It could only happen to me

I had a date last night.

It was with a man who (I was positive) was a “SURE” thing.

He basically begged me to come over his house after we shared some provocative pics the night before.

Needless to say, I took special care when getting ready.

I bathed (always important).

I shaved (even my legs).

I refreshed my makeup and put on lipstick.

I was all set to roll in the hay, should the opportunity present itself.

And I full expected the opportunity to present itself.

I should know better.

As it turned out, he was not a sure thing.

Not even close.

I instigated a hug when I met him.

I kissed his cheek.

I flirted with him over dinner.

I don’t know how I find these guys.

Finally, after making small talk for about 3 hours, I asked if he wanted a drive home.

He’d walked the 0.3 miles from his house to the restaurant.

I was being polite, but secretly I was hoping for an invitation in.

He turned me down.

And gave me a dry peck on the lips goodbye with these parting words. . .


I don’t want you to BEHAVE!

I want you to do wild and crazy things with me!

So there you have it.


It could only happen to me. . .


The other night I tried to line up a booty call.

But no one could play.

That is to say, everyone I contacted was so far away it was prohibitive.

Le sigh.

I sent out a bunch of text messages.

Some of you may have gotten a text message from me.

You know who you are.

This was my attempt (and a poor one at that) to arrange a booty call for Saturday night.

This is par for the course with me.

Every time I think I’m going to cut loose and just enjoy myself something happens to throw a wrench in the works.

Now, more than ever I need to make LOCAL friends.

The kind that live 10 minutes from me, preferably.

I have one new friend in my town.

Sadly, he’s gone for the holidays and won’t be back until December 3rd.

I did go online and met another single man who lives in my area.

We are supposed to have a date tonight.

So we shall see how that develops.

Changing my profile pic on Tinder has certainly upped the ante when it comes to dates.

I’m starting to wonder if we aren’t all online looking for hookups and thinking maybe something will come of it, instead of everyone being online looking for a LTR and finding FWB instead.

This is my new approach to dating, and one that I think my photographer-friend heartily approves of.

Looking for a FWB and stumbling across a LTR by accident.

SMH (which by the way, means Shaking My Head and NOT SEX MIGHT HELP).

Just FYI!

Bathing in sunblock

Ever since I put THIS picture up on Tinder, I’ve been getting a ton of emails from men.

Among the responses, I got two dick pics.

Now, I’m not going to complain because that would just be silly.

Put a provocative picture out there, expect to get provocative pictures back.

That’s the rules folks.

I put the bait in the water, I shouldn’t be surprised when I catch a corresponding fish.

So I’m not writing this to complain about dick pics.


One such “fish” is from Germany.

Quite a sexy beast too.

A private pilot who flies corporate jets for a living.

Now, I’ve been warned about pilots.

So I asked him, “ARE YOU MARRIED?”

He told me “Recently separated.”


I’ll bet his wife doesn’t know this!

Anyway, at best I’ve made a few sext partners through this photo.

At worst I’ll have to fend off some groping hands on a date.

All in all, I’m pretty happy to have found some new blood to keep me entertained.

The German Pilot asked me to send a current photo, so I obliged.

He doesn’t think I look 46 years old.

He says I look like I’m in my 20s.

[NOTE:  He may be referring to pictures I sent that had other body parts besides my face.]

I had to politely explain that I virtually bathe in sunblock every day.

Personally, I think I look my age give or take only about 5 years or so.

And I’m okay with that.

Growing old is a luxury denied to many.

But I thank my lucky stars that I worked in a spa in my 20s and was advised to wear sunblock every day.

As for The German Pilot, he can go home to his “recently-separated” wife and “reconcile.”

I learned my lesson with Stargazer.

No married men.

Put ’em up!

I went and did something crazy.

I took a provocative photo of myself and uploaded it to Tinder and the response has been explosive!

It’s a picture of me, in a fake police officer hat and black lingerie.

I remember being impressed with the picture when I took it and it’s one I share with “special” friends.

You know who you are.

I also occasionally post it to unblunder.

For having no nudity, it sure is a fun picture.

I guess it shows off my playful side.

As if the burner pics of me in faux fur, purple hair, and costumes don’t ALREADY say I’m fun, this definitely reinforces it.

I think it also appeals to all the subby men who’d like to get “arrested” and “taken away” by a hot police officer.

One guy asked what costumes I have in my collection.

The more appropriate question is what costumes DON’T I have in my collection.

Anyway, Tinder has been crazy fun the last few days and I’m just amused as all get up that the response to the picture has been so swift and strong.

I think maybe I’ll post THIS one next. . .


Looking for a boyfriend

Just the other day I saw an ad for B Simone’s comedy tour at the Improv in San Jose.

She’s titled her show, “Looking for a boyfriend” and boy, does that resonate with me.

She must have some GREAT stories about internet dating and meeting men online and all the wild and crazy behavior she has experienced.

I’m sorely tempted to go.

I think her comedy act will resonate with me because I too, am looking for a boyfriend.

He’s late, apparently.

But just ask anyone – I’m ALWAYS early.

Looking for a boyfriend is kinda like star gazing for meteor showers – if you’re not looking in the right direction, you’re gonna miss all the action!

That’s exactly how I feel right now.

Like I’ve been staring at the sky but missing the show.

I recall counseling a friend who was upset over being single for a very long time.

I kept telling him it’ll come along but of course that didn’t help.

He felt hopeless and ultimately took it personally.

Then someone new entered his life and he’s now happily coupled up for over a year.

So if there’s hope for him, there’s definitely hope for me.

I just need to look in the right direction.

