3lastnamesblog

The Universe Has Its Own Plan January 31, 2025

Filed under: dating,Humor,love,single,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 11:14 am
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Last Sunday my plan was to have a lazy day of hibernation which meant lighting a fire, binge watching TV, and reading a book. But before I hunkered down I wanted to go for my daily walk and to the car wash to get the filth off from the recent snow. I didn’t plan on leaving any specific time- whenever I finished my coffee and crossword puzzle.

This particular morning I didn’t put on any make-up before leaving. And when I say no make-up, I mean NOTHING- not even tinted moisturizer. Now this is quite unusual for me considering I put on lipstick to get the mail. In addition, I didn’t even bother to change out of the sweat pants I slept in- I was only going to get right back in them when I got home. I put my unwashed hair into a frizzy ponytail, and out the door I went. Let me make this very clear. I’ve had the flu and looked better. But, who am I going to see at the car wash or out walking when it’s 30 degrees?

I set off for the Seaford Carwash and when I got there the line was wrapped around the block. It wasn’t worth waiting an hour when I could go tomorrow on a weekday. So I decided to skip it and just go for my walk. I was already in Seaford, so I figured I’d take my walk at Wantagh Park which was only one traffic light ahead on Merrick Road. (I usually walk in Burns Park closer to my house.)

I parked, began my walk, and in the distance I saw someone running slowly in my direction. I was relieved to know I wasn’t the only one in the park. Then as the runner got closer there was something familiar about him. He was bundled up so I couldn’t see his hair, but wait, was that….

“O ????”, I questioned out loud. (I’m using only his initial to protect the innocent- me!) Now for those of you who don’t know, O and I broke up a year and half ago after 3 years of dating. That’s the last time we spoke- no calls, text, or emails since then. The last thing I said to him was “Fuck You!”

Now, I ask you, WHAT ARE THE CHANCES??? He’s a runner but he usually runs on the Long Beach boardwalk. Actually, our paths had randomly crossed a few times this Summer in Long Beach, but he didn’t see me and I didn’t see any reason to approach him.

But I guess the Universe wasn’t taking no for an answer.

O heard his name, looked over and stopped running. I think we both were in shock. My first thought was, “Dammit, I look like SHIT!” We began to chat with the obligatory pleasantries- how are the kids, etc… He seemed indifferent, distant and was ICY COLD toward me. Quite frankly, this was pissing me off. Did he not get the script??? He’s supposed to be on his knees begging my forgiveness, lamenting how he let the best thing that ever happened to him get away. And I’m supposed to say, “Too bad for you, that ship has sailed…”

But instead, this came out of my mouth- “You know, I may have pulled the trigger on this relationship but you locked and loaded the gun!”

This of course started a very unproductive and unnecessary discussion about our relationship. Believe me, I could have eviscerated him with my words and won this war, but why? I already had closure. And after this, if there was ever a scintilla of regret or doubt in my mind about ending the relationship, it was gone. He was never Mr. Right. He was Mr. Right Now. Thank you, Universe, for giving me the clarity I didn’t even know I needed.

O’s last words to me as he walked away was a very sarcastic “Well, see ya ‘round”.

This time I didn’t say a word. I didn’t say “Fuck You” but you can be sure my bruised ego wanted to.

Now, if this was a rom-com I’d continue on my walk and Barbra Streisand would be singing “Someone I used to Love” in the background. But it’s not a movie, it’s my real life. So instead my sister called me to tell me her refrigerator broke.

At least the encounter with O stopped me from thinking about all the other crap going on in my life, for a little while anyway. The next morning in full make-up (I learn from my mistakes) I went to get my car washed. There was a raggedy old man behind the register. He told me the price and when I handed him my credit card he looked at me and gently said, “Things will get better, don’t look so sad”. And there it was. Through this homeless looking man dressed in a flannel plaid shirt the Universe had spoken. And I listened.

