Blabber Mouth

My hands are tied. (not literally) I want to tell you about a date I had, but I can't. I told him about this blog. I'm a blabber mouth. My stupid ego made me. How can I make fun of him now? He's not for me, but he is a sweet guy. I can't diss him when I know he's going to read it. Apparently, I have scrupples. Funny word...scrupples. Anyway, I have them so no jabs about him here.

I did meet someone on line who is fun and energetic and good-looking. I confessed in my profile that I'm addicted to Utz dark pretzels and he wrapped them up in Christmas wrapping and gave them to me at our first meeting last week. Nice, nice start. I'm seeing him again tomorrow night. He also knows about this blog...Hello Daniel!

Okay...that's it. No more about dating until I have something concrete to say. It did shock me and must report back to you that there are lots and lots of 50 something men out there who when asked if they want children answer, "Undecided."

Are they nuts? Well, they certainly aren't having them with me...my eggs are dead. Well, even if they were alive - that ship has passed.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day passed too. Now at holiday three without Jimmy it's more comfortable to entertain and celebrate with many of the same friends from "before." I strive to incorporate yesterday with today. Life moves along and and I float with it staying on course to the future while I peek back almost to ask permission.

The permission thing reminds me of my old (and fired) bereavement shrink, Gene. She told me that when a widow wants to remarry she goes to the cemetery to ask permission. I told her that made sense to me...and she said, "Really? Well, isn't it interesting that none of the husbands ever say "no."

Good one, Gene....but I still don't miss you.

Where Are All The Funny Guys?

Banter is everything to me. Funny banter. I say this. He says that. We collapse (not literally) in laughter. I took for granted that all couples do it - like sex. On both fronts I was wrong. (People confide in me...)

Laughing together is like making love with your clothes on. Jimmy and I spent a lifetime laughing. Early in our marriage I learned that pointing and laughing when your husband is nude is a no-no. Pointing is fine. Laughing is great. Undressed, the combo is a mood breaker.

Armed with that vital morsel of experience I am marching into the world. First I trotted out to the virtual world. Then, I progressed to talking on the phone. Can someone please tell me... where are all the funny guys?

I've talked to four perspective dates this week and maybe I need a new vitamin regiment, but the drone of their voices made me fight to stay awake. I know I'm a tough audience, but don't start a sentence by saying, "This is a funny story." It's not. Nine times out of ten it's a bedtime story.

I love the ones who say, "I have a great sense of humor." Should they have to announce it?

Guess what, Mr. Catskills, we've been on the phone for seven or eight minutes already. That humor should have surfaced by now.

"Do you keep a Kosher home?" is on the J-date form and according to my nephew Chuck, "If you keep Kosher you can't be funny." His theory is not mixing meat and dairy takes too much concentration and this causes you to be serious. Apparently, lack of pork in the home strips you of your funny bone.

On Saturday night I have a date with someone kosher. He's seems like a sweet man, a widower and I'm hoping it was his wife who insisted they keep their kitchen kosher. Maybe, he just needs someone to accidentally bring him a ham and cheese sandwich and plop it on his counter.

That ought to test his sense of humor.