recapping Christmas--part III

When I got home from J's, I could have sworn Sasquatch had been in the eggnog. The first clue was that empty carton on the kitchen floor. How did she get the refrigerator open?? She's a dog of many talents...but still. The second clue was her general unkemptness...Sas is generally quite vain and always strives for good grooming and stylish accessories. But, is this the picture of a well turned out dog? And finally, the brandy bottle seemed, well, not as heavy as it had just the day before. But could she have gotten the top off, lacking opposable thumbs? Who knows what Sas is capable of...

No, she's decidedly unkempt in appearance and do you notice how she's listing to the right? She did that the rest of the night, even when she attempted to walk. I'm pretty sure Sas was soused...Well, she'd have a headache in the morning and it would serve her right.

Dinner at J's went pretty smoothly...except as you might have guessed from my previous entry, my jello salad that I had lovingly prepared earlier in the day was nowhere to be seen. And why? Well, I don't want to embarrass anyone, especially my sister...Another salad was mysteriously missing also. The cole slaw, which as far as I could tell was the only responsibility of G's sister in law, L, had been forgotten. (Thanks, L., thanks a lot. You know who you are and how you can live with yourself is beyond me.) So no healthy salads for us, and I really hope our general health doesn't suffer. We are, after all, not getting any younger.

Look at that poor little girl looking longingly at the empty cole slaw bowl, her Christmas dreams shattered. (I have no idea who she was. I think she came to the door, lost, and J graciously invited her in to have some dinner before trying to find her parents. I don't know if she was reunited with her family, but I hope so because she was a sweet little thing, even in her disappointment.) So after the various disappointments of dinner, we went on to presents! I won't bore you with who got what and what their reactions, because frankly, it was not that interesting. It was just a bunch of stupid gifts and you just knew everybody planned to take theirs back the next day...or they would try. From the looks of some of them, I suspect they were "regifts."

So, it was the usual family Christmas, no different from Christmas anywhere in America. In fact, if you'll think back to the heartwarming Christmas classic, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, you'll have a pretty clear picture of the whole freakin' day. However, no cats were electrocuted, as far as we know right now. Still, that beep had to indicate something...And a beep is never good.

This Christmas was different in one way. And that was the preponderance of dogs present. I am a dog lover. Who could question that after reading my entries here. But, I believe dogs have their place, and the middle of presents-opening is not it. All that butt sniffing and panting and drooling and begging and wandering around in circles and just generally being under foot. It is just unseemly and wrong.

So, Sas and I say good-bye to Christmas 2008, and we're not that sorry to see it go. Tonight we also say good-bye (and good riddance) to the whole freakin' year 2008. And we are delighted.

--Ina

recapping Christmas--part II

Sasquatch and I took it easy most of Christmas day. The Game Show Channel was a total bore, but there was a good Leave It to Beaver marathon on ComedyLand, so Sas was content. She loves Jerry Mathers and Hugh Beaumont (and stoutly refuses to believe that he is dead). So after 5 or 6 hours of drooling and wagging for her LITB boys, she went all sleepy-dog. Actually, I think she was more in a stupor...you can see her little pink tongue sticking out a bit and her eyes are glazed over...Well, Hugh has that effect on her. She is also not tempted by Bat, so obviously was not really herself...

I took advantage of this quiet time to pay a Christmas visit to my mother in law. If my husband is dead, is she still my mother in law? Seems like there should be a special title for that...Anyway, we had a nice short visit. Perfect for Christmas.

Later that afternoon, J was having a little get together for her in laws and graciously invited me to join in, as long as I promised to bring some shrimp and whatever else I wanted to whip up. Well, who could refuse?? So I peeled shrimp until my fingers bled a little and fixed some other Yuletide treats and set out. It was kinda weird not picking Mom up...

When I got to J's. I could tell something was strange.....Why were the over-fridge cabinet and the refrigerator door open when company was there? (And would you look at that mess up there) What were they looking at? Where could I put my jello salad so it wouldn't be forgotten when it was time to eat? (I don't know...where could we put it J? Somewhere where we'd be sure to remember it...like out in the GARAGE maybe??) Then, I heard it...beep...So I looked at J like WTF? And she said, "Did you hear that?" Well, yeah I heard it. Why do you think I'm looking at you like WTF?? She said they'd been hearing it for about an hour. beep And it was driving them crazy. They couldn't figure out where it was coming from. If you stood in the kitchen, it sounded like it was coming from inside the wall...if you stood in the living room, it sounded beep like it was coming from the dining room. If you stood upstairs or in the basement or in the attic, you couldn't hear it at all. Huh. beep So, I let them let them look for the beep and just kept on sticking picks through those 10 million shrimp. beep

Well, after awhile, it began to get on my beep nerves. Plus, G kept wandering through the house with the ladder and I was afraid he'd upset the Christmas tree. And J kept opening cabinets and asking if it sounded any different beep when this one was open. Or how about when the dishwasher was open...was beep it any louder? I remarked that perhaps it was Mom trying to get our attention. J smirked and G looked at me like WTF...so I didn't pursue it. But it beep might have been. How do we know she doesn't miss us just as much as we miss her? Anyway, once the house filled up and J turned up Johnny Mathis on the stereo, we beep didn't notice the beep so much.

On Christmas, which was the only time J let us come over, Mom always sat in the same spot at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. This year, J put a picture of her there on the counter in her spot, and G put an upside down martini glass next to it. It was kinda sweet and kinda funny and it made me feel kinda nostalgic...

We miss you, Mom, and not just at Christmas.

--Ina

recapping Christmas...

Sasquatch and I were kinda happy Christmas was over. Oh we're not all Bah! Humbug! but when most of your family is dead, well, it takes some of the joy out of the holidays. Plus, the Game Show Channel shows all these stupid holiday episodes, and who really wants to see Phyllis Diller in a Santa hat? Still, Sas and I managed to have a pretty good time, as evidenced by Sas's favorite holiday photo of herself...Look how cute she looks in her little ribbon hat!

In years past, my family had always celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve...we'd have a big dinner and open presents, and although the venue would change, it was still the same tradition. In recent years, we'd had Christmas Eve at my sister, J's , house. I'd go pick up Mom and we'd drive over there and Mom would alway talk about the Christmas lights and how pretty they were...And we'd have country ham and baked brie and too much of everything, especially martinis! J's husband, G, has mad martini-making skills and he likes nothing better than to show off, so we always had enough to drink.

Since Mom had died in the summer, on Christmas Eve this year, we decided to break with tradition and go out to dinner. J made reservations at a pretty nice restaurant and we were going to meet friends, Walt and Arlene, there. (Now Arlene normally takes medication for well, a little "thinking" problem, but was not currently taking her pills because they had run out and to get the prescription renewed, she'd have to have a stress test and she was afraid if she had one, she'd have a heart attack and die.) So, we were seated pretty quickly (which was strange for this particular restaurant) and it seemed like everything was going to be great. And it was...mostly. Throughout the meal, Walt would, from time to time, exclaim, "Balzac!!" and when he did, Arlene would punch him on the arm and then they'd both dissolve into hysterical laughter. This happened repeatedly...Balzac...punch...laugh. I was confused...I couldn't understand what Arlene thought was so funny about her husband screaming out the name of some dead French guy, whose books weren't even all that amusing. J and G just kinda ignored it, so I thought I should too. And then...I guess Walt enunciated more clearly or I was listening more carefully or something because I suddenly realized that he wasn't saying "Balzac" at all. What he really was saying was, "Ball sack!!" And I admit, ball sack is a lot funnier than Balzac, but I'm still unsure of the context and maybe it's just a private joke between Walt and Arlene...

