The True Life Adventures of David, Steve and Gary

Below are three reasons why I decided to take a break from online dating.

First off there was David, (I am using REAL names as they should be ashamed of themselves and also, what are the chances they will read this blog?) We met at Ocean Prime restaurant which is quite upscale and swank, and I found him at a side table, making his way through a mediocre bottle of cabernet. After the introductions, he immediately pulled out a photo of his ex who is a hair stylist to local celebs and models, that is, provided they get their hair done at the JC Penney's salon in Westshore Mall. She is an ungrateful bitch and a gold digger. She is moving to California. Who cares. Who needs her anyway. Nothing but good to her. She only takes never gives. Why is she leaving. Why. How can she do this.

I order a martini and inhale the free bowl of popcorn while he wipes tears from his eyes and pours another glass of cab. Around me are couples cozying up by the outdoor fireplace. I don't want to cozy up to David. I suggest he go to his ex immediately and beg her to stay so that I can finish my drink in peace and order a wedge salad. Go west young man. Go. Bye now.

Next was Steve. This one was really fun. We met at Cheesecake Factory for dessert. Imagine my delight when I returned from the restroom to find he was no longer at our table. Then, imagine my humiliation and rage to see him laughing hysterically at another table thinking he played a silly joke on me. Fucking idiot.

Finally, there was Gary. I allotted him 30 minutes for coffee at the local Dunkin Donuts. After gazing at me longingly while describing his at home (aka garage) gym he suggested I may want to meet his mother and sister. Lucky for me this became possible the next evening when he showed up at a wine tasting event I was attending with my friend, mom and sis in tow. He invited me to eat dinner with them which I declined as I told him my friend and I had already eaten. This rubbed him the wrong way when 30 minutes later he walked into Side Berns Restaurant, where I was sitting at the bar eating a cheeseburger the size of a soccer ball.

Okay. Enough. I have vodka, flat screen tv and a dog. I am content. Ugh, but I have one more date already committed to. I tell myself this is the last one. I am taking a six month reprieve from dating and will focus my energy on...um...I don't know, anything else, I'm sure I can come up with something. Perhaps I will volunteer at my kids' school.

I know, that made me laugh too.

Anyway, stay tuned for part 2 of this story where I meet a man who will be referred to only by his initial. This could be serious.

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Eternity ShmEternity

My wedding ring is a newer, bigger, way more obnoxious version of my original, although it does have some history. For many years, my grandparents owned a jewelery store in a small town in New York. When they retired, they went from displaying their jewels in glass cases to wrapping them in wads of toilet paper and hiding them in various places in their apartment. You could sometimes sit on Grandma Evie's maroon lazy boy and look down to find a TP covered diamond brooch poking you in a very unseemly place.

When we got engaged my ex bought my first ring from my grandma. I believe she had that one stashed between two wash cloths in the linen closet. It was a gold band with a tiny diamond. I still have it. Ten years later he bought a bigger one from my mother, who was now in charge of the stash. She had upgraded the system from hidden toilet paper bundles, to a built in hidden safe, and don't ask me where it is because I can't tell you. Is it just us Jewish people or does everyone believe that the Orkin man was put on this Earth mainly to steal our jewelry?

The new ring, consisted of the old diamond surrounded by an eternity band of little diamonds. Let's just clarify that in this case, eternity means forever OR until someone with better hair and bigger boobs comes along, whichever comes first. In my case, of course, the latter proved true.

Now, I happen to know that this ring was purchased way after Giselle was. Little did I know it was really more of an "FYI, I have decided to date other people" ring, than an "I love you so much, thank you for these beautiful children, and how do you stay so pretty and skinny" ring. My mistake.

So here it is April 13th, I am looking at this ring, and then I am looking at this tax bill and I am thinking..hmmm, I think I hear Grandma Evie telling me to go the the International Diamond Source in Clearwater and sell the ring so that I can pay my taxes and stay out of prison for another year. Yes she is definitely coming through loud and clear, "Go mamala go."

Grandma Evie used to put on a back brace, pin the toilet paper bundles to it and then, wear like three shirts, when she had to travel with her jewelry. I felt safe throwing the ring into the change section of my wallet and heading down US 19.

I enter the Source For all That is Diamonds, or whatever, after being buzzed in through three doors. Um excuse me, do you not see you are on Roosevelt Blvd between the Taco Bell and McDonalds? Who are you trying to kid? But I play along. I put on my saddest "I need to sell something but I am not white trash" face and a young girl points me to a desk.

