Whether the view from your room/womb is "no vacancy", weekend special or condemned, it's still your view. You should not be prejudged for it. I was turned down before I even got to an email conversation by virtue (I think) of my age, the facts that I already have kids, and that I checked off that I didn't want to have kids on my JDate profile. The supposed man was 54, and not exactly an Adonis from his picture.
Now call me old fashioned but...I Don't think it's fair for anyone involved to bring a kid into the world that could confuse "take your child to work day" with "Grandparents Day." And just because your sperm is still swimming, doesn't mean they could, or should qualify for the Olympics.
I'm very happy about the factory being closed. And for the most part, the mood swings have abated and I think, overall, I am a balanced person. And most importantly, the risk of unwanted pregnancy is gone. What's not to like?
I wish this man all kinds of luck in his delusional quest. May he find his young, active, beautiful, fertile woman looking for a slightly dumpy, questionably fertile old man (I'm not bitter, am I?)
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Wow! 3rd Date
It’s my first date with JDate and I’ve run my choices by my married friends. We’ve gotten a collective nod for several men, and one of them has written me back. I’m fairly excited as he’s nice looking (at least the picture he has posted is, you never know if that really is him!) and he lives local. We exchange phone numbers, and he calls me immediately. So far so good! We talk and he seems like he hits my non-negotiable list. Sort of… He is single, divorced several years. He is only slightly bitter that he lost his house to his wife or something like that. He assures me he is straight (hey, you’ve got to at least ask!) and not only does he not live with his mother, both parents are deceased! Bingo! (You have to know, I have no desire to ever do in-laws, or sort of in-laws, again.) The job thing is dicey, he tells me he is between jobs, but it is a recession, so I’ll make an allowance there.
He suggests we meet and asks me where. Why don’t men grow some balls and take the bull by the horns! Make a decision for Christ sake! I refuse to name a place, and he tells me he will think about it and text me (how very modern!) He suggests the next day that we meet at the Hyatt in the atrium (sort of an outdoor area off the lobby that serves food.) I think, ok, classy but understated, I like.
The night comes for my date. I look at my cell, and the guy has left no less than three texts on my phone asking what I’m wearing so he’ll recognize me. Give me a break, he’s seen my picture on-line (yes, it looks like me and is fairly recent) and there are very few, if any people in the atrium. And who of us has not walked up to a perfect stranger and mistaken them for our long-lost friend, the child’s soccer coach, a movie star, the janitor? We’re all still alive. I ignored said texts and showed up in all of my glory.
He was sitting at a table by the fire place, fully set for dinner, complete with silver and crystal. He already had a glass of wine, and I figured he had been there for a while stealing himself for the date, but I was impressed. There was one other patron, a man, eating dinner nearby. My date did look like his picture, which was also impressive. I took a deep breath, walked over to the table and offered his name as a question.
Yes, this was the right table, right person. So far so good. We sat down, and this was when I noticed the Trader Joes eggplant dip on the table. I just thought it was charming, as he explained that when he had talked to me on the phone, I had been cooking something with eggplant and he took this to mean I must like eggplant, thus, he had brought the dip. Did I want some wine? Is the pope catholic? Instead of flagging down the scant one waiter that I had seen, he reached down by his foot to retrieve the already open bottle of wine and poured. I guess I must have been tired because I still wasn’t catching on. He told me that he was looking for someone with “the right energy.” I had no idea what he was talking about so I continued to listen.
He went on and on about what a bitch his ex was (haven’t we all been there?) and what a bitch his mother was, whom he had bought the family business from. Now, I am all for a deceased mother when it comes to the man I want to be with, but he was supposed to love her, and then she dies. This was starting to look ominous.
He then asked if I was hungry, which I wasn’t but then proceeded to take his divided Tupperware(wasn’t this handy?) out and explain what the various crackers and cheese were. HOLY SHIT! Did I want another glass of wine-did I know that it was just $7 a bottle? To hell with the glass, I’ll drink straight out of the bottle!
I ask what the family business was and he tells me that he is a Gemologist. Now I’m thinking diamonds, emeralds…hummmm. I ask how you become a gemologist and he quickly answers, you take a test. And then assures me that he had to take a 2 week course to pass. WOW. Here’s a man who takes his scholastic achievements seriously. Now he’s onto describing his horrible relationship with his two teenage daughters.
