Pickles in New York City

I loved your last post. Glad to hear that you got your own place. Wow. That is fantastic. You must be loving it. Except for no banjo music at 4 am - I'm sure you'll miss that!

The only time I have lived on my own was was a couple of years after I was separated. I'll admit was lonely at times. But it was also a time of healing. I look back on it with fondness. In contrast to now where living with teenagers is not lonely and hardly boring, to say the least. But I digress.

Before I get going on New York I should share the second story about women, me and dogs. I was at Pickles' place and her mutt jumped on the bed. I was in a rather compromising position and the monster licked my.... Well not really but I thought that it might. My reaction was to high tail (sic) it out of there. The next day Pickles went into retreat mode and started training the mutt to stay out of her room at night. I can just hear her, "Bad dog, biting the nice man's balls and chasing him away like that, Bad dog". It was a little shocking at the time but now it is funny.

The trip to New York was fantastic. I'm in love. With New York, not Pickles. She pissed me off a few times. First she lost my pen. I'm serious. It took her less than an hour into the trip to lose my pen. While we were going through US customs before the flight, she asked to use my pen. So I lent it to her. Then we got on the plane and I had to fill in yet another form so I ask for my pen back. She had lost it. Unfuckingbelievable. Usually I'm cool with a minor incident like this but I just thought it was careless and I took it personally. I gave her the evil eye. I'm still not laughing.

We arrived in New York on a Wednesday. Remember I'm travelling with two women. Pickles is my age roughly, a bit younger. She is nice. She is a giver. She's loving. She likes me. She massaged my feet a few times - I love massages (any part of my body actually). But she can be annoying. And I'm not in love which means that I don't really care about how I react to her annoying behaviour. I agree, this isn't too smart - I react before I think. Stupid really but that just how it is.

The second traveler is Grace. That's not her real name but that is what she is. She is a relative of a relative (my uncle Fairy, remember him?). Grace is 77 years old (born in 1931, can you believe that) and a real gem. She is the main reason that I wanted to go to New York. She is an artist (painter) and has never had much money so I offered to pay for her trip. I thought she would like to visit some art galleries and I wanted to see her reaction. She has been a spinster forever and I also wanted to let her know that someone cares about her and to bring some joy into her life. She actually does just fine on her own but, you know, sometimes it's nice to have someone do something special for you. She loved everything about New York. It was so fun to go with her. She made me laugh.

Back to Wednesday. We got to our hotel ($233 a night, not bad). Okay, I'll put a plug in for Best Western Hospitality House. It was a great place to stay: 2 bed rooms (I wasn't with Grace), kitchen, living room, 3 TVs, bathroom and continental breakfast. Then we went for a stroll to Times Square (can you see us?). That place is busy - even late at night! We took Grace back and then Pickles and I went back for more.

We ended up getting lured into the basement of some building by a guy offering us tickets for a comedy show. I thought, "What the heck?", but it was a little freaky going down into a basement. We lived and some of the comedians were funny. I love the guys that make fun of people in the audience. One black guy in the audience had a hat on and the comedian kept teasing him about being a pirate. Another guy had a Mohawk and the comedian kept referring to him as gay and joking with his date that she was going out with a gay guy. Probably not too funny for you - you had to be there. The strange thing is that when a comedian asks someone a question, they seem to reply with a real answer - how stupid is that?. I keep a very low profile at these types of things - I'm an easy target.

On Thursday we headed for The Cloisters. This was Grace's idea and it was fantastic. I was pretty excited but nervous too because it started with a bus ride to Harlem and a walk down 125 St to the subway. Luckily it was broad daylight. The Cloisters is at the northern tip of Manhattan Island which is why I was interested in going there, I had never been to that part of Manhattan before.

I should explain that I had surgery on my foot a couple weeks ago. The doctor cut a nerve (Morton's Neuroma) out of my left foot. He had a fit when I told him I was going on a walking tour of New York City. I revived him with smelling salts. He threatened me with blood clots on the plane. Apparently after surgery I was a bit woozy and I asked the nurse for a blow job in the recovery room. I can't remember if she obliged or not. Darn. So I experienced some discomfort and slowness in New York.

