Sex & Love
Fifty First (J) Dates: It’s Gotta Be Some Sort of Mid-Life Crisis Hot Tub Time Machine
To all of my loyal, die-hard, ripping-your-hair-out-because-you-already-beat-the-highscore-in-Snood-and-need-a-new-post fans, I am sorry for the delay. I am sorrier that a gigantic tree took down a power line a block from my house. But now my power is back. I love lighting, I … Read More
To all of my loyal, die-hard, ripping-your-hair-out-because-you-already-beat-the-highscore-in-Snood-and-need-a-new-post fans, I am sorry for the delay. I am sorrier that a gigantic tree took down a power line a block from my house. But now my power is back.
I love lighting, I love lamp. I love air conditioning, and I really love Internets. So away we go, with our satchels of gold.
My power outage made me feel like I was in 1864. It was then that I decided to hop into our hot tub/Delorian in the back yard (My dad’s Mid Life Crisis Hot Tub Time Machine…subwoofer included) and revisit three important boy/dating milestones before any of these JDate shenanigans could even occur.
Let’s go for a ride.
How we wish it went: I come out in a custom Galliano gown (this is now my 23-year- old self) with confetti and a 16-piece band, with lots of men carrying me on a day bed, like those awful children on my Super Sweet Sixteen. My crush, a bit shorter than I am, whisks me away for a private dance near the Milk Mustache photo booth. Boy version: get to see your first boob. Doesn’t matter who it is.
How it actually went: I spilled maraschino cherry juice on my dress. But my silver manicure is in tact (I know. This is for realz.) I got to slow dance with my crush, (hi Sam!) except that my bat-mitzvah was daytime, so we were slow dancing during lunch (thanks Mom and Dad).
The first kiss.
How we wish it went: Like an episode of Dawson’s creek. Music, canoes, some clothing from Limited Too, or maybe an Abercrombie & Fitch tee shirt if your parents really loved you. Also, sparks, hoping there are no teeth involved. Boy version: seeing another boob. Maybe feeling it. Again, doesn’t matter whose.
How it actually went: Camp. Slobber. Lips are squishier than previously thought. Worried my breath smelled like the giant tub of sour gummie worms my mom snuck in during parent’s weekend.
How we wish it went: I went with Freddie Prinze Jr. I was that girl that when she took off her glasses and stopped moping, I was the hottest thing ever. Then our entire school did a choreographed dance, followed by my being crowned Prom Queen. Then Jake Ryan showed up, and whisked me off to after-prom in his dashing sweater vest and told me it was me all along that he loved. Boy version: more boobs.
How it actually went: I was set up with my date. He had dyed his hair funny the day before. We were on a boat, and not in the fun nautical-themed pashmina afghan way. Quakers don’t like Prom Kings and Queens. But there was a chocolate fountain.
It was then that the power grid restored itself, and I swirled back to 2010. I just can’t seem to get “I Want It That Way” out of my head. And I found a pot of Yum Yum Lipgloss in my back pocket.