Arlene had a bad cough. She said it was allergies...it sounded more like pneumonia to me, but I'm no doctor. Every few minutes throughout dinner, she'd be overcome with a coughing fit...and these were not little delicate coughs. No, that girl could cough! And when she'd recover from one, she'd mention that it felt like her uterus was going to fall out...Well, OK...I'm not sure if such a thing can happen, but if that's how she felt...And it was OK, while we were sitting there at the table. But then...We'd finished dinner and we were standing around trying to get our coats on and sure enough, Arlene had another big one...the mother of all coughing fits. And when she got her breath back, she said, "OH MY GOD!!! I'M COUGHING SO HARD I FEEL LIKE MY FUCKING UTERUS IS GOING TO FALL OUT AND FLOP AROUND ON THE FLOOR LIKE A CATFISH ON THE BANK!!!!!" Well, I think I mentioned that this was a pretty nice restaurant and people were looking at us , and not in a friendly way. So what could we do other than try to get Arlene out of the restaurant and into the car before somebody called somebody...Well, most of us were doing that. Walt was doubled over laughing hysterically...I guess he's used to it. But he picked up the check, so gets a pass...this time.

--Ina

there's no place like HELL for the holidays

As I was telling Sasquatch this morning, HELL's a mighty strange place during the holidays. (Just look how attentive she is! Ever since I put Bat in the closet, she's been behaving better. Oh don't worry, I'll let her kill him for awhile this evening as a holiday treat.)








Well, it's pretty strange other times too, (HELL, that is, for those of you who haven't been paying close attention) but especially so this time of year. Most of the "normal" men seem to have gone home to their wives, leaving only the grouchy and the disgruntled. Well, and the freaks... there are always plenty of those. There's this one guy from Minnesota who wants me to put on a Mrs Claus outfit and beat him with a large stick! Now, I ask you, why would anyone don a Mrs Claus outfit for that kind of activity? He didn't want me to actually come to Minnesota...no, he wanted to conduct the whole thing over the phone. Which come to think of it, how would he know if I was wearing that outfit or not? Dang! I should have said I'd do it! I could have worn my normal clothes and he wouldn't have been the wiser. I could have made his Christmas wish come true. Well, there may still be a chance...he usually sends about 20 messages a day, begging.



As for the grouchy, well, they seem worse than normal. The other day, I posted something to my HELL journal page and some nut from Ohio berated me for it! I mean, it's my own journal, so why shouldn't I post anything I want to without any lip from from some dumbass in Dayton?? He didn't HAVE to read it, after all. I suppose he's suffering from pent up sexual frustration plus the normal stress of the holidays, so I should be kinder. He seems a little, well, stupid too, so I really, really should be kinder. Oh enough about him...



For your viewing pleasure, I'm including some favorite holiday pics...












Sas and I wish all y'all the happiest of holidays...and don't overdo the eggnog or you'll be sorry tomorrow.

--Ina

intermission...three stooges

Sasquatch and I reluctantly share our home with three stooges...I mean cats. I have nothing against cats. I like them in fact, one at a time. Three at a time is two too many. I say "reluctantly" because, much like Alaknanda Shivapunjabharikrishnavishnurama, with her arranged marriage to Mr Shivapunjabharikrishnavishnurama, I had no say in the selection process. No, I inherited these three cats. The first, Bobbarker, is my son's cat. When he moved in with his girlfriend, he said his apartment wouldn't allow pets. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that it's his girlfriend that won't allow pets...The second, Billcullen, was my mother's cat. I tried to get my sister to take it after our mother moved into assisted living, but she said that she didn't want a cat throwing up on her rugs. I guess a cat throwing up on my rugs is perfectly acceptable. Well, my rugs are certainly cheaper and therefore, more throwupable, I suppose. The third cat, Chuckwoolery, was my husband's cat. He brought it home from work one day to save it from a fate worse than death, which I won't go into here...too gruesome. After he died, the cat just sort of stayed around. So, three cats...two too many.

Bobbarker is a geriatric cat. Which means he's cranky and he tries to sit on me every time I sit down. He also insists upon drinking from my glass of water. Yes, he has water of his own. No, he doesn't drink his own water; he wants mine. Is it annoying? Absolutely. He'll even go so far as to get his head stuck in the glass if the water level has gotten sufficiently low, thus flinging the glass and its contents to the floor. He's also the preeminent thrower up. No, he's not sick. He eats too fast because he figures if he eats fast enough, there won't be any cat food for the other two and they will dry up and blow away, ensuring that he will get ALL the catfood.

As the most junior member of the cat herd although chronologically as old as Bobbarker, almost, Billcullen is still trying to find his place in the pecking order. He already knows he will forever be at the bottom of the pack among the other cats, so he tries to bully Sas. Poor Sas, she has only love in her heart for all living things (except squirrels) and she cannot understand why Billcullen hisses at her and slaps her every chance he gets. It hurts her feelings, as you can see from her pic at the top. Bill tried that hissing thing with me once. Just once...

Chuckwoolery is the most pleasant and agreeable of the trio. He's also the youngest, which might explain it. He doesn't throw up; he doesn't hiss or slap. Mostly he minds his own business, which is exactly what a cat should do. Sometimes, he even licks Sas on the head and rubs his head upon hers, marking her as his very own. She loves that shit and goes all goofy-dog every time he does it. A most agreeable cat indeed.

What with all the hissing, and fighting, the throwing up and the slapping, there's never a dull moment around here for Sas and me. Especially when there's one running around with a glass stuck on his head...which is almost as amusing as putting Scotch tape on their little cat feet. I don't let Sas do that much anymore though because, well, it's just not right and it annoys the shit out of the little cat bastards.

--Ina

more denizens...the flip side...part II

As I've said, Aubergine seemed to attract the freakiest of the freakies. DrCliffphd was another. DrCliffphd (Rabidfox TN) was, well, a little bit out there in so many ways. His main goal in life seemed to be finding a "good" woman to take with him on his quest for honky tonks. (Why oh why do so many of them say they're looking for a "good" woman? Is it conceivable that any of them would be looking for a "bad" woman? A naughty woman, sure...a slut, even...but really bad, I doubt it. It creeps me out a little and leaves me wondering, "Am I good enough?" I don't wonder that very long though...) He would quit his job, and he and his good woman would travel across the United States looking in small towns and rural areas for undiscovered honky tonks where real music was still played, preferably by live musicians, but a good sound system would work in a pinch.

