Getting Old

I had my twice-yearly dental exam/teeth cleaning the other day. No cavities, teeth OK except....

"On your back teeth, David, the gums are receding. The teeth are still in place but at some point I may send you to a gum specialist for a procedure.....it's an age thing. We're getting old..."

And he fixed me with a sad look. We are, I believe, pretty close in age.

For the most part, the cosmetic signs of aging don't bother me that much. My hairline is higher than it was in college, but it's been thinning at a snail's pace since I was 16 and I'm not bald yet. It wouldn't bother me, I'd just shave it off---I think that's a cool look. There's a good deal of gray mixed in with the black, but a lot of women dig the salt-and-pepper look, too. Gives me a little gravitas. No sagging skin yet and my physique is better than it was ten years ago.

What does disturb me is the ways in which my body betrays me. Once a year or so, I'll throw my back out lifting weights. Two years ago, it was a hernia which required surgery---thin stomach walls run in my family. Takes longer for my muscles and joints to heal. I have to be more careful about what I eat---oh, I still dig a good burger, Italian beef and whatnot but I have to eat more carefully around those foods. It's easier to gain weight than it used to be. If a pizza is dinner, lunch is a homemade salad with chopped veggies.

I raised the point with Drinking Buddy the other day that the men in our fathers' generation never went to the gym. They were too busy supporting their families and doing home-improvement work to be worried about their beer bellies. And I suspect they view us as slightly narcissistic, those of us who frequent salons instead of the neighborhood barber shop and fret about unsightly hair on our bodies.

I just got back from Christmas with my family and I was amazed at how much my dad can eat. He's a lover of buffet food he wolfs it down as if he's afraid of getting the weaker end of the bargain with the restaurant. He's overweight in the way that men in the 65-70 age group who live in Iowa are overweight, but he's not obese. And I never see him so happy as when he's enjoying a good meal.

I just hope mom's watching his cholesterol for him.

Well, I'm of a different generation. I'm also an uban-dweller. I do what I can to manage my descent into middle age---run, lift weights, watch my food intake and try to remain open to new experiences. I think that you really start to grow old when you close your eyes and ears to the new.

And I have every intention of running the 2008 Chicago Marathon.....

More Climbing Pics

Neediness

I would like to use this post to offer a bit of advice to my female readers on dealing with the men in their lives. The advice is very simple and probably should fall under the rubric of common sense except that it's so often ignored, at least in my own recent experiences. The advice is: never, ever make your self-esteem dependent on the men in your life. If your validation depends on the smirk, wrinkled brow, smile, sneer or pouting frown of a man then it's time to re-examine your priorities.

The simple fact is, neediness ain't sexy. It scares us off. And it makes us lose respect for you.

I received an email from Ginger recently---long and rambling. The conclusion stated that she was happy with the status quo, but the body of the email suggested otherwise. In it, she upbraided me for not answering her emails for hours, leaving her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Not only do I have a demanding job in the financial services industry, but my emails are catalogued and can be read at the discretion of my bosses. And I'm going to spend my day sending emails back-and-forth? Not bloody likely. Despite my occasional complaints, I do enjoy my current position. Flooding me with emails will not make me more attracted to you, Ginger.

She wrote that she felt sexy and alive with me but wondered that I seemed distant later. Frankly, I need a little space sometimes. I mean really---does she want to come into the bathroom with me and hold my hand while I use the toilet? I was starting to feel smothered. Now, she told me throughout the email how much I meant to her and it's hard to get angry with someone who showers you with compliments, but are guys that hard to figure out? WE NEED SPACE SOMETIMES!

Marla and Suburban Melissa, on the other hand, seem to get it. Marla hints that she'd like to spend more time with me and teasingly upbraids me, but she gets a pass because it's usually after a few drinks and she does it good-naturedly. Suburban Melissa is busy with her own situation and her children are, rightly, the most important things in her life. It's an attitude that makes me respect her. She can take it for what it is.

I may eventually fall in love with someone. If I do, it will be with a woman derives her self-esteem from her own accomplishments and values and beliefs and not from my tenderness or coldness towards her. And, ladies, it's simple: the way in which we men perceive you is completely within your power to control.

Now go out there and stay safe.

My Shtick

Friday was Marla's birthday and we went to a nice Bucktown restaurant to celebrate. Marla's travelled extensively in Europe, and we talked about the Sistine Chapel. I pointed that Michelangelo was extremely uncomfortable with the female form and that his women tended to have very masculine bodies, and how his homosexuality affected his work and the influence of Savonarola in 15th century Florence and I realized after a moment that Marla was hanging on my every word. The "culture thing" is my shtick.

