Sorry, ya’ll… not that anyone has checked in to see I was alive or had run off with a younger man.
Life just gets in the way. But, that’s my next blog.
I found my newest best-est friends today. Not sure they know that quite yet. The Midlife Gals. Oh God! Funny.
Here’s a sampling.
I’ll be back. Soon.
This is where you tell me you missed me and can’t imagine life without me. And, send money- deliriouslydivineone@gmail.com
Bonus video!
Sump Pump. The first words that popped up as I awoke this morning, unclenching my jaws and noting the light outside. Later than usual…a Sunday, 7 am. The Bob Edwards show on NPR and my mind fractured. I went to bed last night at a more reasonable hour, after an hour of red wine and Catherine the Great. After a day of client work, at the computer, seeing the gorgeous spring unfolding around me.
It’s one of those weekends. I haven’t had one in quite a while. Friday I went for drinks with a girlfriend at our favorite bar. She went home to cook dinner for hubby, I moved to a cafe table in the bar and had dinner. Before vacating my barstool I talked briefly with a frequent bar patron–an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in months. He commented on my long hair, I commented on his, and then, surprisingly, he asked if I was dating anyone. He’s not the type to ask that kind of question. It threw me. The official answer is no. I’m not seeing anyone. I get on my preferred online dating site, Okcupid, for a brief look and find nothing desirable within a 70 mile radius. Apparently no one finds me all that desirable either. I’m not even trying at this point.
I’m having my dinner with a glass of wine as the bar fills. From my vantage point I can see people as they enter the restaurant as well. Everyone is paired off. Friday night is couples night. The couple at the far corner of the bar are acting like teens, not mature adults of 50+ years. I sit alone, in full view. It started the weekend off poorly. Two Cosmos. A glass of wine with dinner. Driving home I see couples, only couples. By 9 pm I’m in bed. You can’t think when you’re asleep.
Why was this Friday different from the last 20 Friday nights I spent all alone? Wednesday I discovered that the scar tissue in my esophagus has grown back, not as severely as last year but… And, I have esophageal dysmotility. That’s new. This is all similar to what happened last March. I don’t know what the motility thing really means. I watched on the screen as the liquid barium trickled down my throat, paused and then continued on. It should have been a steady flowing stream. I saw the little barium pill get stuck in my throat. Weird.
Shit happens. I’m tough. I’ve dealt with my own fair share of adversity-alone. And, it’s the alone part that triggers my ‘stuff’. Swanlady reminded me that in the midst of my broken foot trauma almost 2 years ago I had a partner and yet was essentially alone in dealing with that situation.
A momentary blip on the why-am-I-all-alone and why-doesn’t-anyone-want-to-be-my-man screen. The solution? Well it’s not booze and hours of sleeping. I’ve always handled the issues in my family life, even when there was a spouse around. This is really minor stuff, this throat of mine. No hotdog eating contests for me. Another career opportunity squashed.
Catherine the Great didn’t like being alone either. For the very same reasons. She wanted stimulating conversation, the comfort of someone who cared (even if the care was paid for in rubles and jewels) and be a companion. She could bestow favors on her young men. She could demand they be at her side. Alas, those are things I can’t do.
Maybe Sump Pump is some magical hint from The Universe? I don’t have one in my house, nor do I need one (but yes, I know what they are and what they do, etc….). So, it must be something important, something that could change circumstances for me.
I think I’ll call my therapist.
I’ve been letting my hair grow for quite a while. It’s now well past my shoulders. I don’t color it so there is a little gray…well, more than a little.
Here’s the story that leads up to my question.
I was preparing for a photo shoot recently and an ex-boyfriend suggested I either cut my hair or color it!!! Gasp, I thought. It was a phone conversation so I couldn’t get the full nuanced reading on him. I don’t think this was really about me, not that it would matter, but rather ‘old’ women in general. Joe. v2 sees graying long hair as something only the religious types wear. You know the ones- long dresses, little fabric caps on their heads.
I believe he thinks I will follow his suggestion…. Well! Sputter… I Think Not.
But, it did get me thinking about the length of my hair. And, admittedly I went to the photo shoot with my hair up! Halfway through I took it down.
I love the way I look with long hair. I love putting it up in a sassy ponytail. I love braiding it and walking around in tattered jeans and birkenstocks, braless. I love being able to shape it into a twist on the top of my head.
I then asked another man with whom I have a romantic connection (Yes. There are dozens of them floating around) In person. With nothing riding on the answer–if you get my drift. His answer was vague. I think he covered it all his ass with a they-all-look-good kind of answer!
Saturday I got an email from guy I had been talking to on OKCupid (until he confessed to being married and living in a completely different city than indicated by his profile). He had seen the new photo and felt the need to comment on my hair. I sprang my survey question on him… First he said no. Then (thinking there was still hope) he wrote back to say, “Funny. I like some long hair. Looks good on you. It is the face that makes the hair. “
Nice recovery.
