Saturday, October 29, 2022

72 Hours in Del Boca Vista with Curious George: a Story of Survival

Ok, so remember my last blog in which I proclaimed I was off the market and going to hunker down with the snow-birding dentist? So...yeah...that's a no. A rather unfortunate conclusion I came to about 45 minutes into my 72-hour visit to Florida. Probably should have seen the extreme, non-stop turbulence the entire way as a bad omen.

I know many of you are asking yourself how this could have happened. What was she thinking? I have made this mistake before. I wrote about it in this blog. It caused the sudden demise of what seemed like a good relationship. Sometimes you just don't really know a person until you see them in their natural habitat or in the throws of a travel emergency. 

I actually have witnessed this phenomenon before. My sister Sherrie back in the college invited a boy to join our family's annual ski trip to Colorado. We picked him up en route (he was in school in Colorado Springs), and rather tragically about an hour after picking him up, my sister decided she no longer liked him. Made for an awkward week for everyone. We now have to spend the entire week with this stranger who is now disliked by the very person who invited him. She did the exact same thing a few years later on a family ski trip, this time with a plumber from Connecticut. 

Suffice to say, I now understand. 

Anyway, back to the story. How did we get here? We had been dating for a few months, and during that time, he's been quite persistent about me coming to Florida where he owns a lovely home in a bougie gated community approximately the size and population of Rhode Island.



Now don't get me wrong, the area he lives is beautiful, his house is amazing and George is a very nice person. He's intelligent, kind, successful, active, and VERY inquisitive. What I had not realized prior to this trip though was that George is also an expert on myriad topics, not just teeth as it turns out. And, he has a burning desire to share this expertise.

As a result of this overwhelming internal knowledge base, he can't help but share tips on everything, from the cereal I eat "do you know how many grams of sugar is in this?" to "you should wash those blueberries first" to the vitamins I take "you don't take fish oil?" to the amount of coffee I use (apparently too much). He spent 15 minutes painstakingly measuring the exact right amount of coffee, then marking the coffee scoop with a Sharpie to indicate how much I should use. So helpful, right? 😠 So that was day one.

Turns out George is self-admittedly anal retentive with a dash of controlling. Who knew? Not me. He admits as much, only with the disclaimer that “I'm anal, but not fussy.” I won't spend any time breaking that down, but sadly this is not a personality type I deal with well. This type of person brings out the absolute most immature version of myself, summons my inner brat. I don't know why but maybe because he's not the boss of me. See what I mean? 

Every morning after that, I just casually poured the coffee straight out of the bag. I started loading dishes into the dishwasher, even though he prefers to hand wash. I callously threw pesticide-covered berries straight out of the container onto my sugar-laden cereal. I even would accidentally 😏 touch the glass door of his patio, the one he cleaned every day (image below). I was in full rebel mode and just trying to power my way through the weekend and be nice.

George doing his daily window cleaning.


His area was hit by the recent Hurricane Ian, though it was shocking that just over a week later, everyone whose property was impacted had everything already stripped and in piles at the top of their driveways. Bottom line: if you have to live through a natural disaster having a lot of money makes it easier.

We spent the first day doing a 3-hour tour (cue the Gilligan's Island song) painstakingly surveying Hurricane damage. Every branch, leaf, or palm tree that sustained damage was noted. So basically me getting car sick while George sped from site to site, pointing out, "See that tree, it used to have way more leaves...that palm tree used to have branches. There used to be flowers!!!" 

George was not happy about the damaged greenery. I couldn't help but think about the people whose homes were completely destroyed, but yeah a lack of flowers is devastating.

The real problem was he just never stopped talking, and those of you who know me in real life, you know I don't lack for conversation. It was difficult getting a word, never mind a story in. I started off feigning interest but 24 hours in, I could barely respond, occasionally grunting just to acknowledge I heard him so he didn't repeat whatever he was talking about. 

I started doing the math, subtracting sleeping hours (which I maximized) and calculated how many hours I had to go. Yes, just like when Elaine on Seinfeld did when she was trying to escape Jerry's parents' back-breaking sofa bed in Boca Del Vista (sorry if you are not a Seinfeld fan, might not get the reference). 

