Now that's a real Oldie McMoldie

I'm going to put this out there for you all: Is 37 too old?

Looks like I'll learn the answer to the above question on Thursday.

I haven't heard back from Writerman at all. Really baffled by that one. My paranoia leads me to believe that perhaps he stumbled upon this blog, put two and two together, and realized I was anonymously blabbing about him to the three people who read this pathetic blog.

Now that my self-deprecation is out of the way, let's chat about my big (Match) week coming up.

Thursday night I have a date with Oldieman, who is a true blue oldie. He's 37, works in graphic design, OWNS a home in Hoboken and just had to put his 20-year-old cat down last week. (Hold the "awww's" - the fucking cat was nearly as old as me.)

I think I'm willing to go out with a guy 14 years my senior so I can say that I've done it. My one friend asked "What does a 37-year-old want with a 23-year-old?"

Good question ...

If he grew up in Alabama, I could've been his daughter, for christssake. When he was a pre-pubescent boy just reaching high school, I wasn't even holed up in a womb. When he took his first legal drink of alcohol, I was just taking the training wheels off my bike.

If there is any genuine attraction Thursday night (he is quite good looking - with an adorable smile - my friend vouched), I think that'll unravel as the stark difference in age begins to show.

I can't even tell my mother that I'm going out with a man - a legitimate MAN - for fear she'll lock me in my room for the rest of my life.

So Oldieman doesn't appear to like conversing through Match. We haven't had a ton of email exchanges, but he did text me immediately after I gave him my number. I guess that's a good sign that should help quell these dreaded thoughts of yet another cancellation.

Then on Friday night, I have a date with Irishman, who strangely signed one of his emails with his first and last name, prompting me to Google and Facebook stalk his life (like a good little investigative journalist). He's a 24-year-old video editor and is working on a series for a reputable TV network. He's taking me out to - from what  I hear - a super nice restaurant. He made reservations. Any man whose idea of a date involves making 8 o'clock dinner reservations at a swanky joint in the West Village is already a winner in my book.Or maybe it's just a sign of me lowering my standards. Ack.

I'm starting to feel under the weather today (that, coupled with a shitty day at work) and now I'm wondering if I'm going to be forced to cancel these dates. I hope not, but this persistent cough is disgusting.

It's been three (? THREE?!) weeks since my last date. I'm sensing my dry spell might soon be over. Either that, or I might as well surrender to being Match'ed out and down for the count for a while.