here's what I don't understand.  I've been "least expecting" it for the better part of the last 20 years, only about 7 of which have been spent in any kind of actual relationship.  I'm 41 years old. How come some people find their soulmate at 25 or 30 but the rest of us have to "hold on?" Hold on to what? My face as it slides down my skull? My boobs as they travel down to my knees? The handfuls of hair I rip out of my head when I get messages from little pisspots who want to fuck an older woman so they can add it to their resume? Fuck that. And no, I will not go have fun, because little shits like this don't deserve the fun I know how to have.

Shit I think about when I'm drawing anthropomorphized elements

I'm currently illustrating a book about the elements.  I can't really say much else because, well, that's how it works in pre-publication.  I'm not really allowed to talk about it, show it to anyone, or discuss the story.  All part of the whole non-disclosure and being sworn to secrecy lest someone steal the concept.

Anyway.  It's been a long, arduous project, full of frustration, reworks, missed deadlines, and a LOT of dust.  I love the way pastel looks, but it is a very, very dirty medium.  For this reason I am thankful I have a studio space.  

So while I work, I have a lot of time to think.  I listen to music, draw, and think.  I also talk to myself a lot.  Working on a project is a great way to sort through things I might not otherwise have time to mull about.

This afternoon I was thinking about this person in whom I am interested.  His name is, well...I've been referring to him as "He Who Drinks My Coffee," and I think for the purpose of this blog he shall remain such.  I'm pretty sure this individual is currently attached.  Married, perhaps.  Not sure.  In any case, I found myself handing him my number yesterday afternoon after weeks - months, perhaps - of admiring him from afar.  We'll see if he calls.  I'm not holding my breath.  He did, however, deliver my forgotten coffee shortly after I gave him my number.  So if nothing else, he's thoughtful if not available.

As I am wont to do in these situations, though, I started really overthinking my behavior.  When he stopped over with my coffee, I found myself prattling on and on and on about various things that interest me.  In retrospect, however, I don't think any of them made me seem all that appealing.  I talked about my power tools, for the most part.  And moulding.  How romantic.  I appeared dressed in my cruddy art clothes - jeans, t-shirt, apron, hair in a messy bun with a pencil stuck in it, and pastel dust everywhere.  I'm sure he was like, "she got THAT dirty in a matter of half an hour?"  Serious Pigpen action, only in technicolor.  

It was hot out.  I started to sweat.  So I talked about power tools, home improvement, moulding, self-employment, and coffee while streaking ultramarine blue pastel across my sweaty forehead.  So attractive.

I hope he IS married.  At least then he has a convenient excuse to not reciprocate interest, rather than trying to figure out a nice way of saying, "sorry, fat manly artists aren't my type."

Oh well.  Back to work.

The thing about being a blogger is that you have to actually BLOG

...and I don't.  At least not on a regular basis lately.

In my defense, I've been extremely busy.  There have been jobs to work, projects to finish, contracts to honor, houses to clean, studios to reorganize, blah blah blah.  Not that I haven't had things I'm dying to prattle about; I just haven't had time to properly compose any extended rants.

Perhaps I should think about revisiting the virtues of brevity, hmm?