As mentioned, The Cloisters (every time I say that word, I can't help think of some female anatomy - silly me) was fun. Pickles started to complain after the first 45 minutes. I had arranged a work related appointment at 3:00 so I left the two ladies to navigate their way back to the hotel via Harlem. The visit with the ad agency went well except that he said it was tough getting clients to pay $150 per hour. I was stunned - this is New York! Martinis are $20 each and he can't get a client to pay a paltry $150? Ludicrous. I'm not sure we will be doing any business with them.

Pickles and Grace never made it back to the hotel. I found them drinking in Rockefeller Plaza. Grace doesn't drink but Pickles drinks like a beached whale. There is no way I can keep up to her. Makes for fun times later, however. They didn't know what they wanted to do in the evening so I made a few calls and voila, we were heading to the harbor for dinner on a cruise. Now that was some dinner. The food was great. The waiter was funny. The entertainment - singing waiters - was pretty good. The views were unforgettable. Glad you got the picture of the Statue of Liberty - the lady is impressive. We got back late.

Friday started with a visit to The Met - it was spectacular. It is a museum and it is big but it is art and not stuffed animals. I don't do stuffed animals. But art - I love art. I don't go for all art - I get tired of Renaissance portraits. I love the Impressionists and some modern art. Although some modern art is just for laughing at. I hope the artist is never around when I'm looking at contemporary art - I just ridicule it. Not all of it but lots of it. Well you know what I'm like. It didn't take Pickles very long to request a lunch break so we had hot dogs.

Now this gets interesting. Pickles can't stand spicy food. Really! She paid for 2 sausage dogs; tried one; nearly passed out and gave hers to me. It gets worse. On the Saturday we were tired so we went to a restaurant near the hotel. It served Indian food (that has to be the worst website). You would have loved it but Pickles could only eat the rice and drink the beer. I am fucking serious. Quit laughing. This is no laughing matter. She can't eat anything hotter than rice. I'm not sure I can date someone who can't eat food with a little kick. Of course there is an upside - more for me. Bring on the naans and tandori chicken.

Friday night Pickles and I went to Billy Elliot. OMG, it was sooooo good. I loved every minute. The story. The acting. The singing. And of course the dancing. I laughed. I cried. I didn't dance but I could have had there been room. God it was good. The movie trailer. The dancing. The musical. Music by Elton John, no less. This was the song that had tears rolling down my cheeks. I seem to have a little pent up sadness (and anger) from childhood.

By the time Saturday rolled around I was sick of continental breakfasts (you know I love breakfast). So I'm thinking, The Waldorf is just around the corner. "Hey, ladies what about the Waldorf for a change?" They agree so off we go. Only to lighten our wallets by $120. No alcohol. No seconds. No kidding. Luckily, Grace whipped out her Amex and paid.

Then we went to MOMA. Most of the time I was in hysterics. This is a long video of NYSE crashing. How can someone call this art? This was a huge room of junk called art. Even Bruno was there. Everyone marked their height on the wall. This is a chair. Who thinks of this stuff? My lord. However, Grace loved it and that was important. She loves modern and contemporary art but she takes it seriously and ignores my antics. Kinda why I like her.

Later, we went to a small gallery on Grace's list. She loved it. I sat on a chair and listened to her discussion with the curator. Pickles went off on her own to Pier 17 to drink beer.

On Sunday we explored Central Park. I rented a bike and pushed off the ground with my good leg. It is huge. Not my leg although it was a bit swollen - the park. We started off and after an hour or more we came to the end, or what I thought was the end. Pickles insisted that we had come full circle to the beginning - I was sure that she was totally out to lunch. But she pointed out a few land marks proving that we had not gone the full length but, in fact, only the width. I was soooo wrong and I'm the one with the outdoor recreation degree - embarrassing. But we had a super time.

For dinner we went to my cousin's condo. David is related to Grace too. David and his wife, Suzie, have two young children - adorable. Dinner was excellent. The condo is in Harlem so we had to go there one last time. We had a great time. Love it.

