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Archive for the month “July, 2012”

Move Or Be Moved

Ok. I haven’t been blogging in a while. I’ve missed you fine folks.

I’ve been busy going back and forth visiting my friend, who nearly two weeks ago had a stroke due to blood clots in her brain.

I appreciate all of the well wishes and prayers, because they have been working. She struggles with her memory, but now she is in an inpatient rehab facility to help her get back into her normal, everyday habits.

She’s got a lot of work to do to get herself back physically, mentally and emotionally. But one thing I’ve learned is that our ability to think, to remember, to do basic things is one we really take for granted. We wake up in the morning and we assume everything should be working as it should. We never consider how difficult everyday tasks can be for those who are sick, injured or disabled.

It’s a miracle watching her improve day by day. She’s even doing a better job of initiating conversation or asking questions. But she still doesn’t want to eat much, which is driving all of us crazy and she often wants to be coddled when she doesn’t want to do something. We want her to get better and stronger, so she has to start doing more for herself.

But that update aside, other things are on my brain. My company is going through a number of transitions, which is putting more pressure on me to really get my own business started and off the ground. I’ve been prepping for almost a year and it’s time to really get going. I’m scared.

I’m taking all of the things happening at my job as a sign to move or be moved.

I need to take control of my situation, before whatever happens there forces me to move or do something I have to do, instead of what I want to do, and Lord knows I don’t want that.

So I’m taking a deep breath, and I wrote down what my short-term and long-term goals are for my business.

It’s time to really get this thing going. No games.

God, I’m scared. But I think of my friend. She’s starting over from scratch. Her whole life has changed. I can do this. I still have my health and strength and memories.

After all, the whole concept of my business is catering to women starting over, trying something new and overcoming fear to do something greater. Time to drink more of my own Kool Aid and do just that. I can’t help other women if I’m not doing it myself.

Time to go to work…

The Four Agreements, Me and My Hair

I often talk about timing. Things happen in certain sequences not only for dramatic effect, but for some kind of reason. Usually when you really pay attention to a sequence of events, you find that reason over time and you get why things lined up exactly the way they did when they did.

I’m currently reading “The Four Agreements” and yes, it is one of those self-help enlightenment books that folks like Oprah thought were all life-changing and amazing.

But I have a few opinions on this book. I’m not done yet, but I’d like to share what I’ve taken from it thus far.

First, I think reading this book while I’m attempting to go natural with my hair helps really clarify a lot of my original fears of wearing my natural hair.

*Meaning I’m growing out my chemical relaxer which straightens my hair.

The premise of the book is that there are things society, our family, friends, enemies and we agree and believe them. Because of what we are trained to believe, we can even tell ourselves positive or negative things and we’ll agree with them and believe them to be proper and correct also.

As far as black women and hair, we had society telling us we were not attractive if we were not as close to looking European as possible. So even if we couldn’t alter our skin color, we for damn sure straightened our hair. In turn, society responded to us more positively and particularly men.

But we can change what we believe and what we agree to and I think by reading about going natural and hearing stories about how liberating it was for women and just the celebration of natural hair on pinterest and seeing women in a lot of television commercials with kinky, wavy, curly or super short hair, reconditioned me.

I wore my hair in a fro in public for the first time, and I actually felt good about it. Those other women were letting me know it was ok, and in turn, I believed it, agreed, and now I think I can wear my hair almost anyway I want.

I also believe and agree that I can wear my hair straight from time to time too and I won’t be turning on my culture or hating myself. LOL.

It made me think of relationships. It made me think of what the men in my life found as beautiful. I could either agree or disagree with them and keep it moving. Same thing about my weight.

At one point, it did seem like the Four Agreements was promoting narcissistic behavior and dismissing the thoughts of others and becoming disconnected and diluted.

But when you put all four agreements together, and practice them intently, it’s completely far from that. You are more cognizant of yourself and what you say and how you treat others.

