Over The Moon

I turned d­­­­own a date today.

Not because it didn’t sound great.

It sounded very nice.

And not because I don’t find the guy attractive.

Actually, he’s at the far end of the handsome scale.

I know!

What was I thinking?

Well, I’ll tell you.

I was thinking of The Swede.

I was thinking how much I want to make him coffee in the morning.

And roll over in bed to see his face.

And I was thinking about how much I miss hugging him.

And kissing him.

There’s a whole lot of things I miss about The Swede.

How quiet he is until you get to know him.

How dedicated he is to his children.

How much of a prankster he is.

And so, for the first time EVER, I’m finally admitting I am OVER THE MOON for The Swede.

 

Chaos

The Bay Area is filled with engineers, on account of all the tech companies that set up shop in Silicon Valley.

When I was online dating, my bread and butter dates were usually engineers.

Indeed, my best friend is an engineer himself.

I greatly admire engineers, although I usually can’t even begin to grasp what they do for a living.

Tejas?

Something to do with customer technical account management.

The Swede?

Cloud computing.

My brother?

Augmented reality.

For someone who is decidedly right-brained, I’m impressed that I can even tell you that much.

Personally, I want to wind up with a left-brained person, to balance me out.

Someone grounded and logical.

Good at math and finances.

However, he also needs to be open to other-worldly experiences like Burning Man and regional burns.

I’m quite certain there are men who exist who match this criteria.

I meet TONS of men at Burning Man who have left-brained jobs in the Default World but who are also creative and open-minded.

Does The Swede fit my idea of an ideal man?

Well, I’ve never seen him balance his checkbook, but I did see him get dressed up at unSCruz.

And I’m pretty sure he enjoyed himself.

So I’d say he’s an excellent candidate.

Plus, I like him.

I may not understand what he does for a living, but I certainly like the stabilizing force he brings to my life.

Hopefully, he appreciates the little bit of chaos I introduce into his life. . .

 

 

 

Crash and burn

Out of the blue I got a message from someone I met on Tinder a year ago.

“Where in the world are you?” he asked.

Odd question.

“At work,” I replied.

“I was in Denmark a few weeks ago and you popped up on Tinder. It said you were only a few hundred miles away,” he queried.

“Oh, I was in Sweden visiting friends,” I told him.

He then asked me to come back so that I could go skiing with him in Austria or Switzerland.

Hmmmmm.

I don’t ski.

Never learned and I think it’s a skill best learned when you’re younger and fearless.

I told him as much.

Well lo-and-behold he used to be a ski instructor at Squaw Valley in the winter. He can teach me to ski.

No thanks, I can passably snowboard.

Half-lie.

The last time I snowboarded I broke my tailbone.

“So you don’t want to come boarding with me? We can hit the slopes during the day and explore other activities in the evening.. . .” he hinted.

“No thanks,” I replied.

“I’ll leave you alone then,” he responded.

Please.

Sorry but this girl only travels halfway around the world to meet her Swede, not some random dude I exchanged a few text messages with on Tinder a year ago.

Momma didn’t raise no fool.

American girlfriend

Okay, I’m just gonna come out and say it.

I miss Sweden.

The candies.

The chocolate.

The shopping.

The company.

It’s been almost a month since I got back and I’m thinking a summer trip to Sweden may be in store for me.

I’d love to see Sweden in the summer when it’s warm and green.

And when the sun stays out longer than 5 hours a day.

There’s much I didn’t see or do in Sweden.

Check out the ABBA Museum.

Take a boat ride on the Stockholm archipelago.

Go on a road trip up the coast.

See The Swede again.

Especially see The Swede again.

It looks like he will be taking a trip to the East Coast in April and I’m supposed to join him there to check out hockey teams and colleges for his daughter.

Big, impressive colleges!

And then there is some sort of hockey tournament in Florida.

I’ve never been to Florida.

It could be a lot of fun to join them on their voyages.

The other day I joked that The Swede was spending so much time in America he was going to become an American.

He replied with a happy GIF.

Which makes me think, perhaps The Swede wouldn’t mind starting off with an American girlfriend.

You never know. . .

Thin walls

In addition to meeting The Swede’s YOUNGEST daughter, I also got to meet his ELDEST daughter.

And his parents.

It was quite an experience, although if I think back, I did introduce him to my sons and my parents when we were going to UnSCruz together.

Of course, with the language barrier, there was only so much communicating we could do.

Most of our interactions consisted of them feeding me and me saying “tack” or “thank you” in Swedish.

His mother cooked THE MOST AMAZING PORK LOIN for dinner one night.

I’m used to pork turning out dry and in desperate need of gravy.

But this was OUTSTANDING.

I tried to communicate my appreciation.

“Thank you very much,” I said in Swedish.

His parents home was like something out of a dream – a fairytale cottage with an explosion of Christmas decorations inside.

I sneaked a picture of The Swede as a little boy.

And one of his youngest daughter in pigtails.

Too cute for words.

As we were going to bed (in a bed only SLIGHTLY LARGER than a twin bed), The Swede began to chat with his father in the room next door.

Through the walls.

All my plans for nookie disappeared.

When you can hear your neighbor that PERFECTLY, there’s no space for fooling around.

I may be horny but I’m not disrespectful.

“Family”

In Sweden, I got to experience what it’s like to have a boyfriend for a week.

And how was it, you ask?

Not too shabby.

Actually, cohabitating with The Swede and his daughter was fun.