I try to deflect the conversation at this time to something more pleasant (like me jumping out the nearest window) and begin to say how wonderful it is to go out with someone local. He now is off on a tangent about how he either lost his house to his bitch of an ex-wife, or something (I’m trying not to listen at this point) and he’s renting a room from some crazy lady who’s basically running a boarding house. Oh my G-d!
He then has the audacity to ask if I own my own home. And did he mention he is a great cook? Shit, he’s looking for room and, well you know.
At this point I realize this man is looking for someone with the “right energy”, being he has none of his own. Incredible! I have just spent one hour with and unemployed, basically homeless man, who has brought his own wine and food into a restaurant. I make some lame excuse to get out of there, look around quickly to make sure I don’t know anyone near me, and run out to my car. When I get there I am laughing like a hyena because that was the most surreal 60 minutes I have spent in a while.
When he texts me in a few days to inquire if I would like to get together over the weekend (subtext; can I come over and do my laundry?) I answer back that I wish him luck, but I’m not the “one”.
He suggests we meet and asks me where. Why don’t men grow some balls and take the bull by the horns! Make a decision for Christ sake! I refuse to name a place, and he tells me he will think about it and text me (how very modern!) He suggests the next day that we meet at the Hyatt in the atrium (sort of an outdoor area off the lobby that serves food.) I think, ok, classy but understated, I like.
The night comes for my date. I look at my cell, and the guy has left no less than three texts on my phone asking what I’m wearing so he’ll recognize me. Give me a break, he’s seen my picture on-line (yes, it looks like me and is fairly recent) and there are very few, if any people in the atrium. And who of us has not walked up to a perfect stranger and mistaken them for our long-lost friend, the child’s soccer coach, a movie star, the janitor? We’re all still alive. I ignored said texts and showed up in all of my glory.
He was sitting at a table by the fire place, fully set for dinner, complete with silver and crystal. He already had a glass of wine, and I figured he had been there for a while stealing himself for the date, but I was impressed. There was one other patron, a man, eating dinner nearby. My date did look like his picture, which was also impressive. I took a deep breath, walked over to the table and offered his name as a question.
Yes, this was the right table, right person. So far so good. We sat down, and this was when I noticed the Trader Joes eggplant dip on the table. I just thought it was charming, as he explained that when he had talked to me on the phone, I had been cooking something with eggplant and he took this to mean I must like eggplant, thus, he had brought the dip. Did I want some wine? Is the pope catholic? Instead of flagging down the scant one waiter that I had seen, he reached down by his foot to retrieve the already open bottle of wine and poured. I guess I must have been tired because I still wasn’t catching on. He told me that he was looking for someone with “the right energy.” I had no idea what he was talking about so I continued to listen.
He went on and on about what a bitch his ex was (haven’t we all been there?) and what a bitch his mother was, whom he had bought the family business from. Now, I am all for a deceased mother when it comes to the man I want to be with, but he was supposed to love her, and then she dies. This was starting to look ominous.
He then asked if I was hungry, which I wasn’t but then proceeded to take his divided Tupperware(wasn’t this handy?) out and explain what the various crackers and cheese were. HOLY SHIT! Did I want another glass of wine-did I know that it was just $7 a bottle? To hell with the glass, I’ll drink straight out of the bottle!
I ask what the family business was and he tells me that he is a Gemologist. Now I’m thinking diamonds, emeralds…hummmm. I ask how you become a gemologist and he quickly answers, you take a test. And then assures me that he had to take a 2 week course to pass. WOW. Here’s a man who takes his scholastic achievements seriously. Now he’s onto describing his horrible relationship with his two teenage daughters.
I try to deflect the conversation at this time to something more pleasant (like me jumping out the nearest window) and begin to say how wonderful it is to go out with someone local. He now is off on a tangent about how he either lost his house to his bitch of an ex-wife, or something (I’m trying not to listen at this point) and he’s renting a room from some crazy lady who’s basically running a boarding house. Oh my G-d!
He then has the audacity to ask if I own my own home. And did he mention he is a great cook? Shit, he’s looking for room and, well you know.
At this point I realize this man is looking for someone with the “right energy”, being he has none of his own. Incredible! I have just spent one hour with and unemployed, basically homeless man, who has brought his own wine and food into a restaurant. I make some lame excuse to get out of there, look around quickly to make sure I don’t know anyone near me, and run out to my car. When I get there I am laughing like a hyena because that was the most surreal 60 minutes I have spent in a while.
