Saturday, August 21, 2021

Bidding Adieu to a Wonderful Summer

Many of you have been questioning why there have not been any recent blogs. My answer to this is that I've simply been having too much fun on the weekends to write. Writing is something I do in my day job so taking away any "play time" on the weekends to write a blog just never seems like a good idea.

The summer has been full of tennis, music festivals, bike rides and just a whole lot of fun. Went to AND survived Lollapalooza with my daughter as well as the Hella Mega Tour with my son a few weeks later. I was so happy to be hearing live music again, definitely my happy place. All and all an amazing summer and sad to see it soon coming to a close.

Today, however, it's extremely soupy and hot out, giving me two options: cleaning my condo or writing a blog. Condo cleaning can wait! 

Ben and I seeing Weezer, Fallout Boy and Green Day at Wrigley. Note: I'm wearing the shirt I bought him after taking him to his first Green Day show at 13.

Love Life Update

Not much in the way of an update. Jon and I are still enjoying each other's company, and next month we celebrate the one-year anniversary of our first date, which took place at the Hopleaf, one of my favorite local bars. To this day, Jon has my number saved in his phone as "Barb Hopleaf." 

As you all know we met and started dating during the pandemic so I must say I did worry about what would happen when Jon--who is quite the snappy dresser--realized that my pandemic wardrobe and my schlubby chic normal wardrobe are sadly one and the same.  He seems to have dealt with that reality.

The year has flown by and we have had a lot of fun together. Lots of adventures and certainly more on tap. He is a very active guy so we are always doing something, although he definitely also enjoys activities that are not at the top of my list of fun things to do. 

For one, he's a camper and while I love campfires, s'mores, hiking and being outside, the whole sleeping outside thing isn't my bag. I can hike until my legs are jelly, but at the end of the day I want clean sheets, a hot shower, and a meal I don't have to forage for. Period. Sadly, I know he hasn't given up trying to convince me to give it a try. "We don't sleep on the ground; we have cots." Oh boy! 

While I know his intention is to alleviate my concerns, the last time I was on a cot was in the 6th grade when I was feigning a stomachache to get out of the long run in gym class. I don't remember enjoying it, although it did beat running. 

Now, can I imagine a scenario in which I would willingly sleep on a cot...in a tent? Well, sure. But most of those scenarios involve the Red Cross and some type of natural disaster, like a tornado or hurricane (highly unlikely), or maybe a plane crash. 

One of his trips over the winter, he and a group of equally nutty, but physically fit friends walked up a mountain in skis with skins on and all their gear for 8 miles!! I'm not even a fan of carrying my own suitcase. The end goal is a hut. A hut. Not a bougie hotel suite, but a hut. Backcountry skiing is the real reward.


For real, I would have made it maybe 2-3 miles before someone put me out of my misery. Our relationship could not have weathered the amount of bitching and complaining that would have been emanating from me. 

Call me crazy, but I prefer skiing in areas where ski patrol can come rescue me, if needed, and where magical chairs take you to the top of the mountain. Not areas where you have to wear special devices to survive avalanches and where you have to walk uphill to get to the top. 

They don't build them like they used to...

I might be in the market for a new washer/dryer. I truly hope you were all sitting for that shocking news. To be honest, I don't want to buy a new set as I am well aware that the appliances they make today don't hold a candle to the quality of the ones of yesteryear. 

When my ex and I got married, we financed a washer/dryer set from Sears. When I moved out of the family house nearly 25 years later, both were still in perfect working condition. I gave them to a friend's son and his wife so they might still be washing and drying like champs. Update: my friend Mary reports they are still both functioning perfectly 32 years later. 

When I moved into my condo, there was a rather old washing machine and dryer already there so I didn't rush to replace them. At one point the dryer started making an odd, clunking sound. Turns out of of its fins (probably not the technical term) on the inside had become detached and was flinging around. The screw to keep in place had fallen into the drum of the dryer so I just tore it off. Works like a charm again. Not a McGyver-esque fix, but it worked. 

It's not that I can't afford a new pair, but why spend thousands to replace them with some space-age, computerized contraption that won't last a quarter of the time these other super-senior appliances do? I don't want a motherboard on my washing machine. I really don't need them to be "smart." Just like dogs, you don't want the smartest one. They are too much work. Same theory applies with appliances. 

Washing and drying clothes is a very simple task. That's why the older models didn't break much; there wasn't much to break. Simple mechanics; no electronics, sensors, or microprocessors. I'm not asking it to  solve differential equations; I just want it to clean and dry my damn clothes. Have clothes become more complex? I don't want to me able to communicate with my washing machine. 

