Tag Archives: single over 50

Is Romance in the Air?

I recently hosted another one of my singles’ mixers. It seemed like a success; a few people exchanged numbers. One of my friends opted not to attend, feeling somewhat crestfallen after a less than pleasant blind date. But she called me today to let me know that she met someone last night. This guy sounds promising and my fingers are crossed for her. Another friend opted out as well, still smarting from a short-lived relationship, but attended a party over the weekend and met someone he’s excited to see again.

It may seem overly optimistic to predict a trend based on only two instances but I’m calling it! Perhaps it’s the planets or maybe it’s the holiday season. Whatever the reasons, I sense romance is in the air!

Yesterday I received a mysterious email.:

it was quite by chance that lost in key food I found myself recognizing you in the spice aisle on black Friday. As I later (vanilla extract in basket) stood behind you in the self checkout queue my thoughts danced betwixt, wow her red hair is so long, impressive, nice figure, should I thank her for the mention in the NY mag piece about being razzed floral bouquet in hand or invite her to play some pinball at Manitoba’s, be told off for being so fresh in person. If you’d like to have a beer or play some pinball on a quiet night, let me know.

I responded: Wow. I feel like I’m in a Nora Ephron movie! Or looking on Craigslist at those “Missed Connections” ads! 
If you saw me in Key Food, chances are I wasn’t at my most glamorous, so I appreciate your kind words! Hah! Er, HO HO HO! My long hair is in desperate need of a trim; I’m waiting for my friend who does hair to visit from Marseille! 
Umm…I would be up for pinball and a beer at Manitoba’s any time. (Well, ALMOST any time…my tendency to over schedule myself goes against my ability to be spontaneous…) 

Way back in the springtime I wrote a “Sex Diary.” It was more like a “no sex diary.” The New York Magazine feature is a week-long diary chronicling the sexual activities — or in my case, the lack thereof — of the writers. I felt compelled to contribute my non-sex week mostly to drive home the point that not everyone is getting laid every fucking minute and that those of us who are 50-plus and single experience even less action. Not like that’s new to you, my dear readers! Anyway, the “assignment” is to write down not only sex acts but include masturbation and flirtation. I found myself really “reaching” and, at one point, mentioned receiving an email on OKCupid from a handsome man I’d passed on the street. His email:

I am (insert high percentage point here) sure I saw you and made eye contact with a smirk on my face last thursday or friday, I had a bouquet of flowers it was 1st and 5th street and the cops had just razzed me, so the smirk was a combo of them and my fixation on your body….hello.

I wrote back: Hah! I actually recall seeing you! I wondered who you were taking the flowers to, thinking she was a lucky woman!

As I wrote in the Sex Diary, I was flattered that the guy not only was fixated on my body but that he was able to find me amidst the thousands of women on OkCupid and recognize me by my kooky photo! Miraculously, he spotted me again. And it sounds like he’s still inspired by my body. Nice!

As I wrote in my response to him yesterday, it really was like one of those “Missed Connections” ads on Craigslist: “You were on line at Key Food, I was buying vanilla extract.” I’ve often wondered if any of those people ever find each other. I’ve been really working at “focusing outward” lately yet have resisted simply striking up a conversation with someone I found attractive, only to regret it later. I’m afraid to come across as crazy…or desperate. Why do we hold ourselves back this way? In New York City, it could be because who has time to talk to every person they pass? (Or find attractive, for that matter!) So striking up conversations with strangers is frowned upon. But it happens all the time. I bet in all those “how to pick up chicks” books, casual conversation is the rule of thumb. I could always ask for the time…or directions. It is a means to an end. So although it may feel contrived or, like those books may be, insincere, in the pursuit of meeting more of my fellow man, I’m going to strive to speak to more strangers. Handsome strangers!

Online Dating Coach

Today was a full day of…what felt like nothing. I never made it out of my apartment. I brought more boxes up from my storage space in my ongoing efforts of unpacking my belongings and making my apartment feel like home again. I started entering stories for my erotica book into the self-publishing template. And I checked out jobs on Craigslist. which led me to post an ad of my own: Online Dating Coach. The ad reads:

Do you have a profile on one of the many online dating sites? How’s it goin’?
So many people post inarticulate profiles, unflattering photos or worse.
I will make sure you put your best face forward and increase your chances of meeting the woman (or man) of your dreams! Or, more realistically, increase the chances of actually getting a date.
Seriously, the world of online dating is a vast wasteland of unfortunately poor grammar, embarrassing misspellings and blurry bathroom mirror self portraits.
There’s love out there for everyone. Let me help you!
Let’s meet for a cup of coffee. Bring your laptop and in an hour you’ll have a better online presence!
Consulting fee is $50 per hour.