I'm not brilliant. I'm a reasonably intelligent guy but I also know the difference between reasonably intelligent and brilliant. In college, I was fortunate enough to be accepted into a crowd comprised of highly intelligent individuals---one is now a film producer, another a top scientist, there's a very successful businessman, a few are highly placed political operatives at the national level and one was recently nominated by our beleaguered commander-in-chief to be the U.S. ambassador to a European country. Many of my friends in school were brilliant. My inclusion in this group contributed to making me humble about what I knew and what I didn't know---bull sessions could get rough and you would be publicly humiliated if you took a position on a subject about which you were poorly informed. Sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut and listen to those who know more than you about the topic in question. Of course, alcohol is a whole nother story....

What I do have going for me, however, is a curiosity about the world---I read extensively, I like art and history, I'm a film buff and I have a decent knowledge of and appreciation for classical music and jazz. The city offers so much for the curious---I joke sometimes that I'm uniquely qualified to appreciate the zombie genre because I grew up in rural Iowa and lived alongside many of the Living Dead. When I was a teenager my interests were seen as pretty geeky. The nice thing about being an adult, however, is that no one at a dinner party cares how far you can throw the football. Come up with a classical reference or two, or an apt quote from a poem, and eyebrows rise. Just don't overdo it.

This has been pretty useful in the dating world. My competition in a lot of cases are guys who spend their weekends watching football and their weekdays talking about it and most women find such devotion to football and other sports booooriiiing. I tend to do very well with museum dates or outdoor symphony concerts in Millennium Park. It's all part of playing to my strengths, just as a wealthy businessman will take a love interest to ostentatiously expensive restaurants and vacations, a musician will rely on his music and his fan base and a comedian on his jokes.

The risk of the culture shtick, however, is that you can come across as a pompous ass if you're not careful. As Chris Knight (Val Kilmer) says in Real Genius:

".....I didn't want you to think I was stuffy. You know, all brains, no penis."

Urban Melissa's Christmas Bash

For her First Annual Christmas Party, Urban Melissa selected a brand spanking new wine bar in a neighborhood that's still a few years away from gentrification. It was a good call---the wine bar didn't look like the polished upscale versions popping up all over the city, but like a storefront tavern that serves wine and food with a DJ spinning late '70s early '80s groove music. Remember how good Michael Jackson sounded on Off The Wall? Who cares if the wine selection was pretty small or if they were still getting the kinks out ahead of their grand opening---this was an authentic Joint and I plan to come back in the near future.

I arrived with Marla. Urban Mellissa and her boyfriend greeted us with party favors and Guatemala came in the door.

"Guatemala," I said, "don't embarrass me tonight with your bullshit."

"Oh, are you on a date David?"

"Guatemala, this is Marla."

"Oh! Marla! We like you!" Guatemala gave Marla a big hug.

The room filled up and we found ourselves sitting next to a couple of college-aged girls. One was a bit on the heavy side, the other was a thinner girl with a delicate look and an intelligent face. The heavier one was in school, and the thin one introduced herself as a comedian.

"The only problem," she said, "is that I'm not funny. Someday I'd like to be funny."

She completely captured my attention by saying that.

I would not disrespect Marla by flirting with another girl when I'm on a date with her, so I was careful to pay equal attention to everyone. The comedian explained that a lot of her material comes from growing up Jewish, and I mentioned that American comedy is Jewish comedy going back to vaudeville and we talked about Lenny Bruce and Woody Allen and I wondered what this girl would be like in bed. She was not conventionally pretty but charisma, offbeat humor and intelligence trump conventional good looks any day of the week.

I talked with the other girl about movies and was pleased that she was film literate and we talked about the Coen brothers' new film. Marla is not a film buff, so I steered the topic in another direction and we ordered another bottle of wine and the DJ started spinning and we all got up to dance and then there was more wine and more wine and the owner sent us some complimentary champagne and the room was spinning along with the music.

Urban Melissa came up to Marla and said,

"You are the coolest girl David has ever dated."

Guatemala came up and offered,

"We like you a lot better than those boring white girls David usually dates. Stay with her, David. Let her coolness rub off on you!"

Marla was having a blast, and I enjoyed watching her work the owner of the place. She's very connected with the local club scene, and I was understanding why. Still, my eyes kept drifting to the comedian. If I were alone, I totally would have hit on her. Consequently, I avoided talking to her for the rest of the night.

Marla and I left for a nightcap at Nick's, which we really didn't need, and headed to my place. We had morning sex just as the alarm was going off and when we were finished Marla said,

"You fell asleep while you were going down on me last night."

Shit. Again.