Monday was depressing because we had to head home. I never like coming home after a trip. Using my incredible foresight, I had arranged to meet a client from New Jersey at our departure airport, Newark, so that took a bit of the edge off.

Anyway, that was our trip. Fun.

A Good Night's Sleep

Thankfully, my dating life has been slightly less complicated in the animal arena. I have not had to deal with any make-out sessions with eyes staring in the corner. The occasional lick has been averted – well maybe not, but there were certainly no dogs involved. My primary problem lies in the area of roommates. I have not lived alone since my divorce. In fact, I don’t think I have ever lived alone until quite recently – let me tell you, this makes for very interesting situations. As of the last 2 weeks, I’m officially living on my own. It’s quiet. I can walk around in any outfit I choose and I don’t have to worry about many of my prior problems. Some of the key benefits I have discovered in the last couple of weeks include:

- There is no cushion loving, gay room mate stealing my bank card to cut his cocaine
- No one is using my kitchen appliances for anything other than their intended purpose (My last turkey baster was relocated to the bathroom for unknown purposes that I will let you imagine)
- There is no 4 am banjo playing
- The random garbage on the floor has disappeared
- The S&M parties have ended (I lived in an open loft at the time and this made for very interesting evenings at home)

I would like to add the disclosure that for each and every room mate I have had, I did do my due diligence and get references and a credit check. Unfortunately this is obviously not a full proof method, so I am still trying to refine my selection techniques.

My latest flame, the dog whisperer (DW), and I ran into a few very sticky situations with my latest roommate. She has an interesting personality, but overall she has a good heart. She is autistic - suffers from Asperger's syndrome and has an open dating relationship with a coffee barista named Jordon. The two of them combined really make you understand the inspiration behind shows like Jerry Springer.

Jordon is an S&M addict with a mistress on the side, and my roommate is just different. My favorite evening was when we came home after a late evening of salsa dancing to discover them coming in after an erotic party. Of course the evening was not over for them, and it wasn’t for us either. Living in a soft loft puts a slightly different perspective on privacy.

DW and I are super tired and ready to go to sleep. My old roommate and Jordon fall into the door attired in what can only be called strips of lace and PVC. I of course had my own plans for the evening and it did not involve listening to what ensued. After about 2 hours of television (of course, it was already 3 am when we got home) they retire to her area of the apartment. This is when the pony noises start….good times. She likes to tie him up with shoelaces and ride him around like a pony.

DW is surprisingly understanding. You see, he is an older gentleman and my frat house open loft apartment is certainly not what he is used to. We of course get into a vocal match that evening with Jordan and my roommate when DW and I start trying to enjoy ourselves as well. I don’t think anyone won that evening, or maybe we all did. We finally fell asleep around 6 am. Over the course of the evening I develop just a little more respect for the guy, although I still have to close my eyes every time I see him.

I like to refer to this phenomenon as the roommate test. Putting people in slightly awkward situations is very revealing and can show patience, open mindedness, intolerance, humor and or course that little bit of kink in the bedroom. Of all the benefits and privacy I have gained, I think I will miss evenings like the aforementioned one, just a little.

Chutney

Further Musings on Canines

Funny that you should bring up the topic of dogs because that is exactly what I wanted to write about. I love dogs. In fact, I have one. A golden retriever. All of us in the household love her. She's wonderful but she can be a real bitch too - typical. However, this post isn't about her. It's about women and dogs.

Dogs have been a regular part of my life. When I was a kid my father had guard dogs - two Doberman Pinschers. One day when my younger son was about five he asked me what their names were and I couldn't remember. I wanted to give him a image and something to remember so after a short pause I said Leftie and Rightie. I had to call my Dad after that and explain to him that if Son #2 ever asks him about the our dogs that he needed to say that their names were Leftie and Rightie. Those have been the names ever since.

