I Don't Have to Argue with You, You're Not My Wife by Gary Morgenstein, Author of How to Find A Woman...or Not

Today's guest blogger is Gary Morgenstein, author of the comic step-by-step guide to finding true love, How to Find a Woman...Or Not (Volume 1).

Tired of ordering in Thai food and watching a Netflix on Saturday nights? Don’t despair. Finding true love isn’t impossible as long as you view the entire world as one big singles bar. Walking your dog, practicing yoga, riding mass transit, buying a book, even visiting a friend in the hospital can lead to the woman of your dreams.

Critically-acclaimed novelist/playwright Gary Morgenstein provides the romantic roadmap!

Using his own battle-scarred experiences as a divorced man along with many years “spinning” as a public relations specialist, Morgenstein takes men (and women eager to go inside the mind of a guy) on a step-by-step comic and erotic guide to love and sex.

From making eye contact, dazzling opening lines, online etiquette, younger and older women and how to conduct yourself on a date to what goes into a successful relationship (in and out of the bedroom), How to Find a Woman…Or Not is a riotous, poignant and indispensable blueprint for passion and commitment


“I DON’T HAVE TO ARGUE WITH YOU, YOU’RE NOT MY WIFE”
by Gary Morgenstein

The first date I had after my marriage broke up was with this very foxy late 40s woman, off the nerve.com dating service, at an Indian place on East 6th Street in Manhattan. Here we were, sipping wine and dipping Nan in chutney. For all I knew, there were many middle-aged men at adjacent tables dripping rivers of sweat down their shirts on their first date in more than 25 years. Pale expressions, gaunt looks, notes scribbled on the inside of the sleeve, do you still bring flowers/candy/Mateus Rose/exactly what do I do on a date?

A date. What the hell was a date? That thing you get dressed up for, but without the wife crowding you in the bathroom and criticizing your choice of shirt/socks/pants. Where you get dressed alone and then meet at a bar or, even more terrifying, pick them up at their apartment. A strange woman’s apartment filled with strange foreign objects like lamps and windows and end tables. Where they have dangerous traps like a couch and bed and you’re expected to dance and kiss and, as for sex, well…

Then deciding where to eat, having no knowledge of their prior eating habits, what might anger them.

What, are you crazy offering me a shrimp when you know I’m allergic and it could kill me? You think you’re getting anything now?

Smelling good, dressing right, speaking properly, not dribbling béarnaise sauce down your chin, coming up with good stories/jokes, hoping you don’t repulse her.

A date. A great deal like March Madness, one mistake and you’re eliminated, back to Boise, baby.

Yeah, I was terrified that night. I’d recently quit smoking. After learning my marriage was kaput, my friend Vicky explained women don’t like to kiss smokers. Hmm, let’s see, tongue or addiction, which wins? Got that monkey off my back in a few days. I swallowed several tic-tacs, took deep breaths and prayed for guidance.

I mean, do you act as if they’re a friend or colleague at work? Is that how you charm a woman? Just talk, be smart and witty, hopefully the hammering of the heart won’t lead to cardiac arrest. Somehow I remembered turning blue wasn’t a turn-on.

If I remembered. Even in college and post-grad, I wasn’t exactly a stud muffin. Okay, I had my triumphs, which I ascribed more to delusional behavior on the part of the woman, greatly aided by alcohol and Quaaludes. But now I have gray hair. My jawline isn’t exactly taut. I keep myself in shape with weights and yoga, but no six-pack. Maybe one Bud Light.

Suave I never was. Nor rich nor powerful nor famous. No Jack Nicholson snapping his fingers courtside. Plus I’m a Republican living in New York. I do have a few things going against me.

Yet here I was. She laughed at my jokes and looked at me a certain way. I think it’s called with sensual interest. That was in retrospect, mind you, because I was just hanging on the ropes, babbling and throwing down wine like they’d just found three spots on my lung. Somewhere between the aloo chat and the tandoori chicken she suddenly reached across the table and squeezed my hand. Course, she needed a bath towel to wipe away the perspiration, but a strange woman had tenderly touched me. What would my wife say? Wait, I didn’t have a wife anymore. I was alone. Looking for love in all the wrong places.

Outside on a frigid January night that made icicles shiver, she tongued me up and down East 6th like a vacuum cleaner to a dirty rug amid cries from passing cars of hey, get a room. She slipped my hand under her down jacket and then under her sweater and then under her blouse. Just before I lost feeling in my fingers, I touched the top of another woman’s breast.


In addition to How to Find a Woman…Or Not, Gary Morgenstein’s books include the novels Loving Rabbi Thalia Kleinman, about a divorced man who falls in love with a beautiful woman rabbi; Jesse’s Girl, a powerful story about a father’s search for his adopted teenage son, and Take Me Out to the Ballgame, a political baseball thriller, as well as the baseball Rocky The Man Who Wanted to Play Center Field for the New York Yankees. His prophetic play Ponzi Man played to sell-out crowds at the New York Fringe Festival. He lives in Brooklyn, New York, surrounded by lots of books and rock and roll CDs.

Gary Morgenstein’s HOW TO FIND A WOMAN…OR NOT VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ‘10 runs from February 1st to Feb. 26th. You may follow his tour each weekday by visiting http://virtualbooktours.wordpress.com/.