Thursday, December 27, 2012

A year of doing whatever the hell we want.

Another year has gone by and it has been full of interesting, exciting and somewhat horrifying dating experiences.  I have met men of all shapes and sizes, proving to myself that I am actually attracted to the personality and not the physical.  Damn, I feel so mature.  I have had happy, sad and improbable times.  I have obsessed, shunned, cried, rejected, been rejected, and then repeated it all over again.  And yet somehow through the repulsion, the lust, the heartache and the hope, I continue to date with renewed vigor.  Now I don't want to get too overly sentimental here but I do like to reflect.  Unlike other years, I have actually met some men in 2012 that I truly enjoyed.  Ok, get your minds out of the gutter....I meant enjoyed as in I liked spending time with them.  I have learned that I may be difficult to date (something I am pretty sure I already knew but did not acknowledge) and that I don't like to play by the rules.  And all these experiences have led to me my New Year's Resolution. 

2013 will be my year of doing what I want.

Over the year I have taken lots of advice from a variety of women on how to approach dating.  All of these women have specific points of view based on their personalities, marital status and general demeanor.  I seek out their wisdom for every man I am somewhat interested in, then blend their opinions and pull out my answer.  Through this process something has come clear to me.  All these women tell me not to reach out, not to contact the man I want to date, not to do what comes naturally to me.  In other words, don't be myself.   It takes every ounce of my inner strength to resist the urge to do the opposite of this advice.  And since I have not been working out recently, I am not very strong.  But I have adhered to my girlfriend's advice.  I  even bought (ok downloaded) the book, 'The Rules'.  It was like listening to a lecture from my mother - you know, 'Men don't buy the pig if they get the bacon for free'.  Wait, what?

But where has all this waiting around left me?  Nowhere.  But waiting.  Waiting for men to act like men.  Or perhaps waiting for men to act like them men we hope they will be.  Is it so hard to call when you say you are going to call?  Is it terrible to plan ahead by asking us out more than two days in advance?  Does it damage your male ego just to check in and see how we are doing?  I don't think so.  And in the traditional role, we women sit at home hoping you will text, call or email and obsess as to why you are not.  But why don't we just text, call or email? 

That is what is changing for me in 2013.

I have come to the decision that adhering to the traditional route is for women from the 50's.  If I want a man, I am going to go for it.  What is the worst that could happen?  I could hear silence in return.   He could say no.  I could slightly humiliate myself.  My ego can handle that.  I mean I am already frustrated by the  lack of communication from some of these men.  So really it is a win/win for me.  I get to be myself and I get my answers.

I will put my big girl pants on and take charge.  I am no shrinking violet.  Those of you who know me personally already know this.  I say what I feel and I sometimes lack a filter.  So trying to to hold myself back from reaching out to a man I enjoy, goes against everything in my body.  So 2013 will be the year of doing what I want, within reason of course.  If I want a man, I am not going to sit home staring at my phone waiting for him to text.  I am going to text him dammit.  Life is far too short to sit around and wait.  I determine my own happiness and I need to control it.

The bottom line is this.  We say we want men to be men but in reality we want men to women, just with male equipment.  We want them to talk to us, contact us, plan ahead and be sensitive to the fact that we need a little stroking to make us feel loved.  So if the men are not going to take this role, why can't the women make the move.  Start the ball rolling as it were. 

I can't wait for these men that I enjoy to determine my fate.  The downside of liking a man is the emotional toll it takes when he doesn't act exactly as you have determined he should.  But many of these men may not know how I feel as I have been mute, as I was encouraged to be.  So I will change that.  I will steel myself for rejection (I have been there before and I will no doubt be there again) and I will put myself out there.  It isn't enough to go on a date even when all you want to do is sit home in sweats.  That is only half the battle.  As that horrible commercial says 'If your heart is open, love will always find a way in'.  I will not only open my heart, but I make sure these men know it is open for them.  And I will hope none of them ever buy me an 'Open Hearts' necklace.

I am ready for 2013.  I am going to run at it full force.  2012 ended on a very high note for me and I am sure 2013 will start the same way.  I am breaking 'The Rules' this year.  I am living on the edge.  I am saying how I feel (ok, this is nothing new) but I am going to say it to the men I want.  If they say no, well I will move on.  If they say yes, then....well we'll see.  It is a new year.  It is a new me.  And I am writing a new set of rules for post-divorce dating.  Because after all I am divorced and single.


Sunday, December 2, 2012

Location, Location, Location

In real estate location is everything.  The same may be true for dating.  While your date may be charming, good looking and engaging, where they take you on a date says so much about them.  So men, choose wisely.  We are paying attention and yes, we are judging. You don't have to impress us with fancy restaurants or expensive theater productions but you do have to remember that we are women and not your buddies.  We need to know that you think so highly of us that you put some serious thought into where you will take us on a date.  You considered who we are and what we would feel when we got to said location.  We hope that you would think about how that location would reflect on you.

This brings me to my latest outing.  My male companion suggested we meet on a Sunday to watch a football game.  Now some of  you may be cringing but I actually do enjoy watching professional football, so this sounded ideal.  But then came his first suggestion of locations.  With all seriousness he said we should meet at Hooters.  I almost dropped the phone.  Now what man in his right mind would say to himself, 'Taking her to Hooters will show what a fun and progressive guy I am'?  Hooters - where the waitresses flaunt their assets for middle aged men to ogle.  Oh yes, this was a particularly perfect suggestion of locations to meet.  I promptly said no - adding in 'What the fuck are you thinking?'  His response was "They have a lot of televisions'.  Really?  I am pretty sure there are many other places that have a lot of televisions that don't have semi-naked waitresses.  He agreed and made a second suggestion - The Tilted Kilt.

I have never been to or heard of the Tilted Kilt and since he gave me directions, I had no need to look it up.  Which was my mistake.  But I was pretty sure, since I had made my opinions of semi-nude servers clear, that this place would be better.  Oh, how wrong I was.  How very, very wrong.  I walked into this place and immediately knew I was out of my element.  First of there aren't just two or three televisions, there are 100.  And it is loud.  Then, as I got strange stares from the hostess, I looked around and realized as far as female patrons went it was me and a table of lesbians.  And then there were the waitresses.  Ahhhhh, worse than Hooters.  Young busty women wearing tilted kilts (sigh), knee socks, plaid push up bras and not much else.  Yes, this was clearly an ideal date location.  For those of you with limited imaginations, look here:  http://www.tiltedkilt.com/kilt-girl-calendar/

So my companion was waiting at a table.  His cell phone prominently displayed on the table.  His eyes darted from television to television.  Our waitress, Megan, arrived, leaned over, pushed her breasts in my face and asked if I wanted a drink.  Oh dear god, yes.  I asked my companion how he thought this place differed from Hooters.  His reply, 'The food is better'.  Are you kidding me?  Did he think I rejected Hooters because of the nachos?  Then I noticed he kept looking at his phone.  When I asked why, he said he needed to keep track of his fantasy football scores.  When I pointed out that the scores would be the same in two hours and he really had no control over it, he just told me I didn't understand.  Megan came back and sat down with us.  Why?  Why would the waitress sit down?  Her breasts rested on the table.  Maybe they were too heavy to carry around.  She told us she was pretty sure she was hungover.  I asked for another drink.

