Here’s a Monday laugh for you! Thanks College Humor.
Here’s a Monday laugh for you! Thanks College Humor.
Disappointment can be hard. Affairs of the heart can be particulary tough. Especially if you’re dating actively and it’s one disappointment after the next. In 2015 I had 106 dates. In 2016 I’ve already had eleven dates and it’s only February 2nd! (Full disclosure: of the eleven dates I have only had a second date with two – often my choice but sometimes not). Although each of the men I met were kind, interesting and polite, none of them were right for me. I found it discouraging to say the least. As much as I’d rather stay home and write, cook, paint or scroll around of Ebay, I decided it was a new year and a new me. I was not going to let a bad date, a bunch of average guys or a stalker (story coming soon) get me down. That’s when I met Peter.
Peter lives in a tiny seaside community. He is in the fashion business. After a very high-profile and public divorce, he is very much single and alone -kids off at college and he doesnt even have a dog. Peter is clearly a man who likes to be part of a couple. We hit it off the first time we spoke on the phone. He’s a super interesting guy who has lived a bigger life than most of the men I’ve date this year combined. He was fun, comfortable, a breath of fresh air. Maybe sailing and walks on the beach have seeped into his pores. I hope I don’t sound like an overly optomistic woman (becuse I’m not!) but I have a feeling that he could be a great match for me. I certainly don’t want to be like a friend of mine who is constantly sure each and every man she dates is the perfect man for her. From overweight guys with mommy issues, to alcoholic attorneys to the guy with the lingerie fetish, I never saw anyone with her commitment to dating and her sunny disposition with each new guy. By the time the relationships were over, some in a matter of days and others in weeks or months, they were all asshole, scum or rotten bastards. There was never any grey or uncertainlty for her – it was all or nothing. Part of me feels like some of her is wearing off on me. Maybe if you’ve been in the dating game this long, and late in life, you need to trick your brain into believing the next man could be your next love or god forbid, your soul mate.
I’ve decided not to think about it too much. Enough analyzing myself, Just go out for god’s sake and give it your best shot. I hope I will have a good dating story for you soon. Keep on truckin’!
Kirstie Alley and I think alike. Although she’s 12 years my senior and has been struggling with weight ups and downs for decades she’s not impressed by her selection of men. Seems she’s met a lot of the same sort of characters that I have!
The 64-year-old actress recently told Entertainment Tonight about her dating dilemma as a woman over 50. “I wanted to say something to men over 45. Don’t be so freaking boring!” Alley said. “Don’t have the life already sucked out of you.” She too would like to do everything in her power to avoid dating much younger men.
Alley announced that she was ready to “hook up,” after her most recent weight loss. Here’s what she said about dating dull men her age,
“All it does is leave women to date young men and be really embarrassed, because we are dating guys in tank tops,” Alley continued.” I want some men around my age that aren’t boring, and act like they are tired.”
Believe it or not, even Sharon Stone, the absolutely gorgeous Casino actress, says she never goes out on dates. And she is hot as hell, bright, interesting and a talented actress. She said: “I never get asked out. It’s so stupid. I don’t know what to do. I’ve been getting more brazen with flirting, but I don’t think men realize that I’m flirting. They just think, Oh, she’s fun!’”
So it appears I’m in good company. I’m not the only one to lament about the lack of dating prospects. Last year, music icon Madonna, also in her 50s, said men her age were simple “undateable.” People who are older, and more set in their ways, are probably not as adventurous as someone younger,” Madonna said. So I guess of Kirstie, Sharon and Madonna share my dating woes I’m pretty much out of luck. I certainly don’t have their talent, looks, connections and not even a fraction of their fortunes. What’s a girl to do? I’ll keep trying and I venture to guess they will too!
New Years for many often begin with resolutions. When I started my blog on April 24th 2015. I had a few resolutions of my own:
I promised to chronicle my adventures and figure out my sad, little dating situation out. I’ve talked with nutritionists, doctors, sex therapists, natural practitioners, along with some wonderful women Alba, the Bra Expert from the Town Shop, Tatiana, caught up with Nelsie and Marilyn, my former writing instructors, Janis and Carly Spindel, AKA the dynamic duo of Matchmaking and met many new men. I am proud to say I’ve been to the gynecologist to deal with my “situation” down under. I’ve been writing – not quite as much as I would like – but I did manage to post 44 blog entires. I spent time in both LA and NY, Miami and the Caymans, Boston, Nashville, Montreal, New Haven and the Hamptons. I’m on Twitter and Facebook sharing my stories. And did I mention, I’m dating A LOT!!! All and all, not so bad.
