Dispatches from the Island of Misfit Toys

Now that I’m 44, one thing has become abundantly clear: women my own age want nothing to do with me. I currently have an eclectic collection of girls in my life, the oldest of whom is 30.

Fucking 30.

I know the immediate reaction is midlife crisis, but the fact is, I’ve never hunted outside my own demographic before. Historically, I always preferred women my own age or older. But when I stumbled back into the world of single men after 8 1/2 years with K, I quickly discovered that my female peers wanted nothing to do with me. Too much baggage, too much bullshit.

Young girls, however, seem to find my damage fascinating. They’re still ingenuous enough to find my brokeness deep and edgy.

So here I am. I shouldn’t complain; the girls I’m surrounded with are all fantastic, but none of them are – or can ever really be – mine, and I’m starting to weary of being, for all intents and purposes, alone.

Here’s the field identification manual, with the players nicknamed to remain anonymous:

LL
We’ve known each other for years. She’s hot, smart, talented and very sexual. The attraction between us is distracting, and we get along so well it’s almost eerie. And yet this is the girl who recently told me she realized she was avoiding thinking about actually dating me because she was afraid a relationship would really work.

We live 2 hours apart, which is an issue. We’re also both busy as hell, and I worry that I’m just too twisted for her. But if we could figure it out I’d love to give it a shot.

BLUE
Ah, chemistry. We have that thing that makes us stare at each other for long periods until it just feels goofy. She’s brilliant, and a total mess. Which, being a mess myself, I completely appreciate. Hey, whaddaya want? I’m the Crazy Whisperer.

BUT. For one thing, she has a live-in boyfriend. For another, we’re both tops and kind of unsure of what to do with each other in bed.

D
Sexy, dirty, submissive, geeky. Loves it when I hurt her. Willing to take whatever I dish out. Gorgeous. Has magical skin I can touch forever.

Also has a boyfriend, who is perfect for her except that he can’t hurt her, which is where I come in.

RED
To be fair, this is strictly one-sided. I am fiendishly attracted to this girl, and we’ve had some fantastic liaisons. But there’s nothing there on her end. I’m a creepy old perv who serves as a friend, occasional rescuer and shoulder to cry on. There’s a very, very dirty girl in there, but she’s still convinced that the white picket fence is going to make her happy, so I’m little more than an aberrant afterthought. Seeing this one is incredibly bad for my self-esteem.

There are other occasional partners and possibles; there’s Crazy Girl, who is a great fuck, but so looney I finally had to cut her off completely. KC, the whitest black girl in the world, who is stunning but purely casual. JJ, JG, AC, and others whom I flirt with, but have never made the timing work.

Lastly, there’s AS, who is about the most amazing woman I know. So smart, so gorgeous, so dirty. But she just doesn’t know what to do with me. We’ve known each other for years, have shared a lot of great moments, and one fantastic kiss. But NY is a long way from LA, and until we can figure out if she’s even interested, it’s not a commute I’m willing to make.

Today was my 44th birthday. Having not written here for nearly a year, it seemed as likely an event to warrant climbing back into the blog saddle as any.

It wasn’t a splendid day. In fact, without sounding too emo, I considered suicide more seriously tonight than I have in decades. I won’t do it, of course. After a certain age, willfully kicking off while all your parts still work just seems foolish. But tonight, the concept held the kind of peaceful allure it hasn’t had since I was a teenager. Tonight, an end seems fantastically desirable.

I’m not sour because I’m a year older; big fucking deal. By the time my actual age catches up to how old I feel, It’ll be well past time for me to go. No, it’s simply life. I’m fantastically broke, and day after day, prospects vanish like dreams at dawn. Contingency plans give way to furtive hopes, and there never seems to be a break on the horizon.

Creatively, I’ve been working for the last several days on a great gig. I’m the DP of a mainstream thriller that has the potential to lead to more real-world work. It’s been refreshing to shoot for a director who appreciates my skill. But, without telling tales, today the entire job went very, very sour, and the director and I are now sitting in a bucket filled with broken glass unsure of how to climb out.

It’s on the personal level, though, that things really fall apart. I moved into a new loft which requires more work than I can possibly complete. I had to put my favorite cat, Basil, to sleep. And day after day I feel utterly alone. The women I want either don’t want me, are already taken, or are unavailable for some other reason. One really fantastic girl told me, “I figured out why I can’t date you. It’s because I’m afraid it might work.”

As the kids say, fuck my life.

I do have friends. Some good, some annoying, some great. One of my best friends is a girl hopelessly in love with me whom I keep at arm’s reach because I can’t reciprocate.

This, dear reader, was NOT the plan.