An Update and I really need your input/advice dear readers

The above face says, “What’s going on here?” Or more in my language, “What the fuck is going on here?”

Dear Readers, I am stumped. I need your input. A few days ago I wrote about a guy I have been texting with

Well, he is in Paris and I text with him more than all my friends combined. And just so you know, I text a lot.

The texts started when he was at the airport waiting for his flight. Informed me when he was in the air and when he landed. You get the picture.  That’s a lot more than some of my boyfriends have done.

There is a good morning text and then since he knows of my obsession with food, he tells me which restaurant he is going to, then what he ate. He even ordered the duck as I suggested and then told me how great it was.

The texts flow all day. The other day I came home from work and said, “I am in the kitchen making dinner.”

He kept texting and I sent him a couple of pictures of dinner – one to shut him up and two, because I thought they were pretty.

“This looks like diet food and doesn’t sound too exciting.”


Poached salmon with Bok choy over brown rice

These are the pictures I sent him and while they are healthful dishes, I really don’t think that they are boring.

“Thanks,” I said.


“I said thanks for being an ass!”

“Well, it seems like you are looking for compliments, otherwise I don’t know why you would send me pictures of your dinner,” he says.

“Let’s see. Where do I start. Because that’s what I do. I sometimes send pictures of my dinner to people. More importantly, you weren’t shutting up with the texts while I was cooking, and so I thought – a picture of dinner might jolt you back into reality that she is cooking and so is busy!”

He unleashed the bitch. Yes he did.

“Plus,” I added, “You are rude in assuming that I sent you the pictures for compliments.”

“That’s strange,” he replies. “No one has sent me a picture of their dinner and I was trying to figure out how to respond.”

“Well, this is your lucky day my friend. Someone just sent you a picture of their dinner. And so you are no longer a dinner picture virgin. And you did respond to the picture – you told me it looked dietetic and not very interesting,” I was banging on the letters of my phone like it was an old type writer.

Wait, I wasn’t finished. “Most normal people might say, oh that’s nice or that looks healthy and we would just move on. Lastly, if you don’t get how I feel about food – then you and I can never be!”

This continued for some time with him coming back with shit that he hadn’t experienced this before and so doesn’t know how to react and blah and blah.

He never apologized for being an ass and I was done with this exchange.

“You seem like a smart enough man – there is no need to overthink when someone sends you a picture of their dinner or for that matter, their baby.  You say the first thing that comes to your mind and then be done with it. Your tone however was condescending and I don’t appreciate it.”

Since I wanted him to know that I am done with this subject I said, “It is late for you and I don’t want to discuss this further, have a good night.”

Next day I wake up to, “Good morning. How are you?”

WTF! I have no idea what his deal or his game is. We text everyday and when I am overwhelmed (which I don’t easily get when I am getting attention, but this is not normal), I make an excuse that I am busy with friends or work or some thing and so won’t be texting him.

So, my friends, any ideas?

Enlighten me.

Just to add to the picture, after the first day there has been no flirtation, no suggestion that he is interested in anything other than racking up those texts.

To put this theory to a test – he was telling him about the couch in his Paris apartment and how his friend decided to stay in a hotel because they didn’t want to sleep on the couch.

“But is the couch comfy? I want to know for when I come to Paris,” I begin the test.

“O yes it is!” he replies and then a 10 minute discourse on where he bought it, when and who made it.

Well, buddy you failed the text. I offered him bait about where I shall be sleeping when I come to Paris. I shall be sleeping on the couch!

Okay – I am ready.

What are you thinking about what is happening here my dear readers?  Because I certainly can’t figure this one out.

I will wait to hear from you.

Until I date again!


Come to Paris with Me

I can only text so long before I lose my mind


Lets see if I can do this right and make you understand what I am trying to say.

I should’ve written this last night when it happened and was all fresh in my head, me brimming with all the emotions, most of which were negative and confused.

I got a sweet message from an amazingly good looking guy a few days ago. He was funny and the banter was just the right kind of flirty and witty. We exchanged phone numbers almost immediately and the conversation only got funnier and sexier.