There a lovely gentleman named Greg greets me. His white beard and wire framed glasses have a calming effect on me. He speaks in soft tones as he holds the ring in his fingers and puts it beneath a magnifying loop. "Have you gotten other estimates?" he inquires in his kindly baritone. "Some," I reply in my attempt to sound knowledgeable. "I know it is very a very emotional experience to sell a ring like this," he said and that's when it happened. I began to cry.

Looking at that ring, resting on a velvet tray, brought emotions right up to the base of my throat. Some of the sadness was for my now RIP marriage, the kids, the baseball games, the nightly homework, the day to day being that we shared as a couple and then as a family.

Greg told me that the diamond was very flawed, as it had been cut in the 1800's. It would need to be shaved and re-cut to fit into a modern setting. I figured that diamond had probably come into Grandma Evie's possession sometime in the 60's, right around the same time I entered her life. Now look at the two of us, both flawed and needing re-cutting in order to forge ahead.

When Greg told me that the eternity diamond part of the ring was basically useless and would be cut away from the old, flawed diamond, that's when I knew it was time to let go, eternity was definitely over in this case. Let this flawed diamond be transformed into a new symbol of love for another couple who may be lucky and get it right.

I stuck the check down into my purse, went through the drive-thru, got two taco supremes (yes two,) and headed home. I took comfort in the fact that I still had several beautiful pieces of jewelry that Grandma E had given me that I knew I would never part with. They were safely stashed in plastic baggies in the bottom of my underwear drawer. Toilet paper is so expensive these days.

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Private Thoughts

The other night some friends and I got into a discussion regarding private school for our kids. Most people would agree if you can afford it, there are benefits, such as smaller classes, more intense curriculum and most importantly, the chance to be a cheerleader even if you cannot do a basic somersault, much less a back flip off a pyramid made of other cheerleaders. I did not attend private school, and it is a known fact that Jewish girls don't tumble, so I had to be content with being on the "pep squad" otherwise known as, girls with dark hair and braces who will not in their wildest dreams ever be cheerleaders. Ever. Dream on losers.

When I became a parent I wanted my kids to attend private school. Let me rephrase that, I demanded that my kids attend private school, (and yet the reasons for my failed marriage continue to elude me.)
Even though my oldest daughter M answered "Oh I dont know- I think they're studying the civil war or something," when I asked her why there were photos of Hitler in the 6th grade classroom, I still felt my kids were getting the best possible education, not to mention chef created lunches with a full salad bar. Arugula, I kid you not.

Divorce brought our years of private school to a screeching halt, meaning my youngest has spent his high school years in public school. Here are some of the things I have observed:

Two years ago, J began arriving home very late even though he was on the school bus. When I asked him why he said," Oh sorry mom. Our bus driver likes to drive us past his old house every day."

Last year, while working on his diagram of photosynthesis, he told me he was feeling very sorry for his science teacher. When I asked why, he said, 'Well he is getting a divorce and he has to live with his mom again, and he is really upset about it and he misses his wife."

This year when he was struggling with some math homework I asked why he didn't just approach his teacher for help. He told me that the teacher just sits at his desk with his head in his hands saying "Why me?" and he hates to bother him.

I am very pleased that aside from getting a traditional education, he is learning empathy and understanding for others. Thanks to that displaced bus driver, he has seen parts of the city that he may never have known existed. Not only did he learn the photosynthesis cycle, he also learned that living with mom, after a failed marriage is not something to strive for. His math teacher has taught him that sometimes people need space and quiet time, and that we can find answers to alot of our problems on Google.

Ironically, he is the only one of my four that is pursuing a traditional path of a four year college with an early acceptance to an excellent university and an invitation into the National Honor Society. Therefore, I have come to the conclusion that it is the kid that makes the kid, not the school that makes the kid. He had no desire to be a cheerleader anyway.

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Dermatology PRACTICE?

Recently my friend F was invited to a botox party and she was kind enough to include D and I in the invitation. I of course accepted immediately and was giddy with anticipation. I based my excitement on the botox parties I had seen on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Okay-let me tell you how theirs went down: everyone shows up at Adrienne's house where they are given a big, white fluffy robe to put on. From there, they are ushered upstairs to the in home spa floor, where doctors are circulating with botox filled syringes and masseuses are waiting with towel lined tables. There is a table set with rare fruits, tea sandwiches and very expensive bottles of wine. OMG, I am SO in!