I also had dogs when I was married - two in fact (dogs not marriages). The black lab died after six years. His death was one of the many stress factors that killed our marriage. The other dog I lost in the divorce. She got the dog and I got the kids. I think I got ripped off. All she has to do is feed the dog, walk the dog and brush his coat once in a while. I, on the other hand, am left with two teenage boys high on hormones, girls, sex, drugs, beer, and junk food. Parenting them is like dancing in a nest of vipers - terrifying and painful. And worry? God, I've never worried so much in my life. 

But I digress. Let me get to the topic of this post: dating women with dogs. 

Two of the women I dated recently have dogs. As I said, I love dogs but I have a bias toward big dogs. Little yappy mutts really bother me. Let me give you an example. Fenn (from about a year ago) has one of these rat-sized things that she called a dog. Truth be told, it is because of this feral beast that I never made it to the bedroom with her. I never got a chance. The barriers, partially dog and partialy woman, were insurmountable. 

The first barrier was that Fenn is very religious - a real prude. I should have known that scoring a home run was just a fantasy. But there were other barriers. The second barrier was that she foamed at the month. I'm serious. She would start talking and a bit of white foam would appear at the corner of her mouth. One would think that this shouldn't be a problem but it was incredibly distracting. Literally, I couldn't consentrate on what she was saying - all I could think about was, "God woman, clean up your act, lick your lips once in a while," or" Don't you know you're foaming at the mouth," or "Shit, I hope she doesn't have rabies." 

Although, mouth foam was a problem, it was resolvable. If I closed my eyes I was't so distracted. The clincher for ending our short relationship was Ruffy or whatever her dog's name was. This dog wouldn't stop barking and licking. It barked at the moon, at cars driving by, at the wind, at the neighbors, and at me. I don't think I'm much different from other people - I don't like dogs barking at me. But I'm also 50 years old - I figured I could handle it. Consequently, I decided to not let the barking bother me. I figured that I would just ignored the stupid mutt. It was annoying but never mind - I'm fine. Besides I want some good lovin'. 

But this dog was intrusive and that is what did me in. Fenn and I were in the living room. Remember we couldn't be in her bedroom because that might lead to ... Lord save us - sex. Fenn has finally got the mutt to stop barking.  We are lying on the floor - kissing. That is all we are doing - kissing. My eyes are closed so that I'm not distracted by the foam - I just lap it up. 

Then all of a sudden Ruffy starts licking my feet. I jumped clean off the floor and nearly choked on a mouth full of foam. Eventually, Fenn calms the dog down and we start kissing again - still in the living room and still on the floor. Just as I'm getting my nerve back the dog starts nuzzling my hair and he's licking Fenn's hair too. The strange thing is that she doesn't seem to mind. She thinks this is "cute" and carries on kissing. But to me this is just too bizzare. I not impressed and I'm not having a good time.

What really pissed me off was that Fenn babed this dog and let the thing do whatever it wanted.  All I wanted to do is swat the beast. I didn't but I've lost my motivation and any level of performance is gone. I give up. I fake a yawn and complain about how tired I am, then make a quick exit. 

I'll save the next dog story for the next post.

Cocktale

The Dog Whisperer

I can certainly understand your predicament. You know me – come on, I am a sucker for a pretty face. I have even had entire relationships destined to fail from the start over washboard abs and a little bit of arm candy.

Everyone wants to be with that person who walks in the room with the jaw dropping factor. Certainly, you and I are not any exceptions to this rule. To be truthful, I have done very well in this department in the past – come on, I married a gay man!!

He took countless hours to impeccably style his hair in the morning. This routine sometimes lasted upwards of an hour. He would iron or dry clean everything down to his underwear and t-shirts. His shoes would be glowing any time he left the house. I have to tell you –he made it look easy to look good, but it was a daily process that involved at least 3 outfit changes, a temper tantrum and an extra 2-3 hours in the bathroom.