She told me that the heavier of the two girls, the college student, was interested in me last night. Apparently, the girl had asked Marla if she and I were dating. Marla said we were and the girl's response was,

"Oh. Ok."

I don't know that that signifies interest, but if Marla thinks it does then there's no harm in that. It was a great party---Marla had a blast, I had a blast, everyone enjoyed himself, but I found myself wondering if I'd see the Comedian again and what the circumstances would be.

Impressions from the Weekend

Women do not like it when you fall asleep during fellatio.

At Nick's, with Marla. Saturday night. Drinking Buddy shows up. We do shots. I tell Marla that Sunday night is often the best night to be at Nick's. She responds:

"But you don't ask me to Nick's on Sunday. That's probably when you see your other girls."

I shrug.

"You usually just see me one night a weekend."

I shrug and half-smile. Marla would not bring this up if it were not for the alcohol. We leave soon after. I pass out during head. Marla is not pleased. In the morning, however, all is well.

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I receive an email from Ginger containing sensitive photographs along with the text that these were shot "for you, my master." The photos are incredibly hot.

This morning, IMing, she asks why there was no message from me over the weekend.

"I don't want to be clingy, but it would have been nice. Don't mind me, I'm just being a woman."

I will tolerate a certain amount of clinginess from a woman who calls me "master" in her emails. A certain amount......

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During the week, circumstances bring me to Lincoln Park where I have a burger in a certain bar. The waitress tells me she likes my hair:

"I'm into the salt-and-pepper look."

I tell her it's not a look---it just is. She laughs. Her shift ends and she grabs the barstool next to mine. We start talking. She's from Georgia. Recently moved to the big city. She lives in Humboldt Park. She invites me back to the same bar the next night, but I already have plans. I have to leave. I tell her I'll be there same time next week. There could be something. Then again, it could be nothing. Sometimes it's just nice to flirt.

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Sunday, Nick's. Talking with one of the bartenders. He and I agree that there's really no reason for a guy to get married. There are men who want to get married, it's true, but the urge for me would have to be woman-specific. I don't want to get married in the abstract. If I met a woman I couldn't live without and marriage was the price, then and only then would I consider proposing. But the idea that there's this mythical "one" out there who will make you a complete person is a romantic illusion, at best. There will always be the "next" girl, as the will always be the "next" guy. The way to get over a broken heart is to get right back into the dating pool.

The bartender and I do another shot and he tells me that while his dad told him never to get married, his dad has also married twice since he offered that advice.

I think back to how I was with E, my first post-separation dating experience. I was patient, understanding of her situation and, what galls me a bit, sickeningly supplicating. I dererred to her when it came to restaurants, entertainment, conversations and waited on her hand and foot. She used to tell me that I was really sweet. I was. I also didn't give her a reason to genuinely respect me.

I do another shot and ponder if I ever received any useful relationship advice from my dad. No, I can't remember that I did. Like most men, I've had to find my way in the world willy-nilly.

I like drinking at Nick's on Sunday night.

Are You Somebody Famous?

I had plans to meet Zibi and Gil last night at Green Dolphin Street for Salsa Night. Gil is a close friend of Zibi's who recently moved to California. He's of Mexican origin, middle-aged, with a middle aged man's body, and he has incredible luck with the ladies.

What's his secret? Dancing. He is an expert salsa dancer who knows exactly how to move a woman around the dance floor. I envy him for his dancing ability (I just jump around aimlessly in clubs---to call my dancing competent by white guy standards is accurate, if only barely) and for the fact that he comes from a culture which values and teaches dancing. I have been in several Latin nightclubs with both him and Urban Melissa (who is half-Mexican, half-Puerto Rican) and the dancing is so graceful and so hot that I have no place stepping on the dance floor. It's one of those activities, like playing pick-up soccer with European immigrants, at which I will suffer so badly by comparison that it is best not attempted. In Iowa there was a plethora of square dancing clubs (my father always called it entertainment for ministers) but square dancing is not hot and never can be under any circumstances.

Anyway, I arrived first, followed by Zibi. Behind me was a tall brunette who looked as if she would have nothing to do with me. When Gil walked in, I shook his hand effusively and told him how much I loved his work.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you---I loved your last film. Can I have your autograph? Do you have a pen? Wow. Here's a cocktail napkin."

Immediately, the brunette was at our side.

"Are you somebody famous?" she asked with a big smile, "I never get to meet anybody famous!"

I told her that Gil was famous, but in independent film circles.

"Oh, that's cool. I'm more of a Hollywood person, but that's so cool."

Gil was talking to Zibi behind us. The girl whispered to me, "What's he done?"

"His last project was a mockumentary of a Christian rap group. It was called Tha Last Suppa."

