Once upon a time I was a young(ish) woman working at a local university in a little part time administrative position.
The man I worked for was one of the top 10 social psychologists of the 20th century.
One day, I came in to work and told my boss that I needed to get a full time job because I was getting divorced.
And it was then that I got the best advice I’ve ever received in my life.
The professor looked at me for a moment then said, “You need some hobbies. Get out in nature. Find adventures. Volunteer for those less fortunate. Take the focus off yourself and put it where it needs to be – on your family and on other people who need your help.”
I took those words to heart.
After all, if the NFL hires this professor to give a $15,000 keynote address, who am I to scoff in the face of his advice.
I joined several non-profits.
And I started adventuring out.
I stopped focusing on the shit-show that was my divorce (don’t worry, we’re fine now) and I paid attention to all the beautiful and wonderful activities that the Bay Area provides.
In the 15 years since my divorce, I’ve only dated three men which means I’ve spent a lot of time single.
Instead of waiting for some man to show up to start living my life, I opted to start dating myself.
I took myself out with friends to all the restaurants I wanted to go to.
I brought my boys with me to movies.
I convinced family and friends to go on adventures with me.
I have not suffered for lack of a steady man in my life.
Dating yourself has its perks:
- You can do whatever you want, whenever you want.
- No one complains that it’s taking too long to get to your destination.
- No need to share the bed, you can roll for miles.
- No competitive facebooking your adventures with someone else.
In the end, I feel awfully proud of myself for living my life thoroughly without a man there to support me.
I even went to one of the most inhospitable environments known to man – the Black Rock Desert – and I lived my life there for a week.
Everyone should date themselves.
It’s a blast!
Once upon a time I was very much in love with a man.
For nearly two years, we enjoyed each other’s company until one sad day when we parted ways.
At first it wasn’t amiable.
I was pissed that he brought a date to our mutual friend’s pirate-themed party a mere week and a half after our split.
But eventually we made peace and it’s a good thing too because I can now remember him fondly, without a trace of anger.
But the sadness?
Oh, there’s sadness.
The other day I was texting a friend who mentioned he saw Mother’s Day pics of his ex-girlfriend posted to a mutual friend’s Facebook page.
And he was pleased to see her looking happy and well.
I finished our conversation then got online and looked up my ex.
Still the same lovely man, of course.
But there was ONE PHOTO.
Just a photo of him, nothing special.
And oh, how my eyes DRANK UP THE SIGHT OF HIM.
And then I got a funny feeling in my chest.
I’m not even sure what it was.
Maybe even a little wistfulness?
In any case, I immediately closed my app and swore up and down that I would never do that again.
And I won’t.
Until the next time.
I’ve been blogging on unblunder for about 15 years.
First on my own without a platform, then on this WordPress site.
When the blog began, I was in Law School and the blog existed to write about all the things I was going to do to walk the straight and narrow.
Then I dropped out of Law School.
And instead of recording all the PERFECT things I was doing to turn my life into EXACTLY what was expected of me, I started to record all the crazy, fun, and imperfect moments of my life.
The adventures – like racing stock cars, running with the bulls, and going to Burning Man.
If you’ve met me in person, you know I’m fairly quiet.
I tend to be reserved until I am comfortable with the people I am with.
It takes time for me to adjust and I’m not ashamed to say I can be a little shy.
I observe, like any good writer, and I catalog all the things I find amusing or sad.
Anything worthy of sharing gets typed into my phone for later use on the blog.
Once, I was asked by someone I BARELY knew to not write about her in my blog.
My inner voice said, “Just don’t do anything interesting.”
I obeyed, unless you count the fact that I’ve now blogged our conversation at least three times.
My point is, most everyone is a censor.
Of course, they don’t think of it that way, but it’s censorship plain and simple.
And yet I still manage to write about my life, my adventures, and my stories.
The other day, my girlfriend and I were sitting around having coffee on her back porch in the morning sun and she mentioned that I’m typically very quiet but she knows me better than that.
My inner voice is a comedienne.
My doctor stayed late working on Friday just so she could get the results from my biopsy and let me know via email that there were no pre-cancer cells present.
Let me say that again.
THERE WERE NO PRE-CANCER CELLS PRESENT!
You can’t IMAGINE how relieved I was.
Just in time for Mother’s Day, I get a clean bill of health.
It was exactly as I hoped and everything I wanted.
The best part of finding out your pussy isn’t broken is that you feel so ecstatic about it your flirt game goes up a notch.
I went to a Tacos and Tequila bar crawl and had THE BEST TIME.
I got my flirt on (as best I could when most of the men I ran into were coupled up or way too young for me) and managed to pass out my card to not one, but TWO men – both of whom were interested in finding out more about Burning Man.
There was one gentleman, an angry young man who raged about his mother leaving him in a crack house, who played a game of “Whose childhood was more fucked up” with my friend.
I steered VERY CLEAR of him.
By the end of the night, it was time for me to go to bed.
But at least we now know that won’t be for long.
P.S. I ran into a HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND I hadn’t seen since HIGH SCHOOL while on the Tacos and Tequila pub crawl. Shout out to Lynne!
Once upon time, I had a HUGE crush.
He was a lumberjack.
With a beard.
And a voice like he gargled with glass.
When he’d say my name (Bombshell), he’d say it with gravitas.
He flirted with me and (of course) I did my best to flirt back.
We all know that although I enjoy flirting, I’m not always the best at it.
Sometimes I’m awkward.
Other times I’m way too subtle.
But in this case, I managed to convey my interest by simply staring at his mouth and fantasizing about kissing him.