Click on link to hear “Someone I Used to Love”

Wantagh Park
 

Only My Hairdresser Knows for Sure January 2, 2017

Filed under: friendship,Humor,middle age,single,Turning 50,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 8:51 pm
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You might recognize my title from the famous Clairol slogan. It implied that Clairol’s hair color was so natural looking that only your hairdresser knew it was dyed. However, in my case, my hairdresser knows way more than that! It could be my Real Housewives tagline!

I’ve known my hairdresser Rose since my days at McKenna Jr. High. Well, I didn’t actually “know” her, I knew “of her”. She was the one we all called “Cher” because she looked just like her. (If any of my old time friends are reading this, they know EXACTLY who I am referring to). Man was she COOL. She had a sophistication well beyond her years. I mean, she was so mature, she acted like she was in eleventh grade or something. She had long hair, wore make-up and had clothes that included black and leather, two things I wasn’t allowed to wear until I was in my twenties! I, on the other hand, was very happy in my Huckapoo shirts, Levi corduroys and Earth shoes. I had a “shag” haircut and aviator glasses (no, not sunglasses- just eye glasses to see). And man, I thought I was ROCKIN it!!

Needless to say, other than the hallways of school, our paths did not cross too often. She was busy riding on the back of motorcycles while I was in my bedroom belting the soundtrack to  Streisand’s Funny Lady. So how did these two opposites get to be the best of friends?

My hair has always been a resounding issue in my life. It is a constant source of worry (it’s too humid out, it’s too dry out, my hair is too frizzy, too flat, too short, too long, too curly…..) After high school, it took me years to grow out the layers from my shag which resulted in hair similar to Rosanna Rosanna Danna from SNL (back in the day when it was actually called Saturday Night Live not SNL- kind of like Kentucky Fried Chicken and KFC). By this time I had been through several hairdressers and I decided to try the new hip hair salon in Massapequa called Imaginations. I had my hair washed and was escorted to my chair and there to greet me was CHER! She looked as cool as ever with her big hair, cut-off sweatshirt (a la Flashdance) and motorcycle boots. I on the other hand, had my wet hair wrapped in a towel and a plastic gown over me. I hesitantly told her that I remember her as far back as Jr. High and she of course had no recollection of me. Why would she? Something tells me she didn’t go to many of the school plays or spring concerts.

She proceeded to tell me that she wanted to put layers in my hair to bring out the natural curls. WHAT? NO WAY! I had just spent a traumatic four years growing them out and you want to put them back in? She insisted she would keep the layers long and it would create beautiful soft, silky curls that will finally free me from all my hair-stress. Well, one of two things was going to happen as a result of this haircut. Either I was going to sue the salon or I was going to latch on to this girl like a puppy in a pound and never let go. I’m happy to say it was the latter.

As our friendship grew I don’t think Rose realized what she was getting herself into. When she gave birth to her first child she decided she was no longer going to work from the salon but rather out of her house. Her husband was going to build a salon set-up with a chair and sink in the spare room. I had been calling and calling for an appointment but there was no answer and I desperately needed a haircut. Finally Rose answered the phone and let me know she had given birth a day and a half ago and had just gotten back from the hospital. “What great news!”, I exclaimed! I was truly happy for her but to me the great news was that she was home and could possibly cut my hair! Never wanting to disappoint me, she told me she had nothing ready but to come over anyway. So while her mom held the baby, she washed my hair in her kitchen sink and gave me a great haircut. That was over 22 years ago and since then, my dear friend has never let me down. She has cut my hair with a bad back, migraine headaches, 2 days post surgery and wearing a mask.

But amazingly enough, as we grew older our lives became increasingly similar. We were both single moms raising our children the best we could with the circumstances we were under. We supported each other during our struggles and applauded the triumphs. We watched each other become independent, confident middle aged women being thrown back into the dating world. We cried, we sighed, we gasped but most of all we LAUGHED. It’s amazing the things you’ll open up about while your hair is saturated in dye with a shower cap on it. I can confidently say, there is nothing left unsaid between us, and I mean NOTHING!  I still chuckle when I think about the time Rose, how shall I say it, was in a “compromising” situation and all she could think of as it was happening was “wait till Jackie hears about this one!” Now with technology we don’t have to wait. We’ll send texts as a situation is unfolding so we can be there for each other in real time.

