They said it couldn’t be done, but I met my fiancé on Tinder.

“You’re too old for Tinder.”

“People your age aren’t using apps.”

“Dating apps are just for hookups.”

Guess what? In real life, there are also people who are looking to just hook up. Apps are vehicle that delivers single people into the palm of your hand. Who would turn down something that makes dating so much easier? Not me! So on my 40th birthday, I joined Tinder as another avenue to meet single guys. I was finally getting serious about finding someone, but I was running out of places to look.

Once I downloaded the app, my marketing mind went into full sales mode where I started by setting a goal to meet someone before my next birthday. 365 days. I broke that down into smaller goals to keep myself motivated so I aimed for at least one date per month. In order to make that happen, I had to be pretty active on the site. I got into a routine of swiping over breakfast and messaging guys over dinner. I started out being pretty picky, but needed to be a little more open minded as the months went by in order to get a date each month.

I picked photos for my profile where I was doing some of my favorite things and I wrote a catchy “slogan” to show a little more of my personality. I let them know that while my photos show my obsession with sports, “I always get a pedicure on the way to the fantasy football draft”.

With most people swiping based on that first photo, the slogan under that photo definitely helped. I also found that the photos and slogan gave guys something to talk about when they messaged me, instead of just writing, “hey”, “sup” and “hi”. The time I put into setting up my profile is what contributed to me getting those first dates.

Oh, those first dates. With that guy who agreed to meet me out to watch the Cubs playoff game and then asked what sport that was. The one who asked our waitress if she had any weed as we were getting our check. A widower who moved at warp speed because “life isn’t guaranteed”. The one who was late because he was looking over his (insert any curse word here) divorce papers.

None of the dates were a match, but because I was able to effectively tell my story through my profile, those first date conversations flowed. How else would I have found out that he wanted our first date to be at his son’s high school football game even though both his ex-wife and son asked him not to attend?

It was about being memorable among the dozens of girls they were messaging. I know this because I was trying to keep all of the guys straight too, like that guy who asked if any of my “hot” friends were single.

Through the process, I realized that I stood out just by being me. When I went on a first date, they almost always started by saying, “you actually look like your pictures,” and ended with “you made this date fun”. Basically, they knew what they were getting because my profile told my story. It wasn’t a crazy-exciting story, but I was true to myself and that made me unique.

Eleven dates and 362 days later, I was exhausted. I worked hard to hit that goal of one date a month, and worked even harder to stay motivated as none of those dates turned into anything more. This is why dating can be frustrating, but by setting a goal and sticking to a plan, I swiped right on one final generic profile. I wasn’t even sure which person he was in all of the group photos he posted. The one photo that wasn’t of a group was one of just his dog. And I don’t really like dogs. But I had to take a chance if I wanted to have that twelfth date.

The messaging that followed was pretty fun, but after a jam-packed weekend visiting Nashville, I didn’t feel like meeting him for our date when I got back. But that deadline was approaching in just three days, so I forced myself to go even though I didn’t think we would connect.

I was wrong. From the moment I walked into the bar, I was hooked. We laughed until our faces hurt. We didn’t leave until they kicked us out. On a Tuesday. It was the start of dozens of dates on random Tuesdays.

Two years later, he got a job in Nashville. Excited to move to Music City, I downloaded a bunch job search apps. I had never used these apps before, but there was something very familiar about them. I built my resume with the most interesting and proud moments of my career in hopes that someone would want to hear more. I also scrolled through open positions, stopping on a limited few that seemed to fit my experience and vision for the future. I was looking for something I could commit to for years to come.

Because of that, I found myself being so focused, picky even, that I only applied for jobs that checked off all of the boxes for me, but also those where I had everything that they were looking for too. I didn’t want to waste time meeting with people if it wasn’t going to go anywhere.

Perfection.

Rejection.

Frustration.

Commitment.

That’s why it all felt so familiar … getting a job is like getting a date. The standards women set for what we think we deserve means we could miss out on something/someone else that could actually be amazing. We pass on something/someone because we don’t think we have everything they are asking for on paper. We put too much emphasis on checking every single box.

