Tag Archives: single

Vows vs. Chocolate

It happened again. I actually met a man who made me think, ya know, I could actually fall into bed with him. He was tall, with a strong, broad back, a devilish smile that exposed perfect teeth, pale green eyes and a head of long, curly salt and pepper hair. I spent the afternoon with him, assisting my friend Gabrielle with her interactive art installation, “Till Death Do You Part: Marry Yourself!” Ordinarily I would’ve enjoyed helping strangers get themselves dressed up for their wedding, blowing bubbles and tossing glitter. And for the first few hours I did. But the more I thought about it all, the more depressed I got.

A wedding. I had a wedding once. I said my vows and meant them. As I assume everyone does. Though still, 50% of marriages end in divorce. That, in and of itself, is depressing. The fact that I rarely speak to a man I stood at the altar with and promised a lifetime together is even more depressing. I was Maid of Honor at my sister’s wedding, drunken toast and all. She’s still going through her divorce. I danced at my cousin’s wedding. Ditto. So I guess about, yeah, 50% of the weddings I’ve attended ended the same way. Sad.

And though I’ve been endlessly enjoying my solitude lately, ad nauseum, the idea of marrying myself was also depressing. I don’t need to make any vows to myself. I manage to maintain a reasonable level of happiness and do a relatively admirable job of following through with many of the promises that Gabrielle has included in her “multiple choice vows.” But the frosting on the wedding cake was realizing that I was, for all intents and purposes, invisible to this handsome man. Which made me think back on my many social forays over the past few months. I put on my costumes, glue rhinestones to my face and venture forth. Not once have I met anyone new, certainly no one who’s been even vaguely interested in me. Not sexually, not romantically. And if it weren’t for the fact that I am what some might consider “connected” in the extended freak community here, no one would even be interested in me socially. No one really wants to meet women of a certain age, regardless of how interesting they may be. And I am imminently interesting!

So yes, I could’ve married myself today. Yet all I could think was “Well, no one else will want to.” Which isn’t exactly what one is supposed to be thinking when the goal is self-empowerment. Gabrielle asked me if I wanted to do it and I said yes, but I didn’t follow through. Honestly, I was afraid I’d break down and cry. A few of the women who married themselves did get choked up. As ridiculous as the situation sounds, looking yourself in the mirror and vowing to love yourself forever isn’t all that easy. Given the mood I was in, I didn’t think I’d even be able to get the words out.

And here I sit, crying over a scene in this stupid Titanic miniseries, where a man didn’t want to leave his dead wife behind. Thank heavens there’s chocolate.

Flattery vs. Insanity

Chatting at the bar yesterday, I told a few folks (friends and strangers alike) that I was considering taking my OKC profile down. It’s been so depressing, between the old men checking me out and nothing coming of the men who do write. I had a date on Tuesday who cancelled, saying he was stuck at the office. Perhaps. But it’s just as likely that he chickened out. It’s also difficult dealing with insults from men who I wouldn’t even consider. That situation culminated with Mr. Meh, of Monday’s “A Meh-n of Few Words.”

And then, today. Mr. Military Nutjob, resident of Miami, Florida (but still “in war zone”), emails me:

hey long time do still have interest in me??

I respond:
Did I ever? You live too far away!

Our back and forth continued thusly:

yea i like you so much and i know we are going to be together forever i believe that so much just give me change in your heart and let me bring joy and hapiness and everlasting love i like you so much
can i have your IM so that we can chat and know more about each other

Are you kidding me?
How can you say that? You don’t even know me.
I don’t have an IM.
And you live in FLORIDA!

am telling you how am feeling about you….Am still in war zone but soon i will retired and i will be home to start a new life.so am searching for love so when am done i will be home to be with the one i love and get married.i want you can i have your email.

No.
You’re insane.
Look elsewhere.

i want so much in my life i want to start a new life i want your love
why are doing these i my not handsome cus of am far away thst why you are refusing me

No I am refusing you because you are CRAZY!

me okay you can say whatever to me i dont care i like u

Good bye. You are now BLOCKED.

