WHAT!?!

06 Jun 2013 Leave a comment

by signsofsomething in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

So…I was in Walmart…yes, I know, I really should stop shopping there, but I was there the other day and as usual, stopped by the makeup section. There was a young person standing there, who looked to me to be a young man, slender, beautiful, closely cropped dark hair, dark eyes and wearing the most god-awful boy’s clothes, baggy jeans and a baggy t-shirt. The young person looked at me, I smiled as I usually do when someone looks at me, the young person smiled back and I resisted temptation of purchasing a new lipstick and kept walking toward the fabric and sewing section.

I was standing there, looking through the jersey knits for my next creation of magnificence when I looked up and there was the young person, standing there, smiling at me…and what a beautiful smile. I now noticed more piercings than most of my friends have all together, and these were all in the smiling youth’s beautiful face.

Then young person then spoke…with a girl’s voice.

Her: Hi!
Me: Hi!
Her: My name is Chris.
Me: Did you say Christina? (I really hadn’t heard exactly what she’d said)
Her: Well it’s Christina but I go by Chris.
Me: Nice to meet you, I’m Mikki.
Her: Mikki, you are so beautiful, and I love your smile…will you go have some lunch with me?
Me: Oh…wow…that is so nice…um…how old are you?
Her: Seventeen.
(At this point, my head began to spin in confusion)
Me: Oh…my…wow, I am so flattered beyond belief, but you’re the same age as my grandson…which means that I am probably older than your parents.
Her: Is that a no? Age doesn’t really matter you know.
Me: Oh…yeah…it totally does.

Seventeen. Yes, I was asked out by a charming seventeen year old girl.

I’m still sort of wigged out by this encounter, for a number of reasons. One, this young person, at the beginning of her adult life, had more balls than most of my peers, deciding that she would be bold and ask a stranger out on a date. She didn’t do it on Craigslist Missed Connections, she didn’t do it in some clumsy, insecure way, she just walked right up and boldly pursued what she wanted. Two, I realized my own prejudice…which as you can imagine, pisses me off to no end…why…when I am up in arms about LGBT rights and equality, when I am up in arms over prejudging someone based on outward appearance, did I automatically assume that the young woman was a young man? Her short hair, floppy boys clothing and slender build were not big billboards saying “I’m a boy” and so why was my mind so limited in its thoughts, that I just automatically assumed that it must be a boy? Finally, what the hell is going on with these young people wanting to date me?

I don’t get asked out by my peers, by fifty year old men wanting to enjoy my company…no, I keep getting asked out by twenty-somethings who could no more work with my lifestyle than I could with theirs. And now, a seventeen year old thinks that I’d be a great date.

Of course, I remember being seventeen. My classmates were much bolder then, than now. Their youth brought them a sense of freedom from fear…fear of rejection, fear of success, fear of failure…all contributing factors in their lives now. I remember being seventeen and having crushes on all of my teachers, those people who I admired and respected, their brains often being the most attractive aspect of themselves, yet all I could see was beauty, the beauty of knowledge, learning, wisdom. I remember being seventeen and thinking that I wanted everything NOW…I was very impatient…oh wait, that hasn’t changed.

I guess I understand that youth is bolder, less confident and yet seemingly unconquerable. I understand that my peers are busy enjoying their own encounters with younger men and women, whatever they can do to recapture their youth, to stave off age for just a little longer, if only in their minds, by dating those who are well outside an appropriate age range. I even understand the appeal due to the physical aspects…after all, there are very few of us who truly feel that age and the signs of age are magnificent. I was once asked how I could date someone who was my own age because “doesn’t he have wrinkly balls?” Well yes, he did in fact…he also had a wrinkly face, chest and butt…but, he could remember all of the same things that I could, he understood my taste in music and he could have a conversation with me about pretty much everything and anything, without any prodding on my part. His glorious physique was not tight and toned, shaved and waxed, shimmering against the sun, it was soft in some areas, hard in others, hairy, weather worn and yes…wrinkled. It was fabulous.

It’s true, I was very flattered by her invitation, by her declaration of attraction for me. It wasn’t the law that prevented me from accepting her kind invitation to eat, which I rarely turn down, it was my own recognition that this young woman, however bold, however beautiful, should not waste even one precious moment of her life, entertaining a woman who was nearly thirty when the young woman was born. She should be out enjoying the company of those women who would actually know who some of the current celebrities are, or be able to go through those troubled early twenties with her, boldly going into adulthood with someone who didn’t go through it before she was even born.