When he texts me in a few days to inquire if I would like to get together over the weekend (subtext; can I come over and do my laundry?) I answer back that I wish him luck, but I’m not the “one”.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
All the way to 1.5 dates!
Alright, so this was not just another first date, but I still went to get my hair done. I was so busy trying to control the situation that I forgot the cardinal woman's rule, "is he worthy of me?" (But I did look wonderful!) I was still on disability, but I didn't want to say so to him because then I would have to have that "MS" talk, and I just wasn't ready to. So I let him think I was going to work every day.
I received an email about an other wine event at the Peninsula Hotel that looked wonderful. It was pricey, at $80 per ticket but...I sent him a text with the wine email attached and asked if he was interested. The response wasn't quite what I had anticipated, that being that he had already planned going and had purchased his ticket. No offer to go together, or he would take care of getting me a ticket also. When will I learn?
Me being me, I immediately purchase a ticket to the event, but waited several days to text him that I was also going. When he returned to town (he was always somewhere other than California) he didn't immediately call me, nor even return my call when I called him (That's right Shelley, take the bull by the horns!)
Now being the clever person that I am, I was trying to figure our how to finagle an invite to his house and a ride to this wine event. So you see why this is down as just .5 of a date. As it turned out, the event was a bit dressier than most things in LA, and for women it was requested to be adorned in a dress. He suggested that maybe I would need to freshen up or change and would I like to come over to his house after work to do that? BINGO! I love it when the stars align!
So now all I had to do is dress up like I had been at work, bring a change of clothes, and see where he lived. And of course, get my hair done. So I spend the better part of my day consulting with Bubba, my stylist, as to what I should be wearing i.e., what I still fit in, and which Spanx I should wear. I then shed my jeans, and poured myself into the only pair of pants that still fit, did my make-up and went to get my hair done. I once again got the admonishment to not sleep with him (wasn't so sure this time) and set off over the hill to look like I just worked a full day. Now I don't know about you, but at the end of the day, I usually look like hell, but I looked FABULOUS baby!
The whole drive there I just kept giggling that I actually was masquerading in work clothes, so that I could change into a dress, and that my spanx were chocking the ever-loving shit out of me. The things I come up with!
I got there, and he was very nice about showing me to his bathroom and had a whole set of towels out for me. Did he think I was moving in? Anyway, other than trying to shimmy into a pair of super-control top pantyhose, I really didn't have to do anything, so I spent a lot of time doing nothing at all, other than looking in the mirror. Shit, I've got to lose weight! And wonder how fast gangrene will set in for my legs now that I had totally cut off all circulation due to the vanity of trying to look thinner than I was. I hope I don't explode out of my sausage casings during the evening!
Off we go (yes, in his car, and yes, I will have to come back up to collect my belongings.) We spend a few hours with young ladies trying to get more that a pour of wine-very interesting people watching! After 6-7 (oh hell, maybe 9-10) tastes of wine, we come back to his place, and my fat is still firmly in the artificial places I had sequestered it to. As we are coming back into his beautifully appointed apartment (and believe me, he had told me where everything had come from) the wine works my mouth and I ask him why he has those tacky rugs in the hall? They don't seem to belong. He seems truly flummoxed and I try hard to back-track and take back the words. I try to switch the subject, and ask if he ever curls up in his living room with the very pretty throw on the other sofa (meticulously laid out) and he answers no, like I had just suggested committing murder. We start to make out (can I still call it that at my age?) and when he makes a comment that my pantyhose are so tight, I roll off the one foot deep couch and hit my knee on the glass table.
Now I'm not a wimp, but I was seeing stars. I'm not sure if it was the intense pain from dislocating my knee on a piece of furniture, the lack of blood to my brain due to constraining my fat, or the thought of that the explosion that might pop me out of my pantyhose was imminent. Any way, I was not staying around to find out. I told him I had better be going, or I might regret something (he could fill out the blank the way he liked.)
After I called him the next day to once again apologise for my Cabernet brain and comment, I never heard from him again. It dawned on me that he was indeed OCD, he bragged about everything, and seemed to drop names and places of his friends, never his own. I started laughing when I realized I had been so wrapped up in dating, that I didn't stop to think about the person. And no, he wasn't worthy of me!
I received an email about an other wine event at the Peninsula Hotel that looked wonderful. It was pricey, at $80 per ticket but...I sent him a text with the wine email attached and asked if he was interested. The response wasn't quite what I had anticipated, that being that he had already planned going and had purchased his ticket. No offer to go together, or he would take care of getting me a ticket also. When will I learn?