When the conversation moved from the basic to things more serious – lets just call it, I answered, “Too much to type. How about we speak on the phone.”

“I’m in a meeting.”

Hmmmmm, that’s some meeting but okay.

“Why don’t we speak later,”he said.

Turned out we couldn’t coordinate our schedules, I was going to see a play that evening and he was going to a late dinner.

The banter continued. Even after I came out of the play, I texted him. “You are not one of those who texts in plays, are you?” he said.

“No the play has finished. I am home. However, I do text while watching Bill Maher.”

We talked about Bill Maher and realized we had much in common as far as our thinking goes. That is always promising.

He told me he was at the restaurant waiting for his friends.

“Hope you are enjoying a nice drink at the bar – send me a picture of you,” I just said, not thinking anything much or meaning anything at all.

I knew the restaurant he was at and just thought it would be nice to see a picture of him at that moment.

“I don’t do that.”

“Fine, no problem.”

“I loathe selfies and all the tourists with the selfie sticks in NYC,” he continued.

“I got it, no selfies,” making a mental note and smiling to myself since I take about a dozen selfies a day.

He wasn’t done. There was a tirade on selfies and it went on for some time.

“Listen, I got it. You don’t do selfies. Could you drop it please.”

There was some more texting for a bit, then his friends came. I told him to enjoy dinner and wished him a good night.

“Good afternoon, how are you?” he texted me the next day.

“I’m well, how was dinner?”

“It was great. I ordered the pasta you said you loved.”

“Cool, what are you up to?”

“Am with my niece and we are watching Beauty and the Beast.”

“Enjoy the movie and cute niece, talk to you later.”

“No, lets keep talking.”

“Okay,” and we did for a long time.

Mind you, we are still texting.

He was leaving for Paris on Monday – this is Saturday. “Come to Paris with me.”

“Tempting, maybe next time,” I replied.

That night we talked some more, and when I say talked … we texted.

You getting the picture?

The conversation was more personal, a lot of questions about each other which was nice.

Still texting.

The initial humor and flirtations turned into major intensity. And I don’t mean intensity about me. Certain things I would say, he would call me on and wanted to argue. He also had the habit of repeating things to make a point.

“Don’t take each word I say literally,” I responded. “It is fucking hard to have these deep conversations on text. Call me.”

“Lets talk tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’m gonna go to sleep now. Have a good night. Sweet dreams.”

“No stay.”

Two hours later, we are still texting.

Still no flirting and the humor has been thrown down the garbage chute, but the conversation is meaningful. He is a smart man. That is sexy to me.

Yesterday we were both busy during the day. He texted me in the night and said he was watching a movie with his parents who were visiting.

“Did you have a nice day with your parents?”

“Yes it was nice but now they are driving me crazy with their commentary on the movie.”

We talked about parents; the good bad and ugly.

It’s midnight on a Sunday night and I really want to sleep on time.

“You have a safe flight tomorrow. Have a baguette and runny cheese thinking of me.”

“Just once?” he says.

“No, think of me each time you bite into a baguette. How about that?”

“I could do that.”

“Great, talk to you from Paris.”

“No don’t go. Stay with me.”

Sigh. I’m such a pushover.

We texted. I learned he doesn’t speak on the phone till he feels ‘safe.’ Whatever the fuck that means.

Do you know, my dear readers what that means? Enlighten me. Please.

We kept texting. We talked of the book I am writing. He gave me some advice. The advice was good but sometimes his tone was dick-ish.

“Come to Paris with me.”

Can I say again, we haven’t spoken on the phone yet but I should come to Paris with him.

I was too tired and sleepy to say this to him.

It’s 2:30 in the morning and we are still texting.

The few times I told him that I must sleep, he just ignored it and kept texting.

Now I was getting irritated and annoyed.

“Are you ignoring me saying that I want to sleep?”

“Yes I am.”


Things got weird around 2:45 when I typed out something he had said about women earlier.

“It’s 2:45 am. I am a woman. Please let me sleep now.”

Once again, he ignored me and kept up with his train of thought.

