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No Sex in 2 Cities

“two friends. two cities. the single life at 40.”

30 March 2011 New “I can be as old as you want me to be.”

I’ve heard that line from three separate men in their 20s  in the past few weeks. Men in their 20s seem to be the ones paying me the most attention lately. I don’t know why, because I don’t consider myself to be a “cougar,” and I don’t seek them out.  Men in their 40s and 50s that are out are either married and doing things they shouldn’t be doing, or they want women in their 20s. So, that leaves me with the ones in their 20s.  I suppose some women would be excited by that, but I’m not. I’m looking for a relationship, a partner.  A man in his 20s can’t possibly be my partner. I’m staring down 41 in the face and the possibility of having children is quickly disappearing, even if I wanted them (which I do NOT).  I look at life differently than they do. There is an entire lifetime of experiences that they just haven’t had yet. 

Beyond the important things, like shared goals and being on the same life paths, there’s sex.  Yes, sex.  I never had sex with men in their 20s when I was in my 20s. I’ve always dated older men.  But, recently, I was presented with the opportunity to enjoy the company (read as: have sex with) a lovely 28 year old man. Yes, a younger man can keep going.  A lot.  It was good sex, but if was very different than what I’m used to with older men. I think older men are more focused on the women because they’ve had more experience, and they know that pleasing the woman means that they have better sex too.  I’ve also only ever had sex with men that I’ve had a relationship with, so a casual encounter felt very different for me.  I am friendly with this man, we frequent the same bar, but I wouldn’t call us “friends.”  The emotion of the experience was lacking, and I missed it.  He was lovely and polite and all of that, but we aren’t bonded in an emotional way, and I never truly realized how important that is for me.

So, while younger men are what I’m getting right now, the truth is, I’d like to be with a man my age, or a bit older. I want someone who has seen the best, and the worst, of what life gives us. I want a man who’s experienced the same struggles that I have with career and money and relationships.  I want a man who actually remembers what a casette tape was, or who knew what life was like before cell phones and texting.  I want a man who has enough maturity and experience to know that if you’re interested in a woman, you buy her a drink, you ask her about her life, and you don’t tell her things like, “you have big tits.”  

At the end of the day, I want a peer, not someoene I could have babysat for in high school.  When my peers wake up and realize that they want that too, I’ll be ready. In the meantime, I’ll enjoy the company of the 28 yr olds and buy my own damn drinks.

28 March 2011 The 40-25 Dilemma

The problem with dating men when you are 40…men who are 40 are looking for women who are 25.  And it’s easy, I have been there.  Dating a 40 year old when you are 25 is fabulous.  He is more mature, settled, he has some money, a job, and his own car.  He is THRILLED that you are dating him. 

I have been told that this is not just a big city phenomenon.  So, now I am getting worried.  I figured I would just spend more time in the suburbs looking for “normal” men.  Men who have an interest in a woman who understands the experiences he has been witness to and lived through.  I am finding that this is very hard to do. 

Based on these issues, young men seem happy to date women my age.  The problem is that I have no interest in younger men.  I didn’t really even like younger men when I was their age!  I get the allure: it’s not serious, it’s fun where there hasn’t been much fun, etc., etc.  But it’s just not my cup of tea.  He is just going to be at a different place than I am the majority of the time. 

And 50+ year old men – they are certainly very interested in women my age.  But really?  I am not a big party animal cougar type but that doesn’t mean I want to sit home every night and play cards or watch T.V.  I realize I am generalizing here, so bear with me. 

Because there are bigger issues.  I am not prepared to have to take care of an older person who is also my significant other.  I mean he could have health issues in what?  10 more years? 15?  If I have had to wait this long for the right man to share my life with, shouldn’t I be entitled to more time when we are both fully capable of all the things that come with life and a relationship?  I comprehend that you never know what life will hand you.  That I could face some huge disaster tomorrow.  But it’s hard to be attracted to someone who looks more like your Dad than a peer. 

I still want a man who is a protector.  Someone who could defend me if need be.  As Nicole would put it, someone who can TCB (take care of business).  In all aspects of his life.  I have had to TCB for myself for a very long time.  It gets OLD. 

I will keep my mind open to the ages.  But it sure would be nice to find a man in a similar circumstance with similar goals.  Who can still go dancing or go to a concert with me and rock the town.  Where is HE????

