Fast & Furious: Dating Men In Their 50s

shutterstock_153137504Fellas, if you’re in your 50s, single and dating (and feeling like you’re not getting anywhere), consider this a little friendly feedback from the ladies.

Maybe you’ve heard it all before, maybe it doesn’t apply to you, maybe you already know it all. It doesn’t matter, because when it comes to dating women, I say you can never know enough.

And women, lest you think you’re off the hook here, you’re not. Even though I’m talking to the men, many of these points may apply to you too. Dating in midlife isn’t always easy, but at least you’re all in it together.

So men, before you break out into a cold sweat, know that all this is well intended and researched. I’ve gathered input from three of my most trusted single girlfriends whose ages range from 40s to mid-50s. They’re smart, sane, successful, and they’re here to help.

And so am I. I’ll be chiming in with my own advice since I’ve dated more than a few 50-something men in my day and can speak from experience.

We love you and want the best for you guys, so listen up.

TOO FAST

Maybe you’re divorced, newly separated, or single forever. Maybe you’re lonely, horny, you want a girlfriend, need some company, or just need to get laid. Who can blame you? We ALL want love, but some guys blow it by rushing.

GF #1:

“There seems to be some kind of ‘trying on of a girlfriend.’ On the first date, I’ve had a guy take my hand and rub my shoulders, without any words of seduction or romance, to me, that’s a turn-off.”

GF #2:

“Some men don’t want to invest the time it takes getting to know you. If you don’t sleep with them fast enough, they get frustrated and lose interest. They want to rush things, have sex first, and if they like it, then they’ll get involved.”

GF #3:

“Online daters, especially the older ones, are like kids in a candy store, not ever giving anyone a chance because there’s always someone else.”

My Advice:

Slow down. Don’t get too flirty too fast, don’t text, and definitely don’t sext. Even if you’re fresh out of a miserable marriage and new to the singles scene, take a breath.

You can be romantic and take the lead, but exercise patience. Guys that are too fast getting in are probably going to be too fast getting out.

Chivalry and romance aren’t dead – in fact, they’re alive and well and much appreciated. So take your time getting to know your date. Ask questions, be curious. And when you’ve accrued a decent amount of courtship hours, then you can bang away.

TOO FURIOUS

Ok, so you’re livid at your ex, or fuming about the divorce, or bitter you’re still on Match.com after all these years. In other words, you’re furious. We get that your circumstances might suck, but don’t let them consume you. Make sure your anger is in check, and doesn’t turn into emotional baggage you carry around everywhere you go.

GF #1:

“The biggest turn-off for me is when a divorced man compares you to their ex-wife. You can prepare a lovely Italian meal for a guy, and all of a sudden he brings up the fact his ex made the best lasagna of all time.”

GF #2:

“Men in their fifties can be cynical, especially if they were in a bad marriage. They talk about how awful their ex-wives are, and how much money they had to give them.”

GF #3:

“Getting involved with a guy who’s still reeling from his divorce can sometimes feel like he’s having an affair, except that the ‘other woman’ isn’t a woman, it’s his anger.”

My Advice:

Dump the baggage, dude. Stop talking about your ex, your kids, your money, etc. If you’re still that angry and wounded, get help. A little therapy, some meditation, or a little alone time wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Neither would some medical marijuana. The point is, don’t date until you’re fully healed.

SO WHAT DO WOMEN WANT?

GF #1:

“Nothing is a bigger turn-on to a woman in her 50s than a man that makes her feel like she’s the best thing that ever happened to him.”

GF #2:

“Be honest with her and don’t lead her on. Listening and wanting to know everything about her earns you major points.”

GF #3:

“Keep an open mind and heart. Let go of your fear and allow yourself to love again.”

Here’s the good news: my girlfriends really dig you fellas in your 50s. Despite the occasional dating disasters and mating missteps, there’s a lot to love. You’re older and wiser, smarter and sexier than you were in your younger days. You’re more sophisticated and polished, and your life experiences give you more depth and better perspective. I say it’s time to use it to your advantage.

