Free Singles Sites and Stalkers.

I always like to use a photo. This was my second choice - the other one could probably get me sued. At the very least, it would wreak havoc on my karma.

One week last year I made a four picture photo montage of the people who contacted me on the free singles sites. (Those being plentyoffish.com and I think it's mingle.com). One was headless and sideways in a dress shirt, the second was headless but upright in camoflage with a beer belly holding - what else - a beer, the third was a broomstick legged old guy on a kid's rocking horse after what was probably his seventh jack and coke - and the fourth was a guy in a wheelchair and his wife; they were looking for another woman to share the love.

Getting a sense for the creepiness of it all??

I learned my lesson when I met someone who had a photograph of himself next to his yacht (that he lives on). To take a photo of a boat that size you need to back off quite a distance. You couldn't see him clearly, but his height appeared to be decent. His profile said he was in his late 50s.

I love boats. People who live on them are typically gypsies at heart. I like them too.

He walks in and  late 70s was closer to the truth. It was like lunch with Grandpa. He said he likes Plenty of Fish because it's free.

I bought him lunch and went home feeling defiled, like a cat after a bath.

Still, when I see someone has written I have to check out the photo. It had been a long time since I bothered.

About six weeks ago someone wrote. He had a nice face. The photo looked recent. (Grainy photos = vintage photos.)   He's an RN in Fort Myers. Professional and local - score two points.

The long-term exBF of 8 years was an RN before he found out he could make more money with a landscaping business.  The long-term exBF was a hoot. Smart, funny ... eventually horrifically mean. Still, he had taken care of me while I was sick with Lyme Disease.

Caring types go into that profession. Nurturing people. And this guy had stuck with it. He had to be ok. Inner dialog - Let's break a pattern here Mick, give a good guy a break.

We exchanged a few emails. He was off the job, recovering from back surgery. OK, shades of Mr. Hyde. Still recovering from the repurcussions of back surgery. I ignored it - this guy sounded like he was going to have full recovery and would be going back to his job in a few weeks.

At that point my summer was just about scrambling for work, starting work on a new book and walking the beach at sunset to keep my calm. I made the mistake of telling him where I park, what my starting point is, how far I go and how long it takes.

He said he wanted to join me for a walk but I know better. Most men my age can't walk further than the fridge and this one had just had back surgery.

He wanted to talk on the phone, "it's easier." I don't like giving out my phone number, but WTF.  I was feeling uncharacteristically open that day.

He talked about his surgeries for an hour and a half. I shit you not. He's like serial surgery guy, has a buddy who's a surgeon and apparently they have a lot in common. One likes to cut, the other likes to be cut???

I dunno. I was bored out of my gourd.  His goal after retirement was to sell his stuff and cruise the country in a motor home.

He was losing points fast; that's not how I want to spend the rest of my life.

I've seen skits where people grab tin foil and crumble it, claiming there's a bad connection. My connection is already truly bad, but I was doing the Michigan thing - being polite. Fortunately, my battery died around the same time as his. 

He sent an email apologizing for cutting the conversation short, saying he had really enjoyed talking to me. "Talking to" being the operative term. Put a fork in me, I was done.

Then he called again - I can't remember if it was after his phone recharged or the next day. I didn't have his name stored and I made the mistake of answering. I said I'd have to call him back; and I didn't. I wrote that I was working on my book.

His next voicemail said "YOU'RE SCREENING ME!!! DON'T SCREEN ME!!"

This trailer immediately ran through my mind - but I shrugged it off.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZHe3GYQp_8&feature=related

This is about a month ago.

The emails continued. "What have I done"? I responded just once: "You came on too strong." And I left it at that.

He begged me to meet him for coffee at Starbucks on College, but I ignored him. If you ignore them, they'll go away - right?