2 March 2011 I resolved one thing.

I have been a big planner my whole life.  Go to school. Get good grades.  Meet man.  Marry him.  Work hard. Get great career.  Have 2 kids, 3 years apart or so.  Take grand vacations.  Throw amazing dinner parties.  Make house a home.  Blah, blah, blah.

Well, more than half of this stuff has not panned out.  I am single and 40 and unless by immaculate conception, not even pregnant either.  Yep, I have a good career.  BUT… my life has not been my own in many a year.  I moved to Detroit in 2000.  For my job.  (Query why one would move to Detroit otherwise – sorry KR) I worked hard there, went through a divorce, worked harder, and the minute I got promoted, I asked for a transfer to the South.  I wanted my roots in a happy, warm place.  I moved there in 2007.  And started all over again.  Was madly in love with a man who was mean.  Again.  Worked hard.  Then three years later, bad news – we are transferring  you to Chicago.  And since spending is tight, you get to live in a hotel until your house sells.  And we won’t help you with the sale either. 

I lived in a hotel for 8 months, through August 2010, when they told me I had to move permanently and too bad about my house in the South not selling.  Living in that hotel and working in Chicago as a new hire was hellish.  Lonely, isolating, grueling.  I promised myself I would never go through that again.  A company will not do this to me again.  I will get to a place where I determine my own destiny and not some external force that does not give a damn.  I know I am grateful for my job.  The economy is bad and we have to do what we have to do.  I have seen my friends and many others suffer. 

But I can put myself in a place where it has less impact.  The realization I made was that planning is somewhat futile a lot of the time.  There are all kinds of cliches that I won’t cite here, but you get the drift.  I am missing LIFE with all the planning. 

So, instead of making resolutions (plans) this year, I decided on just one.  I need to have a lot more fun.  I need to loosen up and not be such a serious Sally.  I have not had nearly enough fun in my life and it’s time.  If not now, when? 

So far, so good.  I dance more, I dream more, I laugh more.  I went to Key West in February and had a beautiful time.  I have PLANNED fun, believe it or not.  I am going to try this way because planning work and hoping for a personal life DOESN’T work.  Wish me luck.

16 January 2011 Become a lake instead of a glass.

My own perspective on Trisha’s last blog: I haven’t had any grand epiphanies where men are concerned, or where my high school years were concerned. There was never one dramatic moment where someone proclaimed that he had a crush on me and it shocked me. I think it’s because I simply blocked out 90% of what happened in high school. Trisha will constantly bring up things that happened and I’ll say to her, “I really don’t remember.”  I half-jokingly think of it as an abuse victim who has blocked out most of her abuse.

Essentially though, I have a strong ability to leave one phase of my life behind and move into the next one, with little looking back. Of couse that cuts both ways. It’s healthy to look back a bit and find the causes for an emotional pattern or problem in one’s life. But mostly, I truly believe, the past is over. It’s done. It can’t be changed. So what do I do in the present moment? The power is always in the present moment.

Also, I’ve had the benefit (and I truly believe it’s a benefit) of being single all of these years.  That has allowed me to have several lovers, enough to move onto both of my hands to count (and we’ll leave it at that). Through those experiences, I’ve felt desirable and sexual and wanted. It helped me get past the fallacy that what a bunch of 15 and 16 year olds thought of me, or didn’t think of me, really mattered.  And being back in my hometown now has helped too. I can’t tell you how many times a (boy) man I went to school with has come up to me and said something like, “You were always so beautiful and you still are.”  At first it surprised me, but now, I just see the men in front of me as timid, immature boys who were acting like…timid, immature boys. And I’ve also realized that sometimes those boys are 47 year old men who are still timid and immature. It’s not a personal affront to me, it’s an emotional issue within them.

I’ve made peace with 98% of my school years. The 2% that I haven’t made peace with has to do with mean girls, not with boys that ignored me, or were too afraid to show interest in me.  I’ve had wonderful experiences, and at varying times, went off on wonderful adventures with men, and took fabulous chances with them. I’ve forced myself to do it precisely because I had no experiences like that in my teenage years. It reminds me of a story I just read.  A Hindu master grew tired of his apprentice complaining to him, so he told the apprentice to mix a handful of salt into a glass of water and drink it.  He asked the apprentice how it tasted. Bitter. Then the Master told the apprentice to put a handful of salt into a lake and then drink the water. How did it taste?  Fresh.  The Hindu Master explained that life’s pain is salt. The amount of pain doesn’t change, but the bitterness it has depends on the container in which we put it.  The lesson is to enlarge your vision, your perceptions.  Become a lake instead of a glass.

