_ I envy my sister. I really do. She has a rare gem in her life that is more precious and priceless than the Hope Diamond. It’s a faithful husband.

Peata and Derrick’s marriage is so authentic and genuine, most amorous-deprived, desperate house wives would cancel botox treatments for a year just to feel real love. After 38 years of wedded bliss, Peata and Derrick are more smitten now than back in 1974; when movie goers were still mesmerized by Ryan O’Neal and Ali MacGraw in Love Story.

So when I happen to meet a bona fide cheat and Gigolo, I want to vomit.  Let me tell you about “robbing the cradle” Randy - a divorced, high school mathematics teacher who lives in “The Shwa”. I met him online a few weeks ago.  Listen to his opening lines….

 “I am 60-years-old and I know you have heard this before, but I really do look a little younger due to a healthy lifestyle and good genes. I am quite fit, as I play competitive tennis,” he modestly brags.

Fast cars, sports and hairpieces rolled through my mind, as I read his initial email. Was Andy Randy mid-life crisis material and yet another statistic of geriatric divorce? You can’t stop the waves Randy, I thought, but you can learn to surf.  Read on….

“I’m not really an online chat person, so I would prefer to talk on the phone and then meet in person,” he asked politely. “I hope that doesn’t sound too aggressive, as that is really not my nature. I am a people person and have a positive attitude towards life. Also I do have a good sense of humour,” claimed the confident and cheeky 54-year-old teacher.

So when Randy penned those lines, I just knew that I may be up against a cliché. You know – a nostalgic-kinda guy with the desire to live life to the fullest by splurging on the fire engine red Ferrari and spending way too much time in front of the mirror. Why waste my breathe I thought?

I had to seriously think whether or not I felt like meeting “late-in-life divorced Randy” for a shit-load of make-believe fantasy world reasons. On a superficial note, Randy just so happened to live in “The Shwa”. It’s a low-class and undesirable suburb of the GTA. I know because I once mistakenly lived there and I unflinchingly told him so. Here’s more of his email.

“Your attitude seems a little edgy,” he wrote,” but I like your upfront style. Being an optimist, I still feel that I am interested in you. You have my attention for sure. Let me know your thoughts,” he asked.

Call it shallow. But I’ve always loathed “The Shwa”. In my opinion, it smacks of honky tonk trailer trash. Remember? I once mistakenly lived there. So was Randy a prime example of low-grade garbage? I decided to find out.  So I tossed the snobbish attitude and opened my horizons. “The Shwa” must have a silver recyclable lining somewhere, I thought.

“Thank you for being open and honest,” Randy responded, as I accepted his Sunday afternoon date to the Toronto Waterfront. “The Shwa” is not the jewel of Ontario,” he admitted. The 'Shwa' is what it is. But you cannot judge all people by where they live.”

Bless you Forrest Gump because dating really is like a box of mixed chocolates – you never know what you’re going to get! Truly fine chocolates are always fresh, less sweet, feature unusual textures and flavours and always contain high quality ingredients like premium cocoa beans and fresh, creamery butter.

Like truly-fine chocolate, a truly-fine gentleman’s greatest quality ingredient is honesty. A husband – former or otherwise - who is honest, respectful and most of all faithful is pure eye candy. Another high-quality ingredient of a truly-fine gentleman is loyalty. Remember those virtuous lines, “I will love, honour and be faithful?”

So was Dandy Randy Godiva chocolate or Bakers' Semi-sweet? I was about to find out.

I met the Queen’s University graduate in a public place of my choice, like I do with all my dates. The first thing I visually-observed about this semi-retired math teacher was his desire to remain youthful at all costs. Dressed to kill, his full head of hair was layered and dyed with streaks of Grecian Formula For Men – as well as his free-spirited moustache.

He was tall and athletic too. I hate to admit it, but he really did look a lot younger than his 60 years; although his profile stated he was 54. Lie #1. As I peppered him with question after question, I could sense an uneasiness.

“Ineda,” I have to admit something to you,” he revealed, as we continued our stroll. “What is it,” I asked curiously. “Well, when I was a math teacher, I had been tutoring a student and we fell in love.”

“How old was she?,” I asked.  “Ummm…..errrr……26,” he coughed. “WHAT,” I said, with venom pouring out of my mouth. “I know….I know….Ineda,” he added, foolishly.

 The student and the sugar daddy, I thought. For God’s sake, he was old enough to be her Poppy. Man, I despise Viagra card carrying Gigolo’s like that. How could you!, I thought. But then again, we all deserve a second chance to make it right....er...to get it up! God only knows I’ve made a few marital mistakes of my own.

As I chugged a glass of Stella at a waterfront bistro, Randy openly-confessed over his beer how he fell head-over-heals in lust with his wrinkle-free lover. After a few hot and steamy months, they decided to purchase a 3000 sq. ft. home and cohabit in sin. I wonder what the neighbours were thinking!

