Dating Old Geezer Style

****TAKING A BREAK WHILE I PREPARE FOR MY WEDDING ON DEC 7TH. BUT AS ARNOLD "THE GUBINATOR" ONCE SAID, "I'LL BE BACK." THANKS FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING, PATIENCE, AND LOYALTY.
LATER GATORS,
DOUG

Delusional. It's the only word that correctly describes the inaccurate notion I had that dating again, after 20 years of marriage, would be fun and carefree. After all, because I was older, wiser and had more life-experience, I could avoid the neurosis of the dating world that so many of us experienced when we were young and immature. WRONG!

Eight years into this dating-in-the-adult-world thing, I've not only learned that the neurosis still exists but it's actually increased. There are now more things to be neurotic about.

For one thing, Father Time is not kind to the human body. When I was younger, although I was slim, my muscles were hard and defined. I was, to quote the Bob Seger song, "Like A Rock." But at the age of 40, when I became single again, I was less like a rock and more like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Exercise became my second religion.

And just about the time that strength-training was actually showing some nice dividends, I incurred reminders (various strains and pulls of muscles) that I'm not as young as I used to be.

So instead of exercise, I now do the suck-in-your-gut-when-a-nice-looking-lady-walks-by thing. And like a lot of other guys, I've deceived myself into believing that not only does this make my stomach look smaller but some how sucking my midsection up to my chin makes my chest look bigger, stronger, and more impressive.

There are other quandaries lurking in the adult dating world. Because I don't want my date thinking I'm an invalid, I try to hide the infirmities age has inflicted upon me. Reading glasses are a good example of what I'm talking about. The need for them is part of the aging process, and though I didn't want them I have them.

My solution? I leave them home. Riiiiight, like squinting to read the restaurant menu that I'm holding at arms length doesn't give my date a clue that my eyes need a little assistance.

Then there's the dilemma I face after eating a nice big, spicy meal: do I, in front of my date, pop into my mouth a couple of anti-acids (only old geezers need them, right?), or do I leave them in my pocket and suffer unspeakable pain throughout the rest of the evening?

While we're on the subject of the digestive system, since after a certain age everything one ingests gives one gas, when on a date, how does one discretely dispose of the rumbling methane building in my intestines after a meal?

Well I do the gentlemanly thing. I wait until we're in a crowd, quietly let loose of the gas, and then blame it on someone else.

"Can you believe someone would be so gross as to flatulate in public? There's no consideration for others anymore."

Just kidding. What I really do is hold it in until I bloat like a bovine loose in an alfalfa field, all the time fearing I'll float away on the wind like a human helium balloon.

Another question that arises is just how picky should I be concerning whom I date? Well I've come to understand that the answer lies in a simple equation--the longer I'm single the lower my standards. The personal ads in the classified section of a newspaper demonstrate what I mean.

If a young guy were to take out one of these ads his requirements for a date might read like the following:

Must be physically fit, high energy, vivacious, adventurous, dresses fashionably but is as comfortable in jeans as she is in an evening gown, is a witty, intelligent, professional; financially secure and emotionally stable.

Where as an ad from an older man might read:

Must be breathing, have most of her teeth and only a little facial hair, not too bald, shaves her legs and armpits every now-and- again, wears shoes, doesn't chew tobacco on a regular basis, occasionally uses deodorant, bathes once a month, and regularly takes her meds to control her mental illness.

Multiple divorces are also obstacles for the single adult. Evidently there's an unwritten rule that one divorce is OK, but multiple divorces are as scary as multiple personalities and for the same reason . . . something just ain't right.

One might think then that the never-been-married group would have the upper hand in this world of adult dating. Nope. That's just as much a liability as multiple divorces. You see, another unwritten rule is the 35-and-older person who has never been married, well, there's probably a very good reason for that so stay clear. ARRRRRRG!

Yes, the dating world for adults is more confusing, frustrating, and neurotic then when we were teens. A Rubik's Cube is an easier mystery to solve. So what's one to do? When I figure that out I'll be sure to let you. Right now I have to get ready for a date.

Hey, dating might be confusing, frustrating, and neurotic, but it beats an evening home alone trying to solve a Rubik's Cube.

Authors Note: Since this writing, I have become engaged. More on that later.

Hey Pickle Head, I'll Take Two Strawberry-Blonds With Chicken Legs

Let's face it, though some people in our society have worked hard for change, we still live in world where too much emphasis is placed on one's perceived attractiveness. And for those of us who don't eat to live but live to eat, society has made it very difficult for us to discipline ourselves when it comes to our eating habits; the English language seems to equate almost everything with food. Just feast your eyes on the following:

Let's start off with the human being. Someone who is considered not too bright can be called a potato head (and remember, potatoes have eyes), a meat head, or a pickle head, just to name a few. If your head is adorned with red hair you're a carrot top, or perhaps you are a person who has strawberry-blond hair. There are people who have cauliflower ears, toe jam, and of course, we all have our own set of buns. If you're unfortunate enough to have an acne problem you probably have heard the term pizza face once or twice; then there are those who have a peaches-and-cream complexion.

