Men at 50 (and why they're superior)

*edited for even more whining*


Men, like wine, cheese, and certain types of ham, often become better with age.  This is as obvious to me as, oh, I don’t know, the nose on my face, for example.  I don’t think I have a fetish, and I don’t collect men in their late forties/early fifties (though I sort of wish I could, you know, for later), but I did, in a way, take it as a given that men at that age were generally acknowledged to have a certain I-don’t-know-what that the French like to call a certain I-don’t-know-what (I translated that for you. You’re welcome).  James Bond has never been twenty.  Nor has Harrison Ford, as far as I’m concerned. 

So I have been marveling while I watch a discussion taking place on a certain Gold Box Forum in which a man, around the age of 50, asked if it was possible that women in their twenties and thirties might possibly be interested in him, because it seemed as though they were.  Yes, a few said, it is within the realm of possibility, because girls think old guys have money.  But most said, ick, eww, yuck, you’re delusional, that couldn’t happen because it’s creepy. (In fairness, a couple did say “heck yes, men that age are fine.) 

Now, my own inclinations aside, is it really that difficult to see where the interest might be? How many men are paraded in front of us, as a society, who are over forty and deemed “the sexiest man alive”? A bunch, if you want a non-mathematical number.  A whole bunch.  George Clooney, Brad Pitt, all of the James Bonds, Colin Firth, the aforementioned Harrison Ford, Cary Grant, Kyle Chandler, who only looks like he’s twenty-five, and goodgodman, many more, are all well over forty and not a one of ‘em is worse for the wear.   We, as a culture, have set this standard. It’s the same standard that for years insisted that a woman over the age of thirty was a dried-up old prune, which has thankfully begun to shift a little.

Perhaps for some people it is about the presumed financial security an established man can offer, a sort of primordial instinct, and real physical attraction never plays into it.  I don’t know about those people. I think those might be the same people whose first question to a man is “what do you do for a living?” or “what kind of car do you drive?”  Me, I don’t look to a man to support me. That’s my job.  What I do look to a man for is companionship, a sense of humor, kindness, and make-me-quiver-to-my-knees kissing and, well, you know.  And lots of that last one. And that’s often, though not always, where a few extra years come in handy.  Often (though not always), young men need to sow some wild oats and get in some practice before they are ready to think about what women want.  Add to that the confidence and self-assuredness that comes with age, the comfort with one's self that begins to emerge, and it makes even more sense. Why would anyone be surprised that people would find a confident, self-assured man physically desirable? George Clooney was kind of ordinary before he hit forty, but he’s been strangely appealing since then, and though Kyle Chandler as always been freakin’ adorable, well, nothing, he’s always been freakin’ adorable and I suspect he always will be. Sigh.  I need to see Super 8.

Not that I ever have a point, but if I did, it would probably be something like this: if a girl who is in her twenties or thirties digs a guy who is in his forties or fifties, don’t judge.  We are culturally conditioned to acknowledge the appeal of men-of-a-certain-age, it might even be hard-wired in, and ultimately, what’s so wrong with it anyway?

Facebook fiends.

Finding old friends on Facebook is kind of like finding them anywhere else.  “Cool! What are you UP to? How have you beeeeeen?”  It’s fun. For a while.  You look through their photos, they look through yours, you both leave sweet/polite/enthusiastic/witty comments, you “like” their posts, and it’s all very chummy.  Then the comments start to get a little snarky. Not too bad, nothing you have to delete, but with just a slice of edge to them, or their posts maybe start to veer toward the depressing, angry, insipid, or just repetitive and self-glorifying.  When they’re on chat you sign out right away, just in case they try to message you, until finally you remember why it was you parted company to begin with, why you drifted apart. 

It’s because she’s a judgmental asshole who thinks she knows you better than anyone else, and thinks she can live your life better than you can. She’s condescending, prone to sarcasm, on her high-horse about oh, so many things, while simultaneously being unable spell five words in a row correctly, which makes you feel smug, until you feel bad about feeling smug over something so stupid.  Yes, you have lowered yourself.  She’s a dick and you were better off without her in your life.