Now I need to go hit my head against the wall a few times to shake loose the prejudice of blue and pink baby blankets.

Fifty or More First Dates

28 Apr 2013 Leave a comment

by signsofsomething in Uncategorized Tags:

As I have said before, I love to date. I love dating because it’s interesting, fun and gives me an opportunity to get to know people who I might not otherwise get to know. However, with this love of dating, we come into the well-loved issue of what to do on first dates. Mine is easy, buy me coffee. That’s right, my love of coffee and conversation means that I will be able to sit across from my date at a cafe, get to chit chat, get to know him (or in some cases, her) and not be burdened by the noise of a film, the chaos of a restaurant, or the action of some of those more modern first dates, like rock climbing.

It also means that either myself or my date, has not spent an arm and a leg just for us to figure out that there is no chemistry.

When I went on my very first date…many years ago, I came home with a cup from Taco Bell. My father looked at me and said “He took you to Taco Bell?” I told my dad that the young man had asked me where I wanted to go, as I imagine most sixteen year olds don’t actually plan much out anyway, and I told him Taco Bell. My father then tore me a proverbial new one and said that if you set up the dynamics of not expecting anything more than fast food, then that would be the relationship from then on, and I should make the man “work for it.”

But then again, way back in the prehistoric times, we certainly didn’t have the economy that we do now. Back then, my date could have taken me to a nice restaurant and it wouldn’t have torn into his wallet like a tornado. Now, not so much.

My father was right, we do set the dynamics of any relationship, within the first few moments, the first few dates, the first few days. We tell those who we date, how we expect to be treated, how we expect the relationship to move forward and what we need or want from the other person. However, when we make the expectation that the first date, a date meant to be there to decide if anything might be pursued at all, would need to be extravagant and costly, we might also be disappointed later on, when that person no longer does such outlandish shows of affection and attraction.

Me, I’m pretty simple. My daughter says that I am absolutely NOT simple when it comes to dating, her feeling is that I expect an intelligent and witty dialogue, when there are those who cannot offer that on a first date. It’s true, I do love conversation, debate and I am a fan of impressive dialogue, but in all honesty, I really just want to get to know the person. I want them to also be interested in what I have to say.

Dating is so simple, and yet there are articles after articles of dating faux pas and dating discomforts and letters to the editor saying how awful the dating scene is, and so forth. I have not found that to be true, but it could be that I date, with absolutely no expectations. I go into a first date with the excitement of getting to know someone new, someone who had the spine to ask me out in the first place, so he or she already has a high score and can only go up or down in rating. I don’t expect the love of my life, I don’t expect to get laid, I don’t expect to have my heart broken, my tummy filled with butterflies, or to get married in a year. I don’t expect that each of my dating partners will fulfill me every dream or fantasy and I don’t expect them to even pay for my coffee.

Don’t get me wrong, I like when they have the coffee ordered before I even arrive, having already known what kind of coffee I drink, because he or she was interested and asked me, but it’s not really important if it isn’t done, because I have no expectations.

I think that it was either Buddha or some spiritual leader somewhere who said that if you have no expectations, then you will never be disappointed. Well this is true for dating as well as other aspects of life.

If you go into dating with simply an expectation of sharing a moment of your life with a stranger, turning that stranger into something more, even if it’s only that your date partner becomes someone you went on a date with, once upon a time, it’s still far more relaxed than changing clothes forty times and adding so much lipstick that your lips swell.

Oh and on a side note, I realize that it happens frequently, but even in this modern day and age, sex on the first date is a super duper bad idea. It is dangerous, dirty (not in a good way) and it only rarely turns into a healthy relationship from that point. Seriously, unless you’re getting paid for it, get to know the person a bit more before you share body fluids with them.

Valentine’s Day

14 Feb 2013 1 Comment

by signsofsomething in Uncategorized Tags: , , ,

Let’s talk about courtly love. It is after all, the type of love which Valentine’s Day was originally in celebration of. That unrequited love which a man would bestow upon a woman, both of them already probably married to other folks, in some political arrangement. Yes, that stalker-like love where he would learn everything he could about the subject of his desire, and while he spent his waking moments conjuring up newer and more impressive feats with which to impress his lady love, she would fan herself, giving him the idea that perhaps….just perhaps….he may earn himself a kiss.