Anyway, DrCliffphd seemed to have a lot of unresolved anger. He was mad that he had all these advanced degrees and yet could only find work as a security guard. (Really, Cliffphd? You have multiple PhDs, and all you can do is guard big box stores in the middle of the night? Really? OK, yeah. I believe you) With the DrCliffphd types, it seems better to be agreeable, at least until you're sure you've actually gotten rid of them. Cliffyphd also wanted to eviscerate all bar owners and bar tenders because, well Cliffphd was a dancer and he could not find any good honky tonks that played the good old country music his feet were all ripe for dancin' to because all the bars had gone to karaoke.
So far, we've learned that Cliffphd had dancin', evisceratin' and good woman findin' on his mind. Sounds perfect! In the section of HELL entitled, "what people notice about me first," Cliffphd had written that people most often noticed that he never smiled. His photo bore this out...Well, I guess the doctor didn't really have all that much to smile about, being a frustrated dancer, eviscerator, good-woman-finder and advanced-degree-job-holder to boot. Nevertheless, all this did not seem to add up to a high datable-potential score. I almost felt a little sorry for Cliffphd, although by no means sorry enough to ever in a million years contact him back. It just didn't seem prudent. He is possibly a most charming and kind man, but if so, he really should take look at his profile and ask himself why it screams demented serial eviscerator.

DrCliffphd = [deleted]

--Ina

more denizens...the flip side

Well, Sasquatch has gone bat-shit crazy over her new stuffed squirrel. She's barely let it out of her sight, kinda like myhartstrue&ifUleavemeillstalkUtilUdie!, if you remember him from awhile back. (I do hope I've spelled his name correctly, but when your name has more than 25 letters, you shouldn't be disappointed if people screw it up.) Anyway, that squirrel must have been sewn by an expert because she's tossed it over her head, gnawed on its tail, pulled its head and asked me on more than on occasion to help her play tug o' war with it and still no white stuffing bits in sight. I could not even get her to sit down for a repeat of last year's Master's Tournament on the Golf Channel this evening. (And you know how she loves Zach Johnson!) It was just as well she was occupied with Bat, the squirrel, because they'd only played a few holes when I got all jittery, like I'd had way too many triple espressos, and kinda clammy too. Golf does that to me...So, I turned it to the America's Auction Network for some hot auction action, but they were doing Parade of Tanzanite, and there's nothing more boring than a bunch of blue jewelry. Well, some of the men who've contacted me in HELL have been more boring, that's true.

I thought I might take a walk down memory lane via my HELL inbox. I could clean things up by deleting a few poor saps...forever.

While Nick was charming and smart and funny and all that stuff girls like (cute too, seriously cute in that kind of dark young Elvis way, but not exactly), there have been many others who have been all that stuff girls hate.
Like Bruce. Bruce was the very first man to contact Aubergine. His message went something like this: "Send pic. Maybe we can have lunch. I'll pay. Pic first." Aubergine got the impression he wanted to know what she looked like before he committed to an all expenses paid lunch. Well, she's nothing if not a rogue dater, so she sent a message back: "I'll send pic if you do." Oddly enough, Bruce seemed reluctant to reply! But then a couple of days later, there was a message from him, picture attached. There he was, old Bruce, slumped on the couch, watching something on television, I guess. It looked as if someone, perhaps a bitter ex-wife, had snapped him in a postprandial stupor. It was a really bad photo, depicting him all slack-jawed and glassy-eyed. There was an odd reflection of light at the corner of his mouth, as if a little pool of spittle was starting to form there. So, Aubergine did what she had to do; she sent a really bad photo back. It wasn't too long before Bruce sent another email. Evidently, Aubergine had passed his looks test because he said: "When lunch?" Which was his very charming way of inviting Aubergine to join him for a most elegant and paid-for repast. Our Bruce was a man of few words, necessitating a read between the lines...Aubergine was just a little put off by Bruce and his whole attitude, so she let him cool his heels for a couple of days before letting him down gently, with a succinct but dead-on reply:"No thanks."

Bruce = [deleted]
I really wish I could post Bruce's picture so you could judge for yourself if Aubergine was too harsh in her own assessment of it, but that standards thing is still in play...

--Ina

sasquatch goes happy-dog

Sasquatch got a new toy today and she's gone completely happy-dog over it! (She doesn't look all that delighted in this pic because I insisted on taking a picture and she really wanted to get back to her toy.) I believe I've mentioned Sas's ongoing bataille de écureuil. She really despises those little rat-like bastards. Well, her new toy is a stuffed squirrel (Thanks B!, you know who you are. And Sas sends you a big sloppy dog kiss.) and she's having a wonderful time killing it. (Sas is normally totally anti-violence, but when it comes to squirrels, well, we all have our triggers.) I tried to interest her in the Game Show Channel (Family Feud tonight) so she wouldn't totally de-stuff the squirrel the very first time she played with it, but she just looked at me like WTF?? She has christened it "bâtard de rat," or "Bat" for short.
I'm unsure of Sas's history...she was a shelter dog. But she seems quite cosmopolitan and may have lived in France or at least Quebec...maybe Paris KY. (Perhaps she has some Briard in her lineage. See photo at right. Resembles Sas, no?) She certainly understands "bâtard." We have this little game where, when Richard Dawson says something incredibly lame to a contestant on FF, I shout out, "Bâtard stupide!!" and Sas wags enthusiastically. She loves that game. But then she loves most games. That's another thing I like about dogs...they're so easy to please. We humans should emulate dogs whenever possible. OK, maybe not that drooling thing and certainly not the endless sniffing, but in most other ways.
While Sas was happily engaged with Bat, I checked email to see if I had messages from any of my far flung boyfriends. Sadly, no...No?? No. Well, this was a disturbing development indeed, but it brings to mind something I've been thinking of. And that is this: Why is it that you're going along having a perfectly nice email relationship with some guy from HELL and then, he suddenly stops emailing back? I mean, what's up with that shit?? Gentlemen of HELL, if you've found a local girlfriend, well good for you! You should share that information so I can say "best wishes." If you've grown tired of emailing, you should say that too, so I don't sit around and wonder if my last email made it to its destination (It IS the Internet, after all, and I don't entirely trust it. Well, I don't trust it at all, and it's easy for me to think of my emails just bouncing around out there in cyberland forever, never reaching their intended inbox...). But the ones I really don't understand are the ones who seem all hot for ya, then just like that, disappear. There have been a couple of those and I just do not get it...at. all.
Perhaps I am too polite...I'd never just stop emailing without giving a reason (except for trickery, as in the case of the Engineer, and he deserved it.)

I guess the point is, let us know what's going on. Oh I know, it can be uncomfortable to give a reason, and often, a reason might not even be needed. You can just say that you've decided not to email anymore. It's only polite and one day, you might be sitting around wondering too...

--Ina

the denizens of HELL

Aubergine's profile didn't garner that much attention...part of it was that I'd written it that way. I had fully expected to be the one to do the contacting...But part was, I think because I didn't post a photo. Men are pretty shallow (no. really. just like women.) and want to know if you look acceptable before they take it upon themselves to write something because writing's hard and not something to be undertaken lightly, unlike sex, which is easy and something to be undertaken whenever the fuck it can...Do I sound bitter? Well, maybe a little. The Internet is a mean place...not for the thin skinned or gentle. That's not to say I haven't encountered some really sweet and interesting men (although to find both those traits in the same man has been...rare.)