Whenever there’s an undeniable age gap between a love-sick teacher and his student, there is surely a mid-life crisis in our midst. Just ask any luxury sports car salesman. After 24 months of playing house, the sugar daddy academic and his sex kitten called it quits.

“It should have never happened, Ineda,” blushed Randy, who holds an Hons. B.Sc from prestigious Queen’s.  That’s what you get when you think with the wrong head, I told him.

Randy admitted that this was the second time around he was faced with dividing financial assets and material possessions. Lucky she didn’t touch your teacher’s pension, I snickered. But some gigolos just never learn. While I consider myself to be a compassionate woman, I had a hard time accepting his intolerant infidelities because I loathe liars, cheaters and middle-aged gigolos!

The louse confessed his sleeping around with women other than his wife started in Year 6 of their 30-year marriage. So forget about that infamous 7-year itch. Randy was a year in advance - must have been the math!


 In reality, most mid-life gigolos are calculating con artists who play on the emotions of gullible tarts in need of companionship, affection and sex. These guys are skilled at spotting anxieties and vulnerabilities and know how to use them to their advantage. The gigolo will play lonely, needy, young women like a fiddle. As a result, I could never fall into his lust-thirsty trap. I’m too wise!

Randy seemed charming and attentive. He listened and paid me a few compliments – one of the classic signs of having discovered with use which of his well-polished lines get the best response. I wondered if he was good in bed from plenty of practice no doubt - another characteristic of a skirt-chasing gigolo.

 God only knows why Randy decided to pour out his heart and soul to me that sunny afternoon. Perhaps he was seeking redemption to justify his stupidity and cheating, gigolo ways. Who knows?

As our afternoon date came to a close, I’m sure he realized just as much as I did that there was absolutely no chemistry between us because I wasn’t needy nor deprived of mind-blowing sex. We ended the day with a hand shake and a promise that I would provide him with the name of my family law lawyer, as a result of my financially-lucrative divorce settlement.

Randy really was your typical “The Shwa” trailer trash with a degree. As for that number to my lawyer’s office – sorry sucker!

To life and living it,

Ineda

Admit it.
Trying to figure out a man’s interest level is a  calculating case for the FBI. What makes them fall in love or never call back  is just as intriguing as the Secret Service investigating debauchery involving  strippers and prostitutes hired by a group of its agents and U.S. military
specialists.

Arguably, the signs that he’s just not  that into you can vary like the kinds of Kraft salad dressings lining supermarket shelves. So how do you know if he loves you or loves you
not?

 Whether you’re on a 1st, 2nd or 50th(love that number) date, I say it’s a
hard cold case for the Bureau boys.

Take Mark. Widower #2 from the other night (read ‘Till Death Do  Us Part). We spoke a few times on the phone and he even asked what I would like to do on a next date. So I whipped up a few melancholy ideas like a musical performance at one of the performing arts centres in the city. Mark liked the  idea so much that he went ahead and bought the tickets.

 “Save July 14 for you and me, Ineda,” Mark begged with excitement, “because we’re going to see Beauty & The Beast. “Great Mark,” I responded. “I love musicals and it sure beats always going out for dinner.”

Three days later and much to my surprise, I  discover this in my in box from the Merry Widower:  “Sorry Ineda, but I have to cancel our date to Beauty and the Beast.” Figures, I
 thought. And he continues, “ I'm going on vacation and have been invited to go to Florida with my brother-in-law. I can't pass up the opportunity.” Man –isn’t that an original or what?

Mark adds, “I know it's late but I thought I better e-mail you so  you are not waiting for me at the last minute and I wanted to let you know right away,” he continued. Mark – let’s get something straight – I wait for no one, I thought under my breathe. “Thanks for caring” he said, “and for our wonderful date last Saturday. Hope we can do it again!”

 Yeah, right Mark. I’ve heard that line so many times it’s part of my designer wardrobe! 
So I questioned Mark and suggested that I’d take those tickets off his hands, since they were already bought and paid for. Like the FBI, I wanted to figure out if he simply lost interest or was actually speaking the truth about our subsequent date and those tickets. I was aware that his vacation was starting soon. He told me so on our 1st date, while my hair was swirling around like a cyclone in that Corvette convertible.

Responded Mark, “Sorry Ineda, but I gave the tickets to my son and daughter-in-law.” There we have it, I thought! But here’s the rest of his honest answer from a truthful man…..

 “I am sorry for your thoughts,” Mark explains, “but it was never my intention to B.S. about my vacation plans or anything else. I am new to this dating, as I have said previously, and would not hurt anyone. We have been out together and have had fun. I thought you wanted to date me and other people and if we had a connection, then we could get a little more
serious.”Love it, I said to myself. I’m liking Mark more than ever now because like him, I never leave all my eggs in one basket.