Okay, yes, in modern society, this would constitute stalking. Stalking is illegal. However, wouldn’t it be nice if those who were fond of us, those who wanted to build a relationship with us, might in fact learn everything possible about us, prior to bedding us? I think that it would be nice if people paused before swearing their undying love for each other and actually asked “Hey…what’s your least favorite food?”

We don’t though, and I know that I’ve talked about it before, but since today is the holy day of lovers, it only makes sense to talk about it again. Research, research, research.

Let me give you an example from my own life.

Once, when an attractive attorney asked me out, I gave him 48 hours to find out what he could about me and that if he still wanted to go out, I’d have lunch with him. In that 48 hours, he found out that I am heavily tattooed, that I am a fortune teller, that I was married once for a year or two and that I had never been arrested and only had one speeding ticket. He once again asked me out. However, in that 48 hours I found out that he was a high end attorney, that he owned a beach house that had more rooms in it than my large family had ever had, though he lived alone, he owned three cars, a boat, two dogs, never took pro bono cases, was obsessed with remaining younger looking than he actually was, that he’d been arrested twice for drunk driving, had eight speeding tickets, dated primarily girls in their twenties (he was in his fifties), and attended a Presbyterian church. He had three children by three different women, he never saw them, just paid support for them. He had never been married, had no real friends, and was an only child.
Now, you would think that I would have said no at this point, but I thought that I’d take a chance. Well, that chance turned into him stranding me at the beach when he said “You’re not really my type because I do have sort of an image to uphold, but you seem like you’d be really wild in bed, how about it?” and I said “Ew.”

We are a culture of laziness. Instead of spending the energy to learn all sorts of wonderful things about each other, we’d much rather just jump into things and claim undying love, prior to knowing whether or not the other person washes his hands after using the bathroom.

We jump into relationships with people who, although they might attract us physically, don’t really have the requirements needed to have a long term relationship with us. This of course becomes a problem…especially once that shallow attraction is gone.

Instead, if we spent the time to learn about the other person, get to know what moves them, what makes them work, what makes them tick, maybe there would be less heartache.

It’s true, the little things matter. It isn’t just what your beliefs are, your political party is, or whether you were adopted. Think about it, those are just small parts of who you are as a person. The things which have driven my past lovers completely insane are the little things like the fact that I am terribly superstitious, that I take a long bath every day, that I will always choose Mexican food when given an option, that I am always bare footed, that I have a potty mouth and that I can’t do simple math calculations. These of course would seem like minor things in the scheme of life and love, but when they are things which occur on a daily basis, or even weekly, they can become a horror show for the other person.

When we don’t take the time to get to know the other person, to know them well, to know their ins and outs, ups and downs, then we say to them, without saying, that we aren’t really interested in their soul, in their heart, in their mind. What we are interested in, is how long they will be beautiful, sensual, attractive….to us. When we don’t spend the energy to find out whether we would even be a good match, then what are we actually looking for?

Adam Ant and my Obsession with Men in Makeup

30 Jan 2013 Leave a comment

by signsofsomething in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

My very first concert was Adam Ant on his Strip Tour. I was maybe sixteen at the time and pretty sheltered, so when I saw the gorgeous metrosexual performer strip down to his tight black skivvies, drop himself into a tank of water and swim around, well…I was pretty excited. I think that I went through my psychological puberty right then and there. This of course may have been due to the fact that water, partial nudity and some black eyeliner were involved.

I still love Adam Ant. In fact, like my lust for Marlon Brando, which is a subject for another day, my affection for the man who made being a goody two shoes something that I’d be willing to give up, has only grown as he has. His recent years of physical transformation from sexy dandy pirate to looking strikingly like Brando’s film version of Dr. Moreau, hasn’t caused my giddiness to wane at all. I suppose this is due to the fact that I do still have a thing for men in makeup.

I should probably see a shrink about this. Oh I have many different types of men that I’m attracted to, like most women, I have a range of interests and my sexual preferences are no different. One day I want to date a serious conservative suit wearer and the next, I am checking out a construction worker…before he’s showered. However, no matter what guy it is, what his look is, how old he is or what his job is, as soon as a man puts noticeable black liner around his eyes and a dab of tinted gloss onto his lips, I am undone.