15 January 2011 I cried in the shower this morning…

And it felt really good.  I am not typically a weepy person.  It always seems to catch me when I’m exercising or showering. 

Last night, I had both a revelation and an epiphany. Both.  Facebook does weird things sometimes to how you define your world.  I have not added hundreds of friends to my list.  I have wanted to know I could trust the people I am conversing daily with, that they will understand my point of view.  As you can imagine, Nicole’s comments are always lively and witty and people literally tune in to see what she will say next. 

So, on this particular evening, Nicole brought up a couple of the nuns we had as teachers in grade school.  One believed in corporal punishment.  She wielded what she called her “magic wand,” a yard stick she would use to smack children around.  I remember vividly the times she would tell a little boy (she taught 4th grade) to hold out his hands, palms side up, and whack!  Nowadays, this likely seems atrocious but we grew up in it, and it seemed normal as well as frightening to us. 

The other nun was a total nutjob.  She taught us almost everything using fear.  In her world, if you thought about kissing someone, if you wore a bathing suit and someone else thought impure thoughts, if you imagined the demise of another person, you were going straight to hell.  There were religous cults all around waiting to snatch and brain wash us.  We were told to wear scapulars, religious necklaces, to prevent ourselves from staying in purgatory indefinitely.  She warned us that someday, probably in our lifetimes, bar codes would mark you as the devil’s, and we had to resist these marks, watching our kids starve and ultimately die because we had refused the mark.  And don’t even get me started on the 3 days of total darkness. 

So, Nicole brought these nuns up in a facebook conversation and those of us who went to this particular school began to chime in.  I mentioned that the crazy nun had me scared to death because I had wanted to kiss some boys in school, meaning an eternal hell for my poor soul.  A guy I had had a major crush on asked me just whom I had wanted to kiss.  And … I confessed said crush. 

Flashback to high school: I NEVER had one date.  Never went to a single dance.  I remember decorating for both the junior and senior proms and then leaving so everyone else in my class could have their big night.  Seeing the yearbooks afterward, with all those pictures of all those young couples having their rites of passage was tough.  Nicole and I were defined by our smarts, and really, nothing else in high school.  Nobody is singularly dimensional, but in high school, there is comfort in categories and labels.  And this caused a lot of pain, pain that lasted over 20 years as it turns out.  I remember being friendly to pretty much every contingent in school:  the rich kids, the athletes, the nerds, the creative types, the people in between.  But I didn’t really belong to any of these groups.  I floated. 

My crush was on the football team, very genuine and fun loving, smart.  He didn’t ever judge, which was rare in our high school, probaby rare in every high school.  And so I had a big crush on him.

Flash forward 22 years:  he tells me he had one on me too.  WHAT?  This shattered everything I had believed about those defining years, what I had come to believe about myself.  A normal, cute, sweet boy had a crush on me???? I had gone through school with the understanding that I was untouchable, some kind of circus freak.  And now I find out that it wasn’t true.  My friends from high school had assured me over and over that I wasn’t seen in such a poor light, but I hadn’t believed them.  None of them had a penis.  :)   This now man tore down all of my misperceptions in one or two sentences.  That is the revelation. 

And his delight at the fact that I had a crush on him had a similar effect.  Which is so completely astounding to me!  He hadn’t believed that anyone in our high school was attracted to him, so he was always dating girls from other schools.  So many things in this life are not what they seem.  Can you imagine going back to high school where everyone was completely and totally themselves?  Euphoria!

So, then comes the epiphany, some time in the middle of the night.  I had built a brick wall 12 feet high around myself to protect me.  It started long before I was a freshman and it started at home.  But this wall kept people from knowing me, all of my facets and humor and qualities.  I had made sure that almost nobody got in.  It was too scary a prospect back then.  So, it was I who had defined this category for myself, had prevented all those things that define coming of age.  It was not everyone else.  Not mostly.  This breaks my heart into a million pieces. 

So, I then jumped to now.  Had it changed?  Yes, I think of myself in much broader terms now, and have accomplished a lot.  But I am beginning to believe there is still a wall and I need to break the damn thing down, once and for all.  This wall has kept men at bay for many, many years.  They have to be bold to get through it.  And they haven’t always been the best men to have a relationship with.  Obviously. 