Uh, yeah. And check out this gem’s profile:

What I’m doing with my life: military
I’m really good at: singing and dacing
The first things people usually notice about me: honest
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food: hip pop [awesome.]
The six things I could never do without: singing ,dancing shooting shouting ,eating [shooting shouting?!?]
I spend a lot of time thinking about: my love
The most private thing I’m willing to admit: loving
Ethnicity: White
Height: 6’10” [6’10”?!?! I think not.]
Body Type: Average
Drinks: Not at all [SO much in common!]
Religion: Christianity and very serious about it [SUPER!]
Job: Military
Speaks: English [barely]
So am I subconsciously still on OKC to receive these insane missives? Do I feel somehow flattered when lunatics make psychotic cyber-passes at me? Are their passes better than the alternative, which is…nothing? Seriously. I’m contemplating paying for sex. Currently accepting applications!

Shooting (Jesus) Fish in a Barrel

In my relentless pursuit of hilarity — as opposed to true love — I’ve continued spelunking on the interwebs, which isn’t news to you, my dear readers. Most recently I joined two sites that are so pathetically cringe-worthy that I’m embarrassed to mention them. Well, not that embarrassed. The first one was SeniorPeopleMeet, which I ridiculed in an earlier post. They continue to send me new “matches” and some of the guys don’t look too objectionable. I haven’t forked over the cash to contact anyone, but I might soon, once I’m out in the desert with nothing but time (and a whole lotta booze) on my hands. Stay tuned.

The second one I signed up for is — brace yourselves — ChristianMingle. I KNOW! I’m about as far from religious as can be AND am well aware that the chances of my having anything at all in common with a man who’d be on that site are probably zero. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be amusing to try. Who knows? Their tag line is “Find God’s Match for You” (TM). I’d be willing to suspend judgement — and disbelief — if it leads to eternal happiness. Or at least life-long happiness.

I haven’t paid my membership dues, so I can only sit passively while God-fearing men visit my profile, give me “flirts” or send me email messages that I’m unable to read. I’m weighing the idea of actually joining.

Making fun of the fat old men in flannel shirts and baseball caps on SeniorPeopleMeet is easy enough; ridiculing the Christians is more like, literally, shooting (Jesus) fish in a barrel. The mere fact that they go to church doesn’t make for great comedy. However, some of their profile info is ripe for the pickin’:

This hot little number describes himself as “full-figured,” which I’m pretty sure was meant to be for women to click. His favorite TV show is the “700 Club. No surprise, then, that he’s a Conservative. Or that he’s never been married.

This guy could use a better photo. I can’t even see his face. He’s a Catholic and I’m less afraid of them than the Fundamental types and he even drinks “On occasion.” If only I could get a closer look…

Another shot that’s so small I can’t see his face. What is it with guys who pose by their cars? I see it on all the sites. Does it say “Look, I have a car?” Or “Look, I can drive?” Or is just an extension of their penises? Either way, it’s not a good look. What if women posed with their shoe collections? Pets are one thing, as they (supposedly) help to humanize you. Cars just make you look desperate. And don’t get me started on shots beside boats!

Yet another shot of a whole body. Look, I have one! This is the most unfortunate because he actually looks cute. Equally unfortunate, however, is his identifying as an “Ultra Conservative.” The rest of his profile looks acceptable, but his grasp of commas leaves something to be desired: “I am freindly,outgoing,and I love God. I love the outdoors,good food,music and enjoy long rides,” [sic] I adore the fact that he’s “a somewhat fashionable person.” Word. Diggin’ that cowboy hat. “Innewengland,” no less.

On the whole, most of these guys don’t look half bad, to the degree that is’t tough to find fault. Again, not the funniest. That I wouldn’t have much in common with them is sort of beside the point. I’m sure there are plenty of God-fearing women out there anxiously awaiting divine dating intervention.

It’s actually kind of shocking to me that so many people attend church on a weekly basis. Or say they do. If everyone in Manhattan decided to go to church next Sunday I don’t think there’d be room in the local houses of worship to hold them all. Even with staggered services. If Middle America is predominantly Christian, that makes sense. It’s the tri-state area that I assumed was less pious. You know what they say about assumptions. I don’t suppose I need to point out that I live in a bit of a bubble.

I’m also somewhat flummoxed at how few of these folks drink. Many checked “Never.” Never? Really? I could probably get over their church attendance before I could get over their sobriety.

