Melani Robinson

Author | 1 Year of Online Dating at 50

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Why Didn’t I Think of That?

June 4, 2013 by Melani 20 Comments

On Memorial Day I hosted a barbecue and invited eight guests. If movies and books are to be believed, New Yorkers have the most stimulating dinner conversations covering a wide range of topics such as: politics, literature, cool restaurants and art. I think that’s a fairly accurate portrayal. This city is filled to the brim with smart people and that took some adjusting when I first arrived.

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. It’s not that I’m giving Einstein any competition but I do feel I’m fairly intelligent or at least did until landing in 10023.

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Reality?

I’m barely a C student here.

BUT, I’ve found, no matter the zip code, the chat always, and I mean always comes around to relationships. Who’s in one, who’s still looking. Inevitably there will be someone who offers suggestions to the singletons at the table. Perhaps sharing a successful formula for finding a match.

That happened during my dinner party.

A recently engaged guest suggested (to the single ladies) that we make a commitment to meet at least once a week, preferably twice weekly, at different happy hour spots in the city. We should gather from 5:30 pm to 7:30 pm as a group in different neighborhoods to meet different kinds of guys. She said she’d join us and be our wingwoman, initiating conversations with the men we found interesting. “What do I have to lose?” she asked. Her fiancé said he’d occasionally come too.

I thought it was a brilliant strategy and one that would work perfectly with something NEW I’d stumbled upon, Cheek’d.

Here’s how Cheek’d works. You sign up and create a basic profile. You order a set of Cheek’d cards that you keep with you at all times. If you happen to see someone you are interested in you walk up, hand them a card and walk away. Simple, painless and no risk of rejection and the next move is theirs. The information on the card tells them where they can find you. They go to the cheekd.com and enter a code that takes them to your profile where they can send you a message.

How ingenious is that?

Now, instead of perusing profiles and ending up disappointed with the person once you’re face to face, you’ve already determined there’s an attraction. No more missed opportunities, either. How many times have you seen someone and wished for the courage to make contact? It happens to me often and once they’re gone the chances are almost zero that I’ll see then again. I even wrote a post about missed opportunities during my year of online dating.

The cards are clever. Here are some examples:

look up. you might miss something.

this is your lucky day.

you can thank me later.

shouldn’t you be asleep at this hour?

i’m a keeper.

this leads to someone you should meet.

don’t let me get away.

your move.

where have i been all your life?

this card is good for finding me again.

i’m totally cooler than your date.

i’m hitting on you.

So, I’m going to combine the weekly happy hour gatherings with the cards and see what happens. I’ll let you know how it goes. I’m also keeping them with me every single time I leave the apartment. You never know who you might see walking down the street or at the deli counter at Fairway Market, right?

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UPDATE: Within fifteen minutes of this post going live, Lori Cheek of Cheek’d found me on Facebook and offered 50% off your card order. Use the promo code: SUMMERLOVIN. Thank you so much, Ms. Cheek!

Insanity Update: I should be almost finished with my 60-day challenge. Unfortunately, I fell a couple of weeks ago (totally sober and with an audience), and bruised my coccyx. I wrote a blog post called “Coccyx Blocked” but my “editor” told me it was quite boring so I scrapped it. The details aren’t important. Suffice to say that I took two weeks off to let my tailbone heal and started back on Insanity this week. UGH, it was too soon so I’m giving myself a little more time to recover and then I’ll get back to cursing Shaun T and that perky chick on the DVD who smiles through the torture. I’ll let you know the outcome and am still committed to wearing a bikini if the results are good.

“Opportunities are never lost; someone will take the one you miss.” Author Unknown

The Handy Man and The Universe

May 1, 2013 by Melani 42 Comments

I’m a do-it-yourselfer.

Rarely having the disposable income to hire it done has certainly contributed to the condition. In New York City there are people willing to do just about anything you don’t prefer to do–for a fee, of course.

Want a lightly toasted bagel and coffee delivered precisely ten minutes before you head to work in the morning? No problem.

Don’t want to carry groceries? Easy fix. All stores deliver.

It’s raining and your dog needs to go outside? Relax and let a dog walker wear the slicker.

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I don’t indulge in the many conveniences living here offers and sometimes gripe about what a pain in the ass it is to reside in a crowded city while doing everything for yourself. Especially as I lug a new vacuum ten blocks from Bed Bath and Beyond to my apartment.

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Last week I helped a friend empty her storage unit. She rented it seven years ago and the stuff had been inside, undisturbed, for all that time. Everything is crazy expensive in the city and storage units are no exception. Like most Manhattanites, she looked for ways to cut costs and paying to store forgotten possessions was a logical thing to chop. I told her if we could do it in three hours I was available as I had plans early that night (more on that later). We headed to Manhattan Mini Storage and got busy. I created three piles: Garbage, Sell, and Keep. Once finished she thanked me and commented on my physical strength as I lifted heavy boxes and suitcases from an upper level unit that required standing on a ladder and reaching inside. I am strong and I attribute that to my father. Being a girl never got me a manual labor pass. If something substantial had to be hoisted or carried I was expected to grab a side and go, without hesitation. Whining was never an option and I longed for gender discrimination at home (“Girls can’t do that!”). But since my dad did the grocery shopping and cooking along with the heavy lifting, the Equal Rights Amendment reached ratification in 1972 in one tract home on McKinley Avenue.

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On Saturday I went to Home Depot. Just the scent of a hardware store makes me happy and there’s nothing I love more than walking the aisles while in my mind creating the next home improvement project I’d like to tackle. Many are just pipedreams—the result of living in a rental apartment where management might get testy if I walked in with the bathtub of my dreams and a sledgehammer.

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Still, I’m considering sneaking in some glass tile and grout for a backsplash in my kitchen. I’ve watched several “how to” videos on YouTube and I think I can do it. Saturday I was there to buy containers and several bags of potting soil.

On the weekend there’s a man who sets up a stand near my street on Broadway. He sells deeply discounted flowers and plants that have seen better days. I have a suspicion he gets his wares from the dumpsters of florists. I call him Dead Flower Guy and snicker when I see people actually paying for those wilted bouquets. I turned into one of those fools on Saturday when I noticed two (not too dead) azalea plants. The price was right and I bought them. My daughter Morgan brought the car to the 3rd Avenue Home Depot and we loaded the bags of soil and pots inside—she helped bring them into my building, too. Pedro (doorman extraordinaire) jumped up to give us a hand as he always does. “You two are always dragging in something heavy,” he said, laughing.

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I planted the azaleas on Sunday afternoon. It was a beautiful day and it felt good to be in the sunshine on the terrace up to my elbows in dirt.

It was also a bit lonely.

I longed for someone to share in the toiling as well as the moment where one stands back and admires the accomplishment.

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Not just any man. THE man. 

Last Friday night I squeezed into shape wear and met a single girlfriend for drinks. Our goal was to find a happy hour spot where age appropriate single men gather. We started at Milos and went to another place nearby, but had no luck.

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If anyone knows where men of a certain age gather after work in Manhattan, please share the love.

I haven’t been on a date since ending my year of online dating. As much as I enjoyed blogging about the experiences, one awful meeting after another took its toll. It has taken several months to consider dating again and that might explain gaining seven pounds. When I took myself off the market I was no longer competing with the plethora of walking x-rays who inhabit this city. OK, I’m a little jealous of their ability to survive each day eating only a carrot and I’ve decided to forgo Levain cookies and Empire’s snack cakes until I’m comfortable parading around my apartment in the nude with the blinds open.  I’m also two weeks into the Insanity 60 Day Challenge, Shaun T is still kicking my badonk, but I’ve noticed my body is starting to change.

It’s time to get back on the horse.

My life is dogma-free. You will never find me praying to God, Allah, Buddha or Jesus. I’m not even sure what I believe. I’m more comfortable sending my hopes to the ambiguous Universe. I regularly propel thoughts out there and then forget them until what I’ve asked for materializes.

Here are a couple examples:

