Crotchular Needs

This is how it goes with me. I make a statement; I take a stand. God says "Not so fast, white girl."

Some of you may remember my recent declaration of intentionally empty pants; my Kissing Embargo. No dating, no kissing, no work on anything other than my dreams and goals. Financial goals, spiritual goals, health goals. No men.

I ended up going out on a non-date (I insisted we call it a Social Visit) last night and found myself doing a Jekyll and Hyde all week. Angry that I agreed to it, nervous that it was happening, my heart incredibly sore as it was from recent, re-devastating disappointment from a former lover. But maybe, my dear friend pointed out, it was exactly the reason I should go out.

So I went. I hate being nervous. I had an unsettling feeling of foreboding that it just would not work out and be a waste of time. Turns out I'm psychic, folks. Though he is not a bad person in the least, it was a familiar tune.

He did most of the talking about himself.

When I mentioned my side business I am very passionate about, he was distracted and seemed disinterested.

When I mentioned my own music and writing, twice, he didn't ask anything about it.

Oh but we spent an hour on his business.

He sat there reviewing my email and told me I was longwinded. I fucking KNOW this...I'm a writer. Better to edit out than to reconfigure! But he was the one asking me all these fucking match.com type questions all week - and it was not supposed to be a date. And I'm longwinded.

When I mentioned, during the course of our Divorce-Story-Trading, that I'd legally changed my first name as part of my independence, he stopped me and said "I don't want to know." I stared at him, not sure what he meant. I told him it was nothing sinister or dramatic, just part of m..."Nope. I don't want to hear about it." I felt like I was slapped. That was especially nice.

Within the first twenty minutes of conversation he told me he was well hung; he mentioned porn, dildos, whatever. He'd accuse me of thinking something sexual when I wasn't. I'm not the kind of person to throw a drink in a man's face or publicly embarrass someone, which is maybe something I need to learn, but I wish I’d done just that. Worst part was, I didn’t fully realize what was going on until the next morning. With two glasses of wine in me, no food since soup for lunch, and the tolerance of a pre-teen, I was a little buzzed and courtesy laughing over the sexual innuendo to hide my discomfort.

Three hours of this. For a drink. Not to mention he drank 6 beers and refused to order dinner. Guess he wanted to get lit up and fuck.

I couldn't leave soon enough.

And it occurs to me as I sit here watching Tombstone that I want a Kurt Russell. I'm not a prude. By far. Christ, with the right man, I am shocking :) But I can't deal with these teenager-minded men anymore. I want Kurt Russell. I want a man who knows right from wrong, who might have an edge to him but doesn't behave like he's a victim to his crotchular needs.

But yeah. Kurt Russell in Tombstone. A man who has already manifested his potential, has personal power, a noble reputation, who has faced demons and has gained wisdom from it...not some blazing saddles young hot shot. I want a warrior. A mature role model. I want a hero. I'm holding on for a heeero til the end of the niight! He's gotta be stro....ok sorry.

I just am not training anymore men. My finishing school is closed.

So I guess the Social Visit helped me bring my ideal match even more into focus.

Meanwhile I remain maddeningly celibate.

/cracks open another merlot