A few weeks later I did my beach walk and each of those nights is absolutely exquisite. It's dark by the time I reach Time Square and there is usually live entertainment, silly stuff that draws kids.
http://www.fortmyersbeachfl.gov/index.aspx?nid=112

All the benches were full, so I sat on the edge of a concrete planter about 8' behind some guy who was watching the performer. He turned around and I recognized him from his photo.

I nearly launched off the planter and took a different direction back to my car. I thought "I must be imagining this."

Two nights later - darkness fell as I walked off the beach and there he was at Time Square again. There was no eye contact, but I knew he was scanning the area and would see me. I pretended to go to Dairy Queen and hit the side exit back to my car.

I checked the other cars in the area to see if there were any "medical type" IDs. Totally creeped out, I took a photo of the plate parked next to mine.

Then - again - I thought it was my imagination. Nobody does this.  I've been stalked in public but never in private.

The next email says "We can meet for a smoothie if you like."

I continued my walks, but I never went through Time Square again. Satisfied that I had solved the problem, I started to relax a little. I was still pushing to get work - posting notes on Craigslist for websites and such.

Yesterday he wrote he has a friend who needs a website.

He seems more persistent than tech savvy, but I suspect he's going to find this blog.

There is a lesson here for all of us trusting types. His name is Sam, I won't give his last name in case he's just an innocent overly needy kinda guy. If not, there should be enough information here for the cops to find him.

I'm going to be more careful with my personal information from now on. I hope you'll be more careful too.

My Last Saturday Before Sixty

There may be typos, I'm having a second gin & tonic.

Yeah, I absolutely DO NOT feel like someone who's gonna be 60 on Tuesday. That's the day. This is the countdown. I expected to be upset.

I'm not.

The freak flag is gonna fly just a little bit higher. We are still the most significant part of the U.S. population goddamit, we are the pig moving through the python. Let the rest of 'em kiss our drooping asses.

One of my "aha" moments in this aging thing is the fact that my (BELOVED) Grandmother lived 36 years past 60. Those last six years of hers were ... not pleasant to watch because of the dementia.  Gram - who had been excruciatingly proper, who wouldn't even leave her bedroom in a full slip in front of "just us girls" was sneaking off to shit in the pantry at the nursing home. Gram - who had been an icon of self-sufficiency and restraint, was also crawling into bed with the other old ladies for ... I dunno, comfort?

I once jokingly referred to her (to my cousin) as "our pantry pooping lesbian grandmother."  She would have been "mortified". She liked that word when she had all her senses.

She was a Gabor, a glamour puss. If the wind was blowing, she'd walk in claiming to look like "the wreck of the Herperus." Whatever that is, I've never looked it up.

Gram had always cared more about looks, clothes and physical fitness than mental fitness. I don't know if that's a factor in alzheimers - they say it is. You can't build those neurons and dendrites by cracking a BH&G for 15 minutes a week.

But fit? At 96 that woman could be standing and put the palm of her hands on the floor. She could out-energize half the aides in the home. She didn't have the brains the Good Lord gave broccoli, but she'd wear you out just watching.

I miss her a lot; but she overstayed by about five years. I do not expect that will happen to me.

So I'm going about my last week in my 50s proud of how agile I am at this age, how strong after a long illness; then I'm washing my face and my neck hurts. I have a giant lump under my jaw. The last time I felt a lump like that was 14 years ago. The lump was under the ear of my 3-year-old Bouvier and the poor sweet gentle baby was dead within a month.

I am proud that my first thought was not "omigod I'm gonna die" but "omigod, who will take care of my dogs if I die!!!" Also "who will call my son"; like he's not stressed enough.

I reigned the imagination in.  I figured the swelling must be from the grinding. That's what always happens. I grind, I crack and loosen my teeth, my jaw swells and the dentist winds up taking about half of whatever I've earned for two months.

My only remaining "gift" from Mr. Hyde is the bite guard he went out and bought me "that time" my jaw swelled and I was in pain. I never told him why I needed the bite guard. My libido was bigger than his.  I guess that's fairly common in our fifties and sixties.