Older ones are also much easier to operate. My current dryer offers me two options: Normal and Delicate modes. So my options are: hot or surface-of-the-sun hot. Easy peasy. Don't put anything in there that will shrink. Same with my washer. A few options but 90% of the time, I go with normal (warm wash/cool rinse). The newer ones offer a million different features, a myriad of different configurations to choose from. My clothes don't require any advanced settings. 

I had a lot of friends who ran out and bought those front-loaders and then had to deal with mildew and other issues; there were class action lawsuits from furious owners. My mom bought a new fancy top loader a few years ago, which to this day I can't figure out how to operate, and it's so deep that she quite literally fell into it one night and couldn't get out!!! Fortunately she eventually escaped it; thankfully she's a nimble and athletic old lady. 

When she finally liberated herself, she came up excitedly to tell my dad what has just happened. His response was, "well, thank God you got yourself out of there, because I have no idea where the camera is and I would have had to find that first before I came down to help." Image below is her demonstrating what happened. Notice the stool. 


Ok, well this is getting long so ciao for now, but sadly the weather will soon turn and as a result, I'm sure there will be more blogs to come.

Hope all of you are well and let's enjoy what's left of summer. 

Warmest and sweatiest regards,

Barb


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Monday, May 24, 2021

Don't Call Me a Couger

Oh yes, that's right. It's that blog; the one I have been promising some of you for a very long time. The one about my rather infamous May-September relationship with...we'll call him Will. I won't use his real name, although I will say absolutely nothing but good things about him. 

I met Will the summer after my divorce. Right after my marriage ended I dated a guy named Dan, who was perfect. That is perfectly ill-suited for me, which was ideal because I was not in the head space to open myself up to any level of a real relationship. He was super hot, fun and dumb as a stone. Like I said, perfect. Sex was great and as long as we steered away from discussing topics that might provoke his stupidity, we were good. Lasted about a year.

One day I was talking about my concerns around the supreme court (my bad!!) and  said something like "Ginsburg can't live forever," to which he replied, "no, he can't." Oh no. Well, that pretty much killed the vibe for me and no level of hotness could repair the damage. 

Six-pack Will

At the tail end of that relationship, I was invited to my next door neighbor and friend's son's birthday party. There I officially "met" Will, her nephew. In reality, I had known of Will for years, probably since he was in college. He was a neighborhood favorite, at least among the women. He would come over to mow or watch her kids, sometimes sans shirt, God bless him. 

He had a full 6-pack, truly the most perfect body on a boy..I mean man I had ever seen. When he was there, I would go full Desperate Housewives and leer at him from my window. I wasn't selfish though; I would inform other neighbor girls and they would promptly throw kids in strollers and bikes to come down the cul de sac for a peek at "six-pack" Will. 



Anyway, back the story. I officially meet Will at this party and we start talking about music, which we are both really into, and learned we both liked the same genre and loved the same bands. He was a guitarist and had been in a band for years, since high school. He had just moved back from L.A. and was working for an accounting firm in town. 

We started to go to concerts and hanging out together with my friends, a motley crew of largely of artists and writers. One night we joined some of my friends for a midnight showing of the Big Lebowski. 

During the intermission I went to the bathroom with my girlfriend Kelly. Once inside, she said to me, "Please tell me you are knocking boots with that man." Considering her side gig was erotic fiction writing, I thought it an odd phrase, but said absolutely not; he was way too young for me. 

I will never forget her reply: "The gods have placed this beautiful gift in your hands and you aren't even going to open it to see what's inside? That's just not right. You are crazy. He's clearly smitten with you."

At some point during the evening, she got in his ear as well on the topic and when he drove me home that night, he did indeed kiss me so apparently I was the only one who wasn't picking up the signal. We dated for several years, and honestly  it was just what the doctor ordered. He was kind, intelligent, caring, considerate, passionate, fun, and did I mention super hot? 

Now dating someone nearly 20 years my junior does come with baggage, although it wasn't typically ours. My parents chose to largely ignore the relationship, while his parents were shockingly warm and welcoming to me. My parents had nothing against Will; there wasn't much to not like to be honest. However, they also didn't see how this relationship had any potential for a future. And, to be honest neither did I, but I also did not care in the least.

I was sitting in a lawn chair drinking Sav Blanc.

