Online Dating: Chapter One

Like it or not, online dating is here to stay.  Add that to speed dating and online sexting, and you know times have changed, especially for the single, over-fifty crowd.

Men and women "of a certain age" are joining dating sites faster than you can say "let's meet for coffee". Honestly, I'm not sure I could ever "put myself out there" like that, but then again, I'm a big fat chicken.  I admire the ones who can and live vicariously through friends' blind dating escapades.

Over the past couple of years, my gal pals have dated guys like Al Bundy (bowling anyone?), Bernie Madoff (jail bird), a couple of Wild And Crazy Guys (ala Saturday Night Live), a surfer dude (think flip flops), countless wannabe actors, and even Osama bin Laden.

Yes, my friend Rita-- a gorgeous fifty-something babe, was hooked up with Osama bin Laden on an online dating site!  It was more like his identical twin brother, not actually him, but he was a very scary look-alike, and definitely NOT, someone she could ever bring home to meet the family.

Newly divorced, Rita found her first venture into online dating a little embarrassing, so she didn't dish about it with our more experienced gal pals.  

After hours of painstakingly completing her personal profile to sound interesting, entertaining and like a "new 40-something", Rita clicked the "register" button and waited for possible mates to fill her inbox.  She waited. And waited.  Finally, after two extremely long weeks without a single "match", the photo of her one and only "dream connection" with a huge "98% compatibility rating", started to download on her computer.  His screen name was "No Batteries Required", her expectations soared.

Rita still has a slow dial-up connection, the kind where the picture starts loading from the top of the page down, one, slow, quarter inch, at a time.  As she waited for her Battery Boy's picture to appear, she wondered what the missing 2% might be in their compatibility connection. 

Would he be a rich Republican, would he be poor trailer park trash, I answered Que Sera Sera....

The picture grew and grew until it filled the screen in full living color.  Holy crap!  Was this a joke?  Could it be the guy the United States Army and everyone else has been looking for?

She swore Osama bin Laden was staring at her from cyberspace.  HE was Rita's perfect love connection? Damn! 

It's true, Mr. 98% Compatible was a nasty guy who looked like he'd been living in a cave in Afghanistan for years, crusty beard, dirty turban and all.  This is not the online date Rita had in mind.

Panic stricken, she called me wondering what the hell happened! Her dating dreams were shattered and it was all over a creepy looking guy she'd never even met.  She wanted to cancel her registration and throw her laptop out the window.

I immediately talked her down off the ledge and conferenced in a few of our friends who'd successfully navigated the online dating scene.  Their advice was unanimous...

First step:  Always register on multiple dating sites and sign up for their "free trial" offers, but don't post your photo-- yet. You'll get the lay of the land and see which site you like best before you spend all that time writing your profile and letting the world know you're available.

Second step:  Search the 25 mile radius from your zip code and see which guys turn up repeatedly.  You'd be surprised how many guys are on multiple sites and aren't afraid to show it. Don't they realize it's a great way for you to see if your potential "connection" is "connected" or just wasting your time and working the Internet for love?  Note:  Avoid these guys. 

Third step:  Watch out for bozos.  You know, the guys with the goofy pictures of themselves as a baby, or doing something abnormally macho, or using a fake picture that he thinks will drive women wild.  Kick them to the curb unless you like pranksters.  They're just playing with you.

Forth step:  Check to see when and how often a guy is reviewing his online profile-- Yes, dating sites actually tell you stuff like that!  This helps weed out the desperate, obsessive, and/or possible stalkers.  If a guy is online, day and night, checking to see who loves him, it's a red flag.

In Rita's case, Mr. bin Laden was actually the humor-deprived loser with the fake photo.  Bastard!  He scared the daylights out of her.

Our experienced gal pals said this guy's been around for years! Battery Boy bin Laden's real name is Mickey, and he'd sent them Hell's Angels and George W. Bush pictures.  Apparently he's a legend-- in his own mind-- and keeps doing this to women because he's yet to find his comedic companion.

Rita felt somewhat better knowing a friend of the Access of Evil was not really living in her zip code.  But, even with a 98% compatibility rating, she hit the delete button and erased him from her screen.

Instead of crying over her dating predicament, she decided to "play the field" and registered for trials on multiple dating sites. Rita is now sorting through the bozos and working the system in search of her true love connection.  Two can play this game!

What are your online dating tips?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

Happy Mother's Day To All You Moms Out There!

xxoo  Joanna

At the Intersection of Foggy and Forgetful

Am I losing my mind or what?!?!

Today I was in such a fog that I didn't remember about plans to meet friends for dinner at a restaurant this evening. I mean, I completely forgot even though my husband and I had discussed the details at breakfast! And what do you think I did right after breakfast? I went grocery shopping to buy food, to make for dinner, at home, tonight! Let me tell you, when I finished shopping and schlepping and putting food away and then getting food out to start cooking, I was exhausted.

