Wednesday Date Night with Friends

Posted on July 29, 2010 by 40andover

I arrive early. A possible stolen moment of mindfulness and relaxation out of a harried day. But this is New York City, where quiet was expunged from the lexicon long ago. And I am a consummate New Yorker so I must email something to somebody. And so I did, to POB (partner of blogger) and FOPOBAB (friends of POB and Blogger) who were joining us for dinner. Witness my descent into madness.

—– Original Message —–
Sent: Wed Jul 28 18:00:35 2010 [I am 14 minutes 25 seconds early, standing outside a pulsating restaurant]

A hopping place we picked. Such an active bar scene that if you were here early I wouldn’t be able to tell. I am sweltering outside listening to Dancing Queen (they pipe out the music for the pleasure of the passersby). I am trying not to sing along. I wish there were drag queens around to dance with. My inner 20-something

Sent: Wed Jul 28 18:03:45 2010 [3 minutes and 10 seconds later]

Cabs are so plentiful I want to hail ALL of them.

Sent: Wed Jul 28 18:08:58 2010 [5 minutes 13 seconds later]

Men’s fashion is getting pushed to the limit. It is only ok if [husband of FOPOBOB, who always looks fabulous] would wear it. That is my litmus test.

Can you tell I am overwhelmed by the bar scene raging inside. Ok, a couple with a two year old are considering coming into the restaurant. Mean, evil parents. Toooo much. I am going to try to take a picture surreptitiously. [Unfortunately, I was unable to get my blackberry camera in focus quickly enough]

Sent: Wednesday, July 28, 2010 7:10 PM [one minute two seconds later]

I am going inside. I am brave.

No one would seat me even though we had a reservation. We ALL had to be there. I had visions of being in a suburban steak house located in a mall where they say, “Ma’am, if you have a seat after your party has arrived, we will call you.” And then you wait to hear, “Blogger, party of four!! Blogger, party of four!!” Ok, I CAAAAN’T GO THERE.

We all arrive and sit down and everybody is chatting and happy to see each other. I turn to the wife of FOPOBAB and ask, steeling myself for the answer, “how is your sister?” [note: her sister had cancer]. I knew it was gutsy.

Although time seems to evaporate when we all get together, it has been quite a few months and ANYTHING can, and does, happen. I see the look on her face.

Pause. Pause. Momentary out-of-body-experience. Back in my body and wishing it lacked a mouth.

“She died.”

[Why do I forget that I have a big S on my forehead for SCHMUCK?]

“We’ve seen you since then but we were with the kids, and I couldn’t go there.”

“Some hors d’oeuvres?” I say. NO, NOT REALLY. She tells me a hilarious story that happened as her sister literally lay dying that involved a nun. There is humor in these moments. I remember with my mother. And if you been there, you can very comfortably listen and laugh along. Because those stories help those still alive cope.

Meanwhile, POB and husband of FOPOBAB are talking about something else. There is a break in the conversations. I decided to catch up the others on our conversation.

I turned to POB and said, “So, I asked about [wife of FOPOBAB]’s sister and she is dead. But still we both have our appetites. And, as you know, I have schmuck written on my forehead.”

Silence.

I turn to my friend and say, “in the future, just text us “worry” or “cry” and you fill us in on the details later. Ok?”

The Kids Are All Right but the Moms need some help, big time.

Posted on July 25, 2010 by 40andover

POB (partner of blogger) and I went to see the movie, “The Kids Are All Right,” about a lesbian couple and their two kids and the sperm donor who is invited into their lives by the elder child (who turned 18 and can get the information).

It got great reviews. After seeing it, I realize that these reviewers are straight.

Based on the (straight people) reviews, I was looking forward to seeing how my life turns out (not really, but sort of really). Two happily married lesbians raising their kids. Sounded like a Utopian fantasy come to major motion picture.

