How I spent my mid-life crisis

Years ago, I pictured myself today at mid-life, driving a loud muscle car, with slick stripes that matched the hue of my new tattoo. She’d be sitting next to me–oblivious to my internal crisis–but still impressed with the package I and my ride offered. My former brown mane of hair would be well into its many shades of grey.

All this due of course to the love of my life leaving me for an older, short, balding cop. It was baffling to me. I had him beat on so many levels. Age, height, hair. What could he possibly have offered that I didn’t? I decided it had to be the hand-cuffs.

Alone again after my second divorce at the age of 38, I’d now be one of those guys with the attractive distinction of having given ‘half-away-twice.

I found myself littered with most of the memories we’d made. She didn’t want the photos, the bed or the bills. I needed it all to fade away quickly so I placed the following add in the local paper:

HUGE END OF SUMMER DIVORCE SALE! What she didn’t take, you can have for cheap. Fishing, hunting, gardening and  miscellaneous wedding memorabilia. No early birds or manic depressives please.”

The morning of, I felt like Vincent Price in that old classic The Last Man on Earth in which the lost souls of the apocalypse have him surrounded outside his house. This modern adaption I was in might better be titled, Dawn of the Curious Zombie MILF’s. 

It was a huge success though. Away went the  wedding cake topper; the guest book with our guest’s names in it; the canoe we were to take to Canada and live in for two weeks.

Thus began ten years of eDating, which is what the bulk of my book, REPLY ALL details. Now that I’ve shifted gears and goals away from acquiring the expensive V8 penis accessories, the tattoos and the busty babes who like such things, I’m more content than ever to focus on my writings and am happy to share excerpts of them here.

I’ve traded notions of fast cars for that of a manual typewriter and a few reams of paper. That’s right, I’ve been going old school with the first draft of my book and transcribing what I settle on, into this digital realm.

It’s a book filled with ten years worth of power dating, world travel and copious amounts of death, drugs, drink and divorcees whos own personal crisis’ only added exponential angst to mine–all fodder for fun reading I trust.

If age 60 is the new midlife as I’ve heard, then maybe in ten years I’ll revisit them muscle car dreams … just in time to find that the New Mustangs have gone hybrid.