After an hour or so, I was done.  It was loud.  I felt old and fat next to these waitresses.  And I might as well have been alone for all the time my male companion spent looking at his phone and cursing.  But the morale of the story here is location matters.  We choose where we live for the location.  We choose where we vacation for location.  Shouldn't we choose where we date for location as well.  Think through it men.  If you would go there with your buddies and ogle young girls, does it really cut it as a date location.  Next time I will google the location before my date.  Next time, I will know what I am walking into because after all I am 44 and single. 

Saturday, October 6, 2012

You Had Me At.....Part Deux

And once again, let's go through my favorite pick up lines of the last few months.  I am always amazed that men think these will work but I guess if you put it out there often enough, eventually someone will take the bait. 

1.  Are you from Tennessee?  Because you are the only Ten I See.

There are very few words that can describe how hard it was for me to resist going out with this man.


2.  If you were offered $835,000 in real life, what would you be willing to do in return for it?

I was incredibly intrigued by the bizarre dollar amount offered to me.  So I responded 'I would happily clean your house, make your bed and possibly go grocery shopping for you.'  Oddly the money never arrived.


3.  Mmmmmm you are so fine looking.

I am not sure exactly how to respond to this.  On one hand it is very true.  On the other hand the 'mmmmm' prior to the statement sort of freaks me out.  Almost like I was a plate of food he was getting ready to eat.


4. Woof Woof

Initially I thought this was intriguing.  But then I started to think this man must thing I am a dog. And now I am totally offended. 


5. Hi I'm Eric and I have a very high libido.  Would you like to meet me?

You had me at Eric. 


6. What you doing?

I am going to ignore the grammatically incorrect question and focus on the answer.  Right now I am filling out my application for a convent so I can stop getting all these horrendous messages.  You?



7.  Hello :) nice to meet you, my name is Shane timothy. I think you're very beautiful. You should message me back. I am so into older women, please give me a chance, and if not at least let me spoil you :)

With all those smiley faces in the message how could I refuse. 


8.The grass is always greener on the other side.  And I am here waiting for you.  

 I don't even know what this means.


9. I put the S in sarcasm.

I put the F in Fuck Off.


10.  How was work today cutie?

I wrote back:  Well it started out slow because there was so little traffic on my corner but eventually it picked up.  My tally for the day was 7 blowjobs, 8 hand jobs and 2 fucks.  Not a bad day overall.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

It's not me, it is most definitely you

In fifth grade I had a boyfriend.  We were 'going out'.  We were together for a week.  For me it was the best week of fifth grade.  This boy was so cute and we would walk together in the hallway and hold hands at lunch.  Six days of pure bliss capped off by one day of extreme misery.  On the seventh day my best friend Robin pulled me aside and told me that boy I loved told Jack, who told Chris, who told Robin that he wanted to break up with me.  I was devastated.  Why was he breaking up with me?  What had I done?  I wanted to speak with him but I was a fifth grade girl filled with deep emotional insecurities and there was no way I was going to confront him.  Especially not with his fifth grade posse hanging around him.  So I was left with a hole in my heart and unanswered questions.  Why?  Why did he end our torrid love affair and why didn't he tell me himself?

Fast forward.  I am now on my dating adventure, trying to meet solid men of a certain age who presumably have matured beyond fifth grade.  So how is it that these men have not figured out how to end the relationship in an honest and mature fashion?  Why is it these men think that silence speaks volumes.  Don't they understand women?  Silence makes us brood, obsess, concoct and become crazier than we already are.  The silent treatment.  A staple of middle school girls everywhere and middle age divorced men.  It is supposed to say, 'I do not want to talk to you or see you again', but what it really says is 'I am a huge wuss and I am afraid to tell you I don't want to talk to you or see you again'.  But what it does to women is make them create stories in their heads; scenarios in which the men are in jail, in hospitals or lying in a ditch somewhere.  We convince ourselves that the men are just super busy and can't call or text.  But really what they are saying is, 'it's over and I am telling you by not telling you'.

And then there is the 'I want to end it but instead of ending it I am going to tell you that we are going to get together again but clearly we are not'. A girlfriend of mine was recently dumped by her boyfriend.  Both are in their 40's.  But instead of saying, 'It is over', he said 'I feel like you are slipping away and I hope to see you soon'.  She was slipping away because he had said he wanted to take a break from dating.  And he 'hoped' to see her soon.  There is no need for hope.  Just pick up the phone and make a date.  Or maybe if he squeezed his eyes shut really hard and thought about her and clicked his heels three times, they would be on a date.  And really if you have no intention of seeing us again, don't even put a hint of it out there.  Because we are women.  And we read into everything.  And if you just whisper that there is a teeny tiny chance that we could get together again we are waiting for your call.  So when you say things to us like 'We will connect soon' what you really mean is, 'See ya babe, I am not coming back'.  But what we hear is, 'When I am not so busy which clearly I am right now, I will most certainly continue our relationship'.  And men wonder why we are nuts.

So in my recent dating experience, I have been broken up with.  And each time it leaves me with more questions than answers.  What is most perplexing to me is the demise of these relationships comes abruptly and without warning.  One day everything is going along swimmingly and then radio silence.  Of course I have my suspicions about the abrupt ending, but those suspicions are never confirmed or denied by the man involved.  And why is that?  Because in my two most recent dumpings, the men have danced around what is really happening and why.  Both men refused to state the true reason for the break up.  Instead they concocted stories about their complicated lives or their need to really sow their oats.  When in reality they were saying to me that even if their lives were simple and they wanted to only date one woman, it wouldn't be me they were calling.

I am not asking for pity here.  I am asking for honesty.  At 40-something years old it should be assumed that talking to a woman is not a scary thing as it was in fifth grade.  So why can't men say what they mean?  I think we women are incredibly clear with what we want, right?  Ok, laugh now.  But seriously, if you are going to break up with us, at least have the decency and courtesy to really say ' I am never going date, kiss or have sex with you again.  So you can stop obsessing over me because I am never coming back'.  I really believe if men started doing this, women would be less crazy and the whole world would run smoother and maybe, just maybe we could achieve world peace.  But until that time, I will continue to brood and date and be dumped because after all I am 43 and single.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

One on One

So clearly through this blog it has become apparent that I have had a multitude of mediocre, sad and bad dates.  But what is not apparent is that I have also had some wonderful dates.  Yes, in between these horrifying outings, I have managed to meet some terrific men whose company I have very much enjoyed.  But I vowed to myself that I would never write about these men, as I care about them on a variety of levels.  They mean something to me and therefore I would not want to publicly humiliate them.  But these men and the dating relationships I have had with them sometimes confound me.  Ok, they always confound me.

When last I dated a man for more than one horrid night, was way back before I was married, when dinosaurs roamed the earth.  And since I am old and feeble minded, I cannot remember how these relationships went from a few casual dates to an exclusive committed relationship.  It seemed to me, that either there was a natural progression to exclusivity or a real hard discussion in which the parameters of commitment were shared.  But maybe I am not remembering correctly.  I was in my 20's.  I was probably in love or thought I was.  And everything gets a little hazy.  Soft music played in my head and doves floated in front of my face.  Well maybe not, but young love was intoxicating and blinding.