The other agreements are not to make assumptions and to always do your best.

So when you think about it, if you use your words wisely and in positive ways, if you don’t tear down others, or gossip, or set out to hurt people, if you don’t make assumptions, if you seek clarity from people and you always do your best, then that isn’t being selfish or narcissistic. You are just being a great citizen the not taking things personally or believing everything people say to you and taking it as gospel is not being delusional or dismissive.

I think the book asks us to come from a place of honesty in all that we do and seek positivity. Negative things will happen and you will be misunderstood, but you have to shake it off and not let it as one guy I knew would always tell me, “not shape your ball of clay.”

It’s made me think of what people have said about me and how I let what they said shape what I think of myself and what a huge effect that has on everything. How do I use my words? Am I putting out poison because of my own problems, hang ups and insecurities?

Sometimes the wordage can be repetitive or even seem way out there, but with an open mind, as you read, you can pick out things that resonate.

I have a feeling I’ll be rereading this from time to time.


Everything Else Seems Trivial and Silly

I call this blog 29tolife. I want it to be an honest look at my journey turning 30 and being 30 and older.

Lately, I’ve been talking a lot about not getting along with people, dating older men and trying to get over my ex-fiance.

All of those things are important, but yesterday things got particularly real.

One of my dear friends is laying in a hospital bed right now. She had an aneurysm and a blood clot in her brain. She will turn 30 later this year.

In comparison, everything else I’ve been writing about seems trivial and even silly, when someone you love looks so weak and struggles to speak. But leave it to my friend, she’s trying.

She’s strong. She even managed to crack jokes in her state which made me, her mom, her sister, niece and loving boyfriend relax and even smile and laugh.

She reads this blog, and I’m sure she’ll catch up when she feels better and stumbles upon this. So I’ll just speak to her directly.

First, I want you to know I love you. Seeing you in that hospital bed hooked up to so many bags and fluids and things scared the crap out of me.

Every motion you made, or wince from the pain in your head that the doctor told us will probably last at least a month, or possibly longer, made me uneasy.

We all wanted you to feel better.

I didn’t want to talk too loud or slow to you, or give that pitiful look to seem as if I was patronizing. You were just groggy, tired, weak and in a lot of pain. But what happened was very serious and scary for us all, and certainly for you most of all.

I’ll also admit with the work I do, I was disappointed in myself for not having probing, intelligent, highly technical questions for your doctor. I went completely blank. However, I do think he has things under control and he seemed very confident.

You are awesome. You found a way to still be you through the pain and all of the madness. You know how to make people feel good. You make them feel better. You make them smile, with your bubbly self.

Moment of the night.

You smiled at your boo. He smiled back at you. Then I smiled. Then your mom. You said in a whisper, “What you laughing at?”

I answered. “You making googly eyes at your man up in here in front of everyone!”

You began to roll your eyes around. And I asked you, “What was that?”

And you whispered, “Googly. I tried.”

You are something else Miss Thang. Something else.

I’m sorry I came funky and in my gym clothes, but it was an emergency, and I needed to see if you were going to be alright for myself, right away, as soon as possible.

Your man gets the super dooper official seal of approval. He loves you. He really does. He’s been so worried about you, and I truly believe he would do anything for you. I told him I was so glad he was there to take you to the hospital when you got sick and that he hasn’t left your side.  I told him in order to take care of you, he needs to remember to eat, and sleep. The way he talks about you, he wants nothing but your happiness and safety. That’s very, very clear. Up until this point, I never really had an opportunity to say more than a few words to him. Not that my approval really means anything in the grand scheme, but I was impressed with his genuine love and concern for you. That is huge to have in a man.

I’m going to come and see you as much as I can until you can come home. I’ve been praying for you and I know your healing is going to be a hard journey, but you showed us yesterday you are in it to win it. And even when you are sick, you snore like nobody’s business. 🙂 I can’t wait to see how much you’ve improved because I have faith that each time I come to see you, you will be stronger.

