Monthly Archives: November 2012


Sex used to be easy. I’d get dressed up in something semi-slutty, sit at my local bar and wait till someone caught my eye. Or I caught their’s.

Since I was never really a “dater” I have no experience with the process. My history has been exclusively being “easy.” And drunk. Do people flop into bed together sober? On which date? The first? Second? Tenth? If I’m not immediately attracted to someone I suppose I could drink myself into the mood. While sober my mind only talks me out of it. So if I’m enjoying a guy’s company, at what point do we wind up in bed?

If it didn’t happen on the first date and we both want a second, is it somehow implied? I mean, is it safe to assume that if we don’t fuck on the second date there won’t be a third? I’ve never actually gotten to know someone before I had sex with them; it was always a case of the opposite. Which, of course, not only removed any element of surprise but also guaranteed that we were sexually compatible. Or at least enjoyed kissing. And it meant that in the event of a second date (or, technically, a first one) we were both safe in the knowledge that that bridge had already been crossed. So to speak.

Yup. Being easy was easier.

Online Dating DOs and (mostly) Do NOTs: Profile Pictures

Okay, gentlemen! Listen up! Following my advice will assist this hideous process. Let’s start with those online dating profiles, specifically your photos.

First, DO post a fucking photo. I’m sorry, but there is NO excuse to not have one. I don’t wanna hear that you’re afraid a co-worker might spot you. Why? ‘Cause you’re married? Is it a sin to be single? Shameful? This isn’t FetLife or Nerve. It’s a fucking dating site. Get over it or get a new job. Or a divorce. Or whatever you need to UN-justify not posting a photo.

Do NOT wear sunglasses in your main photo. (I’m breaking this one myself, but I change it often enough…) It obscures half your fucking face not to mention your eyes, you know, “the window to your soul.”

Do NOT use ANY photos that you’ve taken yourself of your reflection in a mirror, especially a bathroom mirror. Don’t you have any fucking friends?

If you wear glasses, wear them in your photo. Don’t be ashamed of, you know, having to fucking SEE!

Do NOT wear a hat in your main photo, especially if you’re fucking bald.

Do NOT post ANY photos that are over a year or two old. Even if you think you were super hot in high school/college/five years ago. WE DON’T FUCKING CARE HOW CUTE YOU WERE IN THE PALEOLITHIC ERA!

Do NOT pose with your fucking motorcycle. If it’s that important in your life, probably best that we find that out later, no?

Do NOT chop someone, especially a woman, out of your photo. It smacks of “I dumped my last wife/girlfriend/lay. Not fucking classy.

Similarly, do NOT blur anyone. I saw one guy’s profile shot and he was with his (little) kids, who were blurred. Why THAT photo? Why not take another without kids? Is it proof that he was capable of reproducing? They could’ve been someone else’s kids. It’s just fucking creepy.

And somewhat similarly, do NOT post blurry photos of yourself! If you can no longer see clearly, fucking ask a friend, “Is this a clear shot of me?” I mean, really.

Do NOT post any photos where you are less than 20% of the shot. If I need a fucking magnifying glass to see your face, pick another photo. The purpose of these photos is so we can see WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE! If we can’t SEE YOU, well, figure it out, bucko.

DO post more than one photo. Obviously everyone picks their BEST SHOT. (Or what they think is their best.) Pick another. It will be different. Maybe five will add up to at least a ballpark vision of what you actually fucking look like.

Okay. That’s all I can write now. I’ve been feeling so incredibly, agonizingly frustrated these days — with online dating, with men, with OKCupid, with the fucking season. I would give it all up (again) but I’m not really a quitter. And I already KNOW everyone I know. Ya know? How else to meet new people? Specifically single men who might want to sleep with me. More than once. Fuck.

Cougars and Encroachers

Well I’ve finally figured out why so many young men are contacting me: “Extreme Cougar Wives.” I saw a preview of the TLC special on Nightline. I feel an increase of youngsters cruising my profile coming. I have a feeling they want to turn it into a “Real Cougars of NYC” or some such shit. On HuffingtonPost you can watch a clip of Jude (53) and her partner Kevin (21). The show follows three couples. The women are 53, 65 and 76 and their men range from 21 to 28.