So now, dating in my 40's with children has thrown a whole new wrench in the rules of exclusivity.  One of the issues of divorced dating with children is schedules.  No matter how hard one tries, it is nearly impossible to see the same man more than three times a month.  So dating moves at a glacial rate.  If you are lucky you have one kid free night that matches up.  If the stars are aligned, your kid free weekends happen to be the same and neither of your exes needs you to cover the kids.  So forget your 20's when you dashed out the door at a moments notice into the arms of your date.  Now dates are planned weeks  in advance sandwiched in between back to school nights, soccer games and children's birthday parties.  It sucks the life out of spontaneity.  But it also brings up the issue of quality time.  How does one spend quality time with a man when the custody calendar is always messing with you?

Now a math problem.  Don't whine, it won't be hard. If Jon and Mary are two single parents trying feverishly to date each other and their kid free weekends match up, how often can they see each other a month.  After hurling in Mary's ex who refuses to keep the kids on one of his nights, Jon's ex who travels for work and then the random children's birthday dinner, Jon and Mary will only end up seeing each other twice a month.  So in a six month period, Jon and Mary have gone out twelve times.  And damn, that ain't a hell of a lot.  This is divorced dating.

So, the question then remains, after twelve dates, and obviously sex, when does exclusivity kick in?  Is it like earning a scout badge? If you make it to fives dates, ten dates, hooray, you are exclusive?  What is the magic number?  And in your 40's do you get a promise ring, a letter sweater or a text reading 'Baby you are the one and only'? Or is it implied that if you are having sex, exclusivity kicks in?  Where is the rule book when you need it?

Divorced dating comes with baggage.  In our 20's the most dating baggage we carry is that a boy in high school didn't ask us to prom.  In our 40's we may have lived through a variety of relationships, stresses and freaks that for some unknown reason we married.  Our fear of commitment may be stronger now than ever.  What if we commit to someone and again it doesn't work out.  How many times can you go through that pain?  There is not enough alcohol in the world to numb the self loathing that creates.  So how to know when you should stop dating others and buckle up for the ride of exclusivity.

Exclusivity and commitment are obviously two separate things.  Exclusive implies I am not letting anyone else into my lady parts.  Commitment means you are meeting my kids, my friends and possibly even my family.  Should these things be spoken or did I not read the hand out that was given for post divorced dating.  Shoot, I am pretty sure I recycled it.  And if the man I am seeing wants to or thinks we are exclusive shouldn't he voice that opinion?  This post divorced dating is confusing and stressful enough without the lack of communication I had in my marriage making it even harder.  Perhaps from now on if a first date goes well I will hand the man a spread sheet showing where exclusivity kicks in and then when commitment starts.  This way we will both know when we are to stop going on other dates and will avoid the awkward conversation.  It will of course be color coded for easy reading.  Although I am  pretty sure if I do this, I will have very few second dates.  But at least we will all be clear on expectations.  The bottom line is if you want me to stop going on these horrible dates....please, please, please just tell me.  I would be happy to stop getting dressed up and going out with freaks.  But until you tell me, I am going to keep punishing myself, because after all I am 43 and single. 

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

How many is too many?

So when we were in our teens our parents told us to keep our legs crossed and to call them if a guy got too fresh.  We were told that we would surely get pregnant, die of an STD or god forbid, get a reputation, if we so much as french kissed a boy.  And being the good girl I was, I heeded that warning.  Plus my Flock of Seagulls haircut, that I now think my mother encouraged, helped to keep the boys at bay.

In our 20's we were told that if we gave the milk away for free, the men would not buy the cow.  Which is an attractive way of equating our 20-something fragile egos to bovines.  If we slept around in our 20's, the guys would not call the next day.  There were rules.  Rules of dating (dammit there was even a book).  We were not to sleep with a man on the first or even second date.  If we wanted to keep the man around, clearly we had to withhold sex.  The theory being that if you gave the guys sex, they would leave.  The logic?  Not sure.  The 20's were a stressful time sexually.  You want to have fun but you are told you shouldn't or you will never get married.  Once again, I adhered, as best I could.

In our 30's some of us are married or settled down in some way.  So sexually we are suffering through repetition, possibly kids and thus exhaustion, stress of marriage, responsibility and changes in focus.  So while many of us remain in love with our spouses, we may not feel the same sexual pull or desires as we once did.  And if we do have the same desires, life may get in the way of sex.

Then comes the divorce.

So now in our 40's and single, what about the sex?  Suddenly single with a raging libido, what is a girl to do?  At first, the rules from our 20's clog our minds, making us feel as if we can't have sex when we want to and with whom we would like to.  But then as a 40- something woman, we come to realize there are a whole new set of rules.  In our 20's we would be considered easy should we have slept with a man on the first date. As a 40-something we are considered powerful, independent and lucky by our married friends if we sleep with a man on the first date.

So up comes the word 'slut'.  Considered a kiss of death in our 20's, a horror of infidelity in our 30's, it is a badge of honor in our 40's.  A single woman in her 40's can sleep with as many men as she wants, as often as she wants and in any position she wants and all she hears is accolades.  Her other single friends are hopeful some of that sexual energy will rub off.  Her married friends live vicariously through her, wanting graphic details and blow by blow descriptions (yes, pun intended).

So is there such  a thing as too much sex?  With so many available men, so many varieties to chose from and such freedom to do with them as she pleases, should a single woman in 40's put a limit on how many men she sleeps with?  Should she cap her sexual desires to adhere to some rules she was given in her 20's?  Never in my life have I ever dated two men at the same time.  Not that I wouldn't have, it just never happened.  And yet in my 40's it seems impossible not to have men overlap in the dating world.

In my 40's I find myself with several suitors.  And the freedom I feel to explore these men and what they have to offer me is intoxicating.  Each one offering something different, something unique.  And what is surprising is that in my 40's I feel good about my sexual identity, my sexual confidence.  So how many is too many?  Is there a limit on how many men one should sleep with?  Or should I heed the advice of my friends and have fun? 

The guilt of my 20's has disappeared, the sexual peak of my 40's in full swing.  I shall embrace it while I continue my dating quest.  I shall be happy.  I shall have fun.  Because after all, I am single and 43.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Geek vs. Bad Boy

Another day, another date.  Yes, that makes at least two dates I have had this week.  Neither were horrible but neither were great. And this latest one just made me feel a little uncomfortable and used.  And probably a little sad, for him.  Tom found me online and while he wasn't exactly a match, he seemed fairly normal which in the online dating world is a ringing endorsement.  Tom and I spent some time trying to connect on the phone and when I finally got a hold of him, he was at the pool with his children but assured me it was a great time to talk to a potential date.  Between the screaming kids in the background and him shouting at his own children, I had a hard time hearing him.  But what came through clearly was his desperation to go on a date.  I could feel it through the phone yet I found myself agreeing to meet him.

