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Relationships

Cash for Clunkers

The Cash for Clunkers program has come to a halt. The theory was–Trade in your old, worn, rusted, guzzling clunker, get back money to buy a new, improved, sensible model.

They don't have to end the program. They just need to rethink it.

I, for one, haven't really worked out all the details but I do have a few thoughts.

First, how's about we institute a Cash for Clunkers program for your current squeeze…(That would include any significant other partner that you think fits the above definition.) Rather than getting cash back (although I suspect some would pay to unload a bad penny) you could just do the trade in part. Post and swap. WAIT that sound suspiciously like online dating…oh no, my idea already exists.

Alrighty then, how's about you take a good look around your home, hone in on the various and assorted items that have no intrinsic value to you any more, and, either drag them outside, maybe put a post-it note on it, with the amount you think this particular item/items might be worth…or alternatively, take pictures of these items and post them on the internet. Oh no, FOILED again, tag sales and ebay are already yielding Cash for Clunkers.

Lastly, let me think, I know, go to the bank and ask them to lend you more money for your deteriorating house, the one that you weren't able to maintain as you would have liked because you had no income since you lost your job. Add the additional money the bank has given you onto your existing mortgage. NOW that's a foolproof plan, if I ever heard one.

Yeah, Cash for Clunkers. 

If our government can pony up the cash to pay back the car dealers maybe the program will be reinstated. A stimulus is a stimulus is a stimulus. And frankly, I think the concept was a good one.

In the meanwhile, if you think you have an idea as to how to get back some cash for any clunker hanging around your house, I'd love to hear it.

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Cloud 9

Have you been?

A lovely place to visit, I am told, when one is  unstressed, unencumbered, unfettered and unrealistic.

I think I was there, on cloud 9 that is, hmmmm, perhaps a half dozen times in my life. No doubt, associated with the arrival of my children and grandchildren. Other than that, at the moment, I seem to be drawing a blank. So sad.

Now, I have an opportunity to experience an others' Cloud 9 moment in the form of a movie by that same name.

Plus, to make it even more intriguing, the protagonists in this film are  67 and 77 years of age, respectively.
And, they enter into a passionate love affair. And, the filming of this affair seems to be shot in all their aging, wrinkly, glory. And, her daughter (with the cuckolded father very much alive) appears to condone her mothers behavior. And, so do her friends.

Watch the trailer, read the review if you missed the Times article.

I am eager to see this film, perhaps to validate my observations in the first time were I stated the obvious, regale in what and who you are…Yeah sure, I'd just as soon have someone shooting me, without filters, gauze and blindfolds on, as I would single handedly fly a glider plane. Nonetheless, if I can, for a brief and fleeting moment, experience someone else's Cloud 9, that's a good thing.

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Falling off the wagon

Not the alcohol, gambling, shopaholic or overeating anonymous type wagons, it's the on line dating wagon.

I read the comments from women who swear up down and around that this cyberdating phenomenon is absolutely, categorically, definitively, not for them.

And then they re up. Just like that. 12 step program not withstanding, they can't keep away.

While clearly addictive, they confess, it isn't fattening, nor is it entirely socially unacceptable, nor, all things considered, particularly expensive…. so why not?

So I have done my own little polling and here are some additional rationalizations I'd like to share.

-You can sit like a slug in front of the computer, in your sweats, without having to meet and greet in the local hangout spot.

-You can create an exotic, wild and rich fantasy life, which bears absolutely no resemblance to reality, which not incidentally, coincides with the fantastical life created by your on line partner.

-You can have a whole travel experience without leaving home. Look, there's the Eiffel Tower, the Great Wall of China, the Great Pyramids of Egypt.

-You can challenge your imagination by conjuring up a picture of what someone without pictures posted might look like. Then request a photo and see how close your guess was to reality.

Millions of reasons. 

When I come back from Bloomies, settle down with a glass of Pinot Grigio, after enjoying a deliciously, caloric laden prepared feast, you can bet that I will think about whether I should join in, too.

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Where are they now?