There have been some memorable characters to be sure. One of my favorites was...what can I call him? maybe Nick. Nick's profile in HELL was the funniest thing I've ever read, no exaggeration. I started laughing with his summary...the first thing you see...and I didn't stop until long after I'd finished the whole thing (and it was LONG. Nicky has a lot to say!) It had a kind of Monty Python ridiculousness about it that was irresistible to me. So I did what I had to do...I sent him an email complimenting him on it.
Nick emailed me back and we began a series of messages trying to outdo each other on the funny. He lives in a large city up North and has worked at several different jobs, all in creative fields. He's brilliant...scarily so. We'd never meet, but that was really OK with me. I was afraid if we met face to face, I wouldn't be able to keep up with him, intellect-wise. That's the good thing about email...you can seem smarter than you really are because you can take your time posting, not like conversation where you look like a moron if you take more than a few seconds to formulate your response. So, in person, we wouldn't have been so good, but as email friends, we were golden.
After the first few conversations, we stopped trying so hard to be funny and began to talk more about things that really matter...like movie stars of long ago and what made them beautiful! We had a fairly serious disagreement about this one star, who shall remain nameless, even though she's been dead for years. Nicky went on and on about her beauty and, well, he was just mistaken. He was right though, when he said that the stars of yesterday were more beautiful than stars of today. He couldn't explain it (one of the few times Nick was stumped), nor can I, but nevertheless, it is undeniably true.
After awhile, our emails just kinda stopped, a phenomenon not uncommon in my experience and about which, more later...

--Ina

reflections on HELL

It was a so-so day. Then Mr. V stopped by my office and gave me influenza. Oh wait.........wrong blog.

There we were, Sasquatch and I...You know where. The Game Show Channel was airing a retrospective of This. Is. JEOPARDY! With your host, Alex TREBEK! Sas isn't that crazy about Jeopardy. It makes her feel stupid. I've told her it makes me feel stupid too; however, she's very sensitive about her intellect and cares little about mine, whether because of indifference or because her adoration of me is complete, I don't know. But she was watching with one eye. What she really was concentrating on was mauling her new Christmas toy. She was blissed out, gnawing on Rudolph's antler. She did look up when I snapped her pic because, well, ham. Later, I'd have to read a chapter in Slugs in Love, but for now, she was engaged. Thanks K., for Slugs in Love...you know who you are.

It gave me a chance to reflect upon my journey through HELL.

My first profile, I'll call her Aubergine, attracted a lot of freaks. I mean real freaks, not the good ol' boy freaks who contact Ina. Maybe it was because Aubergine identified herself as a widow. Dunno. Anyway, let's think about a couple of those freakitty freaks...

The freakiest was oh, let's call him polyboy from Bodiddly IN. He wanted Aubergine to join his polyamorous family. He had a partner, a woman he identified as his "primary" partner. He wanted Aubergine to be his secondary partner, because his primary partner already had a primary partner (a woman)and polyboy was her (primary partner's) secondary partner (I don't know what his relationship was to his primary partner's primary...maybe none.) Confused yet? Yeah, me too. Anyway, he wanted us all to go on a kayak (do they make 4-person kayaks? Perhaps he meant for me to bring my own kayak. Yeah, right.) trip in a cold stream, and he emphasized "cold," but what else could it be in the middle of November? So after the kayak adventure, he thought we could all take a shower together, to get warm I guess. And then, well, this part is truly unbelievable. He had stated that ideally, I would be a Lesbian (I'm not sure why he thought I might be a Lesbian. There was nothing in my profile to indicate that; maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part.) because he had quite a good record of "transitioning" Lesbians into "hetero-Lesbians" (I believe most people call folks of this orientation "bisexual" but whatever.) Anyway, he would transition me by means of his extraordinarily massive "equipment." Oh he was a most considerate and gentle lover, he assured me, and no woman could resist the unparalleled charms of his freakishly large, well, stuff. Then after my transition I guess I would just get up and go home. He didn't really specify. Well, call me a prude, but no. I'm not going to be anyone's secondary partner especially if he already has a primary partner who has a primary partner. I mean, that would put me at absolutely the very bottom of the pecking order...not a good place to be. But then, in HELL, as Aubergine, I often felt like I wasn't in a real good place...I think that was part of the appeal of the Engineer...he seemed so normal.

Then there was the guy who wanted to "comfort" me in my grief over my husband's death. I've forgotten his "name" and in any case, I wouldn't use it here, but it was something like "goodlovin4u4ever." He told me that after his wife died, he was as lost as a "throwed ball in high weeds" and that I COULD survive, but only if I really wanted to and that a good man could help. And guess what? He was that very man! Yes! With his "good lovin" I could regain the will to live! He'd help me get over my "greif" and we could even talk about it, in between sessions of good lovin. Well I don't know. Perhaps I misunderstood him. Maybe English was not his first language and what he was really proposing was a discussion of quantum theory. Is "greif" the word for "string theory" in, perhaps Albanian? Once again I dunno. It seems that I've been spending lot of time scratching my head lately and I'm pretty sure it's not because Sas has given me fleas. (Sas would NEVER tolerate fleas. Believe me.)

--Ina

just another evening in HELL...

Sasquatch was tired. The squirrels have been busy gathering the hickory nuts from the backyard to save for the hard times ahead. Sometimes, though, they climb up to the deck out back to prance around and see if they can make Sas lose her mind. They're pretty successful at that particular endeavor. She hates those little fuzzy-tailed bastards and considers it her true calling in life to rid the world of them. She'd spent all afternoon at the back door, quivering with rage everytime one of those little scamps set foot on the deck. So, she wanted nothing more than a nap. No Game Show Channel for our girl this evening...What could I do with this unexpected free time? Oh I know, I'll check in with the boys from HELL.

As I've hinted to you, my profile in HELL is a little, well squirrelly. When you use the word "emasculation" in your profile, it should be obvious to everyone that you're looking for a special kind of man...and not one who spent his formative years in special ed. It should be obvious, but like everything else in HELL, the obvious becomes the obscure and vice versa. I'd gotten some messages from men who wanted to know just what kind of a ball-bustin' bitch I was and why didn't I just crawl away and let them get on with their happy little tea party? Others seemed quite eager to be emasculated and those, well, I didn't get back to any of them. When I wrote my profile, I thought I'd set a sarcastic enough tone that guys would realize that I was just goofing around. And some have, bless their hearts. These are the men I'm interested in! These few non-humor-impaired guys who have had enough confidence to contact a girl who said she was good at emasculation are the ones I want to get to know. They are few and far between though, so if I want to talk to anyone I usually have to make the first move, and gently enough that they aren't scared out of their minds...

--Ina

intermission...

