Finding your thankfulness

This month is all about being thankful. Sometimes it is not easy to be thankful you are single…other times it is the universe’s biggest blessing. It’s a matter of time and place.

I love being single when I’m exhausted and really just need a bath and a pint of Talenti Coffee Chocolate Chip gelato. Or when there is a great movie on at the same time as the Final Four game. Or when I really want to watch five episodes of Breaking Bad in one sitting. With a Chihuahua in my lap. In my flannel cowboy pajamas.

It’s not as much fun to be single during the holidays.

The stretch between the end of November and New Year’s Day…. tis the season when single-ness can spell loneliness. You look around and see all your friends, married or dating some fabulous man, going to parties, breaking bread, sipping wine by firelight, holding hands in church and you just want to crawl in a hole. And then you remember: YOU ARE AN ONLINE DATING GURU. And ‘tis the season for finding someone else in the same boat, looking for a rowing partner.

My friend Tinkerbell uses the word “festive” a lot. She is very blonde, and often very insightful.  Tinkerbell is younger than me by more than a decade, but wise beyond her years. She says we all need more festivity in our lives, and she is again, dingdingding, CORRECT! Why not make it your gift this season to bring that festivity to the table and share it????

Men are dolts when it comes to knowing the Laws of Attraction. But like moths, they are all attracted to the flame. We all move toward what makes us happy. Ever had a toxic friend? You will avoid them like they have the Black Plague. Nobody wants to be around someone who makes more withdrawals from our emotional banks than they do deposits. Be the winning lottery ticket. Put your own brand of festivity out there and see what it attracts. This means tweaking your profile, uploading fresh new photos, and showing the virtual Ken camp what you bring to the table. Fun. Happy. Thebestyoucanbe.

I had a date with a man once who was about as exciting in person as a paint chip. We had good conversation on the phone, but when I walked in the restaurant to meet him I knew this was a man who did not know festivity. AT ALL. I brought my basket full of it to the table, opened the top and let it sprinkle all over him. He remained a paint chip. Festivity doesn’t stick to everyone. But you at least need to load it up and take it with you.

On the other hand, you might go on a date and have an opportunity to sprinkle your unique brand of festivity all over a bunch of people. I went to a wedding in the country last weekend with a bunch of very festive people. Of all ages. There was festivity in the audience during the vows, a very festive bride and groom, and we took festivity to the reception in the horse paddock.  Everybody brought their own brand. All the single ladies rocked the dance floor with festive attitudes. The men noticed. I saw some flirting. There is not much more fun than a whole pack of festive people. So be the instigator. You can never go wrong bringing happiness to the table. And Lord knows, happy people are way more attractive than a bunch of morose mopers.

Which brings me back to your online selections. Reach out and respond to only the ones who seem to have ,at LEAST, the potential to be fun. Who wants to take a paint chip to Thanksgiving dinner? Look for a man whose face at least looks like he knows what festive means. Even if only in the context of the aftermath of a big football win at Toomer’s Corner. It’s a good start - you can work with that. And you need to project the same spirit of fun and laughter in yours. Especially this time of year. There is no need to be sad because you are single. We singles collectively feel the chill of that part of the holiday season, so we are all primed for making a connection. This might be the best Ken Doll-building season of all. Spread some holiday magic.

Tinkerbell also says there are only so many shopping days left til Christmas, so get going. In life and in love, what you bring to the table matters.  Make it the best season ever!

 

 

dating 101: the horrors

Ladies, here we are, over 50, single, jaded, real and looking for that one decent man who has all his teeth and uses decent English. It's kind of like looking for a McDonalds in Borneo.

We started with the usual match dot com and wanted to stick a fork in our eyeballs after about three days. Let me make one thing VERY clear: we are the women your men drool over. We are tall. We are classy. We have nice boobs and great hair. We drink in moderation, shave our legs every day, know and command the English language, know how to dress, know how to act in public and in private. In other words, we are CATCHES. Or, we are fisherwomen looking for salmon in a bream bed.

Where in the HELL did all these man come from? The men of Pleather shoes, tacky facial hair, bad jeans, brown teeth, Harleys and Nascar. The ones who think "fine dining" means Applebees on all you can eat night. The ones who live in mobile homes and drive shit cars but have 400 inch plasma TV sets.
The ones who could not spell their way out of a Hardees bag. The ones whose bellies rival St Nick's.

First try, Plenty of Fish. A  pond for sure, but still: the selection is like what you would find at a Mexican Wal-mart at 11PM on the first Friday of the month. When there is a sale on Doritos. IF we found a decent looking one, he would be 5 feet tall. With a wife-beater and some blue jean cut-offs. Or posing in front of some car at a car lot he could never rent much less buy. With a Folex watch. Or holding a fucking FISH. Shoot me dead.

Second try: Christian Mingle. Where I met a never-married, 50 year old udder-captain (aka dairy farmer) who still lived at home with Ma and Pa and rose every morning at 3 to head to the milking shed. I love a farmer, but living with your parents because Ma still washes your clothes and makes your bed is really icky. Plus his social skills were those of the Borneo native who hasn't seen a television set. Next.

