Trebuchet is the name of this font. I kind of like the irony of that. A sling shot style weapon of medieval times. So it's fitting if this is going to be the third blog in line with this somewhat ridiculous challenge I've just challenged myself with. Oh, yes, of course, I could blame my friend for even bringing it up. But she's not going to have the ability to "make" me do anything. I'm pretty damn ornery when it comes down to it and no one has ever "made" me do anything. Okay, so I'm trying to remember how this plays out when I do meet anyone '"viable". Ummm, and that's where I hit the brick wall. I'm such an oddity of my own right, well, this isn't going to be something that I'll be able to get practice. Since my divorce went final in 1996, I've met a grand total of 5 possible "viable" guys, dated one for a short period of time, dated one with my typical cycle (although I do think that just happens to be coincidence), and the other 3 I managed to turn into non-starters right off the bat. That means I meet one an average of every 4 years. That probably means practice is not going to be the solution. Normally, I say "damn" with a sh*t eating grin on my face and never worry about it again. Wash, rinse, repeat. But, I always try to keep my word, and as I've stated in a way older blog about something completely unrelated, keeping your word to yourself is the only way you can keep your word to others. I was raised to be a person of your word--do as you say and say what you're going to do.
Alright. I've got to say it. Damn it. I cut myself raw open in the first of these blogs, and unfortunately, I don't have the ability to do that here with this, and I don't have any friends that are even going to remotely going to understand what happens. One of them and I talked about it and I know she didn't understand at all. She just tried to listen. But there's a reason that I'm lucky I'm such a unique type of person. I just don't have to deal with this often enough to worry about it--excepting that stupid promise to myself that I wasn't going to bail on the viable anymore. Sigh. Not sure how that's going to work.
Then again, let's face it. I still am of the frame of mind what's meant to be will be no matter what you do. Two of the most screwed up people I know are literally perfect for each other. One had just got out of a long term relationship and he meets this woman and bam. He marries her 3 months later and everyone thought it was insane. It was like a year before I moved back to SC. They're still together. So who knows? I think it just works itself out somehow.
Probably the guy would have to figure out how it would work with me. I'm not paying attention most of the time. When someone says that guy over there is checking you out, I'm always like "uh, who?" Yea, I notice everything else. I'm pretty sure that's part of my defense mechanism. The other night someone said to me "you just need to stop looking". God this always annoys the hell out of me. I'm never looking. Ever. You don't f***ing know me. I'm never looking and all my closest friends know this. I'm completely oblivious. Sure, I joined a dating site again. Ugh. You should see the losers that are online and half of the women on those dating sites must be the biggest whores because even on one that is supposed to be innocuous, I've received some pretty rude emails. Don't get me wrong I can be pretty crass; I'm a sailor afterall. But give me a break. I don't know you and HELL NO my dress is not going to look good on your floor or any floor that you will ever step on. Ewwww. Let's face it if I was actually looking for perfect for me, I would not be spending what free time I have riding around on my motorcycle with friends that are mostly couples. Duh. Where am I looking? Nowhere. The places we go have the same people over and over. Is there somebody in the biker circle? I have no idea. But again, I'm such an oddity. One every 4 years average.
Okay. So wash, rinse, repeat is starting to sound good again. Sigh. I know what my closest friends would say. And I made a promise to myself. No more wash, rinse, repeat. Cripes. That's going to be harder than I thought. It's not like I can take that boulder and just fling it off into the distance with a trebuchet. If odds are any indication, this is not going to be easy. I'd make an inappropriate joke at this point, but most of you really don't know me and I don't want to give anyone the wrong impression. So here goes nothing: there goes the wash, rinse, repeat cycle--kind of like launching a squash at the World Champion Pumpkin Chunkin. Only without the "squishy" splatty noise.
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