Anyway I think of him every time I put it in at night. The bite guard. If you have one, you have to check this trailer for Date Night. It's so authentic I nearly peed my pants ... yeah, we both had bite guards.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aspBKFz2dBI&feature=related

The good news is I think I'm finally over him. Went out with him weekly for about a month - at which time he bored the living crap out of me; then he had company for a week or two, then there was another week of nothing, then he came back and something clicked and it was incredible nonstop for two months.

If only it had been real.

So my math is getting better in my old age. Went with him like three months out of four and - wow - only took three months to get to the point where I'm happy with my life again.

Only a lot warier. (Is that a word? It is now.)

Oh, the swelling. So I went to my dentist. He looks more like he should be in a flour doused apron making pizza at a strip mall or coaching high school football than doing crowns in Fort Myers, but he's a great guy.

I was in the chair one time and I confessed that I couldn't stand his one assistant. She is so inappropriately fawning and sicky-sweet you just want to spit on her shoes. (She's like Izzie Stevens on Grey's Anatomy).  I hinted at the extreme annoyance factor like "how do you deal with that???" And his shrug and shake of the head implied he knew exactly what I was talkin' about.

I imagined him saying "Yeah, but you can't fire someone for perky; unfortunately."

Turns out the swelling wasn't from grinding or a tooth and he was genuinely worried. He whipped out a prescription for antibiotics and told me to go straight to an emergency clinic if it got any worse. "Or the swelling can close your throat."

He said to call him if there was a problem even as he was apologizing for not being able to do anything because he's a dentist, not a doctor.

Visit was free, prescription was free. Thank you AARP dental insurance through Delta Dental. A visit to a clinic would have cost about $80 or more.

I don't have income right now. The income I earned last spring went into ... you guessed it, assorted crowns and root canals.  I vary between "fuck it" and "omigod, start packing because you can't afford to live here any more."

Bottom line is "on vacation with furniture."

I took the girls out for their last pee around 1 a.m. and the sky is incredible. A near-full moon and great swirls of milky white against deep midnight blue.

I remembered the day I pulled up with the Uhaul and all my possessions 3 years and 3 months ago. My feeling then was utter despair. Now it's just total love for where I landed.

Went out with one match guy since I got back from Michigan. He made some sexual joke that could have been taken as an invitation and I passed; haven't heard from him since. Good riddance play-ah.

Getting ready to go out with someone who was really intriguing. That could happen Sunday - wait, it's already Sunday.

I had it in my head that God would give me a meaningful relationship with a wonderful man before I turned 60.  Like Woody Allen says "God is a Jewish waiter with too many tables."

Whatever. I don't "do" expectations any more.

About a month ago an acquaintance on Facebook posed the question "is life fate or is it random?" And I wrote "if you have faith in a higher power, I believe it's directed." A combination of faith, guidance and karma.

Because it seems like every time I just about freak out or give up, something good happens.

I think when you believe (and you work on being a good person), life is pretty much what it's supposed to be.

Is Looking Cheating? The Singles Sites

I joined Match about 4 years ago. That was sort of inappropriate because I was in my seventh year of a relationship. 

I had been sick for a long time and He had taken care of me through crushing illness and brain fog. He moved me in and fed me. He rented movies and made me laugh.

Sure there were moments when he lost it. One time he said "I wish you would just die."  There is a lot I don't remember from that time period, but you don't forget words like those.

When I finally remembered pulling a "bug" out of my leg before my illness, we had my diagnosis; Lyme Disease. He took me to the hospital for installation of the "stent?" that would (hopefully) blast the hell out of the Lyme bastards.

I started to recover somewhat after IV treatments. Somewhat. Mostly, they blew the cobwebs out of my brain. I felt like Rip Van Winkle.  I woke to find a few years had passed and my body was a mess. I was incredibly soft and weak.

I woke to find my beautiful, smart, funny boyfriend had turned into a monster.

