I don’t know about you, but I’ve been feeling a bit blue lately. Not a serious, deep depression but more a just-under-the-surface malaise or maybe melancholy. I understand the source of this—the pandemic—but in that understanding, there’s also no end in sight.
I know, I know. Fauci has said we’re getting there but I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten the Hot Vax Summer that never was. I was looking forward to it if you must know. Lots of middle-aged casual sex with other vaxholes like me bragging about our double shot status because, well, you know, that’s sexy as hell.
It was during that early Covid period that the highlight of my day was a phone call from a man I’d met only once for a date before the world shut down. I still cringe when I think about that date in early March 2020, unmasked, in a bar so crowded and noisy one had to yell to be heard. An entire fucking enclosed space of yelling close-talkers, potentially shedding covid droplets at a greater rate than if we were all using our inside voices.
My date, Ted, was gorgeous. The sort of handsome that one might find modeling on the Brooks Brothers website. Tall, fit, with thick grey hair I had the urge to run my fingers through. He wore jeans, a cashmere sweater and what I believe were Tod’s boots.
Ted was clever. When I described a friend’s recent turmoil with her boyfriend and then her mother he said, “That’s not real life, that’s a Tennessee Williams play.”
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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.
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 Keith and listen as he tells us how his generation (and dating) isn’t what it used to be.
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.
