Okay. By now, we all know I am a big mouth girl, with an even bigger personality and a colossus opinion about most everything. So, it seems that lately, I’ve had plenty of time to sit back, watch and listen. And some of the things I have heard recently make me want to say, “Um. What?!?!?! Get a grip, you ditz!” This is merely one of them.

***You don’t like me because I’m fat, huh?***

During a discussion about male/female carrying ons, a male friend of mine, Spike*, told me that some girl had said this one to him because he wasn’t paying her the attention she felt like she deserved or wanted.

Oh, please, honey!

Will somebody please explain to me how women figure that if a man is not paying attention to them, or not “liking” them, or not fawning over them, then it’s surely because of that big ass attached to their backside???

First off, I wonder if she ever stopped to think, if a brother isn’t giving her skins, that maybe it’s not her fat butt… maybe it’s the beautiful personality that she displays constantly… You know, the personality that rivals Peyton Manning’s dripping wet sweat sock midway through the 4th quarter of the Superbowl?

B- What man is going to want you when you are oozing ickee-ness all over the bar, grocery store, or library by hitting on and trying to make out with anything and everything with a penis? Seriously, if I was a dude, and I saw a girl (any girl) hitting on one guy, getting the boot, then hitting on the next guy, getting the boot, then hitting on the next guy, getting the boot… I’m not so sure I’d be into her either. That’s just icky.

Thirdly and lastly (as if I don’t wrap it up here, I may keep going on and on)- Diva isn’t exactly a petite, Barbie doll sized girl of perfection.  Now Diva knows that, although men do dig up on the arm candy, they also love women who will laugh with them, talk to them and have a great time doing whatever it is they are doing. Diva does not, nor has she ever, suffered from lack of attention from the opposite sex. Because regardless of the size of her blue jeans, Diva has no lack of esteem.

Why?

It’s a little thing called self-confidence, sister. You might try looking that one up and studying on it for a minute.

Yup, yup. You don’t dig me because I’m fat…..That’s one of the lamest things I think I’ve ever heard.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent AND the guilty.

That was the question.

I was blown completely in a direction that I had never even fathomed in fall of last year.
Like many kids my age, I have found myself all grown up, family raised, divorced and running completely wild. Kind of like turning 21 again, kinda.
I was pretty content with how life was going. My kids are grown up and I can come and go as I please.

Running around with the girls… you bet.
Acting extremely silly and pirate like… wouldn’t have had it any other way.

But, then it happened. My bestest friends introduced me to the man that would forever change my being. As fate would have it, things moved along rather rapido. And BAM – the question came…

Wanna get married? Of course, it was much sweeter than that. It was a very touching a precious moment. YEP! Let’s get married. GAME ON!
This happened last October.

The holidays went by smoothly and we were still getting to know each other pretty well.
I met his family. They seemed to like me. I passed the test.

Then it was set!! June 2nd. Invitations ordered. Cake ordered. Dress ordered. Church on hold. Preacher with a Bible. You name it, it was ordered. You get the picture.

But as days went by, I started to get scared. In typical Diva fashion, I flipped out, and decided that maybe we needed time to get our ducks in a row and everything ironed out both in our personal lives (kids and whatnot) and with our life together (roof over head, combining of households… ya know).

I put my entire wedding party in a holding pattern like a jumbo jet circling La Guardia during rush hour on Monday morning in Manhattan. I have never felt such pressure or such fear and I’ve had some pretty self-induced dramatic experiences in my life.

Everybody had some sort of input. A slight few of my closest friends were very understanding and supportive and just went happily into the holding pattern.
Others decided that it didn’t need to happen and actively gave opinions over and over.

You see, planning of the wedding ceremony was all set up and in place. But the cold feet I ended up being the proud owner of got the best of me. The wedding ceremony was the easy part. After it was all planned out and ready to go, I had time to stop and think. Which in this case, turned out to be a good thing.

I started to think about how different we are. How our views on alot of things are completely in the opposite. The way we treat and raise our kids is totally ass backward from one another.

One of the biggest fears I’ve got: becoming a wicked step-mother.
His son had always been nice to me, until the plans started to come together and it was apparent to him that this was really going to happen. Silently but surely, I knew he was sabotaging it. At least in my non-rational mind I’m sure he was.

