Friday, January 6, 2012

Truth in Advertising

176.8 lbs. Back in familiar territory and I have discovered that if I weigh myself at 7 AM, I weigh less than I do at 4 AM, when I wake up. 4 AM, it was 179 lbs. No lie. Properly formulated (Shape Reclaimed by Dr. Todd Frisch) HCG and it’s working. Those size 11 Levi 501 straight legs (what so proudly I hail) will be on my ass soon enough.

I signed up for a 3 month run on E Harmony and so far, nothing; I’m in the last month. I’ve reached out to “matches” and gotten one response who stopped when I truthfully answered the question, “Of the long time couples you know, what do you think is the key to their success.” I said, “Separate bathrooms.”

If I was allowed to free form a personal ad, this is what I’d say (and I am stone cold sober at the moment. Can’t drink on HCG. Too many calories).


If you’re looking for 20 year old arm candy that’ll impress your friends because “you’re hitting that”, keep looking. If that’s your priority, Sir, then you will have to accept any and all downside without complaint, such as nothing in common, the fact that she’s looking to you for a string of expensive gifts, lavish trips and anything to make her itty bitty heart (and it’s probably pretty damned small) happy and the possibility that if you turn off the tap, she’ll fly the coop. There aren’t a lot of working class 50 year old men dating hot 20 somethings. If you wish to be one of these guys: Good luck, God bless and you may want to take advantage of the penis enlargement emails that keep getting sent to me.

I’m not exactly Quasimodo, either (The Hunchback of Notre Dame). I’m 50 – no point in lying as there are public records that would contradict it. I’m naturally blonde (a bit darker than my younger days, but it’s still real), blue-eyed and yeah, okay, I’m wearing size 12 but this time last year, it was size 20. Date me, ignore me: I’ll still be working on it because a better body is my 50th birthday gift to me. . I  LITERALLY (a word I do not use lightly) work my ass off.  By the way, according to reliable sources, it’s a good ass. The gut is the problem child, but that’s getting in hand. For the record, I’m at the gym 6 days a week. Weight training, yoga and Pilates with swimming soon to be added.

I am emotionally stable. I’ve been through some ups and downs and I’m still here. No substance abuse, unless you count bacon, chocolate, cheese and peanut butter (so, “fats”). I’ve proven I can handle the swings. I doubt the 20 year old chippy can. Like the Great Wall of China or the Pyramids, I’m built to last.

I like men the way I like coffee: hot, strong and sweet. Strong in the emotional sense: if you try to physically overwhelm me, your gonads are fair game. If you try the “I’m the man and what I say goes” routine, be prepared to screw yourself: I was raised by a dictator and I’m not buying that crap. Unsolicited advice and running critical commentary are about as welcome as a red-headed bastard at a family reunion.

Yes, I’m smart. I earned a law degree (even if I don’t practice) Jeopardy ruined my plans for world domination (I was going to get a start by making Ken Jennings look like a drooling idiot. I came in third and the bastards don’t allow do-overs). If you can’t hang with that, buh bye. I refuse to act dumb so you can feel good about yourself. However, if you’re looking for a partner for Trivial Pursuit, talk to me. I’m interested in stuff like English history, especially the Tudor and Plantagenet periods and American history and while I’m not a rocket scientist, I’ve met a couple and can listen to them talk about their jobs all night. Fascinating stuff. If brains make you shrivel, oh, well. I hear there’s a Whoredashian back on the market.

I have a good job. As an adult, I’ve always worked from the neck up and worked pretty damned hard. I’m not looking for you to rescue me from drudgery.

I make no apologies for being a Boston sports fan. In fact, my lifelong status as a Red Sox fan has prepared me for a hugely disappointing love life. However, should it follow their path, there should be a sweet payoff for (not quite) 86 years of denial. And if you’re a Yankees, Lakers, Canadiens or Cowboys/Giants/Jets fan, your teams are Satan’s Legions and you will need an exorcism before talking to me. Especially Yankees. And your team sucks.

As for why I’m not married, if you are rude enough to ask that question out of the gate, here’s your answer: Because I’m not dumb enough to make the same mistake your ex-wife did.

I am not a beach bunny. Do not expect me to parade in a bikini for you. My skin has two shades: off-white and brick red. Red hurts. Don’t get me wrong:  I love the ocean and the water, but I have my 500 SPF, long sleeves and a lead-lined beach umbrella.

I like nature, but my idea of roughing it is Motel 6. If I have to grab shoes and flashlight  and unzip a doorway to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I’d rather not go. In other words, I am not a camping enthusiast (had enough of it as a kid).

I collect state quarters and nickels that have buffalo on them (That would be Kansas, North Dakota and the Yellowstone quarters). They were the symbol of abundance to the Plains Indians and I keep the quarters for good luck. I will, from time to time, look through your change for same.  I want to go to Catalina to see/photograph the herd there. If you’d like to join me, let’s talk. If you attempt to talk me out of going because you think it’s “weird”, then I suggest you go to the profile of the 20 year old stripper with daddy issues.

I have a great bunch of friends. Be prepared to get along with them and I will do the same with yours.

If you want to teach me golf, bridge, the finer points of blackjack, I am down for it. Skiing? Sorry. See camping. One of the reasons I’m in California and not in New England is that the notion of “cold” here is considerably different from back there.

I can cook and do it well. Housekeeping is not my forte. I can and will expend considerable elbow grease when needed but as a friend once remarked, “You’re just not very diligent about it.”

My sense of humor is not limited to laughing at your jokes. If this is an issue, keep moving.

I drink occasionally, swear and tell R rated jokes. Whereas I can be ladylike most of the time, my real nature is that of a broad.  By the way, I expect you to be able to hold your liquor and know when to say when.

And no, there are no revealing photos of me. I may be a broad, but I’m a classy broad.

I will not give up this blog. Writing is my self-expression. If I want your opinion/advice on content/topics, etc., I will ask for it. Until then…

I’m up for wine country (love the Central Coast), wine tasting, the opera, the symphony, ballgames, rock concerts, jazz and blues clubs, comedy and improv shows, museums, zoos and Disney. I aim to go indoor sky-diving and the zipline tour of the San Diego Wild Animal Park. I like good bourbon (Maker's Mark), single malt  Scotch (Glenmorangie, Quinta Ruban or La Santa),  rum (Myers Dark or Appleton Estate), gin (Bombay Sapphire), been known to brew my own beer and if it’s a buck a bottle, Pabst Blue Ribbon tastes okay. Nothing wrong with Two Buck Chuck, either. You can take me out for a hot dog at Pink’s or Fab’s or to Mastro’s or Morton’s. Either way, I won’t embarrass you (seafood is out of the question unless you want me to barf on your shoes). Dress me up or dress me down, I can blend.

This is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. So help me God.

1 comment:

Keep it civil.