We’re rooting for you guys, so go get ‘em (just don’t go too fast).

Burping And Farting: Marriage Is A Gas!

Wedding Pic #6I’ve been married for a little over six months now, and as comfortable as I am around my husband, I still can’t bring myself to burp or fart in front of him.

I will do anything to avoid anything intestinal in his presence. This includes holding it in, sucking it up, breathing through it, and running into another room to blow it out.

Am I old-fashioned, or just too much of a lady to let it rip? Aren’t some things better kept a mystery like bodily functions? Or once you’re married, are all bets off?

Sorry, but I’m mortified at the thought of any gas passing through my cheeks – both sets. And now that I’m entering menopause, it’s getting harder to hold back. I’m gassier than ever.

Early in our courtship, Robby and I were watching “Behind The Candelabra,” and I laughed so hard at Michael Douglas impersonating Liberace that I accidentally farted. I was so embarrassed I could have died. He, on the other hand, died laughing.

My husband is a guy, and guys LOVE gas, as I’m finding out. They burp and fart with abandon, and think it’s hysterical. When Robby has something to share, he bombs away with a gust of air and a blast of laughter. Marriage be damned!

Much to my surprise, every one of my married friends has a story about their spouse’s penchant for pooting. Most go like this: “Phil is just a fart looking for a place to happen. After he cuts one, he’ll say: ‘Thank you I made it myself, aren’t you proud?”

HA HA guys are SO funny! Groan.

I try not to encourage Robby, but the truth is, flatulence IS funny and even I can’t help cracking up (besides, if I held it in, it would come out somewhere else and we can’t have that, can we?) With the right timing and tenor, belching and breaking wind can be comic gold. I personally can’t do it, but I appreciate the talent it takes to pull off. For this reason, Robby’s a comic genius.

One night we were watching TV and Robby farted without saying anything, so I called him on it.

Me:                 Did you just say something? 

Robby snickers like a mischievous 10-year-old.

Me:                 I thought so. Please use your words next time. 

Robby:            You live in Beverly Hills, don’t you speak FARTSI?

Fartsi. See what I mean? The comedy comes out everywhere in our house.

Between never cohabitating with a guy before and never having brothers, I’m relatively new to gas passing in front of the opposite sex.

And then there are those flatulating couples who’ve turned gas-passing into a competitive sport, trying to one-up each other with every expulsion. I have a girlfriend who’s so gleefully gassy, her husband proudly describes her as a Union Carbide plant. If he farts down a grocery store aisle, she lovingly calls him a “crop duster” and high-fives him for his efforts.

The question is: Do love and gas mix?

While researching the subject, I found an AskReddit message board offering the following answers:

  • “After many years together, we have seen (and smelled) each other at our worst, whether it was nursing each other through food poisoning, the flu, post-surgical recovery, or just the aftermath of a big chili dinner. The odd fart or belch has to be something spectacular to make it onto the marital radar, and then is more likely to be the source of amusement than disgust. Helps if you keep your inner 10-year-old alive.”
  • “This sort of situation is both appealing and disturbing. I want to be so comfortable with my husband SO that I can fart in front of him and he can still think I’m sexy, but I also fear that after a while, the stench I am capable of expelling from my anus would eventually kill our relationship.”
  • “I don’t get people who hold in their farts forever. I totally do for the first several months of a relationship. Then one squeaks out after tacos or whatever, and opens the door. I particularly can’t imagine voluntarily holding your farts in for YEARS of marriage. Talk about uptight.”
  • “My wife still holds it in most of the time, but sometimes she will let one out and i find it incredibly endearing when she lets me in behind the “no-fart” curtain. It’s an honor, and a privilege.”
  • “Trust me, farting in front of someone doesn’t kill the romance of a relationship, having a stick up your ass does though.”

It’s been said that love means never having to say you’re sorry. I say love means never having to say you’re sorry for having gas.

