Eye See You

It just wouldn’t be unSCruz or a Burning Man regional event if there wasn’t some form of body modification available.

Body modification with includes tattoos and sensitive bits.

The king of body modification, on account of the fact he goes to all the events and always brings his “kit” with him is the Hiney Hygiene guy.

He will pamper your posterior as well as give you a temporary tattoo.

So I dropped trou.

And this is what happened:

 

FYI, posting that last photo got me banned on Facebook, so enjoy it here, where the only censor is me and I fully approve this post.

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Creep

I’m at unSCruz, dressed in a purple ballgown quinceañera dress with silver wings.

The bride is wearing white with gilded golden horns.

We’re processing to the wedding site – all the women surrounding the bride-to-be.

This guy comes up to me.

“Hi, remember me?” he asks.

I recognize him as a man I went on a date with a few months ago.

Greg.

“Yes, hi Greg,” I say.

He starts talking and it’s very clear that he is on something – alcohol, drugs, whatever.

He’s altered.

And he’s making me uncomfortable, talking about how upsetting it was that I never agreed to go on a second date with him.

I can barely get a word in edgewise, he’s talking a mile a minute.  I’m starting to feel really uncomfortable.

He points out his tent.

“That’s where I’m staying,” he tells me.

“Do you mind if I walk with you?” he asks.

Suit yourself.

Then he asks if I’d like to hang out some more after the wedding procession.

I think of The Swede and Tejas.

No.

NO.

NO!

“I’m here with someone else. . .” I allude to The Swede’s presence.

I know that if I can just make it to The Swede, he can get this guy to leave me alone.

“Ok,” says Greg and scampers off.

So let it be knows, if you mention to a date that you are attending unSCruz, he just might buy his own ticket and show up and stalk you.

Long Distance Lust

“I want to pack you in my suitcase and take you home to Sweden,” The Swede told me.

We were walking to the bathroom at unSCruz.

He’d had some whiskey and his lips were loose.

It was utterly charming.

“I can’t ask you to wait, can I?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

My heart lurched a little bit.

This big, cuddly, soft-spoken, shy man has cleverly wormed his way into my heart.

“It’s been such a fun weekend,” I told him.

Part of me really wanted to say, “Let’s do this!”

But I know I’m no good at long distance relationships.

Not at all.

I’m not really good at relationships, fullstop.

At least not in recent times, at least.

What makes me think that I could make it work when we live 8,600+ miles apart (as the crow flies)?

Stupidity?

Romanticism?

Affection?

Full blown LUST?

Whatever the cause – stupidity or lust, the end result is the same.

Me, single.

What else could I be?

Smooth

I watched a video recently where 5 women took a challenge to stop waxing and plucking their facial hair for a month.

These women bitched and complained about their hairy faces but I couldn’t see anything on the video. They looked just as beautiful as they had in the beginning.

It was then that I realized that many women are COMPULSIVE about facial hair.

For someone who lets her eyebrows go LONG PAST THE PLUCKING POINT, I can say with true abandon that I am not one of these compulsive women.

I also forget to shave my legs but that’s beside the point.

The truth is, I don’t remember being obsessed with facial hair as a teenager.

I don’t even remember HAVING facial hair.

But somewhere between 15 and 43, I managed to grow a beardlette.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a “beard beard.”

My face just gets blond fuzz on it.

It’s genetic, I think.

There’s some Portuguese in me and I attribute all my peach fuzz to my Portuguese heritage.

On account of I’m pretty sure it’s not from the Nordic side of things.

In addition to having a fuzzy face, I also have one long wiry stray hair that grows out of the right corner of my chin.

Definitely NOT SEXY.

I pluck that motherfucker like nobody’s business!

It’s the most satisfying pluck on my whole body.

I play with it for a while after I pluck it – poking it with my finger, feeling how stiff and rigid it feels.

Getting old sucks.

However, it’s better than the alternative, no?