My past lovers have also been quite attractive and could also be defined as metro sexual or even in some other cases as entirely homosexual. I have noticed a trend and am working hard on figuring out an alternative approach to dating (more on this later). In the past I had been happy to be arm and arm with:

- Chad – a very beautiful make-up artist trying to discover himself
- Rob – a bi-curious man with a fetish for leather pants (I ran into him at a bar several years later only to discover he was still wearing the same leather pants. They fit, but my first question to myself is how you go about washing such an article of clothing)
- TM – he was absolutely stunning! His beautiful body, gorgeous face made him a magnet for both men and women a like. Unfortunately he had some serious performance issues. I suspect this issue may have been due to his third testical (I am not even kidding).
- Anatol – my gorgeous German lover who was convinced he was in love with me after a few months of traveling together in turkey
- Emilio – my handsome salsa dancing doctor
- Neil – a confessed in the closet, supremely confused gay man with a propensity for cocaine. He was the spitting image of a younger Jude Law.
- KK – of course we can’t forget my ex husband

So this brings me to my current predicament with The Dog Whisperer (DW for short). You know what is entertaining about your issue with Pickle, is that I have a very similar predicament of my own with DW. His pseudonym fits him perfectly – he has an innate ability to communicate, but unfortunately his looks, in my personal opinion, would be classified and almost dog-like. OMG, that was mean! I don’t want to be this shallow and awful about this situation, as I really like the man, but unfortunately, we too have our issues.

What I adore about DW:
- He is a perfect gentle man – oh yes he opens doors, picks up the bill and becomes a handy man when required
- He is spontaneous – he took me to a shoe store and pretended to be the sales guy to get me to crack a smile
- He makes me laugh – see spontaneity above
- He pushes me to express myself emotionally– this is something that I rarely do now a days as generally I don’t get too attached or feel too much
- He is very well cultured – ok, ok, I am a sucker for accents and he has a great eastern European one that can make me melt over the phone
- He is quite wealthy – his shower is the size of my bedroom!!! I am not generally concerned about wealth as I do fairly well on my own, but there is something about walking into a place, stepping out of a gorgeous car (he opens the door of course), and stepping into a room.
- He can dance – OMG, I love a man who can dance. His Latin dancing skills are a little unreal.
- He is exceptionally smart
- He is not gay!!! In fact, he is borderline homophobic, but I guess any man with no homosexual tendencies is a step in the right direction for me at this point, so I will consider this a positive for now.
- He is absolutely unbelievable in bed – oh yes, oh yes, OMG, oh yes!!!

Sounds like a perfect match doesn’t it? One would think, I would be tripping over myself to reel this one in, but no such luck. In fact, I have spent weeks trying to avoid the man and get out of any sort of commitment what so ever. What is my problem? Well, he looks like a dog whisperer. I have to close my eyes when we go to bed, I can’t hold his hand in public and I’m always super paranoid that someone I know will see us together.

So, in short, I can relate to your dilemma entirely. I want to like him, I want to fall in love, but I don’t think I can or know how to tell you the truth. I am way to rational a person to dive and go blind (maybe that would help in this case).

I am still holding out for perfection. I agree with you, we are the entire package – attractive, smart, adventurous, successful, so why can’t we find all of those same characteristics in a single package.

I want it all! I am waiting for the entire list! Does this mean I will spend the rest of my life on the sidelines hoping for something to happen? Or will my selection criteria eventually pay off and will I ride off into the sun set with the perfect partner? These are all questions I’m currently struggling with as are you at the exact same moment.

The other question that has reared it’s ugly head is are my expectations too high. Before my divorce, I was not so fascinated by perfection and plagued by the fear of failure. Could this new behaviour be an excuse to not commit and stay single? I don’t have answers just yet, but I’m guessing we will discover them together!

Chutney

Got Myself in a Pickle

So now I'm in a real pickle. I went to a resort town with a new date on the weekend.

In fact for the record, I'll call her Pickles.

The pickle that I'm in is that she likes me a lot more than I like her.

This shouldn't be an issue but it is. Let me explain.

The positives are that:.

She's friendly.

She's attentive.

She's giving.

She loves to touch.

She listens.

She kisses well.

She can do other things well but more on that later.

She can cook - that was last weekend.

And she laughs at my stupid stories and occasional jokes.

So I should be happy. Right?

Almost but it gets better.