We set a date for a local restaurant and surprisingly I arrived on time.  And he was late.  I sat and drank my beer, played on my phone and tried not to look like a single woman who may or may not have been stood up.  Fifteen minutes passed.  Nothing.  Twenty minutes.  Nothing.  And now I have to pee because I have sucked down my beer.  But if I get up to pee and he walks in, will he think I left?  Should I tell the bartender that I am a meeting someone and if they come to tell them I was here but peeing?  But what if I return and the bartender says no one shows up.  Then there are two of us who are very aware that I have been stood up.  I will hold it.

Finally 25 minutes late Tom saunters in.  He makes up some lame excuse about traffic.  He is tall, decent looking although I suspect that he has a lazy eye, as I can't quite seem to figure which of his eyes is looking at me.  We start talking and it seems to be going fine.  Until we get to the topic of his divorce.  He says he doesn't want to talk about why he is separated and then proceeds to tell me all the grizzly details of his wife cheating on him, him secretly looking at her emails and texts, him stalking her to the neighbors house.  But he assures me, he is totally over it. And then he continues to talk about it for 30 minutes more.  I am going charge him for this therapy session.

Tom spends the next ten minutes proving to me that he is an intellectual by naming off every book on his nightstand so that I will be impressed by what he has bought but yet to read.  He plans to read them, he assures me.  When I comment on the geek factor in his book choices he points out that he is a risk analyst and 'You can't spell analyst without anal'.  I am not sure what this has to do with being geeky, but this I am going to be sure to use this saying in my every day conversations. Then when I mention that I have never heard of and will probably never read any of these books on the financial crisis or how to succeed in chess, Tom changes tact. 

Tom goes from geek to bad boy almost as quickly as I sucked down my second beer (which was pretty fast as I didn't want to be sober any more).  To prove to me that he is a bad boy, Tom starts cursing.  He throws curses into every sentence.  And then he overtly ogles my body, not hiding that he is looking over my assets.  So he has gone from geek to desperate pervert who says 'shit' even when not appropriate.  I am not sure what it is about me that made him feel the need to switch gears but I am a little freaked out by his desperate display.  And I am starting to feel like a piece of meat.  Time to be done.

I thank Tom for meeting me.  I thank him for the beer.  I hand him my therapy bill.  We walk to our cars and I try to walk behind him because I can feel his non-lazy eye clearly focused on my ass.  Sigh.  I need a shower.  In the parking lot he shows me a scar he got when he fell down while tripping on mushrooms.  He regales me with stories about the times he has been really high and drunk.  Ok Tom, go home, read your book on chess, stalk your ex-wife and curse as much as you want.  I have had enough.  Tom leans in for the kiss, I divert to the hug and run for my car.  I peel out of the parking lot never to see Tom again.  I will take a shower, clean off Tom's leers and move on.  After all I am 43 and single. 

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

In the Shallow End

It has been a very long time since I went on a classic blind date.  In theory my Internet dating counts as a blind date because no matter how many times I look at the photos of the men I have made a date with, they never appear as advertised.  But in the true sense of a blind date, a date set up by  a mutual friend in which neither party knows each other, I have not succumbed, I mean agreed to go on one in a couple of years.  My previous blind date, documented here, left a very bad taste in my mouth.  But when I got a call from a friend who knows me fairly well and said he had someone for me, I was intrigued.  My friend said this was the first single guy he met that he believed 'could keep up with me'.  I wasn't sure whether I should be insulted  or flattered by that comment.  Am I so difficult to set up?  And what did he have to keep up with?  My wit, my intelligence, my sparkling personality?  These are assets, not something to prevent me from dating, right?  Whatever.  I'll go out with this guy.  I asked my friend to describe my potential new boyfriend.  My friend says my date, Sam (not his real name of course), was funny, smart and a good man.  And then he threw in that Sam was not a swimsuit model.

What does that mean?  Most of the people I know are not swimsuit models.  In fact none of the people I know are swimsuit models.  So that statement left me curious.  But I am not going to judge based on physical appearances.  I am going to judge based on the important factors; intelligence and a sense of humor.  Sam called and we spoke on the phone.  He was funny, nice, easy to talk to and we seemed to have a lot in common.  We set a date.  And then I googled him.

There are a lot of things that are nice surprises in life, but not knowing what your blind date looks like, is not one of them.  But I couldn't find Sam anywhere.  I  mean I found a lot of info, boring info, but no pictures.  How is that possible?  What hideous physical deformity is he hiding?  I searched eight pages deep and still no photos.  Fine.  I will rise above my shallow need to have some sort of physical attraction to Sam.  I will be attracted to his personality and sense of humor.  I will be mature.

On the night of our date, my superficial need to know what I was walking into, started to take over.  So I texted Sam and told him I had long brown hair, dark eyes and a captivating smile, so he would know how to recognize me at the restaurant.  I got an 'ok' in reply.  That was not what I was hoping for.  I was hoping he would write back 'And I have a giant hump on my back' or 'I have a glass eye' or even 'I have hair growing out of my ears and nose'.  But I got nothing.  I was truly going on a blind date.

I arrived at the restaurant, shockingly on time, and there was Sam waiting out front.  Now let me just say, I am 5' 3" tall.  I had on the cutest green sandals (ok many of you don't care but.... they are cute) and they have an inch high heel.  I got out of my car and approached Sam.  As I got closer he seemed to shrink.  Until I was standing right next to him, looking at the top of his head.  He was shorter than me.  A lot shorter than me.  Strikingly shorter than me.  Shallow.  I was being very shallow.  This poor man is probably always shorter than the women he dates.  He may be a really nice man.  But geez, he was so much shorter than me.  And did I mention he was wearing cargo shorts and a t-shirt.  Stop judging the book, I keep saying in my head, but I can't.

We sit down to dinner and the conversation flows.  Sam is easy to talk to, albeit a little goofy.  But I am twisting in my seat wondering if we were to kiss standing up would I have to lean down or would he stand on his tiptoes.  If we were to walk down the street, would he be able to put his arm over my shoulders?  Does he shop in the kids department and save a ton of money on clothing?  Am I really this mean?  Yes, I am.  No, I will not be this shallow.  I will note that he is kind, he loves his kids, he makes stupid jokes, and he is clearly fascinated by the multitude of stories I have told about myself.  We have scarfed down lots of sushi, I have convinced him to give me the leftovers to take home and we stand to leave.  And there it is again.

As we walk to the cars, I start to panic.  I am not going to kiss this man.  I am not attracted to him and I am pretty sure I have fish eggs in my teeth.  But mainly I am not going to kiss him because it all feels physically wrong.  I have for my entire life been the shortest in the room.  And now as I stand clutching the leftover sushi, I am uncomfortable. I feel awkward.  I don't know where to look, the bald spot on the top of his head that I can clearly see or down into his eyes.  This alternate universe is throwing me.  I feel dizzy.  I hug Sam, thank him for dinner and hurl myself into my car.  I need to find people taller than me to stand near for a while.  I wish I could say I wasn't this shallow.  I wish I could figure out why my friend who set me up didn't say 'Oh by the way, Sam is really short, like smurf short'.  I wish it was tomorrow so I could eat the rest of this sushi and not feel guilty.  Oh blind date, you have let me down once again.  But as usual I will answer when you call again, because after all I am 43 and single.