There is still a fascination for androgyny, so I suppose that I could be able to explain it that way, that I love androgyny, but it’s not that. I like being able to tell the difference when I am flirting with a girl or a guy…as anyone can tell you, it’s a completely different approach.

No, I think that it’s something else. I think that it’s a breech of unspoken rules. In today’s society, men don’t wear cosmetics, frills, or anything which a woman might wear. In fact, I would hate to be a man! I would hate to not be able to change my costume from day to day, and I admire those guys who pull off that visually defiant beauty trick.

Now this would be acceptable back in the 80s, when I was a younger woman, when it was the popular thing to do, but now, now that I am older, a grandmother, I am really not sure that I’m going to find guys who are within my dating age range who still have a stick of kohl hiding in their bathroom cabinets. Of course, we do have Eddie Izzard, who is on my list of future ex-husbands, but he’s already happily married and I don’t think that marrying a famous person would be conducive to the privacy that my job somewhat requires.

So I guess I will just continue to look around at the guys who break the rules in fashion, who make a statement not for shock value, but because they know how gosh darn sexy they look.

Cougars and the Age of Women

21 Jan 2013 Leave a comment

by signsofsomething in Uncategorized Tags: , , , ,

I am not a cougar. That being said, I should admit that a few years ago I did date someone who was about six years younger than I was. My son-in-law has suggested that I become a cougar, perhaps finding someone who is younger might alleviate some of my typical boredom that hits me. Unfortunately, I find the concept someone distasteful. Don’t get me wrong, I know that love can come between two people regardless of how different they are from each other. Of these differences, often age is the least concerning. “Just a number,” many people will say about age, alleviating their own discomfort with the disparities. Age though, is not just a number. In fact, depending on the person, it can play an enormous part in a relationship.
I get it, I really do. I understand the appeal of bedding, dating or marrying a younger man. I understand the appeal of having some young buck on your arm to prove that as an aging woman, you do still have sexual prowess, physical appeal and a place in the world. So it isn’t as if I am blind to the social statement that it makes.
Here’s my issue with the concept, regardless of my acceptance of its value…it’s weird.
From a biological aspect, men can still make babies for…fucking…ever. Just look at Cary Grant, who had his only child when he was in his early sixties. We on the other hand, cannot. Now, this is not to say that the only reason to be in a relationship is to procreate. However, it certainly says something about the nature of our flesh. Of course it’s nice when the younger man you’re dating doesn’t want a child, but then again, the young man that I dated a few years ago swore up and down that he didn’t want children. Well of course I knew that he didn’t know what he was talking about, and now he is married with two beautiful babies who are his life.
Okay, okay, in an overpopulated world, this is a minor concern, so let’s move on to the psychological aspect. There are things that I have experienced in life due to my age, I remember Ronald Reagan as both an actor and a president. I remember Roman Polanski leaving the country, Larry Flynt being shot, the Hillside Strangler, Ted Bundy and the first Susan B. Anthony dollar hitting the market. My first concert was Adam Ant, and I saw Pink Floyd in concert while tripping on acid, prior to their disbanding. These seem like minor things as well, I am sure, when it comes to the subject of love. But these are things which created the woman that I am today. I want to be able to discuss the life that I have lived, with the man that I am in a relationship with.
I know, I know, there are younger men than I, who, because of their love of history, learning, research and so forth, are well versed in the history of the world, who know more about it than I do.
Then of course there is the sociological and community aspects of these relationships. Do I really want to date someone who is unable to relate to my life, whether it is the part of my life where I am called Grandma, or whether it is that I enjoy going to bed early and catching the worm in the morning? Do I want my lover, boyfriend or husband to have the same interests as my adult children, having more in common with them than he will with me? Do I want to introduce him to my children and find that he went to school with them?
I suppose that if I am simply interested in the temporary pleasure of having a beautiful young man to entertain me for a short while, I suppose that it makes complete sense, to date someone much younger than myself.
But then I remember the spiritual aspect of being a cougar in today’s society…unlike many women, I embrace my age. I embrace what each new gray hair, each new line brings. I embrace the wisdom that time has given me, I embrace my role as a crone, with all of its flaws and failings. I wince at each new ache, at each struggle against agism in society. I enjoy the attention that my younger loved ones pay to my words and advice. I do not need to date someone who might make me appear younger, who may make me seem more vivacious. I don’t need to teach a younger man how to treat a woman of my age.
I wonder sometimes how the cougars live their lives. Are they afraid of age? Are they afraid of perhaps loving someone their age and losing them to the sickness of old age, to death? Have they failed to appreciate the beauty of the men their own age? Do they not recognize the passion within these men?
Of course, this works the same way with older men and younger women. In fact, if the older man is no longer wanting children, does he fear his own mortality and therefore marries a young woman?
Attraction has no rhyme or reason. We find ourselves attracted to all sorts of people, places, things. We can’t explain it…usually.
It’s true. Age is just a number. A year after my mother passed away, my father began to date. He put personal ads up and was honest about his age. Although his well written ads appealed to all sorts of people, he often received messages from women saying that he was too old. The internet did not give these women enough information to know that my father built a barn which looks like a hotel…by himself. He keeps a farm running…by himself, he travels, he runs, he spends time debating with his daughters, harassing his grandchildren, and bullying us all into learning Spanish. Being close to seventy has not slowed the former Marine down in any way, and actually it would be silly for him to date someone his own age if she were frumpy, housebound or in a nursing home. However, I think that if he was dating someone who was my age, who I was then supposed to place into a position of being my stepmother, it might be a bit uncomfortable.
My daughter says that it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for her if I dated someone her age. She says that she wants me to be happy and it would be fine if that happiness was with a twenty-five year old. Maybe I am just too set in my own thoughts, but I think that I’ll stick with those who graduated in the eighties, rather than those who were born that era.

