She’s got mad skills

All right, so I’m back to online dating.

Basically because I don’t meet single men at my job and I’m too lazy to go out every night trolling for men.

So, Tinder.

Within a few minutes of downloading Tinder to my phone, I had a handful of matches.

All healthy looking Bay Area lumberjacks (with beards, naturally).

One quickly proved to be only interested in rubbing aloe vera on my poor sunburned breasts.

His suggestion, not mine.

The other has shown himself to be made of more substantial matter – conversing with me without making a single comment about breasts, sunburns, and rubbing aloe vera on my sunburned chest.

I unmatched the man who wanted to rub my breasts with aloe.

Why waste our time?

Although I did (for a second) think about how fun it would be to sext him and his sexy beard.

I’ve decided I’m going to improve on vetting the men who reach out to me.

Make sure there’s some basic features available:

  1. Would never vote for Trump (not in 2016, not in 2020).
  2. If he doesn’t have a beard, is willing to grow one.
  3. Would enjoy attending Burning Man, not just tolerate the experience.
  4. Like kids, because I’ve got two (granted they’re both almost of age now, but still).
  5. Is an animal lover (compassion is key).
  6. Is emotionally intelligent as well as intellectually intelligent.

I’ve also been advised, by Barbara, to let her vet potential dates by introducing them to her before the fifth date.

The fifth date is when all the oxytocin (bonding hormone) sets in and I start being oblivious to all his faults.

And we all know that Barbara is The Hammer and can sort appropriate men from inappropriate men JUST LIKE THAT.

She’s got mad skills.

The Korean Spa

I’ve got all these plans to pamper myself and get beach ready for Florida.

Of the treatments I have scheduled, the one I am most excited about is my scrub.

You’d think that a scrub is no big deal, but you’d be SO WRONG.

Because at the Korean Spa, you get scrubbed by women in black bras and underwear wearing raw silk mitts while you lay on a wet vinyl bed and get buckets of warm water thrown on you.

Noodles of DEAD SKIN come off your body.

I honestly LOVE/HATE the experience because the technician always clucks at me like I’m not doing enough to stay clean and exfoliated and she SHOWS ME THE PILES OF DEAD SKIN SHE’S SCRAPED OFF ME.

It’s thrilling and disgusting at the same time.

After Barbara gets a scrub at the Korean Spa, she likes to say she’s the cleanest she’s ever been.

Indeed, fresh as a daisy and soft as a baby’s bottom.

I MAY have tacked on a 45 minute massage after my scrub.

Because what’s better after getting your skin exfoliated than to get a nice baby oil massage?

I know, I know.

It sounds kinda kinky.

And it is.

That’s probably why I like it so much.

Drat!

So my dresses finally arrived in the mail.

The first one was a yellow wrap around midi dress that was so lovely:

I put it on only to discover that it didn’t WRAP AROUND MY BODY.

There was this HUGE GAP where cleavage coverage should be.

I was literally falling out of the dress.

So it’s a no-go for Florida.

Then I tried on the other dress:

Sadly it too did not fit so well across my bust either.

These 38Gs are really causing problems!

So I’m back to square one.

I literally have NO DRESSES to wear to Florida and I’m panicking.

I need to go through my wardrobe and see what works.

Of course, all my summer dresses are buried behind all the winter dresses.

So it’s going to take effort and some maneuvering to check out what’s in my closet.

Tejas suggested that I wear this fishnet dress with my bathing suit:

But somehow, no matter how beach-appropriate it is, I just can’t see myself wearing it anywhere but the playa in Black Rock City.

Since I don’t have time to order online, wait for delivery and hope the dress fits, it looks like I’m going to have to shop the hard way. . .

. . . off the rack in a store.

Sigh.

We know how much I HATE that.

Maybe I can get Barbara to advise me where to go and what to try on.

She’s always fashionable and is good at shopping.

She’s the polar opposite of me.

I don’t want to set foot in a store and she can’t buy anything without touching it first.

Just what I need right now!

Barbara’s Gift

I don’t know if I’ve said enough about my friend Barbara.

She is the Carrie to my Samantha.

The Louise to my Thelma.

The Laverne to my Shirley.

Barbara always reminds me how special I am.

So over Christmas break, I opted to spend 50 hours of my life making her a quilt to show her how special she is to me.

 

It turned out HEAVENLY.