“What’s the end goal here? When are you going to let me sleep?”

“Ten more minutes.”

“And you totally ignored and dismissed my cute and funny statement earlier.”

“It was neither cute nor funny.”



Now started a new tirade, “I find it weird that a grown woman is asking for compliments. I don’t just give compliments to get women into bed.”

What the fuck. Who is getting into who’s bed? I missed something here.

I don’t talk on the phone. I don’t give compliments but I do ask strange women to come to Paris with me!

The tirade went on for so long, teetering on mean.

At 3 am, I said, “I am not enjoying this and you are welcome. I stayed on the phone for two hours longer than I wanted to. Good night.”

I turned off my phone but was now too wired to sleep.

This morning I was afraid to turn on my phone.

“Good morning. I am intense. I know that. I love talking to you. Intelligent woman are my Achille’s heal and you are tickling that heal in all the right ways.”

“Good morning,” I text.

“Come to Paris with me.”

Tell me, dear readers – what’s happening here?

There is so much I haven’t told you but this post is already longer than I intended.

Until I text again! I mean,

Until I date again!



Foreplay – it’s a Good Thing!


Got your attention?

Foreplay is extremely important, my friends. I can’t speak for men, or all women but foreplay can take so many forms.

I dated a man I loved more than almost any man I ever have, to whom I said early in our relationship, “I need more foreplay, my sweet.”

Without skipping a beat, he said,”Foreplay? what’s that?” and kissed me as he was finishing is sentence. It took my breath away, we laughed so hard and that was foreplay.

He also sang to me all the time and had the most glorious voice I have ever heard. The song could be over the phone the night before as we would be planning the date or in my ear in a bar – before we went back home.

There are of course the obvious, yet amazing forms of foreplay. Kissing is on top of my list. Hugs – when you fit into each other so effortlessly. Massages are great.

A not so obvious but one of the sexiest foreplay I have ever experienced:

I was dating someone who loved all the jewelry that I would wear. He found it very sexy and I would always leave it on after the clothes came off. Once, I had gone to an Indian wedding and came back with henna on my hands and feet. As he admired it, I told him how I couldn’t get the henna where I really wanted it.

“Where is that?”

I told him. A few days later instead of driving to his place he parked in front of a hotel.

“What’s happening here? Your wife home tonight?” (Yes, I say such things often and it irks them so).

He said nothing and we checked into a room.

“Hmmmm what’s happening here. I haven’t known you long enough for you to want to kill me. Besides, how will you dispose of my body. I am so much person.”

His phone rang and he said,”Send her up into the phone.”

“A threesome! No way,” I smiled.

I was getting on his last nerve.

There was a soft knock on the door. He opened the door and in walked a woman.

I was confused and couldn’t come up with anything funny to say.

“Where would you like me,” she said to him.

“What the fuck is going on here,” I screamed as I watched her open up a bag and pull out plastic cones filled with henna.

“You are the craziest woman I have ever loved, you know,” he said and handed me a bag.

I peered into the bag and there was a t-shirt for me to wear so the woman could put henna on my thigh. That was the place I had told him I had wanted the henna at the wedding and couldn’t.

When I realized all that was happening, I was so touched and fell in love with him all over again. A part of me just wanted the henna lady to leave, so I could thank him for the thought.

But oh, the henna was going to be so much fun.

Without going into too much detail of what happened next (remember, you have to buy the book for the x-rated details) – after the henna lady left was when the real fun began. The sexiest and funny at the same time was my attempt to show him my appreciation for what he had done without messing up the henna 🙂

Humor is damn sexy to me!

Now, this was the most involved foreplay I had ever had – I think.

Of course, one doesn’t have to jump through all the hoops he did (he was known for doing extremely thoughtful things. This is the same guy who flew across the country to meet me at Chicago airport, just to fly back West for our holiday.

It’s the small things that turn us on. Do them often, dear men – the rewards are huge.

Until I date again!






Light House Keeping


A little light housekeeping.

A couple of days ago I published the “critique” of an anonymous reader posted on my blog.