Couldn’t hurt, right? It’s one more of my many attempts to combat my frustration with online dating and the hundreds of functionally illiterate single dudes out there in the ether searching for true love…or a lay. I hate to keep boring you with these idiots but I don’t want to suffer alone! You can read my latest encounters with online losers below, but writing the ad made me focus a bit on what I’ll call Abby’s Rules of Online Dating. There are as follows:

• Post a photo.
• In said photo, don’t wear sunglasses. Or face away from the camera. And if you’re balding, don’t wear a baseball cap. Or any cap. Show your prospective dates who you are..
• Use a real photo. Don’t just take a shot of yourself in your bathroom mirror with your cell phone.
• Post a recent photo. Like, within the last year. And the last few pounds. And the last few hairs. Oy.
• If you pose with your car or boat, you’ll wind up with dates who are only interested in your car or your boat. That’s a personal decision.
• Don’t use a photo that you’ve cut someone else out of.
• Don’t use photos of you in bed or half dressed. Bathing suits are fine if you’re actually at a beach. Or on a boat.
• Don’t post photos of your penis.
• Fill in your profile. If you want someone to be interested in you, you need to provide them with something to be interested IN!
• Have a friend proofread your profile. Misspellings and lousy grammar don’t make a very good impression.
• Don’t send women any of the site’s “canned” greetings, no flirts, winks or other lazy-ass, I-can’t-be-bothered-to-write-a-personal-message messages. Make an effort, fer crissakes!
•  When you email a woman, don’t use any terms of endearment: baby, honey, sweetie, babe, sugar, whatever. You are strangers. Act accordingly.

I’m sure there are more, especially if a guy manages to engage a woman in an online conversation. I just wanted to spit out my personal irritations with most profiles. I actually mention most of this in MY profile and warn men that if they do any of my don’ts they won’t receive a response. But no one bothers to pay attention. (As was evidenced by the guy who thought he was going on a date with a 5’6″, non-tattooed, financially successful Abby. Hah!) So, on with our losers!

An 80-year-old rollerskater from Baltimore, OH, emailed me today:
You do well in anything you put on or pull off. Next put on a pair of roller skates and I will put a pair of tights and skate with you.
Reading his profile, which included these gems, I am an extremely positive guy who actively applies the blood of Jesus to any errant thought I have, that is then erased, and in so doing, releases God’s creative thinking to take place. I felt motivated to say:
You do WHAT with the blood of Jesus?!
I’m not interested in seeing you pull on a pair of tights, thank you!
To which he responded:
What do I do with the blood of Jesus?….I apply it to any errant thought that I have that is judgmental, uncomplimentary, degrading, discouraging, un-creative and needs to be erased from the eternal slate. Do you agree?
I told him, in no uncertain terms:
No, I do NOT agree. I don’t believe in the blood of Jesus…or Jesus at all, for that matter…
Please don’t impose your religion on strangers.

WTF? I chased another dude off OKCupid.

lovelife_lonely wrote:
Wow you got a nice picture and a cool profile i wonder why you are still single with your beauty i believe with your beauty all the men in your area will always sleep at your door step seeking your hand in a relationship cause your beauty is what all the men on earth are looking for… You really look so beautiful and yummy i wonder why you are still single cause with your beauty i believe all the men in your area will always sleep at your door step seeking your hand in a relationship cause your beauty is what all the man on earth are looking for.. 
Do you have a map please give me the map of your beauty cause have lost in the beauty i see in your eyes.. I am interested in getting to know more about you after reading your profile. I guarantee that I am a nice man am not the perfect either the best i just know how to treat a woman like a queen cause i believe woman are the woman of man… How i wish you are online right now so that we can chat more better but i believe everything happen for a reason i will be very happy to read from you soonest Later Paolo

Did you READ your email before you sent it? You repeated yourself a few times. AND you don’t seem to know how to use punctuation.
You will be “happy to read from me soonest”? What the hell?
A few words of advice:
Proofread your emails.
Punctuate your sentences.
DON’T sound like you’re begging.
Maybe I’m still single because I’m a bitch. Who knows.
Best of luck to you!

And Joe, a guy who I’d been emailing with extensively but wound up cancelling our date because he had to get to his cancer treatment, wrote:
don’t get pissed at me and i mean no disrespect but i really love your new picture, it got me horny. joe
And my response:
Uh, yeah. Good to know I can get you horny.
Hope your cancer treatments are going well.
If you aren’t interested in seeing me, you might want to stop emailing me.