Easy, no?

Won’t you be my neighbor?

Date #2 with Duncan’s Hero is coming up.

You remember the air national guardsman who my son was so impressed with?

Yes, we’re “going out’ on Date #2.

I used the phrase “going out” loosely because in actuality we’re probably going to eat at his place.

So it’s kinda like eating in.

The WHOLE reason why I’m even going on this date is because The Photographer convinced me to text Duncan’s Hero long after I’d given up hope of ever hearing from him again.

I got an immediate and swift response asking me “out.”

Some of you might say, “Well hey!  He’s probably expecting something.”

To which I say, “Please?”

No really, I say, “So what?! We’re adults!  He lives 2 miles from my house.  Now that’s a convenient booty call!”

He’d be my NEIGHBOR if he was any closer!


I went on a date with a man I can only describe as my son’s true hero.

He’s an enlisted Air National Guardsman who has risen through the ranks to basically the highest level an enlisted man can achieve.

The top 1%.

My son was so enamored of my date that he INSISTED that I let him speak to him during our first date.

What did they discuss?

The perks of being in the military, of course.

Discounts to state parks, free baggage, commissary discounts, and on base accommodations.

It was heartening to see my son so engaged in a conversation with someone I was interested in.

Unfortunately, as these things go, I am not all that interested in this man.

Not because he’s not an outstanding person, because he is.

But he’s at a place in his life where he’s going to retire soon and travel extensively and I’m at least 10 years away from that place in my own life.

I might see him again, however.

He lives a mere 2 miles from me so it’s REALLY convenient to date him.

We’ll see how things develop.

Wish me luck!

Working the numbers

I ran into a man I dated today.

He and I work at the same company, though in different buildings, and we somehow managed to not run into each other in the 6 years since we dated.

He looked great and it was nice to see him.

He recognized me and came over to talk.

He’s married now.

To the woman he stopped dating me for which (ironically) I found very comforting.

It sucks to be dropped but when someone meets The One, it’s understandable.

So we caught up.

All is well in his neck of the woods.

And all is well with me.

We discussed internet dating for a while.

We met on Match which is where he met his wife.

I’ve heard one in eight marriages start online.

Maybe even more now.

His take on internet dating:  it’s a numbers name and you need thick skin to play but you can meet the person of your dreams online if you’re patient and thorough.

So I’m not feeling so bad that I’m already back online meeting men through Tinder.

In fact, I’m feeling optimistic about my date tomorrow with The Airman.

The Airman is in the military and had traveled all over the world but is originally from New Jersey, a state I’ve never been to.

All his kids are college age and older so he’s in the same boat as me:  getting ready to retire and travel.

Wish me luck!

I may not be thick skinned but I’m definitely working the numbers.

I hate dating

Lately, I’m hating dating more than loving it. In part because of my horrific experience speed dating, but also because of crappy one-on-one dates, like my date with the guy who doubled up on his dates for the night. Ugh. It’s enough to make a girl run for the safety of spinsterhood and prolonged abstinence.

But then there have been some good dates that I’ve been on. Some dates which I thoroughly enjoyed and thought my date did too. I would have sworn I was going to see them again. But sadly that was not the case. Instead, I heard nothing further from these men after our dates. No “How are you,” no “I had a great time,” no “Let’s get together next week.”

Just silence.

And don’t think I didn’t pick up my phone once or twice, trying to will it to ring.

Clearly, these men figured out sooner than I that we were not compatible.

Now I know it’s not that I have an awful personality. Or that I’m not a nice person. So what’s the reason?

I’ve taken to assuming the only thing that’s left….

…. I have an awful body.

It’s too soft. It’s too curvy, It’s no toned enough. It’s just a bad body.

If you only knew how much I beat myself up over this.

So when my friends praise me for being so confident, I scoff inside and think “If they only knew my inner dialogue rips me to shreds.”

My BFF pointed out the other day during our hike, the only thing wrong with me is that I keep asking what’s wrong with me. And she has a point. Ultimately, there is nothing wrong with me.

But the truth is it used to be a lot easier to meet quality men. It used to be a lot easier to meet someone with whom I had chemistry.

So when I meet a decent guy with whom I feel chemistry, it sucks to get rejected.

It also sucks to blog about my “great dates” and then have them go nowhere.

But c’est la vie. Such is life.

Baggage vs Luggage

I hate the term baggage.

The idea that something that happened in the past permanently affects our future bothers me to no end.

Mostly because I don’t like the idea of someone I once loved having that much power over me.

I took away some great things from my previous relationships.  But I also took away some crap.

The ex who dumped me to marry a coworker, that was pretty shitty.

And the ex who dropped me because he said he could never make me happy, breaking my heart, that sucked too.

If I’m honest with myself, I’ll admit I have some residual baggage from those experiences.

  • Relationships make me skittish
  • It takes me a while to open up
  • I have trust issues (don’t we all)

So there you have it.  I have baggage.

What I don’t have is luggage.  Some people have luggage and you know exactly what I’m talking about.  They have a matching set of luggage you can spot a mile away.  And they haul it with great gusto from relationshit to relationshit, daring their new partner to fix what’s wrong.

I’ve met people with luggage.  And they’re remarkably successful at finding people to date, because I suppose there’s a lot of people out there who love a rescue.

I’m always reminded of my baggage every time I meet someone new and I have to share all the funny bits and pieces about myself that I don’t necessarily like but I live with.

I take a DEEP BREATH and fight the urge to run for the door.

Of course, the panic passes and I feel fine.  But for a moment there I thought I was going to dash.


Fucking baggage.