I gotta say, I’m feeling a bit torn about this. Part of what is making this show so sensational is the May-December age gap. Have you ever seen a TLC special about men who marry women less than half their age? I didn’t think so. It’s embarrassing that it’s such a big deal. But from the preview I saw, that 76-year-old woman is a little…creepy. I admire Hattie’s verve and her youthful approach to life. I would never deny her — or anyone — what they enjoy. But the juxtaposition of her decidedly elderly appearance and that of her very young lover is jarring, to say the least. I’ve hesitated to meet for drinks — and possibly wind up in bed — with guys half my age because I shudder at the idea of my saggy flesh pressed against their firm…flesh. Mind you, it has happened. But not what I would call deliberately. More like drunkenly. Does it matter?

Unfortunately I don’t get TLC so I can’t watch the show. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to post this in time for you to watch. [I didn’t.] ButI’ll certainly try to Hulu it or whatever tomorrow.

And speaking of “old,” I’m watching “The Good Wife” and Stockard Channing is supposed to be Juliana Marguilies’s mom. I’ll just say that Hollywood women have all so altered their faces that NO ONE can play anyone’s mom anymore! Harumph!

In other news, I spent this afternoon with a charming “older” gentleman, a guy I’d contacted online once or twice. I was notified that he was “Local” by the OKCupid app and since he lives in Oakland, I emailed him to see if he was, indeed, visiting. Our getting together was somewhat spontaneous. We strolled through the garage flea market, visited Leo Villareal’s “Buckyball” in Madison Square Park and ogled the amazing merchandise at ABC Carpet and Home. When we parted, I’d expected a kiss, a real kiss, since he’d been encroaching upon my space all day, a proclivity he’d not only admitted to but discussed. Alas, he went for a peck on my cheek instead. I walked away wondering if that was a tactic to inspire more passion. And perhaps more action if we were to meet again. I’m not sure if it worked that way or not. At least if we do meet again, and if there is more passion, I won’t have to worry about being the wrinklier one!

No Connection

Do men care about connection?

I ask the question because I just got home from a date. An excruciatingly dull date. I know. I’m a bad person. But I’m a good date. I asked questions about his life, was attentive when he responded, nodded and smiled and genuinely tried to connect. I filled in the awkward silences. And believe me, there were quite a few.

I ask the question because after a meal full of those awkward silences and a whole lot of staring at my plate, he didn’t want the date to end. I suggested we go for spiked milkshakes. Sitting at the bar, slurping on our shakes, the moments of silence felt like forever. I was having a hard time not running for the door. Instead I insisted on paying for our drinks, a move which usually telegraphs “The chances of romance are zero.”

He can’t have been riveted by my conversation. He interrupted what few stories I attempted to tell, mostly with complete non-sequitors. I thought maybe he was fucking with me. But he was a genuinely nice guy. Nice. And dull.

The deepest things got was when he said something about being ready for a relationship again. “I’m not looking for someone perfect,” he said. I interpreting that as a signal that he recognized there would be no relationship between us, I replied, “I’d rather be alone than with someone who wasn’t perfect. For me, I mean.” He mumbled, “Good luck with that,” in what sounded more sad than snappy. Uh-oh.

When we parted — and not a moment too soon — he was saying, “So, do you want to get together again?” I couldn’t contain my grimace and strained to make it seem like I was mulling it over. “Um, well…” I stammered. How could he want to see me again? Had he actually enjoyed himself? I sputtered something about the possibility of maybe seeing a friend’s band.

Less than an hour later, probably the second he got home, he sent me an email: Hey Abby, Thanks for the company let me know if you’d like to go out again maybe catch a shower something?

I’ll assume he meant “show or something.” But, really? Not only was there no chemistry, there wasn’t even enough commonality on which to base a friendship. There wasn’t much of…anything. Why in the world would he possibly want to see me again? Maybe the question should be, what DO men care about? I want to respond to his email and ask him. How to do that without sounding like a total bitch? Cause it sure didn’t feel like the best date ever on my end.