After we had been dating a couple of years, my parents came into town for a visit and I invited Will over for dinner. I thought everything went well; he told them about the house he had just bought and his job, moving from LA, etc. That night my parents were upstairs getting ready for bed and I heard my mom howling with laughter, literally gasping for breathe. 

Apparently my mom was telling my dad that Will really did seem like a nice guy; it was just a shame that he was too young. My dad gave her a confused look, stopped brushing his teeth, and said, "You mean too old for her." 

Yes, apparently the entire evening he thought that Will was my 17-year old daughter Laura's boyfriend. 

Later that year, Laura insisted that he come to her high school graduation. They had gotten quite close and she absolutely wanted him there. Afterwards, her dad texted her and said that he thought her boyfriend was really cute. She did not have a boyfriend at the time. Ok, I must say I did enjoy that (insert evil laugh here). 

Will helped me pack and move her into her dorm her freshman year, and not once but twice, people asked which dorm room was his. Don't get me started on him attending Laura's sorority's Fathers Day Weekend. 

He truly could not believe I'd never seen a single episode of Saved By the Bell. He didn't know The Cars. Yes, we had a wide gap of social references, but he was a great boyfriend. The age thing affected those around us more than it affected us. I could go on all day with hilarious stories about that. But he truly had an old soul, and was, at heart, a pretty nerdy-but-hot auditor who often was the sensible one, talking me out of various stupid things. 

We traveled, saw a ton of concerts, music festivals, art shows, etc. My only complaint ever was that he ate like a 13-year old female anorexic. He was an avid runner and daily ate extremely cleanly. I'm surprised his digestive system survived years of eating out with me. He would have a green smoothie and maybe a few yams, lean protein for dinner. Not exactly how I ate, but I forgave him on account of the aforementioned 6-pack. Oh, and by the way I now have green smoothies for lunch daily and am doing yoga, two things he really tried to get me into. 


We continued to date for a while after I moved, but eventually we both started dating other people. I told him from the very beginning that this would be fun but would not last. My plan was to move away once the kids graduated from high school. I knew I would eventually have to release him back into the wild where he could mate with someone his own age, which I'm happy to say he has. But the few years that we spent together were amazing and not something I will ever regret. I mean, for one, I get to write this blog. 

The Rude Awakening Cometh

When I moved to Chicago and started dating men around my own age, it was a bit of struggle. My sister had warned it was going to be a rude awakening, and she was not wrong. I basically spent the next two years dating a string of attractive but douchy dudes. 

I'm not saying all men over 50 with flat stomachs are dicks, but the majority I encountered were.  One of them was Drew, the narcissist golfer from last summer. Remember him? Catch up on "Golf, the Cruel Mistress of Summer" here. Or there was crazy Dave. He had washboard abs AND narcissistic personality disorder. Bonus! Catch up on crazy Dave here. There were plenty of others, I assure you. Online dating at this age is no cake walk, as you will know from this blog, "Online Dating in Your 50s." 

New beau Jon does not have a six-pack. He has what I would call an athletic dad bod, and while he is super sporty and athletic, he also loves beer and great food, and as a result has a small beer belly that he carries around like a fucking trophy. To say it doesn't affect his self confidence would be the understatement of the century. And, he can make it roll so it doubles as a party trick. Bottom line: He's adorable and he knows it, and I love him, every inch, and he knows that too. 

It's been a long and winding road for my love life but I must say I'm happy to have experienced everything, the highs and lows. Each relationship, good and bad, and every bad date I suffered through, taught me something about myself. And, I'm quite happy it's all led me to where I am today. 

This is getting long so I'll close here. I hope everyone is feeling good, having this damn virus almost in the rear view. Let's make this a summer to remember!

Ciao for now,

Barb


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Wednesday, March 31, 2021

The Time Machine in the Garage

 Greetings and happy Spring! It's finally arrived and with it came beautiful flowers and warmer (relatively) weather. I can't wait to be able to bike and play tennis outside. I'm sure you are all feeling the same. This winter certainly seemed longer for fairly logical reasons, but it's over. 

On top of that we have many of  our loved ones fully vaccinated and many of us close behind. I get my first shot on Thursday and can't wait. Will there be a happy dance, like crazy, bored Barb? Well I guess you will all have to wait and see.

The Time Machine

Some of you probably never met my ex-husband. This year marks 10 years since our divorce and I'm happy and relieved to say we now have a very friendly, cordial relationship. It's been a very long road but it feels very good to be in a better place with him. Anger requires a tremendous amount of energy. Lots of history--both good and bad--between us so it's nice that it is now easier to remember the good over the bad. 

