The Detective

I finally closed the deal.

I got a date with the Detective for a late lunch on Sunday.

His profile said that he was serving as a narcotics detective when he retired after 20 years in law enforcement.This got my juices flowing. I've liked cops since my cub reporter days working the crime beat. They're strong, decisive, and well dressed, and, because they had to deal with the public, people skills. They listen to you talk, think about what you said and respond to analyze you like a crime scene. I like that so I'm just on this like syrup on a pancake.

I walked up to the door of Logan's Steakhouse and found myself looking straight into his eyes. He straight eyes, brushy mustache and warm smile. Dress pants, pressed shirt. He was dressed for success.

"I hope you're hungry," he said.

I was, but planned on being nutritionally sound in ordering, because of something about New Year's resolutions and my Partnership Promise, a health insurance initiative to beat you into a healthy lifestyle submission. However, when I heard him order ribeye steak,  the words "filet mignon: slipped out of my mouth. But I did balance it with a sweet potato and of course salad.

We talked and waited and talked and waited for our food. Finally, when the steaks were brought to the table., we realized  why we were so hungry. The salads hadn't been served. "Where's our salads?"

The server was horrified. Did we want our steaks sitting under a heat lamp while she got us salad. No, she wasn't taking that filet away from me. I was ready to eat. Did we even want our salads? Yes, said The Detective. Salads delivered, hungry bellies filled and we continued on with our conversation. When the server told us that the salads would be deducted from the check, there was barely a nod of the head. And he didn't complain when he calculated the tip. In other words, he didn't let a little something ruin the day. Check.

He said he had two retirements and a successful business. Financial stability. Check. Likes to travel. Check. Likes to shop. Check. Handyman par excellence. Double Check

And when I said I expected him to cancel due to the playoffs, he said...

"I don't follow football or any sports."

Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner!

The meet and greet was over.

We said goodbye in the lobby. I thought we were doing one of those one armed hugs when he leaned over and kissed me. I felt like I was in high school again. I really liked him and envisioned us cuddled up in a mountain cabin as I drove home, deeply breathing in his cologne that clung to my skin.

We exchanged a couple of small talk email and I kept thinking about that second date. He said that it was up to me and just to let him know. I kept thinking, what is it that I really want to know about this guy. What's another deal breaker that I can throw out to see how he responds? Oh, yes. My work.

My guy needs to be interested in my career. He needs to understand what I do and comment appropriately. I will do the same for him. So I sent him  a little bit about the of a day in the life of an aging attorney who deals with elder abuse issues.

And he responded:

Awesome, they are saying we could get 6 to 8 inches of snow tonight

Come on, baby! Couldn't you have shown a little interest in what I do? I mean, you are a retired cop. Surely, you had experience with elder abuse.

I'm bummed. I really liked him, but...

Next!

POF

Omg! It was the most online dating fun ever.

I waited so long at an appointment I got bored and registered to  Plenty of Fish.com. I was considering re-upping my subscription to Match, but my results were so poor I couldn't justify the money. So, as Donald Trump says "You're fired" and I joined POF.

I knew about POF from my brother, a brilliant man who knows a lot about everything and proceeds to tell you about it. Since he had no trouble sweet talking a number of women on POF  I dedcied to jump right in, especially since it was free, so I signed up.

I posted the best picture I've made in the last century or at least the past two years.  You're not going to attract attention with a bad photo. Then, I thought about my husband and all the little quirky things I loved and wrote

I like to have a good time doing most anything. I prefer being outside so I like going to festivals, hiking in parks, laying by the water and enjoying nature. I'm a foodie who loves to cook and try new things. My idea of a good time is a day trip to discover a cool place. I'm into history and enjoy exploring historical places. I like watching PBS Ken Burns, Band of Brothers, Godfather. I'm a hometown tourist so enjoy all the offerings of Nashville. I have wide musical tastes from country, rock and classical. Looking for a running buddy to explore and have fun with.  

Ladies, within 30 minutes, I was talking to real men  who wanted to make me an offer that I couldn't refuse.  The first day I had  email from15 different men. And they weren't creepy sounding at all.

I'm on the verge of closing a date. The funny part of it is that he was one of the first I spoke with  when I got on Match but he lost interest. I didn't bring up that we had spoke before. He's interested, he's excited and ready to meet me where ever I say. I never got that interest from Match.com. I'm hooked on Plenty of Fish.

So I checked my Match account and the last thing in my inbox is my hasta la vista email to Mr. "I have 12 kids". OMG, no comparison.

But now you have to sort through all of the percentage of walking wounded.

Like this guy.

I was married 3 times # 1 and 3 had affairs . I have forgiven but will not live in that. I have 2 daughters

So I responded

If you want to get a date, don't bring up marital problems in your first email.

Not really. I weirded myself out thinking about pissing off an unstable person and sent him the "it wasn't clicking and good luck" email. It's always a good plan to not to tease the bear.