At one point, I suggested we watch football. He was delighted. What I didn't realize is he could just continue talking but now offering very specific criticism on every play during the game. Basically telling the professional football players that they are doing it wrong. Ok, calm down Dr. George with the bum knees though I'm sure you could do it better. 

It was touch and go at times. Like when it took him an hour and 10 minutes to log onto Apple TV one night. He spent 20 minutes trying to guess Patricia's (an ex) password, until he got her locked out of her account. Then he proceeded to call his 86-YEAR-OLD MOTHER at 10 pm to ask her for her password. That was when I just silently got up and went to bed. I was too tired and traumatized to watch now. 36 hours to go...

I did seriously consider using a "my dog is dying" excuse to leave a day early. He's almost 16 so not out of realm of reality. Unfortunately it was going to cost me $300 so I decided to forge on like the good, albeit thrifty, solider I am.

At times, I could have sworn I was screaming, but fortunately it was just in my head. The darkest moment was in the car heading to the airport when he started questioning the fact that I was getting my variant booster and flu shot the next day. "You might want to wait on that; not enough research on it." 

Now I can honestly say the desire to jump from the moving car was high but I swallowed my anger and reminded him that my son had spent the last 10 years studying biochemistry and molecular biology in college and the last five studying viruses specifically in his PhD program so I would defer to his advice, which was to get my goddamned shot!!

Just breathe...only 10 more miles to the airport where George and I parted ways for the last time. 



Descending into Chicago, I was treated to the most beautiful sunset, a sign to me that's it's going to be ok. This is life. George will be fine and will eventually find a more patient, maybe deaf girlfriend.  For me, it's back to the drawing board but hey, there are plenty of fish in the sea and I'm enjoying the journey. And, bonus more blogs about my dating antics. Everyone but my Mom is probably happy about that. 

Officially old AF

I'm not sure what the official cut-off age for this distrinction is, but I certainly remember thinking people my age were old. While in Florida, I turned 57. 



These pictures, which I actually like, were taken after drinking several glasses of prosecco (on empty stomach) on my birthday. I apparently made the decision to roll with a "get drunk" strategy for the evening and it went downhill quickly. Fortunately I was able to miraculously refrain from throwing up in George's rental on the way home from the very fancy restaurant he took me to for my birthday. Upside I was able to go to bed early, so -2 hours!! He did, however, make me eat the crab legs I was unable to eat that night the day of my flight home. Touche, George. 

All goes to show you that with age does not always come wisdom. Party on, Garth. 

Hope this finds you all well. Happy Halloween, everyone!

Until next time.

Barb 

Missed any blogs? You can catch up with the past blogs with links below:

Friday, September 30, 2022

Growing Up Barbie

Laughing as I write this, knowing that a simple comma after "up" and slightly different conjucation of that verb would completely change the intended title to some message of urgency for me to just "grow up" already, even though I have mentioned in this previous blog, I have zero intention of ever growing up. At my heart I will always be bratty, rebellious outlaw, albeit an aging, largely law-abiding one now. I mean if you don't count car crimes (speeding, parking, running lights, road raging, etc.). 

The title is in reference to the name I was given at birth: Barbie. Obviously my full name is Barbara, but only the government and various doctors have ever actually called me that. But of course, there's a story behind that.


First off, clearly my parents were hoping to have a boy first. I get it; they were both really into sports and my mom was a total tomboy so I'm sure they were praying their first would be of the male variety.  They had even picked out the name: Chip after a kid they met on the tennis courts in Fayetteville. They thought it would be a great boy name.

Can you imagine being a tiny spit of a boy and having a name like Chip Jones?? Jesus, I probably would have gotten my ass kicked every day on the playground so I guess I can be relieved that all I got was a childhood of constant teasing. I mean I know everyone gets teased for something, but Barbie was tough.

