Stinky Man and Campfire

michelleNow.

I think that the sexiest scent out there is dirty man.

You know what I’m talking about ladies. . .

. . . that smell a man gets when he’s been working and his deodorant has been stretched to it’s limit?

Yeah, that’s the smell I’m talking about.

Man, pure and simple.

Well, I’ve discovered another scent which I find ALMOST as attractive.

Bonfire.

Yes, that smell your clothes get when you’ve been sitting around the campfire chatting with your family and friends.

You don’t really smell it at the time but when you go to wash your clothes later and you catch a whiff of that burned wood and smoke scent, you have to bury your face in your dirty sweatshirt and BREATHE DEEPLY.

That’s what I’m talking about.

CAMPFIRE!

And now, according to Etsy, I can buy campfire scented candles and wax tarts to scent my bedroom JUST LIKE A CAMPFIRE.

Now all I need is the borderline stinky man to enjoy the campfire with, eh?

Full Monty = Fair Play

I’m a big fan of Games of Thrones. And True Blood. And Vikings.

And I have to admit that one of the reasons why I like these shows is because I like the nudity.

But I’ve noticed that there’s a tendency to show female nudity and exclude male nudity.  What’s up with that?!

I think that directors and producers should cater to men and to women and show a little of both.  Turnabout is fair play, no?

So you can imagine my delight in watching the TV show “Da Vinci’s Demons” and discovering that they somehow adhere to my desires to see more naked men on TV.

And imagine my delight when in episode 6 of season 1 (at the 12:30 mark, if you’re curious) there is a nice little scene with men in a sauna and one of them is VERY WELL ENDOWED. Like “check out that snake” endowed.

It’s always the ones you don’t suspect.

So here I am hooked on a new show. Not just because of the nudity, but definitely impressed by the equality of it.

Perhaps it makes me a bit of a perv to admit I like nudity, but the full Monty gets one big fat thumbs up from me.

Revelation

My marriage started in February of 1996 and ended in September of 2004.

At the time, I remember my ex-husband trying to coerce me into staying together by telling me that no one would want me since I had kids.

I thought he was ludicrous.

But here I am 14 years later and I’m still single and HONESTLY, I really need to examine the reasons why.

Because I’ve had several boyfriends but nothing long term.

And the only similar factor in all those relationships is ME.

The other day, I took a good long look at all my failed relationships and asked myself, “WHAT HAPPENED?”

And as TEMPTED as I might be to say, “Something is obviously wrong with me” or “Something is obviously wrong with them,” the reality is NOBODY IS WRONG.

When I got married the first time, I was looking for someone with a nice ass, great cheekbones, and a decent personality.

And that’s exactly what I got.

Plus two INCREDIBLY handsome and extraordinary boys!

But I missed out on intellectual stimulation, emotional connection, and similar values.

And I’ve been looking for those things ever since.

Boyfriends #1, #2, and #3 may have come closer to what I’m looking for but in the end I can draw only one conclusion:

I am single because I’m smart enough to know that I haven’t met anyone yet with whom I could have a successful marriage with.

Ta da!

Nothing wrong with me.

Nothing wrong with them, although I still take offense at the one who left me during a miscarriage.

I see people ALL THE TIME who are in sucky relationships.

I occasionally wonder, “What the HELL is wrong with ME?  If SHE/HE can find a partner, why can’t I?”

And then it hits me.

I’m single because I’m BETTER AT RELATIONSHIPS, not because I suck.

And that, dear readers is a revelation.

Love is in the air

Love is in the air.

That’s right.

I’m just gonna go ahead and say it.

Everyone is coupling up.

First my cousin entered into wedded bliss.

And now, little Nick Jonas is MARRIED.

I don’t know why, but lately my Instagram stream and Facebook posts have been FILLED with love.

‘Tis the season?

Why not.

It’s sweet, really.

Everyone declaring their love for their partner.

I too am going to declare my love.

For The Swede?

Maybe.

For gin?

Definitely!

Yes, my love of gin stretches way back to the night I was with my college roommate and she drank tequila while I drank gin and tonics.

Fast forward to the end of the night and I’m holding Holly’s hair while she pukes into the toilet.

Me, I held my liquor.

Thank you GNTs.

I love you BUCKETS!

Tequila?

Not so much.

But really, I don’t have anyone to love besides my wonderful friends and family.