Monday, July 23, 2012

You had me at....

I have been doing the online dating thing for a while and have noticed there are a wide variety of email styles to try to get my attention.  Some work better than others.  Some are sweet.  Some shy.  Some confident.  Some are classy.  Some are creepy.  Some are super creepy.  But to give you an idea of how men approach me, I thought I would include some of my favorites.  Enjoy, and if you are attached, married or involved, go hug your loved one tonight.

1)  Hellooooooooooo....anybody home?     Bob

I am pretty sure this was meant to be funny but I decided that, no, I was not home.

2)   I would like to meet you today, lets talk about it, lets have fun today go out with me and see how thing work out.

Why yes, I will jump at the chance to go out with you today. Especially since this was sent to me at 5pm on a Saturday.  

3) Hi I am Bill and very attracted to you and would like to talk we are a pretty good match

Why hi Bill.  Of course you are very attracted to me.  I am fabulous.  But your lack of punctuation and  your run on sentence sort of freaks me out.

4)  What's up? You mentioned you like your Kindle. I've gone back and forth with that vs the feeling of reading a novel traditionally vs. digitally. What sold you?

The intellectual approach.  You read, I read, we can read together.  When I answered him about the kindle he said thank you and I never heard from him again.  Perhaps he really was just doing Kindle research.

5)Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance...

Seriously?  Am I supposed to finish the lyrics?  Is this a test?  

6) we should hook up

This was from a 25 year old boy.  My response was 'Why?'  I guess I should give him points for being direct.

7)   altogether arousing

good morning--share a bit more
Say yes

Dinner?

Robert

I do have to admit, this one caught my eye.  But arousing?  My profile spells out the basics.  I have no sexy photos, I talk about my kids and books I have read.  I am worried about what arouses this man.

8) Wow you are beautiful

Ok, I liked this one.  But it came from a 23 year old.  So I wrote back and said 'Wow, you could be my child'.  

9)Hey we live pretty close.

Which I will keep in mind because now I am freaked out that you may be stalking me.

10) Hi.

In person this may work but online you have to give me more.  I wrote back 'goodbye'.

There are so many more that did not warrant a response or mention.  One man even asked me if I was proud of myself for being so self confident.  And then told me if I was less of a bitch I wouldn't have to be online.  Sigh.  It is a talent to grab a potential dates attention through an email.  You need to stand out.  Unfortunately some of these did stand out but all for the wrong reasons. Like my men, I need an email that exudes confidence, humor and intelligence.  I need an email that can take my hand and lead me on the date.  I need an email that can kiss me goodnight and make me want more.  But, I will keep going through my inbox and waiting for the right one, because after all I am 43 and single. 


    

 

Friday, July 20, 2012

Breakfast, Lunch, Brunch, Coffee, Drinks, Dinner

Is there a male secret code for ranking the time of day when a first date happens as it relates to the potential of the woman on the date?  So a coffee date is, 'I may be attracted to you and interested but chances are I will have a nice conversation and then never call you again', kind of date.  Where as drinks are 'Yes, I am pretty sure I want to have sex with you and will probably call you again but I am not sure how long term this will be', kind of date.  And dinner is the golden egg of all first dates.  A dinner is 'I know we have never met before but I felt such an intense connection with you that I want to spend an entire evening with you before I ask you to marry me'. Maybe this secret code doesn't exist but it could.  And it would help women understand where they stand prior to the date.  It would allow us to decide how long we spend fretting over outfits, hair and makeup.  But really there is no secret code, right?  I am not so sure.

Recently I had  scheduled an evening drinks date with a new man.  Two days before said date, he asked if we could meet for breakfast.  Breakfast?  I felt like I had been downgraded, demoted and punched in the gut.  I was tempted to arrive in my Pajamas. What does breakfast say about his expectations of me?  Am I only omelet worthy and not martini material?  This man, Ken, claims that he needs to take care of his kids that evening so breakfast is our only option.  I am pretty sure that there are other days in the week, but now I am actually thinking about what I will order for breakfast.  The thought of an omelet with cheese, bacon and tomatoes is driving me toward accepting his invitation.  If I could get rye toast on the side, slathered in butter, this man may even get a kiss.  I'm in.

But now the quandary.  This is a first date.  That first impression.  What does one wear to a breakfast date?  Too much cleavage says 'I am eating now so I don't have to stop working the streets for a lunch break'.  Sweats say, 'I am clearly just meeting you so you can buy me an omelet'.  Jeans?  T-Shirt?  Shorts?  There are far too many options for breakfast.  And wait, why am I stressing so much about this when he was the one who downgraded me.  I should show up in my pajamas, hair on top of my head, teeth unbrushed.  Or wait - maybe I should dress up, show the cleavage, add some bling and show this guy what he is missing by serving me breakfast.

The morning arrives and we are meeting at 9am.  At 8:30 he tells me he is stuck in traffic.  Well of course you are, it is rush hour.  Because we are meeting for breakfast!  So our 9am date turns to a 9:30am date.  And then he tells me he has to be off by 10:30am for work.  Why even bother?  Who is this guy you ask?  Attorney, dad, claims he is an accomplished lover.  I am buying two out of three of those things.  But I am curious and damn, I love omelets.  So I press my boobs into a cleavage baring black dress, making sure they look fabulous, don a necklace that makes sure he can't miss my boobs and head out the door.

Ken, the accomplished lover has bragged to me about how no woman has ever left his bed unsatisfied.  He claims many have come back to him in between relationships because he is so good.  I am curious, I am intrigued and I am really hungry.  I arrive and there he is...the lover.  Short, pudgy and non-descript.  How is it this man has satisfied so many women.  What secret lurks beneath those khakis which I am starting to suspect may be Dickies?  I am pretty sure these women exist in his imagination or perhaps are all from the Niagra Falls area. He starts to talk to me and he has an awkward laugh that erupts from his mouth with every sentence.  Ok, he might be nervous but it is EVERY sentence.  Sigh.  Then he starts to tell me about his job.  Like I have never heard someone talk about being an attorney.  Sigh.  Then he leans forward and asks me if it is obvious that he is a sexual dynamo.  Seriously?  Sigh.  Waitress!  I order my omelet, my toast, my orange juice and coffee.  He talks and talks and talks and awkwardly laughs and laughs and laughs.  I enjoy my omelet and think about what I have to do that day.

I am shaken from my egg happiness when he suggests he blow off work and we adjourn to my house and more specifically my bedroom.  He tells me in graphic detail what he would like to do to me in said bedroom.  I am less focused on the details and more wondering why it has to be my house.  It is then he reveals he is temporarily homeless and bunks in with his ex-wife.  I look down at my omelet.  How quickly can I scarf the rest down and run?  There is about half left and it is really good but this date is getting weird.  Omelet or run.  My stomach wins.  I will finish this omelet.  I will listen to this man try to woo me with his sexy talk and then I will leave.