My mother has a perfectly logical reason for this. When I was born instead of the boy baby they were hoping for, they didn't really have any girl names lined up. Perhaps knowing that, my grandmother (my dad's mom) came to the hospital and tearfully begged my mom to name me after her. Sweet, right? Only problem is her name was Modena. After she left, my mom, now also tearful, begged my dad to intervene. 

"What are we going to do?" she pleaded. 

His cowardly response: "Whatever you think is best, honey." Not exactly the help and/or support she was seeking. 

So what does one do in this situation? Well apparently the only way out of the corner she was now trapped in was to name me after herself and her own mother. Yes, I'm Barbara III.

When my parents started dating, both of their names were Bobby, although hers was spelled Bobbee. My brother was also named after my father. So in my family we had two Barbaras, two Roberts and a Sherrie. So the nicknames were: Bobby, Bobbee, Barbie and Robby...and Sherrie. 

I named by firstborn after the anesthesiologist who gave me my epidural, a lovely man named Benjamin Steinman. Wasn't until I sobered up that I panicked thinking about all the potential nicknames he would subjected to. Benny (mentally challenged dude on LA Law and Benny Hill) or Benji! Ben Gay! Yikes. Fortunately the kids landed on Schmitty, which while rhymes with "shitty," could be worse.

Growing up we moved every couple of years, which did not make it easier. Nothing like being introduced to a bunch of new kids in class as "Barbie" and then get to first see the evil smiles and then hear the murmor of laughter. New kids already have targets on their back; add a funny name and let the games begin! 

Let's see, there was the rather obvious "Barbie doll," but then in 1973, a new TV show debuted, "Barnaby Jones" and it was all over. Yes, my maiden name was Jones. The show lasted 8 seaons but the teasing outlived the show. Now, of course, no one under 50 remembers that show, a blessing. 

Barnaby Jones

When I got married, we moved from Houston to Cleveland so I took the opportunity to change my name, or least what people called me, to Barb. For many years, people stuck to that. Then slowly over the years, closer friends and coworkers would somehow get wind of the fact that most of my life I went by Barbie. Eventually my inner circle of friends started referring to me again as Barbie but it doesn't bother me at all. Now that I'm old, I kind of think it fits with my old but rebellious status. 

I'm not done with this topic! Look for Growing up Barbie Part 2 at some point! I have more to say.

Off the market

Way to bury the lead, right? I've met a nice snowbirding dentist who has asked me to go steady. Yes, he did actually say that and no, he's not 74. He's a few years older than me but is fun and super active, plays tennis (prefers pickleball 😕), skis, loves music, and, of course, he golfs.  It is apparently my lot in life to eventually take up that stupid sport, if you can really call it that.  I've promised to try pickleball, so clearly I like him...but bonus is it buys me time before I have to take up golf.

He has a place in the city and one down in Florida, I think it's in Del Boca Vista (Bonus points if you got the Seinfeld reference 😜) or one of those places where wealthy Republicans go to golf and then die.  He's assured me though that's there's just as many rich Liberals down there as there are Republicans. Regardless, having an opportunity to escape Chicago in the winter is quite compelling so I can make that work. All the butterflies and birds heading south are probably on to something. 


I know that some of you will miss the crazy dating antics, but the summer of love was exhausting...and keeping the stories straight...and getting the names right was all getting a bit stressful. 

My mind is not as sharp as it used to be and my memory is piss-poor so remembering the who, what, and where was becoming problematic.  I was starting to have nightmares about dating logistics so I saw it as a sign it was time to take a break from online dating. 

Hope this finds everyone well and enjoying this last gasp of warm weather. You all know that Christmas will be here in about 7 minutes or so...or it's going to feel like it so start the shopping panic now, folks!

Until next time.

Barb(ie) 

Missed any blogs? You can catch up with the past blogs with links below:

Saturday, August 6, 2022

Summer 2022: Sticky Floors, Dirty Clothes and an Empty Fridge

Greetings, everyone, and my apologies for my rather prolonged absense from blogging. I've been on a legit tear all summer, squeezing every ounce of fun out of every weekend. My normally regimented, get-things-done approach to the weekend has been replaced by a devil-may-care attitude that's left me with an absolutely filthy house with sticky floors, no food, and piles of dirty laundry. 

