MTM Presents

Circa 1980 I was Mary Tyler Moore. I really was.

I had the big apartment on the 25th floor and my sidekick Rhoda (real name Debbie) had the bachelor 5 floors down. We worked together. We invented our own language. We worried people with our ability to understand everything each other was saying, even though we sounded like 2 lock jawed, jewish manicurists ( you're soaking in it) hosting a talk show about how to throw a truly abysmal dinner party.

We were obsessed with The Mary Tyler Moore Show. We would meet every night at 8 in Rhoda/Debbie's much inferior apartment to watch the episode we knew every line to.
Those lines became the theme to our own delusions of a life lived in Minneapolis.

We even had our own Mr. Grant. His real name was Peter but, for some reason, to us he was known as our Petey. I have no idea how he became our Petey. Perhaps it was because we both lusted after him. He looked like a pre-muslim Cat Stevens but he was as about as bright as a small appliance bulb. We forgave him for his lack of mental agility and rated the dilemmas of the day by the number of hands that our Petey would thrust down his pants. A one hander meant a simple and solveable distraction such as a spider on the window or a hangnail. A two hander could have meant anything from an un-explained crumb in his beard to a bomb in aisle B. Oh but we each had our own romantic fantasies about Petey. In mine I was teaching him the alphabet. In Rhoda/Debbie's he was banging out the wall in her (much inferior) apartment wearing denim overalls and nothing else.........it was the 80's.

The lines from the show became our mantra.

Rhoda/Debbie to Mary on a bad hair day....."Mary, where's your regular hair?"
Mary to everyone when accepting an award.....on a bad hair day....."I usually look much better than this"

Mary to Mr. Grant/Our Petey at an abysmal dinner party....."Mr. Grant you took too much. You have to put some back"

Rhoda/Debbie to Mr. Grant/Our Petey......Mary's dinner parties are always abysmal


The battle for Our Petey was never won. He was deemed most likely to wonder what goes where. But Rhoda/Debbie and I remained un-beatable at TV show theme songs.


Who can turn the world on with her smile ?
Who can take a nothing day, and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile ?
Well it's you girl and you should know it
Each glance and every little movement you show it
Love is all around why don't you take it ?
You can have it all no need to fake it
You're gonna make it after all

Tossing my beret into the air. Catch it Rhoda/Debbie....wherever you are. 

But it was me that Mr. Grant/Our Petey wanted. I had the better apartment. 

Some Random Thoughts That Occured While Debating If I Need Therapy

Why can't you make the word red into an adverb by adding ly , ie; he stared redly ?

It would seem that you can make anything an adverb by adding ly. I will start doing that nowly.



What's the difference between a mistake and an error ?

A mistake you make once, like a typo or sending a naughty text mistakenly to your ex husband. The subsequent scrambling for a plausible explanation is the guarantor to ensuring it never happens again.
An error you make repeatedly. It's based upon mis-judgement,  like the error contained in calling your friend's baby bullet head in a room full of Stepford wives.
It's the end of an error.


While correcting and completing a crossword puzzle for my mother the other day I noticed a clue that read, Pago Pago is it's capital. My mother had entered the answer Genoa. I laughed a little bit. Then I laughed Samoa.

 While on the topic of my mother; upon recently scouring the kitchen cupboards for something legitimately edible, I considered throwing a Chopped Whitby themed dinner party. Guests would be challenged to create a delightful and agreeable entree from the following ingredients :

a can of sardines
a jar of Marmite
lime jello
a bag full of frozen chicken bones ( ?? )
something that was once either a tomato or a red pepper but now looks like a zombie walked by and coughed.
a jar of walnuts that may have been there when I was looking for elbow macaroni for a 3rd grade art project

Anyone surviving the ptomaine apocalypse would be invited to a grand finale at Miss Havisham's  house.