So it seems breakfast can be a sexy meal.  That omelet was so sensual and soft and made me feel so good about myself.  I may have to eat another again very, very soon. I also discovered that although I enjoy a good dinner, I much prefer a great breakfast.  So perhaps in the future I will suggest breakfast as my go to date.  I don't have to dress up, I can deflect sex by saying I have to go to work and I can eat an omelet.  So while men may have their dating code that defines the potential of the date by the time of day, I have my own now.  My dating code involves cues solely received from my stomach and its desires.  At least one part of my body should be satisfied after these events because after all I am 43 and single.

Friday, June 29, 2012

Who are you?

Blind dates.  Back in the stone ages, before I got married, blind dates were internet dating.  Of course without the pre-date emailing and texting or the ability to pour over pictures and inane answers to ridiculous questions posted on your potential dates profile.  But blind dates were just as terrifying.  Lots of times, there was only one incredibly awkward phone call prior to setting a meeting time.  All the information given about your potential date was that he was single, nice and prefect for you. Hence the blind part of the blind date.  Invariably you and your date did not jibe and the only think you had in common was that you were both single.  But before the date happened one thing that was for certain was that your blind date knew the person who set you both up.  This means that you were sure this person existed as they were promoted.  In the world of internet dating it would seem this would be true, but the fact is that anyone can create a dating profile with whatever photos and stats they want and lure you in.  Why people would do this is still beyond me but they do and I have experienced it.

Trolling any internet dating site is a surreal experience.  I do a lot of online shopping for things such as handbags, shoes and clothing.  It is a job shopping online.  You have to imagine what the product will look like on you.  Will it flatter?  Will it fit?  Will it make you feel insecure and stupid?  The same rings true for online dating.  You peruse the site, looking at pictures, reading bios and wondering, how will this guy look on you?  Then you have to take the plunge and possibly send a message to start the buying process.  But every once in a while a purchase finds you first.  That is what happened to me this time.

I received a message for a man a few years younger than me.  It was a sexy forthright message.  He told me he wanted to know more about me and asked me to dinner.  But he lived in New York City and I do not.  I responded that I was intrigued but that I thought we had a geographical issue.  He assured me that he comes to Philadelphia a lot for work.  After a few emails we exchanged phone numbers.  We spoke on the phone.  His voice was sexy.  His personality was sexy.  He seemed strong, self assured, commanding.  I was definitely interested.  We made a plan for when he came to Philly which was the following weekend.  While the plan included a restaurant in a hotel, time was never discussed.  Because he was so smooth on the phone I did not realize this until we had hung up.  I texted him to get a time and he said he would let me know as soon as he knew what time he was getting into Philly.  Fair enough.

We continued to talk on the phone up until the the day of the date.  According to this man, we will call Robert because that is the name he gave me, he is a successful attorney who works  in Philly and NYC and owns a house on Shelter Island.  He has never been married, has no kids but wants all of that.  He is suave, sophisticated and totally engaging.  And he is interested in me.  Wait a minute.  Why is he interested in me.  I am 43, single mother who lives in the burbs and drives her kids to soccer and baseball games.  Are there no appropriate women for Robert in NYC?  But then again, it is me we are talking about.  I let that one slide.

The date day arrives.  Robert calls to say he is leaving NYC around 11am and will text when he arrives.  The day moves forward.  I stress about what I will wear, how I will do my hair etc.  Now it is 5pm and I have heard nothing from Robert.  I text him.  I hear nothing.  It is now 6pm.  I am pretty sure I have been stood up.  I am pretty sure he is not who he says he is and therefore cannot meet me.  I am pretty sure he is dead because really that is the only reason to stand someone like me up. Nothing.  7pm and I am on my second glass of wine and I finally get a text from him.  His father fell down a flight of stairs.  He is at the ER with his mother.  He will call soon.  Now I feel terrible.  All those thoughts I was thinking about him just blowing me off and here this poor man was dealing with his father's injury.  Of course I tell him not to worry.  We can reschedule.

Two days later I hear from Robert.  His father is ok.  He had a cardiac episode.  But Robert wants to reschedule.  I am game.  Sexy, sophisticated, educated and loves his family.  The complete package, right?  Robert says he will be in Philly all week on business and is staying at a very fancy hotel.  I could come by, catch a drink, dinner and see what happens.  Absolutely I say.  We pick a night.  The day of the date arrives.  He calls in the morning to make sure we are still on.  Of course we are, I think I am already in love.  But once again no time for this dinner is set.  I am starting to hear that saying in my head.  How does it go?  Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, I am a complete idiot.  Something like that.  5pm  I receive a text that he is 'stuck in a meeting in KOP and will call @ 7'.  KOP.  KOP!  For those of you outside the Philadelphia metro area, KOP stands for King Of Prussia which is basically a city eclipsed by a giant mall.  But only locals call it KOP.  Who the hell is this guy?  I am pretty sure he is not from New York.  I am now pretty sure he is not an attorney. I am definitely sure he does not look as good as the pictures on his dating profile. I bet he doesn't even have a father.  And if he does have a father, I bet he lives in a ranch house.

But the question then remains.  Why?  Are there men out there who get off on talking to a woman on the phone, planning dates and then bailing on them.  Is that some weird fetish that I have yet to discover?  Men who plan dates they never intend of going on.   I text Robert back.  No thank you.  We are done before we started.  I want to ask him a series of questions but then I really don't want to know the answers, do I?  I am pretty sure I don't.

Online dating is shopping.  I love the shoes I have found on Zappos.  I purchase the shoes and much to my delight, they arrive the next day.  But then when I take them out, I am dismayed.  The color is not the same as it seemed on my computer.  The heel is far shorter that I thought it would be.  And it is far too small, squeezing the hell out of my toes and annoying me.  The same is true for online dating.  You just cannot be sure what will show up at your door.  But since I just made a return, the lure of shopping drags me back in.  I will peruse the sites, make another purchase and hope for a better fit.  After all, I am 43 and single.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Chicken wings and a hug

I bit the bullet.  Again.  Why oh why do I do it?  Haven't I learned my lesson?  Going out with men I meet online never ends well and yet I keep doing it.  Why?  Well because every time I tell someone about my dating disasters they tell me that either they or someone they know met their spouse online.  I swear I must be on the wrong Internet because none of these men I have gone out with could be my next spouse.  But these success stories are what keep me going.  And so once again I find myself sitting at a bar waiting for a man I have only conversed with online.

His screen name is The Love Doctor which does not bode well.  But he is Jewish and a doctor so my mother would be happy.  He is also semi-funny in his emails which is also enticing.  He was married, has kids and seems to be employed.  My standards have dropped but he fills the minimum requirements.  I agree to meet him at a local watering hole on a Friday evening.  He works late, so it is after 9pm when we meet.  I am already tired which is not a good start.

In arrives the Love Doctor.  And I only call him that because he actually calls himself that.  He refers to himself in the third person as The Love Doctor.  Oh dear God, this is already so very awful.  He is not an M.D. but a Ph.D.,  which is fine except he is actually a couples therapist.  He is a couples therapist who is going through a divorce.  He does not seem to see the irony when I bring it up.  Sigh.  Dr. Love sits down at the bar with me and immediately orders a plate of hot wings.  Are you kidding me?