Laura moved out three weeks ago and I've yet to be to the grocery store since. Fortunately my local Citgo gas station has kept me supplied with milk and bananas. You would be surprised how long a dozen eggs, a few bananas and a jar of peanut butter can get keep you alive. Basically I've been living on leftovers all summer. Laura stopped in this week and took a peak in my refrigerator and gave me a rather disapproving look. Hey, who has the time for grocery shopping?

Laundry is another chore that's fallen off my list. You know it's bad when you start digging through your drawers and start seeing underwear you haven't seen in decades. Last week things got so bad that my only options were the oddly colored panties or my uncomfortable-but-sexy lingerie.


So I sit here in my magenta granny panties to write this much-overdue blog post with beer still in my hair from Lollapolooza, my ears still ringing and adrenaline still coursing through me from Green Day's epic closing set, I can say it's been one hell of a summer! 

The beer, by the way, was mine, as much as I would love to blame some drunk Gen-Z'er. It was from my open beer can that I logically thought I could put in the side pocket of my backpack while I used the dreaded porta-potty. Actually worked great right up until I bent down to see if there was toilet paper and it poured down my back and into my hair. Damn my kitten-sized bladder...and gravity!

Spent a lot of time on the beach, some nice bike rides, played a lot of tennis, had several girlfriends visit, but it's definitely been a summer of music for me. I've been buying concert tickets like a drunken sailor so yes, I have seen a lot of shows. With no one to say no, I'm finding myself unable--or perhaps unwilling--to not go to every concert I possibly can.

This carefree attitude has extended to my dating life. I'm dating all the guys. I mean not literally but fully embracing the "why not" mentality has opened the door to some interesting candidates. Not sure actual keepers but has certainly made for a fun, busy and interesting summer.

The Summer of "Why Not?"

One we'll call Biker Boy, who has tattoos and does not own a car, just a Triumph motorcycle. He does, however, live on the beach--a bonus! I balked at the idea of riding on the motorcycle initially until I realized they can park those things anywhere, making it highly advantageous in getting around a very congested city. While it's been fun, I think biker boys and convertibles are the same; fun in the summer but lose their luster once the weather turns, also known as the other seven months of the year here in Chicago. 


With my newly emblazened, devil-may-care dating attitude, I went out with his several times before I noticed he noted he was "non-vanilla" on his dating profile. I had somehow missed this. I will define since I'm going to assume that the lion's share of you have no idea what that means. Non-vanilla means they have some type of sexual fetish. Yikes, I know. 

Not being a coward though, and also thinking this might be great material for my book, I thought why not? See the trend here? What was the fetish? One night he came out with a bottle of lotion and a towel. Go time, I assume. He gave me a great foot massage so I thought, "ok, it's a foot fetish" not at all sure what that would entail but also now buckled in for the ride. Felt good, but alas that was not it.

So after dancing around the question for several dates, he finally confessed that he was a dominant. Hmmm. Without missing a beat, I told him my rapper name was "Bossy by Nature" so I wasn't sure I could roll with this. He insisted there would be no pain, no spanking, etc. as he is not a dominatrix but then there was talk of restraints and he did ask me to pick a safe word, which is when things stalled out. It had to start with a P. Pickles? Pineapple? Picnic? Being a writer, how could I possibly narrow it down? 

I also dated another golfer, God help me. As you remember from "Golf, the Cruel Mistress of Summer," they are never my first pick, especially in the summer, but he's super sweet and my age so I decided again, why not? Since I've been trying (not always successfully 😉) to date guys my age, I've come to the rather grim realization that all men my age either have a gut issue, a bum ticker or a bad back. 

Poor golfer dude has two of the three; back issues that prevent him from walking long distances and had open heart surgery to unclog four of his arteries last year. No way, this guy can keep up with me, although I'm not sure if it's my hyperactivity or diet that will kill him first. Perhaps fortunately (for him), golfer guy is moving back to the suburbs next weekend so the ending of that chapter has been written. Long-distance relationships never work. Next!