It was the second most popular post on my blog which translates to 300 plus hits. That is a lot for me.

I suppose it hit some sort of nerve, or people just like gossip. Either way, I’m okay with that.

I did some reading on the difference between a blog, diary and journal.

Following is the most helpful statement: A blog is another form of diary or journal, but it is one that is digital and on the Internet. These are often referred to as online diaries/journals or personal blogs. They may document your day-to-day experiences or even social commentary. Many people use personal blogs as a way to keep in touch with friends and family, as well as to share with them their thoughts and feelings on certain subjects. You may choose to keep your blog personal or to share it with the world. By sharing it with the public, you can open the blog up to personal comments from those who view and read the blog. This is unique to the blog and many personal opinions are common throughout the world of blogging, some are kind and others may be quite blunt.
My conclusion to all this hoopla – my blog, my decisions. This in no way means I don’t want your criticisms, compliments, etc. It just means – in the end it is my decision what or how I want to post on my blog.

In other news, a post I wrote on writing letters had an interesting turn of events in real life.

I sent the above link to my friend/the person I had written the letter to and gotten no response from. I attached it with a message saying I hope you don’t mind I did this.

“Why would I mind? It is a very well written piece.”

“Because of the letter I sent you that you never replied to.”

“?????? ME! What??????”

“The letter I sent you a few months ago.”

“Letter? What letter?”

You get the picture. Turns out he never got the letter! Jesus!

I resent him the letter, because… don’t ask me why.

This time I did receive a reply in the fashion I expect from him. A clear, well written, polite reply. I shall leave it at that.

It restored my belief in our relationship/friendship, in that he always responds to whatever I say. And the fact that this letter, that consisted of me pouring my heart to him didn’t get a response was painful.

That’s that. This concludes the house keeping part of the program.

Until I date again!






It’s Hard For Me to Remain Quiet!

I really don’t know how to remain quiet – never did

I really hope to God that this doesn’t backfire – I suppose I shall find out.

I am always encouraging my readers to write me comments and frankly I can never get enough of them.

This morning I got one of the longest comments in the shape of a critique of my blog and I was thrilled.

I don’t think I am breaking any rules by publishing it here since the comments are public. And I sincerely hope it doesn’t discourage you from writing to me.

My goal here is to learn from the advice but also stand my ground on things I disagree with.

This is the comment as I received it:

A friend of yours who cares about you asked me to read your blog as a courtesy and give you some feedback. Simply a friendly critique from one professional to another soon to be (hopefully!) professional. Take it FWIW. You are an earnest writer and it seems like you write form your heart. That is good. You like to write what you know about. That is also good. There is a sincerity to your tone and voice. Very good.

Yet, these seem less like blogs (something that is meant to serve and audience) and more like diary (something that is meant to record one’s one private feelings) entries. They may be a lot of fun for you to write, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they are enjoyable (at least in the way an earnest writer would hope) for a reader to read.

I am assuming that you intend for these to inform and entertain with intelligence, emotional depth and feeling. Sometimes, they start off like that but then end up being self-serving. And just like nobody enjoys reading someone’s diary entries unless it is to glean gossip and salacious details- an impulse that comes straight from our impulse to look at car wrecks- Nobody wants to partake in something self-serving for too long.

As a writer you want readers to sense your empathy and have empathy with you. This way, they feel like they are on your side. When you enter a space where you play yourself as a victim at the hands of horrible men, or where you somehow make yourself seem better than the men you date, while your own confessions might seem reactive and caustic, you enter a territory where it seem like unhinged ramblings. This makes your readers empathy and interest turn into a voyeuristic thank-god-im-not-that messed-up impulse. When that happens they stop trusting you. Or they only tune in for the outrage. Much like many of us (excluding me!) watch the people misbehaving on reality TV shows.

Now, if your intention is to paint yourself as a 50-something car wreck- which I assume it is not- then it’s fine. But I get the sense that you start earnestly and then give in to your impulses and your writing starts to lose focus.

Car crashes are fun to look at but nobody wants to be anywhere near them!