So I’ll just shut up about the whole thing and admit that I have an ace up my sleeve.

I may be hairy but there’s always wax!

The Backdoor

I’m sexting with this guy a few weeks ago.

We’ve been going at it a little while and are getting ready to wrap things up when he says, “And then I cum in your ass.”

Wha?!

I rolled my eyes all the way from here to fucking Istanbul.

Really?

Cuz that does nothing for me.

I’m not knocking it.

I know there are people who absolutely LOVE it.

But I’m not one of those people.

And I can say that with the confidence of a person who has tried it enough times to know that it’s NOT FOR ME.

I have all the tools: the lube shooter, the anal plug, the inflatable anal plug, the enema bulb. . .

It’s not like I haven’t TRIED.

It’s taken me 43 years of life to come to this conclusion but I feel justified in stating right now, FOR THE RECORD, that I will never have anal sex again.

I’m sorry if that disappoints some of you.

But there are so many other delightful parts to me that a lover can occupy himself with I think I’m giving some truly stellar alternatives to The Backdoor.

Why anyone would choose to give me the sensation of having to take an enormous shit is BEYOND me.

That is all.

When you drink with your sister

Start with a mini bottle of Champagne Pink Pop. Pick it out in a pink bottle thinking it’s pink. Discover it’s not pink and be disappointed. Try champagne and be even more disappointed. Add orange juice to make it drinkable.

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Try OREgasmic Ale by Rogue Farms, because it’s supposed to be OREgasmic. Discover OREgasmic beer tastes like dirty feet and pot ash. Definitely not orgasmic. Be disappointed.

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Try cheap stacked wine which comes in its own glass. Have low expectations. Have low expectations met. Feel foolish for trying wine which comes with a pull off lid.

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Try Blood Orange Mimosa. Suspect it’s a headache in a bottle with a screw top lid, but love it anyway.  Make your sister drink most of it after dosing it with vodka.

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 Graduate to bonafide liquor – making really strong mai tai and screwdriver. Decide to hop in the hot tub naked. Have to hang foot out of hot tub because of new foot tattoo (which effing HURTS). Have sister yell at you when you accidentally dip it in the water. Feel sheepish. Snap selfie anyway.

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UPDATE:  Get RAGING cellulitis (skin infection) from dipping foot in hot tub.  Deal with your sister’s “I-told-you-so’s.”  On antibiotics.  Feel even more sheepish.

Big Jugs

Every since my bra fitting where I got diagnosed as stuffing 38G jugs into 38DD bras, I’ve been thinking about boobs.

I had a friend who wore a 36M bra.

The thing about it was that since she always wore loose fitting tops, it wasn’t that easy to figure out that she was massive in the mammary department.

I remember the first time I saw them.

She was at a friend’s house and needed to borrow a bathing suit to go in the hot tub with the rest of us.

While wearing the ill-fitting borrowed suit, she turned sideways and I got a whole eyeful of side boob.

And BOY WAS THERE SOME SIDEBOOB!

Sideboob for miles and miles.

36Ms really are something to behold.

The thing is, she wound up having reduction surgery.

And in order for your insurance to pay for it, you need to have a certain amount removed from each breast.

Something like 400g or so.

I can recall the first time I saw her with her 36B boobs.

It was the first time I’d ever seen her in a tank top.

She was happy, but I was a little forlorn.

I missed her Ms.

There is a happy ending to this story though. . .

Fast forward a few years and we run into each other accidentally in a winery.

And lo and behold, THEY GREW BACK!

Yes indeed.

I think this happens quite frequently with breast reduction surgery because I have a couple of friends who have had the procedure done and they all seem to still have VERY LARGE BREASTS.

Which makes me very skeptical of the efficacy of the surgery.

It just goes to show, you can try to reign them in, but in the end, boobs have a mind of their own.