Then there was a Rich Dude. It always seems intriguing to date a wealthy guy; they typically live in McMansions and drive fancy cars. This one had a big house in Chicago and an apartment in New York City. Initially it seemed worthy of a summer fling as the idea of a few fun weekends in the big Apple sounded interesting.

This summer he took me to an art show. Apparently he's a collector because the artists all knew him and were laser-focused on kissing his ass. We went to one booth, a new artist to the event, who created these very interesting stainless steel sculptures that spun. They were really cool and I quietly told the artist "you've got a live one on your hands! Reel in the whale!" My date said, "which one do you like?" I pointed to one, and he bought it. Only $9K. 


There are also always offers of trips, which again sounds good but after a half dozen dates, he wanted me to fly off somewhere with him. Jesus, I barely knew the guy and he barely knew me. He always seemed more concerned about my lack of availability (a common complaint) then about actually getting to know me.   

What often also comes with these guys is a sense of entitlement; privledge that I find super annoying. You know the type; get seated in a restaurant but first has to look around to assess if there is a better table. As a former hostess, I find people like this intolerable. 

Bottom line is I have plenty of money to be happy. I've had more money and been less happy than I am today. I don't need anyone to buy me happiness so dealing with this type of entitled person isn't something I have patience for. 

There were certainly many others. I'm still seeing the young firefighter, doing my part to support the community's first responders. Not all heros wear capes. Double booked a few weekends ago, and made one date drive me to my next date. Hey, you only get one trip around the sun, as they say! 

Well I have many blog topics I want to write about so I'll close this one before it gets too long. And, I'm once again double booked this afternoon so wish me luck! 

I hope this finds you all enjoying this last part of the summer. It's going fast, my friends, and soon fall will be opon us. Enjoy it while it's here. I certainly am...


Be well, my friends. Until next time...

Barb


Missed any blogs? You can catch up with the past blogs with links below:






  



Sunday, May 22, 2022

This, That and the Other Thing

Greetings and happy Spring, everyone. Weather is certainly a bit schizophrenic; moving between the 40s one week, the high 80s the next, but certainly welcome the warming trend, however abrupt. Soon I'll be spending the weekends playing outside so thought I would get a blog out before I go MIA.

Love Life Update

After several years of online dating, I often boast about the fact that I've seen it all at this point. God knows, I've seen a lot of odd things, some of which I've shared in blogs, like Online Dating in Your 50s and New Beginnings: From Darkness Comes Light.

That said, I will say that was before I laid my eyes on Sexy Scoob. So it appears to be a grown ass man who wants you to treat him like a dog. There was another pic of him being fed Pup-Peroni but thought it best to not include that one. 



Now while I certainly understand people have their kinks, and I don't judge them for that. But surely there is a website or app for people or "furries" who are looking for...well whatever it is they are looking for? Now saying that, Chicago is quite cold in the winter so perhaps snuggling up with Sexy Scoob is right up someone's alley.  

Then there was Jake...not exactly sure what to say about him...other than huh? I mean his profile pretty much says it all. No idea if "meat sandwich" is a euphemism for something else. I would categorize him as "dick forward" as described in my last blog, but despite him mentioning "it," I'm still not entirely sure if this is a guy. Yes, I passed on him too. I know; I'm so picky! 


Last month I took a date (my 4th choice) to see a Jack White concert, which I was super stoked about. On the way to the show, my date said, "Oh yeah, I know him. He was in a band with Justin Timberlake, right?"  This was my expression. A piece of my soul died that night. $100 per ticket and my date thinks we are seeing someone from a boy band in the 90s. Sigh. 



Reminded me of taking crazy ex boyfriend Dave to see the Black Keys and he spent half the night running around the United Center trying to find ear plugs. God help me.

I broke two rules on one date last month. I ate raw sushi and rode on a motorcycle in the city--all on the same date! The sushi was seared, and quite delicious, and the motorcycle ride was a result of it being really cold out and needing to pee rather urgently. Either way, breaking my own rules. And he had an earring.  Slippery slope. 