Our conversations through the years have included but were not limited to: our kids, boyfriends, sex, work, money, sex, fashion, TV, sex. And of course we often reminisce about our Jr. High days and how unlikely it was for us to become so close. But here we are. And when I say “only my hair dresser knows for sure”, the last thing I mean is hair dye!

                             img_4770

 
 

MLS is the Match.com for Real Estate January 8, 2016

Filed under: dating,love,Real Estate,single,Uncategorized,Women's Humor — 3lastnamesblog @ 11:07 pm
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Over the years I’ve come up with some interesting parables. I particularly like my “finding a mate is like shopping for shoes” and “August feels like one long Sunday”. But while selling my house, a new comparison dawned on me- Multiple Listing Services (MLS) is the Match.com for Real Estate. This goes for any of the real estate websites- Trulia, Zillow, etc.… It’s so obvious, I’m surprised no one has ever thought of it before.

To begin, you create a profile. You need to put up lots of pretty pictures that make your house look its best, highlighting the selling points. Next you add some narrative such as the neighborhood, convenience to stores or railroad, and who you think would be the ideal buyer for your home. Then, its time to talk money. But instead of your salary range like on dating websites, you give the listing price. One thing is for sure, only serious buyers need inquire.

Once you upload your profile, the waiting process begins. The profile has gotten a lot of hits, but why hasn’t any body asked to see the house? Is it not attractive enough? It looks better in person, I promise! Is it too expensive? I’m negotiable! All these doubts start sinking in. The house you once thought was move-in ready and a great value doesn’t seem so inviting anymore. Maybe I’ll paint some rooms and spiff up the curb appeal a bit.

Eventually someone appreciates the allure of your home and wants to see it. Elated and excited, you set up a time to meet; the sooner the better! When the doorbell rings you have butterflies in your stomach. Will he like me, I mean, my house? Will this be “the one”? You repeat this process many times. Some showings are longer than others. Some buyers seem more interested than others. And please, don’t get my hopes up and say you’re going to call if you have no intention of ever doing so. Occasionally you will have a second “date” and sometimes even meet their children or parents. I’ve even had contractors and engineers come, only to have the deal fall apart without any reason or warning. It’s an emotional roller coaster.

Then of course, there’s the real estate agent who plays the role of your mother. “Ya know, you’ve had your house on the market for quite a while now, maybe you should lower your price”, to which I hear, “ya know, you’re not a spring chicken anymore, maybe you should lower your standards”. Or if you get a low offer the agent will say, “Ya know, there’s a lot of competition out there”, for which I hear my mother saying “Ya know, there’s a lot of competition out there.

The neighbors like to chime in too. “Did you here the Johnsons are in contract?”, they say with pity in their eyes. The Johnsons live down the block, have the same model house as mine and have listed their house only 30 days ago for a comparable price. Their buyers never even came to see my house! Why not??? What’s wrong with me, I mean, my house?

Despair starts to set in. Where is that special someone? Where is the lid to my pot?  Maybe I should just give up my dreams and take my house off the market. NO, NO, NO! Snap out of it, girl! You know you have a beautiful, spacious home, in a prestigious neighbor. There are plenty of people that would love to live there! You must continue to be positive and move ahead with your plans!

But I am happy to say, when you least expect it, a match comes along! In my case, it wasn’t even from the website, it was from the For Sale sign on my front lawn. Love at first sight. When it’s the right one, you just know it.

And oh yeah, a match came along for me too, at yoga. Love at first sight. When it’s the right one you just know it.