In fact, I now realize what I missed as a teenager and as a married guy for 22 years.

I'm about to start on a mission to make up for lost time.

Remember how I said all my recent dates just wanted pleasure for themselves.

Well Pickles is not like that. OMG. She is amazing.

She bought a cute little (!) night thingy for the weekend - not a nightie - not enough material for a "nightie". It was baby blue - red or black would have been hot hot. But it still looked cute. Or technically I should say, she looked cute in it.

I had more fun in one weekend than a year with my ex.

I don't have a drop of semen left in my body.

I'm dry like fish out of water. Limp like a cooked noodle. Soft as ice cream on a hot July afternoon.

Nothing. Nada. Finito. Kaput.

If I tried to jerk off I would be red, raw, blistered and still waiting.

I should be in love, right?

But I'm not and I don't think I could ever be in love with her.

She knows about all my dates over the last few years.

I even told her that I can't fall in love.

She doesn't seem to care - she's still there.

I'm having trouble articulating why I'm struggling to love her.

But I may have figured out a clue.

Now to the "negatives".

She's not gorgeous.

She's not rich.

She's kinda cute - sort of. Let's say cute-ish.

The problem is that she looks old even though she's 2 years younger than me.

She says she has thin hair but I say it is thinning - wispy would be polite - balding would be closer to reality.

She's packing a few extra pounds but so am I (although I have lost a few since romping around with you in your city in February).

And there are a few other things.

She says sorry every other sentence.

Sorry, I bumped you. Sorry I touch you. Sorry for not being ready. Sorry for not thinking. Sorry for thinking.

It drives me crazy.

And the questions. Lord, save me from all the questions.

I don't mind questions per se, in fact I love questions - they are the foundation of good communication.

But there is a point when they can be over done - especially if the questions are coming from a place of insecurity.

Questions like "Will you phone me?" "Is my hair okay?", "Are you okay?", "How did I do?" , "Are we going to do something this weekend?", are really starting to bug me after the 10th time.

Let me give you an example.

Before going to sleep I took a sleeping pill because I know that in a new bed I don't sleep well the first night.

The problem with taking a sleeping pill, in a hotel, with a naked gal is timing - a person has to be careful.

Take it too early and, well... nothing happens and that could be frustrating for all involved.

My timing was ok but not perfect.....

We paid $14.00 for a movie so I take my pills just after brushing my teeth but before the movie starts.

I figure that the meds need a while to kick in.

Big mistake.

We didn't watch the movie. Not that I'm complaining except for the $.

What was I thinking?

Eventually the meds are going to kick in - this much I know - but when?

Well, I start to fall asleep at the end of the movie after some vigorous "exercise".

I thought my timing was just fine.

Pickle, however, can't or won't fall asleep.

And she's talking and asking me all kinds of questions.... Blah blah.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending the perspective) my eyes are drooping.

I try hinting that some sleep would be a good idea but I'm not succeeding in getting the message across.

She keeps talking and asking questions until she eventually asks, "How long does the sleeping pill last?"

Before I even had a chance to think about what to say, I said, "24 hours".

Oops. Apparently that was not the best answer.

There was some flapping and flaying about - even some thrashing.

I have a few bruises but they'll heal -- not scars, I hope.

So now I'm the one who is wide awake - worrying.

Luckily, the meds still have some effect and I fall asleep and stayed asleep.

What is a guy to do?

Here's my second problem: Holding hands in public or to be more exact - not holding hands.

I just don`t want too. I'm sure I could with the right person just not with her.

Picture this.

We park the car in the lot by the Sulfur mountain gondola.

We get out and start walking toward the ticket area.

She reaches for my hand and I tense up.

I can`t help it.

To make matters worse, Susan figures out that I'm reluctant in public but that I don't mind in private.

This is very awkward.

So she starts asking more questions. Here we go again...

Questions like, Why don't I like to hold hands in public?, Is it her? Is she ugly? Don`t I want to be with her?

What I'm I suppose to say?

There are some situations in life when it is best not to tell the truth. This is one.