I have not been more thankful for a revelation and an epiphany, all in one night, so life defining.  So, thank you, sweet man from my past!  I am forever grateful. 

P.S.  I am also eternally grateful to the friends who ventured inside that wall in high school.  The ones I could trust, who understood.  I never would have made it out in one piece if not for your friendship.  Thank you so much for seeing beyond the brick.

12 January 2011 2011: Story

2010 was actually a good year for me.  We did have a suicide in the family at the beginning of the year, but other than that, things were calm.  I had a steady income. I turned 40.  I went on a meditation retreat. I met men. And, I actually got laid, and it was good sex. But, there wasn’t a relationship that actually worked past a month, or past a first date.  If one thing was lacking, that would be it.

I choose a word at the beginning of every year instead of making a resolution. Resolutions have never worked for me. But the practice of choosing a word upon which to focus keeps me in the present moment. At the end of the year, when I look back at how the word manifested itself in my year, I am always, always blown away. The words choose me, really. They know I need them, and they come.

This year, I chose the word, “Story.” Our lives are stories. We write them. Even the things that come at us out of nowhere can be shaped by our reactions. We write the stories every second of every day. I want to create my life instead of react to my life this year. I want to pay attention to the small stories of my day. I want to celebrate them. But mostly, I want to share my story with a partner.

Caroline Myss said that a soul mate is really someone that is a witness to your story. I want a witness to my story.

5 January 2011 2010, good riddance.

2010 was the hardest year of my life.  I got transferred and spent the first 8 months commuting to Chicago and living out of a hotel, sans my dog, TJ.  Work is the most stressful it has ever been, and that is saying quite a bit.  I turned 40 in June.  I have two houses on the market and am renting another in which to live.  I spent all of October getting my Mom through a hip replacement surgery and her recovery.  I had NO personal life.  My life was not my own in 2010 and it took its toll.  But it’s over.  And I made it. 

I have a lot of hope for 2011.  I feel so much more settled than I did.  I may not be where I want to be but at least I have ground.  I have always been too goal-oriented, so New Year’s resolutions were always up my alley.  I would make a list of things to accomplish, both personal and professional.  I would have action items listed underneath each goal.  It was actually pretty disgusting.  :)   But this is a woman who used a spreadsheet to plan a wedding and keep the tasks in order.  So, I’m typically a planner.  What do you do when all your plans have been shot to hell? 

By now, I was going to be married and have two kids, ages 7 and 9.  I was going to have a house in a place where I knew the neighbors and they knew me.  I was going to be at the top of my career, making deals and really rockin’ it.  I was going to be perpetually thin.  I was going to have a real life-long romance going with my husband, the kind where you still go on dates after a decade of marriage and you still have sex 5 times a week.  But plan though I might, it hasn’t come to pass.  So, I am planning to not plan this year. 

I am going to have more fun.  I am going to learn to be myself more fully.  Because myself is pretty good and I want to be surrounded by people who agree.  I am going to take some chances this year – I want to learn to kayak.  I want to surprise myself by doing things that seem outside my comfort zone.  Maybe a tattoo.  Maybe a motorcycle.  I am going to be more open to the possibilities.  At Nicole’s prompting, I chose my word for 2011.  It’s OPEN.  I want to be open to the idea that maybe by living more fully, I will stumble upon a path I had never considered, and it will be a joyous ride.

Perhaps what I have been missing is that in planning, I forgot to live.  I missed the possibilities – with men, with friends, with life.  If I am completely honest, I haven’t put myself out there enough to open up the possiblity of the relationship I so desire.  I have done it before, and been broken into a million pieces.  But nothing ventured, nothing gained.  I know that if I want it, I must be open to it.  Even if it’s scary and even if it ultimately hurts.  So, I plan to throw caution to the wind in 2011.  I am not getting any younger.  But I have a few more chances.  I am going for it. 

Happy New Year!

Trisha

p.s.  Please keep Nicole in your thoughts.  She lost her beloved dog, Max, today.  And God Bless Max.

25 November 2010 For the men I am thankful for…

I wanted to take today to just write a quick blog about great men to whom I owe a huge debt of gratitude.  No matter how easy it is to focus on the situations and people that are difficult, I do have a great deal of good family and friends and associates in my life.  And many of them are men.