 

 

 

Blog Interrupted May 22, 2013

Filed under: Humor,middle age,Mothers/daughters,single,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 9:01 pm
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    I originally started blogging because I had a lot of free time, which is just a nice way of saying I had no life. But now my life is becoming busy and it’s interrupting my blog! Here’s what you’ve missed:

#1) I learned how to play Craps   I was at the Tropicana in Atlantic City. I had always watched my father play craps and I was interested in learning. So I casually sauntered up to the craps table. It was a fifteen dollar minimum bet, which for me was out of the question, so I just watched. The only thing I knew about craps was that you don’t want to throw a 7 or 11.  As the game progressed I asked questions of the man standing next to me as well as the dealer who after a while gave me that look to either bet or step away from the table. So eventually, with much trepidation, I took the plunge and placed 2 chips on the table. Apparently I placed them at a point in the game when they can’t be placed and they were handed back to me.  But the dealer talked me through and gradually I started to get the hang of the game, placing more and more chips on the table with each round. Each player seemed to get three or four chances to throw the dice and before long the dice were passed to me. So after choosing my dice I took my very first roll. The dice barely made it across the table. “SEVEN”! Oh no! I felt terrible that on my first roll I was out. But I immediately learned that at certain times of the game it is GOOD to roll a seven and that was one of them! The dice kept being returned to me and I kept rolling. There was a crowd gathering and lots of hootin’ and hollerin’. A crowd of young men in their twenties kept cheering me on, “Let’s go Shooter, C’mon Shooter!!” (Apparently I was “Shooter”.) At one point the man standing next to me told me if rolled an eight the table was going to erupt. I had no idea why I wanted an eight, but I prayed for one anyway. “EIGHT!” the stickman shouted and the table went crazy. This exhilaration continued for the better part of an hour. When my roll was finally over everyone around the table applauded and I got high fives throughout the night in the casino. I was a star.  But I forgot to mention the best part- my winnings! One dollar.

#2) I shot a gun. Well, a rifle actually. Now before you start to panic, I did not go from being a JAP (Jewish American Princess) to an NRA militia maniac (as my friend Dean put it). I simply shot at a target and was quite awful at it too. Perhaps I should have visualized an ex boyfriend or two… But, the most fun came from reading the comments to a picture I posted on Facebook of me aiming the rifle: “Oh G-d, you’ve turned into Sarah Palin” (Shelley) and “This gives new meaning to Jackie’s big guns” (Scott) as well as the myriad of inquiries if I had been kidnapped or joined a cult. Nope, none of that, just some good old fashioned red-neck fun. I reckon.

#3) I rode in the back of an ambulance. (No, this had no connection to me shooting a gun.) I was with my daughter, Gabby, who was in severe pain (She’s absolutely fine now). I called an ambulance because we needed to get to the hospital FAST! When the ambulance arrived the EMT strolled into the house like he was arriving at a garden party. “CAN YOU WALK A LITTLE F—ING FASTER PLEASE; MY DAUGHTER IS ROLLING ON THE FLOOR IN F—ING PAIN!!”  He neither altered his gate nor commented on my remark and after what seemed an eternity, we finally left for the hospital. When I inquired why we weren’t speeding and passing red lights. I was informed that only “happens in movies”.  Huh?? “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE F—ING KIDDING ME! WHY WOULD I CALL A F—ING AMBULANCE THEN? JUST YESTERDAY TWO F—ING AMBULANCES SPED BY ME!”  Where is my rifle now?? I’m pretty sure the EMT was happier to arrive at the hospital than I was. However, things weren’t much better at the hospital. It’s as if they did not see my poor daughter lying on the stretcher writhing in pain. But after much yelling and cursing and moaning and groaning (that was from me, not the patient) they finally gave her pain medication. By now it was the middle of the night and needless to say, I was a bit out of it. Thankfully my sister was with me (with Dunkin Donuts muffins and coffee of course). My daughter was finally resting quietly. The nurse asked me about diarrhea, vomiting and fever and when I told her I had none of that, my sister oh so gently reminded me, “THE NURSES ARE TALKING ABOUT GABBY, YOU IDIOT! “  I am sure the hospital staff is still talking about me.