 “Are we not still checking one another out”,” he queried, admitting,” I like you and I like your spirit when it comes to "life and living it". Let's go slow and see what happens. I'll e-mail you when I get back.

 “Thank you for your explanation, Mark,” I responded. It’s wise to diversify. I never leave all my chickens in one coop. Have a safe and happy vacation and we’ll chat soon.” 

Whether Mark was telling the truth I suppose I’ll find out in a few weeks. However, I was skeptical from the start because Mark is still in his first year bereaving the loss of his wife. In my books – it’s too soon to be commitment dating. 

Now – on the flip side – we have money mogul Michael (read Poker Face May 2012). Remember? He is the upper crust, socialite, private club golfer with a penchant for Grey Goose martinis - shaken not stirred-  and those Louis XIII Cognac-infused cigars.

Well - I dumped him a couple of weeks ago. I’ll explain.

Regardless of the million$ stored in those BMO vaults, his character was as shady as an old Oak tree. All those promises of taking me to the private country club to hit a few balls and have dinner by the 18th hole were thwarted by his lack of genuine character. I also never ever did receive those JLo tickets he also pretty promised. Talk about B.S.

I never met any of his friends in the 10 weeks that we dated. I
was always off his invite list and for a damn, good reason – he either didn’t
want his friends to know me or maybe he was trying to upgrade. Let’s ask those
Bureau boys, shall we? 

I called Michael my “Broadway Date” – the same show night after night. So when he called on a Tuesday to ask what I would like to do this weekend, I mentioned - point-blank – that I had no desire to drive in his fire-breathing Mercedes-Benz SLS AMG Gullwing for dinner, and then back to his penthouse suite for a Cosmopolitan – Grey Goose naturally.

 “Well, Ineda,” what would you like to do?” he asked sharply. “Michael,” I replied, “there’s so much to do and see around the city. Let me go on a few entertainment web sites so that I can
discover a few things and I’ll call you.”

The way I see it is he never had a problem making plans in advance with his golf buddies at the money-dripping, private clubs he frequented, so I decided in advance that I didn’t want to play a minor role anymore in his 7-day future window.  Remember –never make a man a priority if he only sees you as an option.

And I was always hanging out on his turf too. He hated driving into the city. Bottom Bureau line – he was too lazy to hang out on my turf which definitely revealed where I stood on his priority list. I was a matter of convenience for this multi-millionaire with no desire for commitment. I felt it  – which is why, once again, this cowgirl never leaves all her steeds in one stall.

I sent him an e-mail earlier in the week with a small list of great entertainment ideas like going to a movie or heading to a street festival. But I never received a response. Friday rolled around so I dialed his number on the way to the office and left a message. I knew he was playing a few rounds. It was his morning routine.

When he returned my call later in the day, I made it crystal clear that this relationship wasn’t manoeuvring in the endearing direction I would have hoped. 

Men can be so cowardly. Rather than admit they’re not interested, they’ll beat around the bush and simply not call. So if you’re trying to figure out why he hasn’t called – call the
FBI!

Here’s a beauty.  A few months back, I had a dinner date with a Bay Street Jewish lawyer who specialized in bankruptcy law. A senior partner at his firm, he picked me up in a limo and we sailed off to La Maquette – a French restaurant renowned for its romantic atmosphere and sumptuous culinary delights. 

We both nibbled on the pan-seared Foie Gras with wild cherry and raisin chutney accompanied with micro greens, as we discussed the latest corporate and financial shakedowns south of the border. I remember vividly how delicious my wild mushroom agnolotti tasted, as he bit into his Australian rack of lamb with red quinoa, broccoli and French beans.

The St. Helena cabernet kept flowing out of that wine decanter while he decided that he’d like to take me clubbing. So we went to that famous jazz lounge on Wellington I love so much. We grooved to the band, had a few martinis and then kissed good night.

“I’d love to see you again Ineda, “ admitted the legal eagle. And then I never heard back. Go figure!!!

My male friends said it’s because I didn’t “dish out”. I guess we’ll have to ask the FBI. Think they’ll be able to poke around?

Now back to money-mogul Michael.  “And furthermore Michael,” I said, “who’s fooling who? You never once called me while you were in California last week.”I am a firm believer that if a man is interested in a woman, he calls.” 

“Ineda,” he piped in, “You’re right. I am so sorry. It was terribly selfish of me not to call.” 

“Michael,” I responded, “no need to explain. I’m also seeking a partner with a pulse – someone who wants to go out and do things other than eat and play golf with his buddies.

“Yeah, you’re right Ineda,” I guess I really don’t know what I want.” 