Abusers are interesting people; they can make you feel like you're going crazy. They wear you down and tear you up from the inside. They'll criticize your appearance and follow up by preparing calorie packed meals "for you" as an apology. They'll make sure the refrigerator is stocked with your favorite desserts. They'll criticize other things about you in order to send you to food for solace.

They set you up to fail. They gain weight too, but it doesn't matter because he or she is in charge.

I remember the week I joined match. It started with a Sunday in Cape Coral, Florida. Sunday was boating day with friends. Boating was all about drinking, which flipped his personality and always resulted in emotional violence; yeah, and fear. I feared for my life.

Sober he was a master boatsman ... drunk, he was oblivious. Deliberate even. I remember one time he seriously injured a passenger by hitting a wake HARD at the wrong angle. His reaction was frightening; there was no remorse - just dark satisfaction.

I was having recurring "drowning" dreams and I didn't need Freud to know they were inspired by a physically and emotionally dangerous relationship.

He was packing the cooler to go - a ritual. He really wanted me to go that day for some reason. I was embarrassed by how fat I was. It was hard to tell him the truth - I didn't want to go until I lost some weight. He patted his Buddha belly and said "I'm no skinny minnie either, don't worry about it."  So I threw on a black swimsuit with shorts for a cover-up and went along.

We were with a friend I liked and respected - and his date, who I really didn't know. I remember that she was very smart. I cared about what she thought of me.

Boating ensued. Beer ensued. Down the Calloosahatchee River, through the miserable mile and left through the Sanibel Causeway. We got to Fort Myers beach and anchored in the smooth white sand near Lani Kai.

By the time we got to shore, we'd both had too much to drink. I called him on his constant rage and he called me a cow.

I walked away. I waded back out to the boat and waited for everyone else. I was stone silent on the trip back and then again, at the house. The friend was no stranger to my ex's abusive ways, he had seen it all before. He put a hand on my shoulder to comfort me as they left.

I flipped my laptop open and caught my reflection in the monitor. I had been crying. Who was this tragic old woman? I thought "this man is killing me."

I was 56 years old. Fat, sick and weak. Dependent on a man who victimized me. A total loser.

The match ads were everywhere. I went in to see the faces and read the stories. There was comfort in it. There were other single people out there - my age. Skinny, fit and fat. You could tell from the descriptions they'd been through hard times like mine.

What is that line in Broadcast News? Something like "Wouldn't the world be a wonderful place if insecurity and self doubt made us more attractive?" It didn't add to their appeal, but it made me realize I wasn't alone.

I joined with what little money I had. I posted a photo that looks much older than I look now. It's amazing what being true to yourself can do.

Some men expressed interest and I had my first taste of having something left to offer. I got my hope back. It helped give me the balls to leave. Not right away, but eventually. I could most certainly do better than him.
In fact, alone but free to find the right person was absolutely the way to go. I'm still looking and I've been hurt along the way, but I don't regret leaving for a second.

When is it ok to look? Probably whenever you're sad. Married, separated, divorcing or single. I don't believe in acting on it. I believe in ending whatever you have and mourning that loss so you don't carry the baggage with you to the next relationship.

If you're in an abusive relationship, please consider buying "The Emotionally Abusive Relationship". It helped me sort it all out.

Most important are her worksheets. One has you make a list of the strengths and weaknesses of the parent who had the most influence in your life. Then you compare those strengths and weaknesses to your abusive partner.

And have your epiphany. That's where I found mine.

***

I am currently on two singles sites. 

Plentyoffish.com is free - but you get what you pay for. I don't take anyone I meet there seriously. In fact, my last contact - who seemed bright and honorable - turned into a cyberstalker.

Match seems to hold the most potential. I met someone I really like this week, someone who seems to believe as I do. Maybe I have a friend I can relate to. Maybe more. Maybe he will be nothing but a blip on my radar - someone to fill my fantasies for a short time.

No harm done. Fantasy is good ... sort of a subset of HOPE.

I don't think any of us want to be alone.