He literally stopped right in the middle of the conversation he was having to kiss me.
And boy, what a kiss it was.
Pretty soon we were all over each other, making out and groping one another.
It’s not every day that a fantasy comes true for me, but this time around it did.
I got my lumberjack.
And yes, it was everything I expected and a little bit of the unexpected.
I got to knock an item off my sexual bucket list that night.
Guess what it was?
Long ago I used to volunteer for the Campbell Highland Games.
My friends were the organizers so I naturally gravitated to helping them with the event.
I thought, perhaps wrongly so, that I was of Scottish descent.
Now, 23 & Me has proven me to be Scandinavian (Norwegian), British Isles (so PERHAPS Scottish) and a little bit Portuguese (I have my maternal Grandma to thank for that).
I joke that being mostly Scandinavian and a little Portuguese means I burn easily but I can hold a tan.
The other day, I was emailing a friend and he sent me some photos of him in a kilt.
Lordy, how love a man in a kilt.
I was instantly transported back in time to those Highland games, and to my not one, but TWO trips to Scotland.
Tartan kilts, bottles of scotch, purple heathered mountains, black water (at least in Loch Lomond, it’s black), bagpipes, and fresh raspberries.
I love how kilts represent family.
I love how well they pair with sporrans, hose and jacket.
And as much as I love a lumberjack in a plaid flannel shirt, I ALMOST as equally love a man in a kilt.
Not surprisingly, I have a few friends who wear kilts.
They are burners, naturally.
They don’t wear the tartan variety, mind you.
Just the utili-kilt, lightweight variety kilt.
And still, it has the same funny effect on me.
So whether I’m eating fresh raspberries at a real Highland games in Inverness, or sitting on my bed at home reminiscing, I will always have a soft spot in my heart for men in kilts.
Give me Gerard Butler in a kilt or a man with “Campfire” as his middle name and color me happy.
A group of friends and I were discussing our “types.”
As in what type of man do we find ourselves attracted to.
Me, I go for lumberjacks – bearded and outdoorsy.
My friend Allison said her type was Germanic.
And then our friend Adele admitted that the type of man she goes for is the kind who hates her, deep down.
We were floored.
It’s one thing to like beards.
You wind up dating lots of bearded men.
It’s another thing to wind up with men who have an underlying dislike of you.
I could hear the truth in what she was saying though, and it hurt to think of what she had been through in order to actually identify “hates me” as her type.
We asked for clarification.
“Well, they don’t come at me FULL ASSHOLE,” she explained.
At first, they’re nice and caring.
But then something changes and they turn into an asshole with her.
Personally, I can relate to her mindset.
I too have dated men who started out nice and caring but who evolved into critical, misogynistic partners.
Once I met a guy who would bully me when he didn’t get his way.
He swore up and down what a great boyfriend he was and how much he loved women.
But then he texted me nasty messages when I wouldn’t do what he wanted.
He’d go back and forth, being nice to me trying to change my mind, then call me a bitch when I wouldn’t do as he said.
I got away from him as quick as I could.
It’s hard for me to give advice about men, considering that I really believe many of the single men out there are porn addicts who use women and are afraid of connection with other human beings.
But if I were to say one thing, it would be to look for the good men, and when you discover his true colors, and they aren’t as appealing as they were when you met him. . .
R U N !
If you read yesterday’s post, then you know that unSCruz was HOT during the day and COLD AS FUCK at night.
I literally brought one warm weather dress for the entire event.
I pretty much lived in a bright yellow sundress during the day.
At night I would envelop myself in a nice warm onesie.
Thank God for those onesies.
It would have been sheer torture without them.
The first night I was there I climbed into a FRIGID bed and literally curled up in the tiniest ball I could muster, pulled the bedspread over me, and prayed that the bed would heat up fast.
The second night I was there I shared my bed with a friend and I appreciated the warmth of another body, but it was still pretty chilly.
It reminded me of the time I took The Swede to unSCruz two years ago and I brought nothing but a black lace romper to wear to bed and it was FUCKING FREEZING at night so I wore my lingerie with a full-length faux fur jacket over it.
I’m nothing if not sexy.
The remaining nights were not as cold as the first two, but they certainly weren’t all that comfortable either.
Especially when you’re sleeping alone.
But sleeping alone was fine by me seeing as how (sorry I’ve been holding out on you) I have a cervical biopsy this week and I’m literally NOT ALLOWED to have sex, according to my doctor.
So there you have it.
UnSCruz was cold at night and I may have cancer.
Fucking busted pussy!
I’ve SOMEWHAT recovered from the flu.
I still have a lingering cough that won’t seem to go away.
I must be healthy for unSCruz.
Can’t miss The Big Event.
I’ve gotten a TON of advice on how to get healthy:
- Vitamin C (enough to choke a sailor)
- Drink plenty of fluids
- Eat spicy foods
I tried to eat spicy foods, because I love spice, and discovered it only gave me coughing fits.
And coughing is suffering right now.
It feels like I’ve done a million sit ups.
I tried Vitamin C also, only to discover that other than making my pee a bright yellow, it seemed to have little effect on my coughing.
Airborne had a similar result.
So I’m hanging in there.
Not getting worse, but could certainly use a little improvement in the health department.
Especially considering that my friend Dante will be staying in my tent at unSCruz and I KNOW he won’t appreciate listening to me cough all night.
So there’s ANOTHER reason to get myself healthy.
I missed out on my Florida vacation, but I’m sure as hell not going to miss unSCruz.
Can’t wait to post my unSCruz 2019 blog posts and show you all the fun I had.
Let’s hope this year I don’t trip and fall and bang my nose on a bucket!