High Maintenance, Long Distance

It’s hilarious how one can experience the full arch of a relationship in just one day when you’re dealing with a complete stranger who’s 3000 miles away! This is yesterday’s example of my fleeting romance with “Dan,” from LA, a handsome 25-year-old with an impressive sex-pack:

pic 5 sexy
i’m dan

Thanks, Dan.
You’re rather far away.

whats you doing


wow fucking ingore all day what a cunt i dont care no more you got big tits

Aaaaaaand thank you for proving me right that I shouldn’t waste my time responding to you!

Sigh. I never got a chance to respond to his “whats you doing” with “Nots talking to YOU!”

Yeah, my thing with “Dan” was totally physical. Now “Dr. S,” on the other hand…that was all cerebral:

Dr. S:
Hey! You are quite attractive with a great smile 🙂 How are you?! 
And hi, I’m Mike.

Hi Mike, 
Thank you. I’m good… 
You’re about the tenth “younger man” who has contacted me in the past 24 hours. Is there some sort of odd planetary alignment? 
If you don’t mind my asking, why would you email me? Aside from the age difference, which I understand as appealing, we are hundreds of miles apart. 
I’m merely trying to figure it all out…still…

Dr. S:
Ha! Well, so much for being original?
Simply since I find you attractive. I love tattoos and have always worked with older women, ever since I was in high school. I’ve related better to them based on maturity than women my own age.

I hope you aren’t offended…didn’t mean to lump you in with every other guy in the world. Hahaha. Anyway… 
I’m fascinated by how (and why) people “find” me…or anyone else. Sigh. I just wish someone closer to my age (or willing to have a long term relationship with someone my age, regardless of theirs) and closer to me geographically would be as bold and enthusiastic! It would help if they were handsome, as you appear to be!

Dr. S:
Ha, none taken. 
And agreed. The best people seem far away! 
I appreciate the compliment. What’s the youngest you’ve dated? [This is a very popular question!]

My last boyfriend (of four years) was 12 years younger. But they’ve all been younger.

Yes, me and Mike were all cerebral an’ shit until I broke his cerebrum with that little factoid. Or his ego? Who knows. Sometimes I think they just go jerk off after a few words from my goddessness! Hah! I was bored so I turned my “chat” feature on and got the usual “What are you wearing?” as well as the “What’s the biggest age difference you’ve had?” What the hell difference does it make?

I’ve gotta hand it to this guy, a rather plain looking 35-year-old local boy. He’s tried to woo me twice now:

hi, How are you doing? 
I am looking for someone mature who I could date without pressure. I live in NJ but work in Manhattan. 
Let me know if you would be interested. 
I can share my pic if I know your email 🙂 
Cheers and love, 

Dude, you’ve already barked up this tree. 
I’m not interested.

i remember.. and thought you will change your mind..and you are not a tree.. you are a sweet looking nice lady!!!

What is the attraction? Why are you interested in older women? Do you think we will teach you something? Do you need to learn? Do you think we’re so starved for sex we would fuck whoever comes along? 
Please explain.

No, contrary to what you have stated, I like older women for their world experience and the maturity they bring to an intimate relationship. we are all love starved..sometimes sex starved.. but that’s not the primary driver here.. key is to know someone whose company..sexual or intimate you enjoy.. in the process if you learn..all the more better..

Ok, if you’re serious, come by the bar where I work on wednesday and introduce yourself. Let’s start there. 
14 Avenue A

why not meet somewhere else…whats your work schedule like on wed?

I want to meet you before I make a date with you. I work noon till 8.

i need to speak to you on phone before that though…

Nope. Come meet me in person. Or leave me alone. I will be there. If you want to meet me there’s your chance.

I guess my relationship with “VK” was all about playing hard to get. On both sides. I feel like I don’t really need to date. I’m working hard enough keeping all these idiots entertained and I’m never even gonna meet them. Talk about high maintenance!

