In the pale

I am a white girl.

And as far as white girls go, I’m on the lower end of the scale as far as melanin production goes.

I’m fair.

I am 75% Nordic/British Isles and 25% Portuguese.

I joke that this means that I burn easily but I can hold a tan.

It’s true though.

Every summer when I was growing up, I’d slather myself in baby oil and lay out at the pool for 30 minutes.

I’d get a wicked burn which would fade into a beautiful tan.

Those were the days (before skin cancer warnings).

Briefly, I went to the tanning salon and laid in their (cancer inducing) beds and got a lovely tan as well.

But no more.

I have to be good and take care of my skin.

So, I get spray tans.

Recently, I’ve decided I’m going to try to do it myself and I bought Cocoa Brown Tan Mousse and a pink velvet glove to apply it.

[Side note:  I’m sorely tempted to use the pink velvet gloves for bedroom activities and NOT self-tanner application.]

I want to be brown like the models we see in summer ads – all long legs and golden shoulders.

I know I can’t get their bodies, but it seems unfair to deny me their color as well.

I don’t want to be pale anymore.

I want to be TAN!

And with my trip to Hawaii coming up, it’d be nice to be more bronze goddess and less pale ice queen.

[Post script:  I’ll let you know how it goes.  I bought the darkest mousse on the market so I could turn out striped like a zebra!]

Save

Save

Rock climbing, scalping and norovirus

I took a trip to Eastern Oregon University with a friend of mine when I was in college.

We decided to go camping and rock climbing along with a bunch of her friends.

We all packed up our cars and took off to the Mountains – Mount Emily, I believe.

I’d never rock climbed before and, as it turns out, instead of rock CLIMBING I was learning to RAPPELL.

It’s what you do when you go DOWN the mountain at a generally fast rate of speed.

I hiked to the top of the mountain, stood precariously on the cliff as I got harnessed in. . .

. . . and I began to rappel down the mountain.

Not so bad.

All of a sudden I felt a hard tug at my head.

I stopped my descent immediately.

My long, free-flowing hair had gotten caught in the 8-ring.

The guys never thought to warn me about my hair because they all had short hair and it never occurred to them that it could cause a problem.

I quickly assessed that if I descended any further, I’d get scalped, at least partially.

So as I dangled on the side of a mountain, I held myself in place with one hand and I ripped out my hair with the other hand.

Meanwhile, one rock climber was harnessing up to decend on top of me to help while another climber was getting ready to scale the mountain to get to me to help.

I told them to stay and just give me time.

It seemed like it took forever to rip out that chunk of hair, but I did it.

As it turns out, the camping trip was somewhat doomed for me.

Not only did I rip out my hair, but I also got norovirus during my last day there.

You try having norovirus while camping.

It’s not pretty.

 

Actual pics from the trip:

 

Bottom right: me getting my hair stuck in the 8-ring!

 

Me with Eric Howard, who I crushed on all weekend.

 

Taking a break from ripping out my hair to flip off my friend Shannon, taking the picture.

Save

Save

Pasties

Pasties.

No, I’m not talking about the delicious British meat pies, I’m talking about nipple covers.

Tiny little pieces of feather and tassle that adhere to the nipples.

I have a bag with 8 pairs of blinged out, rainbow pasties.

Have I ever worn them?

No.

Will I ever wear them?

Not likely.

And yet I still insist on dragging them to and from the playa every Burning Man for the past two years.

They’re packed for me to bring them again this year.

I’m not sure what insanity compels me to bring them.

It’s likely that anyone over a C cup SHOULD NOT WEAR PASTIES.

And Lord knows, I’m a G!

The most reasonable cause for my insanity is that I simply LIKE how pasties look on other people and I IMAGINE that I would have the balls to pull off wearing them myself.

In reality, my balls would have to be a lot bigger for me to do that.

Incidentally, I did slap on a pair of pasties years ago when I was visiting Tahoe with a boyfriend.

I thought it would be fun for him to “discover” me wearing them underneath my clothes.

Needles to say, he was surprised, but when it came to taking them off, PASTIES REMOVAL IS ONE OF THE MOST PAINFUL THINGS A WOMAN CAN EXPERIENCE.

Rather like vacuuming one’s nipples with a super strength hoover.

Not at all pleasant.

That is all.

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!

Safety Third!

Did I forget to mention the spinning teeter totter at unSCruz?!

Surely not!

The Swede and I were walking down the lane when we stumbled across this crazy looking contraption:

Camp Bad Idea, within Silicon Village, is planning to bring this device to the playa this year?

Sounds like a Bad Idea?

You bet! That’s why we do it!

So The Swede and I gave it a spin.

We were unable to determine the difference in our weight so it’s likely that the device wasn’t weighted properly.

Still, we dutifully climbed on. . .

. . . and made about one revolution until we started to fall off.

It was hilarious!

I laughed my foolish head off.

We considered going for another ride on the spinning teeter totter, but then thought better of it.

You know what they say at Burning Man:

SAFETY THIRD!

Hawaiian Vacation

In a few short weeks, my sister, my two boys and I will be heading to Hawaii for a week long vacation in the sun.

The last time we went to Hawaii, my boys got in a knock down, drag out fight and broke a glass table in the condo we were staying at.

