Sad Face

As it turns out, The Swede will not be visiting California in June.

Yes, I got the news today and was really disappointed.

But I had a feeling it was not going to work out.

Murphy’s Law.

I bought tickets to the burlesque show hoping he’d be here THERBY jinxing his visit.

C’est la vie.

I’m sure he’ll get over here again so all is not lost, but for the time being, NO VISIT.

What do I do with the two tickets I have to the Blackheart Burlesque show in Santa Cruz?

Why I take Yvonne, of course.

Tejas’ ex-girlfriend and I have struck up a friendship.

So I’m taking her to the show.

I can’t wait to watch the Suicide Girls prance about in their costumes, putting on a show for the audience.

It’ll be amazing.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to take pictures so I can blog about it (and send pics to The Swede so he can live vicariously).

Still, I’m sad I won’t be seeing The Swede anytime soon.

Sad face.

Jag kan prata lite Svenska

It’s been a month now since I took up learning Swedish.

I can honestly say “I speak a little Swedish” now because I do.

I know about 200 words and phrases.

Just basic stuff, but it’s all very useful.

Per my usual habit, I’m learning Swedish to impress a man.

The Swede, to be exact.

The language is musical and lyrical with a completely different cadence than what I’m used to as a native English speaker.

I’ve discovered a hidden benefit to learning Swedish – apart from knowing three languages, which in and of itself is quite impressive.

Men find it sexy.

Yes indeed, I happened to mention to a friend that “Jag kan prata lite Svenska” (I can speak a little Swedish) and he almost died right there on the spot.

Oh, that’s so sexy he told me.

So I said the first phrase that popped into my mind, “Var ligger badrummet?” (Where is the bathroom?).

I’m nothing, if not sexy!

Stood Up

Did I ever tell you about the time I got stood up by a Tinder date?

It was my first time EVER getting stood up.

Sadly, it would not be the last time.

The thing was, I was kind of excited about this date and so I popped in at home, brushed my teeth, fluffed my hair, and actually misted myself with spray glitter.

Yes, I know, how very millennial of me, no?

And very playa unfriendly.

But I wasn’t on the playa, I was in Los Gatos.

We were scheduled to meet at at Oak & Rye, a nice pizza place that serves my favorite beer – Panty Peeler by Midnight Sun.

As I’m WALKING INTO THE RESTAURANT, I happen to glance at my phone and I have a message from my date.

Well, that’s a nice how-do-you-do?

I was peeved by the whole experience.

AND HE SPELLED MY NAME WRONG!

Mentally, I wrote him off.

Flake.

I was sorely tempted to reply:

NO RAINCHECK NEEDED!

But that’s just my inner bitch freaking out.

I actually sent no reply.

Sometimes actions speak louder than words.

Fishing for Money

I happened upon another Tinder profile.

This one, seemingly normal with once exception.

On his profile picture there was a watermark stating “sugardaddie.com.”

For real.

Now.

What kind of man ADVERTISES that he’s looking for a woman who is looking for a man with money?

It defies logic.

Is he super wealthy and just wants to land some playmate-esque lady to keep him company in exchange for him keeping her comfortable?

I don’t get it.

Don’t men WANT to be like for WHO they are not HOW MUCH MONEY they make?

It’s like me advertising that I have 38G breasts.

Then I’d get a butt load of men interested in me for my physique and not my stellar personality.

Not to mention my humility, right?

I swiped right, against my better judgment.

He has “superliked” me, after all.

Might as well see what he has to say about the topic.

You know, so I can write ANOTHER blog post.

So I shot off a message:

“You do realize your profile pic has a “sugardaddie.com” watermark on it?”

And we shall see what he says.

 

UPDATE:

Read his response yourself.  Apparently he can balance an investment portfolio but cropping a picture is above his pay grade.

Save

Save

Nope. Never.

So I’m swiping through Tinder when I come across something striking.

A man’s profile picture containing nothing but whips, gags, floggers, paddles, and switches.

I’m intrigued.

