Relationship Advice from My Guest Blogger - Dennis

I've reached my writing apex. What an honor as Gail is one of my favs and a very funny and talented lady. So boys and girls, you'll just have to put up with me for one day and Gail will return to regale you with her wit and humor.

FINDING MS. RIGHT IN MIDDLE AGE

OK so the the first number in your age is a 5 or a 6. I know that seems harsh but it is not the end of the world unless you damn well have decided to throw in the towel. I'm here to tell you that is not the way to find your "soulmate". By the same token, you cannot just sit in front of the TV and wait for the doorbell to ring and hope that Penelope Cruz or Selma Hayak will be there saying "I'm here my love, take me". Sorry kids it doesn't happen that way. Nor can you just pick out anyone on the street and decide they are the "right" person for you. I really don't know the exact formula for finding Ms. Right; if I did then my name would be above Bill Gates on the Forbes Richest list.

I do know this however; things have changed and you aren't going to look across a crowded bar and get the "hot blonde" to go home with you with a wink and a smile. Again, not going to happen. No my friends, at this stage in life you are going to have to use wit, charm, humor and most importantly the ability to LISTEN! We all like to think we are 35 again and can charm our way into a ladies heart in 5 minutes; a la Agent 007. And forget about the 30 something hottie you've fantasized about. Unless your bank account has well over 7 figures of discretionary funds you have nothing in common with her. Now, here is the good part. If you meet that person with the ever illusive "chemistry", you actually are going to really enjoy talking to her and responding to her. SEX will not be the "be-all and end-all." Don't get me wrong, it's still terrific and an integral component, but you will actually enjoy hugging and kissing as an important part of the relationship. Instead of the conversation being blah, blah, blah when do I get to see you naked, you will ACTUALLY want to talk. Conversations that were once 5 or 10 minutes will go to 1 or 2 hours with no pauses- trust me .

OK, those men out there that are now getting up muttering "this guy is nuts and needs to make his appointment for a "Sex Change", sit your asses down. I'm a 6' tall black belt in Karate and I will come after you and take you kicking and screaming into the 21st century. Otherwise it's going to be you and the TV or People magazine as your steady companion. And ladies, you are not escaping unscathed. We are a bit older and slower. If you see that guy who might be "it" try engaging him. We cannot do this all without encouragement. OK enough of the sermon. Now everyone out there, get up off your butts and try going to the gym, or even dressing in the morning; anything to make you feel better about yourself. If you do others will feel the same about you.

I found the lady of my dreams and I intend to tell her every day how much I care. Here's the rub, it isn't work. It's a pleasure. Thanks again for putting up with me. Gail will return, I promise. Good luck.

Dennis in Palm Springs

Relationship Deal Makers vs. Breakers

Got relationship deal "makers?" I'm not talking deal "breakers", that's a no brainer. It's simple to bitch and moan about someone's fatal flaw(s). I'm an expert. I go crazy if someone smokes - sorry smokers but you're out. I also say ixnay to bad shoes. My eyes go straight to a man's shoes and yes sometimes I stare incredulously at their choice and feel slightly nauseous. Snoring drives me up the wall and out the door. This eliminates almost everyone. Gary says adios to women who put the toilet paper roll on so the paper comes off the bottom. He's alone. John dismisses women who repeat themselves. I'm a repeater, so I'm off his list. I think he'll be lonely also. It's easy to find fault isn't it?

Relationship deal makers are harder. I asked my friend Steve for his deal maker. He's a professional dater so has a lot of experience in the field.

"Hmmmm, I want a woman who adores me and wants to be with me.....but when I find a woman who does that I say "What are we, joined at the hip?" Uh oh Steve, that's a big problem. His deal maker is also a breaker - whoops and troublesome.

I asked a man my girlfriend Brenda and I met at a bar last month. He was hot after Brenda. I was ignored and bored so I asked him what he was looking for in a woman as an experiment in bar chit chat. He stared at me.
"Oh the list is too long," he tried to dismiss my question. But like I said I was bored so I persisted.

"Well then, just give me the most important."

"Ok ok, the most important thing is that she's blond." I was out, but Brenda was still in. I'd say he has a lot of choices and should probably narrow it down. He told us he'd been out with 40 women since January. I'm assuming all blond. He's still available.

This just in from Dennis in Palm Springs.

"That's easy, I want someone who "gets" me." I asked him to explain "gets."

"You know someone who likes my humor and how I think and who's intelligent." Thankfully he didn't mention blond. He doesn't date much but he is funny. Let me know if you want his phone number.