My ex was a rocket scientist. Degree in Physics, masters degrees in Nuclear Engineering and Physics. He  works at NASA. In the early 2000s, we started our own business; he was the actual worker and I did the payroll taxes, and other back-office type of tasks. 

I must say he had a truly brilliant mind, but often the more mundane aspects of life did often elude him. I'm sure you all know examples of this type of person. Book smart, but maybe street dumb. 

As part of this NASA contract, he was designing and building a full cell ultracapacitor system. What kind you ask? Specifically, a  protron-exchange membrane (PEM) fuel cell prototype. Oh, you didn't know I was fluent in nerd? Well, I am. I actually used to be the editor of a fuel cell magazine, but I'm digressing per usual. I believe it was intended for use in deep space, maybe Mars. 

As part of the system, "we" (the company) leased the actual fuel cell from some company in Italy for some ungodly amount. What he was being paid to do was the systems integration of all the various components; kind of the secret sauce. I think the fuel cell costed around $80K. No company would insure us, but the initial conversations with agents were quite comical..."I'm sorry, fuel cell what? Can you spell that?" Never mind. We finally had to pay another astronomical premium to get Lloyds of London to insure it. 

After it was shipped, it required a month to clear it through customs. Once it finally arrived and he began the work of integrating it with the rest of the system in the NASA lab. Shorty after that, he called me at work. 

"Hey honey, there was a little issue in the lab. Apparently I had not filed the proper safety paperwork (I tried to feign shock at this news) so I got kicked off the lab." 

My head began to spin. 

ME: "Were you fired? Wait, they can't fire you. And, why is it so loud? I can barely hear you. Where are you?"

HIM: "The U-Haul I rented has no AC so the windows are down."

I was almost afraid to ask the next question. 

ME: "Why are you in a U-Haul?"

HIM: "I told you. I didn't have the proper paperwork to run it in the lab so I had to get the fuel cell ultracapictor out of there."

Next dreaded question: 

ME: "Where in the hell are you taking it?" 

HIM: "HOME!" 


So the rocket scientist decided that our garage is now the perfect place to house the fuel cell ultracapitor. The exactly same garage that our kids and their motley crew of friends play in, ride their bikes through, etc. The garage where we once parked our cars. Same garage. 

Now our kids, 6 and 8 at the time, must attempt to not only avoid running into this massive refrigerator-sized thing but also steer clear of the five-foot-tall tank of hydrogen that powered it that he just rolled next to the side of the garage.

One by one neighbors strolled over to inquire. Some asked if it a Time Machine, others feared it was some sort of bomb or something and just stayed clear. No one seemed convinced it was even marginally safe to have this thing in the garage. It was perfectly safe, per Paul...if he had the garage door open when he was running it, although even NASA had questioned that. 

Eventually it broke. Why? Really a head scratcher considering the perfectly pristine lab conditions. Sure, there might have been a kid or two who ran into it with their bikes. Did a little dust or dirt somehow blow into the garage and contaminate its not-so-sterile operating environment? We will never know for sure. 

So he did what he had to do. He took the fuel cell down to the local UPS to have it shipped back to Italy. He was greeted with great enthusiasm by Betsy, who immediately asked how she could help him.  He did notice she had "Trainee" on her badge, but with somewhat blind optimism, he forged on and explained his situation.

"I need to mail this PEM fuel cell back to Italy." 

Sounded simple enough. "No problem! I can do that," Betsy said. "Will you require insurance and proof of delivery?"

That's when things got sticky and Betsy went from being very confident in her ability to help him to quite grave and seemingly a little nervous as she stared down it. He explained it was worth $80,000 and it also had to clear customs, which was tricky because most customs agents have absolutely no idea what a fuel cell is. Perhaps we should have just called it a time machine.

Stuttering she manages to spit out: "Perhaps I should get my manager." And, that was the last he heard or saw of Betsy. 

I believe it eventually got back to Italy. The best news is the Time Machine was leaving my garage! The photo above is Paul on the phone explaining that it broke. 

The Parent Test

Quick love life update. I'm happy to report that Jon has overcome yet another relationship hurdle: meeting the parents. I knew my mom would like him, as their personalities are quite similar, but Dad has always been a harder sell. Fortunately he won him over as well. 



