Fortunes

I have a theory about fortune cookies.

If you get a fortune you don’t care for, just leave it on the table and the fortune goes away.

But if you get a fortune you like, you have to keep it on your person and it will come true.

At any given time, you can find a half dozen or so fortunes stuffed in my wallet.

The other day, I got THIS fortune with my Panda Express order:

A long awaited vacation?

A great deal of pleasure?

Am I going to Sweden?

Cuz that way pleasure lies.

Oh, how I miss my Swede.

Then again, maybe it’s referring to Burning Man.

When I think of all the things I want to do at Burning Man, I get warm and fuzzy feelings inside.

My cuddle puddle.

The foam bath dance party.

Human Carcass Wash.

Saunadome.

Given the fact that I’ve been abstinent since unSCruz in May, I LOVE the idea of having a “great” deal of pleasure coming my way.

It just remains to be seen which form that pleasure comes in.

But overall, this fortune?

It’s a keeper.

Kissing

When I went out with The Swede, at the end of our date, I thought, “Well, there’s a guy who will never ask me out again.”

Boy, was I wrong.

Of course, I based this on the fact that he was initially very quiet around me. I mistook his silence for disinterest.

And, he didn’t kiss me.

Well that’s because the two of us have completely different theories about who to kiss.

He believes in kissing only the people he really wants to kiss after he gets to know them whereas I believe in kissing as many people as will let me kiss them trying to find the good ones.

I know.

It’s a strange phenomenon.

I can kiss just about anyone, so long as they don’t have bad teeth or bad breath.

And I believe heartily in doing it.

Because let’s face it, it wouldn’t hurt the world to have a lot more kissing (and hugging) in it.

When it comes to kissing, The Swede has got to be right at the top of my list of best kissers of all time.

It may have taken a year to kiss him (he lives in Sweden, folks), but once I started, I didn’t want to stop.

You ever get so lost in a kiss that time passing by seems to disappear?

You ever lose track of your body and only feel sensation in your lips?

You ever feel the need to change your panties after a kiss?

That’s what kissing The Swede is like.

So color me happy he asked me out again and got around to kissing me.

We should have started kissing each other a lot sooner.

Who knew I’d need to go to Sweden to get kissed?!

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On being a singleton

I have a friend, a very good friend, who laments being single.

At their best moment, they feel they’re single because there’s no one interesting to date.

At their worst moment, they feel they’re single because there’s something wrong with them.

I take a different approach to being single.

I think I’m single because I simply haven’t stumbled across the path of the right person yet.

It’s a liberating concept.

Every day I’m one day closer to meeting someone perfect for me.

Every bad date I go on, every toad I kiss and regret, I’ve eliminated one more possible person who could be right for me.

Instead of failing at dating, I’ve succeeded at removing one more barrier to me finding someone right for me.

I have to admit, I have a lot of creative outlets for my energy.

From Burning Man to my friendships, I keep myself busy and seldom feel lonely.

But I’ve had a string of good luck lately and I find that I am most sensitive about not having a significant other when times are tough and I need someone to lean on.

So I’m appreciative that I’m living in a time of abundance, instead of scarcity.

And, you know, there are worse things out there than being able to flirt with whatever guy suits my fancy.

Like having no one to flirt with.

Or getting a HUGE friction burn on your inner thigh.

Now that would be AWFUL.

Wedding Season

I know there’s such a thing as “wedding season.”

When all the brides and grooms decide to take advantage of the pleasant weather and throw a party to celebrate their nuptials.

I LOVE going to weddings, but sadly haven’t attended that many.

Maybe 6 or 7 in my entire lifetime.

That’s not too many considering I’m including my own.

So you can imagine I was THRILLED when I got invited to a friend’s DESTINATION wedding in Yosemite.

What could be better than visiting the sequoias, listening to a rushing river, and watching two people I care about remind me that love is a beautiful thing?

I always feel, if only for a little while, optimistic about my own love prospects.

I am reminded that yes, I actually want something more than flings in my life.

That I’d like to invest my care and concern in another human being.

It all seems so real and possible when I’m at a wedding.

Other people find it.

Why not me?

Me and Murphy’s Law

What do you think about The Swede coming to Burning Man?

O. M. G.

Right?

I’m beside myself with excitement and trepidation!

First of all, I get excited at the prospect of any of my friends going to Burning Man with me. I love the burn and I love sharing the experience with others.

Secondly, I’ve never had a partner go with me to Burning Man and hang out with me. So this would be something new.

And lastly. . . hello. . . SEX!

Who doesn’t want a tidal wave of that on the playa?

I know I do and last year there was a D R O U G H T.

But. . .

You know I’m a planner and ALL MY PLANS WOULD BASICALLY BE TOSSED OUT THE WINDOW.

I’d have to start all over from scratch (including bringing MORE condoms).

LOL

The food and beverages.

The sleeping arrangements.

The interactivity.

You know how I like to STICK TO THE PLAN.

In addition to changing plans, there’s another concern.

Burning Man is like a hot cauldron for relationships.

If you’re not strong, you won’t survive.

And The Swede and I have just a wee baby relationship.

Dare I put it to the test THIS EARLY ON?