Be honest in filling out their forms so you'll have a real chance at a decent match. I live among the conservative right but I describe myself as I am - liberal. It limits my prospects, but it also spares me potential grief down the line.

When browsing these sites, be mega-aware of old photos and remember that descriptions usually represent people as they THINK they are. Self awareness seems to be a rare quality; honesty even more so.

Don't give your heart (or anything else) too quickly.

NOTE: I've tried eHarmony; it's the high fructose corn syrup of social connections - sicky sweet, so automated you'll be linked to anyone with a pulse; and even if there is someone interesting, their processes prevent meaningful communication. I think it's a waste of time and money.

Whatever you do - if you're sad and lonely with or without a relationship, don't just sit there.

Do something about it.

Drive Therapy: My Month in Michigan.

Emma, Ella and Princess; well, actually, they're all princesses.
Photo taken shortly after my arrival.

It was the end of June and I was hell bent on leaving South Fort Myers to see my son, DIL and granddaughters in Michigan. Then we would drive the rest of the way to Michigan's western Upper Peninsula to see my parents and stay about a week. I would be gone a total of two or three weeks.

I drive because I WILL NOT travel without my dogs during hurricane season. They're all I have in this cold (no HOT), lonely world. 

I was going to rent a car, but my freelance work had dried up and I didn't have money for anything beyond gas and motel rooms. It was drive my 15 year old Saturn POS (piece of shit) or don't go at all.

I was getting severely depressed. Staying home alone was not an option. I was coming off an intense relationship where Mr. Wonderful had turned into Mr. Hyde overnight. I don't think I've ever felt more blindsided.

The travel adrenaline started to kick in after an oil change and a night spent packing my bags. In the morning I grabbed the dogs and hit the road. I abandoned all hope of resolving things with Mr. Hyde. The burden of that load did not lessen in the miles that lay before me.

One of my friends suggested I do the drive in three days and two nights. He called to check my progress and said "it's time to pull over and get some rest." I listened to him. He was right - but it took more time and more money.

Still, it's a good idea to get there alive.

The heat was intense most of the way. In the Smokey Mountains I had to choose between AC and third gear. It didn't seem a little cooler until the morning we woke up in Ohio. My girls developed a true affinity for motels. That morning Princess stepped into the tub to take a shower with me.

I was packing them back into the car when my purse banged into the door; my phone auto-dialed Mr. Hyde. I freaked in my urgency to end the call.

A few moments later I got a text. "Change your mind?" Like he was sitting on the phone.

Was this random dial some act of God? Was there any hope for us? Understand that I'd spent two full days listening to country music. If you like country, a two or three day drive is not so bad. If you're recovering from a breakup, it's therapy. I cried, I let it out, I got my mourn on.

Take a moment to listen to these. Imagine driving 1350 miles with this as the soundtrack of your life ...

Kelly Clarkson & Reba McEntire - Because Of You
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tYQYFbn0ag

Colbie Caillat - I Never Told You
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YtzsUdSC_I

I texted back a lie - I was fine. I apologized for the "butt call".

Understand that there had been no communication for several weeks. And none of my attempts to ease his hostililty had helped.

He responded that his life was "rotten" and it seemed like he thought I'd be happy about that. I said I was in Ohio (where he's from) and was sad to be there without him. We had planned on driving up together.

I opened a floodgate of love and sadness that would have softened a heart of stone; then I felt the "snap" of the trap.

He unleashed incredible venom. I responded with honest words that guaranteed finality and was still shaking when I pulled into my son's driveway four hours later.

Shawn was in the middle of remodeling. He had just put hardwood floors in and everything else was up against the walls. He took one look at the dogs and I could tell he was upset. They would scratch the floors or pee on the floors or gack on the floors.

THEY WOULD NOT.

I didn't realize he was just generally upset. They'd been going through the remodeling nightmare for four months and had been living like mice surrounded by boxes in two crowded bedrooms. I joked to Asha that's what it must have have been like in Communist Poland.