We've heard the terms beer belly, onion breath, pickle breath, armpit juice, Adam's apple, duck feet, goose neck, and peach fuzz (growing on a young man's face). An unattractive person may be considered a cow, a heavy person may be considered a butter ball, and one who is underweight could very well have chicken legs--it all sounds like a smorgasbord at a restaurant for cannibals.

Besides the physical and mental aspects of the human being, we also compare each other to food in other ways. A really nice person can be a "peach" to work with, where as, a jerk is a real weenie or a turkey. If you act silly you are a nut or have gone bananas; if a guy is cocky he is a hot dog. A little girl can be the apple of her daddy's eye. A person can be colder than the center seed of a cucumber or hotter than a pepper. I've been labeled a pig when I've eaten more than my share of food at supper time.

Then there's other terminology which we use. Have you ever been on a wild goose chase? If a cool wind is blowing, you might say it's chilly outside. We can drive a stake (yes, I know the last two are not spelled like the food that they make us thing of, but the connotation is still there) into the ground. If we care to, we can find a court on which to play a game of squash.

Personally, I can remember playing potato ball and crab soccer in P.E. during my high school days. Many of us have owned a car that turned out be a lemon. Those little German canines are often called Wiener dogs, and a dog which the genes of several breeds flowing through its veins is called a Heinz 57.

And down here in the Southern States, one may be served hush puppies as part of one's meal. If we want to we can eat a date, set a date, make a date, break a date, take out a date, double date, or single date. It can be sooooo confusing!

Well, it's time to quit this nonsense and go pump kin for family gossip; yeah, I know, that last one was really stretching it a bit, but orange you glad I put it in there anyway?

The "New" World of Potty Training

It always amazes me what people will think to make a little money. Take, for instance, the program I saw on television awhile back when the network I was watching did a piece on new methods for potty training children, and you know I just had to write about it.

During the program part of a potty training video, a video parents could purchase to encourage their “trainee” to use the toilet, was shown. The thing I couldn’t figure out is just when one is supposed to show this video to one’s offspring--before, during, or after the child’s attempt to use the commode?

I guess, like those in-flight movies shown on airplanes while in route to one’s destination, one could use the potty video as an in-bathroom movie while one’s child is in route to, well, you get the idea. But I digress.

Now, one part of this video portrayed an over enthusiastic, if not down right sickening, set of parents in a bathroom, standing in front of their child who’s sitting on the thrown. As the proud parents stood there—I swear I’m not making this up—they sang a potty song to their child that went something like this: Bobby’s a super duper pooper. He can poop with the best . . .!

Yeah right. You just know that singing toilet songs to my three sons as they did their “duty” while on the toilet would’ve been the highlight of their potty training. And I won’t even delve into the lyrics I’d have sung to my boys, except to say that my marriage to their mom would probably have ended earlier than it did.

You know, the biggest problem I see with this method of toilet training is the affect it might have on a child—every time he hears someone singing he’ll have the overwhelming urge to go to the bathroom, kind of makes you think of Pavlov and his dogs, doesn’t it? I’m guessing this type of toilet training would preclude a music career for a child.

To me, this potty training video rates right up there with the creation of the diaper beeper. Fortunately, like the potty video, this devise never caught on.

You see, a few years ago a guy in Utah invented a liquid sensitive beeper that attached to a baby’s diaper. Here’s how it worked. Once attached, the beeper sounds off when the diaper gets wet. You then rush your child to the bathroom, undo his diaper, and set him on the commode to finish the job, the theory being that eventually the child gets the idea that he’s to use the toilet.

Now, there are three things that concerned me about this invention. First off, let’s hope the beeper and all of its wiring is liquid proof; otherwise, your kid may be in for the shock of his young life, OUCH!

Second, what happens when you’re attending a solemn occasion like a wedding or a funeral, and your child pees his diaper? Oh, you’d certainly be the hit of the event.

Thirdly, when I get old and feeble and loose control of my bodily functions it will be embarrassing enough to having to wear adult diapers, but if my kids think their going to attach a diaper beeper to me, well, they best thing again!

It’s said that you don’t necessarily need to come up with a new invention to make money. All you have to do is improve on an old one. So while these diaper-beeping, potty videoing inventors are at it, why don’t they invent a diaper that changes itself?!

Now that would be impressive; oh, and invent it before December 11th, when baby J is due to enter the world. Grandpa here isn’t looking forward to doing the diaper thing again.