The brunette's friend showed up, and she introduced me to her, calling her "the love of my life." The were holding hands and looking at eachother the way that lovers do, and I said,

"You two make a cute couple."

"Oh, no!" the brunette laughed, "we're just friends!"

Whatever. I know it's common for girls to get touchy and make out with eachother in clubs for the benefit of the guys, but it's getting so that you can't tell the lipstick lesbians from the straight girls anymore. I am drawn to lipstick lesbians, indeed a disproportionate number of the women I date are bisexual, and I think I know the reason why: they don't usually display the supplicating, needy insecurity in their dealings with men that so many straight women do. And confidence is always sexy.

Anyway, I left them to themselves and turned back to Zibi and Gilbert. After a few minutes the music started. The dancing was incredible. I had another martini and after half an hour decided to head home. The snow was falling and it was a beautiful Chicago night.

Rize Up Gather 'Round

Nick's on Sunday night. After the Bears loss. A chance to enjoy some male company after my estrogen-filled weekend. And, there she was. Was it her? Dirty blonde hair, 20-something, working a crossword puzzle. And dreadlocks.

I had watched the game at Drinking Buddy's place and he told me about the girl he met the previous evening. He described her as looking like Angelina Jolie but with dreadlocks. College student in pre-med who worked at the airport. He said that they had a great conversation and had exchanged numbers and email addresses. He wasn't up for going to Nick's after the game---Drinking Buddy usually does not follow up one hard-drinking night with another.

She was sitting next to me.

"Do you work at the airport?" I asked her.

"Yes....you must travel a lot....."

"More than I'd like."

"What do you do?"

I know what you're wondering. Did I hit on the girl Drinking Buddy had tagged earlier? Did I trot out one of those stories that are designed to capture the attention of women in bars?

I did not. I made small talk with her for a couple minutes and turned back to my male companions. I'd rather not hit on someone a friend is interested in. If I were interested, there's a strict protocol to follow. First, the attraction has to be overpowering. Second, the buddy gets first chance to make his pitch. If it's rejected, you can then move in. And at any rate, white girls with dreadlocks strike me as granola and I'm not interested in herbal/alternative healing or vegan food or demonstrations against globalization.

Also, there was nothing left in the tank.

Wednesday night was spent with Suburban Melissa. Friday night was with Marla and that left me pretty drained. Ginger was arriving on the train for an overnight visit, so I decided to take a Rize pill. For those of you unfamiliar with it, Rize is an herbal alternative to viagra. It is remarkably effective but on the three previous occasions that I've tried it it has given me heartburn to match my sexual appetite. This time, I decided to cook a big breakfast for myself and Marla before popping the pill. Marla left, and I went to meet Ginger's train.

Ginger had brought some lingerie to model and it was previously agreed that we would stay in and order pizza. And that she would let me tie her up. We weren't home two minutes before both of us were naked and the sex was incredibly hot but, to be honest, married-having-an-affair sex is always hot. There's an element of taboo that transcends the act itself. She got incredibly into the bondage (I used a necktie instead of something more....forbidding. First time comfort level and all that.) and had what she claimed was only the third intercourse orgasm she had ever experienced. However, Rize has a powerful effect on me and just because it's possible to have sex for an hour doesn't mean that you should have sex for an hour.

Yeah. I was exhausted. Using an enhancement supplement is a little like the ancient Romans using the vomitorium so they could continue to experience the pleasure of food. I started to get a headache after awhile. On a couple occasions in my life I have faked an orgasm but I gave Ginger the Real Deal. The heartburn was there, but manageable.

After round three we ordered pizza and Ginger opened up her overnight bag and took out.....

Mike's Hard Berry. I kid you not.

Sometimes being with Ginger makes me feel like my parents have gone out for the evening and my high school girlfriend is over at the house.

Anyway, we watched Mulholland Drive and Pulp Fiction, neither of which she had seen, and crashed. In the morning, I had a splitting headache and Ginger wanted to cuddle. The thing about me is, I like to be alone in the morning. I made breakfast for us both, got Ginger a cab and spent the rest of the time before the game cleaning my apartment. Marla had suggested possibly watching the game together, but football watching is really more of a guy activity for me so I went over to Drinking Buddy's. After which I went to Nick's.

Ginger sent me an email today telling me I opened up sexual worlds that she didn't know existed and asking if I was getting bored of her, citing the fact that I slept on my own side of the bed and wasn't really talkative in the morning. I don't know how to respond. I had a headache and I was really tired. I hope she doesn't start getting insecure on me. Or clingy. We'll see what happens.

However, she does drink Mike's Hard Berry.....