Asha and the girls were delighted to see me. Emma is taller, going through a bit of a dorky stage with her braces. She was also engaging in some drama that was causing problem for her parents. We had a little chat about that. Ella is going through a stage of beauty and attitude. She's deliciously devious. 

We attempted to relax with each other for the next four days. Then we headed out to see Grandma and Grandpa. The drive from Grass Lake to Bruce Crossing, Michigan takes about 9 or 10 hours. We left around 7 p.m. in order to miss the Fourth of July traffic jams;  three adults, three dogs (my two little ones and Shawn's gassy lab), and two girls. Shawn has a big SUV so it's movies and garbage food all the way. He and Asha drive, I talk them through.

I stayed up all that dark, moonless night. The horizon was growing light when we pulled up to the folks' house on 80 acres bordered by state lands. This is the land my Finnish great grandparents bought in the early 1900s.

It should feel like home, but it doesn't.

The headlights of the SUV exaggerated grass that had grown knee deep. My heart sank. Mom's about 75, Grandpa (my stepfather) is about 85 and in poor health. They're getting too old to do their own mowing in the summer; it will get worse when the snows come. Snow falls so heavy some people have to shovel their roofs or they'll collapse. My parents have plow blade gouges on the siding of their outbuildings; Grandpa's driving isn't what it once was.

Mom was smiling at the porch rail in a big poofy chenille robe. I wondered where Grandpa was ...

The dogs poured out of the SUV and peed like racehorses. Shawn and I got out stiff from sitting - everyone else in the vehicle was still half asleep. I think it was 5 a.m.

We walked in and Grandpa was slumped in a soft chair gray as death. I nearly walked back out to cry. His face was limp like a corpse and he raised one trembling hand, so happy to see Shawn. He was in his second month of an infection - too weak to stand, so Shawn bent over to give him a hug.

Grandpa loves Shawn more than anyone in this world. Grandpa was God's gift to me and my son. He was the only responsible male role model in Shawn's life.

My stepfather was in the Navy, stationed at Pearl Harbor immediately after the tragedy. He helped the Reuther brothers establish the UAW. He carried a gun in the old days. He marched with Martin Luther King in Selma. (That picture hangs on my wall.) He was close friends with Victor and Sophie Reuther at Black Lake; Shawn's first song as a little boy was "Solidarity Forever."

Mom at the Fourth of July fireworks in Bruce Crossing.

My stepfather is also the best thing that ever happened to my mother, but she's slow to admit it. She would not be living her easy life without him. She would not be living in a beautiful home with beautiful new cars. She would not be living in Bruce Crossing; that was her idea.

There is a strange denial when someone close to us is very sick. She pretty much refused to see that my beloved Grandmother had dementia for many years, claiming she was playing games. During our visit she resented all of my stepfather's requests for assistance. The man could not stand or walk without help.  When she snapped at him, Shawn and I exchanged glances like "we can't take too much of this; one of us is going to have to say something."

I asked her about his illness when the timing was right. I said "he doesn't seem like he has long to live." Once I actually cried while talking about it and she said "I'm not there yet." (??) Sometimes I was able to shake her back to the truth of what is, but it never lasted long.

Fortunately, our visit made him want to regain his strength. By the time we left he was moving with a little more confidence.

Grandpa (middle) with cronies after the Fourth of July parade.

Ella, Asha, Shawn & Yours Truly after the parade.

We just generally hung out in Bruce Crossing for a week.

Shawn and I fought twice - which is unheard of. We haven't fought since his birth. Once it was about my dogs, the second ... I can't even remember. Both fights were loud and ugly. Our excuses to fight were more of a reaction of the stress of what was going on around us (the obvious frailty of Grandpa) our own sense of responsibility for them, our own fears as to how it will end up and Shawn's stress about contractor issues and returning to a half-finished home.

I had nightmares. I don't like it there. Nature is nature, but this is wilderness. Bears ransacked their porch a few months back. We took a gun when we walked because there are cougars and wolves. I could not live in a place like that.