Sunday he played golf with mom. For those of you who don't know my mom. She's a pint-sized dynamo with a hell of a golf game (7 holes in one). Happy to report he held his own with the sassy senior and they clearly enjoyed playing together. The golfers in the family are happy to have another one in the group. 

Big love to you all. Hope this finds you all well. Until next time,

Barb

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Sunday, February 7, 2021

The Barb-buda Triangle

Greetings all fellow survivalists! Still hanging in there, I see. Vibe, as predicted, seems much improved. Sounds like vaccines are coming; my parents get their first one this week so assuming that our most-at-risk loved ones will soon have at least some protection from this viral beast. That is good news indeed. 

It sounds like it will be April-May for the rest of us in the general population (not at greater risk) so as promised, the end is finally and blessedly in sight. I want my get-out-of-jail card as soon as humanly possible, and I'm sure I'm not alone. 

These idiots who refuse to get a vaccine...good riddance. More for the rest of us. My theory is these morons will get weeded out; a thinning of the herd perhaps was in order. Darwin's theory playing out. In this case, the weak might survive but the dummies won't. Sorry if this offends anyone, but I have no sympathy or compassion for such stupidity. 


Keeping the lawn maintained        

Ok, so I'll probably be tossing in more than my fair share of euphemisms in this blog because the words I want to use might offend or embarrass some...and when I mean "some" I mean my mom. 

Many of you are aware that I was married for 21 years. I met my ex-husband when I was 19, married him at 23 and divorced at 46. So safe to say, things in the dating world changed a little during these two and a half decades. 

After my divorce, my sister and I were on vacation somewhere and as I was undressing my sister said to me, "You know Barb, you're going to have to do something about that bush. Women don't really have pubic hair anymore." What? 

I thought she was kidding me at first, but as I starting polling my girlfriends, many confirmed this horrific fact. One friend, (hey, Laura), was an ultrasound technician, and she said even pregnant woman come for their scans sans hair. I'm not even sure this part of the southern hemisphere was visible to me while I was pregnant. Hell, putting socks on was a chore. 

Initially I just tried to fill in the many blanks, like why? I'm going to assume the origins of this particular trend was porn. That or someone—probably a hooker or stripper—decided this was a thing. Didn't French prostitutes invent pantyhose? Another bane to female existence. So then men jumped on board, and then women adopted the herd mentality and followed suit? I don't know the answer but could we have not all voted on this first? I mean because I think I could have made a pretty compelling argument against this rather drastic shift in social norms.

Regardless I was very enthusiastic about re-entering the dating world, and I certainly wanted my "den" to be warm, inviting and not at all hostile so I began to ponder my options. Googled and read just enough about the process of getting a bikini wax to nix that as an option right off the bat. Hot wax and my coochie shall never meet.



Side note: when I have envisioned how the movie about my life (blog > book > movie) would start, this is the opening scene:

I'm sitting in one of the procedure rooms of the laser hair removal center, pretty much buck-naked, wearing just a paper napkin-like panty that is supposed to be salvaging my modesty and is failing miserably. 

A stern-looking woman enters. My hand shakes as I hand her my Groupon voucher. She glances at it and then says rather dismissively, "Well this is just for one appointment; the bikini area often requires multiple visits." She then attempts to up-sell me to the "Full Monty" package (my words) for just another $1,500. Considering my initial buy-in to this adventure was only $100, I balked.

I'm so close to just bolting at this point, but considering my rather hefty investment and my outfit, or lack thereof, I decide to hold my ground. This woman, who I call "the closer," then left and laser-weielding Broomhilda came in. I told her my conundrum, hoping for a little sympathy. She said that she could go higher on the setting, which might help, and then asked casually about my tolerance for pain. I said I was pretty tough, and then immediately regretted my decision and started to sweat profusely. 

Then, as she left the room, perhaps to get more gas for the laser, she asked (in an eastern European accent), "Are your Greek?" I quickly said no, hoping desperately that it was the right answer. She nodded, seeming to indicate this was welcome news. 

Panic was definitely starting to set in and the image of me running through the waiting room partially naked did flash in my mind. Always good to have a mental escape plan at the ready though.

B (we're friends now) asks what style I wanted. What style? I just stared at her. I had no idea what style I wanted. I managed to sputter out, "What are the girls getting these days?" fully realizing I'm now sounding like I'm 80. God help me. She starts listing a few, a landing strip, which sounded a bit like a Hitler mustache but on the perpendicular.  She mentioned a few others. I panicked and chose the only geometric shape I recognized: the triangle (hence the title).  

