Although Jack was not the sort of guy I typically swiped right on, there was something about his Bumble profile that got my attention. It certainly wasn’t his pics. His blurb was cleverly written with pithy humor and good sentence structure.
“Never Underestimate the Appeal of Good Sentence Structure” should probably be printed on t-shirts.
Sure, Jack was shorter than the height I preferred (5’10” or taller) and he kind of resembled an old timey comedian whose name I couldn’t recall, but I threw prudence to the cyclone as my swiping finger said, “What the hell.”
It was an instant match, as Jack had already swiped right on me (love when that happens). Bumble is often referred to as “Feminist Tinder.” Only women initiate the conversation and have 24 hours to do so, or the match disappears. Obviously, that’s only for straight dating. With same sex Bumble dating, either person can make the first move.
I sent him my standard initial message:
Hi, Jack! Lovely to connect. I enjoyed your profile and look forward to learning more about you. What are you up to today?
Jack replied immediately and we texted back and forth for a bit. He lived in NYC but was travelling for the next six weeks for work. Jack, a professional musician, had several gigs across the country, but at that moment was on the West Coast. For the next several weeks, our contact would be strictly digital. That was disappointing. I hate to waste time with perpetual texting when one face to face meeting will likely tell me all I need to know. Do we have that illusive chemistry?
I know. Relationship experts often advise singletons to go on several dates before deciding if it is a match, but that has never worked for me. I’m either getting naked with him in my mind, or not, and there isn’t much wiggle room. I’m not saying I want to have sex with him on the first date, not that there’s anything wrong with that. What I’m there to discover is if I can imagine myself eventually cat-walking toward a man in my birthday suit.
Repeatedly texting via Bumble grows old quickly and Jack and I almost immediately transitioned to messaging through our cell numbers. He was quick and entertaining which made me laugh often. I’m a sucker for a man who can crack me up. After several exchanges, Jack suggested a phone conversation and I happily agreed.
I don’t know about you, but voices are important to me. It’s not that I expect everyone to sound like a radio DJ, but I’m looking for a committed relationship and that means potentially listening to that voice for a long time—maybe the rest of my life. I had better be able to stand the sound of it. Jack’s voice on that first call, well, sounded something like this.
Ok, maybe not that extreme, but enough like Truman Capote: nasally, with a bit of a lisp, that at first, I thought he was pretending.
He wasn’t.
Then he said something ridiculously funny, seriously inappropriate and I belly laughed. Could I get beyond that voice, I wondered?
The rest is available on my Patreon Page. Again, if you cannot afford to support my work through Patreon, I get it. We’ve all been there. Reach out to me privately and we’ll work something out. This is a story that is series-worthy. It’s that outrageous.
Meet Sulimon and listen as he describes what he’s looking for in a woman. Believe it or not, it has nothing to do with appearance.
Who am I kidding? Here’s the truth, I’ve been half-assing it most of the time, even with men who might be mistaken for the models on the over-50 dating site ads.
the casual horizontal hula. Sex just isn’t fulfilling if the person doesn’t grab me—and by grab, I mean all of me. I need smarts, humor and someone with an interesting life. A little swagger doesn’t hurt either. Sheesh, I’m not asking for the moon. All right, the section of my dating profile that states, “Must have given a TED Talk and, don’t try to squeak by with TEDx,” might seem, um, delusional to some.
Meet Steph and listen as she talks about the work she’s done to finally feel comfortable in her own skin. Steph shares her struggles with low self-esteem, but more specifically how living with Poland syndrome, a rare disorder, that has impacted her relationships in the past. Listen as she describes what she’s done to avoid making the same mistakes in her current relationship.
Meet Donna and listen as she talks about the circumstances led her to the second act in her life. One she never saw coming.
Meet Keith and listen as he tells us how his generation (and dating) isn’t what it used to be.
Meet Jesse and listen as she tells us her story of searching for the right guy in New York City. Oh, and she’s a wedding planner whose professional life is spent creating the perfect day for happy couples, while she navigates the (often discouraging) dating scene in NYC. Yikes, talk about an occupational hazard, right? 
time there’s a new episode on iTunes. Click the middle Review button.
so the bitch will quit asking.” Don’t forget the stars! 
Meet Billy and listen as he discusses having his heart broken because he’s always been the transitional guy. You know, Mr. Right Now, while women are waiting for Mr. Right.
Meet Rosalynn and listen as she describes her struggle to find love after more than twenty-five years of searching. She was seeking a man that could check all the boxes and as any person who’s single and seeking knows, that is hard to find. But, in Rosalynn’s case, what she was looking for had been there all along.
Meet Sandy and listen as she takes us through her dating history: guitar men, a comedian and unrequited lust. She tells us what she learned with each guy, and curiously, it was always about herself.
Meet Joel, a single, 36-year-old man living near Philly. He tells us about his struggle to have a successful relationship. There are lots and lots and lots of reasons!