About an hour after the spareribs had been slow cooking in the oven, my husband asked what I was doing? Actually, he looked at me like I had three heads and asked WTF???? As I stared back at him blankly, he knew it had happened again. And-- he knew to slowly back out of the kitchen, without saying another word, so no one would get hurt.

I'd forgotten about dinner out. I hate when I forget things-- and it happens all the time!

Several months ago my memory had really gotten out of hand. I was sure I was loosing my mind and well on my way to Alzheimer's, so I talked to my doc and she recommended a full battery of neuropsych tests to see if, in fact, at age 50, dementia was setting in. Holy crap! I was so stinking scared.

So off I went for 8 straight hours of testing at a major University hospital, with a psychiatrist, in a small office, asking millions of questions that made absolutely no sense to me. I mean, I knew what he was asking, I just didn't know WHY and what on earth they could possibly have to do with my memory loss.

He started by telling me to remember the numbers 29, 18, 62, 91 and 6. I knew this test was coming so I seriously tried to remember them. That was followed by lots of picture drawing, card playing, pattern making and simple math. I was feeling pretty good because it was all so elementary and simple, and my memory was great; plus I remembered 29,18,62, 91 and 6.

After lunch, Dr. Freud stepped things up big time. I realized, to my shock and horror, that I wasn't having memory problems-- Apparently, I just an idiot!

For example, he gave me a pretty high level math test-- that was timed. And I couldn't use a calculator! When was the last time you did three dozen calculus problems without a calculator-- in 5 minutes-- while you're trying to remember 29, 18, 62, 91 and 6? To be honest, I never even took calculus in school but I guarantee you, if I had, there would definitely have been a calculator in my hand!

Then, after freaking out over the math, Dr. Freud started asking me random questions like who's the Queen of England (duh), Marco Polo (I had to think about him for a minute.), where the Grand Canyon was located, stuff like "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?". I was holding my own, right up until he asked me to name the Continents-- You know, North America, South America, Antarctica, Australia, Africa, Asia and Europe.

Sadly, at that very moment, and for the next painful few hours, despite being asked at least 30 more times, all I could think when asked to name the Continents was-- Poughkeepsie, New York! What was that about!?!?! Oh, and I remembered 29, 18, 62, 91 and friggin 6!

This type of memory loss-- the kind where information just falls out of my brain never to be seen again-- was exactly the type of memory loss that brought me to the neuropsych test in the first place! I know the Continents; I've even been to four of them for crying out loud. But as upset, and frankly embarrassed, as I was about it, I found comfort in the knowledge that finally the doc would feel my pain and understand my memory loss dilemma.

Not exactly. Dr. Freud wasn't buying it. A mental block with Poughkeepsie, NY flashing in my head was not on his memory loss radar. He thought I was just plan stupid. I know because he kept flipping back to the page with my education information listed and asked where I went to school-- As if I'd lied and it was a trick question-- And then he'd ask me to name the Continents again. Damn! I must have had loser written all over my forehead.

The testing continued for two more difficult hours. It got tougher and the questions were way out of my league! I did not remember what year Lincoln was elected president, how far the Wright Brothers flew, or how to convert inches into centimeters; and I'm not sure I ever really did. It's not the kind of dinner conversation that would stay on the tip of my tongue for decades. Nor was I able to count cards for sequencing, or retell stories with extensive details. But I did know 29, 18, 62, 91 and 6.

I felt more and more defeated as we pressed on and frankly, pretty sure I was on my way to assisted living behind locked doors in the very near future. At the end of the day, Doc sent me home with instructions not to worry and that he'd be in touch.

Two weeks later, there I was again, across the desk from Dr. Freud. He gave me my test results and assured me that I was "just fine". Alzheimer's, dementia, memory loss, whatever was concerning me was NOT an issue. Phew!

But here's the kicker-- Doc explained in way to much detail, that I am an average middle-aged woman (I cringed at his words.) with an average middle-aged education, (See, I told you he thought I was stupid), living an average middle-aged life (I need to get out more!) with an average middle-aged memory.

WFT!

And I was suppose to feel better about that! Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled I'm not on the fast-track to Alzheimer's but what's with all the AVERAGE, MIDDLE-AGED crap?

I pressed him for more details and he politely and a bit condescendingly pointed out that "at my age" I was just fine. But if I was say, 70 years old, well then I'd be below average. And if I was 30, I'd be above average. And that was supposed to make me feel better? It did not.