It’s a checkerboard pattern of nine patch squares and hourglass squares made from Tilda’s Bird Pond fabric.

It’s framed with a narrow border of off-white embossed fabric and then framed with a wide border of fabric by Elizabeths Studio called Hummingbird Bouquet.

The whole quilt is machine pieced, long arm quilted and hand bound.

I love it.

And I think Barbara does too:

 

I’m not going to lie.

There were a few tears (mostly Barbara’s) and a few declarations of undying friendship (mostly mine).

Couldn’t love this lady more.

Happy quilt, Barbara!

I love you!

I need a dog

Pints and Pups was this weekend.

I dragged myself out of bed, picked up Barbara, and headed over to Golden State Brewery in Santa Clara for some snuzzles with doggies and BEER!

It was fun to see old friends and to hang out with Barbara.

Drinking beer.

Barbara, in case you didn’t know it, is my “sister.”

We look so much alike people mistake us for sisters.

I got to check out the rescued dogs brought to the event by Thulani Senior German Shepherd Dog Rescue.

They rescue senior German shepherds that have been abandoned by their owners in their old age.

It’s heartbreaking.

I got the feeling like these dogs were searching the crowd for their person and not finding him or her.

They kept looking off into the distance.

Oblivious of my attempts to garner their attention.

But I loved on the doggies anyway and perhaps even signed myself up to volunteer with Thulani next weekend.

Of course, you MUST know that my favorite breed of dog is German shepherd, on account of I’ve had two and they were THE BEST DOGS.

I miss them terribly.

So I was incredibly pleased when friends took it upon themselves to paint an image of my Wendy girl from a picture I gave them.

It’s stunning!

Warms my poor little heart to see her again, in a painting.

This is actually a picture of Wendy around 3 years old, taken when I was rescuing her from the Tri-Valley Animal Shelter.

She somehow managed to sit long enough for me to snap a photo.

Wendy was never the sort to sit still for any length of time, so I was especially pleased I managed to get that photo of her.

And just like this picture of Mac (below), my first white German shepherd, it has become my quintessential photo of Wendy.

I need a dog.

 

 

I’m a millionaire

Mother’s Day is coming up!

I just realized this.

Which means I have to get something for my mom, my birthmom, stepmom and my grandma.

I am thinking I’ll get some really beautiful handmade cards for each of them.

I’m sort of in love with these POP UP cards from ScrappyTailsCrafts on Etsy:

Aren’t they just BEAUTIFUL?!

Just like my moms, my stepmom and my grandma!

And I always try to do something special for my friend Barbara, whose mother passed away a few years ago (and on my birthday).

I know she keenly feels the loss, and Mother’s Day just exacerbates it.

Usually I send flowers, and I’m thinking this year I’ll send something a little different.

Like a cookie bouquet!

A tasty treat for my dear friend.

As always, Mother’s Day makes me realize how many SPECTACULAR WOMEN I have in my life, not just my mothers, but also my sisters, aunts, and friends.

I believe you can measure the happiness in your life by the number of really close female relationships you have.

And in that respect, I’m a millionaire!

Red Flags

I ignore red flags MOST of the time.

Some guy calls his ex-wife a narcissist and I look the other way.

Another guy tells me I have a lazy eye over drinks and I laugh and make excuses.

So when the newest guy made a joke about my sister and I in a porno together, I ALMOST let it slide.

ALMOST.

But I didn’t.

I called him out on it.

I’m not sure why I didn’t let it slide.

Actually I do.

I made excuses for one guy’s behavior not too long ago and he lived up to my (ignored) first impression of him.

So this time I didn’t want to ignore it.

Yeah, I GET THAT IT’S A FUCKING JOKE.

BUT IT’S A DISGUSTING ONE!

Who, when trying to put their best foot forward upon meeting a new woman, makes a porn joke about her and her sister?

Who makes porn jokes BEFORE the first date?

A man with his mind in the gutter?

A man with no manners?

A man who clearly is suffering from a lack of social skills?

Regardless of WHY he did it, the end result is the same.

The fucking hammer has fallen and YOU HAVE BEEN VOTED OFF THE ISLAND!

Barbara would be so proud. . .

Up in flames

As soon as I stepped outside the house, it hit me.

The overwhelming scent of fire.

One thing was clear: Something had burned during the night.

I drove to work and was walking to my building when I got a text from Barbara.

“Hope your family in Santa Rosa is safe.”