Note: my mom is probably asking her church lady friends to start a prayer chain for me. 

Breaking bad

Friday night I was out on a date at a restaurant called Etta. At some point, I went to the bathroom and while I was in there, I could hear a rowdy group of guys clearly having a good time right outside the door.  So emboldened by the bravery that only two glasses of wine can enable, I burst open the door to the bathroom in full ball-busting mode and playfully yelled, "Jesus, what in the hell are you boys us to?"  



Surprisingly, the two faces I'm yelling at are Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul (Breaking Bad). I'll admit there was a millisecond during which I was a bit speechless, but then mustered a "oh wow." Impressive, I know! They were super cool though; I took a group picture for them as they gave me shit for yelling at them. 

Pro-Choice is Pro Women

Oh boy, am I hopping mad over this potential supreme court challenge to Roe Vs. Wade. I get fired up about all kinds of silly things, but politically this is no issue to me that's more fundamentally important than reproductive rights. I honestly cannot believe in 2022 we are even having this conversation. What is happening in this country? What's next? Are we going to lose the right to vote? 

Fun fact: it took 16 years before women were finally granted the right to get our own credit cards, which didn't happen until 1974, the year after Roe Vs Wade. While I know it would be difficult to completely un-peel the onion, what rights of ours as women will be taken away next? Another slippery slope. Enough is enough. 



You can say what you want, but if men had ovaries and uterus, this would never ever be a conversation and certainly not a political issue. Period. If men could get pregnant, you would be able to get an abortion at an ATM. Leaving it up to the states will result in half of the country losing the right to make that choice. How did we get here? Polls show that the majority of Americans, 64%, believe it is a women's right to do what she wants with her body. 

I won't stay on my soapbox too long but it's time to mobilize, girls. We cannot allow this to continue so I encourage you all to keep donating to Planned Parenthood or the Center of Reproductive Rights. I'm certainly double-downing on my donations and will be taking to the streets as well. We as women fought too long and hard to get where we are to be set back. 

Ok, well I need to get my dogs walked so I will close here and hopefully be back before too long to continue my rant/story/therapy. Enjoy the warmer weather, everyone.

Be well and until next time,

Barb

 Missed any blogs? You can catch up with the past blogs with links below:

Monday, March 21, 2022

Boys Will be Boys- Age is But a Number

Greetings and salutations, everyone. Spring is close to springing. For the time being, the damn virus seems to be waning. All good and positive signs of better things to come. Today, however, the weather here in Chicago is hella-shitty with cold temps and rain. Silver lining: another blog! 

Random name generator

That's actually the name of a cool Wilco song, but also my nickname for online dating apps. I thought I would provide an update on my dating life. Back in the saddle and sad to say that little has changed in the almost two years since I exited the dating pool. Same old shit; some good, some awful and a lot of hilarious. 

One thing that seems to have changed is that some believe there was some type of moratorium on reporting post-pandemic weight gain on dating apps. In the same week, I went out with two guys who had both gained 20+lbs since Covid but didn't bother to update the photos on their profile. 

I know you are all thinking I'm being extremely shallow.  Perhaps, but here's the thing: both of these guys admitted to gaining weight and then BOTH complained about how they hate when women don't include full-body shots in their profiles and regaled me with stories of meeting women who look very different from their pictures. And, yet neither seemed to recognize the rather obvious hypocrisy of what they were saying. Online dating, especially post-50, is always an adventure as I wrote about in this blog. 

Another hilarious change is people with mask photos and the idiots bragging about being unvaccinated or  and having "pure" blood. Ok, thanks for making this decision easier, sir. 


Age is just a number

Right now the age range of men I'm dating is a full 30 years, from a cute 38-year old fireman to a 68-year old retired widower/CFO. For the record, my setting is 45-60 years old, but what can I say; younger men often like older women (partial credit to Mrs. Stifler). 

Now I know some of you are questioning why I would date someone that young. My answer: why the hell not? My experience dating younger guys (well documented in this blog, Don't Call Me a Cougar blog) has been very positive, and I'm still in healing mode so not searching for Mr. Right...right now. Like when I dated the beautiful idiot after my divorce. He was the right one at that time.