Of course, I have my own issues — I am not a biological parent. At least, each of these moms was biologically related to a child. That is firmer ground than that which I will stand when coming face to face with FOS (the face of sperm man), should it happen. (OF COURSE, it will happen, but I intend to be in a state of dementia at that point.)

Back to the movie. The hetero sex scenes were more enthralling than the one (count it, ONE) quasi-I-didn’t-understand-what-the-f$%^-was-going-on scene with the women. Gay male porn and one woman under the covers while that other woman is watching man-on-man and showing no signs of arousal? Ok, ok, ok. I went to EVERY class on lesbian indoctrination given by the proponents of the gay agenda. NO WHERE DID I SEE THIS. This is NOT how any couple I KNOW gets romantic or has sex (yes, they can be mutually exclusive).

(While being indoctrinated all those many years ago, I did read about some things I decided were safer NOT to try at home, but in a passive-aggressive moment, I left those pamphlets for my mother to read and weep about. I still feel a little bad but by the end of my mother’s life, she was not focused on fisting one’s partner.)

I am going to have t-shirts made up that say:

WE DO IT BUT NOT LIKE NIC AND JULES.

So, in this movie, child is parent to the mothers. A usual Hollywood turn of events.

And the sexual excitement was spent on one of the mother’s extra-marital affair with Sperm Donor Man. It was enticing, even though Mark Ruffalo has too much hair. Also, what is with THAT?

If a lesbian has an affair (I am told) it is often with a woman and, if not a woman, a co-worker or client. (Well, he was in fact a client at some point in the movie.)

NEVERTHELESS, in our first major motion picture about aging lesbians and their children, couldn’t the producers have made the sex a little steamy? It isn’t like the L Word didn’t break some ground here. Couldn’t the producers throw a bone to us true-life lesbians with families? Keep hope alive for those of us in the midst of parenting and working and dreaming of beautiful sunsets with our partners when the kids are out of the house?

I always thought we were lucky — no Cialis, Viagra, etc. — now I am scared that I have man-on-man porn to look forward to while someone “services” me under covers. I am soooooo grossed out.

This movie about a “solid” lesbian family is enough to cause therapists to cancel their August recess just to keep up with the demand of freaked out Moms.

Maybe this film touched a nerve (ok, it did) but I have to believe that it needed to please heterosexual America. And so our lives are casualties.

Paging the L Word.

Sisters

Posted on July 20, 2010 by 40andover

SOB (sister of blogger) and I walked our dad (FOB — father of blogger) to Fairway on Sunday after brunch with POB (partner of blogger) and our son.

FOB is doing great, but he is aging. SOB and I walked back uptown. She was going home to write a chapter of a medical book and I was going to find a neutral place to read and comment on documents. SOB offered that I could work at her house but we both knew that two couches in the living room would call our names and we would lie there and chat about stuff and then take out the Shrine — the picture album that SOB keeps of our mother — so we could have a long, cleansing sob.

With this in mind, we both decided that trying to work in the same room, or apartment for that matter, was not a good idea. So, SOB walked me to the cafe at the gym where I was going to set up shop. She sat for a moment and, of course, since the Shrine was mentioned, we had to have a moment about how long Mom had been gone and all that has happened in that time.

SOB left me to work, but kept emailing me, “Are you still working?” every five or so minutes. I am 46 and she is 50. I don’t think we will ever grow up and I am grateful for that.

Dinner with Friends

Posted on July 18, 2010 by 40andover

POB (partner of blogger) and I went out on Saturday night with two couples after about six months of juggling schedules.

One of the couples are the parents of our son’s best friend (BestFriendCouple, aka BFC) and the other couple are the parents of our son’s betrothed (FutureWifeCouple, aka FWC). Forgive the identification in relation to children, but let’s be honest here, we are now someone’s Mom or Dad. For at least half of our waking hours, our identities are in direct relation to our progeny. It is what it is. Life never asks if you like what has happened, it just dares you to deal with it.