So why a blog? And why now? This online dating thing is very new to me...unexplored territory and I think there are some valuable lessons to be learned about human nature to be sure, but also about my own nature. I don't want to forget what I've learned and I also don't want to forget the men I've met on the web site. Blogging is pretty immediate plus easy to do (who knew?!?). So this blog is a personal record mostly...a diary if you will. If anyone stumbles across it and gets a little chuckle, I'm glad. If you HAVE stumbled in here, first, I'm delighted and second, you really should read it chronologically; (bottom up in blog land, as upside down as online dating!) otherwise, it won' t make any sense whatsoever. Some of this blog is obviously fiction, (What'sMy Line isn't Sasquatch's favorite show. $10,000 Pyramid is.) but it's based on my experiences. Some of the men I'll talk about are composites; others are very much real. And while I may say uncomplimentary things, I really am careful to conceal identities.
A very nice man on HELL's counterpart suggested the blog's title, Tour de Freaks. Thanks T, you know who you are...


--Ina

the Plan...how it played out

Sas and I were sitting on the couch. The Game Show Channel was showing Hollywood Squares and Sas cannot abide Phyllis Diller, so I let her watch the Golf Channel. I was reading the latest email from the Engineer, the one I wasn't sure I was going to answer. I wanted to get through it before the Golf Channel made me all jittery.

We'd exchanged a few emails. If you remember, the plan was that I'd lure him in and get him all burning with desire then drop him like a hot rock. In the end though, I couldn't do it. I had been flirtatious, but a little hard to get this go round. And while Dave seemed interested, he wasn't as eager as he'd been with my alter-ego. Maybe he'd been telling the truth when he'd said it wasn't all about the chase for him...He'd sent his phone number (call anytime!!) but I'd said I spent most most of my work day on the phone and would rather stay with email for now. He didn't really pursue it. In this latest email, he'd asked for a photo. I'd already trolled the web looking for the perfect picture and I thought I'd found her. A cool blonde, dressed casually in white, outdoors watching some sporting event I'd imagine. The picture was indistinct enough that I could probably find another pic of a similar-looking woman if he asked for another.

But the more I thought about it, the more I thought I'd just let it go...not respond to this email and let him think, well, whatever he was going to think. I just didn't have the heart to go through to the end-game. And the reason? Well, it was pretty simple, really. For a little over 2 weeks, he'd made me feel really special. I'd felt wooed, courted...I'd felt like there was someone thinking of me with a smile on his face. I know what you're thinking..."WTF, lady, it was only 2 freakin' weeks!" But, what an intense 2 weeks, and you don't know what I'd been through the last several years. I'd put myself last because there were other people who needed me to put them first. I'd helped my husband as he marched, then crawled toward his date with death. It wasn't easy...in fact, it was the hardest thing I'd ever done. I was exhausted all the time from taking care of him (you haven't lived until you've cleaned out someone's feeding tube hole) and working full time and doing all the household chores and cooking meals for my mother. It was grueling! And he hadn't been dead too long before my mother started to decline, which brought a whole new set of circumstances. My sister dealt the most with my mother though and it was a good thing, because I wasn't sure I could do it so soon after my husband. Thanks J., you know who you are...
For over 3 years, I'd felt tired and heart sick and unattractive. So Dave's ardor was something different, something fun and it made me feel desirable for the first time in many years. That's a powerful feeling. And that's the reason I couldn't go through with it. Even though he probably deserves it, it won't come from me. Maybe some other girl can do what I ended up being too soft-hearted to do. Part of me hopes so...
Dave will be in that big warehouse in my mind where all the other characters from my life reside...the family members gone too soon, the childhood friends, beloved pets, old lovers, enemies even...Dave will be in that little alcove, the one between the friends' room and the lovers' room. Because he was more than one, but not quite the other. He'll appear now and then. When I hear a gruff voice say, "Ahhm fahn." Or when someone mentions our favorite movie. He'll flicker past behind my eyes, and it will be okay.

--Ina

detour...possible danger ahead

As I've mentioned, Dave had an unusual style of writing. Stream of consciousness is the best way I can describe it. It was like he couldn't be bothered with grammar, spelling or punctuation...he just had to get his thoughts out there as quickly as possible. And it makes sense for him. Dave's a pretty intense guy...quick-witted, passionate, a thinker. In other words, Dave's no dummy. That's one of the things that attracted me because I'm no dummy either. So, he had this unmistakable style of writing...he also had this funny little thing he'd use to end his messages. We'll call it "ideas."
So an email from him might go like this:

Hey Ina!!!!!!!!!!!
Hw ya..........yeah fiNe too......miSsss ya... calllll you ..........or me?



ideas...........
D.

You get the picture. So I'm just browsing around HELL one day and I see this guy who looks interesting...we'll call him cheeryguy. When I opened up his profile, the first thing I thought was Dave. The writing style was exactly the same. Not the actual content, which was very different from Dave's profile, but that unmistakable style. Plus, cheeryguy ended his summary with ideas................Coincidence? Beats me...but interesting to think about. Cheeryguy has never checked Inatizzy's profile. Maybe because he already knows what he'll find there?

--Ina

the Plan...in action

By now, inatizzy was sitting happily out on the Hello!Eros web site. And she was attracting some attention. HELL has this feature that allows you to see who's been looking at your profile. Pretty handy. If someone cool has looked, you can send him a message and start something. If someone creepy has looked, well, you probably want to ignore him. Every now and then, I'd check to see who'd viewed Ina, and as I said before, there've been some interesting guys. And Ina, being who she is, had flirted with some them and it was fun. But, we all know who Ina was really interested in...and then one day, there it was. Dave had looked...he hadn't messaged, but he'd looked and that was enough.

Inatizzy put on her thinking cap and came up with the perfect message to make ol' Dave some sniffing around. She was fun!...she was flirtatious!...she was slightly naughty! And Dave, as we all knew he would, took the bait. When that message hit his mailbox, why, he didn't even take the time to write a message back. He Instant Messaged! Well, Ina was a little taken aback. She certainly didn't want to get into some fast, off the cuff conversation with him. That could have been disastrous. No, email was much better for her purposes. So, she ignored him. Best possible strategy she could have come up with too. It wasn't long before an email showed up. And guess what? It was just like the first one Dave had sent to Ina's alter-ego...sweet, funny, eager, written just as though the thoughts flowed right from his twisted little brain onto the screen. Seems like Dave might be lacking in imagination, or perhaps he's learned not to mess with success. Anyway, he also included that weird little sign-off. And we're going to take a little detour here, so hang on...

--Ina

the Plan...

Sasquatch and I were sitting on the couch, watching the What's My Line marathon on the Game Show Channel (Sas loves Bennett Cerf. She has good taste and always prefers intellect over looks.) and I was thinking about my plan. It was simple, really. I'd go to HELL and create a false profile to see if I could lure Dave back into my web, suck the life out of him, then cut him loose like the big ugly cockroach he is. Oh sure, I know all profiles are basically false...except those totally sincere and icky ones like the guy who called himself "myhartistrue&ifUleavmeillstalkUtilUdie."**** His moniker is kind of hard to parse out, but it can be done, if you're patient. He's actually one of the freakiest of the freaks, despite his apparent sincerity. He wants to "be with you night and day...every moment! I'll never let you out of my site (sic). I'll awaken you in the morning with licks all over your body until you can't stand it anymore (Ina--I'll bet!) and you beg, no! plead with me to stop. (Ina--no kidding.) Then, I'll bring you breakfast in bed...toast and jam or oatmeal or a bowl of hot Cream O' Wheat." Yeah, whatever, myhartisetcetcetc, just what every girl wants...a full-body lick followed by some Cream O' Wheat!
Back to the plan...I was going to go with the full-on humor approach...cynical, sarcastic, a little mean...all those things I'd discovered were a kind of a turn on for Dave. Plus, I was going to turn up the kink factor a little because from a couple of things he'd said, I thought Dave might appreciate a little kink...I've learned that, at least in my experience, this is probably true for most men, even myhartisetcetcetc, not that I've had any personal experience with that gentleman, thank god.
So while Sas was engrossed in WML, slobbering over Bennett, her tail wagging a mile a minute, I filled out my profile and inatizzy was born. And she's actually attracted some very interesting guys. Guys who can appreciate the humor and aren't scared away by the cynicism. Nice, funny guys and I hope she'll continue to attract them because I've grown to like her way more than that other profile. Well, why not, she's me...