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When Your B.F.F. Turns Into A P.O.S.

shutterstock_114278899 copyThere are friend breakups, and then there are friend blowups. You know the kind: a falling out with a friend that turns into a spectacular flameout of epic proportions, complete with bad-mouthing and betrayal. A friendship can blow up over something as simple as a little misunderstanding, to some deep seeded jealousy and resentment. As a result, a civilized parting of the ways quickly escalates into something so vicious and unrecognizable, it takes your breath away, not to mention a part of your soul.

Somehow, the person you thought was your B.F.F.* suddenly becomes a P.O.S.*

Been there, felt that. Ouch.

I’m sad to report that even the greatest friendships end. Even the ones you thought were rock solid and iron clad; with history and memories, unconditional love and support. A B.F.F. breakup can be worse than a boy breakup: it creates the same kind of pain, rejection and abandonment, but it leaves a bigger hole in your heart. My friend and fellow blogger, Helene Cohen Bludman describes it as “her other ex.”

It kills you, but you let go, mourn quietly, move on gracefully, and try to find peace and forgiveness – with your ex-pal and with yourself.

That’s what used to happen when I was younger; but something happened when I got into adulthood: friend breakups started getting ugly.

I managed to get through my school years without being bullied. Unfortunately now with digital communication and social media, people are fair game for the worst kind of post-friendship fallout. Former friends can hurl all kinds of vitriol at you while they hide behind their smart phones and computers, harming you with emails, texts, and Facebook posts.

Welcome to adult bullying, where mean girls are now grown women. Don’t believe me? Do a Google search – there are over 15, 500,000 listings about women who’ve been shamed, intimidated, and threatened by other women.

10734110_744246158964217_3438436236814293575_nIf you haven’t noticed lately, fighting with friends in the 21st century has gotten a lot nastier.

I have this theory that as women get into their late 40s and early 50s, things change: life, hormones, aging, midlife, money, relationships, whatever. As it all starts catching up with you, the next thing you know, you’re bitter. And angry. Life isn’t fair and you’re pissed.

Yeah, been there, felt that too, but I continue to fight it and right it every step of the way because it’s very easy to dump one’s emotional baggage onto a friendship and screw it all up.

So what do you do when your bestie becomes a bitch and your breakup becomes F.U.B.A.R.?*

Damage control.

Ask yourself: “What was my part in it?”

Were you insensitive, uncaring or not thinking? If you made a mistake, used bad judgment, or did something hurtful to a friend, do some soul searching. Reflecting on the error of your ways can bring much needed insight and thoughtfulness to the situation.

Make amends.

The fastest way to stop a friendship from derailing is saying “I’m sorry.” Take responsibility for your part. Even if you think your friend is being irrational or oversensitive, don’t invalidate their feelings or get defensive. Take the high road and be the bigger person. Conversely, if YOU’VE been wronged, accept their apologies, and quickly get back to the business of being friends.

Let go.

If you’ve apologized like hell and there are still hard feelings, then it’s time to walk away. Don’t hold grudges, don’t grovel, don’t wait. Just send your ex-friend off with love and move forward with the friends you already have – just like my wise friend Karen does:

“I don’t get mad, I don’t get even, I don’t cross you off my list. I don’t give it energy. I just make the decision to walk away, and I don’t look back.”

And when all else fails:

Assume the position and prepare for impact.

Still hoping for a peaceful resolution? Sorry, but you’re S.O.L.* The shit is about to hit the fan, so take cover. Gossip, taking sides, whisper campaigns, and breaching of confidences are just the beginning; and if it doesn’t end, you might have to hire a lawyer like I did.

No, you’re not in high school, but you’ll sure feel like it.

Here’s the good news though: there are still some of us out there who are mature adults. We’re reasonable, level-headed, and we don’t let a little tiff fuck up a perfectly good friendship. We talk things out, we don’t fight dirty, and we get past our problems unscathed.

shutterstock_226520419In other words, we know how to K.A.M.U. (Kiss And Make-Up).

 

*B.F.F. – Best Friend Forever

*P.O.S. – A Piece Of Shit

*F.U.B.A.R. – Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition

*S.O.L. – Shit Out Of Luck

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Oh My God! I Forgot To Have A Baby!

UnknownI didn’t exactly forget, I just lost track of time.