You may remember FWC from prior blog entries. The dad is the Gentle Giant, until our kids get too serious and then I will start wearing body armor. Until then, life is good.

POB and I decided to walk part of the way to dinner, along the Hudson River so we could feel the breeze should one arrive and give momentary relief to blazing hot and humid New York City. As we walked along we saw the preparations for the next day’s triathlon in which people (of questionable mental acuity) run, bike and swim in forecasted 93 degree weather. And the swim is in the Hudson River. (By the way, if any skimmers in the Gulf are idle, we could use them to get the gross garbage and scum off the water’s surface.) There were signs for the line-ups depending on your skill set: Elite men under 35, Elite senior men, etc. As we walked, I was looking for my category should I ever enter such a race: “Women Far Too Decrepit For Middle Age” or “Those Desiring A Watery Demise“.

Apparently, I won’t even get a slot even as a “Hail, Mary” contestant. I’m ok with it. I will live longer for not swimming in the Hudson River, even with a wet suit. There are beautiful bodies of water with a vast, healthy ecosystem (until we find out about them and then ruin them), there are bodies of water with foundering ecosystems (the Gulf, for example), there are dead bodies of water (one or more of the Great Lakes) and then there is killer water which will destroy and corrode anything that dares enter its watery slaughterhouse. THAT, that is the Hudson River. Hint: it has a menacing brown color.

Because we are New Yorkers, we were hungry after our walk, EVEN AFTER discussing whether a life form in the Hudson River could mutate enough to survive nuclear holocaust and repopulate the world in a crazy-horror-flick-come-true scenario. We NYers are a hearty people.

We arrive early at the restaurant so we can pretend that we are not middle-aged and possibly flirt with, and coo at, each other. Since our son may read this one day and I already cannot afford the therapy that having two moms will cost, I will stop at this.

Lucky for our son, FWC arrived. Wife of FWC (WFWC) looked very stylish (she is not yet middle-aged so it was ok). I think she was wearing jeans that are like leggings. On her, it worked. But for everyone else, DO NOT TRY THAT AT HOME. It could lead to unsightly consequences. The Gentle Giant, also H of FWC (HFWC) is a terrific guy and bravely ordered an unpronounceable drink. WFWC tried one that sounded like, if you didn’t like it, it could also be a spa treatment. I was eying the cucumber slice garnish and thinking about the laugh wrinkles POB mentioned in our abortive attempt to flirt and coo. Note to readership: “I love your laugh wrinkles” does not put one in any “mood” worth having. Just saying.

Shortly thereafter, BFC arrive. The husband (HBFC), who has been busy being “Dad” these last few months, gravitated to HFWC for manly, over-8 year-old talk. Soon they were drinking beer. Which is to say that it is primal that men, in the company of other men, eschew foofy drinks with unpronounceable names in favor of BEEHHHH (beer) or possibly even LAGGGEH (Lager). The foofy drinks are just to show off one’s feminine side and gain points with your wife’s friends. I still think that lesser men in the presence of four strong women would have stayed with the foofy drinks. So, bravo to these two husbands (who are today shepherding their children to assorted events while the wives relax or go to the gym, G-d bless them).

So, WBFC and I haven’t had much time over this last year to chat. And we sit opposite each other at the table. We are both very opinionated and believe that everyone is entitled to hear our opinions — from the what-were-you-thinking-when-you-got-that-tattoo to why we are living the dreams of our unionizing forebears even though we are not unionized and work long hours, etc. Our upbringings are as strikingly similar as our backgrounds are diverse. Totally awesome.

Then we all had too much inspiration and meaningful conversation. It was time to DISH on those whom we know in common. So, four women between 40 and 46 (old enough to know better), started sentences with “omigod, can you believe . . . . ?“ in loud voices. SOOOOOOO MUCH fun. The boys were probably talking about hunting because they kept ordering BEEEEHHHH or LAGGGEH.