****Not his real moniker, so all you girls looking for hot Cream O' Wheat action will just have to keep looking.

--Ina

the Engineer...last time

I sent him an email on Monday, attaching some new photos and telling him how much I had enjoyed our conversation the day before. I checked that account several times that day...nuttin'. When I still hadn't heard from him by the next evening, I called him (call anytime!!). His voice mail picked up and I left a short message asking him to call me. As you've guessed (especially since I've already clued you in that we talked no more) he hadn't called back by the next evening either. I left one last voice message...
He'd mentioned several times that he wasn't bothered by rejection. Well, I guess not! When you're always the rejector and never the rejectee, it's easy to be cavalier about rejection. I, on the other hand, don't take well to rejection. You've heard that cliche about a woman scorned. Well, it's a cliche for a reason.

I began to think...

While I thought, Sasquatch and I still sat on the couch watching the Game Show Channel. Sas especially likes What's My Line reruns. As it happened, the Game Show Channel was having a What's My Line marathon during those first post-Engineer days, so Sas was happy and content. Of course, Sas was always happy and content. That's another thing I like about dogs. They're usually happy and content as long as their most basic needs are met. We humans should strive to be more like dogs. A lot more...

So, I thought and thought and pretty soon, a plan began to take shape. I talked over my plan with Nigel, a lovely man I'd met in HELL...he was in no way relationship material, but we had a good email friendship nevertheless. When Nigel heard of the plan, he urged me to do it and laughed maniacally...Bwahahahahaha. Thanks Nigel, you know who you are...

--Ina

the Engineer...more stuff

There were more phone calls, more emails. The whole thing lasted only a little over 2 weeks, but we did LOTS of talking and the more we talked, the more I began to feel that I could believe what he said.

We agreed that we needed to meet face to face, and so we made plans. We'd meet in a city about half way between us and we decided on a date. It's hard to say exactly how I felt about these plans. I'd never done any online dating before and wasn't sure how to act. I was a little apprehensive, but excited and happy. I felt breathless and nervous, but nervous in a good way.

But then there was the first time I sent him an email and he failed to reply.

One night, we were on the phone and something was said about HELL. He said, "Oh, I don't get on there anymore. Why should I? I've found you." Awwwww. But I couldn't help but think about that email that he had failed to respond to. And I started to think too much. A night or 2 later, I couldn't stand it anymore. I logged into HELL, and of course, there he was. Hmmmmm. What to think? I rationalized it away, sort of. Well, he was just taking tests or answering questions. But it nagged. Then a couple days later, he called and said a client was being a jerk and he was having to work pretty much around the clock to keep this guy satisifed. He thought it might be better if we postponed our meeting. Oh, if I really wanted to, we could still go, but he was sure he'd have to spend some time with his nose in his computer. I agreed that we should postpone and he said he'd call.

Well, from ardent to indifferent at the speed of sound? Had I been blown off? I figured if he called again, then he probably was telling the truth. So, I waited. And sure enough, a couple of days later, he called and we had a perfectly normal and happy conversation. Then came the Thanksgiving holiday and I didn't hear from him for 3 days...a record for us. He called the Sunday after Thanksgiving...we flirted and teased each other. We talked about silly and serious stuff, bounced quotes from our favorite movie off each other, laughed and just enjoyed each other thoroughly... it was one our best conversations. It also was our last...

--Ina

the Engineer...still on the first phone call

Yes, I was charmed. He had spoken of intimacy and what it meant to him and no he didn't think it was all about sex. (Well, that's what he said, but can you really trust someone you've just met on a dating web site? That remains to be seen.) He had spoken of his love for animals and his work with an animal shelter. He had spoken of how he wasn't one of those men for whom the chase is the main thing. He didn't like to chase, he said. He couldn't date more than one woman at a time; had no desire to. (I hope you've paid attention to this part because it will come into play later.) He was smart; he was funny; he was polite, but with an irreverent sense of humor; he was handsome. I had asked him why a man as handsome as himself was unattached, and he said he was very selective. Well, that's OK, so am I, so no problems here. I guess. In short, our conversation was sweet and funny and interesting and we discovered that we had lots in common. So, yeah, I was charmed. I told him so in an email the next day and he professed to having been charmed also. Up until now, he hadn't asked for a photograph. I was impressed by that. Most of these bozos asked first crack out of the hat, so they could be sure that your looks met their exacting standards. And since each and every one was a George Clooney clone (no), well, they were perfectly within their rights, they thought. But he did ask for a pic in this latest email. So, I had to scramble to get one. Thanks Bufe, you know who you are... He also asked if he could call again that night, but I said I was busy. I wasn't but that's how you play...

--Ina

the Engineer...first phone call continued

Or was it? All good, I mean. An are went by and then 2 and Sas and I were getting pretty fucking sick of the fucking Game Show Channel and we even changed to the Golf Channel for awhile, but I got jittery and had to turn it off. I was pissed. I'd been had...played...tricked. And I didn't like it, not one bit. Then the phone rang and Sas and I looked at each other like WTF? Because by now, we'd written off the Engineer so this was totally unexpected. Sure enough, 404...Atlanta, the Engineer. I answered playing it cool because well, you know why. And he was so apologetic and launched into this long explanation of how the restaurant, which is never crowded on Thursday nights was inexplicably crowded this very Thursday night and he and Kathy had had to wait a really long time to get their dinners and he was so nervous that he was standing out on his front porch smoking a cigarette, which he never did anymore, except for those really stressful times and he hoped I wasn't mad and he was so, so sorry and he'd had a couple of glasses of wine and hoped he didn't sound tipsy because he really wasn't, just a little bit pleasantly buzzed and how he'd worried that I wouldn't answer the phone but he'd also worried that I would and he was so glad that I had and .......... "Hair (how are) you, Miss Ina? Fahn, I hope and not angry?" Well, Miss Ina had been a little pissed to be sure, but now, after this huge apology, she was entranced...in a good way. Of course, there was no way I was going to let him know that. At least, not yet.
And so we talked...for about 45 minutes, which is about 40 minutes longer than I usually like to talk on the phone. Well, mostly, he talked and I listened. He talked about his daughter and his 2 failed marriages, and his business that he and his partners were starting up, and how he felt about politics and religion (same as me!). Oh he asked me questions and I answered. I even made some germane comments about stuff he was talking about. And what might have been a wearisome conversation...wasn't. At all. It was like he wanted get everything out there and get me to know him and it couldn't happen fast enough for him. He seemed so eager, so enthusiastic about life. I was charmed...