But I can`t think of anything to say. I just mumble something about how it`s not my style.

I'm really messed up.

I think I need therapy.

Which brings me to the topic of prettiness.

Here is my question: Are a person's looks important?

The altruistic part of me says, No.

But the practical side of me is taking over and saying, Guess what chum, looks matter.

I suppose it doesn't take a genius to figure this out but I try not to be prejudice.

I take pride in being open to others of all racial, gender, and religious backgrounds and not getting too distracted by factors that hinder other people.

I even like women with brown skin - just kidding, I couldn't resist. :)

So I have come to accept the fact that l like pretty women.

There I've said it. I feel better now.

Here is how came to this brilliant conclusion.

Pickles and I were in restaurant. I'm sure you've been there.

We are sitting across from each other.

I should be looking at her.

But I'm not. I'm looking all over the restaurant.

I'm looking for who is pretty. I'm distracted. My mind is wandering. I can`t stay focused.

I'm thinking that if I was in love, really in love, I would be able to focus - focus on the person I'm with.

Looking at her beautiful eyes.

Looking at her hair, nose, ears, neck, freckles, dimples, forehead, lips, neck... okay we`ll stop there.

Remember that I told you that being in love is wanting to touch your lover`s neck and feel their pulse - and not remove you fingers.

You just want to sync your heart rates. That is love.

But I can't and this has me puzzled.

Which brings me back to prettiness.

If I was in a restaurant with someone who was pretty - really pretty - I know I would focus - focus on them.

I've been there before. I've been in love - but it is always with someone who is pretty.

I can't help it.

I used to be in love with my ex.

Before that it was:

- Valerie (the smoothest, softest skin ever)

- Andrea (I had to teach her to French kiss - she caught on)

- Lorraine (she taught me a few tricks. I can't believe I let her go - what was I thinking?)

- Kathy (okay, I`ll admit that she never loved me back but I was still in love with her - that counts right?)

- Eunice (I'm serious. At Bible School, no less. Seriously)

- There was someone else at Bible School but I can't remember her name (shame on me) (Maybe that is because I liked her younger sister better. I can still picture her sweeping the floor. Barefoot. Cute. Gorgeous, actually. There I go... getting distracted, again. I need therapy. Badly.)

- Gladys (she married someone else but we still stay in touch - well not in touch, physically, but you know, in touch... mentally, spiritually, emotionally but not physically. Although, if she reached out I wouldn't stop her.... Actually, she's too skinny for me. I don't like skinny any more.)

- Terri, Vanessa, Cindy, the list goes on....

- and Mary. (I can't forget Mary. I think she was my first love. She was 5 and I was 6. That was in Africa.)

I have come to the conclusion that I can fall in love - she just has to be pretty.

Aren't I smart?

Why hasn't anyone else figured this out and told me.

I'm so smart.

I'm brilliant.

Don`t you agree?

While I'm at it let me add a few more items to my wish list:

- good in bed (I wonder why that is at the top of the list)

- a great cook (second on the list - not too bad)

- rich (of course)

- forgiving (well we all know about my past which was a mess)

- understanding (obviously)

- loving (emotionally that is)

- able to laugh (a lot)

- pleasant (a opposed to bitchy)

- available (or soon to be available)

- and she has to like me (Dang, I was doing so well).

It looks like I have a few more issues to resolve.

Miss you too.

Cocktale.

I'm Chutney ;)

Firstly, I did not intend for us to in fact be named Cocktale and Chutney, but ironically, the names do fit. So I guess moving forward this is what we will call ourselves. Unfortunately for Cocktale, he may have received the short end of the stick on this one….not literally of course, not that I would know.

Likely I should start in the same place as Cocktale. I am now 29 years old, I am divorced and enjoying my life for what it has become today. I was married to a gay man. He is technically not out of the closet just yet. He is a Muslim man with strong conflicting traditional values, like so many second generation Canadians. Frankly, it’s only a matter of time when he comes to the resolution his morning 3 hour routine and affinity for men is a lifestyle and not a choice. We were together for a total of 4 somewhat miserable years. We had sex only a handful of times, so this may explain my fixation with this particular activity now. I love sex. I crave it, and I need it on a regular basis to make me feel alive and desirable. Is this behaviors healthy, likely not, but for this period in my life, I have accepted it as an enjoyable extracurricular activity.