Me being me, I immediately purchase a ticket to the event, but waited several days to text him that I was also going. When he returned to town (he was always somewhere other than California) he didn't immediately call me, nor even return my call when I called him (That's right Shelley, take the bull by the horns!)
Now being the clever person that I am, I was trying to figure our how to finagle an invite to his house and a ride to this wine event. So you see why this is down as just .5 of a date. As it turned out, the event was a bit dressier than most things in LA, and for women it was requested to be adorned in a dress. He suggested that maybe I would need to freshen up or change and would I like to come over to his house after work to do that? BINGO! I love it when the stars align!
So now all I had to do is dress up like I had been at work, bring a change of clothes, and see where he lived. And of course, get my hair done. So I spend the better part of my day consulting with Bubba, my stylist, as to what I should be wearing i.e., what I still fit in, and which Spanx I should wear. I then shed my jeans, and poured myself into the only pair of pants that still fit, did my make-up and went to get my hair done. I once again got the admonishment to not sleep with him (wasn't so sure this time) and set off over the hill to look like I just worked a full day. Now I don't know about you, but at the end of the day, I usually look like hell, but I looked FABULOUS baby!
The whole drive there I just kept giggling that I actually was masquerading in work clothes, so that I could change into a dress, and that my spanx were chocking the ever-loving shit out of me. The things I come up with!
I got there, and he was very nice about showing me to his bathroom and had a whole set of towels out for me. Did he think I was moving in? Anyway, other than trying to shimmy into a pair of super-control top pantyhose, I really didn't have to do anything, so I spent a lot of time doing nothing at all, other than looking in the mirror. Shit, I've got to lose weight! And wonder how fast gangrene will set in for my legs now that I had totally cut off all circulation due to the vanity of trying to look thinner than I was. I hope I don't explode out of my sausage casings during the evening!
Off we go (yes, in his car, and yes, I will have to come back up to collect my belongings.) We spend a few hours with young ladies trying to get more that a pour of wine-very interesting people watching! After 6-7 (oh hell, maybe 9-10) tastes of wine, we come back to his place, and my fat is still firmly in the artificial places I had sequestered it to. As we are coming back into his beautifully appointed apartment (and believe me, he had told me where everything had come from) the wine works my mouth and I ask him why he has those tacky rugs in the hall? They don't seem to belong. He seems truly flummoxed and I try hard to back-track and take back the words. I try to switch the subject, and ask if he ever curls up in his living room with the very pretty throw on the other sofa (meticulously laid out) and he answers no, like I had just suggested committing murder. We start to make out (can I still call it that at my age?) and when he makes a comment that my pantyhose are so tight, I roll off the one foot deep couch and hit my knee on the glass table.
Now I'm not a wimp, but I was seeing stars. I'm not sure if it was the intense pain from dislocating my knee on a piece of furniture, the lack of blood to my brain due to constraining my fat, or the thought of that the explosion that might pop me out of my pantyhose was imminent. Any way, I was not staying around to find out. I told him I had better be going, or I might regret something (he could fill out the blank the way he liked.)
After I called him the next day to once again apologise for my Cabernet brain and comment, I never heard from him again. It dawned on me that he was indeed OCD, he bragged about everything, and seemed to drop names and places of his friends, never his own. I started laughing when I realized I had been so wrapped up in dating, that I didn't stop to think about the person. And no, he wasn't worthy of me!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
The Non-Holiday that Shall not be Named
I really hate Valentine’s Day. The only time I ever liked it was when I was a kid, and you got to buy the box of valentines, and decide who you were going to give one to. And when my kids were little, and I took them to shop for their box of valentines, and help them decide who to give them to. Hmmm, maybe if we just all gave everyone a cheesy boxed valentine, this day would be better? What I don’t get is that everyone I know knows that I refuse to “celebrate” this day and instead, refer to it as “Bubba’s Birthday.” Now, it actually is Bubba’s birthday. Bubba is my rather large, cuddly wonderful uber mutt. He loves me no matter what and today, February 14, is his 8th birthday. Let’s see, at 7 dog years per people year, that makes him 56, the perfect age for me!
But back to this non-holiday that Hallmark and See’s makes a fortune off of. Everyone and I mean everyone including my own mother, called to wish me a “happy Valentines!” Even my other chronically single friends do the same thing. What’s with that? Not wanting to be rude, I follow up with Happy Bubba’s birthday!