--Ina

the Engineer...first phone call

And then, the phone rang. Sas and I looked at each other like WTF? We didn't get that many calls on the cell back then and the ring tone sounded alien. So, I got up off the couch and went digging in my bag for the cell...found it and saw that the call was from the 404 area code. The Engineer...I was a little anxious. After all, this was a guy who looked, if not like Adonis, then still pretty hot (if that picture he sent was really a likeness of him and not just some pic he'd snagged from the Smokin' Hot Men website. You think there's not such a site? Google it, if you dare.) Anyway, I managed to answer it before it clicked over to voice mail, and this gruff voice drawled, "Haaahhh (drawl-speak for hi), it's Day-ave (drawl for Dave). This Ina?" Well, the voice wasn't what I'd expected. You know how you hear somebody on the radio and form a mental picture? Same deal with email and photos...you hear his voice in your head, but then, when you hear it for real, sometimes it doesn't match up. So the gruff thing was unexpected, but the drawl drew me in. So I said "Hi" back and managed to ask him how he was, and he was fahn (fine). And then he told me he had comp'ny (company) and he needed to take her to dinner and could he call me back? What?? Was he telling me he was about to go out on a date?

He explained that she and her husband(!) were old friends of the faaamly (family) and she was in town from Bumin'hayum (Birmingham) for an antique show and she was tard (tired) and hungry and if it was OK, he'd cawl (call) me back in an are (hour). Sounded reasonable to me (uh oh) and I said, "Sure." So, we hung up and I went back to Sas and the couch and the Game Show Channel. WOF was over, but there was a favorite episode of Match Game coming up. And the Engineer was going to cawl back in an are after he'd fed his comp'ny. It was all good...

--Ina

the Engineer

Dave replied promptly to my email and sent a picture of his daughter! That seemed, well, if not strange, then a little out of the ordinary. But, I thought, "He must just be a proud papa. Isn't that sweet." And she was beautiful. (if it really was his daughter and not just some photo he trolled off the web) He also sent his phone number and told me to call anytime!! (He put those 2 exclamation points in his email. He's an enthusiastic guy.) Well, I'm an old-fashioned girl and I'm not making the first call. So I sent him my cell number (it IS the Internet and you can't be too careful, so there's no way I'm sending my home number) and told him to call me. He replied that he'd call that very night! Well, this seemed to be moving along at a spritely pace indeed.
So, Sasquatch and I were sitting on the couch watching the Game Show Channel. Sas wanted to watch the Golf Channel, but golf makes me jittery. Besides, an episode of Wheel of Fortune from the 90s was on. Back when Pat Sajak looked kinda hot, in that goofy boy-next-door way. And it was the episode with that lady in the red plaid blouse and the jet black mall hair and those really thin drawn-on eyebrows. Remember her? She spun the wheel and landed on a big-money space and asked Pat if she could have an "R." Vanna turned over 2 "Rs!!" So the board looked like this
R_ _ _ _ _ _ R
Then, she asked for a "D" and Vanna turned over a "D."
R _ _ _ D _ _ R
Then she asked for an "N" and Vanna did that thing she does so well.
R _ _ ND _ _ R.
She asked Pat could she buy a vowel, and Pat said, "Sure!!!!!!" Because Pat's nothing if not enthusiastic...just like Dave. So she bought an "E" and Vanna did it again...3 times!
RE_NDEER
And then, incredibly, amazingly, she asked to buy another vowel. WTF!! What is so freakin' obvious to you and to me is lost on red-plaid lady. Can it be that she doesn't recognize the word? Can she not spell? (And if not, she should have picked a game show other than WOF. Maybe Jeopardy.) Can it possibly be that she's that mind-bogglingly stupid?? Or wait...maybe she's just being cautious, like those of us in HELL are. Uh, no...because she asked for an "O!" An "O!!??" Lady, what are you thinking? Are you so dazed by the bright TV lights that you've completely taken leave of your senses? WTF is wrong with you? Pat looked at her like he thought surely she must be joking, but she'd bought that "O" and there's a no returns, no refunds policy at the Buy-A-Vowel store. Bummer for her, for sure. So Pat said, "Oh!!!!! I'm sorry! No "O!!" And the turn passed to the guy with the handlebar mustache and bad toupee on red-plaid lady's left. And then, the phone rang...



RE_NDEER

--Ina

First encounter...some more about it

He lives in Atlanta and he's an engineer. Well, no, he isn't an engineer, but I won't reveal his occupation, his name or anything else that could be used to identify him. Yeah, he's a rat bastard...but I'm not. Anyway, his first message was charming, if a little stream-of-consciousness, writing-wise. He told me he loved my profile...that he thought it was amusing. Well, amusing was exactly what I was going for when I wrote it so I thought, "This guy gets me!" He'd sent me his personal email address in case I'd like to chat outside the realm of HELL. Well, of course I wanted to chat outside the realm of HELL! Who wouldn't want to get out of HELL? So, I sent him an email. He responded immediately with a photo! And wow, when I opened that photo, well, let's just say, rat bastard or not, he's a fine looking man...if it was really him in that pic...who knows? (I really wish I could post his photo here so you could judge for yourself, but I do have my standards.) I wrote him back, telling him I thought his photo was attractive and that his emails were charming, (which they were, but that stream-of-consciousness writing was a little hard to decipher and he used a weird sign off...I won't say what it was, but it was just a little strange and one I hadn't encountered before, anywhere) and indicating that I was interested in corresponding. His name was Dave...oh, of course his name isn't Dave, but if I'm going to tell about him, I have to call him something, so Dave it is.

--Ina

First encounter...

I've taken a little detour to give some friendly advice to the men of HELL, so let's recap a little.
I'd written my profile and posted it. It wasn't the best profile ever, but I really did put some thought into it. I didn't reveal that much about myself, because, hey, it's the Internet and keeping some secrets is prudent. But I told some things and I tried to make up for my lack of transparency with humor.
I spent some time browsing the men within 100 miles of my home and frankly, was pretty disappointed. I began to wonder if, in fact, all the good men in KY really were already taken...living in domestic bliss with their beautiful wives. Or it could be that all the good available men just hadn't heard of HELL yet. I really didn't know and still don't. So, my expectations were low.
And then, I got a message! I was surprised. I hadn't expected someone to contact me. I had thought I'd be doing all the selecting, but nevertheless, I felt flattered. But as I read his message, I realized that he didn't live all that close to me. In fact, he lived in Atlanta. What? Atlanta? Why would someone in Atlanta be contacting me? So, I did the only reasonable thing...I asked him why.
And his response was charming...he asked, "Why not?" I was delighted and intrigued. And thus, we began our all too brief correspondence...