But, I found out, when I started to keep my fella at arms length due to fear and wasn’t seeing half as much of him, just how important he is to me.

In the last week of my self-promoted hiding phase, I started to really ponder on all of the little things he does just to make me smile.
**The 100 mile-round-trips he makes in the middle of the week just to say hi and give me a kiss**
**Being serenaded in front of everyone by him and his bluegrass buddies as they sing “You are My Flower” because he wants me to know how much he loves me**
**Jumping in his big ol’ truck to ride around and do nothing but look and talk**

That man loves me. He’s not trying to tame me or make me into something I’m not. He takes my bitchy and ever-so-slightly sarcastic tone with a teaspoon of sugar and loves me anyway.

I finally got enough courage to talk to him.. To tell him I’m a freak and that I was scared of what was happening. You know, face-to-face verbal communication is way under-rated.
We both had answers to all the questions that were looming. We came to agreement on alot of subject matter.

So, I guess the answer to the above question is….

TO WED. Yes.

We have decided that a fall wedding is in order and that we are going to have a
most wonderful, beautiful ever after together.

Details to follow soon. I need to pull my wedding party in from the holding pattern and in for a landing before I go and shout from the roof-tops.

     Ok, language, sexual situations, and generally disgusting…

     But uhh … yeah …

     This is exactly why Internet Dating sucks.

As I looked on, a master of blogitude.com was pulling my strings (the ever-changing logo), and I thought “some people share differently than others.” This thought of course sparked out of yet another wonderful conversation. Someone told me, “I don’t wanna read your blog if its not talking about your life.”  In response I say “Fine! Take my blog and shove it.” Maybe if these silly people would actually take the time to read what others had to say they might have a clue.

People like these, no matter how successful they may be, are missing something. Doctors call it “bedside manner;” Buddhists call it “compassion;” the lefty movement calls it “caring;” and a majority of people call it “taking a (pick any or a series of expletives of your choice) interest” in the person you are talking to.   After all, it would only be the right thing to do when you consider them a friend.

They obviously are a little too far into their own reality sometimes.  Although I am a strong support of the, “I reject your reality and insert my own,” movement, I can also see how that can be taken a little too far.

Hey, if they bother to take the time to read this, more power to them.  So I talk differently about what is going on in the world and don’t give specifics about how my life is going… So what? I try to make life interesting. Besides, it is sometimes very easy to get lost in the details.  So, I’ll just keep on keepin’ on…

     Some days I think: Estrogen makes people crazy.  Some go insane for having it, and others go insane for putting up with the ones who have it.   

     There’s some proof to it, too.  Just look at space shuttle astronaut Lisa “Robochick” Nowak.  She was charged with attempted murder and accused of plotting to kidnap Colleen Shipman, who she believed was messing with “her boyfriend,” space shuttle pilot William “Billy-O” Oefelein.

     Estrogen, all the way.

     The last few months, I’ve had a lot of great experiences with women.  Paramount of these has been talking to ex-wives and ex-girlfriends, and just kind of making sure the air’s totally clear.  One hundred percent closure, making sure we’ve said all that we ever needed to say to one another, and generally cutting through the years of crap and getting back to the business of being friends again.
     I’ve hung out with the usual suspects, as well, and generally had a great time.  Pirate Chicks rule, because we get together, laugh at everything, and pretty no subject is sacred.  No drama, so for the most part, they don’t really fit inside the Estrogen-Crazy bubble.  Yay!

     So here’s the weird stuff from the last week:

• A young girl decided to create overly dramatic situations involving violence towards other people, just to see how I’d react.  Me, being old, realized it for what it was.  I died laughing as I walked away.
• A bartender/server decided to sit down uninvited, start flipping her drink on me, calling me names, and when I decided I’d had enough (I was mean back — heh), she decided to say I’d poured a drink on her (never happened!) and send out a couple of guys to attempt to cause me physical harm.  Laughed all the way to the car.
• A pretty hot one my age decided to get all weird, complaining that she’s boring, not very smart and too old.  “Oh, and I’m fat.  I need to lose weight.”  At that point, I couldn’t help but laughing at her 115 pound, skinny butt, and of course, she got more than a little pissed off.  She told me to copulate myself, or words to that effect.