I can’t wait until tomorrow, when all the hearts and cupids are in the 50% off bin (just like love!) and the Shamrocks and bunnies are in the stores. Nothing like drunken midgets wearing a bad wardrobe preceding an animal that is known for its reproductive prowess to make your month!
But back to this non-holiday that Hallmark and See’s makes a fortune off of. Everyone and I mean everyone including my own mother, called to wish me a “happy Valentines!” Even my other chronically single friends do the same thing. What’s with that? Not wanting to be rude, I follow up with Happy Bubba’s birthday!
I can’t wait until tomorrow, when all the hearts and cupids are in the 50% off bin (just like love!) and the Shamrocks and bunnies are in the stores. Nothing like drunken midgets wearing a bad wardrobe preceding an animal that is known for its reproductive prowess to make your month!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
The First Date
This might really be a keeper. I’m so excited by the possibility that I’m paying for a professional blow out and even my beautician is excited. I leave the salon with an admonishment from Jenny-just don’t sleep with him! It’s been so long that I’m not even sure what that is anymore! I met this guy at a wine tasting event at a vineyard. Isn’t amazing how singles just tend to gravitate to each other? I wonder if Einstein ever studied that? We could have a whole new equation out of this, I’m, thinking as I carefully apply my makeup. What pants will do the most to camouflage my fat, hummm… I’m dressed and look fabulous, I must admit. And I’m off to fulfill my destiny, whatever the hell that is.
I call everyone I know on my drive to the restaurant to talk me down off my cliff. I haven’t had a real date in ages, one that involves him making reservations, and serves more than a scone and coffee. I can’t get a hold of anyone, so I revert to loud off-key singing in my car. As I accidently pass the restaurant and head towards the corner, my phone rings and I see it’s him. Oh God, don’t be canceling on me already! I haven’t even had the chance to offend you yet. I turn off the radio and answer the phone. I immediately answer with, “I’m here, I’m just turning the corner!” He tells me he came down the wrong canyon and will be there in ~10 minutes. I give him my cheerful and probably unneeded directions and tell him I will see him soon.
After giving my keys over to the valet, I stand in front of the restaurant looking like an unsuccessful hooker on Ventura Bvld. To look like I’m doing something, and am important, I take out my Blackberry, put in my Blueberry, and try not to blow raspberries. I’m not sure what kind of car I’m looking for, but hopefully it’s sleek, sexy, and expensive (like I would know?) Ok, there's the guy pushing the truck down the street, so hoping it’s not him. And finally a car pulls in and it’s him. The car is small, sleek, and what do I look like, blue book? It’s running and it carries my date. I say hello, look casual, like I always stand on Venture with this much technology in hand and am escorted into the restaurant.
We take forever to peruse the menus. The new contacts I have in that allow me to drive and see in the distance, and speak to my vanity about wearing glasses, do not, I realize, let me read the small print of the specials. To my horror, I can’t read what’s put in front of me! And my eyes are supper dry, so I keep winking, so finally I have to confess. I tell him I can’t see the menu, and the fact that I keep winking at him is because of these contacts and not that I’m flirting. I can’t tell if he is relieved or revolted. I excuse myself to go to the restroom. On my way there I find any breeze I can to cool off now that the hot flash is in full swing and get in to the bathroom. There I swap out my contacts for the glasses, mop off my forehead, and drop some cold water down my shirt. I’m feeling sexy now!
What can I say; the rest of the evening went great. I now could see the menu, I ordered, we tried to out wine snob each other, we even closed the restaurant down (hey, Its LA, closing down happened before 10PM-it’s the economy, stupid!) There was even a 2nd date-sort of. But have I heard from him since? No, but that’s another story for another time. And it’s not ANOTHER 1st DATE!
I call everyone I know on my drive to the restaurant to talk me down off my cliff. I haven’t had a real date in ages, one that involves him making reservations, and serves more than a scone and coffee. I can’t get a hold of anyone, so I revert to loud off-key singing in my car. As I accidently pass the restaurant and head towards the corner, my phone rings and I see it’s him. Oh God, don’t be canceling on me already! I haven’t even had the chance to offend you yet. I turn off the radio and answer the phone. I immediately answer with, “I’m here, I’m just turning the corner!” He tells me he came down the wrong canyon and will be there in ~10 minutes. I give him my cheerful and probably unneeded directions and tell him I will see him soon.