So, you un-friend her.  Sure, your finger hovers over the enter button for a minute, but you do it, and you are justified in having done it.  She’s a dick. You’re better off without her.

Fast-forward a few years.  You’re walking down the street, any street; the one you live on, the one you work on, the one that has the food cart where they sell the best falafel, and you hear someone call your name. You look. It’s her! Your old friend!  You’re both happy to see each other, you both look great, no, you’re not really doing anything, sure, you can get coffee! Numbers are exchanged and you go home feeling chipper, happy to reconnect with an old friend.  She sure is sweet/interesting/funny/nice.  What was it that made you drift apart? Ah, who cares?

So you look her up on Facebook.  Her wall in not set to private so you see what she’s been up to and she has just updated her status. 

Hooker McSlutterson:   ugh, jus saw an old “friend” today. Shes as messet up as ever! Glad I have my FBers to be my besties!!!! Lol!!!

Dick.

Meh-widge.

I recently read a synopsis of a book, a rather thorough synopsis, about marriage. It was something like “Why Men Marry Some Women and Not Others.”  It didn’t delve into marriage exactly, it was more about the act of getting married, and answered such hard-hitting questions as How do women get married? How do they get a man to propose? Ultimately it was about what sort of things play into your favor if you’re looking to get married.  I am now scarred for life.

Truthfully, it wasn’t that scary. It was mostly common sense stuff, with the biggest contributing factor being, surprise, surprise, the desire to get married.  That’s a bit like saying the biggest contributing factor in whether or not a person goes out to eat is the desire to go out to eat, but I’ll play along.  

The statistics of women who marry roughly translate into: be attractive, but not too sexy, dress like a wife, don’t clean for him, don’t have sex with him for a while, impress his family but put him above your own, don’t talk about the future for the first six dates but after that let him know you are seriously going to get married, date around, then don’t, don’t live with your parents, pretend to like football/baseball/hockey/golf, call exes “losers,” be self-assured, talented and thin. Above all, keep your eye on the prize. You should eat, drink, sleep and dream of the ideal; Marriage.

He should be in his thirties, a childless widower, and, well, those are your best odds right there. Just be sure to dump him if he won’t agree to spend the rest of his life with you after about a year or so.

So, how can I say with any degree of confidence that I will not be walking down any aisle other than the shampoo one at Target? Consider this – I am attractive, but not too sexy, I dress like a couch or a college student most of the time, I will clean for you, while wearing something whore-ish and hoping we can please have sex as soon as possible, I may or may not impress your family (who are they? Am I going to be impressed with them as well? Give and take!), but it’s going to be a while before I think you rank above mine. I’m not going to talk about the future in the first six dates, but I probably won’t after that either.  I don’t date around. If we happen to meet, hit it off, then go out, congratulations, we’ve had a date. I’m unlikely to have the energy to do that with more than one guy in a week. And sorry, but sometimes I do live with my parents.  It’s a big house, they’re nice people, so what.  I will watch baseball with you. DO NOT MAKE ME WATCH GOLF! I will heckle.  My exes are all pretty nice and I’m not going to talk smack about them. I am not terribly self-assured, I am somewhat talented, and I’m not very heavy, but I will never be a stick-figure, nor do I want to be.  Finally, on the list of things on my mind at any particular time, marriage is somewhere between “when can I go to Europe next,” and “do flies reincarnate?”  It’s not a big concern. Why write a blog about it then? Sigh. I'm an unmarried woman, what else do I have to do?  As for the man himself – I don’t pay a lot of attention to age, and fine, be a childless widower if you want, but I prefer orphans.  In-laws are cray-zee!

And I mean that!

Today’s word is “Nerve.”

Do you have it? Do you want it? If you have it, do you want more of it?  Not money, not sex, not wit. Nerve.