Never rains but it pours

So........you spend a year, or (ahem) so, scrolling through the same old insipid profiles, hoping for something to jump out at you...or at least hoping for someone who is entertaining enough to pass a few mindless hours with, until you suddenly have a smorgasbord of delicacies to choose from. Ain't it always the way ? You can spend endless hours at Bikini Bay...searching through the tired, the ill fitting, the dated and then suddenly 3 of then just seem to fit perfectly. The perfect one, of course, disappeared long ago.
One of them looks good but it is a bit too scratchy, a bit too confining....so you dismiss it as a possibility. Two remain.
One of them is bright and frivolous. It has a few dangling adornments that you want to cut off.....but damn, it is eye catching.
The other one is more sedate. It fits in all the right places. It is not frivolous, but it just covers all the bases in a very comforting manner.

When you put on the bright one......you want it.
When you put on the sedate one.....you want it.

They are both on sale. No return policy. You don't know how either will look when they get wet.

I will likely choose the flashy one. I am attracted to bling. But sometimes I wonder if bling should not define me.

Oh how I wish they could both tell me how they feel about the fit.
They can't, I know. I have to make a choice.

It will become clear......depending on how well the top compliments the bottom.

I think I know.

A Collection of Questionable Opening Lines

Browsing through opening lines on a dating site can induce anything from mild irritation to outright guffaws. Here are a few of the better ones I have found with my completely unsolicited review.



Intelectual  -  like hel

I am looking good hard  - and IF you had remembered the and , it's a good thing you didn't include long

Must wear nice panties  -  so I take it that the white bloomers I have been wearing for 3 days are not acceptable ?


Boobies  -  I am at a loss. Do you covet them or do you have them ?

Ubiquitous Synergy Seeker  -  Dude, the band sucks.

Heels and Stalkings  -  Does that mean you are going to show up at my front door one day and threaten me with a shoe ?

Doggie Daddy  -  Ok, all I can thing of is Auggie Doggy and Doggy Daddy the cartoon. But Doggie Daddy did have the best laugh.

If you like pina coladas  -  if you say it one more time I am going to show up at your front door and threaten you with a shoe

I like round things  -  May I introduce you to my friend Boobies ?

Waiting For Godot   -  Well, if you had read the play, you would know that Godot is not a 5'10"  Victoria's Secret model in heels and stalkings

I drink beer through a straw  -  Cool. I eat nachos with a vacuum hose. Let's have kids

If you lick the air does it get wet  -  What other metaphysical speculations keep you up at night ? Did Adam and Eve have navels ?

I'm leaving this site  -  See you tomorrow. 

Everything old is new again

Plenty of Fish was down for several hours yesterday and oh the great hue and cry !!!!
Facebook and Twitter were alive with questions about how people were going to get through their working day. Someone actually claimed to have Markus on the phone. Hands were being wrung, OkCupid was flooded with new members.
We are addicted you see. Few are actually on POF to find a relationship. It is a free site.......let's face it....it's a chat room !!
Remember the chat rooms of the 1990's?  Everyone had their online boyfriend/girlfriend. Marriages were ruined. Sex became something that only happened in "private rooms"....it all came down to talking about it rather than actually doing it. Anyone who was glib of tongue and familiar with basic anatomy could reign and conquer. We can thank this phenomenon for the vastly overused word "chat". I mean....come on, who ever used the word "chat" prior to the influx of chat rooms ? Until then it was something old ladies did at bingo games.
There we learned to talk in acronyms, draw pictures with punctuation marks and streamline our work day to allow endless hours of virtual time wasting.
We could be anyone we wanted to be. The erudite Belgian chef was most likely Murry the plumber from Poughkeepsie sitting naked in his attic with a cold Schlitz and a bag of pork rinds.
Should the site crash however, people the world over who are entitled to vote and drive cars would regress into sniveling infants who had lost their favorite binkie.
It was an addiction of sorts, a 24/7/360 party we could show up at in a ratty bathrobe and slippers. No one ever had to surrender their car keys and conga lines around the buffet table were, thankfully, never an interruption.

A free dating site seems to offer this same addictive alternative to actually leaving the house. The party is always well attended, and no one has to cough up $8 for a Mojito.
Private "rooms" may not be available but.....isn't that what texting is for ?
Expecting to actually date is perhaps a bit like waiting for Murry to put on some pants, wipe the grease of his fingers and take you to Harvey's with a coupon. It could happen I suppose........but he would have to leave the party.