Equally shocking is how many 50-somethings are interested in having children. Do people really want to be in wheelchairs at their kids’ college graduations? Just sayin’.

Okay, so that wasn’t quite as hilarious as I thought it would be. But no less true. Perhaps over the summer I’ll consider becoming “reborn.” Again, stay tuned!

Overall, I’d give this site a shot if I weren’t so afraid of rejection. I mean, once they found out what a heathen I am — in myriad alarming ways — I’m sure I’d get the old heave-ho. Ho-ho. Maybe I’ll create a fictional me and engage in make-believe romancing. Sigh. I’ll look for signs from heaven…

Feeling Strong, Now!

Okay, so I’m feeling a little bit better today…the fact that my Mac crashed and cost me a cool $450 (that I totally cannot afford) to fix might have factored into my funk. Thank yous to The Poet, E and Ironman for their kind words. My editor of the “published piece” has advised me not to directly address reader responses. I couldn’t help myself. So from a more positive perspective, I’d like to address some of those insensitive comments here:

bah, she’s the same age as my mom.

Oh. So does that mean that because you can’t imagine your mom having (or enjoying) sex that all women your mom’s age shouldn’t?

Anyone who refers to themselves as “legend”, in or out of print, is anything but a legend.

Uh, I didn’t refer to myself as a legend. It was a comment from a friend who I was quoting. Agreed, a bit self-congratulatory.

WOW! I know who this writer is. She is a drugged up self absorbed Burning Man type.

Yes, yes, she most certainly is! Okay, I’m not completely and totally self-absorbed. And not perpetually drugged-up. Burning Man type? Most definitely.

why is a 52 year old living in the east village? I live in the east village and feel like I’m old enough to be the parent of most of the kids I see walking around. Dude, I’m still in my 20s. Note to writer. Move to UES, and buy a couple cats.

Let’s see. How many things are wrong with this comment? Is there an age limit for living in the East Village? I see plenty of ancient folks pushing their walkers around here. Clearly the commenter can’t afford to live here, which is why I live here. I wouldn’t live on the Upper East Side if it were free! Idiot. But you’re still in your 20s, so perhaps that’s a given…

OMG.. I’m not even sure what I want my sex life to be like when I’m 52. I would rather just be super super super rich and not have one. 

Well, having a sex life is certainly preferable to not having one. And you can’t blame anyone for wanting one! If you’d rather be “super super super rich,” good luck to you! It’s easier for a 52-year-old to get laid than to magically become “super super super rich.”

I know we’re always being told to applaud the older set for trying to be sexual, it’s just kind of gross.

Well, I hope that when you reach 50, your sex life is zilch, zero, zip, nada! Cause that would be, ya know, gross. Karma is a bitch!

And lastly, one comment came from a fellow blogger:
interesting. single and 52 has more masturbating and sexual experimentation than single and 25. i can’t tell whether i’m worried, amused, sympathetic or vaguely grossed out.

I gave her a comment on her blog:
I hope things work out between you and your new boyfriend. If they don’t, you may find yourself single…perhaps even at 52.
I would never have imagined I’d be single and 52, I’ll tell you that! I’ve had a number of boyfriends and was married for a long time but, well, life happens. I sure as hell have had a fucking wild ride (both literally and figuratively) and wouldn’t change a thing.
The fact that you’d feel ANY of those things at the mere thought of a 52-year-old experimenting sexually just points to your young age and relative inexperience. Most “olds” are stuck in miserable sexless marriages. No one knows what the future will bring. You might want to be careful about what you make fun of. Cause 25 years from now, you could be ME! Bwahahahah!

Honestly, the more I look at these immature responses the better I feel. I’m sure I would’ve been disgusted by horny 50-year-olds when I was in my 20s but I would’ve been a bit more sensitive if I’d been addressing their sex lives. Or lack thereof. Ideally, I’ll have a whole new story to tell by the time I get back from the playa!

Nice Guys…

So during my somewhat short-lived Married Man Marathon last week, I’d have to say that everyone I met was very nice. Nice is a strange word. A non-committal sort of word. The one guy I had planned on meeting but didn’t considered himself a “good guy” or whatever, but yet, there he is looking to cheat on his wife. I got into an argument the other night with a friend who called all the men on Ashley Madison douche bags, simply because, well, they’re on Ashley Madison. It’s painting many men, with almost as many motivations, with one pretty sloppy paintbrush. I’ll venture that the larger percentage of men on there are douche bags. A thousand faceless penises can’t be wrong! But there are some guys whose hearts are in the right places, even if they’re looking to put there penises in the wrong ones.