On the flipside, my guy friends are swiping right on every girl and then weeding them out after chatting with them. They are applying for jobs that they aren’t even halfway qualified for, but they have no doubt they could get them. They aren’t letting the checklist hold them back. They aren’t phased by potential rejection. They aren’t expecting everything to be perfect. They are sharing their story with whoever will listen in hopes that it will resonate with the right people whether that’s personally or professionally.

So that’s what I did. I began sending out resumes and cover letters to dozens of companies that on the surface I had no business even applying. I didn’t have all of the specific qualifications, but for those who took a chance on the interviews, they started with, “I’m glad you applied for this position,” and ended with “this interview was more than what we expected”.

Once I ditched the checklist and stopped listening to other people, that’s when I landed my best first date and my first job in the music industry. It’s okay to ask for help to get a date. It’s okay to use technology to to fall in love. It’s okay to do whatever you want in life.

If you need help throughout your dating journey, drop me an email at [email protected] or share your question via social media: Hitz & Mrs on Instagram(@HitzAndMrsBlog), Hitz & Mrs on Twitter (@HitzAndMrs) or Facebook. You can also sign up to get my weekly emails or purchase my new dating book to keep you inspired and focused on your goal!

There are some things in life that are sometimes better not to talk about. Why bring others into a world that I’m sure would be difficult at best to understand. A perfect example of what I’m trying to say can be applied to military veterans who have engaged in the horrors of war who often find it difficult to even think back on those experiences let alone talk about them. Cicero the great Roman orator once said”In times of war the law falls silent” so to someone who has never experienced war it’s impossible to try to explain it. As hard as it is for some people to grasp, cops are at war, minus the jungles and battlefields. Smiling and laughing one minute with routine 95% of the time, and then suddenly jumping to sheer terror at the turn of a corner. Patrol Officer Thomas Kelly (Tommy) 22 years old, a Marine veteran who survived the jungles and the horrors of war in Viet Nam, shook off those memories and signed on to be a Chicago cop. We were buddies and aside from the Marine Corps, we also had the Chicago Police Department in common.

On 3 March 1970 while assigned to area #1 Task Force, Officer Tommy Kelly by then a 4-year Chicago Police veteran was on routine patrol with his partner (here’s routine again) when they spotted a vehicle rolling suspiciously through the neighborhood located at 360 E. 44th, a recent area of several gang shootings. When they pulled over the vehicle Tommy went to the drivers’ side to question the driver as his partner stood on the passenger side. Almost immediately after requesting the driver’s license a passenger in the vehicle opened fire striking Officer Kelly several times. Immediately another shooter fired 2 more shots at Tommy’s partner wounding him. When he tried to continue shooting his gun jammed and the vehicle fled the scene. Several hours later they were captured and arrested. Officer Kelly was pronounced dead at the hospital and his partner survived his wounds.

It was to be an exciting week for Tommy because in just a few days he was getting married to his Fiance JoAnn. In fact, that morning he had stopped to pick up his tuxedo and placed it in the trunk of his patrol vehicle. The dread and reality that we both had talked about on several occasions as Marines, about life being a fragile bargain, resendable at any time, became a sudden reality. JoAnn, of course, took the news of his murder as well as could be expected. Imagine living with those horrific memories just days from a lifetime of dreams starting a family. After a few years, Jo-Ann began seeing Tommy’s friend and Chicago Cop Pat Crowley. Pat was also a friend of mine and he was working on my Tactical Team in the Gresham District. I was his Sergeant at that time.  I was happy to see Jo-Ann smile once again and was elated with the news that they decided on marriage.

