Sunday, May 12, 2013
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Ironically, right after my last post on dating over 50, I met someone.
He was smart, funny, attractive (to me), and had the kindest eyes I've ever seen.
This time, I did all the right things. I went slowly. I watched for signs - signs of things I had encountered before - ones that ended up causing me pain. I Googled. I consulted with my therapist.
We confided in one another - he about the loss of his wife 5 years ago, and me about the betrayals and challenges I've struggled to overcome. We had the same world views. We had similar tastes in films and books, but I confess I couldn't grasp his appreciation for the music of Rammstein and Buckethead. He felt the same way about Nick Lowe, but as he said "it's the differences that make it interesting"
I felt I could trust him when he said "it must be difficult for you to take any man at his word". I felt he "got it".
We spent much time together. He made me happy; every time he saw me he got the biggest smile on his face. He was supportive when I had an appointment for a small medical procedure that I was fearing because it would be painful. He took me with him when he shopped for clothes. I took him to Easton and showed him the places I liked. We went grocery shopping together (I still think jalapeno Combos are a figment of his imagination). He fell in love with Cody, The World's Least Scary German Shepherd, and I can say the feeling was mutual.
It felt good. His actions matched his words. He was communicative about fears and hopes. I was, too.
And then - "I have some drama I have to take care of". The drama was a previous relationship that had ended only 3 weeks before he met me - one he never told me about. I knew nothing. We last talked on the phone this past Sunday. He told me it was a six month relationship that was on and off and full of fighting, but that it hadn't ended cleanly and he had to "see it through" even though it "doesn't have a good history - I can't turn my back on it with peace of mind" He said he was probably making the biggest mistake of his life. Through my tears (and through his, because he was crying, too) I told him he was - he was giving me up.
And like that, it was over.
Do I think he intentionally set out to hurt me? Possibly not, but that doesn't matter, does it? Because he did. He did the worst thing he could have done - gave me happiness and hope, and then snatched it away. Was he falling for me and got scared - who knows? Was he a complete and utter douchebag? In my heart of hearts I can't believe that. That, however, doesn't change the fact he lied to me and I can't risk a liar in my life.
I hope his going back brings him happiness. I don't think it will - by his own admission he doesn't think it will. I hope, too, that if he thinks of me, he'll compare what he had with me with what he went back to and will always regret it.
I have a friend - Mike - who is just about to turn 60. He's utterly and completely given up on finding a lasting, loving relationship. I've always chided him about this - I tell him love is out there and it's just a matter of looking for it. However, in the past few days since this happened to me, I am beginning to think he's very, very wise.
I'm tired of losing pieces of myself. I'm tired of hoping and then having hopes crushed. I'm tired of being the one who is so great and wonderful and "you've really changed my mind about re-marrying, Pamela" (thanks, as he gets engaged to someone else). I'm tired of it all.
So, the shop is closed. That's a hard thing, closing your heart. It hurts as much as opening it, but in a different way because you know that the pain will eventually end and it will scar over and maybe just be a bit tender. It won't be a continuous ache.
So, thus ends my short (as you say "Thank God"!) series on dating after 50. I'm off to drop a line to my friend Mike to tell him I won't be chop-busting about this any longer.
Posted by Untouched Takeaway at 8:55 AM
Saturday, March 2, 2013
...it ain't for sissies.
On the 60s spy-com, Get Smart, CONTROL agents utilized a device called the Cone of Silence when they wanted to speak privately. The gag was that once the cones were in place, neither party could hear the other (you have to trust me that the TV series was eminently funnier and wittier than the Steve Carrell movie)
Now that I have turned 50 – I’ll be 52 in June, actually - I have found that I too, have what might be a CONTROL device. I call it the “Veil of Invisibility”. It renders me invisible to men. While that could have its upside, I’m still trying to determine what that might be. It makes dating (both the online and offline varieties) kinda difficult.
Online dating is not for the faint-hearted. It has its own language and social minefields.
• The first thing I learned is that “looking for a woman who takes care of herself” translates to the King’s English as “must be a size 2 and wear a 44DD bra”. Why don’t you just say that? We size 16 women know exactly what you’re on about and we promise not to bother you. (It’s an easy promise to keep, because we know exactly what you’re like otherwise)
me - busy not "taking care of" myself
• Any male over the age of about 17 who makes that dopey two-fingered “gangsta” sign in their profile picture should be incarcerated and forced to live with people who have some actual experience with the lifestyle associated with that gesture. C’mon. You’re 51.
• You are not “divorced” if your wife “spends a lot of time at your place” and you “go on vacations together with the boys”. The boys in question are 17 and 22. Not 7 and 2, but 17 and 22. If she’s that great of a gal, I think you should remarry her.
• Did you know there’s a male equivalent of the duck-face, cleavage shot in the bathroom mirror? It’s the one where the guy poses like the Incredible Hulk in front of the mirror in the gym bathroom. And it’s just as ridiculous as the female version. Don’t you own a shirt? Or have a friend who can operate your smartphone camera? How can I tell what you really look like when you’re straining like a Russian Olympic weightlifter?
• I don’t need to see photos of your Harley, your ATV, your Mercedes, or you with your arm around Bam Margera. While I realize buying a Harley is the male equivalent of purchasing a series of Botox injections, it doesn’t impress me. And the Bam Margera thing definitely doesn’t impress me. Don’t you have a picture of you and your dog, having fun in the backyard?
• “No drama” means “the first time a crisis arises, I’ll be gone so fast it will make your head spin”. However, the “no drama” rule will immediately be rescinded if you “take care of yourself”
More later, I assure you. Maybe I should take another tip from Get Smart. That Hymie the Robot was a nice lookin’ guy…I wonder if there’s a guide to making one in a back issue of Popular Mechanics ?
Posted by Untouched Takeaway at 12:09 PM