Don't Wait Up for Me

This is my first post and I purposefully chose the black background and white typeface because I know it is hard to read and copy. Frankly, I don't think too many people will read this blog... I could be wrong... but here goes.

It is bitchy, witchy and totally inappropriate. Those of you who know me personally will be surprised because I present as calm cool collected and maybe a bit standoffish. So I've been told at least. I've often been told that by one of the men who have graced my life, the one I refer to as the bad boyfriend Bill. Actually he is a great guy, he was just a bad boyfriend because he lives with someone else. But that's his problem, not mine.

So I am a woman of a certain age, and relatively late in life, I've come to like wine. I don't bolt it down in an attempt to forget the justices and injustices of the world. I LIKE wine. The more I taste, the more I appreciate its complexity, history, ability to transport to a world of scent and taste and terroir -- wine from locations that I might not ever visit except through the experience in front of me in my glass.

Tonight, my son Martin, who I am visiting in Boston, went out with his friends. And he should have.... it is Saturday night.

I thought of staying in and make some more progress on Alice Fiering's book, which I am absolutely adoring, but it seems more appropriate to find my makeup kit and padded bra and nice jewelry and put it all together and GET OUT.

Encouraged by my friend Connie, who is almost 71, and who is enjoying my house in Tahoe while I am gone, and wisely said "Oh it's 9:30 there? Things must just be getting going!", out I went.

My son is 30. That alone would make me a Woman of A Certain Age, wouldn't it? But being a late starter on the family formation thing (as I was also a late starter on the wine loving thing), I clearly fit into that WOACA category. Don't make me reveal it all; my mother once said "A woman who will tell you her age, will tell you anything", and I am done telling everyone everything, so just (as the Brits would say) piss off on the age thing.

It was only four doors down the street to the corner of Tremont and something, where Stephi's was located. As I ambled in that direction -- ambling being my current motility, since I broke my ankle in a bicycle accident 10 weeks ago -- out of Stephi's door spilled a half inebriated fellow in his 40's, saying as he and his buddy tried to navigate their way on the cobblestones, "Wow, it is really CougarVille in there tonight."

I was mildly offended.

I've only recently become familiar with the term, and it just seems to me that turnabout is fair play. A guy in his 60's with a combover who is hacking on a woman in her late 30's is NOT called anything but a good catch. A woman in her 60's with discreet makeup and inclusive conversation that might appeal to men of all ages.... really, a cougar? Somehow the old double standard persists, idn't it?

I just wanted a nice glass of wine in a collegial environment. The Cougars of the world can proceed apace I suppose, as can the guys with the combovers. The days of waking up and trying to remember that person's name before he/she opens their eyes on the pillow next to you.... long gone. Thank God. What Woman of a Certain Age, who is in possession of her full mental capabilties, would want the boredom of being with someone who doesn't remember where they were when JFK was asassinated --- because GASP they weren't even born yet. Give me a break!

But the evening was not a total waste, and that was because of a pleasant and well-wine-educated bartender at Stephi's on Tremont: Dillon Collins. Dillon has taken a few classes with Sandy Block, and must have been paying attention.

The wine by the glass selection at Stephi's is a bit lackluster, but the intent was for a collegial glass of wine, not a Judgement of Paris experience.

Dillon dutifully poured my ultra-safe choice, a Frie Brothers chardonnay, Russian River Valley 2006. At $10/glass it was okay. Not that it had much structure or anything like that, but it was pleasant, oakey, vanilla. Just a bit bland. 13.9% alcohol.

A better idea was the one that Dillon presented to me, the Natura Chard from Chile, 2007. $7 a glass. 14% alcohol. Aroma of lilac, with a surprising soy sauce element after it opened up a bit. Minerally on the side palate. Taste of jasmine, very pleasant.

A glass of wine and a significant taste of another is a pretty good lubricant for a pen. For the catty pen. One of the nice things about being a WOACA is that the gameplaying is behind you... well, at least it is behind me. So I can feel some sympathy (and even some empathy) for those who are still pitching. Like the young woman (late 30's) wearing a cross-over grey shiney sharkshin type of blouse, with a forced laugh that has all the refinement of a horse's vocalization. Or the Hugh Heffner girlfriend type with the collagenated lips about to explode, and the bleached bleached bleached blonde hair framing that puffy visage. At least these two youngish women were alert. Perhaps that is another way of saying "on the prowl".

But they were giving a far far better performance than the men. The men were mostly drunk.

So it was clearly time to thank Dillon for some intelligent conversation, a generous taste of a new wine, and pack up the poison pen and go watch some light nighttime entertainment on my son's TV.

At least Frasier knows his wine.