Big Wig

trumphair27n-6-webI peered into the large glass front restaurant and knew it was him. He stood there, posed, one leg up on the bottom rung of the bar stool, looking confidently toward the front door. Even from twenty yards away I could tell something was off. What was going on with his hair? I approached suspiciously. He caught my eye and immediately turned on his heels kissing me on both cheeks. He was very animated and his skin tight and bright – heathy eating or Dermabrasion, I wondered. As he chatted away asking what I’d like to drink my eyes went back to his hair – full and dark brown – not a gray hair in site and no variation in color, a thick helmet of hair. Surely it was a wig. Not just a wig but one of the worst wigs I’ve seen in my life. I was angry with myself for being disappointed. What if he had been ill? Surely, I could forgive a wig.toupees64002

As my date downed two ice teas and I sipped half a bottle of San Pellegrino I looked past the wig and focused instead on his crepe-y skin. It was not the skin of a man my age let alone someone a few years younger as he had mentioned. I immediately wondered if he had lied on his dating profile. Pink flag. Hair and age could not be vetted on the telephone. I told myself to see if I liked the guy and then worry about the wig and the fib about his age.

The most interesting part of the date was when he mentioned that he was working with a woman, I’ll call Sandra, I had met decades before. And a woman who I knew had been a high-priced call girl/madam for New York’s elite. These were women who wore only Chanel, Armani and Balenciaga. Their designer handbags only carried a lipstick and a hundred dollar bill which naturally they couldnever break. They dripped in jewelry and tended to travel by chauffered cars way before Uber, Gett and Lyft. Sandra was now a legitimate business owner and living at one of the most prestigious buildings in the city. When I asked how they had met, my date said he knew her a good twenty-five years after that he suddenly became very evasive. Another flag.toupee

Wig or not, I knew that my date wasn’t for me. I looked at my watch and said I had to run. My date seemed disappointed I was skipping out so soon. I kissed both his cheeks and was on my way.

Three days later while on my personal Facebook page a “Friend Suggestion” popped up. I examined the familiar photo. It was my date with the wig! The really surprising thing was his name appeared as Dominic Christiano not Dominic Black. I thought back to our initial phone conversation where he dropped his last name. Something about the way he fit it into the conversation didn’t feel natural. So when I hung up, I did something I normally would not do, I Googled him. I couldn’t find one person with his full name – and oh, yes. I spelled it every which way. In today’s world this was a dark pink flag.

bad_toupeeI left Facebook and googled Dominic Christiano and up popped an awful lot of information about my date! He was actually 17 years older than he had told me! Yes, 17. One – Seven! And they say women take off a year or two! Surely he had had a facelift! That was just the tip of the iceberg. There was also an $70 million-plus judgment against Bad Wig for falsely marketing and devising an “elaborate hoax” for hair-growth products! Initially, I found that extremely funny considering the awful toupee until  I began to realize how many people he had deceived. This guy had lived the life of Riley while hair challenged people had spent thousands of dollars hoping for some hair miracle.

Ladies, and gentlemen, trust your gut and do your research before you get involved. A pink flag will likely become a field of red flags. You surely don’t want to be dating a criminal with or without a wig.

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Put One Foot In Front of the Other

images-3Disappointment 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.

images-4Peter 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 likehamptons2_1367233c 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’!

 

Looking Forward 2

iphone-phone-social-media-taxi-car-handbag-stocksy-w352My iPhone pinged. It was an email from my date tonight:

I’ll be waiting for you in the bar on the ground floor. When you get to the front desk, just tell them you’re with me (remember, it’s “X”, just in case you confuse me with your countless other Match dates/admirers/fans 🙂 Look forward to seeing you at 6:00pm! It’s a townhouse right next to the construction at “Y”, which is that new apartment complex. – X

I responded: I’ll write it on my hand so I don’t forget. I promise not to blow your cover. ; ) I’m quite confident I’ll be able to find the address but thanks for your help.

His reply: Love your sense of humour. BTW, cell # is 303-555-1212 in case there’s a problem. You can keep your’s a state secret until we meet and you discover that I’m not a weird stalker.