 

Docile, Dogma, Doormat

I have made mention of the overused cliches "down to earth" and "easygoing" , albeit not nearly to the degree to which the overuse of such trite phrases annoys me. With that being quite bitchily said however, one has to enter the online dating world with the patience of Ghandi, the tolerance level of Job and the determination of Sisyphus.

This notion brings to mind the male fascination with remote controls and the "guy nirvana" of picture-in-picture. Women the world over have fought for dominance over the remote control in order to watch one channel, and one channel only, for the duration of a program. What is this ADD induced need to be constantly flipping through channels, we ask?  Well a wise man once explained it to me. The y chromosome apparently comes pre-programmed to believe that there must always be something better on.....somewhere. If we apply that same dogma to online dating, then us single minded females are faced with the certainty that even though we may be charming, attractive and un-flinchingly willing to cook bacon in a bikini, the lure of the scroll option may forever satisfy the belief ......that there may always be something better.
Given the eclectic variety of television programs that I have personally witnessed to be remote control brake pedals, perhaps a photo of Nygella Lawson driving the Batmobile with Curly, Larry and Moe in the backseat could have the same effect upon chronic dating site scrollers. But alas, we are but one pretty flower in the meadow and while I am usually willing to offer the platitude, " Go ahead baby, have your fun ", I'm sure that even Madam Curie herself would have been ultimately driven to utter the words, "Pierre !! Give me the god damn remote !!".

Dumbing Down vs Sexing Up

On occasion I have asked a male acquaintance for an objective opinion of my dating profile.
The first response, from a man of moderate intelligence, elicited the response that it was too long and that I used too many big words. He suggested point form, sentences beginning with "I like to.......", and words of one syllable. This would perhaps be sage advice if I am ever likely to be content with Rocky, Red Green or Tony Soprano.

The second response focused more on the images provided. More full body shots were apparently required, preferably in revealing, "asset" enhancing attire and perhaps with an outdoorsy backdrop. So......ski pants and a bustier while chopping wood in the Laurentians ? Or perhaps a clingy, low cut LBD while hiking The Bruce Trail ? Once again, perhaps sage advice if I was looking for Charlie Sheen, Benny Hill or Caligula.

My posted images contain one full body shot in which I am wearing unintentionally tight fitting red pants. Of the comments I receive upon my appearance, the vast majority focus on the red pants. My face could resemble that of Samoan drag queen and my hair could be on fire.....but hey, nice pants. The red pants are now too big. I am considering auctioning them on Ebay.

In my description, I admit to subjecting the boys to a bit of a test. My first sentence deliberately contains the word "stilettos". In the words of Meatloaf, "Stop right there !!"
The remainder of my description could be instructions on knitting a balaclava, it would not stem the steady flow of messages regarding my choice of footwear.

I am considering the notion of inserting a few more "key" words....Search Engine Optimization if you would. Who knows....with the inclusion of "barbeque", "hockey" and "beer" I could be married by Victoria Day.......if I wanted to be Mary Jo Buttafuco.

The Friend Zone

Call me crazy.....ok call me a bit left of center, but I like the friend zone.

You can sing to each other for hours on the phone, you can be that "voice in the night" sender of facetious little emails you know only said friend will understand.....and, you don't have to put out !!! Hell, you don't even have to shave your legs !!!
You can sit at your laptop wearing week old yoga pants and sock monkey slippers with absolutely no make-up and an Olive Oyl hairdo....and "the bud" will still think you are amazing. What could be better ?

He's not going to sit across from you over a romantic dinner and tell you that your nose moves when you talk. He's not going to ask you to kick the cat off the bed. He's not going to complain when you don't want to be on top. But best of all....he's not going to suggest a wilderness camping trip for your birthday.

Of course, if the bud is ridiculously good looking, you will have the invariable Harry met Sally moments of hoping he might realize he's in love with you 5 minutes before midnight on New Years Eve. But those moments usually happen at 2:am after far too much chardonnay and they are generally gone in the morning.

Overall, he knows that you are his safety zone as much as he is yours, and, as much as anyone else may get......you will always get something they don't. Because he is your bud.