So? What do you think about women over 50 with long hair?
It’s time for this 57 year old grandma to get hip! I got the job! It’s not as much work, yet, as I had hoped. But. Out of 250ish applicants they chose 5. I’m one of those five. I will be writing a weekly blog for a new men’s product, targeted to 18-35 year old men. Yikes! My new boss is 27. He admitted last week that he wondered about my ability to connect with his target audience, given my age. I had to go through 3 rounds of interview type questions and writings to get this gig. It’s much better pay than the writing I did for a boomer site. And, the potential for more work and even a ‘job’ with the company is a future possibility.
They plan to whittle the list of writers down, based on reader engagement and traffic, so I may be calling on some of you to help me out. One of my girlfriends offered to read and comment..but I think they’re more interested in me bringing in a younger crowd, preferably men.
This will require some research. The writing is mostly about men and self-image and, what every man wants to know, how to get the girl! Or woman. I am thinking of late night hangouts where I can observe my prey. Maybe even a date? Whatcha think? I could contemplate an evening out with a 35 year old. Question is whether he’d be interested in me?
If you have any suggestions on where or how to research the mindset of a young adult male let me know. I’m already starting to read Detail, Men’s Health and Men’s Journal. Phat, isn’t it!
I’m on countdown to my little vacation, though in reality I’ll have to do some work while I’m gone. And, the beauty of a remote, poorly-paying job like freelance writing is that I can work from anywhere. I just have to be sober enough and dedicated to getting the work done. Just joking about the drinking, Mom, he’s not much for alcohol. No, she’s not really reading. It is a sobering thought though….
What does countdown look like for a 56 year old? Well, I’m vacillating between whether to simply mend the much worn and loved linen bathrobe or buy a new one. New panties seem in order and I’m contemplating a little lawn trimming. Also packing the high blood pressure meds, the high cholesterol meds and antiacids…. tee hee…ain’t getting old grand.
We’re having record-breaking heat here and it seems pointless to venture out unless absolutely necessary but I am contemplating it, nonetheless. It’ll be a smidge cooler where I’m heading…at least outside. So, what do I have planned for a 3rd date that will be 4 days, 5 nights long? ( lowdown on Date 2 ) Hmmm…bringing a book (Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and on the iPad-The Tiger’s Wife) and some needlework. I count on some movie watching and lots of long conversations. Maybe I’ll whip out my culinary charms and thrill him with my full domestic repertoire. We’ll see… I’m not planning, just open to whatever seems right in the moment!
So, don’t expect much of anything from me in these next few preparatory days. And from Saturday on.. hopefully I’ll be too engaged to think about blogging.
6:50 P.M. Friday Night
On the Menu: Two Makers Mark w/ a splash of ginger and some double creme brie with Carrs wheat crackers and…
On the iPod: The Chairman of the Board, Taj Mahal, and Aretha Franklin’s Respect.
Discoveries abound. Today a man who I met in 2004 or 2005.. rockiest dating ‘relationship’ on the planet, wrote me. I’ve referenced him here. I responded, knowing I was feeding the piranha. After a day of emails, at 5:15 P.M. he suggested we make a ‘pact’ to love each other. He would move in with me, to help with my finances and.. I guess we’d live happily ever after!? He started this proposal of sorts by noting that he was old (58) and tired and that I was “sexy but had “issues”…”" Be still, my beating heart.
Wow. I’m flattered. Actually, as I sit here now, contemplating the brie and the booze, I am chuckling at the sexy part (and conveniently ignoring the ‘issues’ bit). I’ve spoken with my life coach (tee hee) and have pledged not to respond to him. But, you know.. there is a list of men who find me sexy-it’s odd. Modesty aside, because I’m like the little boy who just found his penis and I’m in awe and amazement over this discovery, here we go:
1. This one is kin to my sons and has lusted after me for years. I found that out 5 1/2 years ago. We’ve toyed with the idea but, it was ill-fated.
2. My ex’s childhood friend, wanted me but out of deference to the ex… Now on Wife #3 and I languish here thinking about all the what-if’s this one brings up.
3. Ex-boyfriend of 3 years- still wanting it and me I suspect and it would be demeaning to reduce that to just sexiness.
(note that I have never really thought of myself as the sexy type so this is a major, albeit bourbon-induced insight. Though of late I’m coming to own this side of me)
4. He who can’t be referred to.. He’s never said I was sexy, but has expressed it in other words and actions over the years. He should be at the top of the list.
5. Mr. Lawyer- met through online dating-found me sexy, told me and then took off and maybe even contemplated switching teams. Yeah for my ego!
