Dont Mince Words

I know I’ve threatened, after sampling the lack-luster Santa Barbara dating pool, to go back to Los Angeles to date.  I finally did and I can safely say I’m so happy I adopted a dog for companionship.

My new target market is old guys – or men who have kids that are off to college and they are safely divorced and possibly ready for another long-term relationship.  This means 50+.  Past mid-life and dating bimbos.  This guy seemed like a catch right down to the fact he was from New England.

We met in Santa Monica and I was sure I’d recognize him because he had a Ned Flanders (Simpsons) mustache.  But to be on the safe side, because you never know with pictures, I told him to look for the tall redhead.  I know I shouldn’t be ageist, but I really wish I could be a cougar again.  And I know I’m older and I have no room to talk.  But Ned, 56,  wore a washed out yellow polo, super light blue jeans, and bright white sneakers.  My favorite accessory was a knee brace which he chose to wear on the outside of his jeans.

I tried to let all that slide.  I ordered a spinach omelette.  He had a club which he ate while he talked about himself.  I smiled and nodded secretly thankful that Dixie was in the car waiting to bail me out.  I hugged and cheek kissed him goodbye 90 minutes after our brunch and dove into my car.

Three hours and 90 miles later, Dixie and I were home.  “We’re never doing that again,” I told the dog as we settled on the couch to spend the evening watching Netflix.

I promise I won’t turn into a mommy blogger or a new mom who thinks she’s got the best baby on earth.  But until I date again, all I can do is sing the praises of my new rescue dog.

Dixie showed up as a stray at a SoCal shelter with pink toenail polish on.  That’s a sure sign she was living with a family or with a tweaker that wanted something to do.  She walks beside my knee on leash.  She always craps next to the curb.  She sits.  She lays.  She goes down when another dog approaches.

I knew Dixie was an alpha female the first time I took her to the beach.  I wanted to believe she was just socially awkward, but when I watched her play, she was the four-legged version of a bull-dyke field hockey player.  This was confirmed when she stopped squatting like a dainty lady to pee and backed up to telephone polls and squirted.  She enjoyed marking over the leg-cocking boys and making her own urine graffiti.

Friday I took her to get evaluated for doggie daycare.  I told them she was three, high energy, and liked to play rough, but I didn’t think she was aggressive.  She just needed to pick her playmates wisely.  After testing her two hours, she was approved to join the team.

Now I wait and see how many days before she’s fouled and put on the sidelines.  Even good babies have their bad days.

The other day I was searching on OKCupid.   There were six men between the ages of 37 and 60 that were my height or taller, held master’s degrees, and lived within 50 miles of me.  I’m serious.  Six men.  I decided I had better luck at finding love on Petfinder and adopted a three-year old american bulldog/boxer mix from my old rescue in Los Angeles.

After a Facebook dog-naming contest amongst my friends, we decided to pay homage to the late, great Tex by naming this girl after a region and getting an “X” in her name.  We settled with Dixie.  I wasn’t sure the name was the right one until I stopped in Petco with her on the way home and said “Hey Dix, come here.”  I’ve been saying “hey dicks, come here” for years now, so I kept the name.

We have spent the weekend bonding and she is settling in nicely.  At least a dozen guys have told me I have a “nice dog” this weekend.  Welcome, Dixie, you are my new dick magnet.