The Hinge Experiment: Please Do Not Touch Those Eyebrows

Today was one of those days when I feel like I need a vacation from my day.

It started with an eye appointment.

The good news: the retina is still attached.

That seems like a pretty good way to start a Tuesday.

I go back in a month for another check. The purpose of that visit is to make sure I haven't developed macular edema, specifically DME. If everything still looks good, I'll move to appointments every three months to make sure I don't eventually need one of those delightful shots directly into my eyeball.

Because apparently normal people get eye exams.

I get eye exams where the doctor is checking whether my retina is still where it belongs and whether we're going to have to inject something into my eye.

Dating after 50 is exciting.

Then Recovery

After the eye appointment, I went to a recovery meeting for an hour.

Airica knows I'm in recovery.

There's no reason to hide it, and frankly, I'm not interested in hiding it.

It's part of my life.

Just like dialysis.

Just like the prosthetic.

Just like the eyes.

Just like the eyebrows.

Apparently, the eyebrows may actually be the most important part of this story.

We'll get to that.

Then Off to the Vascular Surgeon

After the meeting, I headed over to Novant to have my fistula graft checked.

The good news continued.

Everything looks good.

I don't have to go back for four months.

I'll take that.

So far today:

Retina attached.

Fistula graft good.

Recovery meeting completed.

Eyebrows apparently still under consideration.

Then It Was Time for Mom

I stopped at Come Back Shack and picked up lunch.

For me:

Fried chicken salad with ranch.

For Mom:

Hawaiian chicken salad with fries.

I got to the skilled nursing facility and found Mom asleep.

Instead of waking her up, I left her food on the rolling tray next to her bed.

By then, lunch had apparently become dinner.

I sat in the lobby, ate my salad, and checked movie times.

Why?

Because apparently there is a new Tom Cruise movie called Digger.

Review coming.

Yes, I am aware that my life has somehow become a combination of dialysis, medical appointments, recovery, assisted living research, dating, and Tom Cruise movie reviews.

I'm leaning into it.

And Then My Phone Buzzed

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, I heard from Airica.

And one of her first messages was:

"Please do not touch those eyebrows."

Ladies and gentlemen...

We have confirmation.

For those of you wondering whether Airica actually likes the Ming the Merciless look...

She does.

I have proof.

Apparently, these eyebrows aren't a problem.

They're a feature.

The threading appointment is canceled.

My eyebrows live to fight another day.

The Conversation Continues

Airica and I had another awesome conversation.

We talked about having a wish.

Then somehow that conversation turned into Amazon Prime Day.

Then Christmas lists.

Then Sono Bello.

Apparently, I need to lose about 20 pounds.

This is becoming an aggressive dating strategy.

First:

"Don't touch your eyebrows."

At least she's keeping me on my toes.

Then We Went Everywhere

We talked about the songs I listened to while driving around Mount Pleasant.

We talked about me going to a recovery meeting.

She knows I'm in recovery, so there isn't any reason for me to pretend otherwise.

We talked about my salad.

I even sent her a completely respectable picture of it.

Not a nasty selfie.

A salad selfie.

Apparently, there are levels to dating after 50.

I'm choosing to believe this is one of them.

Then somehow the conversation moved to pizza.

And tiramisu.

Apparently there's some saying involving "Not the tiramisu?"

My 54-year-old brain did not comprehend the reference.

It went straight over my head.

Apparently there are cultural references I missed while I was busy doing whatever the hell I was doing for the last 30 years.

I'll have to investigate.

The Important Part

For those keeping score at home:

The conversation is still awesome.

And we're making plans to hang out this weekend.

Together.

Not hanging out with each other, which would be a fairly ridiculous definition of a date.

That's another thing I like about this.

We're not spending all day trying to figure out whether the other person is interested.

We're actually talking.

We're making plans.

We're learning things about each other.

And I'm not sitting around staring at Hinge wondering why my match disappeared into the digital abyss.

This is different.

Tuesday and Friday Have One Problem

I did let Airica know that Tuesday and Friday nights are already spoken for.

Those nights belong to my fraternity brothers and our Zoom hangout.

And without fail, I get grilled about the date.

How did it go?

What did you talk about?

Are you going to see her again?

What happened?

Basically, it's like having a Greek chorus of nosy brothers who have collectively decided that my dating life is their new favorite television show.

Now they have even more material.

Because there was a first date.

There was a mug.

There's a second-date possibility.

There are weekend plans.

And apparently, the eyebrows have received official approval.

I'm sure Tuesday's Zoom will be completely normal.

Absolutely no one will ask me about Airica.

Sure.

And I'm the guy who almost fell into a booth on his first date.

The Hinge Experiment Update

A few weeks ago, I was wondering if it was time to delete Hinge.

I had no matches.

No conversations.

No dates.

Steve the Iguana was practically packing my bags.

Now?

I've had an actual first date.

It went well.

I'm still talking to her.

We're making plans for the weekend.

She sends me good morning texts.

She likes my eyebrows.