But Dan might have said it best. He's a little annoyed because I asked him to repeat it so many times.

" Bottom line, the best deal maker is the absence of deal breakers."

I Will Not be THE NEXT AMERICAN IDOL

Uh oh, next Wednesday night at 9:00 my TV addled brain will have to go "cold turkey." Crap, I might have to go outside and play. It's season finale time once again. I've already reluctantly said good-bye to the wacky women of Wisteria Lane. They always look so neat and clean, I have no idea why they're desperate. They'd hate my baggy gym shorts and Target t-shirts. I'm also way too flat chested to live in their hood. "Brothers and Sisters" ended badly for a few members of the hyper neurotic, self obsessed Walker family. Truthfully I will miss Rob Lowe - he is a total hottie and I looked forward to drooling over him every week. Maybe he'll come back from the dead. Sally Field doesn't annoy me as much as she annoys some of my friends but unfortunately she does remind me that both of us need a face lift.

Be still my nerves and heart as I watched two hours of a killing rampage on the Grey's Anatomy finale. Crazy man on the loose with a gun and in his path is McDreamy?! "No, for God's sake don't shoot the cute guy." How many cute guys can I lose in one season? As for our little Meredith, she was willing to take a bullet for her man - wow and can't say I would have done the same thing. The most devastating is yet to come for poor TV addicted me - the final two hours of "24!" I'm not ready. I feel weak and my blood sugar is dropping rapidly. "Don't take Jack Bauer from me. Fox Network, I'll do anything , including watch Fox News!" Jack has had another exhausting, bloody, life threatening day in which he will once again save the country and world. I can't wait for Monday night and simultaneously dread it. Emily, I'll be calling you by hour 23 for emotional support.

As fate would have it this year I became an American Idol junkie. Curses! I can't explain how it happened, probably boredom on Tuesday night, but I got the fever. Next Wednesday at 8:00 CST I will finally know - WHO WILL BE THE NEXT AMERICAN IDOL. It's down to my two favorites: the little hottie Lee or the Janis Joplin like Crystal. I'm a wreck. Adria voted 6 times for Lee last week. I refuse to text in my vote - too expensive. Next year I must be careful to never be home on Tuesday night or I'll have to go into TV re-hab. And so another season is almost over and I'll have to find a life. I'm available for parties and ship christenings.

The Baby Boomers leave Mick Jagger for Fred Astaire!

"Gotta Dance! Gotta Dance!" Hang on just one second, stop the music - everyone I run into is taking dancing lessons. And I'm not talking rock and roll ; I'm talking sway and dip. It seems the hard core rockers have turned from Mick Jagger swagger to Fred Astaire flair. What happened? Have we become old fuddy duddies or have tennis elbows and arthritic knees finally taken a toll? The baby boomers have turned in their rackets and Nikes for ballroom attire. All my friends are off to dance studios for fun and exercise and I'm still wrapping my knees in Ace bandages and limping and groaning my way up the lakefront. I guess I gotta dance too.

I remember the dancing lessons we had to take in 5th grade. The Box Step was the entry level move. I wasn't very good at geometry so forming a box with my feet was confusing. I made Jimmy Adler trip and fall when I moved my right foot forward instead of my left.  Thankfully his cast was only on for a few weeks. I was much more adept at the Cha Cha. One, two, cha cha cha - that was easy to remember and didn't require geometry. I also was quite a good jitter bugger. Of course this depended on someone actually asking me to dance. There was absolutely nothing worse than being the only one not dancing - a 5th grade girl's biggest nightmare. It still strikes terror in my heart, which makes me not want to dance ever again.

I recently met a bellydancing Veterinarian. She told me it's a great way to dance yourself into shape. "Do you dance for the dogs?" I was dying to ask her but didn't. It sounded to me however, like a great way to put your back in spasm and need a Chiropractor. Is pole dancing still a craze? I was really really bad at gymnastics and fell off the rope more than I ever climbed it so I'm certain pole dancing would land me in the emergency room. Ballroom dancing sounds safe and I doubt they start with the Box Step anymore so my fear of geometry would be irrelevant. It's probably decent exercise and not too hard on your knees until the Tango at which time I would quit because I'm sure I'd trip and fall in the requisite high heels and also look bad in a black veil.

I'm happy so many people are Fox Trotting for fun and sport but until I hear that Mick Jagger has given up gyrating for the Waltz there are no dancing lessons in my future.