A false start

The drought ended!

Or did it?

I was "favorited" by a man from Smyrna. Now "favorite" usually reeks of scammer, but since this one didn't "like" all my photos, another scammer flag, I checked out his profile. It didn't say much, but I thought he was cute, so out went my invitation to chat.

His response was a "wink" and with an email which contained the phrase "socially inept".

He must be an engineer! I respond with my whowhatwhenwhere which includes disclosure about my four kids.

This is what I got back.

"six children in my first marriage ...three step children and two more boys in my second marriage... I fathered... nine children ..."

Holy crap, Batman! That's  (nine bio plus three step) 12 children!!! The only men I knew who had that many children were the religious home schoolers or the ones I jailed for non-support while serving  child support district attorney, because it's hard to pay for that many kids.

But, even if he can afford them, that's a bunch of kids! That's a lot of people to track. And a lot potential bitching and moaning to hear about.

And there's more. I got back and do the math.  Six kids in first marriage plus two in the second equals eight biological children. The "I fathered nine" minus "eight in two marriages" leaves one hiding in the bushes. What happened to him?

That's when the negative energy sank into the gut. Run, Janet, run! my body was screaming.
I was having a "maybe it's not as bad as it sounds" moment when I took it to the Ladies Office Lunch Bunch, my multi-generational focus group. There wasn't much debate.  "Run, Janet, run!"

And then there was this sweet 20-something. What if there is a good and noble reason he has 12 children with one MIA. I mean, maybe he's a good father. How bad can 12 children be?

"I don't want to be a sounding board him  for 12 children," said one of the 50+ somethings.

"Too many obligations," says another 50+ something.

"Run far, far away," says another 50+ something.

In other words, experience nine, inexperience one.

Next!

The after New Year blahs

Five views.

Match.com said the Christmas drought was over. January 3 is the busiest online dating day of the year. Just hang on. The games will resume shortly. Have faith.

And after all the hype, and excitement and anticipation that the drought was over on January 3, I received five views. And one of them was the nurse who didn't return my text after the first date, so he doesn't even count. He probably hit the view button by mistake.

Make that four views.

This is a little underwhelming, especially since I've only had 15 views since January 1. And nine of those were on Saturday, January 2.

It made me want to crunch the numbers. Exactly, what is my rate of return from my Match.com subscription?

 September 1, 2015 was my start date,  so I've 18 full weeks of service. In that time, my profile has been viewed 2,189 times. Out of those, I've received 15 winks which is less than one percent return, which sucks.

I did get seven favorites, but only one out of seven was a real person. Since the one was a ding dong, (See "The Chef") I usually don't answer favorites.

Finally, I rated 93 "Likes". Only five were confirmed real, which is five percent which is more than I expected.

I've exchanged email with 17 and talked on the phone with seven. And I've been out on dates with three different men. Two made it to round two but that's as far as its gotten. So my batting average out of 2,189 potential dates is .001 percent.  That's not one percent. That's one tenth of a percent. It's got to get nine more percentage point to get out of that gutter.

Depressing stats. It's a good thing that I can't calculate my odds of finding Mr. Right now in this calendar year. I'm sure push me into a diet of ice cream and chocolate cake after seeing that I am more likely to get sprayed by a skunk than find a man that I want to date and who wants to date me.

So what's a girl to do with data like that?

Go to the gym to meet men, says my son.

True. Men go to the gym. I've always seen all ages of men when I worked out on a regular basis. It sounded promising, but then there's the problem that if you go to the gym, you have to work out...and get sweaty. No more  watching TV while cuddling with the dog.

Yuck.

I went anyway and had plenty of men to look at while sweat plastered my hair to my head. Oh, yes, the "mascara runny eyed red face" look is not one of my best, so I don't expect a whole lot of interest from anybody unless we interact  before the elliptical.

Not to mention the classes.

Working out in a class is a good way to meet people. It's one of the best ways to meet people at the Y. After all the working, sweating, moaning and groaning through a good class is bonds you together like a cardio Band of Brothers (and Sisters).

My ever helpful son tells me that he found a class where I can target the Baby Boomer. "Arthritis H2O."

Thanks, buddy.

He also gave me motivation to find my inner bodybuilder.

"Do you really want to depend on me when you get too weak to do anything."

The thought of that made me wanted me to a set of squats right then and there. My greatest fear in aging is becoming so weak, that I can't get off the potty. Frail people get to the point where it takes 100 percent effort to stand up, so if they slip down below the toilet rim, they have no additional strength to pull themselves out. They are found days later, exhausted, cold and  dehydrated. That is not the way I'm going down, ever. So I've got to work the legs.

Upper body must have attention as well. The muscles work better if they work as a system, as in muscular system. So I've got to work that core assist the legs in holding up the spine, shoulders and head as I'm trying to get out of the loo.

Crap. Why isn't laying around and cuddling the dog a fitness option here?