Probably my most enjoyable date was with “Mike,” who traveled a considerable distance to meet me for lunch. We hung out and chatted long after we’d finished eating and he even accompanied me on an errand, eventually helping me to my door, where my two current foster dogs barked up such a storm that he ran off with his tail between his legs. Okay, that’s not quite accurate but it sure rolled off my tongue…er, fingertips!

Seriously, “Mike” had sent me a long series of thoughtful, well written emails, not the least of which contained the tear-inducing poem I’d mentioned a few posts ago. [See below.] Our conversation centered around our motivations for being on the site and “Mike” asked me questions no one else ever has. He wondered what makes me happy, what I’m really looking for, and he genuinely seemed interested. I had a very difficult time answering and I told him, admitting out loud for what may have been the first time ever, that I don’t know what I really want, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m afraid I’ll never get it or I’m afraid to even think about it…either way, I’m never been able to even get in touch with what I really, really want. It was both an intellectually and emotionally stimulating afternoon.

Since that meeting I’ve been asking myself those questions. I’ve also been feeling quite agitated. I’m not sure if the two are related. I certainly hope not. Because if they are, I’d better get in touch with what I want soon before I chase away all my friends!

In the midst of last week’s marathon — and my meals with other male friends — I went on a real date, a date with a single guy, someone I was pretty excited to meet. And I had an amazing time. The afternoon turned into evening, there were beers, his best friend and making out in a bar. Pretty perfect. Good enough to make a second date! He actually made a cameo appearance in my Saturday night; as he put it, he “parachuted in,” and we agreed it didn’t count as a second date. That was Sunday night. A delicious home-cooked meal at his place followed by more conversation and making out. I’ll save my sexual neuroses for another post but I will say I enjoyed myself, even if I kept my clothes on. Our evening ended watching the news of Bin Laden’s death on TV, sharing the historical  moment, before I headed for the subway home.

Oh my…this post is rambling a bit. I told you I was out of sorts! Anyway, what I’ve been trying to tell you about is nice guys. My past 10 days have been blessed with the companionship of — and meals with — nice men. They show me why I could never make a practice of seeing guys for “grocery dates” just as I never was able to pull off being a pro domme. Either I like you or I don’t; if I don’t, I’m pretty terrible at faking it, even for food. Or cash. Which then puts me in the position of thinking a bit harder about my motivations for being on Ashley Madison. Or even OkCupid. I know what I want. And I don’t know that I’ll ever find it online.

Here’s the lovely poem from “Mike”:

The faces of Abby
Are so many they seem
Expressions fantastic
Each costume a scene

The vamp and the pirate
The southwestern lace
In satin and leather
Her lovely tanned face

Celebrations, parades
Shrill sounds and bright lights
They gather and rave
And share her long nights

The promotions and stars
Demands of the game
Pushing new boundaries
Again and again

Words fly from the keyboard
Appointments, deadlines
Her cups brimming full
Overflowing in time

Her spirit grows restless
For a gentleman past
Quiet tears and sweet sorrow
Loving memories last

To delight her young heart
In a life of extremes
She beckons for someone
To fulfill her new dream

One after the other
The suitors they ply
Her attention to hold
Her affections to try

A scientist poet
With a heart to sojourn
Her heart to romance
My passions to burn

Perhaps we will meld
Like lovers embrace
But I hope to at least
Glimpse Abby’s true face

In that mid-marathon lunch meeting, he did get to glimpse my true face. And as I try to focus on the things I really, really do want, well, it just makes me sad.

Married Man Marathon Derailed!

Tonight’s “date” told me he would be in a class til 8:30. He texted me a half-hour earlier and I didn’t check my phone til 8:15. By then he was already on his way home. To be honest, I had totally forgotten about meeting him. Originally we were going to get together before his class. But I have been having a helluva time keeping all these faceless torsos straight!

If this texting exchange doesn’t put you to sleep, you will probably find yourself asking why I bother… [Everything is written as it was texted. No edits.]