I was talking to a close friend the other day when she mentioned my blog. She said she found it “rather amusing” and “mostly funny” but it was clear she was holding something back. As a newish blogger I really wanted to know what she was withholding so I pushed her to tell me. Turns out she wasn’t pleased with two particular posts – Robert Redford Not and No Offense Patty. She didn’t have to tell me why. I knew immediately what had annoyed her – I could almost hear the words from my recent posts in my head,
Suddenly Robert Redford wasn’t quite as hot. He certainly was not the 5′-11″ he promised in his profile. Now, generally speaking I have no problem with men shorter than myself. In this particular case I am ashamed to say I had this man, based on his photo, profile and pedigree, on a pedestal.
Was that SO bad? Was I being awful? Rude? Mean spirited? And then I thought about the second post. I cringed when I thought of my slightly chubby friend reading the snarky Patty piece. Truth be told, when I was writing the words I knew I was being harsh – maybe even mean.
You should know that most of us don’t want to envision Patty and her husband in bed in that ugly suburban cape in a bed far too small for the two large bodies (yes, I have decided Patty’s husband is also very overweight because he hasn’t been having sex with Patty he’s been frustrated and drinking Pabst by the six-pack and eating processed food including hot dogs, Wonder Bread and Cheese Whiz). And if I’m mistaken and Patty’s husband isn’t overweight (or addicted to crap) he’s probably been hanging out getting lap dances in the local strip club. I’ve got news for you, in either case, he’s most likely not interested in Patty and hasn’t been in a long, long time. There are going to be a lot of lonely women with hopes of rekindling a romance that burned out long ago because of your commercial. I think Heidi Fleiss needs to get her ass in gear and open that Stud Farm she’s been promising to in Vegas. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m judgmental (I am) I just feels like you’re setting up a lot of women for a huge disappointment.
As I tried to explain to my friend that I was still trying to find the balance in my writing I realized I sounded as If I was making excuses. I knew I hurt her personally when she read the No Offense Patty post. I wanted to disappear I felt so bad. That’s precisely when she asked, “So are you dating to find love or to collect material?” Ouch. Which was it? I said goodbye to my friend and walked home thinking about her question the entire time. Why was I going on these dates? Was I really ready to be in a loving relationship? Or was she right, was I just going through the motions to get good material? No, I wasn’t. If I wanted really good material I would go out with the twenty year olds, or the eighty year olds, or the guys with motorcycles, or four ex wives. I reminded myself that I was simply highly selective. On the other hand, maybe she was right, sometimes it was about the material.
Naturally, as a writer, I try to push my stories a little further to make them more interesting for you, my readers. If I wrote all about the perfectly lovely dates I go on and how every gentleman was so wonderful would my blog be as much fun? I think not. I tried to defend myself. I told her to keep in mind, I’m a relatively new writer. I’ve had two great and very funny writing teachers – Nelsie Spencer and Marilyn Horowitz. Both women were instrumental in helping me make my writing not only better but funnier but alas, I’ve still got a long way to go! When I have time I plan to sign up for Nelsie’s Comedy Writing class at Gotham Writer’s in NYC. Nelsie has had a radio show and even done stand up. I know there is a fine line between funny and mean. Hopefully she can help me learn the difference.
Nelsie, my fomer writing coach, is appearing at Stand Up New York on December 30th. Catch her 800 funny bits about being an empty-nester, sex over 50, and how to still be married after 30 years. Email Nelsie at firstname.lastname@example.org to get on the list! Stand Up New York is located at 238 West 78th Street near Broadway. Showtime is 8PM-10PM. Seating begins at 7PM sharp.
Alba Salas is a miracle worker. She is the person that celebrities and television shows call when they need an expert. Alba has been working with women’s luxury lingerie/ready to wear apparel for over 25 years. You will probably recognize Alba – a pint size, powerhouse with a sparkling smiling – if you are a fan of The Meredith Vieira Show. She’s been their on camera bra expert since September 2014 and was most recently featured again just last month. Over the years Alba has assisted the likes of Bette Midler and Kathleen Turner to name just a few.