Having had two glasses of wine — my upward limit — the rest is a blur of delicious food and vicious conversation. So much fun that I even forgot (until writing this entry) that POB mentioned my wrinkles.

What wrinkles?

So, canyoubelieveit, someone asked my opinion

Posted on July 17, 2010 by 40andover

No sooner did I write about not being polled, than I answered a phone poll. About my local Congressman. What I answered surprised me.

Charlie Rangel has been great to NY and the country. He also has some alleged ethical lapses. Serious (alleged) ones. He is 80 years old and probably should make way for the younger generation (who are nearly eligible for AARP benefits).

But, Charlie Rangel remained a steadfast liberal even when it was a dirty word. He spoke up against the tyranny of fear-mongering during the Bush years, even when others (whom we thought were strong) cowered. He has worked hard for over forty years to move America forward.

Assume what is alleged is true. He failed to pay taxes on investments and improperly owns too many apartments in a subsidized building. I am ok with it. (Not HAPPY, but ok if I hold my nose.) I guess I have mellowed or my righteous indignation has been spent on other, more deserving targets. Or, I guess I put it into perspective of what other politicians did — sold their votes to big oil, took us into a war that was a mistake, vilified a group of Americans or immigrants for political gain, stoked the birther movement for political gain. I could go on and on.

Yes, he should retire soon (and wear an orange jumpsuit if he is guilty) and let the younger politicians carry the torch, but right now we need people who are experienced in the trenches and are squarely on the side of the President to help the President get us out of the mess created by 8 years of George and Dick.

So, guilty or not, Charlie is my man.

Bucolic Amidst the Grit

Posted on July 12, 2010 by 40andover

For those of you who remember New York City in the 1970s, it is hard to believe that these are pictures of along the Hudson River between 103rd and 123rd Streets in Manhattan.

Ok, the guy in the hammock is a little over the top. So, much so that the kayakers stopped to take a picture of him. I was in the middle of my run and couldn’t get out my blackberry in time to take a picture of the kayakers taking a picture of the guy reading in a hammock.

It seems a little like an exurban paradise, if you don’t think about the Riverside Stabber — the insane man who has been stabbing people in the Park recently.

I felt very guilty about running in the Park with a psychopath on the loose because I have a child to raise (with the least amount of trauma) and protect (with the most amount of neurosis). Then, my son comes home after a day in the country with his cousin, and I learn that he was walking on railroad tracks!!! My cousin quickly assured me there was no electric third rail like there are in subways. With family like this, the psychopath in the Park is the least of my worries.

Aging

Posted on July 8, 2010 by 40andover

My brother-in-law is turning some age older than 55. He looks great and is handsome, charming and lively — a good catch.

The question is: when did I start thinking that some guy with ever-so-slightly thinning gray hair is a rock star? I guess one could also ask how the septuagenarian Mick Jagger keeps rock star status. My brother-in-law is way cuter: no one would ever think he had the blood sucked out of him and then re-infused with formaldehyde so he could look like the walking dead like Mick Jagger. But there I go, digressing again.

My point is (and — SURPRISE — I have one) that we look decrepit to 20-somethings, but who cares? As long as we look at our contemporaries and think we are looking good, isn’t that what matters?

I am starting to understand my mother’s saying she thought of herself as 35, even when she was 70 and she thought of Dad as 42 even when he was 77. The point is that mild cataracts perform an essential social function necessary for the survival of the species.

Let’s Party Like It’s 1929

Posted on June 29, 2010 by 40andover

If I read the news, I will go into that bad place in my head that holds all my fears of being destitute and homeless.

The stock market is tanking, confidence is tanking, the economy is sputtering, unemployment is high and nerves are frazzled. At first, everyone was talking about a double-dip recession, then about, PHEW, how we escaped the double-dip and now, how it looks like a triple-Lutz-followed-by-triple-pike-nosedive recession.

No prognosticator today can know for sure what the Monday morning quarterback will say with a certain smug clarity (after all, he who survives gets to write the history).