7:56pm
Hey – its Sam. Up for that how ya doin beverage – or another night?

8:14pm
Are you done with your class?
I’m not in Chelsea, I’m further north. Where are you?

8:41
Okay then. Guess you went home. You’d said 8:30. Sorry I missed you!

Hey – yeah… Was kinda slowly walking to the train in the rain. I’m sure I just missed you by seconds lol. Oh well – hopefully you’ll give me another shot?!

Maybe!

So you’re sayin there’s a chance!? Oh yeah!

Well I feel a little like you blew me off. But whatever!

9:00pm
No – really. I was just kinda standing there for a good 1/2 hour thinking the same thing…

You told me 8:30. You texted me before 8. I responded before 8:30. So I didn’t blow you off. It’s cool, no worries. You need to get back to a wife and suburbia!

I live on the upper upper east… No suburbia for me lol!

Well what’s your hurry then? You couldn’t give me 15 minutes? Sorry. Go home.

Well just cause its not suburbia doesn’t mean I didn’t have to be home. Its cool – sorry if I peeved you

I forget everyone else is on a tight leash.

Yeah… Its kinda true. Gimme another shot. I’m a good guy (lol!)

Well, no offense, but given the circumstances it’s tough to believe you’re THAT good of a guy. You do realize we connected on a site for people looking to cheat on their spouses. That said, I’m sure you’re a nice guy. But if we schedule another meeting and you text me a half hour early and then head home, well, that won’t really work for me. I was ready to meet up at or after 8:30 as you’d said. Ya know?

9:54
Ok – goooood point on the spouse thing…

10:16
I did say 8:30. Thought I said 8. That is certainly my bad…

No worries. I had said we’d meet up before your class. Which I probably could’ve but I spaced…

11:20pm
Well – where there’s a will there’s a way. We can try again.

We can.

Married Men Marathon: Part Deux

I gotta say, I have good taste! Even when it comes to screening out idiots on dating sites and finding charming, intelligent and engaging gentlemen! (None of whom have posted any genitalia, bathroom mirror reflected or otherwise!) My dating marathon continues:

Yesterday was dinner with “Cal,” who was not only as impressively tall in person as he promised online but even better looking than his photo! Conversation came easily and he was most definitely a smart, successful guy. I won’t go into his personal life for fear of “outing” him, but I will say he is both married and actively seeking, if not an immediate affair, at least what might be “out there.” While we both abstained…from alcohol — heh — so there was no chance of drunkenly tumbling into bed, I could imagine such things happening…eventually.

Today was lunch with “Bob,” also married, and also quite delightful. There were no awkward silences and he was just as appealing in person as he’d been online. His situation is somewhat different but at least it sounded to me as though he and his wife communicate about such things. Hmmm, that’s rather obtuse. Anyway, suffice it to say that, again, though the meal was sober and did not lead to an episode of “afternoon delight,” it would not be beyond the realm of possibility.

On both dates, conversation jumped from politics to business, the city vs. the suburbs, personal histories and careers. Online dating, and Ashley Madison in particular, were the main focus, for obvious reasons. It seems that everyone who “does this” is eager to share their experiences, good, bad or otherwise. Both men had been on the site longer than I and both had been on a few dates. However, neither had managed to wind up in bed with anyone. So this makes — what is it now? — seven men I’ve met, each in various stages of committed relationships, none of whom had actually experienced the successful affair promised by Ashley Madison. I may need to expand my research to women and find out who is having sex with the men they meet and under what sort of circumstances these affairs take place. Someone must be getting laid! Why is that the men I’m connecting with aren’t?

I expected that I might feel like these encounters are “grocery dates” (meeting men merely for the free meals) but I haven’t, as I firmly believe I have much to offer, even if sex isn’t on the menu. Every guy I’ve met has been leading a far more “normal” life than mine so, at the very least, I’m able to open some doors, suggest some exciting activities or even just talk to them about what life is like as a single person. Imagine if you hadn’t dated in a couple of decades! As I said in my (many) reasons for being on the site, we all can use the practice. Hopefully these guys agree. Thus far, lunch-by-the-light-of-day dude was the only one not interested in seeing me again. So stay tuned!