My mind was on other things: like figuring out my career path and deciding what I wanted in life. I always dreamed of being a wife and mother, and always operated on the assumption it would happen when it was supposed to, in its own time – whenever that was.

I also thought my fertility would last forever, so what was the rush?

I breezed through my 30s, and cruised into my 40s without hearing a single tick-tock of my biological clock. I continued to date, and work, and live life like the independent single woman that I was. And despite the fact that pretty much all of my friends were married with kids, I felt no pressure to join the club.

No one talked about fertility. No one tapped their watch and said: “Treva, you better get a move on if you want to have babies.” I just kept going, without a care in the world, or a thought to my egg supply.

That is, until I had a scare.

That morning when I saw what looked like mid-cycle spotting (a sure sign of menopause) my bio-clock finally went off, and the maternal urge kicked in.

I ran to my gynecologist. With my feet in the stirrups, he confirmed the worst: I was 43-years-old with diminishing hormone levels, and a fertility window about to shut. If I wanted to get pregnant, I’d have to take immediate action – if it wasn’t already too late.

How was this possible? I was in good shape. I was a personal trainer. Certainly my ovaries were in shape too, no?

“You gotta get on the stick,” he said to me urgently.

But whose stick? I had no husband, no boyfriend, no future prospects lined up. Was my doctor really telling me to go knock myself up? Yes he was.

My situation was officially screwed, and the only way to get out of it was to screw. I wanted a baby that bad, by any means necessary. Forget about romance, courtship, and candle light dinners – there was no time for that. What I needed was to get my hands on some sperm, and fast.

I called old friends, old boyfriends, donors of all kinds, anyone who would lend me some spluge, no strings attached. Some stepped up, some said no, and some just wanted to help me “practice.”

I bought boxes of ovulation sticks, pregnancy tests, macha powder and other exotic supplements to improve my fertility. I bought books on single motherhood (my favorite, “Knock Yourself Up” by Louise Sloan) and joined a Single Mothers By Choice group. I had a lot of sex. Oh, and I prayed a lot too – especially on the toilet while peeing on pregnancy test sticks.

As I liked to say back then: “Keep your fingers crossed and your legs open.”

About a year into my baby quest, I met a guy a few years younger than me who would become my boyfriend and partner on my journey. He was supportive, encouraging, and just as enthusiastic about making a baby as I was (we’re still friends today). We tried and tried, but to no avail. At the rate I was going, even Michael Phelps’ swimmers couldn’t get me pregnant.

It was a fucking hell. Literally.

When that failed, I brought in the big guns: assisted reproductive technology. But after three years, many inseminations, several IVFs, a few embryo transfers, and thousands of dollars later, I finally shot my wad. I ran out of time, money and eggs, and had to give up.

The truth is, I was also tired of trying. And hoping. And praying. The roller coaster of ups and downs, highs and lows left me thoroughly devastated, not to mention broke. “If it’s meant to be, it will be,” I kept telling myself. It’s trite, but somehow it helped bring me closure.

Speaking of closure, my fertility window finally did shut, and as sad as it was, it was also a relief. Trying to hold on to your fertility is like trying to hold on to every last shred of your youth – an ultimately depressing and self-defeating experience.

Looking back, I moved mountains and went to the ends of the earth to get pregnant (hey, you do crazy shit when you’re desperate). Unfortunately, it didn’t yield a kid, but it did give me a great story to tell.

Now I have a new story. At age 51 I met and married a wonderful man (who coincidentally never had children either). Together, we’re starting a new chapter, which has all kinds of options: we can adopt, we can foster a child, or we can rescue a dog.

Or, we can just be. And that’s all right with me.

 

Photo credit: Salon.com

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Suddenly Single? Talk To The Suddenly Married

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Suddenly single to suddenly married.

When I was invited to speak on a panel called “Suddenly Single” in September 2014, I thought, why not? Even though I had just gotten married a few months earlier, I figured who better than me to speak on the subject of being single.

Between all the boyfriends and break-ups, I had been suddenly single so many times in my life, the conference organizers considered me an expert. So I said yes.

