Melani Robinson

Author | 1 Year of Online Dating at 50

For Men Only

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When I appeared on The Steve Harvey Show something that stuck in my craw was a statement Steve made. “I think the blog is hurting your chances of meeting a man.” Then he followed with “You should quit the blog.” That last suggestion ended up on the cutting room floor so those watching the show didn’t hear it. Oh, but I did.

I wasn’t elated.

Now, I knew that most men I dated weren’t thrilled with the prospect of becoming blog fodder. What kind of idiot would enjoy that? But the blog had brought such joy to my life. I loved the comments from readers. Especially when my tales resonated with women. It was the reason I’d started the thing in the first place since I was looking for, and couldn’t find, a narrative that confirmed what one needs when dealing with a touch situation:

“You are not alone.”

I was over the moon when I received comments from men who read the blog and used it as a What Not To Do manifesto. When Steve told me to quit before the year was up I was annoyed. Didn’t he understand I had a loyal following?

I’d made a commitment, damnit!

“Are you making any money from the blog?” Mr. Harvey asked when he saw the look on my face. He was probably thinking: This bitch is crazy.

“No, and my year is almost up. I have two months left.”

He suggested that since I was an attractive, positive woman I should blog about that. Put those dating tales of woe behind me. Yeah, it was sage advice and it wasn’t happening.

BUT it did get me thinking.

There had to be a way to use the blog as a springboard to other things that might help me earn a living. The obvious choice was a book. I’m working on that now, but I came up with a second idea just after DatingAdvice.com named me one of the “Ten Best Online Dating Experts.”

Sheesh, that was unexpected and quite an honor.

I decided to create an online dating workshop/boot camp for men (click on the tab if you’re interested). A three hour class where twenty men are taken through the online dating process–beginning to end. A friend of mine gave it a subtitle: Making the World a Better Place for Women: Twenty Clueless Men at a Time. She wasn’t being mean. What I’d give to take a class on what men were really thinking. I’d love to better understand the common, yet quirky aspects of the average guy.

In a couple of weeks I’ll hold my first workshop. I’m very comfortable in front of an audience. I was a corporate trainer for the bulk of my career. Give me snappy presentation and a room full of bodies and I’ll do my thing. It’s never boring. I’ve found that any subject is better with humor. In my former career you should’ve seen what I did with Harassment and Discrimination Awareness–brought the house down with that one.

My latest Huffpost piece is all about the upcoming boot camp. If you’re a follower who’s transitioned from www.1yearofonlinedatingat50.com to here and you are feeling charitable, I’d appreciate a comment on The Huffington Post site. If you could direct your comment to the men who might be reading the article and considering  the workshop, I’d be grateful.  Let them know why you think they should attend.

CLICK HERE to be directed to the article on The Huffington Post. 

I’ll keep you updated on the workshop. I know there will be some fascinating stories that come from the experience.

“Change is the end result of all true learning.” Leo Buscaglia

Luck

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Neal’s plane from Toronto was delayed several hours. I hadn’t checked the flights before leaving the house so I was at McCarran Airport two hours ahead of schedule. It was rare that I had nothing to do with raising two teenagers and a demanding job. I meandered through the stores looking at stuff that visitors bought last minute to commemorate their trip to Sin City.

As I picked up Las Vegas shot glasses, flipped through racks of cheesy T-shirts and caught up on celebrity gossip in the magazine section, I thought about luck.

Many previous V-days were spent with a man I’d been with off and on for several years. Our relationship was far from perfect—some might say even toxic—but I was worn down and tired of hoping for something better. He loved my daughters and me and I wanted to have a partner.

BUT there’s nothing that illuminates a bad pairing more than meeting the Yin to one’s Yang.

Earlier that day a ridiculously large box of tulips was delivered to my office.

My favorite flower, and there were dozens in that package direct from Holland. There was also a note:

We’re so lucky to have found each other. Some of the women you work with won’t receive flowers today. Please share these with them. I love you forever, Neal.

Waiting just outside of Security I saw him approaching before he saw me. No matter how many times I watched him head my way I still couldn’t believe he was with me.

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He always carried on his bag—not trusting baggage handlers in what he called “cowboy country.” By then it was almost midnight and we decided to drive until we got tired. We’d booked a room for the weekend in our destination, but we weren’t going to make it there that night.

By Barstow we were bushed. A bedraggled motel was the best we could do and Neal chastised me for walking barefoot from the shower to the bed as he brushed his teeth—wearing only his loafers.

Waiting for me on the pillow was a card and my favorite holiday sweets. Neal was a Godiva Chocolates sort of guy but that box would be for some other chick. I’m vintage and get an unnaturally large kick out of these.

Come on. If my candy’s saying:

“Cutie Pie”

Purr Fect”

“So Fine”

Or the best:

“Cool Cat”

It can’t be wrong.

The next morning we grabbed a McMuffin, and hit the road. A couple of hours later we’d arrived. I’ve been to lots of romantic spots but there’s something about Laguna Beach that’s especially magical. This was not a new experience—I’d been there multiple times since I was a child–I’d also visited with other men. The difference that weekend was that Neal and I were so in love. We could be anywhere and immersed in each other, but given that setting that exuded eroticism and it was almost overwhelming. It wasn’t that we did anything different than I’d done previously but it was the ocean, the way it looked, the salty scent and feel on the skin, the relaxed beach town vibe that encouraged the tactile.

We stayed at the Surf and Sand Resort and slept that Saturday night with the door to our balcony open.

The sound of the waves crashing caused me to fall into a deep sleep that would’ve lasted  until morning had Neal not awakened me. Always a light and sporadic sleeper I would often find the space next to me empty but on that night he was there, his mouth next to my ear, repeating my name.

