Mid-Life Crisis
An Amazing Author Ezine Column by Jack Riepe
Winning The Mid-Life Dating Game
By Jack Riepe
©Copyright Jack Riepe 2000
I'm told I'm hard on disk brakes and women as both seemed worn and burned after relatively low mileage. I don't work at getting divorced but it has become part of my life cycle, like shedding a skin or something. It appears that women find enough good in me to think I can be converted into something useful. They are always disappointed. My last wife, a porcelain doll from Eastern Europe concluded that I'd be just perfect if I wasn't so determined to be me. Another woman of my acquaintance (one smart enough to exit before anything as legal as marriage could occur) said I disguised my virtues as faults and then tried to correct them with cigars, booze, and swearing.
Regardless of how the wives in my life unerringly arrive at their conclusions, the result is the same: I wake up single one morning. Single isn't bad for the first few months as it usually follows the most tempestuous period of marriage or a near-marriage relationship. It generally comes along with soothing piece and quiet, accompanied by the abrupt end of contentious one-sided mutual growth. It is also no longer necessary to have the dog taste every meal and it's definitely easier to start the car without holding my hands over my ears. But man does not live by peace alone, and sooner or later, I become aware that something is missing from my life. (I generally try to fill this void with clever substitutions, such as bartenders, fishing guides, hunting buddies, and pals I haven't seen in years.) Before too long, however, I begin to get messages from “the little copilot,” telling me that it's time to go public once again.
I have never been comfortable with the dating process. From the time I was in high school, I found myself envying guys who had women on each arm. Football players, rich kids and guys in bands always had chics in abundance. I didn't like football, counted my income in small bills, and listened to the kind of music that spilled out of AM radio. (I was so uncool about music that I thought “The Dead” and “The Grateful Dead” were two different groups.) And then there were the guys with the cool hair, the tans, and the Brad Pitt smiles. These guys used to vacuum up every species of available women, leaving only the feminine counterparts of myself in their wake.
If nothing else, the human species is adaptable. I learned that women eventually appreciate guys who can express themselves, feel things other than hunger and the need to procreate, and occasionally buy them something with a modicum of thought behind it. Women generally acquire this sense of appreciation after first dating all the football players, the rich kids, the musicians, and the Brad Pitt-types. I have to concede that most of my loves and marriages were probably the next step in the process of elimination. The upshot of this story is that I'm single again. And if dating was hard when I was the studly youth of seventeen, it's positively ghastly at 45!
The age of 45 qualifies as mid-life if you plan to live to 90. I don't. This approach to abbreviated planning makes all sorts of short-term options seem attractive. For example, true love of the enduring two-week variety (which may be found in truckstops, funeral homes, and bars named “Mickey Finn's”) no longer appears unfullfilling at first glance. Even so, it's a tough dating world out there—especially if your jeans require an extra yard of canvass or two in the ass, your hair thins toward the middle of your head, and you have the temperament of a hand grenade minus the pin. (My hair does not thin toward the center of my head, though it is gray. I thought I'd mention this fact for all of my close friends who are almost bald.) Where does one go to find all of the Sports-Illustrated Swimsuit-kind of women in the 42 to 46-age bracket?
One of the first and least satisfying places to chase skirts are health clubs and gyms. The sexual energy released in these places is simply staggering! The chatter bandied about by some of the female patrons would make a Marine gunny sergeant blush. I've heard conversations dealing with vibrators, positions, and penis size. (I'm forced to admit that I didn't factor prominently in any of these dialogues.) And the outfits these ladies wear are simply magnificent! The drawback to gyms and health clubs is that they are also filled with guys in great shape too! The competition tends to be stiff (no pun intended).
Singles bars are notorious meat markets, where the recently available show up to connect on the fast track. The prerequisite equipment for an excursion into these phirana-filled waters includes an IROC 280Z, industrial-strength cologne applied with a pressure washer, and a $70 haircut. Women utilizing this option need only have nice-looking asses sheathed in something slinky and black, a tan, and an attitude. I have a special singles club outfit made of non-stick Teflon. This enables venom and spittle—which invariable follow my attempts to make conversation—to freely flow to the floor without leaving a stain.
For unexpectedly single gentlemen of some means, there are vacation clubs which are actually thinly-veiled sex beaches with pool-side bars. These places are more sexually open than gyms, but they have the same drawbacks for those of us who are physically challenged. (I spent some time at Club Skin and was approached by a couple of naked lovelies who offered to plow me in the sand. I agreed. Thirty seconds later, they pulled up with a bulldozer. It took me two days to tunnel to the surface.
The chronically single may resort to dozens of publications dedicated to matching up the romantically luckless. These tabloids generally carry hundreds of listings, but present critical data in a kind of code. It pays to learn the hundreds of possible combinations before engaging in any social experiments. For example, “SSWF looking for an SSWM in a meaningful relationship, concluding with an intimate look at the American legal system and a passionate exchange of real estate,” may seem interesting at first glance, but it's not the best. “SSWF means “Straight Single White Female,” while “SSWM” means “a really stupid Sexually Starved White Male just waiting to make yet one more mistake before he dies.” Any ads containing the code “Hrd Btch Lking f/Trble” are no valentine either.
The best place to meet women today is the computer. Online chat rooms offer a million possibilities for introductions and things can get steamy pretty quickly. Trust me on this one. Many of these fine, well-motivated ladies have pictures to send as well. However, be prepared to send them one of your own. (I save the pictures that come with new wallets and scan these into a photo file to handle contingencies.) But the best aspect of the computer is that it allows you to be who you want to be during the critical sizing-up period. Not only does this give you a better chance to fit into your new persona over time, but it allows you to make apres first date arrangements as well.
So if any of you ladies are looking to meet a gentle writer, who looks a great deal like Brad Pitt, drives a Iroc 280Z (which will be stolen from me the day before I meet you), and has a snappy Teflon suit, contact me as Vindac8r@aol.com. I guarantee you'll eventually be surprised.
©Copyright Jack Riepe 1999
Return to:
Choose which group is best for you -- or even join both!
Enter your email address above to receive the Amazing Authors Showcase Newsletter. Perfect for those with a busy schedule -- an overview of the news for the month delivered to your mailbox around the first of each month. |
This group is a collection of some of the finest writers online. Enter your email address above to join this group and share your writing tips, find help, exchange ideas, or just about anything else you can dream up. Have fun! |
| LIKE THIS
SITE?
|
![[IMAGE]](http://carolinanavy.com/navy/creativewriting/renegade/alcoonfi.gif) Bubba's Famous Web
Stop |
Can't find what you are looking for? SEARCH OUR SITE!! Enter a keyword and GO!
|
All stories and graphics are © copyright the authors. Any use, reprint or reproduction of stories on these web pages without the expressed, written consent of the authors is strictly prohibited.
Copyright © 2000 Pepper Raines
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