At the agreed upon time I pick up F and D, and we head to the Tampa location, which I assume will be a water front mansion in one of those beautiful, gated neighborhoods. But wait, the GPS lady is taking us to a strip plaza next to the Circle K. She and I have had it out many times, as she thinks SHORTEST ROUTE means taking me past every school zone within 20 miles at three pm, however, it appears she is right this time, according to the address F has written down.

We pull into the parking lot and I am extremely concerned as there is no catering truck in sight. We make our way to the door and out of nowhere, a gentleman dressed as a zombie auto mechanic with dreadlocks that don't look intentional appears. He eyes us carefully and I think he is imaging how our bodies would look, NOT naked, but in teensy pieces buried in his front yard. I'm not worried, though as F is a 29 year old hot Brazilian, with a beautiful face and body to match, and I'm sure he would go for her first giving D and I time to run.

We enter Dermatology Is Us, and are greeted by a young woman with lips the size of life rafts who tells us to sign in. She hands us a paper with the services available this evening and the PRICES? I did not see Lisa Vanderpump or Kyle Richards open their wallet once! I glance around; on a TV tray in the corner is a plastic container of slimy apple slices with some brown goo for dipping, and a warm bottle of Chardonnay. Suddenly it dawns on me-this is not a party! This is an open house for a new dermatologist looking for clients to practice on!
I grab F by her young, unflabby shoulders:
"F this is not a party!"
"I dunt know, I dint understand, I tink she say party"
"Well unless we leave right now, one of us is going back there for 500 dollars worth of botox and it is not going to be me!"

I look into F's beautiful, unlined face and know that in all good conscious I cannot send her back to Dr. Mengele. D is on the phone with her daughter arguing about bed time and is blissfully unaware of what has befallen us, therefore, we sign HER up. I fill a dixie cup with hot wine and join Paulie Walnuts in the waiting area. He is waiting for his numbing cream to kick in. I am sure that an unlined forehead will keep the women from noticing the wall of fat hanging over his belt and the stiff bouffant. Badda Bing.

D joins us and I hand her a nice hot cup of wine and tell her she has been looking tired lately. I explain to her that in order to be polite and not embarrass F in front of her friends she will be getting some needles stuck into her face and to be brave. I also tell her that due to the fact that I am starving and in desperate need of a martini already, she will have to forgo the luxury of numbing cream. I promise her it won't be near as bad as that time she gave birth to twins.

Two martinis and three sushi rolls later, I am finding the whole evening rather funny. D is not laughing-or maybe she is...it will be easier to tell in a few months when the botox wears off.

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Weight and See

A good friend, my best friend, (you know who you are, stop hiding in the shadows and come forward,) and I have been commiserating over some of the changes taking place in our middle aged bodies, mainly a slight weight gain that has us both puzzled. We're not happy. We don't get it. We have our thyroids tested immediately. They are fine. What could be causing this?

We decide to do weight watchers on line. We pay our 50.00 and start counting our points. We have 29 points per day plus 17 weekly bonus points to use as we like throughout the week. Right off the bat, we see a problem with the alcohol count. It is 4-6 points per drink, meaning we could use up our weekly bonus points by Tuesday night. D goes to diet tonic with her vodka, while I cut down to only 1 blue cheese olive in my martini. Yes a sacrifice, but our new bodies will be so worth it.

We start out strong, we cheer each other on, boosting each other through that 3-5 PM time slot with apple slices (fruits are 0 points!) and low fat cheese wedges, so we can make it through to dinner. OMG this is so easy why didn't we think of this before?

By Wednesday we are fucking starving and things sort of take a down turn as seen by the following texts:

"D how many activity points can I take for getting the mail?"
"A how many points for two bowls of Golden Grahams?"
"D isn't an olive a fruit?"

We decide we may need alittle help and it becomes apparent that one of us is going to have to go to the meetings. Due to the fact that D has active children, and a husband and a life, it falls upon me to make this bold move. I attend my first meeting in Jackie O glasses and head scarf. I stare at the floor, while others tell of their great successes of the week, drinking club soda flavored with lemon (sick) and sugar free ice cream (why bother?) I also find out that no, you can't save up your bonus points and then have a 68 point binge at the end of the month. OMG, these folks are not messing around.

One woman speaks up..."You will be very proud of me. My daughter and I went to Sonny's BBQ and I only ordered a half order of ribs and had coleslaw instead of mac and cheese." Applause. "The guide says Sonnys ribs are 19 points but I don't think that can be right."
No of course not, how can a slab of fatty pork, drenched in a sea of sugar based sauce be that many points? No way. I agree. Idiots. Ruining lives by giving out ridiculously false information.