Part of the women’s conference “Deal With It: Taking Charge & Facing Life’s Curveballs,” sponsored by the MPTF (Motion Picture Television Fund), “Suddenly Single” was billed as a how-to on “Creating a social network, mastering the new dating game safely, and controlling your financial portfolio.”

http://www.mptf.com/dealwithit.

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Imparting wit and wisdom on the panel.

My fellow panelists included a divorce attorney, a former law enforcement guy who now runs his own security firm, and a divorced single mom. Together, we shared our insights on everything from dating profiles to pepper spray, from background checks to finding Mr. Right.

Our goal was to help those newly single people navigate the world of dating, mating, hooking-up, and breaking-up, all without fear and loathing. As the once-perpetually single person on the panel, I felt it was my personal duty to not only enlighten and empower my single sisters in the audience, but to also show them that single life needn’t suck.

Here are some Q&A highlights from the session:

What’s the secret to being a successful single person?

Striking a balance and being comfortable in your skin. It’s the ability to be alone with yourself without freaking out, and social without feeling pressure to do so. Having balance is doing what you love with frequency and passion, then knowing when to stop and be still.

How do you survive break-up hell?

First, process the grief any way you have to: therapy, exercise, spa treatments, journaling, meditating, drinking in mass quantities or smoking a bowl with your buddies. However, if you’re feeling fragile and your heart is still mending, don’t jump back into the sack too soon. “Getting over someone by getting under someone” is total bullshit and bad advice unless you’re an unevolved guy who thinks getting laid solves everything.

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Hey Ma look at me! I’m a speaker!

What are some red flags to look out for when dating?

Watch out for the guy who texts all the time and doesn’t talk on the phone. He’s either not available, not serious, a total wimp, or worse, married. Men who hide behind texts are a big red flag. So are men who can’t spell.

What are some of your hot tips for meeting guys?

Volunteer, take an extension class at a local university, join a gym, go to Happy Hour with your girlfriends, hit balls at a driving range, and always show up for jury duty– the jury pool is a captive audience filled with great dating potential. Most of all, learn how to make eye contact and smile. You may hate it, but it works. There’s nothing like a smile to say “I’m open for business!” It’s like hanging a welcome sign over your head.

How do you win at the dating game?

Keep your sense of humor and don’t take things too seriously. You want to be able to laugh the whole thing off when things go horribly wrong– and they will at times. Having healthy self-esteem and self-worth is most important though. It’s like dating catnip: it makes you extremely attractive to people. If you always think of yourself as the prize, then the best man will win.

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My groupies: Robby and Ma.

Hopefully by the end of “Suddenly Single,” attendees (including my divorced mother) came away feeling more confident and less anxious about being single and back on the market.

Either that, or they came away needing to take a Xanax and take to their bed.

 

Married People: Who’s F**king?

iStock_000005058065LargeWhen I was single I used to wonder about my married friends’ sex lives. How often do they do it? Is it good? Does it stay good? Is married sex better? I always wondered, but never asked– maybe because I didn’t want to pry, or maybe because I didn’t want to know if the news was bad.

I worried. What if married sex WAS bad? What if it’s boring? What happens if it can’t be sustained, or the excitement wanes?

Is it normal for sex to change once you’re married? What IS normal anyway?

Well, it’s been a few months, and here’s what I can tell you. Even though Robby and I are newlyweds, we’re not in our 20’s and just starting out. We’re in our 50’s and our bodies are changing. For one thing, I’m entering menopause, which definitely adds a new dimension to my sex life. Don’t get me wrong, things are just as hot – it just comes in flashes these days. Read more

A Career Dater Finally Quits Her Job

b1110503da138461db47e9ad8643011dOther than a few squabbles about bulk buying at Costco, the transition to married life has been pretty smooth. It’s new, but not weird. It’s an adjustment, but not a tough one. It’s a life change, but one that I welcomed, and probably needed.

After living alone and being on my own for so long, you’d think that marriage would be a total culture shock – and it is – but it’s really not that shocking. Or crazy. It’s kind of normal actually, like I’ve been a wife all my life. Weird.