If/when my stepfather dies, my mother will probably want to stay. She has a large antique shop and quite a following; but she's 1700 miles from me. Do I sacrifice my life for hers? Or will she move downstate.

I searched match for signs of intelligence and was surprised by what I found. Maybe that's where the real men hide. Who knows.

Who knows anything.

I took the time to go through her extensive genealogy records. Years ago I had promised that when she was done, I would take her "bones" and put meat on them. She devoted 20 years of her life to research and it was all there in front of me. Nothing so easy as computer files, of course!

I took notes, made copies, made sure I had the line right. I started my research there.  Mom suddenly came to life, laughing and smiling. Someone - me - was actually going to take her work to the next level.

It's exciting work and I'm learning so much. Please check my blog for tease bits and pieces -http://www.americanwyatts.com/

I read some actual content to my writers meetup group and they said it was interesting whether you're related or not.

We left Grandma & Grandpa better than we found them. When we got back to Shawn's house I kept saying I was going to leave and Asha kept saying "no you're not." So I stayed another 2 1/2 weeks.

I had a long talk with Shawn. I told him no 90 year old ever looked back on his life and mourned scratches on his hardwood floors. I said stuff is stuff. He should try living somewhere where it could all blow away. That mindset puts your priorities where they should be.

I left about five days before their departure for Poland to see her family.

I wasn't sad on the drive back, I was going home. For some reason, none of the stations had sad songs and Tennessee (which usually scares me a little) felt like hills instead of mountains; I got the drive done in two days and one night.

I was so happy to be home I gossiped with neighbors for a bit before going to bed. One gave me my mail. During my absence Mr. Hyde had dropped one of my DVDs in my mailbox. I sent him a quick thank-you. That drama may continue for a time. I don't now and now I don't care.

I have just enough work to squeak by financially for the time being and a wealth of research and writing to satisfy my soul.

It's weird to say "home" is a place where your family isn't. I wish they lived here. But we have skype and I'll be ba-ack.

Master of my (new) domain: babblingboomer.com

OK, it goes like this. Blogger is free, but if you want to make things easy on your readers, you buy a domain name. You don't need a website, you can buy a domain and POINT IT to your blog (or web store on eBay or Etsy or whatever); or you can buy a domain from Blogger, which SEEMED like the easiest path to take.

Well, that path led to a cliff.

DO NOT buy a domain name from Blogger.


Damned if blogger didn't change their URLs and they left it up to their VICTIMS to try to figure out how to reattach. Which includes finding out who THEY buy THEIR domains from. They made it nearly impossible to figure out.

OK, I'm letting them hold my old domain hostage - I bought a new one. I don't like the name that much either, but it sort of sums up what this blog is. A whole lot of boomer babbling. It sounds silly and sometimes I am.


Here's the thing, then, if you have a blog and you want to attach a domain, do it the easy way. Go to Godaddy, purchase a clever or catchy but mostly memorable domain name for about $10 for a year and POINT IT TO YOUR BLOG.


It's very easy.


And if your blog host changes domains, you just go back to Godaddy and change your "forward."

It's the cheapest way to be master of your domain.

Liberals, Bigots and Hate in General.

Fort Myers Beach looks like this most every night in the summertime. This photo is from last night. 

The Gulf is five miles from where I live. I head out around 7:30 p.m. and park for free under the bridge. I walk up to Times Square, remove the flip flops and sink into the warm sand with the joy of a 12-year-old.

If I turn right, it's a 30 minute walk to Bowditch Park, the north end of Estero Island. I can see Bunche Beach from that vantage - it's near my condo. One day I'll kayak across from Bunche, but not alone.

I'm doing this walk almost every night lately, it's combination exercise program and walking meditation. Who couldn't use a little more peace, a little more calm?

Thursday night there were dolphins. Last night the colors were incredible. The sun will set and THEN the colors EXPLODE from every direction. Pinks and purples - last night the bridge to Sanibel looked like it was on fire.