And somehow, I'm okay with all of this.

For once, The Hinge Experiment doesn't feel like an experiment.

It feels like I'm just getting to know someone.

And that's probably the best part.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a retina to keep attached, a fistula graft to maintain, a movie to review, a mother to visit, fraternity brothers to answer to...

And 54-year-old dating decisions to make.

Oh, and apparently I'm keeping the eyebrows.

Airica has spoken.

The Hinge Experiment: My Eyebrows Are Now Part of the Story

I'm older than most people wandering around the dating-app wilderness, and saying I don't have much recent dating experience would be an understatement.

Actually, forget recent.

I don't have much dating experience, period.

My last first date was about five months ago.

For anyone new to the blog, that one didn't exactly end with a mug and talk of a Boo Basket.

She tried to shake me down.

First, it was rent money.

Then came the phone bill.

Luckily, I escaped after paying for a meal, a few hurricanes, and maybe $60 cash that I had on me.

Considering how that evening was headed, I consider myself lucky.

So now that I've had an actual enjoyable first date with Airica, I've encountered an entirely new problem:

What the hell am I supposed to do next?

Is There Still a Three-Day Rule?

Do I wait three days?

Four days?

Do I call?

Text?

Send a carrier pigeon?

Do I conjure up a magical genie and ask it to grant me three wishes, with one of them being:

"Please don't let me screw this up."

I don't know the rules.

The last time I had a first date, I was apparently supposed to bring enough cash to cover someone's monthly expenses.

This feels different.

Thankfully, Airica may have answered the question for me.

Good Morning

Today is a dialysis day.

That means my alarm goes off around 4:15 in the morning so I can start getting myself together and make my 5:50 dialysis start.

Once I'm hooked up, I usually try to sleep.

It makes the time go faster.

But this morning, I got a more-than-pleasant surprise.

A "Good morning" text from Airica.

WAIT.

WHAT?

I don't have to wait three days?

I don't need the genie?

I don't need to analyze the date like the Zapruder film?

Apparently, people who enjoy talking to each other can just…

continue talking to each other.

What a concept.

I was so pleasantly surprised that my dialysis needles almost came shooting out.

For the record, that would have significantly changed the tone of this blog post.

But I Had a Question

On my drive to dialysis this morning, I started thinking about something Airica said during our date.

I had asked her why she swiped on me.

Her answer?

Apparently, I had an "interesting look."

Interesting.

I've been thinking about that one.

Is "interesting look" another way of saying:

"You're not ugly, but I'm also not prepared to call you conventionally handsome"?

At this stage of my life, interesting works.

I've got one leg, no hair, questionable eyesight, kidneys that have outsourced their responsibilities to a machine three days a week, and now apparently an interesting face.

Put that on Hinge.

Then She Mentioned the Eyebrows

Airica also pointed out my eyebrows yesterday.

Specifically…

how bushy they are.

Excuse me?

My eyebrows?

Bushy?

No way.

All right.

Maybe a little.

Actually, this isn't the first time I've heard this.

It's becoming something of a recurring theme.

Most Tuesdays and Fridays during the fraternity Zoom hangout, I can count on someone to remind me that my eyebrows have apparently declared independence from the rest of my face.

Then there's a guy at one of my recovery meetings who calls me:

Ming the Merciless.

If you're not familiar with Ming, look him up.

Look at the eyebrows.

Apparently, you'll understand.

And now Airica has joined the Eyebrow Oversight Committee.

At some point, when multiple independent organizations reach the same conclusion, I suppose I have to consider the possibility that there might actually be a problem.

They're Large and in Charge

I told Airica this isn't the first time I've heard about them.

These eyebrows are large and in charge.

It's actually a little unfair.

My head decided years ago that growing hair was no longer part of the strategic plan.

Meanwhile, my eyebrows apparently looked at the newly available resources and said:

"We'll take it from here."

All the hair production has been consolidated into two small strips directly above my eyes.

Efficiency.

Maybe this is why Airica thought I had an "interesting look."

She didn't swipe on me.

The eyebrows matched hers.

I'm just their transportation.

Do I Need Threading?

Now I'm starting to wonder whether I need to try one of those eyebrow-threading places.

I've seen them.

Someone takes a piece of thread and somehow uses it to rip hair out of your face.

This sounds exactly like the type of activity a man with my medical history should voluntarily add to his schedule.

Dialysis Monday.

Eyebrow torture Tuesday.

Dialysis Wednesday.

Recover from eyebrows Thursday.

Dialysis Friday.

Dating Saturday.

Seems reasonable.

The problem is that I know myself.

I'll walk in and say:

"Just clean them up a little."

Then I'll open my eyes and discover that I've gone from Ming the Merciless to Whoopi Goldberg.

No eyebrows.

Nothing.

Just forehead transitioning directly into eyeballs.

So, About That Follow-Up...

I guess I don't have to figure out whether I should wait three days.

Airica texted me.

She said good morning.

We survived the first date.

She survived my driving.

She survived my near fall at The Grand.