Bottomless for a Hundred Bucks

“Wanna get naked for art and money? ART!” I cracked up when I got this text. How awesome is my life? “Full deets if you’re up for it,” the communiqué continued. “100 bucks. It’s not gross at all, for a super 3D video installation.” A hundred bucks? What wouldn’t I do for a hundred bucks? “In public or on film?” I asked, intrigued.

“Film,” was the response. “The artist wants you bad.” Ah, it’s always nice to be desired. “She’s the one filming?” I inquired further. “Yep, can be private if you think I’m a pervert,” my perverted friend replied. “And if you do, you are right,” she added. Hah! All my friends are pervs! My reluctance was more about who else would be “on set.” “You’re okay,” I told her. “I was more concerned about dudes.”

After she assured me that there would be no one else watching, I requested the artist’s “mission statement” so I’d have an idea of her vision — the full “deets” — and agreed to participate. Sunday evening I was the last in a succession of subjects for Elizabeth Valleau‘s project: people posed in an assortment of situations, sets and costumes, filmed with a 3D video camera. The “look” Elizabeth chose for me was one of “imperious amusement.” She put me in an Alexander McQueen tailcoat over a ruched white blouse with plenty of cleavage and agreed that the antique crown I’d brought — burgundy velvet and brass filigree set with gems — worked. I’d worn a pair of nude panties, very understated, and she said it would be fine to keep them on. Though I was prepared to be totally naked, I’d expressed an aversion to being bottomless. But somehow the combination of fainting couch, crown and McQueen made sense. Off they came.

The shoot itself consisted of merely staring into the twin lenses of a 3D camera. It was like gazing into the eyes of WALL-E. Elizabeth and my pervy friend Corinne sat while I stared. Part of the vision was an “object voyeurism frozen in time” or, more enticingly, “torture porn.” Each subject was to hold their pose and the camera’s gaze. The shoot would end when the subject broke character. My accompanying soundtrack was Marlene Dietrich and I almost lost it when she began a German version of “Surrey with the Fringe On Top.” But I made it through that one and four more, in addition to the song that was playing when the camera “rolled.” And I won! No, not a prize or anything. I just managed to last longer than anyone else had. Oddly, this was my goal going into it. I wanted to feel…victorious. Victorious and a hundred bucks richer!

Blocking Body Shots

So. Really. Are there a million younger guys out there just chomping at the bit to chomp on older women’s bits? I have been fending off men half my age for weeks now.

If only men who are actually my age were so eager. In a perverse paradox of online seduction, old men want younger women and young men want older women. The problem with this upside-down dynamic is that sometimes old dudes marry blushing trophy brides. The converse is rarely true. Not that I’d want that. Ack.

What do I make of Metro 2010? He’s 31:
Ok… so I’ll have to charm you:) Those lips look mighty kissable…:)
How many shots before I have you naked in my bed kissing every inch of you?
Sorry but that body and eyes have me mesmerized. I wanna see you in that bikini up close:)
I wanna hear that voice. I bet it’s so sexy. I’d worship that body:) massage, kissing, licking, all of it!:)
i wanna do some body shots off of u mmm

And beyond what to make of him, why did I encourage him? I must’ve told him 10 times — well, every time I responded to his overtures — to visit me at the bar. Where I guess there actually might be a chance of him doing body shots off of me!

I spent 18 transatlantic hours chatting with a 21-year-old in Bristol about my tattoos, my marriage and what I look for in a guy. I’d say I was imparting wisdom but that’s hardly the case. I hardly imparted anything!
Which of your tats is your favourite?
When did you get your 1st tat?
What made you decide to get one?
May i ask why it ended?
Did you feel liberated when it did?
What kind of men are attractive to you?

We weren’t exactly discussing thermo dynamics. At least there was no chance of him showing up to, you know, do body shots off of me. Okay, I gotta go disappoint another youngster, this time from LA; he claims he could “get me to like him.” Uh-huh. To what fucking end?

Age. Ranging.