Babysitting Dad aka Watching" Bonanza"

I was never a babysitter growing up. Either I didn't like small children or no one trusted me with theirs. Although, as I look back it would have been a nice way to earn some extra cash, as my allowance was 25cents which got me a coke and no fries. I was always mooching fries off my friend's plates at the local deli . I became impervious to the dirty looks and "hey, buy your own." I could take the nasty comments but not the thought of entertaining little kids, herding them into bed and then sitting in a big old house until their parents returned. That sounded difficult and I was certain the Boston Strangler was lurking outside waiting for me to be alone in the living room. Nope, no babysitting for this girl, I wanted to live to get my braces off and shave my legs.

Flash forward 50 years and I'm called to duty. Yes siree, I'm older, not afraid of the Boston Strangler but Freddie Kruger, no longer yearn for french fries, have straight teeth, usually shave my legs, and have been called upon to babysit my father. My Mother was off to New York and didn't want to leave the poor guy alone. She's 92 and hopping a plane to visit her brother. Dad's 89 and likes TV. "Go Mom go", I'm thinking as I watched her spend hour upon hour deciding how many outfits to pack , what shoes to schlep and of course make the laborious decision of what jewelry to bring. Meanwhile back in the living room, my babysitting project is asleep in the black leather chair with a Bonanza episode blaring. "Bye Mom, I hope you wear everything."

Dad didn't do much. My job consisted of watching him move from chair to chair to chair. Uh oh, where'd he go? I lost him - but would ultimately find him in a different room in a chair....asleep. He also frequented the refrigerator a lot. He's a big juice drinker. He likes to mix concoctions of pineapple, apple, orange, pomegranite, pear, peach, and apricot juice. Yuk, but it could prove profitable. "Dad, maybe you should open a juice bar?" He wasn't interested. I desperately tried to tempt him with a glass of wine at dinner to perk things up. "Is that Mogan David?" he would grumble. "No, try it, just take a sip," I would urge. He would take less than a sip and spit it out. "It's horrible, I only like Mogan David." "But Dad it isn't Passover," I pleaded. I didn't know if I was doing a good job. My Mother called almost every two hours to check my work. "I think he's asleep," was my usual response. "Mom did you wear the black dress with the red jacket yet?" I liked to keep the conversation interesting for her since Dad was unavailable.

I don't think my Dad would recommend me as a sitter. We didn't do many fun activities. I still remain confused as to what the job "babysitter" really means. Surprisingly, I did realize that it is never too late to catch up on old Bonanza episodes.

My 19th Nervous Breakdown or I need a 10 yr. old.

Here comes my 19th nervous breakdown - the really bad insidious kind that no form of therapy or medication can fix or subdue. Handfulls of Xanax don't help and in a moment of total frustration I flushed the tiny pills down the toilet. I ran for the $25 bottle of Cabernet and in a nano second of lucidity thought better of it. I was having the big 21st century drug resistant meltdown. This condition doesn't affect small children, teenagers or young adults . No, the complete and total destruction of one's sanity and ability to cope is the hardest and deadliest on the the baby boomers. It's chronic, and there appears to be no cure for, 'WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY FREAKING COMPUTER?" "Work you little black monster in a box! You're supposed to be wireless....PICK UP THE DAMN SIGNAL," I sobbed and threw myself on the couch rolling in technological agony.

I had to call someone. I needed help. I needed computer boy Devon in Palm Springs asap. I ran for my cell phone. Oh God, I couldn''t dial out, there was no signal! Where was the damn signal? I needed bars....where were the little black bars? I don't have a landline. Everything about me is wireless. I needed wires! I needed to be connected to a wall , not the air. The wall is better, I trust the wall not mystery waves! Again I headed for the Cabernet, but thankfully stopped myself. I took a deep breath to control my hyperventilating. I'd watch TV for a little while and tackle the phone and computer later. It's the last season of 24 and maybe Jack Bauer saving the country would calm my nerves. Crap, there were three clickers. I picked one up and pressed "on." Nothing. I tried again. A blank screen stared back at me. My right arm started to itch just a little . I grabbed another and tried again and again and again. Nothing, nothing, and nothing. I frantically took the last one and pressed every button to no avail. Not the TV! I needed Jack Bauer to save me too! I wanted to throw the clickers against wall but threw myself instead - cheaper.

Nothing worked that was supposed to. I was in a technological vortex: no computer, phone, or TV. I couldn't stop scratching my itching right arm. I needed help. Who could rescue me from the vortex? Where's a 10 year old when you need one?