There are several kinds of foods you should not eat on a first date.  Soup is no good because of the slurping.  Caesar salad has too much garlic.  Spaghetti with red sauce can get sloppy. And chicken wings.  Hot, spicy chicken wings are a huge no no for a first date or a second date and possibly a third date.  The sauce gets everywhere, there is no graceful way to eat them, and the effect they leave on your breath does not entice a first kiss.  But clearly Dr. Love does not know these rules.

While he regales me with desperately awful stories of marriage counseling, Dr. Love consumes his wings.  I can't tear my eyes away.  He doesn't nibble or even munch.  No, Dr. Love shoves the entire wing in his mouth, slurps, sucks and grunts as he rips the meat from the wing and then with a sickening sucking noise, he pulls the cleaned off bone out of his mouth.  I nearly vomit.  Is this his form of seduction?  I have no idea what he is saying at this point because all I can hear is the gnashing and snarling as he devours the wings.  I can only see the sauce dripping down his chin.  I can't turn away.  It is horrifying and at the same time fascinating.  Thankfully there are only a dozen wings because any more and I might lose my beer that I just sucked down.  He prattles on about his tough life as a single parent.  Yeah, babe, been there, doing that.  I  need to leave.  I make it clear I am very, very done and Dr. Love pays.

We walk out of the bar.  I can smell his steamy, spicy chicken wing breath as we walk toward the parking lot.  Oh good, our cars are parked next to each other.  He leers at me.  I can see bits of spicy sauce on his teeth.  I smile and tell him that it was very nice to meet me.  He asks if I live nearby.  Oh no, Dr. Love, we are not going there.  I deflect, lean in and hug him.  He hugs me too and says sadly, 'Oh, just a hug?'  Yes Dr. Love, I don't need your medical attention.  I climb in my car and speed off.

Dr. Love wasn't a bad man.  He was an incredibly dull man who mentioned that he doesn't have time to date.  Then what the hell was he doing out with me?  Did he really think he would seduce me with his wing eating skills and then have sex with me in my car?  I think he actually did.  That was never going to happen, with or without the wings.  Poor Dr. Love, I think I will send him a note about his first date etiquette.  Or not.  I think I will instill a no food policy on first dates.  It may save me and my potential suitor a lot of heartache.  Because I will go out again.   And I will not allow food.  After all I am 43 and single.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

A picture is worth....

So my ardent 24 year old boy will not give up.  Mind you we have never met.  We had phone sex once and he doesn't want it to end.  He wants to love me, be with me, be my boyfriend.  He is a great deal younger than me.  He ends his sentences in prepositions and when I tell him not to, he asks me 'What's a preposition?'  He is sweet, aggressive and naive.  But he is far too young for me to even consider for more than just sex but even that seems so very wrong.  But this boy is determined.  He says he can make me happy.  I am not buying it.  I tell him that.  I tell him he needs to find someone his own age.  He says he only wants me.  He promises he can please me and he is determined to prove it.  And how will he prove it if I have not met him?  Why of course...he will send me a picture of his penis.

Now, why?  Why would anyone send a complete stranger a picture of their penis?  Now granted his face wasn't in the picture but still, it seems awfully reckless.  You never know where that picture is going to end up or who is going to see it.  And then there was the picture itself.  This was my first penis picture sent directly to me, so it is hard to compare it to other penis pictures.  Obviously I needed help in analyzing whether this penis was worthy of my time.  So I forwarded it to some girlfriends.

The first issue was that in the picture my 24 year old boy is holding the penis erect with his hand.  Why does he have to hold it erect? Shouldn't that thing stand up on its own?  He is after all only 24.   And there is nothing around it for reference.  Friend one suggested I write back and ask for another picture with a ruler next to the penis so we could really get a size perspective.  Not a bad idea.  My other girlfriend pointed out that it was oddly shaped.  Narrow at the base and wider on top.    And yet another girlfriend looked beyond the penis and noted that it looked like my boy was on a futon.  A futon!  That is almost worse than the fact that his penis is unable to stand up on its own.   And then there was the issue that in reality, no penis is a good looking item.  They are veiny, angry looking objects and in the low light my boy chose, it is grey and miserable.

What is my expected reaction to such a photo being sent to me?  Am I supposed to call him and tell him to come right over and put that ugly thing in me?  Or should I tell him how turned on I am by his totally gross gesture?  I am not sure of the penis picture protocol.  Since I am penis picture virgin I have no way of knowing what is the right thing to say.  What I really want to do is call him up and tell him that he should not being sending out pictures of his body parts to strange older women.  But I am pretty sure he is not looking for motherly advice.  So after much debate I decide to go with the naughty older woman role.  I write back to him and tell him he is a bad boy.  I sort of feel dirty.  And not in a good way.

But I did cross another item off things I have never done.  Never had phone sex - check.  Never had a guys send me a picture of his penis - check.  What could possibly be next?  I am sort of afraid to find out.  But so far none of these new experiences have damaged me emotionally.  So I guess I will continue to keep the door open and see what walks through, no matter how gross looking it is.  Because after all, I am 43 and single.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Would I?

So it happened.  No, not that...get your mind out of the gutter.  I was hit on by a woman.  And not just any woman.  A fifty year old bisexual with HUGE fake boobs.  She told me I was so pretty and would love to get to know me and see if she could convert me.  She isn't unattractive and as well as my dating life has gone, I have sometimes wondered wouldn't it just be easier with a woman?  Would she have the same irrational insecurities as me?  Would she understand that I need definitive plans and not just a passing reference to getting together?  Would she know when she needed to call or text just to say hi, so I wouldn't wonder if she was over me?  I don't know.  But it is something to think about. 

Sadly though, I don't think I can go there.  As persuasive as my female admirer is, she is just missing some parts I need and has too much in other areas that don't interest me.  But how nice to realize I am attractive to more than just twenty four year old men and deranged lunatics. 

And just to satisfy your curiosity.  Here she is.


Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Phone sex and the younger man

So I have never had phone sex.  There I said it.  I am 43 and I never had phone sex.  I think it is because I assumed I would laugh and laugh instead of putting on my sexy, sultry voice and getting into the action.  It just seemed like one of those things that was going to be awkward, uncomfortable and all together weird. But this is the new me.  The me that is going to experience all life has to offer.  Even if I have to suppress my laughter to get through it.  But who would my poor test guinea pig be and would he be able to play along.  It would have to be someone I would never, ever see in person.  Someone I would never consider to be a potential date.  Someone, someone....someone much younger.  And there he is.

Twenty four years old and hitting on me.  Am I flattered?  Nah, not really.  I am actually a little creeped out.  Why would a twenty four year old hit on me?  What does he have to gain?  I asked him.  He told me he was looking for sex with a mature woman.  Mature?????   Isn't that just another way to say old?  I am almost ready to shut this down.  But no, for the sake of science, I will muster on.  I pretend to be very interested in this child and what he does.  I ask him why he thinks I would want to be with a twenty four year old rather than someone closer to my own age.  He claims he comes with no baggage.  Oh, baby, I say, everyone has baggage, it just matters whether it is carry on or has to be checked.  And clearly this boy has some Mommy issues.  He also claims he can please me sexually like no other man.