Doc went on to say that my "strengths" would make me a great quilter and I have good recall for faces (but not names). Eureka! My new middle- ged career chould be making face quilts! Who knew! He also said I'm an "alpha-dog" and a "bit of a rebel". Really? Dr. Freud lost me on that so I asked which tests I took proving my, um, "strong qualities". Apparently they had to do with the card games we played-- The card games we played where I always lost!

Oy.

I hadn't talked to my gal pals about the testing in advance but now that I wasn't "losing it", I told them about my situation and the very expensive "I chould be an average middle aged quilter" tip from Dr. Freud. Apparently this type of thing is common with them too! Not the testing, the memory loss. They blamed it on menopause and had a good-hearted laugh at my expense. They called it "the fog" and "meno-brain" and I felt better. Sort of.

So now that my house smells of delicious spare ribs that we won't be eating until tomorrow night, and since I know I do not have Alzheimer's, the only thing I do know is 29, 18, 62, 91 and 6.

And you know what else? Dr. Freud never, ever, ask me to repeat those numbers back to him.

What are you forgeting?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor - Joanna

Not Your Typical Las Vegas Wedding

It's not everyday a loved one calls to say they are eloping-- in Las Vegas!  After my initial shock and excitement that these two love birds were finally tying the knot, I admit, my next thoughts turned to fat Elvis ministers, drive thru chapels and tacky plastic flowers. Not a pretty picture but I figured whatever works for them, works for me.

Since Las Vegas is just a hop, skip and jump away; and since I truly love the Bride and Groom with all my heart; hubby and I jumped in the car and decided to crash their wedding.  We made the 5 hour drive in under 4 1/2 hours and boy were they surprised to see us-- In a good way!  Phew.

We stayed at the beautiful Wynn Hotel-- What a great place; comfy beds, lush pillows and huge bathrooms! Ahhhh.  We needed a little vacation or at least that was my excuse to my husband for making the spur of the moment trip.

To celebrate the occasion, I finagled a last minute dinner reservation at the fully booked SW Steak House by mentioning the wedding about to take place and well, a waterfront table was immediately available for us!  

Moments after being seated, champagne was flowing and a fantastic water and light show with-- and this will sound crazy-- a beautiful, giant, tropical frog lip syncing "What a Wonderful World" began!  I know, I know, Vegas Baby, but it was really spectacular, and that was just the beginning of the music and lights and giant dancing puppets while we dined.  The Bride and Groom were thrilled and there was nothing tacky about it. Honest!  

The next day was "the big day" and something really amazing happened.  Instead of the usual, and totally normal, pre-wedding jitters, the Bride and Groom weren't the least bit stressed, nervous or anxious!  There was no matri-mania, no bridezilla, no freaking out, no meltdowns and not an ounce of drama!  Instead, we all had a huge breakfast together and they laughed and giggled like a couple of teenagers going to the Prom!  It was the greatest thing EVER!  

But the really surprising part was the Groom.  Somewhere over the last several years spent with his lovely Bride, this 40-something guy became a hopeless romantic; a gushy, mushy, love-struck hunk, who is head over heels in love and not afraid to show it.  It was seriously impressive and incredibly sweet. After my shock and awe at this revelation, I realized that, since meeting his Bride, our Groom had become a better man. I love that and I'm so proud of him.

The Bride, also madly in love, was relaxed, calm and absolutely radiant!  She was 1000% confident that the two were meant for each other and couldn't wait to meet the preacher!  

But this was not your stereotypical Las Vegas "Quickie Wedding".  Oh no, no, no!  There were having none of the often joked about tacky weddings in Nevada.

Instead, a stretch limo picked us up and drove about an hour out of town to the Valley of Fire State Park.  We drove up and over the hills and turns, deep into the Park, before we stopped at Rainbow Ridge.   And there-- right there-- in the distance, was the Grand Canyon in all her glory!  On that very ridge, surrounded by gorgeous red rocks and a spectacular view, the Bride and Groom exchanged wedding vows at sunset before a minister that reminded me of Andy Griffith.   

She wept with joy; he beamed with love; we took a few hundred pictures and a video to show the family back home in Ohio.  It was all so beautiful, so glorious, so loving and so joyful that I am now a confirmed fan of Las Vegas weddings!  Swear to gawd, I'd get married in Las Vegas if I had it to do all over again-- And so would my husband!  It was that perfect.

Yes, next weekend they are having a big gathering back home with family and friends to celebrate their marriage. Everyone is very excited and happy for them. They'll show the video and pictures and share their special day with everyone.  But on the actual day of their wedding, it was just the way they wanted-- simple, stress-free and all about LOVE.  

I've talked to the happy couple several times in their first six days of marriage.  You can tell by their voices that they are still blissfully happy!  

Did I mention they've been together for nearly eight years-- living together for the past four?  The Bride says she didn't expect things to "feel different" now that they are married, but she says they do-- She says they feel GREAT, happier, and just plain MORE or everything.    