  1. The only thing I miss about my home in Las Vegas is outdoor space—a rarity in Manhattan. I threw out my request and then didn’t give it another thought. A year ago a friend was moving to Palm Springs and he owned an amazing apartment a couple of blocks away. No outdoor space but it had a washer and dryer—quite a luxury. I was thrilled and couldn’t wait to move. All that was left was approval from his apartment board. “Only a technicality,” he was told. A day later my friend called with bad news. His building was pet-friendly, but only for owners. Anyone renting an apartment couldn’t have pets. I was so disappointed but I figured something better was coming. Several months later I went with a friend to an apartment on the roof of my building.  She knew the tenant and was feeding her cats while she was away. I walked outside and admired the second apartment on the roof. The outdoor space was amazing. At that moment a woman walked outside to hang wet clothes on the railing and I yelled from across the roof, “You’re living in my dream apartment.” She replied, “We just gave notice. It’s available October 1st.” One minute earlier or later I would’ve missed her. The Universe conspired to give me that information and I’m now living my dream. photo-258
  2. I planned to get another dog. Kate was lonely and needed a friend. What I wanted was a Norwich Terrier, but I had a problem buying a dog given the amount of rescues in need of homes. A Norwich rescue just doesn’t exist as there are a small number of breeders and they keep tight control of where the puppies go. Every new owner must sign a document that states if they can no longer care for the dog they’ll return it to the breeder. They’re also very expensive. I contacted a couple of breeders and they chuckled at my naïve request. One told me, haughtily, “The Norwich is never a rescue.” Oh, pardon me. I quit thinking about a friend for Kate and figured The Universe would lead me to the right dog. Six months later I got an email message from a breeder who was a friend of a friend. She’d heard that I was looking for a rescue and she had a dog that was purchased because the buyer wanted a dog that might be good enough for Westminster. This breeder had a “Best in Breed” at Westminster many years ago and felt that the male puppy she had could be the next. After a year of working with a handler in preparation for the show ring it was determined that the dog was too big. The then-owner asked the breeder if she could give the dog to her adult daughter. The breeder agreed. Two years later the daughter had three children under five and couldn’t give the dog the proper attention. She contacted the breeder again and asked if she could return Nigel. The breeder had heard of my desire to adopt a rescue Norwich and she reached out to me. I was a bit concerned because the dog was going to be sent back to the breeder in California and I would have to fly to California to get him. I was leaving in two days for my annual summer trip to Virginia Beach so the timing was horrible. I spoke to the breeder and told her of upcoming vacation.“Where’s the dog now?” I asked.

“In Virginia,” she replied.

“Where in Virginia?”

“Virginia Beach.”

Two days later, Nigel was mine. I can’t imagine anyone thinking that was a coincidence. Thanks, Universe.

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These are just two examples of things that happen often. That’s why I don’t “muscle through” life anymore. When something was difficult, the old me would plow through the muck no matter how tough–forcing the outcome. It seemed when I pushed hardest and got what I wanted it turned into a mistake. Now I know there’s a reason it’s not easy, something better is waiting if I can let go.

On Sunday, feeling lonely as I planted here’s what I asked for:

“This time around I want a man who’s handy. Someone who won’t roll his eyes but instead roll up his sleeves when I have an idea. He’s got to be sophisticated, though, and an Irish accent wouldn’t hurt.”

I know. The accent part was over the top but when sending thoughts into the ether of no deity, one is allowed to be a greedy bitch. Plus, “wouldn’t hurt” was only a suggestion.

I picture a fifty-year-old version of Gerard Butler, comfortable with a multitude of drill bits. The kind of guy who uses a level instead of determining a picture is straight by eyeballing it. I imagine we’ll tackle the occasional project together and he’ll do most of the heavy lifting. I can see us laughing as we work and when we’re finished, he’ll put his arm around me while we admire our accomplishment. Later that evening he’ll suggest I put on something sexy since he’s made a dinner reservation at Per Se.

“Tonight you’re ordering two desserts,” he’ll say, “because you’re much too skinny.”

If you dream, dream big, right? I won’t dwell, Universe.

Work your magic.

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom the emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand wrapped in awe, is as good as dead —his eyes are closed. The insight into the mystery of life, coupled though it be with fear, has also given rise to religion. To know what is impenetrable to us really exists, manifesting itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty, which our dull faculties can comprehend only in their most primitive forms—this knowledge, this feeling is at the center of true religiousness.” Albert Einstein

To read an interview I gave to Kevin Ryan for Huffington Post click here.

Are You Insane?

April 16, 2013 by Melani 35 Comments

This morning I crawled to Central Park.

OK, “crawled” is probably the wrong word. I slowly and painfully maneuvered the streets from my apartment to doggie paradise with a stiff-legged hitch-y walk that should only be described as strange. Even Nigel was embarrassed to be seen with me.

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“I’m so ashamed. All the dogs are laughing at us.”

Kate just pretended I was her dog walker. 

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“I don’t even know her name. She gets paid to walk us.”

Was I out partying the night before with an amazing man? Did the evening end with bedroom gymnastics that wreaked havoc on my middle-aged bod?

Don’t I wish.