And that’s a rather LARGE group of people I’ll have you know.

But that’s the nice thing about love. . . the more you give it away, the more you have of it.

I do of course, have a sort of “misplaced” sense of affection.

I’m not in a relationship so I can hardly exercise my urge to rain down love and affection and (dare I say) sexy time, with another human being.

But I can certainly share the love I’ve got with all of you.

So consider this a big virtual hug from me to all my readers.

‘Tis the season to show your loved ones how much you care.

Don’t forget!

Heroes and heroines

I was having a particularly troublesome day not long ago and I criticized myself.

“You are not even the heroine of your own story.”

Who isn’t the hero/heroine of their own story, I ask you?

Yes, this was unnecessarily harsh and I’ve forgiven myself for saying it, but it does make me think of something else.

If I was going to be played by someone in a movie, who would it be and why?

What Hollywood actress would play me?

Oh, I’d like to say Angelina Jolie or Amal Clooney, but the reality is I’m not that classy and stylish.

I’m earthy.

And funny.

Which is why despite considering Amy Schumer and Rebel Wilson I’ve decided upon Renee Zellweger.

I decided on the beautiful Ms. Zellweger specifically because she played Bridget Jones and I totally relate to that character.

More so than any other character I’ve seen on the big screen, Bridget Jones really comes close to who I am as a person.

Funny, but many times unintentionally so.

On the cusp of happiness, but just can’t seem to close the deal.

Always finding herself in situations where she has to act poised while having a meltdown internally.

Yup, that’s me.

The good news is that according to Helen Fielding, the author of Bridget Jones’ Diary, Bridget Jones does find happiness.

So I’m ever so optimistic about my future.

You should be too.

Who would play you in a movie version of your life?

Stubborn or cheap?

I bought a metric SHIT TON of booze for Burning Man this past year.

Handles upon handles of gin, vodka, rum, and tequila.

I also bought THE CHEAPEST booze you could buy.

Nothing over $10 per 1.75 liter bottle.

And plastic bottles, please.

None of this fancy, schmancy pudding pants glass stuff.

[Actually, this is perfect on playa because plastic = no broken bottle]

The thing is, Tejas and I BARELY made a dent in our booze supply.

Oh, we (and when I say we, what I really mean is he) certainly drank more than our fair share of mead, I mean booze.

But we just didn’t drink OUR SUPPLY of booze.

Truthfully, what we really should have done is started giving it out to participants AS SOON AS WE ARRIVED ON PLAYA.

I would need 20 livers to process that much booze!

All this is to say that I am now paying the price.

I REFUSE to buy more booze while I still have the cheap stuff taking up space in my wet bar.

So I’m forcing myself to drink it.

And honestly?

It’s not that good.

Definitely for MIXED drinks, not martinis.

So my question is, am I just too stubborn or am I just cheap?

Me and Victoria’s Secret

Victoria’s Secret is waging a war to get me to spend my hard earned dollar bills on their crappy Chinese clothing.

They keep dangling a “Free $10 when you purchase $50” discount in my face everywhere. . .

. . .in my inbox, on Facebook – why they’re even tracking me in AdChoice.

Truthfully, I do look at Victoria’s Secret, despite the fact that I think they’re lingerie is shit and their clothing is cheaply made.

Also, nothing they make is in a size that will fit me.

Truth.

I look at Victoria’s Secret because I was once young too, and I still remember what it was like to have a young, nubile body that didn’t creak every time I blinked.

The Victoria’s Secret models are so beautiful.

It’s like looking at a shiny thing that with time, will dim and tarnish but still retains a little of that awe from when you first saw it.

Picture this:

It’s GORGEOUS strappy black lingerie, sold by Victoria’s Secret.

Something that you’ll slip into which will convey just that right amount of “I’m-a-dirty-girl-but-not-so-dirty-you-still-can’t-slip-a-ring-on-my-finger” attitude that you’ve been sporting lately.

But slipping into your lingerie feels more like trying to put on rubber panties and when you look in the mirror. . .

. . . you look like someone’s taken a hammer to a can of biscuits.

And it’s not looking so good for you.

Well. . . that’s me and Victoria’s Secret.

 

Scandinavian roots

Okay.

I went a little Swedish crazy.

Yes, I did.