I won't lie. It was painful, and the burning smell did little to calm my nerves, but Broomhilda didn't appear to be concerned. Overall not a pleasant experience. And, the hair, of course, grew back. How can I be expected to tend my lady garden on my own? With no idea how to maintain my newly coiffed down-there hairdo, I made the executive decision that since I don't make a living as either a stripper or a hooker, permanent hair removal really wasn't necessary. 


And, due to the aforementioned fear of waxing, I turned to shaving, but let's face it: shaving is a royal pain in the ass, and the hair grows back and as it does, it itches like hell.  It's like chasing your tail. Constant maintenance. 

Fortunately I have been able to negotiate with most guys I've had longer-term relationships on the topic of lawn maintenance, and were able to come to a mutual agreement. Keep it trimmed, everyone's happy. And, on the topic of "manscaping," I think only swimmers and gay men (and only if that's their thing) should be subjected to hair removal. I mean unless it's on their backs. Ew. 

Ok, well, I'm glad I got that off my chest...or well you know.

Ciao for now,

Barb

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Sunday, January 24, 2021

2021: A New Year, a New Outlook

Hello all, and welcome to 2021. Sure, it didn't get off to the greatest start with the whole attempted coup, but I have to say that things are looking up. Yes, I am about to blow some sunshine up all of your respective asses, so if you are not in the mood for some positivity, stop reading now.

So what is there to be so happy about, you ask? So many things, and thanks for asking. For one, it's not 2020 so there's literally one direction to go in and that is up. Shaky start aside, having a new administration in the White House has gone a long way to improve my mood and overall positive outlook for the rest of the year. I do believe that the entire world is taking a collective sigh of relief. 

I don't want to get overly political, but let's just say that now that we have officially flushed the orange turd, life will be better. My heart won't sink every time I hear the "Special News Announcements" on TV and I no longer feel compelled to watch the nightly news for fear of what he's done.  

A COVID vaccine is now in play, so an end to all this madness is in sight. Life will return to normal or whatever version of "normal" is possible now. I'm just hoping concerts, travel and hugging come back as I miss them all very much. I miss seeing my parents too so hoping the state of Missouri can get this shit together sooner, than later. Hopefully having a better federal plan will trickle down. Lots of "hopes" but all the signs are showing that there are reasons to be hopeful. 


Love Life Update

Yes, still dating Jon and things are still going well. We have successfully traveled together, a big milestone.  Also happy to report that I believe we are finally getting out of the infatuation phase. You know that early part when you are blind to any personality faults? I don't trust relationships until you get to this point. You can't see the forest for the trees during this intense initial period. My last several relationships died quietly, and in some cases not as quietly, once this phase fizzled out. So the fact that I  can clearly now see all his various quirks that will drive me crazy is a good thing.


Don't get me wrong. I love Jon, but he's definitely more of a "fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants" type than I am. And, time is a bit more nebulous to him. I'm a planner and he thrives on spontaneity. He's leaves my place about half the time with something left behind. The inside of his car looks like he might actually live in it, which came in handy on our second date when Bowie jumped up on the coach and stuck his tongue in his ear just as he was taking his first sip of red wine. Yep, he had a change of clothes in his car! 

Our parenting styles could not be more different. And, he has admitted that he often misses flights, possibly a consequence of the whole time vagueness thing. No worries, though. If he travels with me, he won't. Just needs that nudge. Someone to keep him on task as he gets distracted fairly easily. 

The Travel Challenge

I love to travel so being a good traveler is of paramount importance. This is true of both boyfriends and friends. You often don't see someone's true personality emerge until some travel disaster strikes, or in some cases, minor inconveniences can have the same effect. 

My last boyfriend, Dave, sadly did not weather the travel challenge. We were checking in for flight last summer, and since he had bought the cheapest possible ticket, the agent had to come and check to make sure his carry-on was an appropriate size before he could get his boarding pass. This fact really irritated him and the fact that there didn't appear any employees were around only contributed to his increasing sour mood. 

In an attempt to avoid a meltdown, I went over to the bag check counter and inquired (politely) if someone was working the kiosks. One yes, he said, he'll be right back. I conveyed this to Dave who immediately glared at the bag check guy and from across the room screamed, "What are you doing? Why don't you come help me?" Dear LORD!!! Oh...OK, you are one of those people?!? I did not know this. 