You might guess from the anonymous nature of this site that I consider myself in lack of nerve.  You are correct, Sir!  As far as I am concerned there is nothing better than the sure, sweet silence of total anonymity.  I can say (type) whatever I want and certainly, it won’t come back to bite me in the behind, no-siree-bob.  I can say (type) with gusto, with aplomb, whatever pops into my pretty little head, and I can say (type) it in whatever slap-dash manner I choose. Because you don’t know who I am and you don’t care.  It’s funny how knowing this about you increases my nerve.

It’s different face-to-face, isn’t it?  Or even in written words, but with people you know.  There is a conference I would love to sign up for, but it is run by someone I like, respect, kinda-have-a-crush-on, and I don’t have the nerve to put myself out there for his judgment.  I feel I need to wait until I am better at what I do.  Until I can impress him and his peers. At least until I feel I’m not such a novice.

I know, I know, I’m setting myself up for a life sold short.  And I’m not proud of being a lily-livered, yellow-bellied coward. But how can you tell the difference between the, I think, sound choice to wait to do something until you have some ability and waiting too long to do something because you simply lack nerve?  I tend to feel like people should wait just a bit longer to put themselves out in the world as experts or professionals.  For example, I used to work in a field where I would be thrown together with artists a lot.   Some of these artists were terrific, accomplished artists who created beautiful or interesting or even just not awful works.  Some of them saw commercial success, most did not, but they knew what they were about.  But more often I would run into artists who were of the not-quite-ready variety.  Their work looked like something you would see in a middle or high school display, and not the gifted kids either.  I’m not a critic, so I won’t go into artistic details and what was wanting from their work, and I wouldn’t dare say they shouldn’t be creating whatever art was in their hearts. They should. However, that they felt the need to build websites to display their art, and design t-shirts, mugs, and note cards featuring their art, that they would pay to advertise their wares in magazines, well.  Someone was giving them poor advice.   Not every doodle is art.  Not every blog post is print-worthy. Not every hobby is meant to garner an income.  Not every person is meant to become famous.

I’m just being realistic.  And knowing that those misled “artists” fully believe that their work is amazing and gallery ready makes me wonder how anyone can be so mistaken in their abilities. And that leads me to wonder how you can ever judge your own work.  Which leads me to wonder further still how you know which category you fall into – good at something or good at fooling yourself.  Sigh.  And that’s where I lose my nerve.

Jon Finkel should have dated me instead.

In enthusiastically jumping on the bandwagon in support of nerds/geeks/social misfits, I see already that I can offer nothing unique or new to the conversation, but I must have my two cents.  It made the news (slow news day?) that a girl went on a date with a guy and then ridiculed him in a public forum for his geeky hobby. Bad show, ol' girl.  That the guy in question is actually well-known in the geek world, a celebrity of sorts, was perhaps the detail she should have paid more attention to when she googled him than any other.  Now people have his back and this girl is hiding under a rock somewhere. That is all perfectly fair, and I agree that this girl is not a great candidate for human relationships because she is mean, but the problem I have is not merely that she ridiculed him in a public fashion or that she judged him for something lame, but that she judged him at all.  Now, call me shallow, but he looks like a pretty cute guy.  It's rumored that he makes a nice income.  She never accused him of being creepy or even dull. Yes, the Dahmer show was not the best choice for a first date, but it wasn't enough to turn her off for a second date, so it was clearly not a deal breaker.  But the cards did it? Really? Has she ever dated before?
Because, and I mean this most sincerely, unless he insisted that I urinate on him while his dog eats mashed potatoes off my tits as he masterbates in front of his webcam WHILE he plays Magic, then I don't see the problem. In fact, if you take the dog out of that scenario this might still be okay with me because it would absolutely trump any date I have had in the past eight years. And I am not unattractive. It is simply a strange, strange land for dating out there.
So, to Jon F., who seems to be taking this all in stride, add me to your list of hypothetical better options. I am pretty, not particularly insane, a little geeky, a little not, and if you had gone out with me your second date would most likely have ended with a blow job.
And I mean that.