--Ina

Parade of Freaks, part III

If you're still with me, gentlemen, let's talk about the section in HELL called "I spend a lot of time thinking about..." Your answer really shouldn't be "sex." And it really, really shouldn't be "sex sex sex sex sex sex." We've already established that you're in HELL to attract women, right? Well, women don't need to be reminded that you spend a lot of time thinking about sex. Unless we're very young or very inexperienced, we've already discovered that fact about men. Your profile in HELL isn't about stating the obvious. No, what you should be doing is making yourself sound as charming, as interesting as possible. So, put some thought into it. Surely there's something interesting that you think about, so tell us about it.
Finally...your photo. If you've chosen to post a photo... and personally, I don't think it's mandatory if you can write an interesting profile, but it's your choice certainly...but if you DO choose to post one, please, please don't post a shirtless pic.***** Because HELL has at least a few standards, you're forbidden to post pics of certain body parts...you know which ones I mean. (For once, HELL has done something right in making this rule.) But keep your shirt on. If we want to see your bare chest, we'll see it. Until then, let us use our imaginations. Imagination is the sexiest thing ever, so take advantage of it.
Next up...that first encounter.

*****Upon further reflection, I've decided to revise this rule. I've seen a couple of pics where the shirtless thing actually worked. So, if you're on a boat or in the pool or in some other situation where shirtlessness is appropriate, then yeah, go ahead and post that pic. On the other hand, if you're standing at the bathroom mirror, camera in hand, taking your own picture, put your shirt back on. Thx
--Ina

Parade of Freaks, part II

So, to pick up where we left off, your goal, men of HELL, is to attract women. Now, pay attention...get that beer bottle out of you mouth and turn off the TV.
As I was saying, your goal is to attract women. If you were trying to find a fishing buddy or some guy to go to the NASCAR race, it would be different. But we're talking women here, so let's think about your profiles...If in your summary of yourself, you say that you can't think of anything to write, is that interesting? Hell, no! Women want to be intrigued. If there's really nothing interesting about yourself, then MAKE SOMETHING UP! How are we going to know any different? If we should actually meet each other, surely by then you will have thought of something that makes you different from every other Joe Schmo (excellent show, BTW).
Point 2: In the 6-things-I-cannot-live-without portion of your profile, never list your truck as number 1. And for god's sake, do not list it as number one and also as number 6. I'm sure there are some women who love trucks as much as you do, but, and trust me on this, most women do not, and if they say they do, they're playin' ya. Other things to not mention in this section include your shotgun, your huntin' dogs, NASCAR, food, water, shelter, your Mom, your wife, and my personal favorite, air. And calling air "oxygen" doesn't make you look smart.

--Ina

Parade of Freaks

So, what I thought was that I'd post this profile and then I'd just look at all the men, pick out my favorite and live happily ever after. Well, those weren't my exact thoughts, but kinda close. So, I commenced browsing...Oh. My. God. You have to set up parameters for your searches, like how many miles from your house, for example. Well, I thought, the closer, the better. Uh, no. I set it up to search for matches within 100 miles of my town because I'd have to think long and hard about driving over 100 miles for a date! (I might make an exception for George Clooney, but running across George in HELL is a remote possibility at best.) I know now that was a terrible decision...
If I may, I'm going to speak directly to the men of HELL right now. The ones within a 100 mile radius of Hee Haw KY.
Gentlemen, presumably, you joined this service to find a woman of refinement and taste with whom you could spend some romantic moments. Or, to put it in terms you might understand more readily, you are searching the web for a hot chick. Or to make it unmistakably clear, yer trollin' the net to score some pussy... because to actually change your socks and comb your hair and go out someplace where women congregate sounds like way too much trouble.
Now think about it gentlemen...your ultimate goal is to get in her pants. There's no reason to deny what we all know to be the truth. And there's really nothing wrong with that goal. In many cases, that's our goal too. Really. Well, our goal would be more about getting in your pants, eventually, not our own. But, in most--not all--but most cases, there will be at least a few preliminary activities that take place before that happy and most satisfying coupling. That's what we need to discuss...

--Ina

How it began, the sequel...continued

I'm not sure exactly what I expected when I signed up for HELL, but I know I didn't expect to find myself standing on Broadway watching the Parade of the Freaks. I filled out my profile, which included a summary of "me," and wrote some things in boxes that asked stuff like: I spend a lot of time thinking about...and Six things I cannot live without are...and What I'm doing with my life right now...I took some tests and answered some questions (I think the tests and questions are what the HELL geeks use to "match" you up with people they think you're, well, a good match with. Certainly, they do not take your actual profile into consideration.) What I did not do was post a photo. Call me paranoid, but I can't imagine having an actual photo on one of these web sites can possibly be a good idea. Once, when I was browsing, I recognized a photo of a man who had once worked for me. His name was disguised, of course, but there was no mistaking his picture. When I read his profile, I thought, "God! What a pathetic loser! How could I have been disappointed when this sad, empty shell of a man quit our company to go to work for the government? What had I been thinking??" And I didn't want someone recognizing me and thinking those same things. Because no matter how together you are, there's always going to be somebody who thinks you're a loser...And nowhere is that sad fact more apparent than on an online dating site. People will usually be pretty nice when you're standing there right in front of them, but when you're just a profile...just an idea...they can get pretty nasty. Yeah, the Internet brings out the worst in us for sure. That it may also bring out the best in us is a concept to be explored...But not yet.

--Ina

How it began, the sequel

My husband had been dead ...
(not passed away, not gone over. No, he was dead. I know this because when he died, the nurses at the hospital insisted that I spend some quality time with his body. Oh I could have refused, but that seemed crass. After all my husband had just died! I stayed there in that hospital room with his absolutely dead body for about an hour [and wow! was it quiet in there] until I found enough courage to seek out someone to ask WTF was I supposed to do now? Nobody tells you these things!)
... for about 18 months and I felt like it was time to find a suitable male companion. I like men. No, really. I find them endearing and besides, if you give them a wink and a promise, they'll usually do at least some of those things you don't want to do, like answer the door on Halloween. Living in Hee Haw country, I'd found it hard to find a suitable companion. Some people I knew had had some small success with online dating, so I thought, "Why not me?" And so, I signed on with a free service, which probably should remain nameless like those slacker employees. Let's just call it Hello!Eros or HELL for short.
Before I knew it, I'd filled out a profile and there it was... actually on the HELL web site! I was pretty excited. It wasn't long before I got my first encounter.

--Ina

How it began...

It was a couple of days before Halloween. I was dreading it. Oh I like children, don't get me wrong. I mean who doesn't like seeing all the tiny Cinderellas, the wee Spidermen, the ghosts, the goblins and the dear little Margaret Thatchers? No, I like all that just fine. ..You could die from the cuteness of it all! What I don't like and what my dog, Sasquatch, especially doesn't like is all that doorbell ringing! Poor Sas. She practically has a coronary every time the doorbell rings. She takes her vow to protect me very seriously and she's hell bent on keeping any and all intruders from my door...just look at how sincere and alert she looks in her pic. That's what I like about dogs. Give them a job and they're delighted. They do it, no complaints, everyday, unlike some (many) employees I know but will refrain from mentioning by name...they know who they are.
So it was a couple of days before Halloween and I got to thinking, "If only I had a man in my life, he could answer the door and give out treats to the Spidermen and the sweet little Margaret Thatchers, and Sas and I could sit on the couch watching the Game Show Channel and life would be sweet."
And that's how it began.

--Ina