A mile-long security line did nothing to improve his mood. So I did what I had to do. I left his sulking ass in line, went over to the TSA Pre-check line, where I breezed through security, and was halfway through my glass of Kim Crawford Sauvignon Blanc before his grumpy ass showed up at the gate. Sadly this was his swan song. RIP Dave. 

The Hater's Guide to Yoga

Dear Lord, there's a yoga update? Stop rolling your eyes. After 128 yoga classes, I still can't really touch my toes but I can go far enough to fool others, similar to doing the splits during cheerleading tryouts. No way that ever happened, but apparently no one was the wiser. Besides my body remaining stedfast in its commitment to remain unfolded, flexibility in other areas of my body are much improved.

I can't say I hate yoga anymore as it has done a lot to quiet my mind, improve my posture and increase my flexibility. All things I needed to work on, especially during our shit-ass 2020. I actually look forward to doing it now, but it didn't start out that way. I definitely count myself among the cynics when it came to yoga. 

I tried it many years ago at the urging of a much-younger ex-boyfriend (catch up on my  rather infamous May-September relationship blog here.) but I never really bought in. I had always thought that it wasn't real exercise unless you are sweating and there was some level of intensity. And, that whole meditation part at the end, Savasana, would just send my brain spinning. I would be laying there thinking of all the things I should be doing, mentally compiling my to-do list. 

The whole breathing thing I didn't get either. I found it rather insulting that a behavior I've always thought of as being fairly involuntary, like your heart beating, would need to be practiced. What? This aspect of yoga has also taken time, but I am now understanding the reasoning behind it. I can't explain it, and I'm not here to sell you all on yoga, but it does help somehow. I can't say I have mastered meditation, but I'm open to it. Old dog, new trick. 

I still yell frequently at my computer during classes, sometimes finding these Peleton instructors hella-annoying. "Hold this very difficult posture while I acknowledge everyone's birthdays and anniversaries." How about you don't? Screw you, Anna Greenburg and your freak-show flexibility! Ok, so I might not have perfected a true Zen state but by the end of class, I feel better than when I started.

As you can see the dogs have finally stopped invading my personal space during yoga. Probably finally got tired of getting hit with a yoga block. 

Ok, I'll sign off as this is getting a big long-winded. So to summarize, 2021, is going to be a better year for us all. Trump is gone. A vaccine is coming. And, the days are getting longer. Soon spring and warm weather will emerge and things will look very different. So buckle down, folks. This crazy ride is almost over and we got this!


Namaste, bitches,

Barb

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Sunday, November 15, 2020

New Beginnings: From Darkness Comes Light

Hello everyone. Yes, I'm back again, like a bad penny. Weather has sadly turned the seasonal corner (no more outdoor tennis or bike riding) and Lori Lightfoot, our COVID-fighting superhero of a mayor, has asked us to stay at home to hopefully stem the rising tide of virus infections. Silver lining: a blog from Barb. 

It's official: I'm off the market

So, I've met a boy. Now, those who know me know this isn't particularly newsworthy so let me rephrase: I have met THE ONE. I know many of you are thinking, what? Wasn't this crazy women just sifting through giant mounds of potential dates in her last blog? Answer: yes! But I found him. A great one, and I am officially off the market!

His name is Jon and while we've only been dating for a few months, he checks all the boxes. He skis, plays tennis, loves music, is funny and a travel bum. We have a ton in common. Both of our fathers were engineers who moved us frequently as kids, both spent our formative years in New England. 

All of this came as a pleasant but unexpected surprise. The first time he told me he loved me, I stammered and told him to "drive safe." Ok, so I'm a bit out of practice but finding my footing.

Jon serenading me in the backyard.

Yes, some of you are thinking it's way too soon to make such a bold proclamation. It's akin to announcing you're pregnant moments after conception.  Perhaps I am a bit nutty; I doubt anyone who really knows me would question that is a possibility. But somehow I kind of know he's a keeper. 

Now is there a possibility I will writing a blog next month entitled, "6 Reasons Why He Wasn't the One?" Well, sure, but I will treasure it as long as it lasts. He might read this blog and immediately change his name and enter the witness protection program. Who knows? But again, I will enjoy it because life is short and when you find love, you hold on to it.

It also feels great to not be on the various dating apps as I was definitely suffering from Bumble fatigue. Dating is fun but exhausting and let's face it: at this age mentally trying to keep track of all the names was damn near impossible and quite stressful. I did my best to keep everyone straight but all too often I would hear, "Nope, that must be another guy." Cringe. "Are you sure your Mom doesn't live in Arizona?" 