She survived four hours with me.

She made it home with all of her organs.

And the next morning, she still wanted to say hello.

I'll take that as a positive sign.

Does that mean there's going to be a second date?

I still don't know.

I'm new at this.

Maybe I still have to audition.

Maybe I'm waiting for the callback.

But compared with where The Hinge Experiment was a few weeks ago—zero matches, zero conversations, and Steve the Iguana preparing to become my permanent companion—I'd say we're making progress.

And if there is a second date, I may arrive with slightly more aerodynamic eyebrows.

Or I may leave them exactly as they are.

After all…

She swiped right on the eyebrows she saw.

No sense engaging in false advertising now.

But if the next picture you see of me has absolutely no eyebrows whatsoever, you'll know what happened.

Airica started it.

Six Months Abroad, Six Months Stateside—and Mom’s In

With all the personal adversity lately, spending six months in Southeast Asia and six months back in the States looks more appealing every day. A change of scenery won’t solve everything, but an ocean view certainly wouldn’t hurt.

A big thank you to David Foreman for sharing information about a friend who already lives this way. He’s spent time in various parts of Southeast Asia and enjoys his life there. David is also arranging an introduction to an expat with a business that helps people navigate the entire process. The idea is starting to feel a little more real.

Then I told my mother what I was thinking—and casually added, “Let’s move you there, too. We’ll survive the 30-hour flight, get a condo overlooking the ocean, and arrange a 24-hour caretaker.”

She’s for it.

Apparently, Mom didn’t need a PowerPoint presentation. Just an ocean view and a plan.

There’s still plenty to work out, especially healthcare and dialysis, but now I have another reason to keep exploring—and possibly a travel partner.

Keep it moving forward! 🌴

The Algorithm Thinks I Need a Beach. I Agree.

The algorithm must know what I need: a beach, a little luxury, and a dollar that stretches farther than I do.

Lately, I’ve been looking into leaving the United States and living abroad. The Philippines, which I already love, keeps popping up alongside Vietnam and Thailand—two places I haven’t visited yet.

Now, I’m not looking to become a beach survivalist. I want the nice things: reliable internet, modern conveniences, and, most importantly, good healthcare. Dialysis has to fit into this dream. It’s nonnegotiable, even with an ocean view.

According to my very enthusiastic travel adviser, The Google, Thailand deserves a closer look. Hua Hin has caught my attention with listings for luxury one-bedroom condos around $1,000 a month, complete with security and amenities. My searches also suggest potentially manageable residency options and out-of-pocket dialysis costs. All things I’ll need to verify before packing my flip-flops.

And can ride-share apps handle my transportation? Goodbye car payment, insurance, maintenance, and whatever that noise under the hood is.

I want to spend however much time I have left enjoying my life. Preferably somewhere the ocean is close and my money lasts longer.

To my Vietnamese readers: reach out! Where should I look, and what should I know? The algorithm has opinions. I’d love yours.

Recovery Update: THE DOT IS GONE! 👁️🎉

Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this update when I woke up this morning.

I got up to head to dialysis, did my usual check of the left eye, and went looking for my little unwanted passenger — the mysterious “air bubble” that has been hanging around in my vision.

And it was SUPER, SUPER SMALL.

We’ve gone from something noticeable at the bottom of my vision, to roughly the size of a 1-cent euro coin yesterday, to something this morning that looked almost like a pinhole.

It was so tiny that it looked different, too.

Before, the dot had been translucent. I could sort of see through it. This morning, it was so small that it just looked dark.

And it was moving around a little.

There were also a few other floaters joining the party, because apparently my left eye needed one final going-away celebration.

Then I got to dialysis.

I looked for the dot again.

Nothing.

Looked around.

Nothing.

Moved my eye.

NOTHING.

THE DOT IS GONE!

GONE! 👁️🎉

After days of calling it a horizon indicator, vinaigrette, an eclipse, a euro coin, and whatever else I could come up with, the mysterious dot that my doctor thought might be an air bubble appears to have finally disappeared from my vision.

I am certainly not declaring the entire eye adventure finished. I still have healing to do, and after everything this eye has put me through, I'm not tempting fate by announcing that Left Eye Airlines has permanently landed.

But today?

I'll take the win.

Now, about that arm...

Yeah.

While the eye seems to have decided it wanted some positive attention today, my arm apparently looked at the assignment and said:

“Don't worry. I'll keep things disgusting.”

It is crusty.

It is dark.

It looks nasty.

And judging by the picture, it may actually be getting more impressive in the grossness department while it heals.

So today's scoreboard:

👁️ Eye: DOT GONE!
🫧 Bubble: Apparently departed.
👀 Floaters: Still making occasional appearances.
💪 Arm: Crusty as hell.
🩹 Recovery: Still moving forward.

There have been a lot of strange developments during this recovery, but watching that dot get smaller day after day and then finally disappear is one update I've been waiting to write.

Sometimes progress happens slowly.

And sometimes I get to dialysis and realize...

THE DOT IS GONE!