Hello South Beach...

...diet.

Dr. Drew:  "When did you first notice you had a problem?"
Charmaine:  "I don't have a "problem".  I can stop "using" (butter) whenever I want."

I had a big Christmas Party. I invited Jerry's kids, grandkids, the baby daddy's, his mother and...

..his X-wife.

There should be a girl scout badge...

I went Martha Steward on their asses. I made adorable invitations, cooked, juried the "ugly Christmas sweater contest".  The white elephant was hilarious due to my mens Santa Knickers with matching hat that ended up on my 13 year old nephew.

I made videos for each guest...from Santa.

Jerry dressed up as St. Nick, offering each guest a personalized ornament.

X-Wife:  You've done a great job with the Condo.  The invitations, the food, such fun...it was amazing.  Is there anything you CAN'T do?

Charmaine:  Smiles sheepishly.

Why Marry Late in Life?

To have conversations with my sister (married 20 years).

Charmaine:  "Jerry is driving me crazy.  All he wants to do is shop.  He buys everything. It's exhausting.  Last week BCBG didn't have boots in my size.  He went BEHIND MY BACK...shipped them from Utah. He is dishonest!

Baby Sister:  "Ahhhhhhhh!"

Charmaine:  "Eating out every night is embarrassing. The Valet guys know us by name. I'm getting FAT. Jerry doesn't understand women.

Baby Sister:  "Ahhhhhhhh!"

Charmaine:  "How do you handle the endless, 'You're so beautiful' remarks? Doesn't it get old?

Baby Sister:  "I hope you die."

The Mother-in-Law

The FUN thing about getting married late in life is acquainting yourself with the family that came before you:  Kids, x-wives and....

The Mother.

I am marrying into an Italian family.

I spent the afternoon with Shirley making home-made raviolis (including the pasta) for Christmas.  It is a 40 year old tradition.  She's adorable...but I keep one eye open.

I've seen episodes of Everyone Loves Raymond.

Bowl of flour, eggs, water, ricotta, cheese, parsley and bits of ham.

She made pasta, I made the filling.

ITALIAN Mother:  "Charmaine.  Place the pasta sheet over the rack, fill with cheese, cover with pasta sheet.  Press out the air, dust with flour, roll with rolling pin and release the ravioli".

Charmaine:  "It's pretty easy, eh?"

ITALIAN Mother:  Silence

ITALIAN Mother:  "That's too much filling"

Charmaine:  "No problem.Voila."

ITALIAN Mother:  "That's not enough filling."

Charmaine:  "Oh."

ITALIAN Mother:  "You didn't dust with flower."

Charmaine:  "Flour, dust thyself upon my raviolis." Dramatic flourish of flour. I giggle.

Husband-to-be:  "You have flour on your stomach."

Charmaine:  "If it was on YOUR stomach we wouldn't have any left."

ITALIAN Mother:  "You'd better be nice to my son.  He's my baby, you know."

Charmaine:  That's one BIG baby.  "I know he's a mama's boy."

ITALIAN Mother:  Gazes at me.

Charmaine:  "In a GOOD Way."

On the 107th ravioli I thought; Why don't we buy these fuckers at Whole Foods?

But traditions are fun.

On the way out... I gave her a hug.

ITALIAN Mother:  "Next time, work faster.  The pasta dries out."

(She lingered, sweetly, at the door, waving, until we were out of sight.)

Later, I recalled the strong smell of the Ricotta.  It smelled "off". I didn't want to say anything.

(It's Christmas Day and the family is vomiting...racing for the bathroom....)

ITALIAN Mother:  "Charmaine made the ravioli this year."

Engaged VS Dating

I don't have to tell YOU the difference, eh?

Okay, I'll tell you.

The difference is HUGE!

A man that wants to MARRY you versus the man that wants to DATE you ad infinitum...it's like apples and oranges...they both serve a purpose.

The marriage minded man wants NOTHING MORE then to please you.  Like the beginning stage in dating a guy (he want's to please you too)...then it wanes to the final stage where you want to KILL him for being such a schmuck.

A schmuck is any man that DOES'NT want to marry you.  It's my blog, I get to redefine words.

I'd been "asked" before.  My mistake was to say, "no" then STAY in the relationship...forever.  Or WORSE, stay in a relationship with some guy that didn't EVER want to get married.

You give yourself to some guy...for free.  He get's all the benefits of a "wife" with none of the obligations.

Screw that!

When you say, "yes"...it keeps the ball rolling.

When you say, "yes" your man stays plugged in.