Third try:Match.com. Dingdingding we have some winners ladies and gentlemen. Door Number One: a sweet, quiet, faintly handsome guitar playing fellow who wrote himself an exit ticket when he showed up in a faux baseball jacket with denim sleeves and green naugahyde . May the force be with him. Door Number Two: a short, very entertaining Georgia boy who I affectionately named Squirrel because of his size and constant motion. I needed a Xanax an hour into the first date. Plus, he talked like a mynah bird on crack. Next. Door Number Three through Fifteen were not memorable enough to write about. Suffice it to say the list includes a man who drove five hours to impress me for a dinner date - in tennis shoes, no si\ocks, wrinked shorts and someone else's face and body who clearly was NOT the man in the photos that wre sent to me....a desperate respiratory therapist who informed me on the first date that he was interviewing dates for the position of Next Wife (buh bye breathing machine)...a tattooed eye doctor who had so many insecurities he medicated himself before, during, and after he made it out of bed to work in order to deal with his patients....and so forth, and so on, ad nauseum. There were some good times too, like the handsome South Carolinian who canoed me around Lake Lanier over July 4th. But many more were such bad fits it was like wearing barbed wire sandals.

You gotta stick with this program knowing most of it has value only as entertainment. Prince Charming is 98 and in a nursing home wearing a diaper. Forget his ass. Be freal. The most you can hope for is someone who you aren't mortified to be in public with, who pays for dinner, wears more cotton than polyester, doesn't pick his teeth or blow his nose at the table, and who knows there are many cuts of beef called steak, not just chopped. Start out with low expectations and work your way up. Learn who and how to cull. It's like a Build-A-Man workshop. You can make a Ken, a GI Joe, or a Joker. Don't wait - don't be negative. It makes your face wrinkled and then you have to spend $300 on Botox. Which I highly approve of, because whatever makes your game better is just part of the deal.

Start clicking.

Walking barefoot on gravel

Dating after 50 sucks.
I mean, aren't these supposed to be the easy years? Payback for working our butts off raising kids and doing our corporate time? Aren't our husbands supposed to be taking us to Europe?
Nope. We are Single. Products of Failed Marriages. What. The. Hell.
I have been re-single for three years. I loved my ex. I mourned the loss of the life I had with him. Until I cleared my head of the noxious fumes that clouded my thought process and remembered he CHEATED with tramps, stole my inheritance out of our joint account (never ever share an account with a man, ladies), had a raging white hot temper and was mean as a baboon.
I mourned for a year, changed into my ass kicking boots and joined match dot com.
Gawd, it was tragic at first. I had no skillz. I did not know what I was looking for, therefore I found a lot I didn't want. But I also learned a lot about myself. I'm still learning. And you know what else? I'm changing into someone I like. I'm lowering my fists - opening my heart a little - dropping my armor. Life cannot be about protecting yourself from what might happen! Each and every opportunity we have is a conduit to learning. Every person who crosses our path can teach us something. And I need a lot of lessons, because I have proven that the definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
I want to be better. Sweeter. Wiser. More productive. More aware. Less selfish. I also want financial security, a better bathtub, and a man who really really loves me.
I'll always be on the verge of broke. I have great creative skills, none of which seem to pay well. I am not a fast typist and have no college degree (close, but no cigar). What I do best doesn't pay squat. So I  am learning to live with LESS....not a bad thing. Amazing how easy it is to manage 1000 square feet after managing 5000. I do not miss mopping all those wood floors.
And I have found a sweet man. A lot of my writing will be about him, and me, and us. You know that definition of insanity? I broke the pattern and am seeing a relationship bloom from the most unlikely source. I can't read into the future, and don't want to. If life is going to get any harder please God don't show me til you prepare me! But one thing I do know: Never Give Up.
I had the most amazing farm with my ex. I've been a horse person since I was three. My daddy took me into a barn full of racehorses owned by a friend. Sometimes a window opens a little and lets the future in. Horses were my passion from that point on. When I left my marriage, I gave up a large part of my dream. Kind and loving friends helped me sew together a way to hold on to just enough. Gratefulness lives in me to the point of bursting sometimes. I saved the parts that mattered - the horses. My dogs. My hope.
I spent lots of time alone. I spent time with men who were just chew toys. I spent time getting to know who I am in order to know who I need. This takes practice, practice requires dating, and the easiest and safest way to meet men when you don't go to bars is online - eharmony, match, POF. It's like building your own Ken doll while in your pajamas with a bowl of ice cream.
So I meet this man on match.com. He lives just over the state line about an hour away. I like a photo of him in a blue dress shirt. He has a sweet face, one you can read. In it I saw vulnerability, kindness, passion, strength, honesty. He is six years older than I am. He writes messages that are real. There is no agenda. I want to met this man, but he is in Pinehurst for two weeks, so we get to know each other on the fast track, via phone.
Man casually mentions he lives on 70 acres in a "log cabin". My ears perk up. I like acreage. He is a professional. His marriage was finished three years ago too. He is smart. He is open and he is REAL. Not being able to see each other face to face liberated us in conversation. We got past a lot of the niceties and into the meat of who we are. We decided to meet when he got back, at his "farm". He gave me the address and told me to google map it.
And then I knew God was smiling. The map showed me not just a farm, but a horse farm. Manicured paddocks, a barn, wood fencing. All empty. Just waiting. Just wow.
Ladies, never give up. Your story is not over because some man was too stupid to realize you are his VBT (Very Best Thing). I am here to tell you the story of my recovery from a toxic marriage, and the often gravel-paved road I walk barefoot on.