I am fortunate. I have two of them, and they each, in very different ways, remind me that I am fabulous even when the great un-washed take no notice. They make me smile when I feel invisible......and I cherish them. 

Words and Pictures Part 2

I realize that I should go gently here. As a writer words come easily to me, but I am well aware that even the most smugly over educated may need to breathe into a paper bag when faced with the dreaded "About Me" box.
What to say can perhaps be aided by a couple of tallboys and a call to your mom.
How you say it however, could make the difference between a silent scream and a trip to the fitting room.

Along with free picture rotation, our clever little computers also offer free spell check. Before I start to sound like a 3rd grade English teacher, I won't belabour the issue other than to say, yes it matters. A dating site profile that spells "heart"... HART, is a bit like a menu offering STAKE.

The suggestions offered to encourage self descriptors are simply that.....suggestions. It is not a required formula. Hobbies are swell but, quite frankly, if you are below the age of 70 you should never be using the word "hobbies".

I spent a year living near a beach and, despite repeated checking, I never once saw any single men walking along it.....even at sunset.

If a man's profile features golf and/or The Maple Leafs in the 1st paragraph I would like to point out that you are trying to attract a woman here. I would be willing to bet handsomely on the notion that a woman who enters golf or hockey into her search parameters will likely not own any of the much coveted stilettos.

"Will fill this in later" When I see a profile containing that statement, I wonder what the end result will be of this one....."I will call you later".

"Zest" is the grated peel of a citrus fruit.

A string of unrelated letters numbers and punctuation marks begs the question, are you currently undergoing an aneurism or an epileptic fit ? Please alert me if I should bring a metal spoon on the (highly unlikely) 1st date.

 Keyboards should be programmed to emit a mild electric shock every time someone types "down to earth" and "easygoing". An endless string of self-laudatory descriptors ,ie; "I am handsome, intelligent, successful, adventurous, altruistic, worldly, witty, well-mannered and fashionable" is all well and good, but might perhaps just make me want you to turn into a 6 pack and a pizza at midnight.

And finally, a few entries into the "Kiss of Death" category:

- recently separated (clearly not ready for the 2nd date U-Haul )
- gals ( fine if we square dance but unacceptable otherwise )
- offers or free shoes and/or chocolate ( woman only eat chocolate ice cream out of the carton in movies )
- ersatz used car ads ( all we will ask is,,,,"but what colour is it ?" )

Words and Pictures Part 1

Basic common sense dictates that, in presenting ourselves as an alluring prospective date we should do so without having to use a disclaimer such as, "I normally look much better than this.".
We have only 2 methods of showcasing available; our picture and our words and, while we may lack proficiency in photoshop enhancement or the time to find an engaging profile to plagiarize, there are some basic idiot proofing tools available.

We don't all have flattering shots of ourselves "having fun" readily available, and if anyone were to point a camera at me while I was playing beer pong at The Brunswick House....I might perhaps demur. But short of dropping $40 at Sears Portrait Studio for a cheesy shot of you with a jacket slung over your shoulder......well, it might work if you were Frank Sinatra.  And if you just got a haircut from a barber whose specialty is #2 on the style chart from 1979.......you might want to grab some gel and go for the Columbian Drug Lord look.
Selfies in the bathroom mirror will never compete with Herb Ritts but as long as you, a) put on a shirt, and not the one you wear to clean your spark plugs, b) comb your hair, if you have any and c) remove all condemning evidence of slovenly habits from the counter .....I have no self-righteous gripes about them.
At issue however, are sideways images. Given that both your computer's operating system and the dating site itself offer picture rotation at no extra charge, I can only assume that, if you passed up on 2 opportunities to show yourself as a a human who has evolved into walking upright.....you want us to see what you look like lying down.

To summarize......if you are lying down, and not for the purpose of changing my oil, shirtless and oblivious to a prison haircut.....I'm probably going to wonder what you look like on a " bad day".
Even a Columbian Drug Lord looks better standing up.