I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was annoyed. Did he think I would fuck up? Get lost? Tell the (I’m certain) gorgeous hostess that I was on a Match.com date? In a flash, I was nervous and my stomach did flip-flops. I remembered that I never had the preliminary phone call that I do with 99% of my Match.com admirers. I find this is an important step – you can learn a lot in a few minutes i.e.. nervousness, stuttering, boring, neurotics, low energy level (think Jeb Bush!), poor education, and lack of mutual interests among other things. Why didn’t I have the mandatory phone call?! Grr….I went back to read his online profile. I immediately saw a few flags I may have missed the first time because I found him handsome, intelligent, and his note so charming:2014-08-24-Redflag

“Ex-wife and sons live in another country, and ready to get out and enjoy my life again after a few years of emotional hibernation…..The truth is that I’ve always been attracted to self-confident, attractive intelligent women and I’m probably more inclined to go with someone closer to my own age, certainly someone who is closer in age to me than my two sons!. A little further down I saw a few more flags:

louis-vuitton-luggageThere are a lot of exceptional women in this city, as I am beginning to learn. I will say that women over a certain age have the charm and elegance of a great French premier cru wine, and as any wine aficionado can attest, when you’ve sampled a superbly complex older vintage, it’s very hard to go back to younger, less mature stuff.. A Portuguese vinho verde might be temporarily refreshing, but it doesn’t enliven the senses the way a great Cos D’Estournel can do. Even though I’ve made mistakes in previous relationships (we’re all human after all), I remain optimistic that I can eventually get it right with the partner who can help me unpack my considerable baggage :-).  51001e8d78458s58987

Why does his profile say he’s looking for woman 30-54 and he’s 55. Hmm… 30 doesn’t sound like his age group. If his daughters are in their mid 20s that would make 30 much closer in age to them than to him. A slightly snooty/elitist wine snob who’s coming out of “emotional hibernation with considerable baggage”? Ugh. I wondered what this one has packed away in his designer luggage? Could he simply be talking about his divorce? Something worse? Jail time, perhaps? Another felon? Mental breakdown, maybe? Manic Episode? Depressive episode?

I suddenly wasn’t looking forward to my date… but then again, this is precisely what I do before each date I go on: I try to talk myself out of the guy before I even leave my home! I pray I’m wrong this time.

Dating Peter Pan

Wendy_saved copyright Disney  I had a first date on Sunday. The guy initially seemed really great; supposedly successful career, amicable divorce, son in college, and he had a dog. I like dogs. Although I wasn’t physically attracted to him (bald, glasses, pasty white skin and a terrible dresser) he seemingly had so many good qualities that I was hoping his appearance would grow on me.

Our late morning date consisted of a walk in a local park and a single drink (even though everyone ese was having brunch) at a well-known restaurant. It may or may not be important to mention that I think he only had tap water – he went up to the bar and brought the drinks back to our table so it’s merely an eduated guess. I should have realized thing were about to go south…

My date offered to walk me home. Having enjoyed the park and our easy conversation, I agreed. We went back to his place for a second to pick up his dog, Becky. I very comfortably followed him inside the vestibule.

“You’re coming in?” He sounded surprised.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just following you. I can wait here. I didn’t mean to be so intrusive.” Normally, I would never step foot into a man’s home unless I was prepared to have sex. This was different. It was a Sunday afternoon, I had only had a Perrier at the bar, I felt extremely comfortable, and I wasn’t feeling any sexual vibes whatsoever. I thought the dog would come running to the front door and we’d turn around and leave. That’s not what happened. My date invited me in.

There were no windows aside from the sliding door to the backyard. The room had plain, bright white walls. There were two pillow-less, worn couches, one blue and one cranberry, and a pair of non-matching distressed (from use not for style) cocktail tables. Everything seemed to be askew and didn’t coordinate in any such way. West Elm and Ikea were high-end compared to this stuff. Mind you, I have nothing against IKEA, I even have some pieces, but this apartment was so barren and boring and just plain weird. Yeah, I get that he’s a guy and most guys don’t have good taste but there were no books, no photos, nothing hanging on the walls. It was as though he just moved in – or a college student had just moved in. I found it weird that a 49-year-old who had resided somewhere for the last 17 years lived like this. Red flags were popping up all over. I wished they had been matching red throw pillows, a Rothko print, and a carpet instead of flags.

While my date got Becky’s leash I peered out the ancient, cracked, and broken sliding glass door to the saddest backyard I’ve ever seen. No trees, grass, plants or even a table or chair. It was a vacant lot for the dog to use as a toilet. I felt sorry for the dog. images-5

My date and his trusty pooch walked me to my corner. I knew we’d never see each other again. All the while I thought about the sneakers and baseball cap he was wearing, no offer for a meal, that horrible backyard, and his home. I wondered if I was an awful snob, impossibly ridiculous on finding a mate, and that was why I was still single. And then in that moment I decided I would not beat myself up. We were just not a match and that was that. Back to the drawing board. And then he went in for a wet kiss right on my lips. Heal, boy, heal.