Richard, a 67-year-old, contacted me: intimidating you seem to me, as probably am I. where in NYC are you? What do you edit? or does your moniker misrepresent. My exhibitionism is limited to swimming and springboard diving. 
may I please hear from you? 

His profile was interesting enough, though he lives outside the city. And, you know, he’s 67. I responded: I don’t find you intimidating. Perhaps a bit beyond my age range. And I have no exhibitionist tendencies. 
Happy to meet for coffee or a beer but no possibilities of romance. [And don’t think for one second I didn’t consider making a Yoda wisecrack!]

He quickly wrote back with: can’t dispute Abby, sorry. Which made me feel bad. I told him there was no need to apologize, it was all good. But… Is it better to just meet every guy? I mean, EVERY guy? Even if there’s no chance of romance? It seems like a waste. I’m ready to be proven wrong about low “match” percentages or photos that don’t immediately appeal to me or even men who don’t have a grasp of grammar. Or spelling. But when someone is so much older than me that I’d find myself worrying about them dropping dead on a date, well… What could I have done differently?

I noticed an intriguing photo — a guy with his dog — so I emailed him: Ack. Yeah I’m way outside your age range. And I could barely read your profile cause I was blinded by that awesome shot of you and your dog. Blah blah blah email me if you feel inspired. After a few back and forths, during which he told me he’d met me, years before, back in 1993, I got the smackdown: Unfortunately, You are a wee bit outside my age range. But I remember you as stunningly groovy, if that counts for anything : )

Oof. Guess I’ve gotta be able to take what I dish out. I was gonna reply with something along the lines of “Just FYI, my last boyfriend was younger than you,” but that would’ve sounded creepy cougar-ish. Instead, I slunk away, my tail between my legs: I suppose it does. Oh well. Thanks for responding. And he shot back: Good luck in your search! Ack. That’s my see-ya-later line!

Somehow, in my head, I’ve managed to convince myself that while there’s a staggering age gap between me, at 53, and some 63-year-old retired dude who lives in the ‘burbs, I haven’t had as much success finding difficulty with the span between me — still vibrant and active and living in the big city — and guys in a similar situation who are 10 years or so younger than me. I regularly turn down 20-somethings (and, truth be told, 30-somethings) because I do think that’s a bit too much of a difference. The question is, how many years are too many years? I hate to get caught up in the numbers game and I suppose there are as many mature young guys as there are immature old guys. It all really comes down to mutual attraction and mutual interests, both of which transcend age. But those are tough to discern when you’re reduced to an online profile that telegraphs how old  you are before any other information.

Another Week of Oh Well

Another week and multiple instances of dating disasters, both aborted and actualized.

Chris and I met last Thursday. Within only a few moments — even before I’d gotten a beer — he’d told me that he had no interest in ever falling in love again. He repeatedly used the phrase, “She wasn’t what I wanted her to be.” And by the time I finished my second beer I’d also heard about his problems with his family, his therapy history and how many women he was seeing. To be fair, he spilled his dating beans after I’d admitted that I wasn’t feeling any chemistry. What followed was a refreshingly honest conversation, during which he told me that I was exactly what he’d imagined I’d be: different, open and interesting. Though that made it slightly more than a complete failure, I managed to salvage the evening by attending a gallery opening, where I saw familiar faces and fabulous art.

This past Tuesday I met Ray. He got off to a good start by telling me I look better in person. But it was downhill from there. While I finished off three beers, he spoke non-stop, barely taking a breath and gesticulating wildly. However, he never made eye contact. Ever. It was totally disconcerting. I felt like I was watching a monologue from the audience rather than sharing an evening. When he suggested we get something to eat, I declined, again being the one to break the news that I didn’t think it was worth extending our time together.

I had late lunch plans on Tuesday with a guy I’d been emailing for a month; he cancelled at 11:45. He suggested the next day but I had to work so he tried Friday instead and then immediately redacted, “realizing” he may be out of town. I had dinner plants tonight; that guy cancelled around noon, saying his daughter was sick. In full disclosure, I had tentative plans Tuesday night with a guy I enjoyed a few weeks ago and backed out because I just wasn’t feeling up to it. It was all so exhausting. Fortunately we were texting and he took it well, saying that he was feeling equally out of sorts.