First, my Dad, to whom I owe nearly everything.  My Dad died in 2005 of a terrible, vicious cancer at the age of 58.  Of all my family, I was closest to him.  And I am my father’s daughter.  My father was the most genuine, loving, positive person I have ever encountered on the planet.  He lit up a room with his huge laughter and his big heart.  He taught me to be a good person, to work hard, and to love harder.  He showed me what it feels like to be loved unconditionally.  Every moment he was here was precious to me.  And I am grateful.

My Uncle R. is so good to me.  We have gotten closer since my Dad died. He stepped in to be a rock to my Mom, a confidante to me.  He is the only person I can speak ad nauseum to about my job and its politics and he listens without any indication that he is bored.  Which is astounding, really.  His wicked sense of hum0r has brightened many of my days.

My Uncle A.  He is so unassuming, a quiet force of nature.  He has no idea the positive impact he has on me.  He worked so hard his whole life in a job really didn’t love to provide for his family.  He is a handyman to everyone in his neigborhood!  He relishes a simple life: a newspaper on Sunday morning, some coffee with friends, sitting on a porch overlooking the ocean.  I have always admired that about him.  Now he’s retired and he is loving every minute of it.  And that makes me happy.

Mr. C, my 7th grade teacher.  He saw something special in me when I was awkward and insecure at 12.  He encouraged me to be exactly who I was.  It stuck.

Mr. Z, my high school calculus professor.  He explained that stuff like it was easy!  And I mastered it when I thought there was no way.  

Professor M., my economics professor in college.  He was a tough one.  But I fell in love with learning in his class and I continue to love to learn new things today.  I was  a rare, female economics major back then.  But he treated me just like all of my male counterparts.  Not special, just the same. 

My old boss, D.  He came into my life when I was in Detroit and my first impression of him was that he was icy cold and managed solely by numbers.  I was wrong.  He expected a lot of me but gave me the autonomy and support to succeed.  He taught me how to play to my strengths and to let the unnecessary battles go.  He is a quiet man, but he does care. When my Dad died, he drove 3 hours to visit me during his calling hours.  I will never forget that.  And now that I get to work with him again, it makes my work so much more enjoyable. 

My brother, T. He taught me that I can love even if there doesn’t seem any reason to. My ex, T.  He taught me that I deserve better.  My ex, K. He taught me that I am capable of enormous love, that it is possible.  My friend and colleague, C.  He taught me that I shouldn’t take myself so seriously and that the box that contains our worries is directly proportional to the list of things we can actually control. 

I am grateful for so many men who have touched my life.  And women, of course. 

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!  My hope is that you have someone with whom to share it.

25 November 2010 But the clock can’t be stopped.

Just a quick post: Trisha is here in my neck of the woods for Thanksgiving. Hello, small town social scene! We spent our first night together sitting at Panera drinking tea and kvetching about being single. However, last night we hit the town. You usually run into old classmates home for the holiday at Thanksgiving, and we did. We never felt popular in school, but time is a great equalizer. I felt like I had come into my own a bit.

We saw an older woman last night at the bar, and she struck fear in my heart. She was clearly in her 50s, with dyed blonde hair, porn star lips and porn star shoes. She was dressed entirely too young for her age, and she was hanging out with a girl that looked to be in her 20s. I turned to Trisha and said, “I can’t do this anymore. I fear becoming that.”  And I can see myself easily becoming that, desperately trying to stop the clock.

But we all  know that the clock can’t be stopped.

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20 November 2010 Housekeeping 102

My 2 cents:  We know that many people will have many different interpretations of what we write here and we are prepared for that.  It is important to note, however, that this blog is set up for us to write about our frustrations, triumphs, tragedies, challenges, and pivotal moments in this, our 40th year.  Our hope is that you will see something entertaining or even something that resonates with you in our words.  There is power in knowing and understanding that you are not alone in your experiences.

It is not meant to be a male bashing site.  We also don’t invite misogynistic pigs to write their comments here.  I think I speak for Nicole as well when I say that we both just want to find a good man to share our lives with.  We know good men are out there.  We meet them every day.  We have amazing men as fathers.  Finding the ones that will be right for us is the difficult situation we find ourselves in currently.  The frustrations we cite here are just that: situational.  So, I would ask you to reserve judgment of our characters.  And we shall do the same.

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