And they'll live happily ever-after!

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

Is It Loud In Here Or Am I Just Old?

Imagine a cross between a jack hammer in Time Square and a sold out heavy metal concert at Madison Square Garden. Painfully loud, right?  Well, that's how loud it was in the restaurant we dined in tonight.  Deafening is the only way to describe it.

We pulled up to the curbside Valet and thought there must be some kind of ruckus nearby.  There wasn't.  The loud chaos was coming from inside the restaurant-- The restaurant behind closed doors.  

Six of us gathered at a new "in" spot for gourmet pizza and fancy salads. We'd read about it in a local magazine and decided to give it a try.  The review raved about the food, the service and the decor; and they were right.  It was all great.  But nowhere in the article did they mention a single word about the ungodly noise level.

I've heard the saying "If it's too loud, You're too old." and well, dang, I guess that makes all six of use total geezers.  It was so loud we skipped coffee and practically ran out of the place for peace and quiet.  Our ears and heads hurt from yelling over the blaring music as it bounced off the cement walls and floor!

I can't remember the last time I ate in an upscale restaurant that you could carry on an actual conversation with the person sitting next to you, let alone across the table.  Is that too much to ask? Imagine how nice a meal would be if you weren't saying "What?, Huh?, Say that again?" all night long.

My question is WHY?  What is the point of restaurants where you have to yell directly into the waiter's ear to place your order-- Then repeat your order multiple times because even he-- the much younger person-- can't hear you!  I don't get it, and I think I'm not the only one.

I swear, if I opened a restaurant in Los Angeles called Shhhhhh, it would be packed every night with happy people, talking at a reasonable level, without music blaring, who were enjoying their meals. Most people would friggin love it whether they're "old" like me, on a romantic date, or just hanging out with friends of any age! Diners could actually talk to each other without sign language, lip reading or texting each other.

Someday, maybe restaurateurs will get it and turn down the music, lay some carpet and add noise panels..... You now, for us old folks.

How's the noise working for you?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

Dermatologist To The Stars

It just so happens that my dermatologist is the same doctor several well known movie stars and some very tall, very sleek, supermodels use.  I didn't plan it that way, it just happened.  

I won't name names but, trust me, you'd be star-struck and sorry you arrived that day with zero make-up on for your skin check-up.  

How do I know a tabloid baby is in 'da house. Paparazzi. Everywhere! And they aren't taking my picture.

  

I've seen this several times at my doc to the stars.  You know an VIP is arriving because their perfectly coiffed "people" enter the office first, scoping out the joint to make sure no photographers are hiding in the very chic waiting room.  Then they carefully scan the room to make sure people like me don't have cell phones at the ready to snap a picture.   Ha! Don't they know I'm too cool for that?  I don't need no stinking pictures! Besides, I can see them in People Magazine next week.

Once the celebrity's "people" arrive, the usually sweet office staff turns cold and, well, kind of bossy as they quickly usher me to my exam room with the snap of a finger, the door slamming shut behind me.  Did I just hear a deadbolt lock?  Mine, I might add, is an exam room at the very far end of the office away from even a whiff of the Sexiest Man Alive.

Out the frosted window, I once saw a massive Cadillac SUV with super tinted windows pull up to the curb.  Out jumped two gorilla type bodyguards.  The back door opened and in a flash, the stunning super model strutted her stuff up the runway and into the office.

Once a star is "in the building", things get really intense.  The first time this happened I thought the President of the United States had arrived with a full SWAT team.  Staff practically carries the showbiz idol into the HUGE exam room in the front of the office.  The exam room door closes ever so gently, and then, silence.  It's as if no one else was in the office-- Except for the now very loud rock music in the hallway to drown out any conversation with the star that could possibly be heard by the outside world. The muscle men and assistants are outside the room standing guard and texting on their Blackberries.   

Now the doc and his staff are all in the exam room with the super star, so I twiddle my thumbs, in my tiny exam room filled with dusty file boxes and old laser equipment, as my head pounds to the beat of the music and wait.  Just my luck to have an appointment the same day as the latest tabloid sensation.  

After an hour of waiting past my scheduled time, I once cracked open the door and, shouted over the blaring music, to ask, "Is anyone home?".  The body guard glared while the receptionist jumped up and handed me a warm bottled water, assuring me it wouldn't be much longer. By the time the star exits and the doc arrives for my appointment, I could have completed an entire season of Friends on DVD.    

My exam then lasts, oh, about four minutes, start to finish.  I'm packed up with a prescription for a bleaching cream and enough skin care samples to last a lifetime.  As I arrange for my follow-up visit, I explain to the receptionist that I really can make friends but I'd prefer to avoid them at my next appointment.

Oh the price of vanity!

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna