Alternative Birth Control

I’ve got 10 events in 10 days at work so I’m reposting some old content I find funny.  New content will resume on February 6th.

Reposted from 2015:

 

I tend to be a spontaneous kind of person.

Which is wonderful if you’re my friend and you want to have fun but bad for meeting men.

That is to say, it’s GREAT for the men to have me spontaneously LEAP into bed with them but it’s bad for creating actual relationships.

Because of this, I’ve evolved some alternative techniques to help me keep my lustful urges under control.

They may seem odd, but believe me, they work.

Case in point – my date with The Israeli this weekend.

We are making out on his couch and he is ABSOLUTELY CONFOUNDED BY MY JACKET.

I’m wearing a wool jacket and it’s buttoned up AND the belt is knotted around my waist.

jacketI’m telling you, it took him a good 10 minutes to get me out of that jacket. With much laughter and giggling on our parts.

Enter birth control level 2 – I’m wearing a scuba dress (think high neckline, sleeveless, high density lycra).

dressBasically, there is virtually no area of my body that he can get to without GREAT effort.

It was fun to watch him struggle with it.

But eventually, it came off.

No laughing or giggling this time. Just a lot of heavy breathing.

Enter the final level of alternative birth control.

The granny panty.

pantiesYes indeed. The kind of underwear that is super comfortable but ultimately very ugly. It’s birth control effect is only felt by the wearer (in this case, me) in order to dissuade me from being caught dead in such ugly undies.

I took them off my own self and slipped into my backup sexy panties which I brought with me for just such an occasion.

panties2I’m not saying it’s a perfect system of birth control.

Just that if he can get through 3 levels of alternative birth control measures, he deserves some candy.

F*ck dating

The other day, I got a message from a dear friend, sort of setting me up.

She sent me a picture of a handsome man and asked if I was interested.

Let me see. . .

Handsome man?

Me?

Why not.

Of course, the second I thought it, my next thought was, “What’s wrong with him?”

Because I’m pretty sure that men I meet either want to:

a.  Cum on my face

b.  Cum in my butt

c.  All of the above.

It’s not like I don’t believe in good guys.

I know a BUNCH of decent fellows.

It’s that I don’t seem to ATTRACT that type of man.

And then I felt sheepish.

Shouldn’t everyone get a chance, without having to bear the burden of those who came before and were indecent?

Of course!

But that’s not what happens, is it?

I’ll keep judging them BEFORE I get to know them (BAD me!) and they’ll keep fulfilling my expectations (let’s face it, the bar is set low, low, low.)

Sigh.

Fuck dating.

Fuck Chemistry

Despite the fact that I have no online dating presence right now, POF continues to email me with requests from men who want to meet me.

No.

I know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking it’s possible that there might be a good one out there.

Let me dissuade you from that notion.

In the 12 years since my divorce, I have absolutely met not a single soul online who I connected with.

Excepting a few Facebook friends.

Every time I get tempted to go online and see what’s up, I remember that guy who moved his glass so he could “see my tits better.”

Or the guy who deeply hurt my feelings because he said we had “no chemistry.”

I’ve been thinking about chemistry a lot lately.

About how deceptive it is.

Sure, I get all pie-eyed every time I see a lumberjack.

Give me a beard, broad shoulders, and a warm chest and color me happy.

But in reality, I’ve discovered that long term chemistry has very little to do with that initial physical rush of hormones, and everything to do with who that person is on the inside, which takes time to discover.

Barbara would tell me this is EXACTLY why I should wait MONTHS before getting physically involved with someone.

Take, for instance, my ex-boyfriend Luke.

Luke owned dozens of hand guns, even more knives, and he drove a truck.

He had no beard, but he lived in flannels on his days off.

Perfect man for me?

Not so much.

When times got tough, and we tried to talk it out Luke could only stare at the floor and play with his socks.

He had no ability to discuss difficult topics AT ALL.

And you know, everyone runs into the need to discuss challenging subjects.

So I say fuck chemistry.

Not that anyone is lining up outside my door for a chance to take me on a date, but I’m basically like the carpool lane on the weekend:

OPEN TO ALL.

F*cking Facebook

I don’t know about you but suddenly my “People You May Know” section of Facebook is LIGHTING UP with men I used to date, almost dated, and flirted with.

How this happened, I have no idea.  I didn’t even know what most of these men’s names were.  I can only imagine the magic that Facebook employed to delve into my online dating records.  The fact that Facebook was able to dredge these men up from the sewers of my life scares me and impresses me a little.

They even located Louis, who managed to give me my WORST DATE EVER story involving two standard size poodles, the Adult Swim channel (which may have cartoons on it but it incidentally NOT A CHILDREN’S CHANNEL), and Louis’ 6-year-old daughter.  I could not make this up and I’ll save the whole story for another blog post.

Louis beat out that aptly named “Fartman” for the title of WORST DATE EVER.  No explanation is necessary for that one, I assume.

It’s been an awakening to see al the faces of the men I’ve entertained.  It makes me realize how long I’ve been dating and how many different men I’ve gone out with.

More than Princess Di, less than Madonna and we’ll leave it at that.

But still, I have to wonder how did Facebook do it?  They even found sexy Dixon who I am currently texting with.

I can only imagine that these men are experiencing the same flashbacks as I am as my picture goes floating by in their “People You May Know” (aka “People You Know But Don’t Want to Admit You Know or Even be Friends With) section.

Surely they think of me as that sexy, brilliant, adventurous blond they were lucky enough to go out with and perhaps they should give me a ring.

Then again, PERHAPS NOT!

Magic is what you make of it

Disney loveMagic always comes with a prince

At least that’s what Disney and Hollywood lead you to believe.

Of course lately, there’s been less focus on the prince and more focus on the heroine, but you get the picture – love, above all, makes the story.

And how are we single ladies supposed to feel about this in real life?

Well, I’ll tell you, being single has never hurt my social life. In fact, I think I get out more and do more things simply because I don’t have a partner to hang out at home with eating pizza and drinking beer with on a Saturday night.

Being single didn’t hurt me when I was racing cars at the Stockton 99.

image

Being single especially didn’t hurt me when I was leaping from an airplane with a hot man and a parachute strapped to my back.

And it certainly didn’t hurt me when I went to the Alameda County Fairgrounds and ran with the bulls.

photo 4No, being single hasn’t hurt one bit.

Even my more carnal urges somehow manage to get taken care of.

So what then is my life missing without a man to “complete” me?

The answer is nothing.

I have friends and family who give me love and camaraderie and lovers who give me intimacy.

Everything else is icing on the cake.

Sure, it’s magical when life and love come with a prince.

But it sure as hell isn’t required.

Magic, is what you make of it.

Online Dating Pet Peeves

michelleEvery time I think I should get back online and date, I’m reminded why I went offline. My latest edition of Online Dating Pet Peeves:

  1. Men wearing baseball caps that shade their face so I can’t see their features.
  2. Men wearing sunglasses in all their photos. I get it. You’re cool.
  3. Men who list all the things they don’t want instead of what they’re looking for.
  4. Flat brimmed baseball caps. Are you 12? Hipster.
  5. Emails that go nowhere.
  6. Men who post pictures with their ex’s face cropped out. Tacky.
  7. Pictures of men with models. Ugh. Modelizer!
  8. Men who take photos from so far away you can’t make out their face.
  9. Their, there, and they’re.
  10. Coffee dates. No.
  11. Men who list “no drama” in their profile. Liar!
  12. Messages that say “hi” and nothing else.
  13. Usernames like “lovestoeattacos” or “poundman.”
  14. The drinking with my buddies photo.
  15. Landscape profile photos. Why?
  16. Copied and pasted generic emails. You think we can’t tell? We can.
  17. Strange men instant messaging me. Yikes!
  18. Topless men. Really? Showoff.
  19. Any picture taken in the bathroom.
  20. Any picture taken while sitting in their car.
  21. Photos of their car. Oh, my bad! I have a pic of my truck in my profile. But it has a HEMI!
  22. Group shots.
  23. Photos of men posing with guns or shooting guns. NO!
  24. Wearing a beanie/hat in all his photos.
  25. Men who live 100+ miles away from you but who still email you. Pointless.

Tires and Boyfriends

tireI do not have a boyfriend.

And the only reason this really matters is that there’s no one there to tell me to rotate my tires, or remind me that my tires need to be replaced.

These are the things I simply don’t think about.

It’s not that I’m an oblivious female – I can change a tire as well as change my own motor oil.

There are just some things I DON’T think about unless they’re staring me in the face.

Tires being one of them.

One of the reasons boyfriends EXIST is to tell their girlfriends these things.

I’ll never forget when my boyfriend Luke asked me when was the last time I packed the ball bearings on my trailer.

The answer wasn’t NEVER, it was “the last time I got the trailer serviced a few years ago.”

He proceeded to scold me and then he packed and greased my ball bearings.

No, that’s not a euphemism for sex.

It means he worked on my trailer for me.

I’ve decided that I need a boyfriend for all these GUY THINGS I don’t think about – packing ball bearings, putting air in my tires, replacing my tires BEFORE they go thread bare, etc.

So I’m interviewing.

Any applicants?

Must know cars (trucks preferred).

 

P.S.  I must give a shout out to my cousin Travis who took a look at my tires a few weeks ago and told me they needed to be replaced.  Badly.

Disappearing Act

Tinder wants me back.

Clearly, I am a winner and they don’t want to lose me.

Ahem.

Or maybe they just need more women on Tinder.

Either way, they emailed me today to tell me I’m going to DISAPPEAR if I don’t log in soon.

Just like that.

I will disappear.

The app that gave me The Former Mormon, the guy who LOVES TO EAT TACOS, and the cretin who moved his glass so that he “could see my tits better.”

Oh boy!

Thanks, but no thanks.

Actually, in honesty it hasn’t been all bad.

I made three friends through Tinder – Will, The Swede, and Nathan.

So it’s not like I’ve had a dreadful time.

It’s just that Tinder is so REPETITIVE.

I feel like, for the most part, I’m having the same date with a slightly different guy at my usual hangout where I am sure they must think I’m a dating FIEND given all the dates I’ve taken there.

So I guess you’re wondering, given that The Swede in all likelihood will not make it to California for the holiday break, am I even TEMPTED to get back online to meet men?

And the answer to that is a resounding, reverberating, echoing NO!

Not in this lifetime.

I’ve just done it enough to realize that for the most part people who online date like to play the field and I’m sick of going on first dates that lead nowhere.

Physically, my dates are present.

Emotionally, they’re closed off.

I’m not sure how I will wind up going on dates, but one thing is sure.

I am DONE with Tinder.

All is not lost

Wanna know how the love life is going?

It’s not.

I’m firmly stuck in NEUTRAL, not making progress forward (nor backwards) on any relationship.

I got an email the other day through MeetUp.

A man introduced himself to me and basically sent me an entire paragraph about himself without using ANY PUNCTUATION WHATSOEVER.

I couldn’t bring myself to read it in its entirety.

It was one long RUN ON SENTENCE and we all know I tend to be a grammar snob.

So needless to say, I didn’t reply to his email.

And what is he doing using MeetUp as a dating app?

My profile on MeetUp says I’m interested in doing things with people because my friends are all coupled up and I’m always the third wheel when we go out.

Sometimes I get tired of being the third wheel.

Sometimes I just want to hang out with other single people who, like myself, want to be social but without being the odd man out.

I got a message from another man looking for a “sweet mature cuddling experience” which is something I’m ABSOLUTELY NOT OKAY WITH.

Sorry to say I need to already have an affection for the people I cuddle with.

No strangers allowed.

It freaks me out, the idea of a stranger snuggling up to me.

Smelling my hair.

Curling his body into mine.

No thanks.

Of course The Swede is still in the picture.

I’d snuggle with him anytime.

He’s the closest I’ve come in the past 5 years to having a love interest.

I feel lucky to have struck up an international friendship with him.

So all is not lost.

It’s just stuck in Sweden.

 

Life is Swede

Yes, I’m still on my Swedish kick.

I broke down and clicked on a few links and. . .

  1. I now have a bottle of glögg arriving at my home in a week or two
  2. I signed up for a Beginning Swedish language class starting in January
  3. I figured out where to buy small batch Icelandic vodka
  4. I’m going to stop by Lunardi’s in Los Gatos to pick up akvavit (aqua vit)
  5. I signed up for a few Swedish activities mailing lists and liked a few Swedish FB pages

I’m convinced, if The Swede doesn’t snap me up like the trophy prize I am, that Alexander Skarsgård is destined to fall in love with me and propose marriage.

Ahem.

Yes, I have True Blood fantasies.

AND I can pronounce Skarsgård properly.

If that doesn’t make me perfect for some Swede, then I don’t know what is.

I also decided to buy the cutest little America loves Sweden t-shirt.

TECHNICALLY, I think it’s about Swedish Americans and we’ve established that I’m definitively Norwegian.

But watch me care less about that.

This American likes her Swedes.

Life is Swede.