No, the crazy part of transitioning into marriage was transitioning out of dating– a way of life for me for nearly 50 years.

I was a career dater. I dated all the time, at all times of the day. Breakfast dates, coffee dates, lunch dates, dinner dates, drink dates, even a driving date to the mechanic to pick up my car.

I’ve had blind dates, online dates, chance meetings, dates disguised as business meetings, and one Facebook encounter that would lead to the date of all dates (thank you Robby Scharf, for ending the longest single streak on record, next to yours of course).

After a long and illustrious dating career – one filled with strike outs, some base hits, an occasional home run, and lots of times at bat – I finally and gladly retired. I happily hung up the jersey, emptied out my locker, and said goodbye to the game. I’m using a lot of baseball metaphors here, but you get the point.

In other words, I left the business.

I didn’t realize how much work went into being single until I got married. And let’s face it, dating is like having a second job. I don’t care if you’re a guy or a girl, dating is work. Looking good, spending money, getting out there, going to parties, going to the gym, being charming, being social, being “on,” making an effort, making eye contact, strategizing, chatting, flirting, schmoozing, is all very time consuming, not to mention exhausting.

Online dating alone is like a second job. You spend hours managing your sites, swiping through prospects, messaging, texting, flirting, winking, whatever. You have to sort through profiles, respond to inquiries, distinguish between suitors and posers, coordinate schedules and make plans. Just weeding out the riff-raff is work.

So you can imagine when you’re used to doing it 24/7 and all of a sudden, it stops. It’s like quitting a job you’ve had all your life. This is why the transition has been so peculiar – I mean, one minute I’m hanging out at happy hour with my gal pals, the next minute I’m making my husband a meatloaf, and actually enjoying it.

Hold on. I have to repeat that. “Husband and meatloaf,” two words I never thought I’d say in the same sentence.

Some feminists might gag at this, but I have also discovered that I love doing his laundry, underwear included. Every time I fold a pair of his boxers, I think: Wow, look at me! I’m a wife! And the fact that Robby hasn’t thrown up yet from my cooking must mean I’m holding my own in the kitchen.

Dating might have felt like a second job at times, but I always did it with a good attitude. The key for me (and for any single person out there) is to not take it too seriously, to have fun, and to always keep your sense of humor. That way, it won’t feel like a job. A prison sentence, yes, but not a job.

And here’s the great news when you’re ready to retire: instead of getting an office party and gold watch, you might just get a diamond ring and a wedding.

I Like Big Rebuttals And I Cannot Lie

IMG_4549And now a few words from Robby Scharf, my late blooming husband:

Ah, my wife Treva. I love her like I’ve never loved anyone before. As beautiful as she is talented, she possesses a wonderful ability to convey in words what many of us think, but may not express.

Her last blog post, “Women Are From Venus, Men Are From Costco,” http://thelatebloomingbride.com/2014/08/05/women-are-from-venus-men-are-from-costco/ is so great, that I literally did LOL, and mean it for what might be the first time ever in history. As funny as it is, I feel there are a few points that need rebutting.

It’s true what Treva said about my gear. Guys have a lot of it and I’m guilty as charged! There was quite a bit of stuff I needed to get rid of when I made the move to Beverly Hills. Along with my office stuff, I also had recording equipment, many computers, about 20 guitars, power supplies, gadgets, and lots of cables – all of which I had to keep.

Also in her blog, Treva mentioned LED light bulbs and her love of the environment. Well, one of the first things I noticed when we first started dating were the large outdoor floodlights inside her apartment. These overly bright, heat-inducing, very inefficient lights are great if you’re shooting a movie in your living room, but not if you’re using them for recessed lighting.

I knew that these were going away as soon as I had any say about it. I purchased some great LED light bulbs that got just as bright (and even dimmed) but Treva hated them as soon as they turned on. She was “gracious” enough to give them a chance (for about 3 ½ minutes) but that was it!

We actually got in to a couple of rows over this. We’re presently in a semi-state of compromise as we have the old lights back in the hallway and the new LEDs in the bedroom (but that could change any minute).

