I went out on a first date with this guy we’ll call Dan. It was the Friday after Thanksgiving so we exchanged pleasantries about what each of us had done for the holiday. Dan sheepishly admitted that he had gone to a friend’s house with a bunch of “randoms” and that it had been a weird experience. “Call me conservative, but holidays are for family,” he said. “This was just a bunch of misfits.”

So, already I’m annoyed, but I laugh and tell him that my core group of friends and I have sometimes referred to ourselves as the misfit toys. All of us single, with our fair share of interesting histories and family “stuff,” we are a genuine, fun and caring group, male and female, of varying ages.

Realizing that the date was doomed, I couldn’t help but probe his judgmental underbelly just for kicks. I commented, “Well, you were there; doesn’t that make you a misfit?”

“Well, my sister and her brother-in-law went to a neighbor’s house, and that would’ve been weird.” (Apparently a lot of things are weird to Dan.) “My brothers both live in Dallas,” he continued. “My parents are divorced and my mom lives in Tampa, and my dad lives locally, but nobody likes his girlfriend.”  Bingo. Out of the mouth of a perfectly normal, well-adjusted guy. I’m so jealous.

My Thanksgiving was spent at my brother’s wife’s sister and brother-in-law’s (dog’s father’s) house in Milwaukee with my dad, my nieces and nephew, my sister-in-law’s brother, the hosts’ son, the hosts’ divorced friend and her daughter and son-in-law, and my sister-in-law’s cousins who happened to be in town because they had just days before buried their mother in Chicago.

A motley crew to be sure. Some family, some friends, some planned visits, some unexpected. Happy but a bit somber. Festive and fun. A Misfit Thanksgiving. Wouldn’t have it any other way.

In her review of Union Pizzeria (which is indeed yummy) in Evanston, Loren touched briefly on the fact that they have a space in the back – oddly enough called “Space” - that’s a live music venue. I felt I needed to follow up on that point because not only is it just a space where they play live music, it’s an AMAZING space to hear GREAT live music.

The acoustics are fantastic; the room is the perfect intimate size, accommodating 250, with a combination of cabaret style seating and high boys in the back for standing room only; and the variety of performers they book is phenomenal. On any given night you may see an up-and-coming R&B band, your favorite Folk musician, a seasoned Jazz trio, or a young Indie band that’s one recording deal away from being included on the next Grey’s Anatomy sound track.

Ticket prices are very reasonable ($8-$25 typically), and you can pay more to guarantee seating. During some of the livelier rock shows the seats are removed and it’s standing room only, but for the more mellow performances, it’s nice to be able to settle in, order a carry out pizza from the front, and enjoy drink service at your table.

If you haven’t checked out Space, I highly recommend it. Just pick a night, not a performer. You won’t be disappointed.  

I just lied about my age on Match.com. I’m 39 and 11/12 and posted that I was 36. I’ve had some okay dates in the past year, using my real age, but it almost always takes me making the initial contact. Most men my age or younger just won’t search for older women.

Doing the online dating thing has been a lesson in how men think. (Ack! I know. Put your seat belt on for this one.) If I had a nickel for every guy whose desired age range in a match only goes up to 1 year younger than he is, I’d be blogging from a beach in Spain. It’s epidemic. So, these guys won’t even date someone exactly their own age? It’s troubling, I know. But are they all bad guys? Typical men? All of them?

So, my friend suggested that it might be out of concern for wanting to have kids, which is a logical thought. But even (I should probably say especially) the divorced guys who have kids and don’t want any more, more often then not, aren’t interested in dating “up.”

I went out with one guy whose cut-off of 40 I barely made at 39. I asked my 47 year old date what was wrong with women in their early 40s or even – eek! – 47 like he is. His response was that typically women over 40 didn’t take as good care of themselves. I told him that the triathlon group at my gym might beg to differ. And the guy ended up being a little worse for substances, so who’s taking good care of themselves in this scenario?

It’s just the arbitrariness of that number 40 that irks me. So why, then, did I betray Mother Nature and my belief system and lie about my age to the tune of 3 years?

Because I dye my hair, I had braces and I wear a padded bra. Because there comes the time when it just seems like a good idea to take your college graduation date off of your resume. Because Ashton didn’t just wake up one morning and decide he wanted to date a women 13 years his senior. He met a woman who was the total package and he liked her.  

I don’t feel 40, and I’m told I don’t look 40. Do I want my Match to be able to look past my age? Yes. Do I feel, “If he won’t date me because of my age, then screw him!”? Of course! But if I let arbitrary, guy-brained, (ir)rationalized checking of boxes prevent me from letting a nice 38 year old (who will only date up to 37) get to know how fabulous I am; well…my pride and I will live a long and healthy life together. With our 9 cats.