I'm not Sharon Stone or Carla Bruni, but I'm not half bad.
Sometimes the dating site e-mails you a "date of the day." I'm convinced it's computerized with no one with a pulse overseeing any of it.
Here's why..day I opened my e-mail to see my ex as my "date of the day." And even he shaved eight years off his real age.
I immediately forwarded the e-mail and picture to a good friend who e-mailed back, "He looks cute. There are more guys who say they're 49 or 59 on these sites than is mathematically possible.
Though I can afford to pay and am very independent, I like it when the guy pays for the first latte or drink or burger and then we both work through who pays for what moving forward. " as I'm sipping my decaf, I feel like screaming, "NOT REALLY, LOSER" and splashing the coffee - spoon and all -- in his face.
I'm stunned to be 58, separated and divorced and dating again. For me, long term dating meant going out with the same guy twice. Back then it was Paco-Rabanned guys, old Volvos and the Eagles. I was ambitious and prospered while he got stuck mid-way up the corporate ladder. I think it was when our daughter left for college that emptiness really dug in its spurs.
There was something about opening the door Saturday to a new, hot guy that was my personal high. I wanted a second home at the beach - he wouldn't consider it.
I was flooded with messages from Davids and Jeffs and Michaels. And there's something about spearing meatballs and talking barium enemas that's just not right. There was a high-level economist who came into a restaurant wearing a suit and sneakers and immediately confessed to abusing his wife (I told him to get back on his bike and pedal real fast), an optometrist with both an eye twitch and a stye and a steady stream of overworked, underpaid, sleep-deprived Ph Ds.
I was in dating heaven -- stuck in amber -- somewhere between 50-something and 18 again, unable to remember if my next date was Andy or Sandy, if they had dogs or cats, three kids or one, were a doc or lawyer. The photo on Ted's profile showed a handsome guy with a head full of Grecian curls. Since then there's been the doc (MD) who trailed me into the women's bathroom in a fancy Italian restaurant for a grope (nothing like kissing near a toilet as a turn on), the big-time lawyer who wound up in rehab (I didn't have a clue), the architect whose parents lived next to his house in an RV, the bi-polar guy who only wore green (including watch, belt and shoes), the guy with the worst breath on the planet (could be our next alternative fuel source) and the vegan who only ate tofu (I mean, how much tofu can one person eat before turning into a plant? Short, tall, hairy, waxed, funny, corporate, artsy, crafty - but no one who clicked all my tumblers into place.