I was at the Town Shop last week where Alba hails as the Breast Support Expert. She is the Best of the Breast! I had been noticing my bras were no longer doing their job for my formerly perky breasts. After a split second with Alba, before I even removed my blouse, I learned that apparently both my bras and my breasts were losing elasticity – not a good combination! I was also wearing the wrong size bra. Alba knew all of this just from first glance – she doesn’t need a tape measure and in many cases she knows the problem before your top comes off and she see your “girls”. I felt like a total idiot until Alba told me that 80% of women are wearing the wrong size bra!
Over the years, the Town Shop has become the most famous lingerie store in New York City. They specialize in lingerie, and more specifically and especially the delicate art of fitting by Alba. This exceptional level of customer service has been the key to our success for over four generations.
The Town Shop carries every type of bra you could be looking for, from sizes AA to K. They feature an expansive variety of products, including everyday basics, super sexy lingerie, comfy nursing bras and modern maternity wear. The Town Shop also provides a wide selection of swimwear, sleeper, shape wear, hosiery and accessories. They have been named New York Magazine’s “The Best of New York” as the “Best Place to be Fitted for a Bra”. Stop by and you’ll understand why. Say hi to Alba for me!
New York, NY 10024
Located between 81st and 82nd Street Phone: 212-724-8160
Monday – Friday 10:00 AM to 7:00 PM
Saturday 9:30 AM to 6:00 PM
Sunday 11:00 AM to 6:00 PM
If you’re not in NYC you can find the Town Shop Online at: TownShop.com
Remember – You’ll always have support at The Town Shop!
I’m a fun, fit, fabulous women in Menopause. I live in a big city and do active things. I don’t have a husband (I turned him in a decade ago) or one specific boyfriend. I’m on a dating website, I’m social, and I travel all the time. I like men and sex. I do not look like a lunch lady or an overweight suburban mom. I also don’t look like the over sexualized women in your former commercial. Those poor women trying their hardest to look sexy always reminded me of an aged-out brothel workers showing off their assets in the hopes of catching a client’s attention. I don’t know if that’s just my sick mind, your dumb ad, or exactly what you had in mind when you were sitting around a large conference table brainstorming how you could sell women more prescription pills. How embarrassing for these poor actresses who made those ads. I’m sure you paid them well but not well enough for those few moments of humiliation.
Equally as awful is your new spokesperson, Patty, and her sad little life. Actually, the Patty commercial is even more offensive for a few reasons. You should know that most of us don’t want to envision Patty and her husband in bed in that ugly suburban cape in a bed far too small for the two large bodies (yes, I have decided Patty’s husband is also very overweight because he hasn’t been having sex with Patty he’s been frustrated and drinking Pabst by the six pack and eating processed food including hot dogs, Wonder Bread and Cheese Whiz).
And if I’m mistaken and Patty’s husband isn’t overweight (or addicted to crap) he’s probably been hanging out getting lap dances in the local strip club. I’ve got news for you, in either case, he’s most likely not interested in Patty and hasn’t been in a long, long time. There are going to be a lot of lonely women with hopes of rekindling a romance that burned out long ago because of your commercial. I think Heidi Fleiss needs to get her ass in gear and open that Stud Farm she’s been promising to in Vegas. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m judgmental (I am) I just feels like you’re setting up a lot of women for a huge disappointment.
I will say I’m glad you got the conversation started but I’m not happy how Osphena is presenting women. Please stop talking to the men at the ad agency you’re working with or the tween branding team that knows nothing about menopause or grown up women. It’s insulting to viewers to think the average American woman is a morbidly obese and white. Although I am white on the outside, many of us are not Patty.
And to your star:
I’m sure you’re a lovely woman. I hope you have a husband who cherishes you and still wants to get it on with you, with or without Osphena. This is just not a conversation I want to have with you. I want to see a woman more like me representing the brand.
It’s amazing when we share with women what kind of feedback we get. I love opinions when I’m asking for them, not so much when I want to be blissfully unaware of another person’s maybe not so good experiences. When I left my new gynecologist’s office with a prescription in hand for Premarin Cream I nearly skipped to the pharmacy. The hope of restoring my vagina to a more youthful version of days gone past was enough to make me smile from ear to ear. Then I told my girlfriends.
“It’s made from horse urine. How gross is that?”
“The smell is so bad you’re entire home will stink.”
“It gave me cramps.”
“I gained weight when I was using it.”
“It made me bleed. Oh, wait, that was Premarin PILLS.”