After giving my keys over to the valet, I stand in front of the restaurant looking like an unsuccessful hooker on Ventura Bvld. To look like I’m doing something, and am important, I take out my Blackberry, put in my Blueberry, and try not to blow raspberries. I’m not sure what kind of car I’m looking for, but hopefully it’s sleek, sexy, and expensive (like I would know?) Ok, there's the guy pushing the truck down the street, so hoping it’s not him. And finally a car pulls in and it’s him. The car is small, sleek, and what do I look like, blue book? It’s running and it carries my date. I say hello, look casual, like I always stand on Venture with this much technology in hand and am escorted into the restaurant.
We take forever to peruse the menus. The new contacts I have in that allow me to drive and see in the distance, and speak to my vanity about wearing glasses, do not, I realize, let me read the small print of the specials. To my horror, I can’t read what’s put in front of me! And my eyes are supper dry, so I keep winking, so finally I have to confess. I tell him I can’t see the menu, and the fact that I keep winking at him is because of these contacts and not that I’m flirting. I can’t tell if he is relieved or revolted. I excuse myself to go to the restroom. On my way there I find any breeze I can to cool off now that the hot flash is in full swing and get in to the bathroom. There I swap out my contacts for the glasses, mop off my forehead, and drop some cold water down my shirt. I’m feeling sexy now!
What can I say; the rest of the evening went great. I now could see the menu, I ordered, we tried to out wine snob each other, we even closed the restaurant down (hey, Its LA, closing down happened before 10PM-it’s the economy, stupid!) There was even a 2nd date-sort of. But have I heard from him since? No, but that’s another story for another time. And it’s not ANOTHER 1st DATE!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
My Hopes, My Dreams, My Blog
Wow, I'm Blogging! I feel so modern, while what I'm going to write about here is not. It's age old observations on the minutia of life, and the quagmire I'll call dating, i.e. looking for a mate. Not to say that I want to mate, I mean, I've already done that, quite unsuccessfully, I'll point out. I guess I'll say I'd like a companion, but one that I can tolerate, say, for longer than 5 minutes. After all, my only non-negotiables are that he be a he, be single-no separated for me! Also that he be straight (no prison boyfriends-that will be addressed in my next level) and employed, preferably happily and well rewarded. I don't think I'm asking for that much, am I? OK, truth be told, I would also like him to have at least a 4 year degree. (At least show me you can stick to SOMETHING.) And that little thing I referred to a couple of lines ago, no arrests, no convictions, no time served (There I go again, no boyfriends. I already have a dog named Bubba.)
What I really want is a second and third date with a man. And maybe sex, maybe not. Menopause and men in general seem to have put that on hold. I haven't made my mind up on that. And at the rate I'm going, that opportunity seems bleak. My goal is to go on 50 first dates with different men. Yes, I know that story has been done into several different movies, but never with a 48 year young woman with a biting sarcastic wit and a sharp mind. So starting late last year, I started out on my odyssey and will post my musings and observations here for all to see (or at least my friends that I give the location out to.) Since things don't seem to be moving along at a fast clip, I will also give note to my everyday observations during the lulls.
I am a member of JDate and am making the most of it for my 6 month membership. I honestly don't think I will get through 50 dates here for two reasons. The optimist in me says I will meet someone that is a keeper before the end of 50 dates. The realist in me says I will be screaming from a cliff somewhere at just how bad things have become before I hit 50 dates.
Anyway, let's see where things go. I have always said that everything that happens to me is simply an other chapter in my book. Now they can be another blog entry!
What I really want is a second and third date with a man. And maybe sex, maybe not. Menopause and men in general seem to have put that on hold. I haven't made my mind up on that. And at the rate I'm going, that opportunity seems bleak. My goal is to go on 50 first dates with different men. Yes, I know that story has been done into several different movies, but never with a 48 year young woman with a biting sarcastic wit and a sharp mind. So starting late last year, I started out on my odyssey and will post my musings and observations here for all to see (or at least my friends that I give the location out to.) Since things don't seem to be moving along at a fast clip, I will also give note to my everyday observations during the lulls.
I am a member of JDate and am making the most of it for my 6 month membership. I honestly don't think I will get through 50 dates here for two reasons. The optimist in me says I will meet someone that is a keeper before the end of 50 dates. The realist in me says I will be screaming from a cliff somewhere at just how bad things have become before I hit 50 dates.
Anyway, let's see where things go. I have always said that everything that happens to me is simply an other chapter in my book. Now they can be another blog entry!
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