Hockey

I’ve been thinking about hockey.

A lot.

Not because the Sharks are winning.

No.

Because The Swede and his goalie-daughter are big fans of hockey.

I have never played hockey.

The closest I’ve ever come to playing hockey was singing Christmas carols with the Boston Pops orchestra on the ice during the 1995 holiday season.

I do have skills, however.

I can ice skate.

Not well, but much better than I ski or snowboard.

All those sports which decrease the amount of friction I have with the ground, thereby increasing the chances I have of getting hurt, I tend to avoid.

The last time I snowboarded, I broke my tailbone.

I had to drive all the way home from Reno in a minivan with two little boys and my mom while perched precariously on one butt cheek then the other, desperate not to laugh or sneeze.

It’s been even longer since I ice skated.

My sister took me up to Squaw Valley over a decade ago and we skated around their ice rink a bit.

At first I was very wobbly and had to hold on to the railing.

Eventually, I got the hang of it and I could skate without assistance.

But I was by no means proficient at it.

I could get on the ice and take slap shots at the goal and NOT FALL DOWN.

Much.

So then it goes without saying that when The Swede posts pictures and videos of his daughter DOING HER THING on the ice, I am of course BLOWN AWAY.

She makes me wish I was more athletically inclined.

Not just an athletic supporter.

A present for The Swede

Christmas is coming and I am already 110% ahead of the game.

My Christmas cards have been mailed.

My shopping is done.

Even my wrapping is complete.

I’ve annoyed even myself with my efficiency.

Personally, I am thrilled at the selection of gifts I have bought for my friends and family.

None more so than The Swede.

First, I bought him an industrial size box of Swedish Fish.

As a joke, naturally.

Then I proceeded to BREAK INTO the box and ate a bunch of fish so I had to get him something else.

And please, dear Swede, if you are reading this, stop now or your surprise will be RUINED.

[scroll down for more]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I custom made a tee shirt for The Swede.

Yes. I. Did.

Because I could find a tee shirt that said “Eat, Sleep Hockey” in English, but not in Swedish.

And I figure WHY BUY IT IN ENGLISH if he’s going to be in Sweden wearing it?

It should be in Swedish.

So I translated “Eat, Sleep Hockey” into Swedish “Äta, Sova, Hockey.”

Perfect!

Then I printed it in YELLOW lettering on a ROYAL BLUE tee shirt – the colors of Sweden.

How’s that for a present for you?

I REALLY hope he likes it!

You can’t say I didn’t make an effort. . .

P.S.  I got him a SECOND gift.  Just because I do that sometimes.  Check out this awesome mug I had custom made for him:

Tea – a drink with jam and bread

A few months ago , I was at a party with my friend Barbara.

A TEA party.

Yes, I went to something as dainty as a tea party.

It was a lot of fun – we dined on mini sandwiches with the crusts cut off and sipped on strawberry tea.

I believe there was even a scone or two.

The one thing that BLEW ME AWAY at the party was the tea pot.

It was an electric kettle which would heat the water up to the perfect programmed temperature, then drop a basket with the tea leaves down into the water and steep for the prescribed amount of time before hoisting the basket out of the water.

Voila!  A perfectly made pot of tea.

Well, Barbara has this exact teapot (which I priced at Amazon somewhere around $250).

So obviously she is a fan of tea.

And if you’re reading this Barbara, stop or else you’ll spoil your birthday present.

Scroll down. . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

Further. . .

 

 

 

 

 

So for her birthday, I bought her the MOST AMAZING BOXED SET OF TEA OUT THERE.

I bought her the Flavored Tea Tasting Set from Palais des Thés.

All the way from France, folks.

She gets to try 10 new blends of teas – both black and green teas – to her hearts content.

I think I nailed it again this year with the birthday present!

Save

Save

Hairpulling

There I am hanging with a pal when the subject of snuggling comes up.

Do I want to snuggle?

Hells yes!

Of course, I’m trying to behave myself so I grab a suitably large pillow, plunk it down in his lap, and start snuggling on the couch.

Ah!

This is nice.

My friend starts to randomly touch me and it’s kinda nice.

I giggle when he touches my lower back.

It tickles!

It then becomes apparent that he’s trying to help with my problem by providing me with a PG level snuggle.

I instantly escalated it to PG-13.

I say to him, “If you really want to do me a favor, pull my hair.”

He grabs fistfuls and pulls.

Ah!

I can’t tell you how much I LOVE to have my hairpulled.

It’s definitely a THING for me.

My favorite hairpulling memory involved me, a Swede, and some concurrent deep kissing.

This rivaled it not because there was kissing but because there was SO MUCH HAIRPULLING I thought I’d lost my mind.

Imagine 15 minutes of hairpulling.

It was AWESOME!

I gotta say, I sure love it when a friend comes through for me.

Blogging

write2-copyIt’s funny.

At least *I* think it’s funny.

You see, I’m a blogger so everything I experience is an opportunity to write something about it:

  • Kissing ex boyfriends in RVs at SoulFire.
  • Taking a dip in the hot tubs with men of questionable repute.
  • Peeing my pants in a onesie costume because I couldn’t get it off in time.

It’s all fodder for the blog. Even the stuff that makes me look like a nut case.

Sometimes I wonder how my friends and family REALLY feel about this blog.

Oh, of course to my face they like it and encourage me to write.

But really, deep down, how do they feel about being WRITTEN ABOUT and READING THE INTIMATE DETAILS OF MY LIFE.

There’s a saying among us writers:

If a writer falls in love with you, you never die.

write1There’s another saying though and it goes something like this:

Don’t piss off a writer. We’ll DESCRIBE you.