Now think back to when you were twenty four.  What kind of sexual experience had you had.  Even if you started having sex young, really, what is it you knew about sex?  And if you are a twenty four year old boy, really what is your end goal?  Is it to make sure your lady companion is completely satisfied?  I am thinking no.  Now yes, I am generalizing, there are very mature twenty four year old boys out there.  I am just noticing that this guy is not one of them.  But I play on.  I tell him I want him to take control.  I want him to be in charge. He claims he is up to the task at hand.  I tell him I will call him the next evening.

The next evening arrives.  I am not sure I can do this.  I am already having a hard time holding back the giggles.  My boy emails me with his phone number.  I email him back telling him I want no small talk - I need him to jump right into action.  I worry if he actually starts talking to me I will lose it.  I block my phone number, dial his and sit back.  What to expect?  How will this go?  Will I have to say things?  Will I have to be serious?  And then he is there.

Hi baby - is what he says to me.  Ok, here we go.  I say hi back.  And then we begin.  He asks me if I am lying naked in bed.  I lie and say I am.  Honestly, I am sitting fully clothed on my couch, tv muted, '30 Rock' playing in the background.  He then launches into what he thinks is his best material.  It involves squeezing parts of my body and rubbing others.  I yawn.  Then I remember, he is only twenty four.  I need to help this boy out.  I tell him what I want.  He pauses, silenced by my forthrightness.  But then he starts up again.  He is getting better.  But I am doing too much work here, coaxing him to say the right things.  Then he tells me I am a good girl.  I am his good girl.  From a man of a certain age, success and authority this line may work.  But from a boy young enough to be my son, this is making me laugh.  I swallow the giggle and tell him he is making me hot.  He continues to describe what he wants to do to/with me.  It starts to get redundant.  We get to what I tell him is the end.  '30 Rock' is over, so I tell him  his work is done.  He wants to know if he satisfied me.  Oh yes, I lie.  He was the best phone sex I have ever had.

And then he wants to talk.  About me.  He wants to know my name.  He doesn't know my name!  For some reason I find that hilarious.  I tell him we should just keep this focused on the task at hand.  He seems sad about that.  My poor little boy.  He wants to meet me.  He wants to  know if I have roommates.  Oh twenty four year old, you are so cute.  Roommates.  That makes me laugh out loud.  He asks if I will call him again.  I tell him I will have to think about it. My boy tells me he knows he could make me happy.  I tell him he already made me so happy but now, as I am very old, I must go to bed.  He says sadly says goodnight.

So phone sex....could be fun but perhaps for me it takes a man of a certain age, experience and authority to pull it off.  Younger men......nah.  It is just far too much work to make them into the men they need to be.  They are so eager, so naive and so inexperienced.  My boy meant well but the fact that I had to tell him what to say means that really I could have just sat on my couch and talked dirty to myself.  Which also would have made me laugh.  Will I have phone sex again?  Absolutely.  Will I have it with a much younger man, I think not.  While I was flattered to be contacted by such a young boy, I am not really interested in someone who wasn't born when I graduated from high school.  I need a man who  experienced the 80's not just learned about it through 'Hot Tub Time Machine'.  Phone sex, yes.  Phone sex with a boy, no.  Because after all I am 43 and single.

Friday, January 6, 2012

I'm ok, You're ok.

A date.  Is it a meeting for a drink?  Dinner?  A Movie?  Perhaps.  But my new policy is to have a Prate before the date.  What is a Prate you might ask?  It is a pre-date.  An pre-interview.  A test drive.  I am becoming too bitter and cynical in my dating life to risk another let down.  So in order to avoid this, I have determined that a prate is my first line of defense.  It isn't enough to to just exchange emails anymore with a potential date.  No, now they must talk to me on the phone before I set a date to meet them in person.  I will not risk becoming so cynical that I barricade myself in the house, collect newspapers and cats and end up the star of a hoarding reality show.  Preventive measures will protect my fragile psyche from delving deeper into despair.

First line of defense - a phone call.  You can learn a lot by just a brief phone call.  Sadly, my prate this time was not brief.  But I did learn a lot.

Mike had winked at me on Match.com.  Normally I would ignore this incredibly passive way of saying 'Hey, I am sort of interested in you but am either too wussy or too lazy to actually send you an email'.  But Mike looked sort of nice in his photo.  I perused his profile.  He is from my home state of Delaware and still lives there.  He has traveled a lot, has kids and seems normal enough.  I decide to email him. I fill my email with some inane chit chat.   He responds almost immediately and very enthusiastically.  In his first email to me, he suggest we get together and gives me his phone number.  He asks me to call that evening.  He is REALLY enthusiastic.  I am already feeling the little red flags go up.  I tell him he'll have to wait to speak to me.

So a night later I call Mike.  But not before getting a total of four more emails from him.  Four more!  What the hell is wrong with this man?  Now of course, if this was a guy I really liked, four more emails would be adorable and completely acceptable.  But from a match.com stranger this obsessive emailing is just plain creepy.  But yet I prate.  I call Mike.  He is SO happy I called.  He tells me so several times in the first five minutes.  I can't get a word in.  And what is that I am hearing?  That noise that is hurting my ears.  Oh.....the Delaware accent.  The sound of it is hurting my ears.  Can I listen to that in person?  Can I listen to that for the rest of this phone call? Yes, I will move past that and listen.  And listen I do.

Mike tells me how great it is that we have so much in common.  Besides both of us being from the First State, I am not sure what he is talking about.  Well, he informs me we both like to read and we both like DisneyWorld.  Wow, you are right Mike, those two things are so unique that it is lucky we found each other.  Mike asks me a series of questions about my separation.  So, although I really don't care, I feel obligated to ask about his.  Big mistake.  Mike's wife cheated on him and left him for that man.  But according to Mike he is TOTALLY ok emotionally.  He is ready to move on.  He is ready to find love.  He is sounding a wee bit desperate   I ask him how long he has been separated.  Two months he says.  Two months?  But he assures me is totally over the hurt, pain, humiliation and shame that he felt when he found out his wife was cheating.  He is really past the fact that during their marriage counseling, he discovered that his wife had hired a divorce attorney.  He is emotionally ready to move on.  My desperation to get off the call is palpable.

Red flags waving, I mention that I have to get off the phone.  But before I do, Mike wants to know if we can set up a date this week and next week.  Yes, Mike why not set up two dates before we even meet?  I politely decline.  I want to tell Mike that perhaps dating is not where he should be now.  I want to give him the name of a good therapist.  I want to get off the phone.  But there is Mike on the other end telling me how much he thinks we connected and how emotionally stable he is.  I tell Mike is was a pleasure talking with him and good night.

The Prate worked.  I will not go out with Mike.  I will not risk his stalking.  I will not be his therapist.  But I will prate some more.  Dating in your pajamas on the couch while playing scrabble on my computer....how much better does it get?   But seriously, I would like to go out on a normal date.  But in order to keep me sane prating may have to be my dating for a while.  And I will do it with vigor because after all I am 43 and single.