“I’ll call you,” he said, trying to end the 10-week fling once and for all. How I’ve hated that line through the years. So I decided to get in the last word, “No Michael, I’ll call you!”

And chances are we both never will.
 
To life and living it,
Ineda

_ I have loved and have lost many times.

From cutesy, puppy love in my tween years to heart-throbbing, hormone-gushing teen love to I’ve-got-it-real-bad grownup love. There’s no denying it - love hurts!

A teary-eyed hats off to Nazareth, Roy Orbison and the Everly Brothers for exposing the deep pain in their heart-wrenching renditions of ‘Love Hurts’. There are no harmonious thoughts of heart-pounding love to be heard because these artists sing, shout and scream real pain. And we’ve all been there – tissue after soiled tissue.

So when I get the opportunity to date a man who knows the authentic and genuine meaning of love and loss, I jump at the chance. This past week, I dated not one but two men who had lost their wives through death rather than been burnt by love.

It was Tuesday when Ray and I decided to meet after work for dinner in the Entertainment District. I met him at the bar. He was dressed in a gorgeous Versace jacket and looked so handsome, genuine and clean cut.

In his profile he says, “I am partially retired and very independent financially and otherwise. And I think I have a good sense of humour. I am a true romantic at heart and enjoy fine dining, a good glass of wine or a good martini.” My kinda guy I thought!

There’s more – “I can also be spontaneous and a little adventurous as well with the right partner. The gym is very important to me and I am there 3 to 4 times a week and try to keep in shape. I am looking for a soul mate that is basically on the same page as me and enjoys being looked after, takes good care of herself, both physically and emotionally.”

Wow – I may not be hitting the gym as often as Ray, but I am also hoping to meet a man who is on the same page as I am. So what would that be? As we sipped our Grey Goose martinis and got to know one another better, I could just tell that Ray and I had plenty of things in common.

Like this 6’1 widower, I too would love to retire on a lakefront cottage and have another place in the city. I also liked listening to the Oldies as well as Maroon 5 and Katy Perry. While I knew he was widowed, he never discussed his sorrow over the white wine infused PEI steamed mussels that we shared.

Ray’s wife passed away from pancreatic cancer and I could tell his loss was terribly heart-wrenching. They had been married 30 years before she was taken from him. “We had a beautiful cottage on Lake Rosseau,” he said sympathetically. Adding, “but I sold it when she died Ineda. I couldn’t bear enjoying those sunsets at that cottage without her anymore.”

And as we chatted about our taste in music over our pan-seared seabass, I could tell that Ray was more than ready to start fresh and whole with the “right” woman, as he preserved those precious memories.

We ended the night with a hug and a promise to see one another again.

Mark and I met on the web too.  “I am a widower looking to date,” he says in his profile. I’m honest, trustworthy and loyal (maybe to a fault)." Heck – sounds a little like me I thought, as I continued to read his online bio. “I am looking for a woman who is honest, sincere, loyal, attractive, romantic, funny and full of life,” he admits. Sounds pretty normal to me, I thought, as I agreed to a date.

It was Saturday. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect when he picked me up in his jet-black Corvette convertible. We tooled throughout his neck of the woods with the top down while the wind blew through my flat-ironed hair. It was so warm that day – so warm that I had sweat beading down my back from the sun and the breeze. But I wasn’t complaining. I like it scorching outside.

We stopped off at his gorgeous home and cracked open a couple of Stellas to cool off, while we chatted in his backyard overlooking his pond and gardens. I have never seen such beautiful landscaping. Apparently, Mark is quite the avid gardener.

As we chugged our beers, Mark began to tell me his story. I felt compassion and understanding in his voice as he explained how his wife was diagnosed with breast cancer 6 years ago and how she never complained through the chemo and hair loss. “She was a trooper Ineda,” he remembered.

“I am so sorry for your loss Mark,” I said, holding his hand. “And while your next new love will never be able to replace your wife, it’s important that you keep those years that you both shared dear and close to your heart.”

“How wise and thoughtful of you to say that Ineda. I can’t tell you how many dates I’ve been on where the women say that I need to forget all about her and move on,” added Mark, a widower for 7 months strong.

In my observation and unlike Ray, Mark is still in his early stages of the bereavement process. He’s doing fine, but he hasn’t experienced a relationship commitment since the loss of his wife - and rightfully so.

Both Mark and Ray had solid marriages. Through their wives’ battle with breast and pancreatic cancer, they loved, nurtured and spiritually-guided these women through life’s final journey towards that infamous resting place in the sky.

Both have survived  the emotional pain of life and death. Regardless of how much love they had to give, it wasn’t enough to question mortality and why me?

Time heals all wounds people. A loss is a loss is a loss no matter how that love was stripped away. You will love again Mark and Ray. You will love again.

To life and living it,

Ineda