He took my hand and led me to the balcony overlooking the surf. He wanted to share the view of the deserted beach and the water lit up by the moon. We were alone.

The next morning we took a walk on that beach and I asked him to go barefoot. He protested, reminding me how much he disliked sand between his toes–so unclean, and all that. But he finally acquiesced and grimaced a little for effect.

I knew the truth.

Neal was so beautiful in (almost) every way but he had the most heinous feet. Large, wide caveman-like monstrosities with a big toe that was startling in it’s girth. The first time I saw those tootsies I winced and then insisted he put them in my lap for closer inspection. After a few minutes of silent observation while running my hands over every part I nodded and said:

“Yep, those are without a doubt the ugliest feet I’ve ever seen.”

After he died, when I needed to smile I’d simply put my hand into his shoe to feel the deep impression left in the lining by that toe. I’d remember my merciless teasing and his laughter that always followed.

So Neal took off his shoes, we walked on the beach barefoot and then asked a stranger to take a photo.

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The drive back to Las Vegas (and to the airport for his departure) was a quiet but comfortable one. We were both smoothed out–mellowed by the experience. Neal told me that for the first time, in as long as he could remember, he slept for the entire flight back to Toronto.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

“I’ve been lucky. I’ll be lucky again.” Bette Davis

The Steve Harvey Experience

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Welcome to the first post of the new blog!

For those who’ve been following my antics for the last year I say, “Hello, old friends!” If you’re new I’m happy you’re here and I’ll try not to shock you too much this first time as I’ve been known to have a bit of a cyber potty mouth.

Today my daughters and I appeared on The Steve Harvey Show. What an experience. A producer found www.1yearofonlinedatingat50.com and loved the blog–especially the  relationship with my adult daughters and their advice during my year of looking for love. From some of the disaster dates I’d been on there was probably some things I was doing wrong and perhaps Steve could help.

He is kind of the Love Guru (cue porn music here).

They flew us to Chicago to tape the show. We felt very fancy as the driver picked us up at the airport.

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He drove us to the Amalfi, a fantastic boutique hotel in downtown Chicago.

We had a few days of shooting video to tell the backstory. It’s strange because when talking about Neal, my late husband, I got quite emotional. It has been six years since he died and my reaction was surprising. I suppose there’s a prepared script in general conversations that one uses when describing the death of a loved one. The Things I Can Say Without Crying sort of thing and the producer asked questions that I don’t normally answer. Bottom line, I miss him terribly and probably always will. That longing for something that was is always exacerbated by circumstances both extremely good or very bad.

Being on the show was one of those extremely good things that I wished I could share with Neal. Yet the very thing that brought me there (the dating blog) would never have happened if he were still alive. Discovering my passion for writing wouldn’t have happened either since I wrote the book after his death as a way to honor him. There was a part of me that was unfulfilled, although I didn’t know it, and writing has filled the void.

I often wonder if Neal had lived would I have realized the need for creative expression? I thought my world was complete—he was all I needed. Not so.

Life is weird, right?

For instance, I’m an extremely private person. For most of my adult life I’ve only shared personal stuff with a small circle of friends and yet I’ve spent the last year putting the most private and intimate details of my world out there for all to see. Lately there’s been a lot said about the over sharing that’s occurred with the vast number of memoirs on the shelves and, gasp, Reality TV.

I get it.

BUT, I do think Jodie Foster should pick on someone her own size. “Leave Honey Boo Boo  alone, Clarice.”

Come on. When you’ve invited your dear friend Mel Gibson to sit at your table when accepting the Cecil B. DeMille Lifetime Achievement Award at the Golden Globes, getting all judge-y is perhaps not the best plan. In my humble opinion, of course.

I guess Jodie wouldn’t approve of the dating blog. Darn, I always hoped we could be friends.

OK, now back to Steve Harvey.

The girls picked a guy for me to go out with. Now that was different. They are a tough duo. Generally, my oldest Morgan, hates every guy I date–at least in the beginning. Plus, I’ve been known to be a tad picky. I’ve got this aversion to excessive nose hair and with the over fifty crowd it’s a jungle up there. This was no easy task but they chose a very nice man, Denny. Was it a love connection? Well, no. He was a good guy but there was no spark.

There’s got to be a flicker of lust.

I need to feel that at some point I’ll want to take my clothes off.

What?

Even women my age and older still want to get naked.

After the date we exchanged a couple of email messages—the usual pleasantries. I thanked him for being a good sport.

He suggested I was a serial dater—several times.

I didn’t take too kindly to his assessment (might’ve gotten a little terse) but we reached an understanding and wished each other the best. He told me he’s met someone and is happy. I’m glad for him.

Being on the show was the highlight of our trip to Chicago. Steve has the most amazing people working for him. Every single one of them. From the producers to the cameramen, the sound guys to hair and makeup, they were all absolute professionals and just nice people.

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It was the experience of a lifetime for the three of us and I want to thank Steve Harvey for allowing me to tell my story, calling me out when he thought I was full of shit, and for genuinely caring about my success in this search for love.

At the airport and headed home.

At the airport and headed home.

He’s even invited me back so stay tuned, there’s more to come.

Yep, that's me under The Bean.

Yep, that’s me under The Bean.

I’m trying something new. I’ve created a special video for those who’ve subscribed to this blog. I discuss the three questions my friends asked when I told them I was going to be on The Steve Harvey Show. If you’re interested, just subscribe—it is over there at the top on the right margin. You’ll be notified when there’s a new blog post AND you’ll be sent a link to the video.

Click here for the After the Show interview.

“I don’t like to share my personal life…it wouldn’t be personal if I shared it.” George Clooney

If you enjoyed following along during my ridiculous year of online dating, you’ll love the book.

New stories, previously untold details, and an embarrassing amount of over-sharing.

What’s not to love?

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