That really put a damper on things. Especially the horse urine comment. It’s funny that I had been making jokes about getting back on the horse and now there would be some parts of a horse inside my vagina. How ironic. And gross. I thought my girlfriends would cheer me on and be proud of me that I was trying to get back in the saddle. Somehow it seemed they were discouraging me instead. Why do some women do that?
I picked up the prescription and decided I was going to be the lucky one. I could open a window or light a candle if there was an odor. I wouldn’t mind a few extra pounds, especially if they want to my breasts or my ass. I even made peace with the horse pee – for god’s sake everyone knows urine is sterile! I prayed I wouldn’t get cramps. I’m going to be the lucky one this time!
I got home and sniffed the cream. NOTHING horsey or pee like at all. As a matter of fact there was no odor whatsoever. What the hell was she talking about?
I’ll let you now what happens.
I don’t know anyone in Quebec. I know people all over the world but no one in Canada. Normally quite adventurous I was feeling down at the thought of being away for nearly a week, in a hotel room, and not knowing a single soul. I asked friends for contacts. I posted on Facebook asking for introductions. Nothing. I did get a list of clubs, restaurants and cafes, shopping districts, sights to see but no personal contacts. That’s when I came up with the idea of connecting with people on Match.com. If I were lucky, I could have a date and a tour guide wrapped into one!
I searched match.com and found a small number of men in the vicinity I would be visiting. I immediately noticed that the men in Quebec didn’t post attractive photos or they just weren’t attractive like the men in NYC or LA. Bummer. I continued to hunt for a suitable date. Some profiles were in French, others in English, and some in a combo of the two languages, My French was good enough to decipher the profiles. My vocabulary wasn’t terrible but my conversation is. I was leaning toward an English speaker. I contacted three of the more attractive men. I heard back from two who seemed excited at the idea of meeting an American tourist. One offered to be my tour guide if I promised to speak only French and he would only speak English. I thought that sounded fun and fair.
The other gentleman was more attractive and younger, had a more playful profile, and said he would love to “hook up”. Two dates in one week while I was away would be perfect! I was so pleased. And then I wondered if “hook up” in Quebec was the same as in the states. I panicked. Was he expecting a sexual liaison or was it simply a general phase for meeting up?
Well, worry not. The “hook up” dude had to run up to the Laurentians (the mountains nearby. From what I heard many people left the city on weekends and went to the country homes there – kInd of like going to the Hamptons for the weekend.) He invited me to join him. I politely declined. Being in another country (although only Canada not Afghanistan) meeting a stranger and going to his cabin in the mountains seemed like the beginning of a horror movie where the naive woman winds up as dinner for the fit, rugged, charming outdoorsy guy with an accent.
So instead I made plans with Olivier. He would pick me up at me at my hotel (maybe this wasn’t such a wise move). I got ready and looked at his profile one more time to make sure I would recognize him when we met. This time when I looked I noticed three photos I either missed the first time (I find that hard to believe) or he had recently uploaded new additional photos. They are below. Draw your own conclusions:
If these photos had been on the profile page from the “hook up” guy who invited me to the mountains it would have made much more sense. And the movie I had been imagining would now be a psycho-sexual horror blockbuster – a 50 Shades of Grey meets Cape Fear.
But alas it was Olivier’s profile. And he would be at my hotel momentarily. I reminded myself to relax. I was a grown up. I went down to the hotel lobby and met Olivier. He was sweet and more attractive than his profile photos. We walked to a busy street filled with high-end shops and a multitude of bars, cafes, and restaurants. We went to a well know one where we shared stories of love, loss and the ever-changing game of dating: Plenty of Fish, a Quebec only dating site, and match.com. “I’m a Parisienne in a city of mostly Canadians. It’s hard sometimes. The mentality is different.”
The sightseeing that I was hoping to do never happened. Olivier had had a long night – the Paris terror attacks had happened the night before. He explained, “It was a short night. I had the news on, and I was checking in on friends in Paris” I understood completely. I had been in New York City on 9/11 and watched the towers burn down in person and over and over again on television.
I told him about being in Paris not long after 9/11. I was looking for the Picasso Museum or a place for breakfast, I can’t remember. I do remember coming across a tribute to 9/11 – a mural in red,white and blue. I stood frozen at the wall when a Parisienne spoke to me. He saw I was moved. When he learned I was from New York he was so empathetic, so kind. I could see his eyes swell up as did mine. He reached out and embraced me – this random stranger. We hugged for what seemed like forever. I wish I could hug all of Paris today.
