East of the River

The current project I’m working on is a book/novel titled Matchdotcom for Dummies (and Retired Bunnies) by Suzanne Nielsen AKA Pearl Mercer/Quixote_isms.  The premise is to focus on 30 days in the life of a middle-aged woman revisiting the idea of dating.  It will consist of five chapters (110 pages)—

1. The Genesis and Evolution of the Profile for Sale

2. The 30-Day Diary: A Step-by-Step Approach to Loss of Appetite

3. A Lesson in Constant Humility

4. By Gosh, I am Good Enough, Smart Enough and Trashy Looking to Boot

5. Middle Aged Relationships for Dummies and Aging Bunnies: The Return to a Healthy Appetite.

Synopsis- The Genesis of this project began after a therapy session with my estranged husband.  Although we’ve lived apart for 16 months (as of March, 2009), we attend weekly therapy sessions with Stan, our psychologist.  Stan looks like an elf and recently gave me two tiger-eye marbles to ease my migraines.  I think I continue therapy because of Stan.  His socks always match his shirts and he has a jack-o-lantern permanently displayed on his desk behind his stained teapot.  At our last session Stan was wearing a peach button down oxford and ecru socks.  I took this as a sign to move on.  I mentioned during that session to Stan (and my fourth husband) that I intended to join Match.com, the dating service that services 20,000 new members daily.  Stan’s elf ears wiggled; my fourth husband said, “Bun (that’s my pet name), I think you could meet some really good friends doing so.”  Although this was not the response I’d intended, I recognized then and there that I was, in fact, 52 years OLD.  My looks had waved goodbye along with my figure; my tattoos were starting to sag.  Thank god I could still read and write, although my eyes are no longer 20/20.  Upon recognition that my life was half over and that Stan had let me down, just like most all of the other men I’ve encountered, I joined Match.com on Valentine’s Day, 2009. This novel is a (somewhat) fictionalized account of my membership.  Although intended to poke fun at myself and those middle-aged sag-ers like me, both men and women, it is also an account of what America’s idea of couple ship has morphed into: a sales gimmick of an ever evolving profile of who we are, and who we intend to be when we grow up.        

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