I love you my friend, but please don’t scare us like that ever again. If you want to bring us all together, just have a party instead! Our other crazy friend preferred that you be pregnant. LMAO. I’ll let you guess who said that.

You’ve Been Initiated: The Sisterhood of Grown Women

Nuggets of wisdom can come from interesting places and random people that you wouldn’t normally expect sometimes.

If you’re smart, you’ll recognize the gems and you’ll perk your ears up and take notice.

A simple conversation with an older co-worker about her daughter in her 20s being held hostage as a maid of honor for a bride she isn’t that cool with anymore but bound by a promise made as teenagers, led to an insightful discussion about girlfriend breakups.

It’s no secret I’ve been going through changes with some of my former close girlfriends, so what my co-worker had to say was quite refreshing.

I joked her daughter was being initiated into womanhood, by having to come face-to-face with the reality that her relationship with this old friend will probably end or be totally different after the wedding. This is her last act of kindness and devotion as a BFF.

My co-worker laughed. She recalled the love and bitter ending of a dear friendship, and boy did it sound a lot like what I’d been going through. Very recently she saw this friend and decided to drop her a Christmas card. She didn’t want to be as close to the person anymore, but she wanted to at least leave a place for cordial exchange.

The friend saw her Christmas card and raised her a long letter, outlining all of her feelings she ever had toward my co-worker at the urging of her shrink.

My co-worker threw up her hands and gave up.

She refused to get back on that merry-go-round. She suggested that I don’t either, and that for every friend I’ve lost this year, just find some new ones.

I think I already have a great circle, although I am open to new folks to hang out with. I have noticed that I’m open to hanging out with friends that I don’t usually see much because they live in…Virginia (I hate driving to Virginia) because I have more time on my hands, and I really do want the good company.

I’ve also come to enjoy the company of older women who I consider friends and mentors and mother figures.

Not sure if I appreciate them more because of my own difficult relationship with my mom, or just because I love women, I love our collective strength and power mixed with our ability to nurture (when we aren’t acting stupid, emotional or selfish). They have a totally different take on the things you are going through in comparison to the girlfriends who are your age and just as clueless and frazzled as you are. I like having girlfriends in the trenches with me, but I can also appreciate the bird’s-eye view of my mentors in womanhood, because they are living proof I’ll come out on the other side a lot wiser.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve enjoyed lunches or dinners, or even sitting at their dining room tables discussing balancing life, work, family and men.

These older women tend to be excellent listeners. So much so, I’m scared I’ve talked too much and I’m rambling and seeming immature and silly in their eyes.

But when they speak, there is insight. There is sympathy, because they too have experienced what you are going through. They warn, and because they aren’t family, they tend not to be as judgemental. They even share and laugh about their own mistakes. They know you’ll make your own. They are honest and will reveal things about themselves in such an easy self-assured way.

Maybe that’s the reason I’m loving reading “The Legs Are Last to Go” by Diahann Carroll. It’s like sitting across a dining room table with one of the most fabulous women of all time. She’s got stories, she’s got issues and she’s so transparent about it.

I hope one day to be that kind of mentor to another young woman someday.

It’s Not Easy Being Green, On the Golf Course, That Is

This is the year and the summer of trying new things and no fear.

Among the fearless things I’ve been dabbling in is dating a much older man.

It’s been going well. I have nothing but positive things to say about him and I’m enjoying spending time with him more and more. I was damn near ready to run into his arms after having the most ridiculous conversation at a club Friday night. This man actually said, “Oh you’re a journalist? You check facts? I got a fact for you to check. It’s nine inches long with a vein.”

Yes, that fool actually said that to me. The game is ugly and horrible right now. I may not be so nuts to go 17 years older.

Back to the real men.

The other night after having a small meal and checking out a local casino, where we pooled our resources and decided to get out while we could with a modest haul of $58, I asked him to teach me to play golf.