Olivier’s Match.com photos didn’t matter any longer. We had bonded on a much more important level. I didn’t care if he had a foot fetish or was into some kind of masked fantasies a la 50 Shades of Grey.
As we parted Olivier said, “Thank you for helping me forget life for a few hours.” We hugged. It wasn’t a standard match.com hug but something far bigger.
The lovely Hotel Omni Mont-Royal is located at 1050 Rue Sherbrooke O, Montréal, QC H3A 2R6, Canada
I don’t usually go to brunch but he was rather insistent, We were both in the city for the weekend and the weather was still warm. I had plans that evening but my day was free. I let him twist my arm. I don’t like brunch for a number of reasons: I prefer my own eggs made the way I like them, I don’t put milk in my tea so its always too hot to sip, I don’t drink during the day and worst of all, some men think since they take you to brunch you will spend the ENTIRE day together. I like men but I like my free time more than most. 90 minutes of my time on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon is all you’re getting unless I love you.
He texted me in the morning:
Does 12:30 work? I’ll make a reservation
Can we say 12:45? I’m running a little late.
just as I was on my way out the door. Grrrr… I decided rather than go back inside and catch up on emails I’d use the time to tackle a few errands. I bought a fresh Snob lipstick at MAC and was on my way to the post office when I got a third text.
I’m here. Just come now.
It was 12:35. I generally try to be pleasant on a first date so I forgave him but at the same time my brain was telling me :this guy seems controlling and will make you jump through hoops for him. I told myself to relax. I was constantly talking myself out of men even before I met them. I wasn’t going to do that today. I would be kind and forgiving. And just go with the flow
I met him outside of Isabella’s, a Mediterranean style restaurant know for brunch on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. He was tall with a boyish grin. He was also a Brit – did I mention that? He was wearing a sports jacket, turtle neck and a fine plaid scarf. He rode his bike from the east side – I liked that! So far so good.
The hostess directed us to a table outside. He asked “Can we sit there instead?” pointing to a corner table. “My legs.” he explained. He was very tall. When the server came over with water he said, “This table is too noisy. I feel like we’re eating in the kitchen. Can we move?”
We were directed to the other side of the outdoor cafe. I sat down in the new location.”Actually can we sit over there?” I got up and moved to the now third table.The table was wobbly. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice but he did. I leaned down and fixed it with my newspaper. Mission accomplished. I popped back up and he said, I kid you not,”Can you sit here? I like to sit at a 45 degree angle.” Thinking he was joking I didn’t move. He said, “Here just come sit here in the corner.” I was not enjoying this. Then he said,
“I like your earrings. Who bought them for you?” When I looked at him in disbelief he said, “You heard me. Who bought them for you? Husband? Lover? Boyfriend?”
“I bought them for myself.”
“You did not.”
“I most certainly did and why would I bother to lie about such a thing?”
He shut up just as the server placed my meal in front of me.”You’re not going to eat all of that, I bet. I’ll just wait until you’re done and then I’ll finish it up.”
I was furious. I asked myself, do I make an excuse and leave? Do I go to the bathroom and disappear?Just say I don’t think this is going to work and take off. No. Stupid, ever so polite, me stayed.
I didn’t want to make a scene and leave. I didn’t want to be as rude. I sat there barely able to eat because I was so disgusted. I picked at the goat cheese on my salad and ate a few candied walnuts. I did not ask him one single question. He bombarded me with questions that I answered as though I were jumping rope. He asked me three times where I went to school. I pointed this out the second time he asked. He said, “Maybe I’m running out of questions.” I just smiled and said “Maybe.” When he asked me a third time, I just started making up shit. Lots of shit.
I think he realized it. He began to talk about his children. “Do you know what a ‘grin fucker’ is? That’s what my daughter is.”
He explained, “she will smile to your face and say she wants to be your best friend and then she will fuck you behind your back. My daughter is a bitch. Just like her mother and her grandmother. She runs Princeton. I don’t mean she runs it but she has everyone running around for her.”
Next he was on to his son,”My son is a basket case. A real fuck up but he’s a hell of a nice kid. Everyone loves him. He’s a mess.”
I finally did speak up, “I’d rather have a fucked up kid with a good heart than a beautiful bitch for a daughter.”
The waitress came over and asked,
“No thanks,. I’ve got to dash. Cheerio.” I crossed the street and never looked back.
Isabella’s is located at 359 Columbus Avenue (corner of 77th Street) 212-724-2100
It’s a great place to eat, just don’t go with an asshole.