But that doesn’t stop the pundits from scaring me to distraction.

Behind the scenes at my son’s 8th birthday party

Posted on June 27, 2010 by 40andover

First, let me say that my son had a great time. Second, let me say that POB (partner of blogger) and I did the least we could do. Everyday we star in our own MasterCard commercial. In this case, paying for an all-in party at Chelsea Piers bowling alley, $___; seeing your kid smile, PRICELESS.

We were greeted by the shift manager, a friendly enough woman. She failed to enunciate when she said her name and between the thumping music (which I forced them to turn down) and my middle aged ears, I couldn’t catch her name. Not to worry, my middle aged brain would have forgotten it in seconds anyway. She asked who was the mother and we both said, “we are”. Shock and consternation showed on her face. She then asked, “are there two birthday boys?” Ok, maybe she was thinking she needed to charge extra or maybe she was worried that there was some foul-up. But this is NEW YORK CITY on GAY PR IDE WEEKEND. (As for our family, we’re here, we’re queer, we are sooooo over it.)

Ok, so it took a few screams in all of our ear canals to get the point across (remember there was the thumping, party tape playing — another gift by the gay community) in order for the manager to understand that there were two Moms and that all was the same as planned. Phew. One small step for us, one giant step for GAY families.

My dad arrived early but not as early as usual so I was tempted to start a police manhunt to track him down. (He is almost 90 and I worry.) I waited outside and caught him as he was passing the place. He noted the loud music and then I wondered to myself, how can he hear the loud music but not hear me screaming “DAD!!!!” on the pier. A cosmic puzzlement. One of the moms of our son’s friends asked Dad, “whose father are you?” (as in is your daughter POB or Blogger?). My dad misunderstood the question, and answered, “No father. Two moms.” He came over to me later and suggested that someone didn’t realize the family dynamics and whether he should have a word with her. G-d bless my Dad. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the mom-in-question already told me about the mis-communication. So, I said, “Another time, Dad, and thanks.”

It is my son’s day, but I need to have a moment about my Dad. Sometimes, being the sandwich generation has it joyful moments.

I have spent the day putting together Star Wars lego battle cruisers, whatever. Every parent can relate. That’s why we don’t march in the parade. Who has time when there are Lego projects and Little League and Hebrew School and birthday parties?

I get emails from my college friends asking about the birthday party. I did NOT tell them (not that I wouldn’t but we had facial moisturizer to discuss). But one is “friends” with my sister who posted pictures of the event. You can run but you can’t hide.

Gender Neutrality and other things

Posted on June 21, 2010 by 40andover

At Reunion, we stayed in the dorms. Because there is one (count with me, ONE) inn in the entire town. Don’t think Jesus in the manger. Think Daniel Webster, as in, “it is a small college, Sir, but there are those of us who love it.”

Our dorm was a “gender neutral environment”. None of us knew what that meant. We felt a little dumb asking undergraduates who weren’t alive when we were at the College to explain it.

Apparently, all the bathrooms are co-ed but the toilets and the showers are single room occupancy only. But the toilet is separate from the shower. Maybe teenagers and 20-somethings don’t have to pee before they shower (let’s not imagine the Seinfeld episode, for surely it will blind us), but 46 year-olds do. So we have to go from our rooms into the hall way into a toilet and then out into the hall way and back into the shower. Too many opportunities to flash too much flesh even though we were wearing our granny bathrobes. And, as earthy as some of us (me) are, we all wore flip-flops into the shower, because as one said, “there is hair in there and it belongs to someone we don’t know and that is just gross.”

I believe I overheard someone saying she Purelled her feet after taking a shower but I could be making that up.

And, and, many people complimented me on my fragrance. It was my friend’s bug spray. I’ll get the brand and publish it in another blog.

40 — oh wait, yikes!! 50 — andoverblog

Aging and living in urban US

Category Archives: Aging