He is a golf enthusiast and lights up when he talks about it. I’ve always thought golf to be a snooty, boring game, involving snooty, boring people. I only have experience with putt-putt golf, which I happen to be quite good at.

But take away the windmills, replicas of the Washington Monument, and put me on a real golf course, hmm. I think I’d suck.

My friend has decided to show me a few things first at a local driving range, which is where we’ll be going this evening.

*Sidebar. Being in three consecutive long-distance relationships over the last decade, I forgot what a boost a mid-week date can give a gal.

So anyway, I’m excited to spend time with such a great person, who isn’t trying to get in my pants immediately and excited to try golf. After dealing with the crazy club guys, and watching amateur strippers do their best routines for random men all night and not get paid, SIGN ME UP FOR SNOOTY! I want to sip mint juleps in the clubhouse. Hell yes. LOL.  There’s literally a course and country club like around the corner from my house and he plays there sometimes.

Even though we are going to practice at the driving range first (also conveniently located near my house), he said he figures I’ll be a quick study and we’ll be on the green in no time.

Being me, and having obsessions of the moment, I already have a Michelle Wie-worthy ensemble for when I hit the links for real, for real. I just need a cute visor, and I want gloves. LOL.

Not only do I want to look cute, but I’m competitive. I don’t want to suck.

I’ll keep you folks posted on the progress.

This situation totally reminds me of an episode from season one of VH1’s Single Ladies.  In an attempt to be on a man cleanse, Val is trying to learn how to play golf, well after she buys a whole lot of cute clothes and proper equipment. Val meets Jerry, a handsome, charming and rich older man.

*I tried to embed the video, but I think VH1 wants people to watch directly from their site, because it refuses to work. So please enjoy the clip via the link. Sorry!!!

Life and Timing Strike Again

I had an awesome weekend celebrating the 30th birthday of one of my dearest friends.

We covered a lot of ground in D.C. and had great drinks, great food, great company and non-stop entertainment– even at a grimy Wendy’s at 3 a.m.  Don’t ask.

Naturally, I was exhausted from all of the revelry.

This morning, one text took my breath away and threatened to steal all of my progress and my healing in one swoop.

Long story short, my ex fiance has a new job that will include a lot of traveling. That I knew.

He informed me his company is headquartered 15 minutes from my house.

That’s right.

Life and timing bite me in the ass, yet again.

Two years ago, he and I would have gone Katniss and Peeta on anybody any time, anywhere for that kind of opportunity that could lead to him flying to see me on the company dime and in business class, and maybe after currying a little favor and impressing his employers, him eventually being able to move here for good.

I felt sick.

I was going to explode.

I quickly had to make my way to my work mom/mentor’s office where I could cry uncontrollably behind a closed door.

She sat quietly while I sobbed.

It all hit me at once. I was shaking.

I was crying and shaking and reacting because, fine. I still love him. But I was working to accept that I needed to get over it.

Just a week ago, he and I texted each other and nearly said our last rites. We literally talked about how our paths were diverging and how it seemed we were being pushed apart by circumstances, but never emotionally.

Maybe the irony of such a fresh discussion where it seemed both of us accepted our lives that would hardly ever intersect again in a meaningful way is what caused my emotional breakdown this morning.

I’m not dreaming of romantic movies and happy endings where all of this drama, all of the suffering and headaches lead us back to one another.

I don’t even want to be hopeful, to only be crushed again, and it really being my fault this time for being stupid.

I’m just mad at fate.

There was a reason it didn’t work at the time, but this latest twist in our story is downright painful, spiteful and mean.

I’ve been actively trying to move on. If you have been reading this blog, my struggle has been well documented and brutally honest.

What’s going to happen now? Your guess is as good as mine.

This is as far as I can go writing today. I’m sure you’ll understand. And now this song will be on repeat for the rest of the day…

Jesus Is A Homie, Not Your Boo

*Note: This post is about religion. I don’t go there often, but you’ve been warned.