Age, Body Type and Other Falacies

The most rudimentary level of research into the mores of online dating will reveal that yes,  ( insert self righteous gasp of indignation ) most profiles include a modicum of deception. Someone, who clearly needs a hobby as much as I do, has actually taken the time to compile the most commonly fudged attributes.
Men apparently, take the greatest liberties with income and height whereas woman are most likely to mis-represent age and body type. The reasons are obvious, of course, but the gleeful shaving of years and pounds must certainly be accompanied by such worrisome factors as a) can I really pull it off ? and b) at what point do I come clean ?

The widely interpreted "average" body type will soon reveal itself to have been figuratively ( no pun intended ) used upon first sighting of course. I have met many an "average", "athletic" and even "muscular" body type  only to see them enter a room belly first. I can only assume that the muscles alluded to are the ones that hold the belly up over the belt.

Age however, is not as easily detected and, in my guileless and forgiving opinion, if you can unquestionably pass for 49, who needs to know otherwise ?

My daughters are my most vocal supporters in this regard. While having dinner with them one evening, a woman of perhaps 50-ish passed by our table and they launched into a discussion over how much she looked like a middle-aged mom. I reminded them that I am a middle-aged mom. They looked at me incredulously and remarked, "But you don't look like one ".

My posted age on dating sites is 53. Without exception, on first meetings I am told that I don't look 53. Perhaps I could shave off a couple of years and raise nary an eyebrow, but then again.......perhaps I am not 53. If a man who is capable of doing basic math, and who does not have the eyesight of Mr. Magoo can be pleasantly surprised by my 53 year old appearance.......then 53 I shall remain.

Brawn vs Intellect

Spoiler alert..... I am about to spill a "girl" secret and will certainly be fined by the estrogen police. It won't be the first time. I am about to have my license suspended for unpaid tickets.

The question that seems to plague men everywhere and, most certainly contributes to receding hairlines is, "What do women want?". The answer may seem rife with gender prejudice and open to lengthly psycho-analysis, but it is really quite simple.

We don't know what we want.

So, when asked by a friend who was called upon to assist me with a new profile, what kind of man attracts me.....there was no easy or linear answer.

Initially of course, I lean towards the intelligent, the witty and the creative. Tall, thin, slightly rumpled bookish types who sometimes forget to comb their hair, haven't a clue what the purpose of a ratchet wrench is and sometimes wear cardigans......intrigue me to no end.

But.......there's something about a big, bad, bald guy. One who can throw me over his shoulder and carry me up the stairs without breaking a sweat. One who can fix my lawn mower with the swiss army knife he keeps in his back pocket. One who hop into a semi and, without any prior training, drive it around the block looking like Steve McQueen.

Problems will ensue however, if said big, bad, bald guy ( and forgive me if I discriminate ) thinks Fellini is a type of pasta, Khafka is a kosher cold medicine or Hyden is a part of the female anatomy.

And......given that the thought of getting onto a motorcycle is, to me, as appealing as having a root canal, I would surmise that what attracts me would be......

A big, bad, bald guy with a PHD.
 

Commercial Break

Yes, I did warn of potential segues and, given that a particular, long running commercial aired last night...I must finally illustrate my puzzlement over a seemingly insignificant detail.
I refer the Excel chewing gum commercial (Excelerate your breath). The one with the chorus line of halitosis inducing foods. The blissfully cavorting coterie include such obvious examples as coffee, garlic and onions which we can all cover our mouths at the mere thought of, but ........a little, pink doughnut ? I am at a loss to grasp either the significance or the inherent pitfalls of ingesting such a seemingly harmless confection prior to a first kiss or perhaps an important business meeting.
I find it somewhat incongruous to imagine that much anticipated kiss in the back of a taxi being suddenly aborted to the words of,  "Oh baby, you have little, pink doughnut breath", or a smothered belch in a board room resulting in swiftly turned heads and the accusation of,  "Okay, who just ate little, pink doughnuts?" 
When imagining the aftertaste I think of an ever so slight taste of fat and an ever so strong taste of sugar, neither of which strike me as being unappealing.

I may very well go to my grave pondering the judgement of the account executive who approved this selection, but I may just as well go there secure in the knowledge that "little, pink doughnut breath" will not yet have seeped into the popular vernacular.