Next up, I’m planning on going horseback riding. The last time I came close to a horse was in fourth grade. I was afraid to go near it and I threw-up from the smell.  Either I’ve evolved or I’m going to get one hell of a blog out of it.

 

A One of a Kind Story February 5, 2013

Filed under: middle age,single,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 2:47 am
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 I knew “it” was in the box labeled “Jackie’s Memory Stuff”.  In that box was everything from my wooden shoes from Holland (didn’t all kids go on family vacations to Europe?), to the 1991 Massapequa Post cover of my sister and I with our kids on our lap coming down the big slide at the St. Rose Fair (the irony of the Jews at the St. Rose Fair) and of course all those pictures and letters that someday my daughters will read when I’m gone (just like Bridges of Madison County) and realize  that their mom was not sitting home alone on the weekends they were at their dad’s.

Just as I hoped, I found “it” – my very first letter to my pen pal.

It started back in second grade. (You’re thinking to yourself, wait, isn’t she 50? How does something from 43 years ago have any relevance?  Be patient!) It was the 1969-70 school year. My teacher (Miss Rice) announced that we were going to have “pen pals”. She explained she had a friend that taught second grade in Ft. Wayne Indiana and they were going to match up their students so we could write to each other.

A few weeks later a letter arrived at my house. (In those days nobody worried about giving out your home address). It was dated January 16, 1970. Enclosed was a picture of the most beautiful blond-haired girl I had ever seen.  It read:

Dear Jackie,

          I am your new pen pal. I have a puppy and his name is Bullet. Do you have a pet? What is his name? I go to bed at 8:30 and sometimes 9 o’clock. What time do you go to bed? I have one sister and a dad and a mom and me and my puppy. Do you have a sister or a brother? Please write soon.

                                                                                      Your friend,

                                                                                      Beth Anne Nartker

From that moment on a lifelong friendship was born. Beth and I continued to write non-stop through the rest of elementary school, middle school, high school, and college. I remember telling her I was engaged….

Then of course real life stepped in and the letters became farther apart and eventually ended. But not for one moment had I ever stopped thinking about her and wondering how her life was going.   Remember, there was no internet, Google, Classmates.com, or Facebook back then.

But now there is! A couple of years ago I had the idea to search for her on Facebook. I used the first name “Beth Anne” and came up empty. After months of trying different variations, finally up came a picture of the same beautiful blond-haired girl. I recognized her immediately.  I messaged her on Facebook, “I’m not sure if you remember me….”

Well she replied that of course she remembered me, had been thinking of me as well and had also tried to find me on Classmates and Facebook . (But let’s face it, with all my last names, that’s an impossible feat!)

We picked up right where we left off, taking time to update each other on the past 25 years.  Just recently, after Hurricane Sandy, Beth (now living in Arizona) reached out to me and the girls. I expressed my gratitude for her concern especially from her of all people. She didn’t understand what I meant by “you of all people”. I explained that her concern meant even more to me, considering we had never even met! She responded, “I paused for a moment when I read your comment that we have never met as I actually forget that is the case! I feel I know you so well and consider you a dear friend – and we will meet some day. : ) xoxo”

So, it can happen. Two people who only correspond through the written word (we have never even spoken on the phone) can cultivate a life-long meaningful relationship. Perhaps I should’ve written to inmates instead of going on Match.

So I ask. Do we meet and run the risk of realizing we are total strangers that have nothing in common? Or do we give ourselves the chance to finally wrap our arms around the lifelong friend we’ve grown to care so much about?  I’d ask somebody who’s been through this before, but like I promised, this is a one of a kind story.

pen pal letter 1 (2)pen pal letter 2

pen pal pic        pan pal recent

 

My Blog is My Boyfriend May 31, 2012

Filed under: Humor,single,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 2:12 am
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When I was at my therapist last week, she asked me if I’ve been dating or had an interest in anyone. I thought about it for a while and then I had an epiphany. My blog is my boyfriend.