The surf was warm as bathwater.

It was a Friday. It's party night. The beach is alive - they say we're getting the tourism New Orleans lost to the oil spill. Good for us, bad for them.

I decided to walk past SOB's - the Steaming Oyster Brewery. It's a local favorite. The breeze roars through three open sides like nobody's business and the live entertainment is usually excellent. One guy, one guitar, one appreciative audience.

I spotted one of the few people in this area who's always a pleasure to hang out with and before I knew it there was a cold Coors Light on the bar and an empty stool with my name on it. Forget that I was hot, sweaty and sandy - everyone else was too. Well, hot and sweaty anyway.

My good friend was sitting to my left with his new girlfriend. On my right was an old drunk cracker with bright blue bloodshot eyes and long blonde oily hair.

A cracker is a Florida native. I believe the term came from whip cracking because many of the original Floridians had ranches with cattle. (See "The Land Remembered" - an excellent history of this area. I live near Punta Rassa, where cattle were herded for shipment to Cuba.)
Understand also, that being a cracker does not automatically mean you're a bigot. I know some awesome crackers.

When you live down here you don't necessarily want to know where people stand politically. 
You just want to like everybody. They're usually easy to like.

So the cracker leans forward over my right hooter to talk to my friend. He buys my friend and his girlfriend a beer. My friend asks him how he's doing and the old guy starts talking about how much life sucks.

"My father would roll over in his grave if he knew there was a nigger in the white house."

Gasp.

What is this 1950s Macon Georgia??? Where are the white fountains?

I didn't say anything. I don't know what to say any more. If I see bigotry online on FB or something, I'll say something; but not when I'm out alone, in a place where I could get my tires knifed.

I ignored it.

Then he sez. "Yeah man, FUCK those assholes who voted for the nigger."
I quietly raised my right hand as I lowered my head to sip my my beer.

And as drunk as he was, he totally changed his tune. He apologized and was sweet as pie.


It's hard to know when to shut up and when to step up.
A few weeks ago I defused a situation on FB. I stopped a conservative friend in her tracks by saying "Love you, hate Palin. That's just how it is." She was so flattered by the "love you" that she just laughed it off.


I try not to talk about who I hate any more because there's too much of it. I've decided to stop hating Palin. I'll diminish my opinion to "that phony bitch who creeps me out." I'll reserve real hate for people who harm animals and kids and old people and the environment.

But then there are a few people on FB who will not leave me alone. As if putting "liberal" on your profile is some invitation to bang sticks on your cage. Or maybe it's just the challenge they like. Maybe I look soft and indecisive.

A week ago I "shared" the president's birthday on FB and a "friend" posted "your president doesn't even have an American birth certificate." I wrote back "Believe what you want." 

Another guy convinced me to friend him. I don't know him. Facebook thought we had mutual friends or something. Turns out he's a smart guy, a good photographer, a solid writer. A cracker, a Vietnam vet.

He said he was a redneck and I told him I didn't think we'd get along. He persuaded me to try. He said "we probably have more in common than you think."

It's that curse everyone from Michigan seems to have: POLITE.

That's what being so close to Canada'll get ya.

In five days he has worked his way up the political-emotional chain of what I can handle one aggravating link at a time. Each email gets more and more upsetting.

People like him almost make me wish there would be another civil war so they could just blow each other to bits. Running out of stuff to say - and being steadfastly polite in replying at ALL - I wrote back suggesting that violence may have more to do with gender than race. It's MEN of ALL races who enjoy violence.

Today I woke up to five paragraphs on why blacks are naturally inferior.

I wrote back "stop".

He wrote back "You liberals CAUSE our problems with niggers by ..."

I wrote back "FUCK OFF."

And I unfriended him. It feels icky to unfriend someone at first, but then it feels pretty damned good.

There are a few more people like him lying in the weeds. I'm tired of waiting for the next attack.

And I'm tired of liberal friends who keep trying to drag me back into the fray.