     Ones like that are pretty easy to just walk away from.  Drama, drama, and more drama.  Life’s too short.

     Sometimes, tho, it’s people you care about.  Friends you’ve known for years, people you talk to on a regular basis.  You let your guard down with them.
     Last Saturday was a case in point why I shouldn’t.

     I liked hanging out with “Elle” for a couple of weeks, getting to know her.  She was good fun, enjoyed movies and we could pretty much talk about anything.
     Eventually, though, the conversation became nothing but self deprecation on her part, having an extremely poor opinion of herself.
     Me being a guy, and wanting to fix things rather than listening to constant complaining, I reminded her about what she’s accomplished in her life, the fact that she’s a beautiful woman, and that she needs to just relax and take things as they come.
     Of course, she felt that this proved her point that I’m “smarter” than her, and that she’s “an idiot,” and I’m “a jerk” for making her feel so stupid.
     Finally, I just told her:

If you wanna get along, we’ll get along. If something isn’t working, I’ll try and fix it. But don’t you dare come over here and kick me in the balls for caring enough to try and make you feel good about yourself.

     Sad, really.  I liked her, and she didn’t.  You can’t do anything with that.
     Haven’t heard from her since.

     Later that day, I was talking to a friend about it, and I’ve known her for about twelve years.  I was decidedly a little down about the whole Elle situation, which, according to the people I’m around most, just isn’t like me.
     “You don’t know how to date.  You never have.  You’re too sexual,” she says.
     When I consider that she’s been a friend for twelve years, and I’ve never been sexual with her, and she’s seen me go in and out of some pretty intense relationships, I couldn’t help but wonder what man pissed her off that day.
     “Hmm, okay,” I said.  “I guess ya never knew me.”
     I had to walk away and ponder that one.

     Next, I hit a few more of the same.  Grave “observations” about myself and my personality which were clearly aimed at someone else entirely.

     And then, finally, I was talking to “Kay” online.  We talk occasionally, haven’t ever dated or even talked about it.  But she came out with a winner.
     “You hate sex.”
     A minor argument ensued, and I said, “Ok, well, on that note, I’m gonna call it an early night.  I’ve had enough of that kinda thing today.”
     A little dishonest of me, perhaps, but I just wanted away from that silliness: I hung out with a couple of friends for rest of the night.  We discussed.  We laughed.  We always do.  😉

     The aftermath of the Kay-thing got funnier tonight, tho.  It has changed and twisted so many times over the last few hours that it’s hard to figure out, from moment to moment, what, specifically, she was angry about.
     It all started earlier tonight when she asked if I was “still in a grumpy mood” (which I wasn’t actually in one to begin with), and I responded laughing:

I was in a fine mood [Saturday night]. Just had four of “you people” (you ones with Estrogen) giving me shit that day, and I had more than I wanted or needed of those judgemental statements with no basis in reality. 😉

     Well, apparently that was enough to set her off, even with the smiley, the subsequent laughter, and outright assuring her there was no mean-spirited intent to any of it.
     Estrogen Logic (the oxymoron) dictated that I was the one who was being grumpy the other night, since I didn’t feel like putting up with insults.
     It apparently also dictated a few other twisted things that made no sense, but I’ll digress them to her since I don’t understand them.
     I mean, I am male and all… *rolls eyes*  😉

     But all grumpiness aside, when she finally realized that I wasn’t really bothered (I didn’t care), it was the “judgemental statements with no basis in reality” wisecrack that really got to her.
     But, hey, she let me know that I live in a screwed up reality, where I’m an unhappy whiner who never has any fun.
     I’ll bet I would be, since I also “hate sex.”  😉

     WHO KNEW?!?!

     So I have to ask … I’m dying laughing the entire time I’m writing this, because, to me, it’s funny.
     Should I go over to these peoples’ houses and search their basements for Pods…?

     Nah … they’re tough girls.  They’ll probably get over it.

     Then I’ll laugh at them some more.  😉