I report back to D. She decides to head to the gym. Coward. Abandoning ship on me. I am going to stay the course, 29 points or bust! And things just got a whole lot easier, turns out an olive IS a fruit!

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Tweaking the Resume
originally posted: March 7, 2012

There was a point in time when I thought I might like to work in the family business. Instead, I decided to join a tennis league. Now, Giselle has her own office right next to my ex, (Well, if I would have known I would have my own office...) and I feel totally at ease knowing she is watching over our finances and my personal well being. Nothing to worry about there.

Since that avenue is now closed to me (you snooze you lose,) I am continuing my hunt for the perfect career. From what I have read there is a definite process one needs to follow in seeking employment. I spend a lot of time on GOOGLE researching the step by step approach to finding a job. It appears the next step would be to actually apply for one, but I'm not there yet. This is going to require more research and a lot of careful thought. This process can not be rushed.

One article suggests writing down your strengths and weaknesses and going from there. Here is what I have come up with so far.

STRENGTHS
1. Reliable transportation
2. Good teeth
3. Healthy appetite
4. Don't drink a lot of soda
5. Have set new records on Solitaire

WEAKNESSES
1. Cannot commit to meeting deadlines
2. Cannot commit to meeting goals
3. Cannot commit to meeting expectations
4. Get extremely tired after lunch
5. People bug me

Okay. One step closer to finding my new career! The next step will have to wait, because I just ate lunch, and you know what that means.

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CAT WOMAN
originally posted: February 16, 2012

Being a divorced, 50ish woman, you have to be super careful not to appear lonely or weird, when dating. There are some things that men find appealing, and other things we need to stay away from. For instance, taking your black lab running in the park, or joining a wine tasting club is definitely cool. Going out and buying, let's say a ferret, probably won't go over so well, it may sound eclectic and fun, but trust me, it's weird. Showing him pictures of your peekapoo, Mitzi dressed in a rain coat, not so cool, and the one big red flag that men run from? Cats. This is why I hesitate to publish this post.

Awhile back, my son said to me in passing, "Hey mom, this is weird but I thought I saw H carrying a cage to her room." "Hmmm," I thought, "That IS weird." When I went to investigate I found a black kitten with emerald green eyes, lying on her bed.
"What is this?" I asked. She looked at me, eyes squinted, like, "What is what?" but answered, "A kitten."
"Why is it here?"
"I wanted one."
Ohhh, okay, got it.
"But you didn't ask, and I hate cats. They have no personality and their pee stinks."
"Well, I already have a litter box and I will keep him in my room. You won't even see him."

It really was adorable to watch. She took "Jet" with her everywhere, true to her word, he stayed in her room and they were inseprable. For three days. Then a friend invited her to a beach house in Clearwater for a few days and she was out the door.
"What about Jet?" I yelled as she ran out the door.
"He's fine, I left him enough food and water till I get back.!"
SLAM

That was one year ago. H has since acquired a boxer puppy, named Cassius Clay, and has been asked by me to go live with her dad (HA! Take that Giselle! Sooo sorry about that new berber carpeting,) after he toilet papered the inside of my house and continues to pee right next to my pool. Rudy, our ten year old mastiff, who smells like total ass, btw, was beside himself when Cas planted himself down on Rudy's bed as if to say "Yeah this is super comfortable. I think I'll sleep here too." It would be like my ex bringing Giselle home and her saying "Move over."

That being said, the now grown up cat, Jet is the center of my universe. My life revolves around making sure he does not get out of the screened porch. I can't leave town because my kids don't feed him right. I have to let him out at 4 am and stay awake until 4:30 to let him back in...he likes to do his business at this time. I don't know if I am replaying an old scenario, but if I accidentally open the front door wide enough, he runs like the wind, only to be grabbed by the tail and pulled back in, with me promising to be more attentive to his needs if he promises to stay.

I am careful not to mention Jetty when out at parties. While people may think I am actually interested in what they are saying (chances are slim,) based on my focused look and deep thought, actually I am trying to remember if I closed the screen door tight. Don't worry though, I think I have a handle on it. I realize that between Jet and my many piles of People Magazines, unopened bank statements and unread Sunday papers, I am just one decaying carcass away from having my own show.

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50 year old woman newly single after 27 years. Dealing with girlfriends (sons' and husbands') dating and job hunting. WTF? Think a lot of women would relate to my story. I am looking for representation for my book of short essays about living this new life.
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