It’s everything I’ve been looking for. “He” is good company when I’m bored. He lets me tell all my stories in great detail without interrupting.  He allows me to express myself creatively. He shares my opinions.  My friends enjoy his sense of humor. My family likes him. He relieves my stress. And most importantly, he leaves me feeling fulfilled.

I told my therapist this relationship was the real deal, one that can finally go the distance. She pointed out that I’m telling her I’m finally enjoying a relationship with someone (thing) that doesn’t talk back, has no thoughts of its own, and does whatever I say. Puzzled I ask, “Is there something wrong with that?”

I tried to explain I’m not totally crazy. I’m actually thinking rationally.  I realize there are some things my blog can’t do. ”He” can’t help around the house or take care of the kids or rub my feet. But let’s face it; does such a man even exist?  I’m aware I have to sacrifice things such as being taken out for dinner. But believe me, I can live without the scintillating conversation of “pass the butter” and “how’s your soup?”  And I don’t have to put out in the end.

I finally thought I had her convinced until she suggested we meet more often.

But I’m sticking to my guns. Don’t expect a break-up anytime soon. I’ll be sharing my stories for quite some time to come. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll meet a man with all the same qualities as my blog and I’ll be calling myself 4lastnames.

 

 

 

 

1 in 5 ? May 29, 2012

Filed under: Humor,middle age,single,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 9:10 pm
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The TV commercial for Match.com says that 1 in 5 couples now meet on online dating sites. If that’s the case, then perhaps my online dating experience can be of some help to society.

First, the basics. Everyone’s age ends in a “nine”.  Thirty-nine means you’re in your forties. Forty-nine means you’re in your fifties and fifty-nine means you’re eighty. “Separated” means married and looking to cheat. “Slender” means fat. “Entrepreneur” means unemployed and a baseball cap in every picture means balding.

At 49 (now for perpetuity) I seem to be the “it “girl for the 60 and over crowd. Men with white hair fill my in-box promising me compatibility even though they’re a “bit” over my age range. A BIT over my age range? Methuselah is younger than these guys.  So needless to say, I can’t wait around for men my age to email me, I have to search them out.

I have a very intense screening process. When I finally do send an email it’s after three days of examining the pictures and profile like it’s a crime scene investigation. And no matter how handsome and successful he may portray himself to be, if he doesn’t capitalize his I’s or know the difference between “your and you’re”- he’s out.  Smiley faces is a deal breaker too. Pictures of his pets- enough said.

So let’s say he gets through the first round and we email each other. I’m not interested in having a pen pal so I suggest the phone right away.  When he calls for the first time, I do not answer the phone. This is not game playing; this is the next part of the screening process. I have to listen to see if I like his voice and I must analyze his message. “Okie doke” and “Alrighty then” will not get him a return phone call.

If he can survive the phone message and the obligatory first conversation, we set up a date. The chances I’m going to like him are slim to none. For instance, I schlepped all the way into the city only to be met by a man wearing the same brown, suede earth shoes I wore in seventh grade. That was it for me. On another date the guy was wearing “slacks”. You know, the kind with a belt that’s pulled up practically to his chin. He reminded me of my Uncle Itchy and as much as I love my Uncle Itchy, I do not want to date him.  One guy had a tattoo of a bull’s-eye over his heart…NEXT!   Another  guy  had me meet him at the Spartan Diner. He sang Broadway tunes so ridiculously loud from our booth everyone in the diner started singing along. I picked up the check. He thought it was because I liked him, but it was so I could get the hell out of there as fast as I could.

A couple of months ago I had a nice date set up, but I was dreading it all day. My mother said I was the only girl she knew that had a date with a Jewish doctor for dinner at a nice steak house and was in a bad mood from it. But just as I expected, I didn’t like him. He said his “ch’s” funny. And he had bad eyebrows. But the creamed spinach was delish.

I admit it; I’m a man’s worst online dating nightmare. There’s probably a skull and crossbones next to my profile picture. But, I’m on a hiatus from Match right now and have hidden my profile. So all the men out there on the internet can take a big sigh of relief. There’s no chance our paths will cross anytime soon.