The Filthy Fifty

[50 Cent]
I take you to the candy shop
I’ll let you lick the lollipop
Go ‘head girl, don’t you stop
Keep goin ’til you hit the spot (whoa)
[Olivia]
I’ll take you to the candy shop
Boy one taste of what I got
I’ll have you spending all you got
Keep going ’til you hit the spot (whoa)

So if you aren’t a “friend”, don’t read, or didn’t catch the post on my Facebook page, I stopped seeing the 50^th woman since I separated from my ex-wife this past weekend. I have a lot of friends that have offered kind words, and I am in no way discounting all the amazing advice. I totally get that we all try on a bunch of shoes before we find the pair that is perfect. I get that I am an amazing person and a kind, giving soul with much to offer blahblahblah…(maybe that last one is a stretch). And that just like age, it is only a number. I am just a little stuck on the number. FIFTY FUCKING WOMEN!!!! In less than 3 years that is a super fucked up amount of failure. And please don’t waste your breath telling me not to look at it as failure. It is what it is.

Some of the “Filthy Fifty” were only the meet and greet interview that, because I am a. fat and b. not as smart as I think I am, usually involves a meal. Not a bowl of Rice Krispy’s or a light pastry. No, no, no, we are talking about lunch or dinner. Sometimes, because I am kind-hearted and don’t want to run for the hills and hurt a person’s feelings when they obviously have been deceptive and posted a picture from their twenties, I end up staying way too long. Maybe I need to be the prick some have accused me of in the past.

One person asked me if there were any commonalities between the FF. I said the only commonality was me, but in retrospect that isn’t completely true. For the most part all were met on one online dating site or another. I can hear many of you saying “ah ha”. There is the problem. You are “fishing” in a pond of crazy. You are the Shepherd of the Flock of Friggin’ Crazy. When are you going to learn that the internet is for two things…Porn and Howard Stern? So where am I supposed to meet someone? Bars? I don’t drink and they allow smoking in SC bars and EVERYONE here chain-smokes. (I don’t want to go off on my SC bashing rants I have been accused of again. I am merely stating facts) I am a big fan of live music, as long as it is good, but that has to be heard in a bar. A bar filled with smoke and the sad desperation that goes along with dozens of other people, most like myself, well past their sexual prime and couldn’t find a better place to be and hoping against hope to find a new set of hands to touch their genitalia. There is so much anticipation that this new person will know how to make our loins quiver like no one before them. It always ends up with me leaving red-eyed and stinky with a headache from all the smoke, and wishing I had those hours back to do anything else with. Good Times.

But Steve, what about asking a friend to introduce you to a lovely young lady? Wouldn’t that be helpful? Fuck yes it would, kind reader. That would be great if I knew anyone that knew anyone. The problem is I spend 45 hours at work on an average week. I am a corporate trainer so I have the gift of gab. In the training room I often joke that it isn’t Run’s House, it is Steve’s House. Outside of that room I am a pretty reserved guy, believe it or not. In my room I am king. I can talk about anything and to anyone. I am not affected by job titles, looks, money, status in life…anything. Take me out of that room and I am like veal. I just kind of sit there. More often than not people think I am mad about something. My face must be a total blank mess or maybe even worse, portray the inner-terror I am mostly feeling. Trust me; many of you have seen it, and it isn’t pretty. And I have shit where I eat a couple of times and it never ends up good, and often ends with me living in a state where I am the only person that gets that I am the coolest person on the face of the earth.

Ok Steve, what about walking up to a woman in the supermarket or in the mall? I have tried that and I suck at it. I will ask a stupid question about some random food product in the hopes some lovely shopper will decide I am the pale, portly man of her dreams and begin to fellate me in the produce section. What happens is I get the answer I already know, from a woman that has been hit on in every possible place on earth, and all she really wants to do is get her frozen Marie Callenders dinner and pint of Ben & Jerry Phish Food and sit in front of the TV and watch Leroy Jethro Gibbs smack Anthony DiNozzo in the back of his head and ponder what he would be like in bed, as she walks away thankful I can’t find the words for a follow-up question. WOW, that was an amazing run on sentence…hehehe. My follow-up is to accuse the same poor lady of stalking me as we pass each other on every other isle till she gets frustrated and decides to just go to 5 Guys Burgers and Fries and get the hell away from me.

Well what about going to a museum or an outdoor festival, Steve? Haven’t you told us you like those things? Absolutely I do. Two things; I am in Florence, SC so there are no museums and only one festival I have heard of for pecans. No shit, PECANS!!!! The second thing is I have even less game in a place surrounded by beautiful pieces of art that I do in the grocery store.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

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