Creative Writing · Entertainment · Girl Stuff · Health · Life · Men's Issues · Relationships · Singles · Uncategorized · Women's Issues

Ghosts of Dating Past Part I

Pin Up Moto
Image by Lexinatrix via Flickr

35 (and over – in some cases way over)?! Why settle now? You’ve been married, divorced, had a kid or three. Why not play the field until you’re, well, 45 or so? After all, 40 is the new 30 right? What a load of bull poop.

Every birthday I give myself the first-aider once over, and thank my lucky stars that I pulled through another year. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel like my best days have passed me by, I know it. 

I will never again experience the drama and giggles of dumb-ass decisions like I did in my late teens and twenties. Mind you, I did take more risks than most of my peers, and I lived on the adrenaline-edge cultivated by my, “What the heck” philosophy.

Just because we dress in slightly larger and more expensive clothes than our teenagers, and keep active in such narcisistic and unique ways typical of generation X, Y, and every other generation identifier that’s come along since, are we really crazy enough not to embrace our age and the life-experience that comes with it? Maturing and Mellowing is highly under-rated.

So now, after experiencing marriage, motherhood, divorce, and living for over a decade as a “single” person again, I have a much different perspective on dating and commitment.

You see, at one point I only dated men who stood over 6’2″, had at the minimum a bachelor’s degree from a respected institution, had never been married, had never had children, and had not too much, and not too little dark hair. I had certainly acquired a taste for men who could speak more than one language, were born in another country, had professional bragging rights, and knew how to order oysters and champagne, buy jewelry and entertain me in that Great Gatsby way that so few gentlemen can pull off.  Blondes,men under 30, those with blue eyes, who didn’t reserve a date at least a week or two in advance  and a  host of others who did not meet my must have demands were left in my wake.

I went on blind dates, internet dates, managed to snag a man at each social event I attended, and many of my free weekends were taken up toasting these gentlemen with the nudge-nudge-wink-wink toast and tink of wine glasses motto that my girlfriends and I adopted, “May the Best Man Win”.

 All of this keeping in mind the sage advice I got from a much older and wiser woman on a South American beach, “Always have back-up”. In other words – keep a few on the side for those nights that would pass a heck of a lot less lonelier if you had a warm, masculine body helping to keep your sheets warm.

In retrospect, I realize that I was not dating to find a life-partner, I was dating for sport. I loved the adventure, the richness of the post-date storytelling, and the safety of not committing to one person. In retrospect a lot of the men I dated and gave a hard time to really weren’t that bad. In fact, they were actually pretty thoughtful and sweet.  I was not shy on poetry books gifted, daffodil deliveries, surprise weekends away, and inscribed jewelry. I was shy on knowing my own self, and what I had to offer.

Having convinced myself  not to settle, I have landed well, well on the other side of 35 still gloriously single.

Glorious, I say, as I reminisce about the last manI dated who turned out to be a disappointment. Realizing that maintaining “back-up” was not conducive to this thing called monogamy, I lost my list immediately.  But, as it turned out, this one couldn’t pass a mirror without flexing or checking himself out. For a man with who stood at 5’10”, he had enough confidence to convince himself that the rest of the world was responsible for his unhappiness. Yah. Alas, in my 30’s, my girlfriends and I bemoaned the age category I was now engaged in for dating/hunting.

I figure at this age, I’m either getting the sparse leftovers of the really nice guys who are now married, or waiting for the next generation of divorces and young widows. Yippee. Unless, of course, I go all-out cougar and start to give love-making lessons to the 25+ set. I need to give that some serious thought.

Previously older men were always better lovers. Now older men are almost ready to apply for Old Age Security and trim ear hair. Younger men have always been entertaining, but not satisfying. The experience was kind of like eating a tuna-fish sandwich when I really was craving lobster.Yummy. Much more satisfying than sharing naked bed space with myself, but back-up nonetheless.

I now have some hindsight about dating. It’s come at the price of a few tears, a few lonely nights, and a lot of laughs. Laughs about my own behaviour as much as any of the men that I dated.

I have entered a new phase of my life as a single person. My list of must-haves has become a few notes on what could be “general” characteristics I’m willing to explore before getting googly-eyed and romantically girly-girl over a potential partner. Don’t get me wrong, I still have expectations, I am just  much more clear about what makes a guy ok, and what makes him sphincter-centre.

Ghosts of Dating Past Part II will include a list of dating advice from someone reporting directly from the dating battlefield.

Entertainment · Fashion · Girl Stuff · Health · Life · Men's Issues · Relationships · Singles · Uncategorized · Women's Issues

What’s your Heroin?

Assorted cosmetics and tools
Image via Wikipedia

“Men with good manners and Bordeaux on weekends, Rom coms and lattes, long weekends in Nassau, long warm wet kisses that last ’til tomorrow….these are a few of my favourite things!!!”

Bookstores, the used-all-hardwood-flooring type are the equivalent of a soft, warm, blankie for me. I used to love spending time in Eliot’s Bookshop on Yonge during my lunch hours. Most days I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just a little comfort. 

Memoirs of an Addicted Brain, by Neuroscientist Mark Lewis  is a book about addicts. You’re an addict right?

Whoa – wait a minute there tiger. Not an addict? No? Think again.

According to Lewis we’re wired for addiction. He begins his exploration of addiction by siting the presence of opioids in mother’s milk. The long and short of it is, we all just want to be loved. We have an innate emptiness about ourselves that needs to be sated. Maybe it’s not heroin, but perhaps a new skirt, a cookie, maybe just another toke? You know, a little pick me up.

Actually, most things that I do, I do because they bring me comfort. I use specific soap certain days to make me feel happy. I take my favourite route back and forth to the office. I keep dark orange chocolate beside my bed. I seek out one special relationship with a big, strong, sexy man who will hold me in their arms….I value my friends, who all, in their own way bring me comfort. I covet Elie Saab and Michael Kors. I carry a purse filled with things like lipstick and hand lotion and my cell phone, all of which I claim I cannot live without.

Bad days often involve a  luscious latte of some sort, and maybe even one of those little chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter icing at my favourite Starbucks.

We often look at drug addicts and alcoholics with disdain, or we wonder at times if we’re riding a bit too far on the edge ourselves. Often it’s after my decaf-non-fat-latte-and-sugar-pumped-cupcake that I wonder if I’m just as bad as a crack addict with my need for sweet things. I know I am. Worse even. Because I’m functional.

If I said that we’re all addicts, it’s just a matter of to what degree, would that be cliché? You know, kind of like the cheesy, “We’re all bisexual. It’s just a question of how bisexual are you?”.

By definition, an addict is someone who is physiologically and psychologically addicted to a substance. Is M.A.C. eyeliner a substance? How about Lancome fragrance? What about Jersey Milk Chocolate Bars wedged into marshmallows? Hmmm….?

Most people agree that an addiction is a problem when it starts to impact the lives of those around you. Just ask anyone I’ve spent the night with in close quarters. My very simple, minimalistic beauty routine impacts their counter space. My need for intellectual stimulation ensures a pile of books, magazines and papers that interferes with my cat’s sprawled napping. Oh yah, and boys over 30…I kinda like them too.

I’m addicted to so many things.

What’s your poison?