Superstition and the Evil of Names

05 Dec 2012 Leave a comment

by signsofsomething in Uncategorized Tags: , ,

Superstition isn’t something that bothers me. I enjoy my abundance of them, less concerned with how the unfounded fears affect my life and more amused by their impact on others. I don’t walk under ladders, I bury the pieces of broken mirrors, I don’t put my purse on the floor, and I never give a gift of a timepiece. However, there is one of my superstitions that is not only based not in history, but rather my own personal fears and avoidance of commitment. After all, other than the names which are created in the crisis of “Oh shit, the baby is here and we haven’t decided on a name” most names are shared by at least one other person on the face of the planet. This unfortunate reality contributes in its own little way, to the superstition of which I speak. I never date someone with the same name as anyone I have previously dated. This does pose a bit of a problem, since I have been involved with a Michael, a David, a John and an Adam….there are more of course, I certainly am not too pure to be pink, but you get my point right? Male names are hard to come up with, I imagine that those parents who have all boys are either using common names, knowing full well that their sons will be drops in the seas of James, Mark and Eric. Oh don’t get me wrong, I do occasionally come across someone who has a name which I haven’t heard in a while, but those are rare and I have found that the bearers of those unusual names are already taken. There should be more of a serious ritual for naming a baby, as it used to be, as it is still in some cultures. After all, our names are what we identify with. Because I have never really spent any time using my legal name, but the nickname given to me by my parents, I understand the qualms of “why didn’t they just name me that?” I get the Jr. aspect of naming a boy, especially if it’s the last ten generations who have also had that name, although I do feel that it is somewhat of an ego thing, maybe one of possession, but I still get it. Most of the people I know don’t even know what their names mean. Oh sure, they know why they were named that, whether they were named after someone their parents knew, or whether it was just a name they heard on their way to register for the hospital stay, they know the story behind the name, just not the meaning of the name. I think that it’s important to recognize the monumental importance behind choosing a name for your child, what it will represent for them for the rest of their lives. whether that child will have a name to live up to, or have a name that will become the bane of their existence. Will they blend in or will they stand out, will they be a little kooky or will they feel comfortable in mainstream society? My favorite male names come from all over, such as the archangel Gabriel lending his name to my list of acceptable and even hopeful dating names. Leo, Angel, Julian, Micah and Romeo are some of the other male names that I am fond of. I’ve also never dated anyone with those names. Michael, unfortunately, is one of my least favorite names. Whether it is because my own name is the feminine version of it or whether it is because every Michael that I’ve ever known has been a prick, it’s just one name that I have a problem with. I don’t mind the nickname Mickey, but I rarely come across someone who uses that nickname, preferring to use the even shorter Mike instead. I suppose that this superstition might cut into my dating pool, pushing out the guys who might in fact be compatible in every other way, to my life and future, but I think that when it would come to calling them by their names, I might have a problem, and I certainly don’t want to always use pet names, what if I am mad and don’t want to say “honey” at that moment?

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