As for Costco, there’s nothing wrong with shopping there! Costco is a mecca for good stuff (Who doesn’t know this? Oh, right, my wife).

And while you’re getting a half a year’s worth of toilet paper, a couple months of Skippy, 3 lbs. of coffee, 48 AA batteries, and two dozen bagels, you can also enjoy samples of Luigi’s Chicken Parm cutlets, Bernie’s Gyozas, and Mamma Joe’s Lowfat Chocolate Pudding, and then get a delicious Costco hot dog and drink for $1.50!

And the booze selection and prices at Costco are excellent! Anejo Tequila for $19? Alright, it’s Kirkland, but it’s really good! (Mixed with Simply Lime makes a great Tequila Gimlet).

See? You don’t have to be a father with kids to love shopping at Costco!

Sure, I’m guilty of overbuying things every now and then, but Treva will go to the market today for something today, and not think about anything else she may actually need tomorrow or for the rest of the week. So she ends up going to the market multiple times in a week (sometimes just for one item). This causes me to scratch my head.

I was quite surprised to learn that Treva grew up not having some “basic” staples in her household. For example, early in our relationship, I went to her bathroom and asked where she kept the Kleenex. She answered, “I don’t use Kleenex. Use toilet paper instead.”

I scratch my head again (good thing I bought that gallon of Head & Shoulders at Costco!)

Some other things Treva never had in her house growing up: ice makers, electric fans, Saran Wrap, and toaster ovens. I recently walked into our kitchen and saw Treva remove a piece of burnt toast on a paper towel (which she was using as a plate) that was on fire from the toaster oven!

As Treva and I continue to navigate this thing called marriage, I’m sure there’ll be more to write about – and lots more to rebut – so stick around.

(For more of my views on marriage, sports and politics, please feel free to follow me on Twitter: @Robby525)

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Women Are From Venus, Men Are From Costco

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Robby’s happy place: Costco and me.

It was either me move into his man cave/bachelor pad in the heart of gritty, urban downtown L.A., or him move into my charming, old French Normandy apartment on the Westside. Downtown L.A. is cool and groovy if you’re a guy, but not if you’re a princess from Beverly Hills.

We had just gotten married and needed to consolidate and start cohabitating, so Robby came out West. Just like Jed Clampett, he loaded up the Prius, and he moved to BEV-ER-LY. Hills, that is: swimming pools, movie stars, and me.

As he proceeded to cram the contents of his 1,850 square foot loft into my teeny two-bedroom, something occurred to me: MEN ARE FROM COSTCO. They are different animals. They don’t live like us women. They have lots of man stuff: junk, supplies, gear, equipment, electronics, toolboxes, miles of cable and cords, unexplained wires, and gadgets of all kinds and sizes. If men aren’t from Costco, then they’re from big box stores for sure.

Maybe I’m just not used to a man around the house, or maybe I’m too used to living alone, all I know is that Robby moving in has been a fascinating study in how men live and function. Remember, I’ve never even lived with a guy, so this is all new and intriguing. I feel like I’m Marlin Perkins of Wild Kingdom, observing a most unusual creature: my new husband.

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A little light shopping.

My Baby Buys In Bulk

If you’re single and anything like me, you buy just enough food for a week. A couple bags of potato chips, a loaf of bread, a few frozen Trader Joe entrees, some wine maybe, and not too many perishables lest they go bad (single people dine out a lot).

Robby, as I’ve discovered, likes to buy in bulk – everything from bulk paper goods to bulk food. This I don’t understand. What single guy without kids shops at Costco? Where exactly are you going to put those 24 rolls of paper towels?

You should see my pantry now. It’s now stuffed to the brim with industrial size jars of peanut butter, and crammed to an inch of its life with canned goods. I get claustrophobic just looking at it.

If you ever run out of toilet paper though, come on over. We’ve got enough to cover everyone for the next two years.

Guys Like Projects

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Drill baby drill!