What?

Was there a shooter? An earthquake? What happened?

I immediately called Barbara back.

“There’s fires in Santa Rosa,” she told me. “It’s bad.”

I immediately got on the phone and tried to reach my birth mom.

In my haste, I inadvertently walked into a crosswalk that was closed due to construction, incurring the wrath of a very tall, beet faced man.

He was waving his arms at me wildly.

I stepped out of the crosswalk but he continued to make wild gestures at me.

Sigh.

So this is how the day is going to go.

First, the fires, and now an angry construction worker.

I burst into tears.

So I met Joe

Joe is handsome and funny.

Not exactly the tallest guy I’ve ever met, but still can hold his own in a showdown with me in 4” heels.

Joe is a diver and it excites him that I am a Rescue Diver.

Of course, he doesn’t know I haven’t dove in years because of that panic attack I had underwater caused by blood pressure changes in a too tight wetsuit hood.

Joe called me up and we chatted for a little while.

He is keen to go out and I was kind of excited too.

He’s got daughters after all and Lord knows I want to wind up with a man with daughters.

All on account of I have none of my own.

In so many ways, Joe seemed PERFECT for me.

Daughters. Adventurous spirit. World traveler. Funny.

So I showed his profile to Barbara, just to see if he could get the BARBARA STAMP OF APPROVAL.

Barbara is probably the toughest of all my friends to approve the men I date.

She’s not called The Hammer for nothing.

LOL

And that’s when it happened.

I glanced at his profile and saw “Separated” as his marital status.

As in STILL FUCKING MARRIED!

Jesus F. Christ!

Nevermind.

What NOT to do when SPEED Dating

So Barbara went speed dating.

Women were invited to attend free.

Perhaps it’s easier to get men to sign up than it is to get women to sign up for these things.

I was wondering why she didn’t invite me to join in the, ahem, fun when I remembered that I’m an ENTIRE DECADE OLDER than Barbara.

So I COULDN’T ATTEND.

Why throw in a non-breeder with all those breeders.

It’s not like I’m going to have kids with a 30 year old.

Been there and DONE THAT.

PAYING FOR COLLEGE FOR IT, actually.

Yesterday at a Galentine’s Tea, the ladies asked Barbara about it.

Her experience much mirrored my own experience speed dating:

  • Five minutes can be a REALLY LONG TIME if there’s no connection.
  • In the end, all you need is ONE. But it feels like a FUCKING NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK!

So just to remind you all of my speed dating disaster, here is what I wrote back in September 2014 when I lost my mind and decided speed dating was a good idea:

 

What shouldn’t you do when speed dating? Speed date. Full stop.

Just. Don’t. Do. It.

Let me save you the trouble and paint a picture of my speed dating debacle.

The evening started off nice enough with me getting stopped on the streets of downtown San Jose by a random man who wanted to tell me I looked beautiful. Awwww.

photo 2(3) photo 1(3)

 I arrived at the restaurant feeling confident. I was 30 minutes early so I decided to order one of their signature cocktails.

Bartender can’t make it. No grapefruit.

So I order a Sazerac – only the OLDEST cocktail in history.

Bartender can’t make that either.

Fine! I had an old fashioned.

I sipped on my cocktail, sulking a bit. Unimpressed with the bartender.

People started arriving for the event. I was eating a nice bloody rare steak I’d been craving when I was interrupted by the event hosts. Time to go!

Shit! No time to pee or brush my teeth after eating all that garlic and jalapenos at dinner. Oh well. Faux pas.

And did it matter?

Not one bit.

What happened next is what I like to call the “Parade of Trolls.” My dates were all fat, short, and even rude on several occasions.

They’d been rode hard and put away wet.

Oh, and did I mention that because I didn’t get a chance to pee I accidentally peeped my pants? Just a skosh.

Yeah, I was a real winner too.

Let me just say right now if I’m going to wear a too tight bra, I’d better be rewarded at the end of it. There was no reward here.

My only reward was my freedom. The joy of running out the restaurant door straight to my car to head home and purge the last two hours from my memory.

This whole experience has soured me to the entire dating world. There’s nothing I want less right now than another fucking first date.

Gah! Fucking speed dating!

I’m going to sit at home, eat cheese, and drink martinis while watching episodes of “Keeping up with the Kardashians.”

Speed date? I’d rather chew on tinfoil while shaving my head with a cheese grater!