You want your readers to feel like they’re sitting with you and sharing your experience, and not looking at it from a sanitary distance.

If every time someone doesn’t behave the way you expect them to, and you reduce them to either “a motherfu**er” or “an a**hole” while winking and smiling at your own self-admitted bitchiness, intolerance or impatience, you come off as someone very, very thin-skinned and self-entitled. Think Donald Trump.

Writing is much like cooking: you want the people you’ve cooked for to feel satisfied and full! Sure occasionally, there’s a piece of junky, tasty indulgence, but ultimately they need to trust you and feel your empathy for the world to blindly put your creations in their mouth. Same goes for their minds.

Things working:
-consistent updates.

Things I would like to see improved:
-Less “cutesy” self-congratulatory stuff. Self-deprecation is funny. Self-congratulation is annoying. Check out Philip Lopate’s essay on humiliation essays.
-Less victim-victor dynamic.
-Much less lashing-out — Makes you seem like an unhinged crazy lady. YOU DO NOT WANT THAT BECAUSE I DON’T THINK YOU ARE THAT. You don’t want your readers to think… “No wonder she’s in her 50s and can’t find anyone to stick around!”
-Fewer selfies! Very narcissistic.
-No feet! Ew. Just ew!

Hope this helps.


My response:

First time I have been compared to Trumpy!

I am not a 50 something year old woman who is desperate – I shall be 50 soon enough, but never desperate.

I agree that you could call this my diary as opposed to a blog.

I relay my stories as I have experienced them. I have NEVER called all men assholes. I make sure I share the happy, loving stories of which there are plenty.

I put up selfies because I cannot put (or will not put) up pictures of the men that I am speaking of. For some reason I feel that when I put a picture, I get more traffic on my blog. Maybe it personalizes things or maybe it does nothing. But till I get a better idea, lots of selfies – it is going to be.

According to the writer of the comment – my entries don’t seem to serve the reader. My way of doing that is by hopefully being entertaining, or even a cautionary tale. That’s fine with me. I can and will never make this a how to blog – because clearly I don’t know how to. These are merely my experiences and how I chose to deal with them. They are not always pretty and that’s because my life is not always pretty.

Lastly, my formal response to the writer in the shape of a comment:

I thank you for your feedback. I shall definitely take it into consideration

About the selfies, I noticed that a picture attracts people to the posts. And since I can’t put a picture of the person that I may be talking about – I am left with the selfies.

I would love to know who this caring friend is so I may thank them

In the meantime, I thank you for taking the time to write me

Would love a link to your writings and good luck with your pursuits


My dear readers, please please let me know what you like and dislike about my writings. I get a lot of comments on the pages I post on (mostly on face book, instagram, etc. )

If you are holding back, if I irk you, if I make you laugh – I want to hear all of it.


Until I date again!

The Lost Art of Letter Writing


Letters are a powerful, beautiful thing. Unfortunately the art of letter writing has been washed away with the tide of text messages and face book posts. I am guilty of this myself.

However I do write letters. Many letters. But they never reach the person I write them to because I never send them out.

Lately I have been writing a lot of letters. Mostly to guys I feel have wronged me. Recently I had the misfortune of being grandly fucked by a guy. He made a royal fool of me. But I am mostly mad at myself for having let that happen to me.

There is a slight sliver of a silver lining in that, the situation may be some what resolved. But I have to behave in a certain way and play a particular game.

These enigmatic statements are possibly annoying to you, dear reader. But I can’t tell you about it right now. I have to wait a few weeks to see how it plays out. Sorry.

But I digress…

I was talking of letters.

When I write a letter, it calms me. It helps me organize my thoughts and work certain things out. In extreme cases, it helps me stay out of prison … but more realistically, it helps me from lashing out, using foul language and saying things that I may or may not regret later.

I actually did send one letter a few months ago. Did it make me feel better?

Maybe for a few moments. But not really. It drove me nuts.

I’ll tell you why.

Because he never wrote me back!

Can you say frustrating? Yes.

Can you say asshole? You bet your ass.

I was to take his no reply as the reply.