Let's view sample conversations depicting Dating Man and Marrying Man:

      Dating Man:  "You look nice."
      Marrying Man: "Have I told you how gorgeous you are?  You are so beautiful. I love you so much. Thank you for making my life so fun.  You are just so wonderful and full of life.  I feel like the luckiest man on earth.  Do you want a Vespa?

That about covers it.

Middle Aged Marrying

Had you SUGGESTED I would marry (for the first time) at the age of 50...I would have laughed in your face.

Coffee (more like a crisp Chardonnay) would have sprayed from my nostrils.

Uh, thar' she blows: Kendal Jackson Reserve Chardonnay...

My desire to remain single was complicated.  I had loved and been loved.  I thought I wanted to marry a couple of times (they didn't want to).

A few men wanted to marry ME, (I didn't want to)...

I enjoyed a modest life by the beach and answered to no one. After 20 years I began to wonder if it was ENOUGH.

Something changed.

Job, relocation and a break up.  A wall of Rocky Mountains loomed on my horizon, blocking my view of the ocean.  Had the ocean lulled me into a coma?

I realized how alone I was, had always been.

My independence, to which I'd been wedded, stopped feeling rebellious, avant guard or unique...it felt like HIDING. A person can hide from intimacy for a lifetime. I was proof!

So I said "yes" to a nice man.

Independence is a state of mind, not a living arrangement.

I haven't set a date. My fiancé bribes me with things like Corvettes.  He assures the minute I utter, "I do" he'll buy me a Vespa.

Huh? You've never heard of a woman marrying for a Vespa?  I might be cheap, but I'm not free, mista'.

My nephews are crazy about him...possibly, mostly... the Corvette.

Next summer we'll do it...on the beach.  Not the "it" for which a drink was named (you filthy minded scoundrel) get married...jeez.

I enjoy being engaged.  It's like being married and single at the same time.

...the best of both worlds.

I'm Engaged - Part 2

He stopped me as I lifted the strawberry to my mouth.  It had a ring poised upon it.

(When you're my age you can't see anything unless it's at least 6 feet away.)

We've been dating for 4 months. 

He took me on a vacation.  We did everything I wanted to do including Flying Trapeez lessons on the Santa Monica Pier.  We rented a house on the water and strolled on the shore each morning beneath soaring flocks of pelicans. The waves crashed as seagulls chirped over the misty, abandoned beach.

He took me to THE restaurant I've always wanted to visit, Bazaar located in Beverly Hills. 

It was amazing. (And I've been around people.)

I've been "wined and dined" by more then one Casanova.  This man blows them all out of the water. 

I accepted his proposal with grace: 

"What the hell," I said,

followed romantically with, "Does this mean I can't date other people?"

I'm Engaged

He's the fourth man to propose.  

I said, "yes".

I have a diamond on my finger.

It's just a ring.  Am I supposed to be sure?

I don't trust my heart.

My heart is a liar.

Am I Bad?

When I say, "bad" I mean I haven't been telling you everything.

I prefer to wax on about the hellish nightmare of dating later in life.

When things are going well, I don't like to talk about it...

When it's easy... It's boring. (Red flag.)

I'm gonna tell this to my next psychiatrist.  (If I ever talk to one.)

Things have been going well.

As Woody Allen once said, "When things are going great, I know something TERRIBLE is about to happen."

Love,
Charmaine

True Confessions - Getting Nailed!

...here’s what REALLY happened on my date with Hamburger.

Prior to the date I noticed my hands were looking a little “sketchy”. I did something I have never done in my ENTIRE life.

I bought press on nails. French manicure style.

Hey, they didn’t look that bad.

I met "Hamburger" at Abrusci’s. After exchanging pleasantries like, “Was that you that honked in the parking lot and nearly ran me over?” I reached for my water glass. The pinky nail on my right hand was missing.

I scanned the table, it wasn’t there. “No big deal”, I thought.

We chatted. He went through his routine, advising I was attractive and that my hair looked nice.

“No, it doesn’t” I said…running my fingers through my hair.

I reached for my wine and noticed the middle finger nail was missing.

“Shit” I thought.

There was obviously a fingernail SOMEWHERE in my hair.

I focused on his eyes like a heat seeking missile; maniacally following his gaze to see where it might pause…revealing the fingernail’s location.

I would have gone to the ladies room but knowing he would look at my butt as I departed seemed like a worse alternative.

We shared delicious Calamari. I reached for bread with my left hand.

You guessed it, ring finger nail…missing.

“This is ridiculous” I thought. He must have noticed by now.

We talked but I didn’t hear a word he said. All I could think about were…the nails. Where WERE they? I mean, did they disappear? Were they in my hair, attached to my sweater? WHERE?

