25 Things I Have To Say About Online Dating… A 40+ Woman’s Perspective

  I read yesterday that guys think women who are dating in their 40’s are all crazy. Batshit fucking crazy. Maybe we aren’t crazy and you’re just terrible at dating, my friend. 

With that said:

  • Make the first move. Not because I’m the woman, but because you’re interested.
  • Avoid the sexual innuendo. I have nothing witty to insert here. (See what I did there?)
  • Grow a pair. Seriously. If I don’t want to communicate with someone anymore I tell them this: “I don’t think we are a match. I wish you the best in your search”. It’s that easy. I wonder why I’m usually the one to type that and it’s because guys on dating sites apparently left their balls in their ex-wives purses.
  • Smile in your photos for fuck’s sake.
  • Do not act like a woman you just met online is your girlfriend. Don’t buy concert tickets for June in December and don’t bring her over to meet your family on the first date.
  • Don’t tell me you named your cats after your ex-wives. Plural.
  • Don’t type the STDs that you have in your bio. No one needs to know this shit when they’re looking at your photos. Too soon.
  • Leave your friends at home. No one wants to meet your female friends on the first date. No one.
  • Curb the drinking to a level below throwing up. 
  • Remove that woman in your photos. I have no way of knowing she’s your step daughter.
  • Don’t put your kids pictures in your photos. It’s not safe and it’s not making me more attracted to you to know you have three small mouths to feed.
  • What’s with the fish photos?
  • Please say more than “Hi” in your first message.
  • Don’t tell me in your bio that all three of your ex-wives cheated on you. Common denominator.
  • Please don’t have to Google what voluptuous means.
  • Please don’t lie about your height. Tall women like me (5’9″) and women in general like men we don’t feel that we’d break in the bedroom.
  • Don’t put your love for cross dressing/Bondage/Methamphetamine/Swinging out there for the world to see when the site matches our Facebook friends in common.
  • Excited to see me is nice. Texting me “Where are you?!! I’m early and thought you would at least be too!” isn’t my idea of excitement.
  • Proper utilization of your, you’re, there, their and they’re is more important than you realize.
  • Thinking I won’t know that your photos are from 1993 does me a great disservice.
  • Your girlfriend texting me from your phone will automatically cancel our next date.
  • My profession is not good reason to ask my input on that pesky digestive problem that is giving you diarrhea.
  • I’m serious when I say I’m allergic to your cat. That is non-negotiable.
  • Wearing a condom is also non-negotiable, whether you just got out of a 20 year marriage or not.
  • Remember your goddamned wallet.

This blog post may or may not indicate my personal experience. Dating blows. Have a nice day!

-THAT Crazy Girl


Alcohol Allergies and Other Things I Didn’t Know Existed

  Getting old sucks. You notice gray hairs and wrinkles and your knees ache and back starts to hurt. You realize dancing in public is frowned upon and that the Cabbage Patch and Dougie aren’t cool anymore. Fashion magazines don’t apply to you anymore because they’re all written for 25 year olds who are searching for their dream job and dream man. In New York. On a budget.

I still feel nineteen on the inside but on the outside I’m 46. I’m still getting guessed much younger than I am, but 35 is about the cutoff these days. Coffee is a requirement not an option. I’m entertaining the thought of reading glasses and understand why people falsify information to get handicapped placards (this isn’t OK, for the record).

Things happen to your body that you think are disgusting. Things that you watched happen to your mom are now happening to you and you’re in complete and total denial. Daily.

Recently I started having a “reaction” to alcohol. I ignored it at first, not realizing it was happening every time I drank, especially when it was wine. I carry an Epipen (nurses do this) at all times for other people, but never for myself. Like any normal person in the medical field, I don’t go to the doctor for anything unless it’s gangrenous or blocking an airway, so I handled this no differently. With a lovely glass of Merlot (full bodied, delicious Merlot) in hand I set out to Googling my symptoms and came across this:


Say what?!?!

Yes. There are people who are allergic to alcohol. Mind. Blown.

First, your body starts to flush. Your face turns red and you sweat. I mean REALLY sweat. Wet hair, wet face, boob sweat kind of sweating. At first I thought it was menopause. I was having hot flashes, feeling pretty crappy in general and would never, in a million years have suspected that wine, my longtime friend, would turn against me like that. I felt betrayed by a bottle of Cabernet. No man’s betrayal was as horrible as this. I unwind with a glass of wine when I have a hard day. I love margaritas (Tequila, it turns out, is the worst culprit of all) and having drinks with friends, but I love not feeling that way or blowing chunks much more than alcohol.

I don’t seem to have the same reaction to beer in small quantities, but wine and spirits I am apparently “allergic” to. I can add this to cats on my list of allergies that developed once I turned 40.

Sometimes I’ll still try to have a glass of wine and think I won’t react badly, but I do and it’s heartbreaking. Not Lifetime Movie heartbreaking, but still challenging nonetheless.

I wonder if all these years I’ve been allergic to alcohol and that’s why I was so sick the next day. What if hangovers are really allergic reactions and we all have “allergies” to alcohol? I know the 8 shots of tequila I had ten years ago probably had nothing to do with my scraping myself up off of the bathroom floor. I could’ve had a legitimate excuse for calling in sick to class or work for the past 25 years! The things we learn as we get older. 

