Cougar Town and more

Hey, thanks to everyone who sent kind sentiments and positive vibes to Mom. Her gall bladder surgery earlier this went well.

Screeching halt!!! Oh, you are so not reading a post about somebody’s mother’s gall bladder operation, are you?

Moving on…

Wow--what a great response to my book giveaway contest! Very encouraging, and thank you so much, but now I’m like, damn, this book had better be good. It’s not too late to enter—see Thursday’s post for details.

Alright, so I was able to retrieve most of the cougar post that I started to write before my Word file went into the Twilight Zone. A couple of weeks ago my blogging buddy Hurricane Mikey did a post answering a bunch of questions I had about the male perspective of things. Questions like, how young is too young? And how old is too old? Check out what he has to say (Mikey goes for cougars), as well as his readers’ comments. Very enlightening.

Did you see the new TV show, Cougar Town, Wednesday night? Oh, it was horrible! Truly awful, and I don’t mean fun awful like in a Kath and Kim way (God rest their souls). But Courteney Cox is gorgeous, don’t you think? I mean, she’s no Beverly D’Angelo, but she’s pretty hot. I thought the guys would dig this picture of her in her underwear. More so than one of Beverly in hers.

Despite whatever you may have heard from Hurricane Mikey, I am not a cougar, though I think I told you that back in the late 90s, I had two kids and a boyfriend all in their twenties. I admit that’s kind of weird, and it wasn’t even a brief dating thing; we went out for two years. Then beloved Bastard Husband and I got together; he was 34 and I was 42, but an 8-year age difference isn’t that bad, do you think?

I’ve always gone for younger guys, only because I’m so immature myself. Whenever I told my mother I was seeing someone new, I could hear her roll her eyes over the phone as she asked her first question: “How old is this one?”

But I’m not a cougar, I tell you. Since BH, I’ve stayed consistently within my own age group with the exception of one Iranian med student who I went out with just a couple of times. I think he was 16 years younger than me. My sister Lori met him when she was visiting one time; she just shook her head and said, “You need a gatekeeper.” And there I was all proud of myself for finally trying out a minority, since I’ve never gone for anyone darker than Italian. But yeah, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking with that one.

You have a couple of those "What was I thinking?" episodes in your dating history, right?

Anyway, I really do prefer men my own age, and by that I mean about three years either way. Beloved boyfriend Mike is six months younger than me, and it’s perfect. We have things in common, the same reference points. I can be totally like, “Remember when you heard Gomer Pyle’s singing voice for the first time? Wasn’t that freaky?” and he knows exactly what I’m talking about, and not from Nick at Nite programming. Yep, that’s the type of conversation I treat him to.

Hmmm…

I should probably explain that obsession with Beverly D’Angelo sometime, huh? In the meantime, is it me or does Amy Poehler remind you of a young Bev?


Just sayin’.

So how about you? How young is too young? How old is too old?

I’m not done with you, Susan Sarandon…

So there I was Tuesday, jumping to the conclusion that Tim Robbins might have been the one to leave Susan Sarandon, and it looks like I was wrong. (Mark your calendar—I don’t admit to that very often!) Now I’m reading that 63-year-old Susie’s been spending a lot of time with some guy named Jonathan Bricklin, a 31-year-old ping pong club owner.

In the words of Stewie Griffin, “Say whaaaaaaaat?”

This cannot be anything more than the tabloids making shit up, right? Are we really supposed to believe that? A 32-year age difference?

I mean, I love that little devil Prince Harry, but hell, there’s only 27 years between us. I know it’s wrong on so many levels, but I so want to party with him. I’ve had a thing for redheads ever since my first crush on Billy Mumy (Will Robinson from Lost in Space); throw in some bad-boy royalty and I’m in cougar heaven.

Seriously, I could take his head between my thighs and crack it like a Christmas walnut.

Whew. Sorry about that.

But in real life, like I said on Tuesday, I much prefer men more my own age, those who remember where they were when Kennedy was shot or when they heard Gomer Pyle’s singing voice for the first time.

Ping pong club owner? (Why do people write fiction when real life is so fascinating?)

Anyway, many of you left comments on my last post about wonderful long-term relationships that you’re in or know of. I was happy to see that. We all should be so lucky.

What else… Oh, last night I met with Joe Lowers, my comic friend who will be producing my one-woman show. We’re going to set up a couple of preview shows for the end of January (dates TBD, I’ll let you know) and then launch the show on a regular schedule starting Valentine’s Day weekend. Still don’t have a title finalized. So much to do.

Two things: 1) The thought of doing this show scares the crap out of me. I told you that before and I’m not kidding. I have a million insecurities going on and unfortunately for you, you’ll probably be hearing about them in the next few weeks. But at least you’ll know I practice what I preach about setting goals and getting out of your comfort zone.

And 2) I’ve been really busy and I’m all backed up on my blog reading. Don’t think I don’t love you. Really, you have no idea how much I do. I’ll catch up as soon as I can. (And Tara, I hope you're behaving yourself.) I still have 19 Guiding Light episodes on my DVR that I haven’t had a chance to watch, so you know I’m busy.

And now I’m off to my day job…

So tell me, what goal are you working toward? Are you stepping outside your comfort zone?