So, to that particular deep fried dough- phobic executive, may I offer a few suggestions of ingested items that would seem much more certain to repel:

- a 6 pack of Old Milwaukee and an ash tray full of Pall Mall menthols
- siphoned gasoline
- any variety of tiny, smoked fish that come in long, flat pop tab cans
- an egg salad sandwich chased with buttermilk

And to lovers of little, pink doughnuts everywhere......don't let the haters kill your carbo fix.

Shall We Talk of Intent

Ah yes, the "intent" box....the most ponderous and perplexing of the required fields on any given dating site. It doesn't really matter which option we blithely select, for it will be seized, sneered at, prodded and condemned long before the bloodthirsty welcoming committee has sniffed your pheromones and looked up your skirt.

The options are standard and seemingly banal in their simplicity, but nooooooo....evils lurk in the minds of the circling sharks and just as a dog may hear, "Yes, you can have that pork chop" as you are saying " Stay off the sofa", the regulars have bastardized the options into their own equally banal interpretations.

First we have....."Seeking a relationship".  Plenty of Fish,  never one to ignore the opportunity for excess, also offers  "Actively seeking a relationship" and "Seeking someone to marry".  If we take the first,  and least threatening of these options, the notion seems to arise that we could possibly show up for a second date driving a U-Haul. Throw in the adverb of option 2, and it would seem that the aforementioned U-Haul is cruising local avenues with heat seeking sensors and a chilled 6 pack.  As for the marriage option, well one would have to have a complete sense of "romanticide" to even consider this one, since the U-Haul is now required to contain a Lazy Boy for Mom and a complete library of "How To" books relating to the deconstruction of a man cave.

Next we have the option that married people daydream about....."Dating". The enviable life of candlelit dinners, dancing, long walks on moonlit beaches and the constant ringing of our doorbell by FTD. But if the opposite sex are to read malicious intent into something so seemingly rapturous, would it be that we lack the necessary domestic skills to cook for ourselves and embrace as many free meals as possible to avoid potential malnutrition.....or are we simply commitment phobic ? This one is rife with potential pitfalls and should be offered with lengthly disclaimers containing such SEO optimizations as "open to the possibility...." , "if more develops....." and "no friends will call with a fake emergency".

Now here is where it gets fuzzy. Lavalife cuts right to the core and offers the only 3rd option of Intimacy . The orange room where true intentions are exposed along with.....other things. Can't offer much enlightenment on that.
The ever superfluous Plenty of Fish however, gives us 3 further options to consider.
Friends - seems self explanatory enough

Hang Out - given that the minimum age to register is 18, this one puzzles me. It seems to imply shopping mall food courts and watching rom-coms in our pyjamas.

Not Seeking a Relationship or any kind of Commitment - after having tested this one out, it apparently seems to mean that you are readily available for random hook-ups, sexting and typing dirty. My popularity has increased exponentially since this option was utilized and, while the # of Favorites lists I now appear on has elicited a self high 5....I am not offering any of the aforementioned services. Time to change it back to another option.

The question is however..............which one ?

A Twist on The Morning After

The inherent problem with dating sites, and we all know this, is the overall lack of sincerity, honesty and integrity. They are grossly over populated by bottom feeders ( marine metaphor to be excused in reference to the fishing site) and not so well intentioned trollers ( oops I did it again) of the sad, the lonely, the mis-begotten.
It is a bit of a condemning outlook, I am aware, but if you are someone who inherently believes that the sun will shine tomorrow and that your car will start regardless of the cold....well, you tend to fall head first into the Ha-Ha Hotel of Hopefulness, only to find that it is run by Leona Helmsley.

The true problem arises when, and this is rare, you do meet someone who has no ecstasy to drop into your cocktail, no illiterate friends to give your # to, and no mirrors on his shoes. How do you possibly address this novelty? Why, you ruin it of course, because you are so accustomed to the bullshit that you simply insert it of your own accord. You blast them with the fire hose of fallacious assumptions, you whip them with the wounds you have endured.......and you wake up in the morning with a regret that cannot justify.

It takes a hard shell, it takes the knowledge of when to remove that shell, and it takes  PHD in anthropology to separate the two.