IMG_9378

I just want to publicly thank all my friends and family who put up with me and this tacky blog – whether I’ve given you a nickname or not.

Every time I write about my friends and family, I do it with love and respect and of course a HUGE dose of courage that they’ll be okay with what I write.

Thanks to them for putting up with me.

It takes a good sense of humor.

Me and the Universe

Not many of you know this but I started this blog when I was in Law School in 2005.

I fully intended to walk the straight and narrow and document how I WAS FINALLY GETTING THINGS RIGHT IN MY LIFE.

Of course, it turned into something else.

It just goes to show, you can’t pretend to be something you’re not and keep up the pretense for any length of time.

Eventually the real you shines through.

I thought I could make myself into someone classy, poised, and perfect. Instead I discovered I’m earthy, funny, and full of flaws.

I think the time has come for this blog to evolve AGAIN.

Into something with a little more soul and a little less frivolity.

I’ve been commiserating with a friend about our mutual single statuses.

We both have discovered recently that we have certain “problems.”

He is addicted to being in relationships.

I am addicted to the rush of a new sexual relationship.

It makes for very interesting conversations between us – the romantic and the cynic.

One of us fantasizes about snuggling and smelling his lover’s hair.

The other one of us fantasizes about getting down and dirty.

It’s a very interesting conundrum.

He could use a little dose of my cynicism and I could use a little dose of his romanticism.

If you merged us into one human being, we’d make the perfect partner.

The irony is, this friend hasn’t been a close part of my life for at least a decade.

But now we find ourselves thrown together by chance and circumstance.

And I think perhaps his perspective is the one I need the most right now.

Which reminds me that the universe is unfolding EXACTLY as it should.

And I am EXACTLY where I need to be.

With EXACTLY who I need to be with.

Save

Butterfly

So.

I posted “I’m my own f*cking problem” mere hours ago and already I’ve been deluged with responses from people basically saying YES.

Now.

Just so you know, even though I am right, it still hurts to hear it from family and friends.

I’m feeling a little raw.

Not a soul told me what a lovely person I am and that they’re thrilled I’m not going to exploit my sex life anymore.

No one told me to go easy on myself.

Not that I expected anyone to, but it would’ve been nice to hear a positive message.

I reached out to my friend Rob to tell him I how I was feeling.

Sad.

Sheepish.

And as it turned out, the universe gave me EXACTLY what I needed.

“Stop. That was Michelle 2.0. You are evolving into Michelle 3.0. You learn from it and become better. A butterfly cannot spread its wings and fly if it still believes itself to be a caterpillar.”

Oh man!

I’ll admit, I almost cried.

Rough times, my friends.

I’m having some ROUGH TIMES.

Save

Save

When you start hitting on friends

He’s single.

I’m single.

We’ve known each other for decades.

He’s a decent guy.

I’m a decent (if slightly naughty) gal.

So when I found out he’s single, I took a leap of faith.

You see, the guys I meet online who are good guys are few and far between.

The Swede and basically NO ONE ELSE.

So even though I’ve been friends FOREVER with this guy I thought, “Why not?”

So I told him when he’s in a good place for dating, we should go on a date.

I suspect he will not take me up on my offer.

And that’s okay.

Going from vanilla relationships to me is like switching from the kiddie roller coaster to the Sky Scream – it’s a real mind fuck and you just may puke but it’s also quite exhilarating!

So I put it out there in the universe.

And even if he isn’t the man for me, someone decent will come along.

I’m keeping my eyeballs peeled for him.

Old friends are the best friends

The other day I managed to go out with an old friend.

Someone I’ve known for nearly 30 years but haven’t seen in the flesh since 2010.

Seven years!

And I’ll tell you, there’s nothing like an old friend.

You can go years without seeing them or talking to them and then just pick right back up where you left off as if no time has passed.

It’s awesome.

My dear friend, we’ll call him Rob, has had some rough times.

A lot can happen in seven years.

Which is why it was so great to see him and catch up with him.

We talked about difficult topics, like our divorces and our friend who died in 2001.

And we talked about cool things, like our awesome kids and our hobbies.

In the end, I didn’t want to go home.

I just wanted to hang out like we used to in college, playing pool, drinking white Russians (me) and beer over ice (him), and listening to grunge until we passed out.

What I wouldn’t give to live one of those days over again with him and our dear departed friend.

One thing is for sure, old friends carry your story with them and know you like no one else.

Old friends are the best friends.

‘Tis the season for WEDDINGS!

You might think, given my staunch support of my single status, that I wouldn’t be into weddings, but in fact I LOVE GOING TO WEDDINGS!

There’s nothing much better than watching a couple celebrate their love with all their loved ones around them.

I cry.

K&B’s wedding was no exception.

The groom got choked up and I INSTANTLY started to cry.

Thankfully I got a packet of tissues from another wedding guest, so I was prepared for the WATERWORKS.

My dear friend Michelle officiated the wedding and she did an amazing job of knitting together the story of the lovely couple with their appreciation of the family and friends who attended their wedding.

Personally, I was THRILLED to just be out of the Bay Area, breathing the fresh air of Yosemite.

It also helped that I was on painkillers and muscle relaxants for my injured neck so not only was it a beautiful wedding, I was also high as a kite for it.

I was blissfully happy and that’s the EXACT state that you should be in for a wedding!

And GOD BLESS THE BRIDE for NOT throwing the bouquet.

There were two – count them TWO – single women at the wedding.

Me and a lovely guest who flew in all the way from Boston.

I actually turned to the other single woman and said, “So, I’ll arm wrestle you for the bouquet. . .”

She looked aghast.

“You can have it,” she replied.

“I’m joking,” I told her. “Last thing I want is a bridal bouquet.”

What an awkward moment that would have been, no?