Do you read the women's sports pages? The New York Times refers to it as The Sunday Styles Section. Can you imagine that?

Anyway, it's the Times' play by play of life in the fast lane.  The ultimate scorecard is how many fetes one can attend, coupled with who wed whom.

There are pages and pages devoted to marriage announcements. Additionally, there is always a highlighted story, I think it is called modern vows, that gives an in depth back story, apparently worthy of devoting paragraphs to explain.

They met, they dated, they broke up, they reconnected, they broke up again, they married others, they reunited, they wed. They lived happily ever after. We hope, because we really don't know, except that every so often the Times revisits these highlighted stories to see how the marriage held up. Some well, alas, others, not so well.

Too bad.

But, as to the stories about folks who knew one an other in an earlier lifetime, parted and then found one another for a second go around, I thought maybe I should revisit ghosts from my past.

The major challenge was,  of course, remembering names.

So, with a little Google look here, and a facebook look there, e i e i o, (too much time with grandbabies??) I came up pretty empty. Did they all the guys from my past fall off the earth? Did I only know non accomplished people? Are they so wildly successful that they live anonymously? Did I actually remember the right names?

But then,  I thought, was there actually a first go around worthy of a second go around? Hmmm, not so much.

However, if someone from my past is reading this, and thinks we actually did have a connection once, wishes for a waltz down memory lane…..I'm here.

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The “New” Joy of Sex

I looked, enthusiastically, to see what was possibly "new" that required an update of the 70's classic, "The Joy of Sex."

Not much.

Oh, sure, there was the necessary addition about Viagra, Hormone Replacement Therapy and seeking therapy for sexual problems, but basically that's about it. I could be a cliche, I suppose, and suggest that after 60 some odd years of age the joy found in the bedroom is awakening, delighting in knowing that you have a pulse.

I know what fascinated me about the Joy of Sex (new and improved or the first version, written some 40 plus years ago), was the story behind the story. 

As reported in an article entitled Doing It "Comfort and his wife, Ruth, divorced shortly after “Joy” came out:
the unpleasantness of his infidelity seems to have been heightened for
Mrs. Comfort when her husband became internationally known as “Dr.
Sex.” In 1973, a few months later, Comfort married his mistress and
muse, Jane, and the two moved to Santa Barbara so that Comfort could
assume a post at the Center for the Study of Democratic Institutions, a
liberal think tank. The move also gave them closer proximity to the
Sandstone, a clothing-optional community of utopian swingers in Topanga
Canyon, which was reportedly visited by Timothy Leary, Sammy Davis,
Jr., Betty Dodson, and the porn star Marilyn Chambers, and which
Comfort and Jane had frequented since 1970. “Often the nude biologist
Dr. Alex Comfort, brandishing a cigar, traipsed through the room
between the prone bodies with the professional air of a lepidopterist
strolling through the fields waving a butterfly net,” Gay Talese wrote
in “Thy Neighbor’s Wife.”

But Jane, according to a friend who was
interviewed by the journalist Pagan Kennedy, eventually tired of group
sex and open marriage. (Sexual fads may come and go, but jealousy is
forever.) At the same time, Comfort’s relationship with the Center for
the Study of Democratic Institutions soured, and he became involved in
lawsuits with the center over breach of contract. In 1985, Comfort and
Henderson returned to England, where he lived the rest of his life,
more or less monogamously, in Kent."

More or less?

I guess as it relates to sex, more is still better than less. Agree?

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The new patron saint of forgiveness

I can't wait until next week to read the comments provoked by the modern love article Those aren't fighting words, dear.

Let's start with the husband's declaration. "I don't love you anymore." While she felt "sucker punched" she determined that his disclosure, ultimately, was based on his mid life meltdown…she resolved to quietly and determinedly go about her life without shrieking, demanding explanations, and simply waited for his "tantrum" to pass. A saint, right?

I wonder if she would have been so forgiving if he told her she looked fat in her jeans?

I suspect there was a ground swell of murmurings, mumblings and musings by many a marital unit, who might have happened upon this article.