My life really began after my separation from my husband, but I met Cocktale almost a year earlier. Cocktale’s memory may be fading, but I remember the day quite vividly. I was in sales at the time for a small online agency looking for new clients. Every networking event at the time was like a hunt. I was checking out the crowd for potential opportunities and saw that Cocktale was in fact a competing company to my business. I introduced myself to see if perhaps we could work together on future projects and this was the beginning of our relationship.

At that particular time in my life, I was confident and secure. Talking to anyone and everyone was not a problem at all. So our communication progressed quite easily. We went out for dinner and I thoroughly enjoyed his stories. He is truly a wonderful story teller which is where the ‘tales’ part of his online name fits. Our first dinner was uneventful, aside from the great company and great food. The second time we went out for dinner I remember being devastated. My ex husband had sent me an email a few weeks earlier asking for a divorce. This was really the beginning of our journey together.

Hopefully, you can read our stories, be entertained as some of what has happened to us over the last few years is pretty surreal. Most importantly, we hope we can start a dialogue for us all who have a lust for life and affinity for getting into trouble.

Chutney

I'm Cocktale

My name, Cocktale, is made up. Truth be told, Chutney made it up. I blame her. Damn.

Let me start by telling you a bit about myself. I'm 50 years old (unfuckingbelievable especially when I feel 38). I live in Canada but I was born in Africa to ex-patriate parents. I'm divorced. That happend a couple years ago but I was separated for a couple years before that. And before that I slept in the basement for 2 years - that was like living in shit. Going through a divorce is nasty. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. But being divorced is okay - just fine by me actually. Better than being married to ..... well I'll refrain from being nasty; maybe later.

I live with my sons - 2 teenagers. Actually, they live with me or that is how it is supposed to be but teenage boys seem to have a habit of doing their own thing which ends up having an impact on me and my life. But I digress, they are a story on their own and I'll tell a tale or two about them at another time, not now.

Chutney can tell her own story. So I'll start by telling you how we met. Strangely, I can't remember when we first met, she says it was at some business event of which I have no recollection - I must have been drunk except that I never get that drunk. I do remember our second meeting. It was in a coffee shop after she emailed me asking if I wanted to meet for coffee. What? Are you nuts? Of course, I'll have coffee. Who are you again? Oh yeah you're female - good enough for me. I'm game to meet any woman for coffee.

This was about 5 years ago. Our meeting was like any other work related meeting. We talked about clients, projects and work issues. She was married. I was married. I often met (meet) female coworkers for coffee - I consider this one of the joys of working. To be honest, that is all I ever did while I was married - meet for coffee. I'm not a person that plays the field - I'm loyal. Scewed up a bit but loyal.

So we have coffee a few times. Then we worked on a project together and that was it. We were associates, co-workers, colleagues but not friends - all we talked about was work. Until... Chuney sent me another email asking if we could get together. By that time I was separated and I needed any type of companionship that was being offered. Being a sensitive guy, I suggested going for coffee. Chuntney replies saying that she loves nice meals at restaurants - how about dinner?

Let me ask you, what would you do? As I mentioned, I might be a bit screwed up but I'm not stupid - I know a good thing when it is forced upon me. Chutney is a goddess. She reminds me of Lisa Ray. So we went for dinner. Remember she's married. Well not for long. By the time of our next dinner, Chutney tells me that she's separated.

And that is how our friendship started - talking about relationships, separation, divorce, pain, sorrow, hopes dashed, dating, longings and by the way, what should we have on tonight's menu?

Our friendship is strange - we've talked about everything and we've been to many restaurants for dinner. We've even travelled together but we are just friends and that is the beauty of what we want to share with others.

Welcome to our blog, our stories, our frustrations with dating and relationships and our unexplainable friendship. Enjoy.

Cocktale