Vol. 2, Post #65 Curtains
Recent poll results and...a love story. My sex tips for girls* (*girls who are holding on to mid-life by a thread). A dating odyssey for Young Olds, (people with readers).
Writing this Substack is obviously a labor of love (shove) and some posts hit harder than others. A recent post about something I uncovered regarding my former dating habits really resonated with A LOT of you. I got…get ready…over 30 emails about it, along with a few calls and texts. One of my dearest pals made a point of telling me how she loved the personal-yet-relatable aspect of the post, and of course, there is nothing like that kind of praise.
With that in mind, I wanted to follow up with a poll, which I posted last week, asking Dear Readers to tell me what they wanted more of on the page. The results were…kind of adorable…
Over 350 of you answered the poll and I was sweetly surprised to see that Deep Thoughts on midlife love narrowly bested Sexcapades! ROMANCE IS NOT DEAD!!!
With that in mind, let me tell you about a lovely date that I had about a week ago, and why we’re not going out again.*
*IF I wanted to speak to the poll, I’d be writing about some fabulous fuckfest I had on last week’s date, which has resulted in me falling deeply and madly into midlife love, but, alas, was not the case. So just bear with me — there IS a love story at the end of this date; just not the one you are expecting.
The date, in question, started out as a “sort of” business meeting. We connected over a project and decided to keep talking. Once we had passed Hour One on the phone, we realized we were clearly NOT talking biz and I also noticed that I was walking around the house, twirling my hair around my finger and also checking myself out in the bathroom mirror as we chatted, watching my face to see if I was flirting. My face was a bit flushed, and my eyes were wide. I was indeed flirting.
After our call, there were a few work-related texts that went back and forth and then we decided to meet for a cocktail that weekend. I was vaguely unsure of whether we were meeting for a drink as colleagues or something more. As I got dressed for the “date” (?!?!), I knew that, again, I was picking out clothes that were more than just “quick drink with a friend” in that there was nary a pair of yoga pants or Birkenstocks in sight. I know me. For that that matter, you know me too, ha…
I got to the place first, a cocktail lounge I love, run by two old pals, one of whom was behind the bar that night. As he and I chatted, he asked what I was up to that night and I told him I was meeting something, mentioning my date by name. My pal’s eyes lit up, “Oh, sure, I know him. Love him!” A vote of confidence. I quickly told my pal, “Not sure what this drink is about, so let’s see.” And I was a little nervous, and suddenly, even more so. What was going on?
My colleague/date showed up. We had a GREAT time.
The conversation flowed; all the hallmark signs of a juicy first date were clear as day — I was making a point about something and inadvertently reached over and touched his arm; he did the same with me. When he went to the bathroom, I reapplied lip gloss. When I went to the bathroom, I saw him checking me out as I stopped to chat with another bar patron who I knew.
We like the same music, the same films. We’re close in age (he’s slightly younger which tends to work for me — my last three serious partners were about ten years younger).
Mae West, 1936, in “Go West Young Man.” Sorry, couldn’t be helped.
He looked good. He smelled good. He was off to a concert, and I even gave him a ride to the theater a few blocks away so he could save his primo parking spot (parking in hottie Kingston, NY can be a bitch on the weekends). We both love the greater Hudson Valley, and he lives about an hour away, which is a plus — if he became a boyfriend or a lover, he wouldn’t be at my house 24/7 which, let’s face it, I prefer. Space is Ace!
So why won’t we be going on another date? (And maybe that’s not entirely correct, so let me rephrase: So why won’t we be going on another date anytime soon?”
Because of this sentence, which he spoke about an hour or so into our first date:
“I know I have to get a better handle on this, but things with my ex are complicated.”
As soon as he said it, I felt my body language shift and change. I pulled back from my “leaned in” position in close proximity to his bar stool. He went on to tell me about the complications, which seem, complicated for sure, and he had (and has) my empathy on this. But, nope.
Because — and c’mon, you ALL know what complicated means, even if it means different things to different people — I’ve done complicated-with-ex and as they say, Never Again.
And I’m not talking about the usual “I don’t like my ex,” although as we know, that’s a red flag. And a BIG red flag in my book if they hate their ex. No, I’m talking about the weird limbo that happens when someone and their ex are still in each other’s lives in a way that makes dating awkward for both of them.**
**I’ll take this opportunity to kvell about my wonderful ex-husband, who will be up in The Catskills this weekend with his young daughter, and we are all hanging out on Saturday (with our son and his girlfriend who are staying with me). Young Daughter is 7 and she and I are going to be presenting my dog with a birthday meatball on the occasion of his 3rd bday (also Bob Dylan’s birthday — my man!) and then we’re all going to dinner. That is known as NOT COMPLICATED. We weren’t always this chummy, but at the same time, we NEVER got in each other’s way when it came to dating or bringing dates around each other. Barry Wacksman, I adore you!
Back to my date. Date went on to explain to me the complications between him and his ex, stemming from the fact that they owned a business together.
Stop. Right. There.
I’ve done that. My last serious partner and his ex-wife were in the same boat. It was DREADFUL. They were both not only hostile with each other most of the time, but when she got wind of me, she was PISSED even though she clearly did not want him anymore. And as for him? Well, let’s just say this. They still considered the apartment where he lived full time to be “their” apartment in that lots of her stuff remained there. And she slept on the sofa on occasion if she was in town and it was too late to go home to her place in a neighboring locale. And it goes from there. Once, he mentioned that she had scoped me out on social media and that she got kind of crazy because she saw a pair of reading glasses next to his bed that she assumed were mine, based on my photos, which she stalked. They were his glasses. And…here’s me quietly acknowledging something shitty that still makes me angry. Angry with him and angry with myself that I didn’t say anything: I sleep with two pillows. There was one pillow on “my side” of the bed at his place. When I wanted another pillow, I pulled one off the sofa and used that. But once, I saw my ex open a drawer in his bedroom and inside that drawer was a bed pillow — I assumed it was “hers” from when she slept there on the sofa (no, they were not fucking around. It’s not about that). Need I go on?
In this instance, my date and his ex were living separate lives and from he said, sounds like she is involved with someone else already. But I could see the discontent on his face as he shared with me her behavior around the split and how she moved on, along with the flat-out acknowledgment that he indeed had complicated feelings around her.
Once again, I reached out and touched him on his arm. “That must be tough. Hope you get past it. Dating won’t be enjoyable for you or your date until you do.” Only this time, my touch meant something entirely different.
Since that night, I’ve spoken to him a few times, exchanged very friendly texts. Have no idea what will happen if he gets it together, but that’s neither here nor there, because, Dear Readers, I have fallen in love.
With myself.
You know how you read on various (ok, endless) self-help sites, aimed at dating or just at self-esteem building, that until you love yourself, you are not ready to love someone else? Well, it’s certainly not lost on any of you that I love myself. I think I’m sensational and I’ve never lacked for love, romantic or platonic, in my adult life.
But at the same time, as I’ve written before, I’ve far too easily taken on the mantle of loving on someone(s) else when they were struggling to see their worth — or when they were having challenges that clouded their ability to self-love. In that way, I’ve abandoned myself. Take your pick — partners H, S, B, and F are living embodiments of that habit. I have been an excellent #1 Cheerleader — for fuck’s sake, I was Captain of the cheerleaders in middle school (before I discovered punk rock).
And then finally…in this post-breakup period after I left Nice Guy Boyfriend in January, I dug in deeper on my own inner work and emerged saying, "That won’t happen again.”
Which is why my date of recent weeks^^^, while lovely, is not for me as he navigates It’s Complicated Avenue with his ex. There are too many other people to meet who have extracted themselves from similar situations. With this gift of Self Love comes the gift of Patience. Patience that whomever or whatever is meant for me will appear. If you know me, you know that I am positively HIDEOUS with regard to practicing patience — or rather, I have been. I was so determined to learn patience in a more substantial manner that in 2020, I had a Hebrew phrase, "erek ruach" tattoo’d on my arm (it means “long breath" or "long of spirit”) in an attempt to offer myself a reminder to not rush to conclusions or rush the process.
In this moment, I am very peaceful, very happy, very patient, and very UNCOMPLICATED. And that’s the kind of midlife love story that I’m going to indulge in next go-around. With sexcapades. I, of course, want to give you, my Dear Readers, EVERYTHING that you desire…
ABOVE — for this, my “Curtains” post, I knew we had to have Carol Burnett and this skit she did as a send up on “Gone With The Wind” in 1976, with a gown designed by Bob Mackie that is in The Smithsonian today, a memento of the comedic genius of that skit and the show. The entire “Went With The Wind” sketch here. The actual history of the sketch here.