Who does this on Tinder?

There are better sites to go fishing for BDSM play partners, after all.

Like FetLife.

But okay, I’ll bite.

So I read his profile.

Sure enough, he’s an experienced dom and he’s looking for women who want to explore their submissive side with him.

And he’s into kinky sex.

Duh.

I swiped left.

Nope.

Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

That’s the nice thing about sowing your wild oats when you were younger – you have a better understanding of yourself, your likes, your dislikes.

Of course, I could always learn something new about myself, but I’m betting no.

If I’m going to explore new horizons, I’m going to do it through travel, or learning Swedish, or making new friends.

Maybe all three.

But hooking up with a Tinderized version of a dom?

No thanks.

Geeking out

The Swede might be back in the Bay Area for the 3rd week in June and I am looking up fun and cool stuff we can do together.

In the middle of my search, I came across Suicide Girl’s Blackheart Burlesque in Santa Cruz at the Catalyst Club.

It’s billed as a “creative/sexy performance with a geeky twist” and I literally am going to drag The Swede kicking and screaming to watch semi nude women prance around the dance floor and show us their moves.

[That’s a joke, btw. He doesn’t object to it at all.]

Hopefully he can go.

If he can’t I’ll take Tejas, or Yvonne, or Barbara or Marina or Dante.

Someone will go with me, I’m sure.

I’m so sure I’m going that I bought myself my own “geek” outfit to wear: Star Wars leggings, a black corset, and a white faux fur jacket.

I also got this blinged out STAR WARS hair clip from – get this – the etsy store “Nerds with Vaginas.”

PERFECT!

Do you think I’ll fit in at a nerdy burlesque show?

I’m fucking learning Swedish

I’m fucking learning Swedish (Svenska) and there’s a lot I have to say about it.

First of all, I love that the Swedish word for ‘two’ sounds like the American version of ‘two’ said with a lisp.

Imagine the priest from Princess Bride:

“Twoo wuv is what bwings us twogether twoday.”

Overall, the experience of learning Swedish is a little like shaving my head with a cheese grater while chewing on tinfoil.

It’s a little bit uncomfortable.

I am learning everything phonetically. Which means I speak a few words but I can’t write them.

An example: the Swedish word for ‘delicious’ is ‘oot sect.”

That’s what it sounds like.

How is it spelled?

I have no clue.

I looked it up for the purposes of putting it on this post.

It’s ‘utsökt.’

Now, as impressed as I am with myself for learning a handful of Swedish words, it’s not all that great when it comes to texting and I’m spelling everything phonetically to The Swede.

So I try to keep my Swedish simple when I text him.

God morgon (good morning).

God natt (good night).

Tack så mycket (thank you very much).

I’m impressed that I’ve learning any words given my memory problems and my lack of understanding of Germanic languages.

I hope it gets easier as I go.

One thing is for sure – I can’t just learn to SAY Swedish. I’ve got to learn to WRITE it as well.

Just in case I ever visit Sverige (aka Sweden).

Pronounced ‘Svallia.’

But hold cow, can you believe it. . . I’m learning Svenska!

Save

Good for me

Don walked past my camp at unSCruz and stopped in to give me a hug.

He smelled delicious.

Like clove cigarettes.

I thought about the pack of cloves I had in my tote.

I looked at The Swede.

“Would it bother you if I smoked a clove?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” he replied. “Just don’t expect me to kiss you if you taste like cigarettes.”

“Oh, in that case, never mind,” I replied.

The idea of not being able to kiss him freely disturbed me.

Besides, I don’t need to smoke. It’s BAD for you.

On my list of qualities I am looking for in a man is an important one: Makes me a better person.

Perhaps that could be stated better: Brings out the best in me.

So for a man to influence me into making healthy choices that impact me directly and improve my overall health and well being, this is a HUGE thing.

I respect The Swede for that.

Of course nowhere on my list of qualities I am looking for in a man does it say: Lives 9,000 miles away from me.

No, you’ll never find that in there.

Well, you can’t have everything.

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?