6. Current emotional basketcase.
7. Nice guy. We like each other and it’s a mutual sexy thing but no ‘couples’ chemistry.
I’m not necessarily bragging. And, I’ve left out a few to protect the innocent. And… what the FUCK!!!! How can this be true and I’m still hopelessly single? At my age I should rejoice in my sexiness, right? But, what about marriage material? Or even long-term “____” fill in the blank? Or just a guy to pay my health insurance premiums (oh wait.. I just got that offer) There must be something missing?
I’m finding it to be pretty funny this evening. Friday night and an evening full of potential for me. The type of potential that translates into a good movie, this fabulous brie, a few household chores with great tunes in the background or journaling. Tonight, for the first Friday in quite a while I’m content with this.
I put on some James Brown as we packed his belongings. Rather, I packed and he watched. There we were, listening to Like a Sex Machine on Easter Sunday, while downstairs old ladies in their Easter best sat in the lobby, listening to He Is Risen as they waited for family to come and whisk them away for a few hours. It was actually pretty funny in an ironic sort of way.
We totally ignored Easter Sunday and focused on packing, day two of helping my ex-husband pack up his life, yet again, as we prepared to move him to a nursing home. Five years ago our sons and I packed him up and moved him from my house to an assisted living facility. On Monday he’ll be moved to a nursing home, populated by people with many more problems and less alertness than he’s now used to associating with. It will be a very difficult transition, but inevitable.
As his brother and I walked down the hall for the umpteenth time, hauling his possessions, he looked around then said to me, “there are worse things than dying.” Somehow it was a fitting statement for the day and time. A sad one and an acknowledgment of how traumatic it is to witness someone with a chronic illness. My ex-husband is not an old man, he will have his 58th birthday in a nursing home this week. And that is part of the tragedy; he’s young and a victim of multiple sclerosis… mind and body wasting away.
And yet, he’s managed to be upbeat throughout the duration of his illness, my divorcing him, our sending him off to live in a facility with others. Last week he thanked me for taking such good care of him and he told me he loved me. I got off the phone and just sobbed. For him, for me, for the whole mess. He wasn’t this thoughtful or emotive as my husband; it’s only in the last few years that he’s gained this insight. Even though his cognitive functions continue to erode he’s able to show gratitude and maintain a matter-of-fact attitude about what’s happening to him.
My range of emotions varies from day to day. I never dreamed that my life would turn out the way it has. This is not where I wanted to be at age 56 and it’s far from over. I never share any of this with him and very little of it with my children. I haven’t shared it here but it’s pressing on me tonight and it needs to be spoken. Life as an adult is rarely all fun and games. If we’re lucky we learn to handle what we’re given with grace and we forge ahead.
I try to make light of things and I wear the mask well. I think about the future but I can’t dwell on it. Really, there are very few other options that allow one to get through the day.
Sex across the country’s nursing homes comes to a screeching halt due to the recent news article about risk of sudden heart attacks and death following sexual activity.
….people who engaged in “episodic” sexual activity had a 2.7 times higher risk for a heart attack while sporadic physical activity raised the risk 3.5-fold. (Source)
The flip side is that the more sex or other physical activity you engage in, the safer and healthier you’ll become. Good news, bad news scenario.
Now, that’s good news for people like me who are looking for active, sexy single men…and bad news for those men and women, in a relationship with little or no sexual activity. If you’re one of those you might want to make sure your mate doesn’t see the story.
I can’t think of anything worse than finding yourself in the middle of a passionate embrace to have him, on top of course, clutch his chest and just…die. My suggestion to all you women? Take the top position, then if he should ‘kick the bucket’, you won’t be trapped.
When, Where and Why?
8 DecAs I was rushing out the door to my part-time job this morning (yes, boss is away and I am blogging on her dime) I grabbed a red jacket out of my closet. It’s somewhat dressy so I don’t wear it very often and can’t recall when I last wore it. But, it would have been on a fall day…it’s not summer wear.
Pulled on the jacket, reached into the left pocket and pulled out a pair of panties!!!! Heavens. I have no idea when I did that and why.
I do recall a summer night when I ran into a lover at the bar. He was with his buddies and I was alone, I think. We were sitting next to each other, as I know the whole crowd…but none of them knew of our connection. I was wearing a short, sleeveless black dress. I got up to go the rest room where I removed my panties. Returning to the bar I caught his eye and let him see what was clutched in my hand. Then I sat down next to him on the bar stool, crossed my legs demurely, and continued the conversation. He twisted and fidgeted the whole time. When he left , first I think, I got a text about my actions and the ensuing results. It was great fun! I loved his reaction and the sexual charge I got as well.
Those panties were black. These were nude and for the life of me I can not remember how they got there! Is this what old age is like?
Tags: aging, flirtation, memory loss, panties, sexy