The rest happened as described. He walked me to my car, after taking 10 steps turned around and said, “Show me what you’ve got” in terms of a kiss.

That didn’t work for me. I drove off, peeling the remaining seven (7) ridiculous affectations off my hands…

Hamburger Stand Man

I agreed to see "Hamburger" last night.

He's owned several restaurants.  Now he owns a hamburger joint.

After our first date, I wasn't interested.  He was cute, but I didn't like his vibe.

He kept trying to touch me.

Later, following an adventure, I brought my two nephews to his joint for a burger.  I had some vague curiousity...

He was shocked and clearly upset with me for having ignored him.

He gave the kids free fries.

That's all it takes to get a second date with me.  He brought me to a great Italian restaurant.

He said, "let's see what you've got" before moving in for the second date kiss.  

I don't think so...

As my 14 year old nephew would say, "he was denied". 

Now he's texting, apologizing for "being frisky" when he should be apologizing for being a moron.

Good Things, Small Package, IV

That doesn't sound right. 

The funny thing about a practically perfect date is that...it's not funny. 

He picked me up in his convertible Corvette. (He wasn't driving it last time.)

He was a small man in a fast car. 

An incredibly NICE man.

He brought me to an amazing restaurant...again.  After dinner we took a bicycle taxi to a hip martini bar.  The music was blasting hip hop music.  Every other word seemed to be "bitch". 

We looked at each other, two old farts in a young persons nightclub...and bolted.

Before the night was over he asked for another date. 

He brought me a present from Thailand.

"What kind of present do you get a woman with whom you've only had one date?" He asked. 

"It's perfect", I said.

Good Things Come in Small Packages III

I'm seeing him again tomorrow night.

My girlfriend is wary of him.  She believes because he ordered lobster on our first date AND ordered two (2) desserts I took home to my nephews...he is suspicious.

"Real men don't order lobster", she said. "He's trying too hard."

I just thought he was trying to impress me. 

But there is a problem.  He just returned from Thailand.

It is his 11th trip.  I don't get it.

I've been to Thailand. It was an all expenses paid trip.  I flew first class.  I slept in a pod, sipped champagne.  I enjoyed a 5 star river front room with a personal butler.  She unpacked my suitcase and drew a bath for me when I returned from riding an elephant.

There were rose petals in the bathwater.

The aroma I selected wafted throughout the room. My particular brand of soothing music played.  The pillow I ordered was on the bed.

But here's the thing: It was a place a person should visit once.

There is a distinct underbelly to Thailand.  The trafficking of children into the sex trade.  The ping pong ball thing.  Parts of Thailand turn into a red light district of horror for these children every night.

It cannot be denied. Just hearing about it, having it confirmed, was enough to disgust me. Scare me.  Sadden me.

So why would a grown man return 11 times to such a country?  It's dirty, people wear masks to protect against the epic pollution.  It's grimly exotic.  The floating water market is on it's last legs.

I was lucky.  I experienced the country like some kind of rock star because I'm an event planner. Photos of me even appeared in the paper. Absurd, to say the least.

There are a million ways to discriminate against people:  Race, color and religion.

How about discrimination based on vacation travel destinations?

I met "HIM".

Our eyes met...a song played in my head:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zc2O4SnUno

It's not really my style.  It just happened... to happen.

He calls...

I allow my girlfriends to listen to his voice mails.  His voice is deep and mellifluous.  

...no woman on earth could resist.  But I can.

I'm frightened.  Afraid of getting hurt, again. 

He's gorgeous and succesful.

I'm stuck...and fearful.

Drag Racing AND Dinner, Oh My!

If driving 50 mph go karts is considered drag racing…

The track was filled with grown men wearing race jumpsuits, head socks, helmets and racing gloves.

I felt nervous.

The smell of gasoline was in the air and the male racers were out for blood.

I sauntered to my kart in 4 inch black suede boots and tight blue jeans.

The audience pointed and laughed.

A young guy waved the race flag...I blessed myself over my helmet.

After getting passed, I tried harder...Suddenly, my boot dislodged the brake extender. I could no longer reach it.

Taking my foot OFF the accelerator did not occur to me.

I spun out of control.

I pulled into the pit.“How many more laps?” I asked. “One, two?”"About 20." the young man said, grinning.

“Shit." I replied demurely.

"They got nothin' on YOU babe." he said, smiling.

This song began playing in my head:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8PTDv_szmL0

“If these guys can do it..” I mused, pressing the accelerator to the floor. Young guys at the track began jumping up and down, giving me thumbs up, and screaming.

“Way to go Charmaine” boomed over the loud speaker.

I was going 15 miles per hour.

I was NOT going to die in a go-kart.

Then my date took me to dinner.