Robby loves a project. The minute he moved in, he started retrofitting, wiring, re-wiring, installing, hooking up, dismantling, and assembling. He tossed out all my ancient cordless phones, and replaced all my light bulbs with energy-saving LEDs, which I hate, but marriage is compromise, and I love the environment, so the bulbs stay. He’s outfitted our place with lots of other much-needed things, which as a single woman, I never thought to buy.

For this reason, he’s made up a song for me. It’s called “The Absence Of A Man,” (sung to the tune of “The Shadow Of Your Smile”).

Robby is very handy. He loves to build shelves, organize stuff, and hang things. And I let him because I love a Jew with a drill.

Men And Their TVs

Robby wasted no time in giving away my old TVs, and installing his new big screens into every room of my apartment. You know the fancy kind with all the bells and whistles and super complicated remote controls? The HD quality is fantastic, but now I don’t know how to change the channel.

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Welcome to NASA West.

He also promptly renegotiated my cable bill, which was way too high. Who knew?

Hey Time Warner, stop ripping off your female customers!

Robby loves his TVs, and his laptop, and his iPad. His office looks like a cross between Mission Control and Command Central.

Houston, we have a problem: NASA is now in Beverly Hills.

So now we’re all settled in, but the debate still rages on whether women are from Venus and men are from Costco. As soon as I get back from shoe shopping and Robby returns from stockpiling jars of relish, the discussion will certainly continue. So stay tuned (to one of Robby’s TVs of course).

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Need. More. Condiments.

Late Bloomers: Marching To The Beat Of Our Own Drummers

Are you in your 40s and just now hitting your stride? Are you in your 50s and just finding your groove? Are you in your 60s or beyond and finally getting your shit together?

UnknownIf so, then you just might be a late bloomer. Congratulations!

You are in good company. Other late bloomers include artist Paul Cezanne, poet Robert Frost, scientist Charles Darwin, as well as tons of other great literary, scientific, and artistic masters, whose finest works came later in life.

We late bloomers like to march to the beat of our own drummer. We follow our own cadence and create our own tempo, regardless of the rhythm around us.

David Galenson, Professor of Economics at the University of Chicago, has written about late bloomers and has this to say: “Late bloomers muddle ahead, experimenting and failing and trudging forward for decades before they’re a success, or even noticed at all.”

Social commentator Malcom Gladwell wrote about the old masters vs. young prodigies debate in his October 20, 2008 New Yorker essay “Late Bloomers.” He notes that “Doing something truly creative, we’re inclined to think, requires the freshness and exuberance and energy of youth.”

But the truth is that a person’s talent, gifts, or just simple self-awareness can bloom late. It did for me.

So if you’re not where you think you should be in life, if you haven’t accomplished all that you set out to, or if you think you haven’t realized your potential yet, take heart. There’s still time to be who you really are.

Unknown-1Success happens at all stages of life, and sometimes having to wait, or do the necessary work for it, makes the success that much sweeter. Whether it’s learning to cook at age 49 like Julia Child, or getting your first novel published at 59 like Pulitzer Prize winning writer Frank McCourt, or getting discovered at age 48, like singing sensation Susan Boyle.

Or getting married for the first time at 56 and 50, like Robby and me.

One of my favorite late blooming stories is Marc Maron, a stand-up comedian who struggled for years with drugs and alcohol, while struggling to get traction in the comedy world. Finally, at 50-years-old, he found his footing (and eventual success) with the creation of “WTF,” his original podcast.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=He_4Bs2vCwQ&w=560&h=315]

“You know, when I look back on all the things I did. I don’t have any regrets. But I also know that maybe I wasn’t ready for whatever was going on. There was some stroke of cosmic timing in that — out of desperation, I turned to podcasting. Things aligned, so now I can be the comic I want to be and sell some tickets in some markets, and now I got a TV show on the air. And the one thing I can say, whether I changed myself or whether it was a series of events, is that, because I was humbled, and because I let go of a lot of expectation, I was truly ready to show up for everything that’s happened.”

Whether it’s cosmic timing, the planets aligning, or just having patience and perseverance, it’s never too late to bloom.

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