Intelligent Coupling

It’s a well known fact that as we age our vision changes. In an ocular way yes, but also in how we view the world. Personally speaking, my political views today are much different than they were 20 years ago. I don’t eat gluten as I did ten years ago and I certainly don’t imbibe as much as I did five years ago. My views in general are much different than they were a year ago.

Why is that? I think it’s because we grow up. Living life in successive years will do that to you. You’re forced to ” experience experiences”…you know, as in love, loss and their opposites. As for love, like many things in life, it often has an expiration date.

Or not.

But what I’ve experienced in the years since becoming a particular aging demographic statistic, is that love always changes. It morphs into something deeper, something more platonic and it can always into another demographic stat—-that D-word.

As the late Tammy Wynette warbled, D-I-V-O-R-C-E.


Do we marry too young? Are we too impetuous about marriage and logically blinded by the magic of early romantic love? Do we focus on the wedding more than the marriage? Do you marry the wrong people?

I think there are times, when we’re the wrong people when we get married.

Now, please be aware that I come to this conclusion as a witness; I’ve never married, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wrap my head around why some relationships fail while others succeed. Marrying has eluded me, but “love” hasn’t and when it comes to love, I’ve endured far more defeats than I’ve taken victory laps. I blame that on my own particular brand of lunacy, which, I thank all that’s holy, is rapidly changing. Growth, baby.

Who and what I would have “loved” decades ago is no longer who are what would would love today. Back then, I would have gone for the good looking, rich guy. Well, good looking and wealthy in my opinion. I wasn’t mature or evolved enough to insist on a more intellectual connection, which these days, is part of what’s attractive to this 55 year old gal, not the burgeoning woman I was at 25.


And then there’s the educational/class difference. Can a wealthy Harvard/Yale grad, successfully marry someone who only recently aspired to a getting his or her GED and a menial job? I know the problem is often access to formal education and of course, culture. But let’s remove those factors and look at disparity from an educational level alone.

Many parents have had no choice but to sit back and watch their sons and daughters marry someone outside their social realm. Country club merging with country hicks. And while hard work offers success, having a degree makes it that much easier, which begs the question: are people custodians or garbage collectors by choice? Don’ get me wrong, these are noble and needed occupations, but are these jobs more viable options or last resort? The reality is stark. Some people don’t want to take it beyond 12th grade, others can’t afford to go and while education embraces anyone with the desire to learn and a student loan, some professions out there have their own restrictions. A felon, for example, is often limited to whatever gig he or she can get which are usually low paying, hourly scenarios and the benefits? The position is NOT indentured servitude.

Perhaps at one time only the privileged could be Ivy League bound….on parentships, but I would think your typical student matriculating through these institutions today are there because of sheer will, ambition, sacrifice and lots of future debt. Loans always come with a price, but chances are a Yale grad won’t be toting a blower in your front yard at seven on a Saturday morning….unless he himself is meticulous about his own lawn.

Then again, with today’s economy, there are many college graduates, some with advanced degrees, hawking popcorn and six dollar soft drinks at theater concession stands.


Here’s deal, I’ve known wonderful people from all thee social classes and I’ve also known Satan’s spawn who called mansions home. Tenements too.

Hell, I don’t know, maybe opposites do attract, but it’s been my experience that they don’t. Yes, I suppose underneath all my rationale, , I would prefer an educated man, but in truth, give me a kind, solid and savvy guy who can make me laugh, force me to think and have frank discussions with me on topics that would ordinarily require Googling, and I’m happy.

It wouldn’t hurt if had Clooney’s looks.

But honestly, that’s secondary. Really, it is. If he can make me chuckle and utilize gray matter, he can remove my garbage or trim my hedges anytime.

Oh My God-diva!!!!

Hello all,

It’s been forever since I’ve written anything on this blog.

But today, I stumbled upon something so incredibly decadent, that I decided to end my journalistic exile….if only for today… sharing with you a new, but regrettable appreciation for sweet stuff.

Up until quite recently, I was a savory loving broad. If I ever had anything sweet, it was a Coke and nothing else. But here I am four years into crone status, and chocolate has become a lusty pursuit. Thanks estrogen declination.

So today, while waiting for an appointment with a repair tech at a local Apple store, I happened by a Godiva boutique. Nice chocolates, right? But not my cup of tea. So, I have always been able walk by these ass expansion projects with no problem, but this afternoon, I was lured inside by the muse, Cacoacophony.

She’s the pudgy one with blood glucose issues.

I walked in the store, took a look around the place, and my eyes went straight to the chocolate dipped macaroon packages displayed on shelves, but arranged to say in the most subliminal ways, Eat me!”

I did.

I bought a four pack (around 20 bucks or so) knowing full well of the impending punishment. I took one bite and my jeans and I both cried simultaneously.

We’re talking about a nice sized truffle almost as big as my palm. Calorically?? About 330 calories packed inside a rich, dense, not overwhelmingly sweet, cake-like macaroon, not “bonbonish” at all, yet still quite moist. They’re all hand dipped in your choice of milk, white or dark chocolate. I have no idea if they’re kosher or gluten-free. I couldn’t read the label after shredding the package open with my teeth and at least four toes.

Make no mistake, these are  guilty pleasureS  INDEED imageat 330 calories per macaroon. I found this out after the fact and immediately vowed I would eat only a half each day, which would allow me to spread out my joy throughout the week.

That didn’t happen.

One half lead to three quarters ,which lead to one whole macaroon which in turn, forced me to eat a second one. Yes, forced,. Gum paste gunpoint. I was in such chocolate denial, exacerbated by sugar rush that would gack out a Howler monkey.  I found myself cutting it up in  8 tiny slices.

Seriously. As if eating it that way would make a difference. Whether you cut a 16 inch pizza in four slices or eight, it’s still a 16 inch pizza.

But mind you, this minor math lesson could necessitate the need for a meth session. One bite and you will happily bloat up and feel generally guilty and slovenly for hours. These are hubris filled bad boys and damn good. If they were humans, they’d be coconut narcissists.

All I know is that after one bite I wanted to light a cigarette, change the sheets and take a nap.

Keep in mind this is coming from a non-sleeping, middle- aged woman, teetering on frigidity, who doesn’t like sweets and never smoked.