In addition to these dates, I actually have been doing, well, ya know, other things! And it’s a damn good thing the weather has gotten better, so I don’t mind being out so much. I’d found myself in quite the nesting “rut” for a while there! Monday night I went to dinner with a friend and helped him create a profile on OkCupid. Yesterday I went to lunch with another friend who I met on OkCupid. And I’m on my way now to meet a guy from OkCupid for the first time. So even my social life outside this crazy-ass marathon seems to be centered around online dating! I guess I’m making this project my “job,” since I don’t happen to have one! If only I could find something to which I might apply myself to with this much enthusiasm and concentration! Someone needs to hire me as a dating columnist! I could do wonders for the world of bumbling idiots out there in the ether! Hello, anyone reading this with an actual JOB? Sigh… Onward!

Swing Club Blind Date

Last night I went to a swing club with a stranger. I know, you’re probably thinking “WHAT WAS SHE THINKING?!” Obviously it was going to be a win-win situation; regardless of how good or bad, disastrous or hilarious the date turned out to be, it would definitely make good blog fodder! And though it wasn’t quite what I expected, it was, indeed, excellent fodder! Dear readers, I give you: Almost the Worst Date Ever!

A bunch of friends and I had been drinking at my apartment for hours, so I was properly prepped when I met “Greg” at a bar a few blocks away. Three of those friends were sitting a few feet from me, my back-up plan if “Greg” was a no-show. He was 15 minutes late, but he did show. And after I slugged back my Stella, we caught a cab uptown to Checkmate.

I bet you think I’ve been to every swing club in the city dozens of times but, in fact, I haven’t. Why pay exorbitant prices to watch strangers screw when you can produce your own orgy and hand-pick the players? So, no, I’d never been to Checkmate. As we hopped out of the cab, scanning buildings for the street address, the Lips doorman took one look at us and asked, “You looking for Checkmate?” Geez, were we that obvious? “Downstairs,” he said, pointing to an anonymous business-ish door. We rode the elevator down and “Greg” paid the $90 cover for himself; apparently women are always free.

The little lobby was bright white, festooned with pastel-colored balloons. As we pushed through the door into the club, a brightly-lit room, all white, white Formica bar, white upholstered couches with hot pink flower throw pillows and a stripper pole surrounded by a pink and white splattered dance floor, the Easter motif continued. The ceiling was thick with the pastel balloons, polka dot paper lanterns and festively curled ribbons. I’m a sucker for a theme but it felt oddly like a baby shower. Or children’s birthday party. With a bit of Russian mobster vibe to it.

I checked my coat while “Greg” gave the barmaid “my” bottle of vodka. He ordered a Diet Coke, warning me ominously, “You don’t want to see me drunk.” Good thing I was already drunk! Looking around, I made a wisecrack about the furnishings. Supposedly they redecorate often. How about immediately? Beyond being blindingly white, there were no other guests to blunt the glare. Yup, “Greg” and I were the only two people in the place.

My date had seated himself a barstool away from me, perhaps to better appreciate my beauty, telling me I was “pretty” and “sexy.” I asked if he’d mind if I moved closer. Since I had warned him in our preliminary emails that the chances of us having sex were absolutely zero, he wasn’t expecting anything, but I thought it might be nice if he were close enough to actually hear my witty repartee.

DJ Batcho (rhymes with macho…and nacho) was spinning some real chestnuts. “Greg” seemed to think he was the best DJ in the world. Oy. Evidently “Greg” is a swing club regular, frequenting not only Checkmate but Le Trapeze and Carousel, mostly back when he was married. I was a little surprised to hear that “Greg” was divorced. Guess I’d missed the “single” on his profile and assumed he was “attached” like just about every other guy on Ashley Madison.

Small talk was strained and sporadic. Not that I had much to say. There wasn’t any chemistry. My date didn’t seem too interested in chatting beyond his desultory flattery. I had more conversation with the sexy 22-year-old Russian barmaid. An hour into the evening there were only three or four more couples. I felt like I was in some special sort of frustrated sex maniac’s hell.