Ultimately, I think The Swede will not go to Burning Man because I want him to go and Murphy’s Law dictates that I won’t get what I want.

But I LOVE knowing that he does actually want to go.

And who knows, maybe Murphy’s Law will fail.

Finger crossed!

Fireman Fetish

I have a “friend.”

We’ve never met in person but somehow we wound up as Facebook friends.

I LOVE being his FB friend on account of he is very handsome AND a paramedic fireman.

Occasionally he sends me photos of him in his fireman gear and he always looks good enough to eat.

Have you ever met a fireman that wasn’t sexy?

He certainly brings up all sorts of “resuscitation” fantasies – from having to cut off my blouse to listen to my heartbeat to more deviously dark internal examinations.

Yes.

I know.

I’m incorrigible.

But I can’t help it.

He’s sexy like his life depends on it.

And I am a single, red-blooded American woman with a HUGE fireman fetish.

Story of my life

I am a planner.

All my shit is packed for Burning Man already.

Just add food.

And I plan events IRL.

It’s just what I do.

So when I found out that The Swede was coming to California to go to unSCruz with me, you can be damn sure that I planned the hell out of that weekend.

The food.

The booze.

The bedroom.

I wanted it perfect.

Now as many of you know, I have a “thing” for lingerie.

Every time I sleep with someone new, I get new lingerie.

It’s just a habit I’ve developed over time.

New man = new lingerie.

That accounts for why I have 5 (used to be 7) drawers full of the stuff.

So I bought lingerie for The Swede.

A short little black, strappy number in soft silk.

And then, as is typical for me, I proceeded to get too drunk to figure out how to put it on.

It’s not easy to navigate strappy things in the dark when you’re drunk and a handsome warm man is laying in your bed waiting for you.

So I went to bed naked.

Which is par for the course for me.

Girl attempts to seduce boys with sexy lingerie. Girl gets too drunk to put on sexy lingerie. Girl continues to buy sexy lingerie even though it never gets worn.

Story of my life.

Still lusting after the good ones

I have roughly 500 friends on Facebook.

Yesterday, as an experiment, I counted how many of my Facebook friends were ex-lovers.

Out of 500, there were 17.

17 ex-lovers – 16 men and 1 woman.

Hey, I had an experimental phase.

No current lovers, mind you.

As I was making my way through the list of friends, I had to do a double take a few times and ask myself, “Did we sleep together?”

Sometimes the answer was “No, we just OMed.”

There are nearly 50 men on Facebook who I OMed with.

Other times, the answer was, “No, we just fooled around a bit but no sex.”

Like with my friend “Nathan” who I used to watch porn with and let him grope me.

And even still, the answer was occasionally, “No, but I REALLY wanted to.”

And there are SEVERAL men who fall into that category.

If I counted all the people who I’ve had some sort of sexual activity with, I’m sure my number would jump in leaps and bounds.

Truthfully, I was surprised there were that many ex-lovers on my Facebook page.

Historically, I’m not the best at keeping in touch with past partners.

I guess Facebook is heralding in the age of long term friendships with exes.

I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

It’s actually quite nice to see them doing well and having a good time.

And of course, still lusting after the good ones!

What’s up Tinder?!

What’s up Tinder?!

It’s a hookup culture online.

I could go through men like a woman with hayfever goes through tissues in the spring.

Next!

Next!

Next!

It’s absolutely crazy how frequently I get asked for sex.

Dr. Blockhead is just one of MANY men who proposition me during our VERY FIRST TEXT conversation.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh?

Well despite how displeased I am to get asked for sex all the fucking time (like I’m some sort of hooker), there are WORSE situations than that.

Worse than being a hooker?

Impossible.

But oh yes, there is.

My girlfriend suffers from what I call the “Buy me an iTunes card” phenomenon.

She’s been on Tinder a month and in that time she’s had 5 guys ask her for money – usually in the form of an iTunes gift card.

What?

Why an iTunes card?

But even more dumbfounding is that they’re asking at all.

Grown men.

Supposedly employed.

Are they looking for a sugar mama?

And if they are, shouldn’t they look like Zac Efron or George Clooney and not a paunchy, middle aged, balding engineer with poor taste in polo shirts?

I’m just saying.

Beware narcissists!

Years ago, I was in a relationship with a man whose ex-wife was a lesbian.

He railed on and on about her.

How she tricked him.

How she was all about herself.

He went so far as to call her a “narcissist.”

Now, between the two of us, he’s the expert.

He has four degrees in psychology while I have never taken a single psychology class in my life.

I did figure this out, however.

Beware the criticisms that people level at other people.

Often time that finger pointing should be aimed right at themselves.

I never met his ex-wife but it did occur to me that between the two of them, he probably suffered from narcissism as much as she did.

For this man was indeed the most frighteningly selfish man I’d ever met.

He’d make Ayn Rand proud.

The other day, I was texting with a man I met on Tinder and I asked about his ex-wife.

He launched into a tirade about how awful she is.

They only communicate in text messages so he has a record of what she’s said.

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Oh, and by the way, she’s a NARCISSIST!

What’s that?

Oh?

That’s my cue to DISAPPEAR!

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