"Let's see" said one spouse, to the other. "I can stay out without explanation, forget birthdays, and be a general all around shit, until I decide not to be." "Yes" was the reply. "I will be oh so patient, waiting quietly, demurely and hopefully until you see the error of you ways."

The author of the article gave this plan of hers 6 months. And he came around. He was back, mowing, painting the porch, fixing the door.

So what do you think?

I guess if your house is in pristine condition and you've got a mate that only feels useful when wielding power tools, you might have to wait longer than 6 months.  In the meantime you can get fitted for your sandals and sainthood robes. Halos are on back order.

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Cyberdating

There are, I'm reasonably certain, a gazillion advice books about on line dating, and an equal number of web sites devoted to this topic, as well.

This correlates, for sure, because according to the various and assorted cyberdating websites, members are signing up by the gazillions. And, there are now web sites for the most specific of tastes; religious affiliations, gender specific, age related, they do the picking for you, throw it against the wall, and so on. 

It struck me that it is a wonder that previous generations were able to effectively date without all this important information just a click away.

But I digress. Back to the books and web sites that offer up advice on: what to do, what to say, what to think, what to eat on the first date, what to avoid, where to meet, how to book the caterer and what to name the children. 

So, I scanned a few of the titles, read a few of the on line sites, and found that there are a couple more suggestions that I can offer up.

1. Each profile should have a sell by date.
2. Sunglasses are not a fashion accessory.
3. An ipod, iphone, or newspaper with the current date should accompany the photo.
4. What "friends would say" is not an endorsement.
5. Reading the obits to see who is now single is not cool. 

If you have any other thoughts that you'd like to share, I'd give you credit, when I publish the gazillionth and one, next book.

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The first time

During the teen years for some, twenties, thirties (or older) for others, there was a first time.

This is not THAT first time.

The first time I’m talking about is the, I can’t believe I’m a middle aged woman doing IT,  after not doing IT for a long time, time.

My friend Gloria once gave me this advice, “when feeling the effects of gravity”, she said, “stand on your head.” But, really, it’s not an easy position to maintain, or for that matter to explain, as one is circling the bed (couch, floor, or other locale for lust).

So here we are, eager to participate and wondering how we can affect this maneuver gracefully, confidently and easily….without calling in a body double.

It’s all pretty manageable in the evening…room darkened, slipping under the covers, lying down, which, for most of us, allows for gravity to be held at bay.

It’s the morning that worries us.

Unless you have blindfolded him in an attempt to recapture some Lone Ranger and Tonto fantasy, the room is bright, the clothes are strewn about, he’s awake and you have to pee.

Choices.

My friend Herbie, who is in very very good shape, for close to 60, tells me about the time he was in bed with a woman in her late fifties. Upon awakening, he finds her standing over him, hands on her hips, announcing, “take a good look, this is what 58 looks like.” Now let’s think about this.
First, most men of Herbie’s age need reading glasses to see things close up. If she thought he could actually see her, she knew that it would be vaguely blurry. Secondly, shock and awe, which didn’t really effect the maneuver Bush had in mind, does momentarily have it’s upside. He was taken aback, somewhat chagrined and probably looked away. His date was now 2 for 2. I haven’t considered this option, but haven’t negated it either.

Here are a few thoughts I have had about what we can do.

First, there is the crab walk exit. That would be the slipping from the bed and sidling out of the room sideways, keeping up a steady stream of chit chat, but avoiding the full rear view. Of course, this only works if you think that your profile is the better option.

We could try the removal of the sheet, like pulling the tablecloth from beneath the table full of dishes trick. Nah, I could never master that trick either.  The picture in my head of unfurling him, possibly causing him to roll right off the bed, reduces me to uncontrollable giggles.

The third choice is to retrieve and put on the (oh so) casually dropped oversized shirt that you’ve  stuffed/planted by the bed.

The last option, and clearly the only option, is to get up, stride into the john and appreciate I am, like Popeye, what I am.

Besides, unless you’ve bedded some sweet young thing, I imagine that this current partner is probably not peering at you at all, he is rooting around his side of the bed trying to locate the cap to his bottle of Viagra.