I haven’t been on a date since ending my year of blogging. The highlight of my weekend was buying a new sofa and these days I’m buying flowers for myself.

photo-250The reason people on the streets were looking at me oddly as I winced my way east is because I started the Insanity Workout. Yesterday was simply the fitness test portion and I can only assume, by the level of agony I’m experiencing, I failed miserably. Shaun T asked if I was ready to dig deep. “Shut up, Shaun. I’ll be lucky to scratch around the surface for forty minutes.” It took me all of sixty seconds for the perky little six pack abs chick to get on my nerves. She was all bubbly and smiley as I groaned and panted through the process. 

Insanity claims that if you do the workout for 60 days you’ll have the beach body that would normally take a year to achieve. Um, we’ll see. I’ve been gearing up for this for about a month. I even bought new shoes and I hate to spend money on footwear that won’t contribute a thing to my wardrobe.

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My daughter Morgan has a couple of friends who’ve had amazing results. Granted, they’re twenty-somethings and their nimble bodies spring back much quicker. I’m well aware my lissome days are over, but do I have one more bikini body summer lurking under the aftermath of a sedentary winter?

I’ve let myself go over the last several months and the result is a seven-pound weight gain. I kept it together during my year of online dating. “Put your best ass forward,” and all that. I also had great motivation to stay on top of the weight with the appearances on The Steve Harvey Show.

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All it takes is to see one television personality in the flesh to understand just how skinny one must be to appear normal. Believe me, if someone looks slightly chubby on the small screen, they’re probably in need of IV nutrition.

At one time I had a hot body and it wasn’t in my twenties, but my thirties. I’m not saying that to brag. It’s the truth.

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My friend Rick took me to see Rod Stewart on a dateless Valentine’s Day. I call this the “illusive collarbone shot.”

I wore a size two and NOTHING jiggled. Sure, I worked out but it was easy back then. I’d go to the gym, lift some lighter weights, take an aerobics class a few times a week and voilà my body rocked. As I’ve said before, the thirties were my glory years for a number of reasons. It was when I discovered the woman buried under the bad marriage and (much too young) motherhood of my twenties. It didn’t hurt to have the outside package to accompany the good stuff going on beneath the surface.  

The quality is awful because I’ve often held it and cried.

Why the hell didn’t I take nude photos?

I swear I’d have them up in my living room today. In fact, I’d probably forgo any other form of wall adornment for poster-size birthday suit pics anywhere the eye could see.

“Yeah, Time Warner cable guy, those are my lady bits right there on the wall. Give ’em a good look.”

I took the recommended photos of my before body. It is suggested that those participating in the Insanity program download them to the site for everyone to see and so after sixty days you can get the “I’ve Earned It” t-shirt.

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Are they out of their fucking minds?

If I’m showing anyone this muffin top he’d better be liquored up, buck naked and ready to tell all kinds of lies. I wouldn’t walk down a flight of stairs for a goddamn t-shirt. Maybe a spoonful of Skippy Natural Creamy with Honey, though.

BUT, I will promise you this. If I make it through the challenge AND I think my body looks reasonably acceptable in a bikini, I’ll post a photo on the blog. So far one day in and I’m ready to quit. Who knew the fat on the side of one’s knees could be so sore? Those bat wing thingamajigs at the back of my armpits, too?

UGH, aging.

This morning as I staggered back from Central Park and into the building my doorman Frank asked about my unusual gait. He’s wanted to try Insanity and quizzed me about it. I have no doubt he’ll have a much easier time than me and when I finally made it to the elevator, Frank yelled one final question my way,

“Are you sure you’re ready for all the attention you’ll have if you get that beach body?”

Now that was snicker-worthy. If I can rock a bikini for one more summer, this time around I’ll be grateful for any second glance I might receive. I’ll savor every moment because today I’m acutely aware of just how fleeting those experiences can be.

BRING IT ON, BITCHES.

“The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.” Robert Frost

Where The Hell Have I Been?

April 8, 2013 by Melani 10 Comments

As I stepped off the plane and into the jet bridge the sunshine streaming through the small window reminded me of where I was. Home. It was wince-worthy and I mumbled a curse word or two as I diverted my eyes. Growing up in perpetual sunshine I craved gloomy overcast days.

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My father was having health issues and I’d returned to Las Vegas to spend time with him. His wife was traveling and he shouldn’t be alone.  It is a painful thing to witness the inevitable decline of a parent. The loss of dignity in the aging process sometimes feels like a kick to the stomach especially when the father has been the invincible one.