I just read an article that I think should at least be up for discussion among Christian women.

Some top-tier Christian women will say no way to reading it off the fact it is from jezebel.com

Some will probably think it’s mean-spirited and a trick of the Devil, or yet another test of a woman’s faith in her savior.

As a totally imperfect person who is working on herself and associates herself with the Christian faith and talks to the Lord regularly for guidance, I think the article is an opportunity to figure out if single Christian women have healthy relationships even with the Lord.

Yes, we should give our lives and depend on him, but our very human desire to get a man does get confused with the much deeper agape love associated with our faith.

Romantic love for Jesus as a metaphor, cool.

Romantic love for Jesus, literally…eh…that makes you a stalker.

Words have power. Even the bible says that.

When a single woman says proudly and with fierce defiance that the reason why she has no man is because her man is Jesus, she’s missed the point and probably needs more Bible study and prayer.

Jesus doesn’t want his women to be alone. He wants them to have stable, healthy and good relationships with earthly men who can give them exactly what they need.

He just wants us to shut up, be patient, be humble, learn how to love ourselves and understand the difference between love and dysfunction so once that man is sent into our lives, he’ll actually stick around. I’m sure Jesus also wants us to have a great man that won’t completely distract us from our faith either.

For all of the women who say Jesus is their boyfriend, I imagine them going on a date with the Prince of Peace, sitting across a candlelight meal.

With compassion in his eyes, I can see the Lord leaning over, grabbing their collective hands and saying, “I think you are beautiful, and wonderful. You were made in my father’s image after all. You are truly divine. I’m really flattered, but seriously, you are creeping me out. I’m not your man. How bout we just be friends, mkay?”

Then he will kiss them on the forehead, pay for the check and leave.

He’s a class act like that.

So there you have it. Another statement intended to empower Christian women in their faith has gone rogue.

Instead it makes some women justify the reasons why they are single instead of really taking a real honest look at how they view relationships with the Lord and otherwise.

Jesus is your man? Really?

Anyone else who comes into your life will automatically be a disappointment in comparison.

Hang it up.

You will remain alone.

Ask the lord for clarity and a spirit of discernment to help you find the right man, instead of trying to be His boo.

Jesus Is A Homie from Comic View…The inspiration for the title.

Researching Benefits of Dating (Significantly) Older

Because I’m gingerly traveling down the path of dating an older gentleman, I’ve decided to research the topic online. I do that. I do that when I’m sick to make sure I’m not one infection away from a terrible death or possible amputation. I do it when deciding what kind of lipstick might look right on me, I do it when I want to know how to decorate my home or when I want to cook a certain meal. 

Hence, I do what I always do when I’m having an obsession of the moment. I google for more info.

Same thing about anything Hunger Games-related, or how to use rosemary in everything.


Eddie Murphy (51) and Rosci Diaz (28) are the new celebrity May/December Couple du jour. Photo from Beverly News Source: USWeekly.com

I came across these blog posts and I liked them.

I would like to share.

These gems are from the Men Aren’t that Deep blog, which I’m following right away.


This blog points out that older men really aren’t playing games and they move on if the situation isn’t working. The blog also mentions that they take their time and tend to be patient. I will agree with this. At this point, a guy my age would have cussed me out and I probably would have been summoned to join him on Judge Judy to pay him back for all of the wining and dining and getting nothing more in return than a hug.

The next is from thefrisky.com. They are giving out 11 reasons why older ain’t colder.


I do not know anything about number one, but I am curious if it’s true.

The other examples on the list I’ve found to be actually on point.


Obsessed With Obsessions of the Moment

Stuart Miles/freedigitalphotos.net

As an official grown woman, besides clothes, shoes and handbags, I have another occasional obsession, especially if I’m expecting visitors to my home.

My home.

