You can’t make this shit up – Return of Nosferatu and other Rants

May I just say that the boomer market is a flat line. i’d like to announce to the brilliant marketers trying to monetize Gen Boomer, that a generation who prides itself on youth, is not, doesn’t want to, and will not ingest niche media for the “boomer market”.  They are reading mass media. I am consulting for a network of boomer sites.  The twelve year-old media planners are not interested.  I learned this yet again after driving to a late afternoon mid-town meeting at a high profile media agency.  I paid a small ransom for the privilege of parking my car for an hour and returned home in less than sanguine mood.

Nosferatu wanted to treat me to an evening that would relieve my stress.  I haven’t been deluged by offers, poems or other overtures, and Nosferatu is lonely – I accepted his offer.  I wondered what he had in mind though I wasn’t exactly “dressing” for the date. Nos met me in my lobby and we cabbed it downtown to where I’d just been.  Our destination, the top of the Empire State Building.  You’d have to meet me to know how much I detest crowds, standing in cue, and pandering to touristic sensibilities. I’d rather have stuck hot pokers in my eye and have shaved my head.  I plastered a tolerant smile on my face and trudged through the lines trying to dislodge Nosferatu’s guiding hand at my elbow and back.  I gracelessly flew past the photographer who wanted to memorialize our experience and stepped into the gale force winds on the 86th floor.I’m not bragging but I have spectacular city and river views from my apartment.  I didn’t need to slog through crowds, shuffle on high-heeled shod feet, and brave pneumonia for the privilege.  Nos confessed that he’d hoped it would encourage me to cuddle with him.  Am I seriously this cursed?

Finally we descended to terra firma and head for dinner.  He had a place in mind and I was still determined to conduct myself with civility.  After a 10 block walk in 30 degree weather I lost it.  Apparently his dining choice was some deli with a salad bar, that he couldn’t locate.( he just moved to New York recently – single women rejoice.) Thankfully, I’m not a violent person and don’t carry an assault weapon.  I ducked into the nearest subway and said that I was going home.

Nos followed me and witnessed my altercation with a nine-foot African American who shoved me several feet as I boarded the shuttle.  A fury of expletives were unleashed, mine.  Nos sat next to me and held me steady against the train’s halting rhythm.  The thought of a morphine laced cappuccino was very appealing.  I struggled with my inner bitch and politely suggested that we could “dine” at an all night diner.  As we trudged another 7 blocks, in the cold, Nos told me that he wanted me to join him in his small business venture selling Disney pins on e-bay.  We could travel to Florida two weeks a month and collect Disney pins from theme parks and sell them online.  Now I have a garage in my building and would have cheerfully asphyxiated myself at that point, but the garage is too large and I would have only succeeded in enraging the attendants.  That would have implied a higher holiday bonus, I suspect.

Luckily my nephew texted me and joined us.  My blood pressure had regulated to merely dangerous levels and his presence soothed me.  Nos is just looking for friendship, though he did suggest some physical distraction, to which I responded with gritted teeth.  I calmed down enough to discuss  Nosferatu’s failed marriages with empathy and compassion.  I opened a space for friendship. The boundaries are set there.

Sometimes I want to throttle the God of my understanding and say “really?”  Note to women:  Don’t allow a man that you don’t know well, plan a date.  Get the information.  Buy into the plan or nix it.  My idea of a stress relieving date is a helicopter ride over Manhattan; dinner at Le Vieux Bistro across from the Notre Dame Cathedral and a stroll through Ile St. Louis. Let’s kiss in the dawn on a deserted beach beneath a sky that looks like a jewelers display.  I’ve done that and highly recommend this with the right person.  Or, if I’m into you, come to my apartment, set about 20 candles aflame and let’s rearrange the 15 or so down pillows on my bed.  That would have relieved my stress. So until you’re ready to enter my life, I’ll just be blogging and soothing my inner bitch with the thought of you.

Yours truly,


I Dated Nosferatu and had Another Job Interview

I admit it – the shorter daylight hours – how the sun floats behind the pre-War Upper West Side New York buildings at 6:00 PM – rather than 8:00 PM – has me down.  Honestly, a plethora of circumstances – seemingly immutable – have gotten me more in the mood to pull the duvet over my head, after taking a healthy dose of sleeping pills.

My therapist tells me to have patience, not to project the future.  But my 12 year sojourn through a travesty of dating and poor job choices have left me at the crossroads of nowhere and how did I get here?  I know that life presents challenges, but I’ve bottled enough lemonade to serve the Upper East Side community where I live, until the Second Avenue subway is finished.  I’m more excited about the subway since I anticipate increased property values and an easier commute – much easier.

So after a notable absence from the dating world, I dipped my cursor in the playing field and posted a personal ad. If you have a better idea, I’d like to hear it.  I’ve met a number of eligible men recently who attracted me to varying degrees.  One was a libidinous 32-year old – definitely hot – but he wanted sex basically in the office where I was working for a brief stint.  Then the equally libidinous Columbia professor who wanted sex after offering up diner and somewhat stimulating conversation for six hours.   There was the sexy photographer who bore a resemblance to Harrison Ford, but he was HIV positive and wanted to date only in that pool.  I weathered these disappointments with humor and equanimity.  I responded to more ads.  I went out again with few expectations.  Then I met Nosferatu – a pleasant man whom I suspect lied about his age, who is divorcing a lovely woman because – well he never really explained that.  We shared a hamburger, think about retirement and the failing economy, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything but his skinny, bony, pasty hands. These were not hands that I would welcome into my bed, or anywhere.  Chemistry?  Zero.  Naturally, Nosferatu is devoted and wants to prove that he is a worthy contender for my heart’s throne.

How, I ask myself, do I turn away someone who so generously is offering an ear and nascent devotion? I told Nosferatu that I was interested in friendship, which he accepted as encouragement.  Am I asking too much?  Never one to fall in love, or lust easily, I’ve at least known the thrill of mutual attraction.  Is it time to get a bone density screening and shuffle off with bony hands?  Divorce has taught me that it’s better to be alone than with the wrong man.  I need to remind myself of this when I’m alone watching some patented network fare, wondering if I should settle down with Ben & Jerry or send out another resume.

I knew that life had rough patches, I just thought that they, like everything else, ended.  This recent expanse seems intolerable.

And I had another job interview today.  My interviewer waited until I’d driven over an hour before telling me that the salary was 55K.  The last time I entertained a salary in that range was my early 30’s.  Yet I need a job.  I enjoyed a 2 – hour rush hour commute where I debated the pros of accepting such a job. Surely I can earn as much doing something else without the laborious commute.  Can’t I?

Life lobs curve balls at your head, I think but I am determined to remain positive.  Surely a better opportunity for me is just around the corner.  So I’ll send out another resume, stay limber at the gym, take some boxing lessons to address my escalating aggression and wait for a better day.  It could be tomorrow.