My dad’s home abuts a mesa where I used to walk my dogs every morning. It was the desert at its best—rabbits, lizards, snakes and even the occasional coyote. It’s been almost four years since I trekked through the sagebrush and stepped around the occasional abandoned mattress–dumped by someone not wanting to dispose of it properly—and it felt odd to be back.  A lot had changed. I took my dad’s elderly dog, Buffy, out for a daily walk in the “new and improved” Whitney Mesa. It’s become a park filled with paved walkways, grassy areas, picnic tables and a playground. They’ve even put up warning signs.

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I’m not a fan.

It’s quite lovely and exceptionally clean but the wildness is gone.

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My last visit to the mesa before leaving for New York City four years ago included the perfect sendoff. For several months prior to my departure each walk included a lone coyote. I’d see him in the distance out of the corner of my eye and then he’d disappear into the brush or his den. I’d seen many coyotes growing up in the desert, but he was the largest and his coloring was not the typical light brown, he was almost white.

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It made me a little nervous but he was always a respectable distance away. Still, I took to carrying pepper spray just in case.

On that last day in late August everything changed. I found out later from one of my dad’s neighbors that he’d taken a mate and they thought there might be pups. The coyote had little fear of humans as some had been feeding him. Big mistake. This time he brazenly stalked my dogs and me. He followed about fifty yards behind us and when I stopped and turned around he would pause, as well, while boldly staring me down. I did not feel safe and I knew he probably intended to make a meal of Kate. I also had my daughter’s dog Lola, a tasty pug casserole, indeed.

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As the coyote began closing the distance between us I realized that he wasn’t going to let me walk out of the mesa before making his move and the gate leading to my father’s street was too far away to make a dash for it. I also remembered what my idol Cesar Milan said. “Once you start running you become prey.”

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He was about twenty yards away and I pulled the dogs closer as I whipped around and stared him down. “GET OUTTA HERE,” I yelled, stomping my feet and waving my hands while channeling Barry White’s deep voice. The coyote began barking—an eerie sound that was feral with nothing dog-like about it. It seemed to go on forever and my pack was terrified.

This is exactly what it sounded like: CLICK HERE.

That could give you nightmares, right?

Party girl Lola had her ears flat and her head low and Kate was next to me, quivering with her eyes on the predator. I continued to yell and stomp and he kept barking. The hair on the back of my neck stood up with his unnerving wail as it reverberated off the sandstone walls surrounding us.

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I looked around for some sort of stick to use but there was none so I picked up a rock and hurled it in his direction. He yelped in surprise as it skidded next to him. Then he was silent. I waved my arms some more and growled, “GET GOING,” over and over as I looked around for another rock. He seemed to know I was going to throw something else. His ears flattened, his head dropped as he slowly, ever so slowly skulked away.

It was finally quiet and I think I could hear my heart pounding.

Then the clapping and cheering started.

Really, it did.

“WHOO HOO. GOOD FOR YOU. YOU DID IT.”

I hadn’t realized there was an audience. Two neighbors were in their backyard watching the standoff behind the cement block fence that bordered their home.

“He’s been getting more and more aggressive,” they shouted.

I felt sort of proud, kind of Annie Oakley-ish, but it was also confirmation that the change I was making was the right one. I wouldn’t have gone back to that mesa again with the dogs as long as the coyote was there and with the housing boom the desert had turned into one big tract home development after another, encroaching on the wildlife that was there first.

It was as if that coyote had had enough.

I respected his bravado.

The following morning I got in my car and started my cross-country drive to the Big Apple. I thought about the safety in walking Kate on the streets of Manhattan. Little did I know she’d get out one night and end up alone in Central Park where–I was shocked to learn–there have been numerous coyote sightings.


Boot Camp Update: I held the first Online Dating Boot Camp/Workshop on March 19th at Redemption Bar.

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It was great fun. If you’re interested in what some of the attendees had to say about the experience, click on the Boot Camp tab to read their testimonials. I’ll add more as soon as I receive them. I’m holding another towards the end of April or beginning of May. I haven’t got a firm date yet, but if you’re interested in attending (or know someone who might be) just shoot me an email through the contact form on this website and I’ll get the information to you once I’ve settled on the date. I’m also doing some private consulting and I’ll soon be posting a testimonial from my first client. Who knew I could take my year of blogging and turn it into something like this? I guess it makes being scarred for LIFE almost worth it. Ha!

“We have to instill fear of people back into coyotes.” Paul Curtis

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My name is Melani Robinson and I’m a writer/blogger, and online dating expert living in New York City on the Upper West Side. READ MORE

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