When I told “Greg” I wasn’t sure I could take much more of the excitement, he said if I left he’d have to leave too, so I stuck it out a while longer. I’d had about five vodka crans — on top of the six-pack or so I’d had at home — so I was feelin’ pretty sauced. But eventually even the Easter candy couldn’t hold me and I really had to get out of there, so I grabbed my coat and slipped out the door, jumping into the elevator before “Greg” caught up with me. I hailed a cab as quickly as I could and disappeared into the night. By the time I beat my hasty retreat, there were less than 20 guests in the club and no one had even been making out, much less stripped down or started screwing. Sigh. I guess Good Friday isn’t a big night for swinging. It was huge disappointment.

Perhaps the most hilarious part of the story is that “Greg” emailed me to see if I’d like to go to another swing club with him! WTF?

Is It True What They Say…About Ashley Madison Men?

So I’ve been on Ashley Madison for over a week now and the emails have been piling up. They are, quite literally, all over the map: 21-year-olds to 67-year-olds, San Diego to Ontario and everywhere in between. My initial observations still stand: most of the men are married, as one might expect, and most of those married men are both taller and better looking than the motley selection of single dudes on other dating sites. General behavior is markedly more paranoid and evasive, no doubt a symptom of sneaking.

The site goes back and forth on letting me respond to my admirers for free, either cutting me off completely while waiting for my profile to be “approved” or informing me that I need to purchase credits. I’m not sure if the site is buggy or if their tech is just crap. They extended 25 free credits after what I’m assuming was my complimentary grace period yet now I intermittently seem to have more. No notice of when or why I have more, just sometimes when I hit “reply” my message is magically delivered while other times it is sent “collect,” an embarrassing situation I’d prefer to avoid.

I’ve already managed to meet up with two men in person and neither of them are married. Of course, neither is technically single, either. I’ll change their names, to make it all seem more mysterious:

“Dave” is a tall, dark and handsome former professional athlete from suburban Long Island who is going through a divorce. He has a great sense of humor, seemed to be entertained by me and was generous to a fault: he not only treated me to a bunch of yummy purple margaritas, he bought rounds for my friends as well. (The plan was to meet him for a few cocktails before I was meeting my pals and he wound up hanging out. Don’t want anyone to think I invited him to a group gathering expecting him to carry all of us!) He wasn’t in the least bit sad-sack and genuinely enthused, “Abby, you are living!” which cracked me up. Yes, indeed, I am! He eventually bumbled off to dinner with a friend but neglected to follow up with a “nice meeting you” email or anything else. I sent one to him and he responded with a very brief and non-committal communiqué, so I’ll assume that I won’t be seeing him again. Either, upon sober reflection, my “living” life frightened him off or he’s not as deep into that divorce as he said he was. Who knows? I enjoyed his company and didn’t have to pay to get drunk! Huzzah!

“Jim” immediately struck my fancy. His profile listed him as “attached” but he didn’t seem over-eager to jump into bed, sounding more like a businessman stuck in the city in search of someone with whom to share dinner and perhaps a few laughs. Easy enough! We met at a new neighborhood restaurant and he was even better looking in person than he’d been online. Tall, dark, distinguished touch of grey at the temples and great teeth! Fantastic smile, too! His story turned out to be that he’s divorced but seeing someone and they’re both just…bored. Seems to be a common affliction. Surprise! Anyway…at least I wasn’t gonna be cast in the “other woman, dreaded home-wrecker” role… His sexual history was a hoot as well: Catholic schoolboy-cum-college student loses his virginity to a married 40-something Mrs. Robinson and they carry on a torrid four-year affair! She teaches him “things that still work!” Whoa, baby! Sounds good to me!

We immediately fell into an easy and engaging conversation — the perfect balance of banter — and agreed on beers, tapas and just about everything else! He interjected a few suggestive asides but, rather than being off-putting, they were wryly delivered and therefor surprisingly welcomed. He was animated and intelligent and earnestly seemed to find me “really interesting.” When he leaned in for a quick kiss, with the somewhat chestnut-ty “Sorry, I couldn’t resist any longer,” even that was perfectly timed. We had a couple of beers and a lot of laughs — the perfect date — and when he walked me home there were more than a few absolutely amazing kisses. I can’t really explain why I didn’t drag his ass upstairs into my apartment. Sigh. I blamed my reluctance on the messy foster dog situation but maybe the situation itself just felt a bit too…cliché. It’s really a horse I need to get back on and ride, if you’ll forgive the hackneyed phraseology. Next time I’ll force myself! Giddyup! Stay tuned!