All of a sudden I care about the art on my walls, copious amounts of Pine Sol, and feel the need to visit Ikea, or Homegoods and every place else to get my pad like my version of a Dwell or Apartment Therapy photo shoot.

I believe your home is a good and pretty accurate representation of who you are and where you are at the moment (financially and emotionally). If your house is in order and remains that way, usually you are too. Disarray, then something is up. There’s a reason why you don’t care.

Or you could just have OCD.

My first apartment in the south was bare bones, kind of decorated, but had an air of, “I won’t be staying long.” I used my home to sleep mostly, and then go to work. My second bedroom was filled with moving boxes, or empty ones to be filled once I did move. I had free hand me down furniture that I didn’t care about giving away when I left. I wanted to travel light.

Now that my older gent is stopping by for dinner this week, I have already purchased a table runner (I did not care about it until I saw it in the store), and even cloth napkins.

I want napkin rings. I want cloth napkins to remind myself that regular days can be a celebration that you are on this side of the ground. You’re home is your castle. Why do you have to break out the good stuff on holidays or for guests? Celebrate. Even if it’s just you by yourself. Sometimes I break out my dark liquor glasses, to just drink a glass of water. It makes me feel better.

What kills me is my dad insists on using paper goods, not to “dirty up a dish.” Drink out of glasses, eat breakfast off of plate plates! I have a dishwasher. Life and eating shouldn’t be mindless acts to get over with. Both will all be over soon enough.

I’ve decided to grab certain moments and savor them.

Hence, I prepare and set my scenes ahead of time.

I’ve been this way forever. When friends came to visit me in college, I couldn’t cook, but wanted to cook for them to show my appreciation. I decided to make the infamous “not roast.”

For my vacations, I plan outfits.

Before folks say I’m doing all of this shopping or redecorating for my date, I will say he was the catalyst.

He awoke the sleeping giant that is my obsession with being obsessed with how I want things for certain moments.

Case in point.

When I was going on a romantic picnic with my ex, I had to have a basket and a special roll up blanket (which I use for the beach and all outdoor events).  I always envision how my outings go. How I wear my hair and what outfits.

For my 30th birthday, I envisioned a sequined blazer and I found a short-waisted sequined cardi. I wasn’t going to rest until I found what I wanted to complete the vision. I was determined to have certain foods and snacks and drinks for my guests, and I stayed up all night and got up early to make it happen with the help of my friends.

When I went alone to Myrtle Beach, I wanted an umbrella to lay under, I had to have my blanket. I had to have my insulated travel cooler. Things had to be just so.

So for this upcoming dinner, I was planning my menu, and cleaning my home. I realized there were some photos I wanted to frame and hang.

I love my little place. Over the past six years, I’ve transformed it from a blank canvas with a beat up Wal-Mart futon, into something that makes me feel pretty comfy, and even proud when it’s clean.

One day my aunt stopped by and described it as a “bachelorette pad” after I cleaned and cleaned and it hurt my feelings. I may have been a bit too sensitive. But I’m a writer with an arty soul. Maybe she didn’t understand my neat stacks of magazines, or overflowing bookcase or mismatched art. It wasn’t conventional, but it was lived in.

People of her generation and prior believed in pristine showplace living rooms no one was allowed to sit in. I have a one bedroom apartment, when I have guests, basically every square foot is game for gathering and socializing.

So yes, I’ll be looking for photo frames and napkin rings during my lunch break. I kinda want chargers for my plates too…

A Taste of Gratitude

I’ve decided aside from sex, cooking for real is one of the best ways to tell a man, “thank you.”

Sometimes, I think they appreciate the cooking more, because you’ve gone out of your way to plan, prepare a meal and actually give them something to sustain their life and energy.

But the key to being successful at this is um, actually being able to cook.

Aside from having a great rack or a lovely bum, nice eyes or fabulous hair, I do believe that men like to brag about their woman being able to cook.