I imagined, as our threesome wandered about the city of Stockholm, that people assumed that we were a real family.

I let myself fantasize that I had a daughter.

And a man who loves me.

So what if it’s not true?

It can’t hurt to pretend.

We even did chores together, like laundry and dishes.

Well, to be honest, The Swede did chores and I watched.

All in all, I really enjoyed my fantasy weekend in Sweden.

I got to sleep in late with The Swede.

I got to enjoy the company of his hockey-playing daughter.

And I got to explore Stockholm and the countryside.

I’d say it was a vacation well spent!

Smörgåsbord

The Swede and his daughter made room in their house for me during my visit to Sweden.

It was very thoughtful of them to accommodate me for a whole week while I immersed myself in all things Swedish.

As a thank you, I took them to the smörgåsbord at The Grand Hôtel in Stockholm – a beautiful waterfront hotel located in between the Royal Palace and Gamla Stan (Stockholm’s Old Town).

What can I possibly say about the smörgåsbord?

It was mind blowing.

First of all, there were lots of fish dishes, from gravlax (salmon) to poached cod to smoked sturgeon.

The only gross thing I ate was a slice of homemade sausage that tasted like armpit.

Everything else was scrumptious!

They made these little egg cups with caviar on top that were TO DIE FOR.

I think I ate three.

The Swede’s daughter ate four.

I washed all my food down with two glasses of champagne and the only downside to The Swede driving us into Stockholm is that he wasn’t able to enjoy champagne with me (the drunk driving BAC limit in Sweden is 0.02, a quarter of what it is in the US).

It was a pretty amazing night and a wonderful meal with outstanding company and I will treasure my memories of it always.

 

 

FIRE in the hole!

I’m not going to put any of this in perspective for you so that you can be as unsuspecting a victim as I was.

The Swede and his daughter took me to a market and they each proceeded to fill a bag with at least a kilo of sweets from the bulk candy bins.

They bought everything from chocolate to salted licorice to candy.

We got back to The Swede’s house and I was in the kitchen chopping onions when The Swede walked up to me and stretched out his hand.

In his palm was one glorious, chocolate truffle, dusted in even more choclate.

Mmmmmm.

I gobbled it up.

And that’s when I learned my lesson.

Because I wasn’t eating a chewy, delicious morsel of chocolate.

Oh no!

I was eating a Chili Kugler spicy chocolate.

On a spiciness scale of 1 – 15, this was rated a 15.

Now, you might think it was mean of The Swede to trick me like ths.

But actually he warned me about it earlier.

I just forgot in light of our recent trip to the candy aisle.

So there I am, slurping water from the kitchen faucet, begging The Swede for milk with drool pouring off my throbbing tongue.

The good news is that all was no lost.

The Swede and his daughter and  had a rip roaring time watching me slowly recover from my spicy adventure.

But let it be known that when The Swede says he has a spicy treat for you, HE MEANS IT!

In praise of men with daughters

I have a couple unprofessional observations I’ve made while dating.

Do not date men who are 45+ who have never been married or had kids.  They tend to be hard to please and uncompromising.

Do not date men who haven’t been divorced longer than 2 years.  They tend to avoid commitment.

Do not date men with a full online dating portfolio of pictures of themselves.  They tend to be self absorbed and vain.

On the flip side, I noticed something that I do appreciate in the men I date.

Daughters.

Yes, men with daughters I have noticed are more compassionate and more patient than men without daughters.

I’ll give you an example:

I was so excited about my upcoming trip to Sweden that I got a Swedish manicure – completed with yellow and blue nail polish and the Swedish flag.

As a woman, I was totally jazzed about my manicure.

So jazzed that I texted The Swede.

Instead of just blowing me off or laughing at my girlishness, he was kind and let me prattle on about my nails.

He even told me they were cool!

I attribute his sensitivity to the fact that he has two daughters and knows how to accommodate the female into his life.

Some men don’t know what to do with it.

And though it’s going to sound awkward coming at the end of a post where I talk about The Swede, without actually admitting anything, I just want to say that I sincerely hope that I wind up marrying a man with daughters.

If for no reason than I find that kind of sensitivity VERY APPEALING.

‘Nuf said.

Sleepwear and The Swede

I’ve been thinking about sleepwear a lot lately.

I sleep by myself so I have no one to impress when I go to bed.

I’ve been known to wear everything from a t-shirt (and nothing else) to sweat pants, tank top, and thick socks.

When I sleep on the couch at Tejas’ house, I wear rainbow striped velour pajama bottoms with a peach jersey pineapple print dress.

Yes, clearly I’m not out to wow the crowds.

Which is why I think Tejas has taken an interest in my sleepwear for Sweden.

He doesn’t want me to underwhelm The Swede.

The thing about sleeping in Sweden, is that I ABSOLUTELY can’t fall asleep unless I am warm.

That’s just how it works with me.

If my feet are cold I can’t sleep.

If my core is cold, I can’t sleep.

If my butt is cold. . .

And so on.

So I REALLY want to be warm when I sleep in Sweden.

I decided to compromise on the warm Swedish Hockey pajamas I was planning on wearing.

Instead I bought two nightgowns.

Red and blue because you know, I am after all a hot-blooded American woman.

Ironically, it’s been so long since I spent the night with someone, I’ve forgotten how well two bodies manage to keep each other warm.

I probably don’t NEED the nightgowns.

But they’re there, if for no other reason than to make me look like a respectable human being instead of a woman who is travelling halfway around the world to sleep with The Swede.