And, honestly guys definitely mature later than women but they all cap out, emotional maturity-wise, at different ages. And based on my extensive research (not at a scientific sample size  yet, but probably sadly close), some men truly never grow up. Chronological age plays absolutely no role in whether a man is mature or not. Case in point: the older guy. 

Honestly I almost bailed on him, as he was way out of my normal age demographic and French (not a positive) but he was interesting, well read, very smart, and had obviously done well in life. First date was fun so accepted a second date. He invited me to dinner at a restaurant by his house, so he showed me his beautiful mcMansion, which was quite impressive. 

Dinner was pleasant but it became pretty apparent we didn't have a whole lot in common. I'm a music freak and he didn't know the first thing about music. The place we were at has a small music venue and I noticed Graham Nash was coming. He had never even heard of Crosby, Stills and Nash! What?? Points silently deducted.

At the end of the night, he started pawing at me like a fucking teenager. Despite attempts to thwart his advances, he persisted and it was definitely starting to make me feel uncomfortable, which is not an easy task. I don't scare easily. Bossy by nature (my future rapper name), I finally looked him square in the eye and said, "Old man, you better back the fuck off or I'm going to drop you like a bag of wet cement." 

Now whether or not I could have actually pulled that off is irrelevant. He awkwardly chuckled but got the message and did look a little afraid so mission accomplished. What in God's name was that man thinking??? Did he think because he's rich, I would jump into bed with him? Dude obviously needs to create a profile on sugardaddy.com or something. Whatever, but again, goes to prove age doesn't mean anything. 

This weekend, I went on two dates with two almost-40-year-olds. So both a full 30 years younger than the horny old French man, yet both were polite, considerate and absolute gentlemen. Go figure, but just more proof that some men never grow up. Point being, you can't assume emotional maturity is a given at any age. And yes, this applies to both men and women. 

I mean you encounter the obvious ones, the true Neanderthals; I usually refer to them as dick-forward. The ones you barely know who start talking about sex. Probably the same geniuses who send women dick pics. I've discovered the perfect way to deal with these knuckle-draggers. I simply send them a dick pic in return. Works perfectly every time. Yes, I save them, just for this reason. 



                                                          Image credit: @thefatjewish

Or the men who say they got divorced because their ex-wives didn't like sex, which is something I commonly hear. I would say it's cited in probably 80% of the time as the main issue in their marriages. I always chuckle inside at that one, though I always nod in sympathy when I hear this. There have been a few of these guys who I have dated for long enough to become intimate with and spoiler alert: their wives probably didn't dislike sex. I'll leave it there.

I went on another interesting date with a guy who somehow had found my blog and read ALL OF THEM! He started with, "I hope you are wearing your ski house goggles (a direct quote from this blog about the Drew, the narcissist golfer) because I own a place in Telluride." We sat down and he immediately told me he thought ex-boyfriend Jon has a Peter Pan complex and I'm better off without him. Ah, ok complete stranger; thanks for that insight. 

He then made me promise that I would not write about our date and then proceeded to neither do or say anything blog-worthy, well other than what I've already shared 😉. Lesson learned: don't even mention you have a blog! 

It's our little secret. 

Alright today the weather is much-improved, offering a hint of what good is to come, in both life and weather. Hope springs eternal, y'all. 


Barb

Missed any blogs? You can catch up with the past blogs with links below:

Monday, February 21, 2022

Bumbling Through Life and Love

Greetings and salutations, everyone. With all my chores and play done for the weekend and a bonus day (thanks, Presidents), I thought it would be a good time to get another blog written. Definitely not time to do any fun outdoor activities as Chicago has seemed to be locked into a rather arctic weather pattern, snow, cold, wind....and repeat. 

Dear Jon...the breakup blog

I have to tell you it took every ounce of maturity in me to not name this blog "Dear Jon: the Breakup Blog." I mean, come on. Is there a more compelling, click bait of a title?? But I'm not about to write an entire blog about our breakup as it wasn't super dramatic. We honestly never once had a fight before this incident occurred. While I won't go into all the details, I will say it was ultimately his obsession with Aspen, which you'll remember from this blog, that did us in. 