Yesterday I was emailing with a guy who’s 43. He wanted to meet and I told him he could come by and visit me at work, though it’s a bar and he doesn’t drink. He said he could drink soda so I gave him the address. He showed up at 6:30, as he’d said he would, and stood over an arm’s length away from the bar, phone in hand, no doubt comparing the real me to my profile pix. I could tell he was the guy; I would’ve recognized him even if he looked completely different. “Hi,” I said. “I’d shake your hand but you have a phone in it.” He appeared bewildered. “I’m Nelson,” he said shakily. “Yes, I gathered that,” I replied. “I’m Abby.” I’d talking to friends at two ends of the bar, as well as waiting on about a dozen customers. “Can I get you something?” I inquired. He asked for a Coke, which I served up, before checking on everyone else. When I went back to chat him up some more, he was gone, the glass of Coke untouched, and there was a $5 bill on the bar. What the hell?

I sent him an email: So, uh, wow…what the hell was THAT? Did you expect to be the only person in the bar? Was I supposed to be there only to serve you? I was working. You didn’t even stay to drink your Coke. Why did you even bother stopping by?

And his response? I wanted to meet you..I’m sorry..I’m shy..Your very pretty…I would love to do something if when you have some free time Now what do I do? I wasn’t really even interested in the first place and anyone who’s this shy is not gonna work in my life. There’s no way to say anything without sounding like a total bitch. Which I guess I am…

So yeah. Another week. And this isn’t even any of the “online only, not quite making plans” stage stuff. I often ask myself why I bother… At least I’ve become more skilled at sizing up the situation and extracting myself from it, without wasting any more of my time (and beer money) — or theirs.

Headless in Manhattan

I dreamt I was giving Alec Baldwin a blowjob. This was weird for a couple reasons, the first being that I’m not much of an Alec Baldwin fan. I find him to be a bit bloated, both literally and figuratively, though I did appreciate his defense of Words with Friends. What made the dream more peculiar is that I haven’t given anyone a blowjob in a long time. Which is sad.

I’ve always been a big fan of the blowjob and fancied myself quite the professional. In fact, I have been complimented many times on my oral expertise. I prided myself on my technique, perfected over years of experience. Listen to me, speaking in the past tense!

Over the last few years I’ve had sex exactly seven times. Which is, frankly, pathetic. Of those seven encounters, only one entailed any remotely blowjob-like activity and that was unfortunately brief. From what I gathered in the (mostly drunken) moment, my partner was more interested in intercourse. Ah, so much for foreplay.

Blowjobs have always been the perfect one-night-stand sex, primarily because they are, to me, less intimate than intercourse. I can even keep my clothes on! Plus it’s gratifying to give someone an effortless orgasm. All he’s gotta do is stand there. Or lie there. (Lay there?) I certainly miss intimacy. But I also miss the adventure of picking up on someone and sucking his cock. Sigh.

I’d like to get back into the swing of meaningless sex but not too many guys are hanging out in bars hitting on 50-somethings. (Though last night I did manage to wind up making out with a random man…in a bar! I’ll credit Irene with offering up a few drops of her magic elixir, witch-crafted by Dori Midnight.) Mostly because there aren’t too many 50-something men in bars. At least the bars I go to. And though the idea of picking up on younger men may sound appealing, all I can think of is those horrifying “granny porn” movies, where wrinkly old ladies are being plowed by youthful porn studs. I don’t wanna be the wrinkly one! Even the word “mature” has taken on a new meaning: OLD. Yeah, I know, I AM! But I hate being referred to as “mature.” It’s a euphemism that’s more accurately a backhanded compliment. Besides, I’ve never really considered myself mature.

Anyway. So my goal is to give more blowjobs. Or at least one. I suppose one is a good place to start. Stay tuned. [And in an unrelated aside, why is WordPress suggesting that I tag this post with “Wrigley Field” and “Comcast SportsNet Chicago”? Hrmmm…]