The Best and the Worst

When considering the nominations for this post it came to mind that the best and worst of the past year were with the same person so, given the ambiguity of that situation I will retreat further into the annals and related the best and worst.....in my colourful dating history.

Several years ago I agreed to a date with a man who lived a good distance away and had a somewhat indistinct picture posted on his profile. I was hesitant and expressed my concerns to a co-worker who offered the sunny little homily, "You never know", and.... indeed you don't.
Tacit 1st date etiquette has suggested that, when meeting at a restaurant,  the 1st person to arrive waits at the door in order to ascertain identity. I found no one at the door but knew he had arrived due to a prior phone call. Wandering aimlessly in search of the indistinct date I was taken pity on by an astute hostess who pointed me to a table where an individual sat alone, his face obscured by the large menu he was perusing. Puzzled but undaunted I sat across from the menu and counted to ten before it was lowered. Indistinct man gave way to non-descript man.
The server appeared and requested our drinks order. I responded with, "I will have a marguarita on the rocks". He responded with, "I'll have a fajita".
Already wishing I had arranged the ersatz emergency phone call I anxiously awaited my marguarita which I fully intended on downing in one gulp. My drink, and his dinner were presented and he blithely began eating the fajita filling as though it was a stew, mopping up liquid with the tortillas. Not as disturbing though, was his utter obliviousness to the absence of food in front of me, as was the manner in which he ate. Left arm encircling the plate, right arm steadily shoveling food into his mouth with head bent and eyes darting around the room. Yes, I thought, I have seen men eat in this manner before.......in prison !!!!! Only movies about prison of course but any one of them will reveal this particular style of eating as guarding one's food before the Aryan brotherhood comes to claim it.
My 2nd marguarita was rapidly waning as he looked up and suddenly remarked upon my foodless state, deposited a teaspoonful of fajita stew onto my side plate and ordered the cheque.
Thirty minutes after arriving, dinner was eaten and paid for and we were standing in the parking lot where I muttered something lame about perhaps having left the iron on before driving home ( with a side trip to LCBO ) steadily watching my rearview mirror for following headlights.

Yes.....that was the worst.

The best was a lunch date, and a much shorter story. Simply put, we met for lunch......and stayed for dinner. As the lunch crowd exited and we were left alone but having far too much fun to contemplate leaving, we asked the manager if anyone would mind if we stayed.....throwing in the fact that it was a 1st date for cuteness value. Not only were we welcomed but we were treated as a romantic little novelty to which he added the "awwww" inducing across the table kiss. Eight hours later we were still able to adequately steam up the car windows before parting.
Why did I not marry him? Because future correspondence revealed that he was running his own little season of "The Bachelor", narrowing the field week by week and while I was happy for the "rose" I was not interested in competing.

Sadly.....the restaurant no longer exists.

Repeat Offender

I am no neophyte to single life, having spent several years thusly in my 40's. Following a 4 year relationship, which shall be referred to as simply " the mistake by the lake", I found myself once again bereft of a snoring body in the bed. A brief reclusive episode which consisted of many days at the beach and many nights of debauchery with gay neighbours has led me back into the maelstrom of online dating. Things haven't changed much, nor have the people, nor have the pictures which are by now at least 10 years older than their original claim. Everyone is still startlingly down to earth and easy going and snide comments from me regarding the laws of gravity or the intrinsic attraction of a complicated soul seem to have little impact upon this preponderance of blandness.
Ages are now misrepresented to the degree that men seen in Shopper's Drug Mart on seniors day are now in their mid 40's and endomorphic body types seem more and more to qualify as average.
What does seem to be a new and somewhat disturbing phenomenon however, is the reliance upon texting as a sexual encounter. Given the degree to which acronyms count as words when texting.......I look forward to many more requests to CUDOYRSELF, to which I can reply ............NGFH.

Next time......the best and worst.


   

The primary purpose of establishing this blog was to provide myself with a outlet, outside of emails to PW, by which to share not just my love of alliterations but my somewhat skewed views on being fifty (something) and single.
Of course other rants and wry observations may appear from time to time. Never let it be said that I am linear or that I can resist a segue.

All anecdotes are described with 100% accuracy, minimal enhancement for comic value and no egos were wounded in the process.