Women who can cook have a serious advantage over any woman any day. I’m sorry.

If you happen to be good-looking and can cook, ladies, I believe the world is yours.

I’ve mentioned in other posts how cooking makes me feel womanly, like I’ve finally entered true womandom when I set a meal before a man, any man, not even men I’m romantically involved with and they look just satisfied and happy eating my food. I feel that way if my dad eats my food, or even if my nephew gulps down my pancakes in approval (I just cut them for him wrong. Cut first then syrup. Got it.).

So let’s get to why I’m even bringing this up. The older gent who I’ve now gone out with at least six times over the last two or three weeks, did me a huge favor.

Night three of derecho, (which left millions without power in 100 degree heat) he offered up his place to crash when I sounded angry and frantic that all of the nearby hotels were booked solid.

He was an ultimate gentleman. He slept on the couch, I took his bed. We stayed up for a while watching television and adding commentary about what we were watching and I showered and slept. I neglected to share this info with anyone. I know. It’s silly, because it’s not like anything happened.

I decided for such a deed, and for not trying anything at all, even going as far as sitting on an opposite facing couch for television watching and offering up his home during my distress, and being such a good sport every time we say good night and all he gets is a hug…he shall be rewarded with a home-cooked dinner.

I will hold this dinner at my home.

Besides, I had so much fun with him Sunday night watching Hunger Games I don’t mind. He is really a good sport. Even when I taunted him about serving in Operation Desert Storm while I was in the third grade trying to master cursive, he handled it like a champ. Embarrassed, but a champ nonetheless. We keep trying to decide if I’m really mature or he’s really immature, he prefers the former. I do too.

He said he needed to scrub thoroughly and then seek therapy.

I had a good hearty laugh.

I’m still trying to figure out the menu.

I’m leaning towards doing something with shrimp and rice and vegetables.

I’ve been wavering back and forth about the kissing, hoping some perfect time would happen to take the pressure off.

One friend suggested I continue doing what I’m doing and when I’m ready, I’m ready.

Another said to just get it over with so you know whether or not you even like being kissed by this person.

I’m still not so sure.

The sad part is, if he were even ten years younger, I would have probably mounted him by now and he would have had full under over bra action. We would have been snuggled up on the couch, talking for hours a few times a week, alternating houses.

So the 17-year gap is still screwing with me. If I met a man my age who was exactly like him in every other regard, I’d probably be well on my way to love and potentially thinking, maybe I could almost almost get married again (ha ha).

His patience is so admirable. Oh, but the age. He has such a warm smile and I feel safe around him. Oh, but he dresses like he’s ready for the golf course all the time. When he’s around, it’s all about me… Oh, how agonizing.

He’s even said that he’s totally attracted to me, but when I was ready for whatever, I would be ready. He would wait. He also seemed to have an understanding that if this didn’t go anywhere, he would be fine with it too. I can’t recall how he said it at dinner last week, but the way he said it was such a relief to me.

I’m trying to figure out what I’m supposed to learn here. Give older men a fighting chance, or slow your ass down with the men closer to your age.

I honestly feel like I’m in an old school courtship. He pays all the time. Usually by the second date with men in my peer group, they are looking around waiting, hoping you’ll go ahead and offer. Or just sit there forever until you pick it up because frankly they just can’t do it, but won’t say so.

I know we’re in times where young men are still living at home and the economy is brutal, but I have to say, even when I offer, he says no.

I’m also cooking because all of this going out for meals and drinks is getting expensive. I’ve been doing calculations in my head.

My last ex wined and dined me a great deal, but actually broke down and said to me, “Baby, this is too expensive. We need to start cooking.”

But then cooking became our thing. We’d spend time together chopping up things, enjoying the smells, tasting things, talking about our day, brushing up against each other. It turned into part bonding, part foreplay, and we saved money!

So here I am folks. I’m getting back in the kitchen to express my thanks to this man for being so wonderful to me. Oh boy.

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