BOOMER JUDY to Men: Waving the White Flag [2015]

It was right after I sent a return text to Derek the Englishman, who was canceling our first face-to-face date scheduled for that evening with a clumsy and insulting excuse that I’m repeating verbatim: “I was just awoken [sic!] by a call from my son, reminding me we made plans for tonight. oops. can u and i do next saturday?” I texted him back with a vague, “yeah, sure,” which I was hoping implied that his excuse deserved that response, but I really didn’t care. I was tired. Tired of getting my hopes up with flirty, tummy-fluttery phone calls that resulted in disappointment.

This was by far not the first, but it was now going to be the last in a series. So I decided: I’m done. I’m waving the white flag. Clearly, my ability to repel men has not only returned, but perhaps even gained in strength since the last time I’ve sent them running  in the opposite direction.

Wait! You don't even owe me money! Yet!
Wait! You don’t even owe me money yet!

This time, I offered myself no bargains, promises or deals. I was ready to end the madness. Perhaps it was because unlike the retreat of Ben, Jeff, Sidney, Rich or any of the other in the Parade of Penises that had entered and quickly exited my life recently, this guy had so many red flags that I was actually relieved, although of course insulted, to receive his rejection.

Whether I wanted to see a fellow or not, even after the most boring, eye-rollingly awful first date, I was always insulted when I didn’t receive the opportunity to reject first. And although Derek was very sexy and funny, and even the most inane comments sound better with a British accent, he apparently didn’t appreciate my candor when I asked him to be so kind as to not burp into the phone every few minutes as we chatted. I never had the nerve to do that when I was younger, and now that I did, it didn’t matter: he ignored me. But that wasn’t a red flag so much as an extremely annoying habit; the weaving of dreams is what made me realize that he was not of or on this world, just sort of floating, and I’m just too long in the tooth for a floater: a 50 year old guy who is a messenger by day, a musician at night, and talks about someday buying a bar on an island. You tolerate that when a guy is thirty, unless you like his music. He shared his on Soundcloud, and it sucked. So there you go. And there he went.

floating feet
Derek was a floater, and I need a guy with at least five toes on the ground.

And then, within the next few days, after the withdrawal jitters had abated, I was delighted to discover that since I had waved the white flag I had so much more time on my hands! The time that I had been spending searching for, responding to, getting ready for, meeting, having sex with, and obsessing about men, was now? Mine, to do with whatever I wished.

And time, I finally realized, is exactly what I need, to attempt to understand those mysterious creatures and those exciting experiences. Perhaps I might even reflect on my own behavior that sends them running, but to do so I’ll have to take a trip down memory lane looking at some recent and not so recent experiences.

Boomer Judy’s erotic escapades continue…

EAGER BEAVER

YES, of COURSE it’s OBVIOUS… It suggests a willingness to move forward with enthusiasm in the face of MAJOR difficult life changes, and if it’s said that “puns always work,” we’ll see if that’s the case as we move forward…

“After TWENTY YEARS in a SHITTY MARRIAGE, it’s a whole new world for this Bewildered Bachelorette.”

There’s the tag: Suddenly Single Bewildered Bachelorette 

“Starved for male attention after a long, lackluster — ”  now wait a minute, at the end it didn’t lack luster at all, in fact, near the end is when all that hot, sexy stuff happened, and, in fact, there was a (you guessed it: alt. title):

LOTTA LUSTER, BUSTER!

It’s a cliche because it’s true: you can’t save a marriage with exotic, erotic adventures… but you sure can have a lotta fun!

red heels 2

Better Marriage = More Blow Jobs

Holding back her tears, Sharon’s voice quivered as she described the grouchy, snappy and absent behavior of her husband of 12 years, Bill. She was bewildered and scared, but mostly angry at the way his bellicose behavior shuts her up and shut him down, and scares their young daughter. He was now gone more often than home, and when he was home he isolated himself behind his laptop or in front of the TV. We sat, curled up like cats on my sofa, and I took a sip of wine.
Continue reading “Better Marriage = More Blow Jobs”