Celebrities who should fall in love with me

My cousin, aunt, and niece went to Walker Stalker and got to meet several of the characters from The Walking Dead.

Now, the first thing you need to know is that I stopped watching The Walking Dead after the second season so I HAVE NO IDEA WHO ANY OF THE MAIN CHARACTERS ARE.

But I know that there’s one character I love – Negan, played by Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

I LOVE Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

He’s right up there on my list of celebrities who should fall in love with me.

Right after Mike Rowe.

And right before Charlie Hunnam and Travis Flimmel, who I incidentally think are twins separated at birth, they look so much alike.

I know JDM from his role in P.S. I Love You, where he played Irish musician and rescuer William. I also know him as John Winchester in Supernatural.

I recommend seeing him in P.S. I Love You because he shows off his naked rear end in it and OH MY! Is it a sight to see – all long legs and slender ass!

He can wander my halls in nothing but a towel ANYTIME.

So back to my cousin, aunt and niece.

I’m INSANELY happy that they got to meet JDM and hope they managed to give him a kiss from me.

They did snap this photo which, I must tell you, made me grin from ear to ear the moment I saw it.

It just makes me insanely happy!

It’s hard to date a blogger

It’s hard to date a blogger.

ESPECIALLY one as transparent as I am.

EVERYTHING goes on the internet:

You will usually find me blogging about whatever is on my mind from the men who capture my fancy, like The Swede; to past lovers who I remember fondly, like Jay and Charlie The Aussie; to men I fantasize about but can never have, like Alexander Skarsgård and Joe Manganiello.

IMG_9379I’d like to think I’m more of a lover than a hater. Unfortunately, the hate tends to be funnier than the love, like when The Hunk had an epic skill/equipment failure in bed with me.

IMG_9378I’ve been advised that the reason I’m single is because of this blog.

That might be true but I can’t help but feel like deep down, my blog will actually draw in the right man for me.

Imagine how nice it’d be to have all your experiences and secrets in one place where a person can read about them.

My thoughts. My hopes. My frustrations.

If a man can get through my blog posts AND STILL be interested in me, then he passed the test.

And the thing is, PLENTY of men like this blog and read it.

So there’s hope.

There’s a reason this blog is called unblunder…

Because everything seems wrong at first until it suddenly turns beautifully, epically RIGHT!

Creep

creepOkay, the first thing I’m going to admit is that I can’t hear the word ‘creep’ without having Radiohead’s lyrics to “Creep” ring through my head:

“But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.

What the hell am I doing here?

I don’t belong here.”

The truth is I know a lot of creeps.

And I’m okay with that.

I used to get the willies from creeps but that was only until I met creepier creeps.

SUCH AS:

A 50+ year old man who admitted to me that he finds teen girls sexy.

Super creepy!

I can’t even LOOK at 20 something year old young men without thinking about my own sons. So. Not. Sexy.

OR:

Another man who told me he steals ladies panties from the laundromat.

Uber creepy!

So I’m not talking about super creeps and uber creeps – the ones you want to take out restraining orders against.

I’m talking about your garden variety, run-of-the-mill creep.

  • The guy who gives off that funny vibe that makes you feel like you’re standing naked in front of him.
  • The guy who has “horny” written all over his face and you can just tell he’s imagining doing naughty things with you.
  • The guy who you know would get down with you in a millisecond, regardless of where you are and who you are with.

Dare I say it?

I find those guys kinda charming.

Some of my closest friends would probably classify themselves as creeps, in one way or another.

I find something transparent in creeps – as if their deepest desires are barely veiled from the world, ready to be let loose at a moment’s notice.

And it occurs to me that perhaps my fondness for creeps is because I TOO AM A CREEP.

  • Awkward.
  • Giving off a weird vibe.
  • Sexual frustration just brewing beneath the surface.

Yes friends, I’m a creep.

I’m a weirdo.

But don’t you find me the teensiest tiniest bit charming?

You do now, don’t you?