Things went smoothly for a few years and of course Pat was one of the most outstanding streets cops the City had. He turned down promotions to Detective on several occasions to stay on the streets with us on the South Side. Then on September 13, 1976, at the beginning of our tour of duty, he asked me if he could take 4 hours off that night to attend an IRISH Social Club in which he was an officer. He handed me a slip called a  “time due slip” to account for hours to be deducted from his time accumulated attending court and working overtime. Because of this, I assigned him with 2 other officers so that when he left it would not break up the patrol. Just after roll call, he told me he was keeping a suspected narcotics house under surveillance and that he would be checking it soon after he left the station. About an hour later after attempting to arrest a heroin dealer, Pat was shot in the head after a gun battle. His two partners escaped injury and Pat was pronounced dead at the hospital.

My immediate Boss, Commander Joe Healy and I probably were faced with one of the most difficult assignments of our lives. We knew Jo-Ann’s past worst nightmare with her fiance Tommy  Kelly’s violent murder on the street but we felt we had to make the notification ourselves.  Jo-Ann knew us and rather than a stranger we went to try and do the best we could. As soon as we reached the house we really didn’t have to say a word, Jo-Ann knew immediately her worst nightmare had become a reality AGAIN. The depiction below is a person who is grieving and empty inside.

A Fiance and now a Husband murdered while working to Serve and Protect Chicago’s streets. The Wake and the Funeral, of course, were a blur and I just couldn’t help but admire Jo-Ann for even being able to get thru all the thousands and thousands of people and press coverage that accompanies a Cops line of duty death. Nobody ever told the story of Jo-Ann Crowley and the death of her beloved Cops. I’m guessing she had the same feelings that I talked about earlier, remembering and talking about that kind of horror most likely hurt so much she chose to lock it away. To this day I’m not sure what the rest of life was like for her, but the thing is, for sure it was her choice and we respected it. God bless you, JoAnn Crowley. Thousands of us remember Tommy and Pat and yourself. Hope all is well.

The ninth “way to live more like Mister Rogers” in Gavin Edwards’ book, “Kindness and Wonder,” is “Accept the changing seasons” — but it goes much deeper than watching for signs of spring.

Edwards starts the chapter with the story of the March 23, 1970, episode of “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood” when Rogers goes to feed the fish at the tank in the kitchen. He discovers that a fish is dead.

He asks the viewer, “Do you see a dead fish?” and then describes how that fish is the one not “swimming or breathing or anything at all.”

He tries giving the fish a bath in salt water, because he heard that is sometimes helps when a fish is sick. But when that doesn’t help, he dries the goldfish’s body and calmly tells the viewer that “we better bury it.”

He takes the fish’s body out to the yard on the set and buries it. Then, “in his usual calm tones” as Edwards puts it, he tells about the death of his beloved dog when he was young.

(That dog’s name was Mitzi. The Mitzi in my life, a poodle, died 14 years after Mister Rogers’ goldfish, but this story still touches me.)

“And she got to be old, and she died. And I was very sad when she died, because she and I were good pals. And when she died, I cried. … And my dad said we’d have to bury Mitzi. And I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to bury her because I thought we’d pretend that she was still alive. But my dad said her body was dead and we’d have to bury her. So we did.”

Then he walked back into his TV house, talking about his aunt and uncle giving him a toy dog after Mitzi’s death and how he can still remember her.

(I know the feeling about my own Mitzi.)

Later in the same show, a dog character called Bob learns that the trolley can’t be dead; although it isn’t working just then, it can’t be dead since machines aren’t alive.

Still in the same episode, Rogers sings, “Some things I don’t understand/Some things are scary and sad.”

In half an hour, one episode, Mister Rogers gave a basic explanation of death, talked about grief as a process, and said it was all right to cry. (After all, he admitted that he cried.)

“I feel this is very helpful for them,” Rogers said, “to make them realize they are not isolated in their feelings.”

Edwards notes that Rogers’ “advice for children coping with grief” was also good for adults, because death has a way of “leveling and reducing everyone.”

That advice, as Edwards sums it up, is deep and simple:

Hug them.

Talk to them.

Share quiet times.

As Edwards wrote:

“Fred once said that ‘the Kingdom of God is for the broken-hearted.’ In other words, it’s for everyone.”

He was a great help to those who had to get their hearts broken early in life.