While browsing the internet for Swedish activities – like a trip by the Swedish Society to the Shark Tank to watch a hockey game, I came across ALL SORTS OF GOODIES.

Like Beginning Swedish language classes through the Scandinavian School.

Woot!

I’ve been trying to learn Swedish but it’s hard since I don’t practice speaking the language.

What I really need is people to practice my Swedish with.

I know there’s always The Swede.

But we mostly text and my ability to spell Swedish words is ATROCIOUS.

There are extra vowels in the Swedish language – å, ä, and ö.

They throw me for a loop.

Then, of course I found a link to a Danish Rye Bread Making class and I GOT ALL EXCITED.

Things to do that involve learning Scandinavian arts?

Sign me up!

There’s a MeetUp for Scandinavian crafts, food, and art coming up this weekend that I really want to go to and I got a personal invitation from the organizer.

The downside to all this is that although my DNA says I’m Scandinavian, my ancestry points definitively at Norway.

In the past 200 years I had relatives living in Norway.

So although I might have some Swedish in me (no jokes, folks), we’re now certain there’s a little Norwegian in me.

Nevertheless, I will pursue my interest in all things Swedish.

Especially The Swede.

And just for shits and giggles, I’m posting a picture of Norwegian women here.

Looks like I’m in good company!

Sexy scars

About 5 years ago, I had surgery to fix an epigastric hernia, or as I like to call it, my alien.

Yes indeed, my guts were nearly popping out of my chest.

The doctor who fixed me was skilled at repairing hernias, but not so skilled at stitching up a woman who wants to be able to be seen naked without an angry, jagged, red scar.

Well, the redness has faded. But I still have a large, crooked scar across my abdomen.

Every time someone new sees me naked, his eyes are drawn to the scar and I find myself explaining how I gave birth to an alien (aka a hernia).

I’m a little sensitive about it, to say the least.

But the other day, I noticed a scar on my friend Rick’s chin. He walked through a glass door as a child.

And my sister has a scar on her forehead from when she went into a windshield on Thanksgiving Day during a car accident which thankfully wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

I have several other friends and relatives with c-section scars – a noble way to obtain a scar, in my opinion.

My mom has a large scar from where she had open heart surgery.

I have countless other tiny scars all over my body and each tells a story.

  • The time I stepped on a glass on the floor and nearly passed out.
  • The tiny mole I had removed from under my left eye.
  • The scar on my left palm that I got while trying to bake a homemade apple pie for my neighbor from scratch.

Each scar has a story. Each scar, when noticed, brings up memories of a past time.

I got to thinking that maybe scars aren’t as ugly as I once thought. Maybe they’re beautiful. Sexy, even. Lord knows I’ve enjoyed kissing all the scars on my ex-boyfriends. Scars hold part of our history. Our past. If our bodies are the rulers by which we measure our lives, the surely the scars are the units that we use as a guide.

So last week, when I was relaxing at home, instead of covering my scar, I grabbed a red pen and. . .

This is how I started to love my scar.

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Outrageous

I voted.

I can’t remember the last time I skipped voting.

I think it’s important to make my voice and opinions heard, regardless of whether or not I’m a huge fan of the candidates, measures, or propositions.

This is not a political blog.

I don’t write about my political beliefs, although I do occasionally let my distaste for certain politicians be known.

I have a few friends who have a different political persuasion than me.

And honestly, I have found that NOT DISCUSSING POLITICS is the best way to stay friends.

But sometimes I JUST HAVE TO SAY SOMETHING.

And for that, I don’t apologize.

I have at least one friend who is to some degree a Trump supporter.

The other day he posted on his Facebook page that he was never going to watch Saturday Night Live again because a cast member made a joke about veterans.

I think the joke was in poor taste and missed its mark.

I don’t watch SNL nor do I plan to.

However, I found it HUGELY ironic that my friend felt this was worthy of a boycott while still supporting a man who joked about sexually assaulting women.

Grab them by the pussy.

It’s just locker room talk.

Totally excusable.

But heaven forbid someone make a bad joke about veterans.

I’m not excusing the veteran joke.

It was a bad joke and other castmates have spoken out against it.

However, if you’re going to get outraged about things people say, then I think that outrage over someone bragging about sexually assaulting women is not misplaced.

If we generously ASSUME Trump was making a joke, I personally think both “jokes “are distasteful and worthy of my spite.

Just saying.