My friend Kim moved out of the city and in the last year we haven’t spent much time together. I was delighted when she emailed to let me know she was coming for a visit and wanted to get together.
Date number two was for Cuban food. Luke took me to a fantastic restaurant, 
So, that’s how two days later I found myself entering Roosevelt Hospital and searching for the day surgery area. I had to text Luke the night before and ask for the correct spelling of his last name. It might be weird if the “next of kin” as I was listed on his admission papers didn’t know his surname.
some air. There are some things a person shouldn’t see while casually dating: bank statements, family videos, junk drawers, and testicles. I averted my eyes and I’m not sure Luke was even aware, but it was painfully uncomfortable for me. He was still loopy so I sat in the chair next to the bed while his anesthesia wore off. The nurse was harried as she hurried by and handed me a sponge on a stick in a cup of water. She asked me to wet his mouth.
His aversion to a significant part of my favorite cuisine—Mexican–was reason enough to hand him walking papers. I mean really, who doesn’t like guacamole? I’ll tell you: A person with a serious character flaw OR a picky eater–which is even worse. OK, perhaps I’m a little sensitive with the current political climate, because I wanted to ask, “Does your disdain begin and end with fare? How do you feel about walls?” Probably a silly question because I’ve amended my profile to state, “If you’re voting for Trump, we would definitely not be compatible.”
nickel he’s ever made.” I realized I was absolutely paying for my glass of wine and decided to order dinner. I made sure to tell him we would have separate checks. He didn’t order food but I shared my steak because I hate to eat alone and his frugality had to be on high alert after Brexit. There’s nothing that gives the thrifty greater anxiety than the threat of truly being broke instead of just living every second of their life that way. Do I even need to tell you there would not be a second date? Didn’t think so.
There was the date on Valentine’s Day with a lovely man from Boston. Sure the distance was an obstacle but I’d successfully dealt with that before. I was hopeful, but in his desire to learn more he did something I wish he hadn’t: read every single word I’d ever written and thought he knew me. I can always tell when someone has read my stuff. There’s a false familiarity that makes me squirm. I always ask men to hold off on reading my work and instead form an opinion based on our dates, but he was a master Google-er and had done so before our first meeting. He sent me a bouquet of tulips two weeks later when I wasn’t feeling well, (flower choice was prompted by a blog post from two years ago about my late husband giving me tulips). It turned creepy. His intentions were honorable, for sure, but the depth of his digging left me feeling as if he’d rummaged through my underwear drawer or read my diary.
. Believe me, my research may not be scientific but I’d bet the farm on its accuracy. Did I mention that he mentioned (four times) that he was in therapy? All within the first thirty minutes of the date, mind you. Or that he made a joke about a well known sexual predator getting sex during a time when he wasn’t getting any at all? Maybe I’m too judgmental because after all he writes comedy and there’s nothing funnier than rape humor, right?
There you have it: my guaranteed attraction to a gay man with whom I am certain is straight. It is a theme that started with Boy George, continued to George Michael and is clearly still going strong.
Last Thursday night, my youngest daughter Chelsea came over to hang out, do laundry and keep me company. Doing laundry in my building is like cage fighting. Most of the time several machines are out of order. Even when they’re all working (um, almost never) there are too few to accommodate those living in the building. Chelsea has dubbed the laundry room “Thunderdome” for good reason. You’ve got to be a badass to venture down to the basement because it’s the garment version of kill or be killed. (I know, you thought that was Fashion Week.)
apartment. It was ringing and also saying, “Warning. Carbon monoxide.” I stumbled out of bed went into the living room and tried to wake up Chelsea. She normally springs right up, even from deep sleep, but this time she was irrational, yelling, “It’s the battery!” I yelled at her to open the terrace door in the living room as I did the same in the bedroom. It was about thirty-four degrees that night. I also called the front desk while opening windows and told the doorman that the detector had gone off. He said he would send the building superintendent upstairs to check. In the meantime, with doors and windows open, the alarm sounded less often and then eventually stopped. The Super arrived, checked to be sure it wasn’t malfunctioning (it wasn’t) and went to check the rooftop boiler as a possible source of carbon monoxide. The boiler room is on the other side of my bedroom wall. He came back and told me he suspected it was the boiler, had shut it down, but if the alarm sounded again, I should get out of the apartment immediately. He suggested we sleep with all the windows open and that he would call the vendor right away for emergency service.
They have the equipment to find the leak, stop it and most importantly the equipment and training to assess my daughter’s and my condition as well as any pets exposed. They would’ve determined if we needed to go to the hospital or at the very least, given us oxygen. They would’ve been able to determine the particles of carbon monoxide in my apartment and if we were safe to sleep in that environment. The first call should have been to them. Now that I clearly understand how deadly the situation was, the incredibly dangerous level it takes for an alarm to sound, I will never make that mistake again. Sure hope I don’t have to.
always been. I did not know that some pets are more sensitive to carbon monoxide than others. With Nigel’s reaction I learned that we were gradually being poisoned over several days. Nigel was the canary in the mine.