Also good? Hearing that, even with cancer, he’s able to get it up! Bwahahaha! Sorry, I don’t mean to ridicule cancer. But I mean, really. If he actually did have to go to his cancer treatment, I would’ve gladly rescheduled our date. I may come off as callous but I’m not that much of a cunt!

loveyou11’s profile reads:
I am US citizen and have my own settled business.my business is mostly with City, State, counties etc in NJ and NY.
He sends me one of the site’s canned emoticon-embellished “flirts”: I’m interested in you. I respond:
Wow! Hold me back!
A profile with NO PHOTO!
And you’re a CITIZEN! That’s impressive! I can NEVER find me a US citizen. 
Very impressive.
Holy crap.

I’d Fuck Me

All this online dating has had the strangest effect on me: it has made me more confident. Dozens and dozens of men are looking at my photos and profile and reaching out. From 20-somethings to great-grandads, buttoned-up businessmen to corn fed farm boys and just about everything in between, guys are finding me attractive. Which is nice.

It fits with my general attitude about myself, one that’s been fomenting for a while now. When I was younger I didn’t have quite as much self-confidence. Like most women I had body image issues. But over the years I became comfortable in my skin and grew into the self-assured, sexual being I am today. Mind you this was all taking place as chronology was working its evil upon me. Bummer; now that I’m finally able to look in the mirror and like what I see, it’s all sort of…sagging.

Nevertheless, when someone says, “You’re hot!” I tend to believe them. Or at least accept the compliment. My stomach is finally flat. My boobs still look pretty good. (Thank GAWD I didn’t have kids!) My thighs seem slimmer. And I’m not sure if it’s the change in my body chemistry or what, but even my own body odor is an aphrodisiac. Yup, that’s right: I turn myself on! Between my reflection and my aroma, who needs foreplay? Heh.

Yet with all this sexy swagger, I haven’t seen much action recently. I’ve been turning down the much younger men, reluctant to merely help them live out their fantasies and risk becoming a punch line. None of the men my age are doin’ it for me. I’d say I’m aiming for the middle ground but even that isn’t quite right. I’ve been enjoying hangin’ out at home a lot lately and, occasional online date notwithstanding, I’m content with my singlehood. I’d rather be single than settle. And masturbation is certainly more satisfying than a lousy lay.

So until my dream dude comes along — and even if he doesn’t — it’s me and my sex toys. And my mirror!

Stories We Tell Ourselves

When I was in college I bought a pair of wild shorts at a tacky tourist shop. They were patchwork plaid seersucker. I called them my “You’ll never get a date in those shorts.” And I didn’t. In fact after I’d broken up with my freshman year boyfriend I didn’t date anyone. Sure, I slept around; it was the 70s. But no dates.

After college I moved to New Jersey. Still, no dates. I told myself it was because I was too…a lot of things: too tall, too loud, too picky, too opinionated. Too smart. And so far from compliant. No Stepford Wifery for me! I would regale my friends with hilarious tales of just how un-date-able I was. A self-fulling prophecy.

When I moved to Newport Beach, there were cute boys living below me. I wound up sleeping with one of their friends, who subsequently became a boyfriend. I guess we dated, but we were already together. Then I moved to New York City and I dreamt up even more baroque stories about why no man would want to take me out. By then it was the 80s and the media had predicted that “A woman over 30 has as much of a chance of getting married as being hit by lightening.” Nice. I was, of course, 30.

My sister gave me a New York Magazine personal ad for my birthday. Yes, that was back in the days before internet dating, when people actually put pen to paper in an attempt to meet someone. It seems like the fucking Dark Ages. And those days were, indeed, dark. Even though I was finally “out on a date,” as in a guy was buying me dinner (or whatever), it wasn’t quite right. They were hoodwinked into wanting me by my clever turns of phrase, my effusive prose. Or maybe my measurements. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel like real dating. And it never was.

I managed to find a boyfriend eventually: a one-night stand who actually called. After about two years together we broke up and soon I found yet another boyfriend who was yet another one-night stand who called. I wound up marrying that one!

Fast-forward to today. I’m 52 and lamentably single. When I wind up in a conversation about dating or sex – or the lack thereof – I find myself rebuilding my repertoire of why-I’m-un-date-able tales again. “Every 50-year-old guy who has all his hair and can see his feet thinks he deserves a 35-year-old.” “Why would anyone want a woman my age?” “It’s a vast wasteland out there.” “I go to parties but everyone is so much younger. And where else do you meet people?” “I’ll never get picked up on in a bar ever again.” (I was at least recently proven wrong about that last one! I didn’t act upon it but I certainly could have.)