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Talking to strangers

Let's start with the definition of stranger. According to Merriam-Webster a stranger is:

  • Main Entry: 1strang·er
  • Pronunciation: \ˈstrān-jər\
  • Function: noun
  • Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French estrangier stranger, foreigner, from estrange
  • Date: 14th century

1 : one who is strange: as a (1) : foreigner (2) : a resident alien b : one in the house of another as a guest, visitor, or intruder c : a person or thing that is unknown or with whom one is unacquainted d : one who does not belong to or is kept from the activities of a group e : one not privy or party to an act, contract, or title : one that interferes without right
2 : one ignorant of or unacquainted with someone or something

Movies, witnessed by their titles, suggest that Strangers are to be avoided. "Perfect Stranger, Strangers on a Train, Dr. Stranger(sic)love, When a Stranger Calls, Stranger Than Fiction." Other than "Love With the Proper Stranger" which gave us Steve McQueen, who would instantly have become my new best friend, all other "strangers" connote weird, scary or bizarre.

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I suppose then, when at a dinner party, seated next to someone I've never met before,  I can chatter away, entertain, be charming, and put my host/hostess at ease that there won't be dead silence at my end of the table. I adhere to the "guest" part of the above definition. Piece of cake.

Sit next to me at a Sushi bar, on a plane, train, any other moving vehicle, or at the doctor's office, and I go mute.
Purposefully, intentionally, without reservations, mute.

My charming button is switched off.

Not interested in knowing what you're eating, how long you've been waiting to board/leave/endure the vehicle you are taking to a place I have no interest in discussing, or knowing what ailments you have been treated for in the past and are being treated for right now, at this very second in time.

So I dutifully nod, give a rather tight smile and study my feet, nails, the sky, anything to avoid eye contact. Eye contact is deadly. They look at you soulfully, hoping for a bit of human contact…I have to do everything in my power to not succumb.  To date, this has pretty much worked for me.

Which I suspect might give be the reason that the Facebooks, Linked-in, Twitters of the world have become so popular. It certainly allows for social interactions without ever having to utter a syllable of sound. And, when you don't want to interact you simply sign off, hit ignore, or delete.
Poof, they are gone. No hurt feelings, no soulful looks, blame your disappearance on your internet's bad connection.

All of this works well, unless, that is, you find yourself seated next to me at a dinner party, having previously attempted to engage me in conversation at the bus stop, doctor's office, or restaurant and remember me as "she who did not respond."  No amount of assurances from the host/hostess will comfort you in being sanguine with your seat assignment, next to the MUTE. And I guess, it works for me too, I can keep my charming button switched off awhile longer and simply savor the meal that has been put before me.

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Mating Requires Meeting

Helluva headline. 

It was one of many absolutely incongruous, to me anyway, sentences in this aforementioned article Testing Evolution's Role in Finding a Mate.  

The article begins reasonably, with an explanation of scientist's prior belief that mate selection is evolutionary. "Women have a vested interest in reproduction, hence they don't want to select a dud for a mate." Liked the way that sounded, but witnessed by the divorce rate, single parenting and the like, it appears that evolution has, for sometime now, lost ground as an argument. 

The article goes on to talk about how Speed Dating is a living laboratory to test new hypotheses about mating. In one case, the scientists were looking to see whether men or women were choosier. Speed Dating, for those not in the know, is musical chairs without the music. But with the chairs. You move from one chair to another, face to face with a stranger for 3 minutes, move to the next chair and the next person. At the end of this totally ridiculous activity, you apparently then let it be known whom you would
like to see/speak to/sit opposite/again. It went on to talk about more research that made absolutely no sense. Example, men's preferences for occupation, height and smoking had little effect on whom they asked out. 

Would what the woman looked like be a factor???? 

The only substantive piece of info I gained from this particular article was about being fixed up as a way to meet people. Oh, it wasn't the being fixed up that was substantive information….it was the "if you know 20 people and each of them knows 20 other people, and each of them knows 20 other people you are connected to 8,000 people. 

20 to the third power is 8000. I may need that info someday. 
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