It was not an angry letter, mind you. It was a letter that professed my love for him. Okay not love but impending love or the desire to love him one day.

Without disclosing the whole letter here, I can tell you this that after telling him about my feelings, I said something like the ball is now in your court and do what you please with this information. Upon rereading the letter just now, I also said that I do hope you respond, in whatever manner.

What he chose to do with the information was nothing. Nothing at all.

I drove myself batty by checking my email inbox a 100 times a day at first.  Then maybe 75 times, 50, 40… You get the picture.

I got angry and wrote another letter. This one I didn’t send of course. I am not that crazy.

The sentiment of that letter was something to the effect that, “you think so little of me that you couldn’t even spend a minute of your life writing me back.” I went on to say that even a simple, “fuck off,” would’ve been better than absolute silence.

I am not sure that was true. Plus, he would never do that.

Now that a few months have passed, I can say that I am no longer angry or hurt. Time has a way of doing that, and I thank the imaginary Gods for that every day.

I never actually confronted him and told him how shitty it was to ignore my letter entirely but I did say some watered down versions of that sentiment.

I am still in touch with him and still am very fond of him. Maybe the impending love/lust has kinda turned into a feeling of deep friendship and affection – with a smidgen of hope – haha, I can’t help myself.

Now you may think to yourself, “she was talking of the art of letter writing and singing its praises, and then she tells us this story.”

Yes, I was and still am. I don’t regret writing and sending that letter, along with all the other unsent letters.

In the letter that was sent, I put my feelings out there and the fact that they weren’t reciprocated wasn’t from a lack of him knowing. And so I never have to wonder if he truly knows how I feel.

The other letters I write are highly cathartic.

There is something about the act of writing.  When the tip of the pen touches the blank piece of paper – it acts as a balm to my agitated, often hurt feelings.

So my dear readers, write/type what you are feeling and thinking. Write to anyone that is occupying that brain of yours. Write a letter to yourself if you have to, as I do often.

It can’t hurt. It can only help. I promise you.

Until I write again!

and of course Until I date again!





Grown Men Who are so Afraid of a Woman Pouting

There is a book called He’s Just Not that into you

There is another book called Be Honest – you are not that into him either

The second book is a terribly written book that I hated reading so much that I left it in the bathroom of the cafe that I was reading it in.

However, I did learn one thing from the book that I wasn’t aware of. Now I wish I hadn’t left the book in the loo so that I could give you a direct quote. But as I recall, it goes something like this – a man rather get his arm ripped off by a herd of wild elephants than tell a woman that he is done with the relationship.

This really was news to me.

Did you know this? Well, I didn’t.

Once I read it I realized that I had experienced this both in long term relationships and also after I had just met a guy once or twice.

In the long term relationship I always ended it when I felt the relationship was turning sour, thinking I should leave before he does. Little did I know that the guy was behaving in ways that would compel me to leave. And here I was thinking I was being proactive and clever.

Okay, so I can understand the hesitation in ending a committed, once loving relationship in fear of the woman’s reaction. But after 1-2 or 3 dates? How childish is that?

And frustrating. Don’t even get me started with how damn frustrating and cowardly this behavior is.

I did an unscientific poll asking several guys if they ever failed to call a woman after one or two dates.

They all said yes.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I didn’t want to upset her.”

“Really? And by not calling her you are keeping her from being upset? I see.”

Jesus Christ! Men can be so stupid!

“I didn’t want to hear her moaning and groaning, or yelling at me,” said one guy.

This is a true story. A guy really told me this. A guy who seemed perfectly reasonable and sane to me.

Shows you how much I know.

I have news, dear men. If you tell a woman after the first or second date that you are not interested, most likely she will say thank you and that’ll be the end of that.

There are of course some women who will yell and scream and then boil your pet bunny – but that is a rare occurrence and I am not talking of those women.

And now for my question:

Dear Men, what is it that we women do that you do not understand?

Try to keep your answers short and succinct 🙂

In the end, I have to say this:

Dear men, why are you such babies and so flighty?

Until I date again!