At least I’ve learned from my past mistakes, one –and perhaps the only – benefit of being older. I can hear how I sound and now stop myself mid-sentence before I seal my fate with more self-fulfilling prophecies. Yet I once told those tales of why no one would date me and somehow managed to find love anyway. I’m sure I’ll find it again, in probably just as unlikely of places with equally unlikely men. (Or man, why be greedy?) Perhaps I should drag out those plaid seersucker shorts!

Self. Absorbed.

This past Sunday was the Coney Island Mermaid Parade, one of my annual High Holy Days. It was, as always, a sunny, sweaty blast, filled with glitter and grog, bubbles and boobs, creative costumes and plenty of beer. I posted all my pix on Facebook except for this one, a self-portrait I’ll call “The Morning After.”

I’ve been obsessed with my body lately. The changes it’s been going through, how it feels to me. How it might feel to someone else. I grew up super self-conscious and over the past few years (or decades, actually) had become more confident. That confidence has been failing me as of late.

I recently had a short piece “published” online. I won’t link to it because, well, it’s somewhat mortifying, for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the title the editor gave it, a rather misleading one. What is more disturbing are the many “comments,” reactions from readers. They range from disgust at the mere thought of someone 52 having (or wanting to have) sex to complete dismissal of everyone over 50. Those are just the two most depressing angles of many that sent me into a deep funk. And upon reflection — on sex and dating and High Holy Days and (still) pretending I’m 25 — I can see why women disappear into the country to throw pots or quilt or do similarly “old lady” type things. Society just doesn’t want to acknowledge that women over 50 can remain vibrant beings. Bah.

I’ve considered the idea of telling people I’m 60.  The problem with that plan is that I’m so far out there as who I am — age, weight, hair color (carpets and drapes!), not to mention every job I’ve had or guy I’ve blown — that making believe I’m someone else or anything but precisely who and what I am would be impossible. So I’m stuck being me: 52-year-old, single, divorced, unemployed, ex-pornographer (and ex-awholebunchofotherthings). I’ll head out into the desert soon, where at least I’m “middle management” with a semi-decent reputation as a capable human being. Maybe what I really need to do is disappear completely, go to some far-off island or remote jungle and volunteer to thatch huts or something. For now I’m gonna go to bed and eat bon-bons. 

Speaking of Old…

…about 24 hours ago I created a profile for myself on SeniorPeopleMeet.com. I KNOW! As much as I may fight it, deny it or ignore it, the fact is…umm, I ain’t young! Their “about” copy says the site is for singles over 55 so I figured, what the hell! At least there won’t be any 20-somethings asking me if I’m looking for a boy toy! There doesn’t seem to be an actual age threshold, meaning you don’t need to be a certain age to join. The age range of my “match criteria” is 42-57 but I doubt that there are any 42-year-olds on there. In fact, there probably aren’t any men below the age of 60, now that I think about it. Who else would be shopping online for broads over 50?

In my “A little about me…” I made it very clear that I had just found the site and hadn’t joined yet, so anyone attempting to contact me wouldn’t be able to reach me. I even made a joke about it, saying it would be a test to see how many people actually read the profiles. Sadly, the invisible editors at SeniorPeopleMeet censored me. Perhaps they don’t want the thousands of salivating seniors, eager to get their wrinkled paws on me, to know that their cyber-advances would be falling on deaf ears. Or wind up in the dead email office. Or some such corny mixed metaphor.

They also deleted the text I put into the “I’d just like to add…” box. I believe it was something along the lines of “Google me,” with a few more words about how I’m available online pretty much everywhere. They thoughtfully left my “About the one I’m looking for…” You’d better be a VERY young old person! I have never dated anyone older than me, at least not since before I got my driver’s license. I have an exciting life that I’d love to share but I don’t want it to kill anyone! Bwahahaha!

Even with my severely abbreviated “Greeting,” over the past 24 hours I have been “viewed” 100 times, “fav’ed” by three guys, received 20 email messages and been “flirted” with a dozen times. Unfortunately I can’t see who’s interested. I can’t read their emails. And I can’t flirt back. Because I haven’t paid to “upgrade.” These web sites say “Join free!” but the only thing you can do for free is, yes, join. Not much else. I’m seriously thinking about forking over the $59.94 for six months just for the sheer hilarity. I mean, check out these mugshots:

They’re enough to make me want to say yes to one of those 20-somethings!