I had a few tricks. One night Laura walked by my phone on the kitchen counter and nearly died laughing, "Mom, someone named "other Frank" just texted you." I have another guy saved in my phone as "Brian, not Joe." Don't ask. You gotta do what you gotta do. Many times I've been en route to a date and couldn't remember what his name was. 

The Online Dating Commandments

After five years and quite literally 300+ dates,  I am a literal treasure trove of dating tips so I thought I would share some now that I can say I have achieved success. No way, I'm walking off the battlefield of online dating without sharing some hard-fought, best practices to those brave souls I leave behind. Semper Fi or whatever the Marines say. Can't abandon them without some departing advice so please pass this blog along to any friends, especially women, who are still treading water in the often turbulent waters of online dating. 

Let's start with a few common words and terms you will see on profiles that might need translating.

Ethically non-monogamous = I cheat
Open marriage = I cheat on my wife
School of Hard Knocks = high school graduate
Drink frequently = alcoholic
Entrepreneur = 70% of time this means unemployed
Athletic Build = played football in high school


Another incredibly common sighting is men's profiles that state their age, but the first line of the profile is "Really 56, Bumble won't let me change." So let me translate this one: I am 56 but I want to date women at least a decade younger so I lied and set up my profile to say I am 42 and now I can't change it. This one is so common that I can't even say don't date these guys. Just proceed with an abundance of caution because you know out of the gate, they are A: a liar and B: someone who needs a younger woman to feel better about their old-ass self. 

Another one I learned the hard way: if a guy asks you to communicate through a messaging app of any kind (WhatsApp, WeChat, etc.), he's married. Period. Hard stop. Move on. 

Set the Rules and Stand by Them

This is important. I have dating rules in place and I never waver from them. Rules work multiple ways. For example, I never travel for first dates. We will meet in my neighborhood or it's not going to happen...period. Why? Well, for one I feel it lessens my chance of being murdered, dismembered and stored in large trash bags in someone's garage. I think my Mom saw this on TV once, so I made this promise to her early in the game. 

The secondary benefit of this I discovered is that it serves as an excellent "asshole" filter. If a dude puts up any kind of fuss about this, or proposes meeting halfway, he's been snared by the filter and boom, there's one less dick to deal with, literally and figuratively.

Second, drinks only on the first date. This is one I learned the hard way. Sure a free dinner is nice but if you are like me, you get a pretty good sense immediately if there's any type of connection with someone. If you don't feel it, then your inner self will want to flee. Quite badly. Kind of a fright-or-flight instinct kicks in. Commit to a meal and there's an hour (if you are lucky) of your life you won't be getting back. But a cup of coffee or a glass of wine can be consumed much faster and you're on your way. No harm, no foul. 

Third, do not give anyone your phone number until after you meet. This is another one I have made the mistake of doing before. As a result, I quite literally have hundreds of "blocked"numbers on my phone. The only downside is when I'm heading to a date and don't remember their name. 

Last one: don't give him a second chance to prove he's not interested. Again, I have broken this rule, always to my regret. Here's a common scenario: You go out on a date and it's fun, but then you don't hear anything from them. I dated someone this summer who fell into this category. Every date was fun and we both seemed to have a good time, but then crickets. Being me, of course, I refused to be ignored and wanted to know what happened. His response: I'm just not really into dating right now. As Ariana Grande says, "Thank U. Next."

Here's the thing: I'm a fucking catch and I know that. But, I was chasing. Big mistake. Don't chase men. They are biologically built to be the pursuer. If they really like you, they will call or text.  If they don't, move on. 

Talking directly to all of you ladies still in the hunt: You are great. Hard stop. You are worth being pursued. Period. I saw this meme on Instagram the other day and boy it really nails it. Enough said. 



Silver lining for 2020

Well, one of the silver linings of this shit show of a year is that we are finally riding ourselves of Donnie. The "Orange Turd" will be gone. The National Guard might have to drag his fat ass out of the White House, but his reign of terror will soon be over. 

Like him or not, Joe Biden is a good man who will do the right thing. He will surround himself with smart people who he will listen to and then he will govern. He might even be a boring president because he will most likely act...well presidential. I, for one, am looking forward to it. 

I certainly hope that things don't worsen before they improve but I think we all need to prepare for a tough end of year with this stupid virus. A vaccine is not a pipe dream though. It's real and it's coming so keep the faith everyone!

Ok, this is getting long so I'll wrap it up. I hope you are all staying safe and sane. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

Barb

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