If this is something that comes with age, I’d like to become a vampire. Stat. Then I can drink wine for eternity.

-THAT crazy girl 

Online Dating, That Crazy Girl Style

  Divorce is a bitch. Anyone who has been through it knows this for a fact. Anyone who is friends with someone who has been through it ALSO knows this for a fact. My marriage ended five years ago and I flung myself into the dating world after a friend (one I no longer speak to, but that’s another blog post) after she met her current husband on a Christian dating site. Never take anyone’s advice like that when you’re freshly divorced. Try online dating, she said. It’ll be fun, she said.

I signed up for the free sites and two paid sites and was on my way to a spicy rebound relationship that was sure to heal my bruised ego and start my non-existent love life over from scratch…


You know who created online dating? Satan.

The free sites were my favorite. Guys so eager to meet me that they messaged me within seconds of signing up! I thought it was amazing and downright encouraging. I must be just what these guys are looking for, I thought to myself as I was getting winks and likes and messages galore. “ILLBEYOURHUCKLBERRY” (names changed to protect the innocent even though there are 100 users with that name, at least) sent me a message that went something like this:

IBYHB: You are stunning. What’s a girl like you doing on this site? I was ready to close my account but then your beautiful eyes mesmerized me

Today I would laugh hysterically and hit block without a second glance, but back then he had me at “You are stunning”.

I agreed within milliseconds to give this man my number and meet him for drinks the next day. I felt beautiful and positive that I’d have a boyfriend by the end of the week. Online dating was AMAZING and I wondered out loud why I hadn’t done this sooner. I’d show my ex how desirable I really was. How stunning. How irresistible I was after all those years of marriage. He’d see! Just wait.

The big date rolled around and I met him in a public place. I’d gotten his name the day before and sent a text to my best friend with his name, number and the bar we were meeting at, because safety first and all. In my defense I did look stunning. Then in walked IBYHB and my mouth fell open. He didn’t look like his photos at all. He wasn’t 5’11” either (note to new online daters, women all take 25 pounds off their weight and men all say they’re three inches taller than they are). His eye color wasn’t even the same and his teeth were horrible. I know this sounds incredibly shallow, but I took this as having been misled and lied to. I shook his hand, all the while being disappointed and more than a little angry that I’d driven 35 minutes to meet this man who had completely misrepresented himself online to me. Our conversation started like this:

IBYHB- Well I guess you can see I’m not the guy in the pictures. 

Me- Mmmhmm.

IBYHB- I didn’t think you’d go out with me if I sent you my real photos. I hope you’re not mad.

Me- Bartender! Tequila, please. Make it a double.

I ended up staying about thirty minutes and didn’t tell him off (which is so unlike me, but somewhere in the back of my mind I felt sorry for this guy) I let him know that I really wasn’t “ready” to date and got the hell out of that bar. I let him pay the tab. That was the least he could do after such a fiasco.

I went on a few more dates after him but they were all similar. I stopped dating online for years after those experiences.

About three months ago I signed back up. Nothing has changed other than I’m smarter, I don’t put up with lying and I don’t give out my phone number. I’ve told more than one man recently that he should be ashamed of himself expecting that, in our mid-forties, I’d be down for a one night stand and that he, in his balding, dad-bod stupor would be asking me for one.

I’m apparently a glutton for punishment, as I’m still out there, thinking my Prince Charming might be sitting at home on a Saturday night swiping left on photos until he finds his Cinderella. 

But what do I know? I’m just That Crazy Girl.

Bartender! Tequila, please! Make it a double.

I’m The Girl Your Mom Warned You About

Girl. I still use that word when I know for a fact that I’m no longer a “girl”. My kids are both double digits, completely mortified by the things I do and say on a regular basis. I know there are 90 year old women who still feel like I do on the inside. I’m not aging when it comes to my sense of humor or love of dance, but every morning when I wake up I see another wrinkle that wasn’t there yesterday.

For purposes of this blog, I will remain a “girl”. That crazy girl, as a matter of fact. As long as I can remember I’ve been the girl that didn’t follow the rules. In pre-school I beat up little boys because they picked on my friends or pulled my pigtails. In elementary school I broke the rules by wearing jeans when I should’ve worn dresses and climbed trees with the boys. I was the person you could double dog dare to do anything and I’d do it (even if it involved getting myself and others grounded in the process). As a teenager I had a fake ID that said I was 26, 190 pounds and Hispanic (I was none of those) and I pulled it off with confidence and a little bit of cuteness on the side. As an adult I am still that girl on the inside. The one who gives solid advice, takes ridiculous selfies and stands up for what is right for myself, my kids and my friends. Nothing has changed in the past 46 years.

I know I’ll look back on this first blog post later on and cringe, but that’s OK. This blog is for me to share my experiences being “That Crazy Girl” who wasn’t and isn’t afraid to break the rules, go against the grain and challenge authority. 

When I’m 90 I can look back on this and say that I captured the essence of who I am in writing. That is enough for me.