He thought it would be a great idea to cosign on a 1M+ house with his bestie (who happens to be a girl with whom he was once romantically involved) in Colorado, 30 miles from Aspen. I was equally sure that it was NOT a good idea, but I didn't hear about it until it was a done deal. 

I know many of you, especially the women, are saying, "ah, hells to the no!" I mean when you are in a committed relationship with someone, can you have a best friend who is the opposite sex who you have slept with? I was actually ok with the relationship but buying a house with her was a bridge too far. And, on account of feeling a little homicidal towards him, we both thought it was best if we parted ways.

Perhaps because it wasn't a super emotional breakup, I did the only thing I know to do: carry on. Therapy? Nah. While I know for many it's truly a blessing, I just jumped back into the dating world with reckless abandon. And guess what? When you tell men right off that you are just out of relationship and don't want anything serious, the pool of potentials becomes very deep.

Swindling the Tinder Swindler

So did anyone watch the Tinder Swindler on Netflix? If not, you should, especially if you are living in the world of online dating. It's all about this guy who basically had a pyramid scheme in which he stole ridiculous amounts of money from very naive, yet well-intended women. 

Sadly these dating apps and sites are literally snake pits, often chock-full of shady people trying to take advantage of others, many of whom are looking for legit relationships. I won't say men because from what I understand, there are just as many gals with nefarious intentions out there trying to separate men from their money. 

Perhaps it's my years of experience with online dating, but I can spot these guys from a mile away. Things to look for:  all their pics are professionally staged; their profiles make you want to vomit because they are so ridiculous, perhaps pulled directly from some sappy romance novel, and they somehow do something with their profile so you can't see where they actually live. Broken English is another red flag.  

So for shits and giggles, I've decided to try out-catfish them! I want to swindle the swindler. My goal? To ask for money from them before they have the chance to ask me.

Didn't take long to find my target. Meet Sammy. He's a textbook example: seemingly wealthy, attractive, and attended a college that doesn't exist. I do wonder if that's right next door to the School of Hard Knocks I keep hearing about but I digress! 


So immediately, Sammy matched with me! Normally I can be a bit caustic, but I played it cool with Sammy because I didn't want to alert him or scare him off. He pored on the charm, saying things like: "I can't wait to meet you and I'll tell you how beautiful you are. I hope you wouldn't get tired of me telling you how beautiful you are." Fortunately, I had not just eaten because I definitely would have hurled at this point. But no!!! I came back immediately with a "I promise to never tire of hearing you tell me that." I hope none of you are reading this on a full stomach. Thought about tossing in some broken English but decided against it. 

Unfortunately, after a few weeks of messaging, Sammy just disappeared. Perhaps the prison guard took his phone away? I guess I'll never know for sure, but don't worry. I'm sure there will be more Sammys and my mission remains the same: to scam the scammer. Not all heroes wear capes. For anyone out here online dating: proceed with an abundance of caution and have a sense of humor about it. Also read my last blog on the topic, Online Dating in Your 50s. 

Years ago, I was matched with this guy, super hot. He was somewhere in Africa with the military. Do we even have troops there? No idea but again, it became a game. Eventually he told me he was coming back to the states but he had acquired what he referred to as some "spoils of war" and he just needed a bank account to deposit a large sum of money. But honestly it wasn't until he asked me to pick him up from the airport that I "ghosted" him. I mean come on; we all have that line we can't cross. What am I? A fucking Uber? 

Anyway, yes, back up to my dating shenanigans so buckle up, everyone. Probably going to be an exciting ride. 

Hope this blogs finds you all happy and well. Let's hope that 2022 is not the shit show that the last  two years have been. Gotta get better! 

Until next time...

Barb

Missed any blogs? You can catch up with the past blogs with links below:

Vibe Coding My Way to True Geek Status

Yep, it's true. My natural evolution to full nerd is well underway. How could this have happened? It seems like yesterday I was failing ...