I was livid!

This time, I think we’ll do a lot better.

My sister and I make strange travel partners.

I like to do things and she likes to chill.

Ironically, that makes us perfect for each other.

I get her off the beach and out of the condo and off doing things.

She gets me to relax and take it easy.

We strike a nice balance.

This time around we are going to:

  1. Swim with dolphins
  2. Visit Pearl Harbor

And that’s it folks. That’s all we have planned.

Of course were looking into:

  1. ATV tour of the jungle
  2. A luau
  3. A submarine ride

So there might be a little more excitement coming our way.

Two unscheduled things I do want to do are:

  1. Eat shrimp off a shrimp truck in North Shore
  2. Find really good shaved ice

I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to achieve all this, but I’ll tell you one thing :

I’M NOT GOING TO BE BLOGGING!

I’m taking a blogging vacay!

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.

Bareback Generation

I’ve noticed that there are men who are loathe to wear a condom, even when they’re simply hooking up with a partner for the night.

It’s a little bit shocking, to say the least.

What ever happened to safe sex and the older generation?

Quite honestly, I worry more about unintended pregnancy than I do about STDs which is probably bad, but I am still smart enough to at least suggest a condom.

Remember that one time I was stealthed?

Yeah, the guy took the condom from me then DIDN’T PUT IT ON and instead PULLED OUT AT THE EXACT WORST MOMENT SO THAT HE COULD COME ALL OVER MY BACK, thereby notifying me that I’d been duped into having sex without a condom?

Yeah, that’s a little bit what I’m talking about.

Of course, that behavior borderlines on criminal, I think.

So let’s set it aside for a minute.

What about the casual guy who just simply doesn’t like condoms?

The guy who isn’t worried about pregnancy (because maybe he is shooting blanks)?

I think it’s a generational thing.

Younger men don’t question condoms. They use them by the cartloads. They know – NO BABIES AND NO STDs.

Now, part of me think perhaps it’s not just that bareback sex FEELS better.

No.

Perhaps it’s because of “challenges in the plumbing department.”

What diminishes the sensation also can diminish. . . well, the “device.”

And Lord knows no one wants that to happen.

Then the fun is OVER.

For me, barebacking is for the guy who is a boyfriend. It’s for the guy I’m willing to go on birth control for.

It’s not for the casual hookup.

And it’s certainly not for the guy with criminal tendencies who is willing to TRICK me into doing it.

Call me crazy, but if I get a little skin on skin action, it’s gonna be with someone who I think has some sort of role in my life, when there’s birth control in place, and appropriate STD testing.

That’s just how I roll.

Outfit Inspiration

I’m adding two new outfits to the Burning Man repertoire – a rainbow body suit with fence net stockings and a glorious multicolored caftan with a gorgeous gold bikini.

I can’t tell you how much I LOVE the rainbow bodysuit.

I already wore it at unSCruz, although I wore it with the wrong kind of stockings.

The caftan and bikini I also adore and I take them with me to all my Burning Man trips, in the hopes of wearing them.

Yet they’ve never been worn.

Time to retire a few outdated outfits, too.

The only one I’m tempted to hold on to is the green nuclear absinthe fairy costume, which was my FAVORITE outfit for SoulFire Precompression in June of 2015.  That neon green hair is THE BOMB and fluoresces under blacklight.

Everything else stays the same, which makes it easy for me to create my Inventory Binder – cut, copy, paste.

I’m tempted, between now and the Burn – less than 100 days away now – to work on one new costume.

We’ll just have to see what inspiration strikes me.

Save

Hooked

Each time I’ve gone to Burning Man – all two times – I’ve sworn that I’m never going back.

In 2016 I was motivated by a desire to improve on my 2015 experience.

In 2017, I’m motivated by the friendships I’ve established.

I didn’t know it at the time, but when I bought my first Burning Man ticket, I was baptized into a community of creatives, crazies, talents, artists, musicians, dancers, athletes and weirdos.

A large part of my social life is now dedicated to Burning Man events and people.

So much so, that I feel like a broken record when I go on dates or write The Swede emails.

Eventually, I always talk about Burning Man.

I can practically see some people in my family roll their eyes in their heads when I bring it up.

But I can’t help it.

It’s so much a part of my life that I wonder, “Can I actually establish a relationship with a man who ISN’T a burner?”

Well, there are lots of couples out there with mixed burner-affiliation – one is a burner, the other is a non-burner.

So the answer to that question is YES.

But there has to be a level of understanding and support for the burner.

I think it’s possible to be an honorary burner – to have never set foot on the playa and yet be a loyal supporter of Burning Man.

I know a woman who was integral in helping her husband develop a spinning teeter totter for the burn.

I know another woman who crocheted all sorts of cool outfits for her husband’s burn.

Going to Burning Man is like becoming a parent – there’s no way to fully understand it until it happens to you.

I don’t expect potential dates to understand what I’m talking about when I mention my Burning Man experiences, but I do hope it makes them curious.

And of course, I hope that given my passion for the event, that their curiosity translates into support for all my Burning Man activities and adventures.

Because somewhere between “I’m never going again” and “I could give it another go,” I’ve gotten hooked.

Totally, 100%, completely hooked.