Margaret Serious has a page on Facebook.

To subscribe today, type your e-mail address in the box and click the “create subscription” button. My list is completely spam-free, and you can opt out at any time.

No matter how diligently we exercise and watch our diets, our shapes change as we age. We get shorter and wider as muscle tissue shrinks. Even our feet flatten and widen from wear and tear.

Losing an inch and a half of height bothered me. Needing shoes a half-size larger wasn’t troublesome — except for the never-worn snazzy boots bought when I was still an 8B.

A long time ago, when I worked in Evanston and Lands’ End had an outlet there, I snagged a pair of Blondo black leather boots for $20. Since they retailed for more than $100 and were my size, waterproof, and a nice midcalf length, I couldn’t pass up the deal.

I put them away until the boots I had been wearing wore out. By the time I wanted to wear the new ones, they didn’t fit.

It was hard to shove my feet into the boots. They felt comfortable with only thin socks — not good for keeping feet warm in winter.

I tried a lot of the online advice about stretching leather boots: Freeze water in plastic bags inside the boots. Spray alcohol inside the front of the boots (alcohol is the main ingredient in stretching liquids) and wear them. Put them on and blow the hair dryer on them. Hold them over boiling water for three or four minutes and then put them on with socks; repeat, increasing the thickness of the socks each time.

With heavier socks, my feet still hurt in the boots.

I offered the boots to relatives, but they’re too big for one sister and a niece and too small for the other women in the family.

Not wanting to consign the boots to a thrift shop, I put them away in a box, which I came upon last week while cleaning out a closet. And discovered that the left boot feels okay now with crew socks, and the right boot isn’t bad. Go figure.

I’ll wear the boots around the house for a while and decide whether they’re comfortable enough to walk outside in.

Cowboys, whose boots are legendary, expect new leather boots to be uncomfortable at first and to need breaking in.

“The thing about new boots, as with new jeans, is that they will take some work. . . . [I]t’s really all about getting a tough piece of hide to slowly conform to your feet,” says online retailer Heddels. “A great course of action is to start wearing your boots around the house in small doses. The boots will hurt for a couple of days no matter what, but if you space out that wear time over a longer period and in the comfort of your own home, it won’t be so bad.”

The Heddels website, by the way, advises against the heat and moisture break-in methods because they can damage leather. It also says that if you have to go to “extreme measures” to stretch boots, you’ve bought the wrong size.

Since the boots weren’t the wrong size when I bought them, I’ll forgive myself that. But here’s a lesson to take from this experience: Use a new apparel purchase soon. I know people who buy multiple colors of an item they like. That’s a good idea only if you wear everything immediately. If you save it for later, it might not fit.

*****

KUDOS TO THE DEMOCRATS WHO DROPPED OUT BEFORE SUPER TUESDAY

I already admired Pete Buttigieg and Amy Klobuchar before they dropped out of the Democratic presidential race, and my admiration has increased. I’m glad Tom Steyer, about whom I know too little to have an opinion, dropped out as well.

Their departure lessens the number of candidates vying for the moderate vote on Super Tuesday — a good thing if the goal is to stop democratic socialist Bernie Sanders. It helps the so-called moderates consolidate around one candidate, presumably Joe Biden.

In other words, it looks like these three did the right thing rather than the selfish thing.

“Our goal has always been to help unify America to defeat Donald Trump and win the era for our values,” Buttigieg said when he announced he was quitting the race. “So, we must recognize that at this point in the race, the best way to keep faith with those goals and ideals is to step aside and help bring our country and party together.”

Now if only Michael Bloomberg would get the message.

I didn’t mention Elizabeth Warren because she isn’t in the moderate lane, but the sooner the Democrats can stop attacking one another and start supporting one candidate, the better.

*****

ANTI-TRUMP QUOTATIONS: 102ND IN AN ONGOING SERIES

“[Y]ou could pluck someone off the street at random, and they would be a better president than Donald Trump.”
— Rep. Adam Schiff of California, quoted by Los Angeles Times columnist Robin Abcarian