Pretty damn sweet

The Viking left for Norway on Friday afternoon.

He got on a big jet airplane and flew to Copenhagen then Oslo, leaving me 5,000 miles behind.

But before he left, he took to his Tinder profile to send me a brief message:

Gooodbye Michelle

You know you’ve made an impression when he takes over his Tinder profile to say goodbye.

I’ve got to admit, between him, The Swede, and Charlie the Aussie, I’ve met some interesting men on Tinder.

Maybe none of them were love matches, but for sure they were fascinating people with interesting lives.

And don’t forget, I took a trip to Sweden to visit The Swede and got a lovely little adventure out of our friendship.

Perhaps a trip to Norway is in my future?

Who knows.

What I do know is that if you come from elsewhere in the globe, putting that detail in your Tinder profile increases your chances of getting a date.

Even Hoboken is exotic, if you’re from San Jose.

Viking Porn

It’s been a long time since I thought about Charlie the Aussie.

Charlie was named after ALL HIS RELATIVES.

His had one first name – Charles – and 7 middle names.

If it sounds like he was royalty, that’s because he was royalty.

He was a Knight in the Order of Australia, an honor he received because he crewed a sailboat that sailed from Australia to the Orient (I’m not sure where, this detail has escaped me) as part of an anniversary celebration.

Charlie was magnificent.

He would run marathons in the wilderness.

He could sail ships (obviously) and if you blindfolded him and dropped him off in the desert with a Snickers and a liter of water, he would FIND HIS WAY BACK HOME, no big deal.

Needless to say, I really adored Charlie.

Sadly however, Charlie did not adore me back.

He had a wife (he was separated, not divorced) and a special needs son and in the end, Charlie went back to his wife and he quickly became just a fond memory for me.

So why do I bring him up now?

Well, Facebook has somehow figured out that I know him and keeps flashing his face for me to “add as a friend.”

Now.

Facebook knows what I shopped online for two days ago.

They flash it in my sidebar.

They also know what I had for dinner last night.

And they like to remind me of it daily.

So I’m surprised that Facebook hasn’t figured out a way to keep ex-boyfriends from showing up in your “Potential Friends” list.

That way lies nothing but sorrow.

I’m waiting for Facebook to figure out that I’m moved on from Aussies to Swedes.

Don’t remind me of Aussie disappointments.

Show me some Viking porn.

Wilderness Survival

A year ago I took a class called “Wilderness Survival.”

I learned that if you’re lost in the woods, you are MOST likely to die from exposure, first, dehydration second, and starvation third.

The majority of our time was focused on learning what we could do to keep our core body temperature at a stable level.

And so I learned to build a debris shelter.

Basically, you use a long piece of wood for a “spine” and smaller pieces of wood for “ribs” and you build yourself a little nest made of – you got it – debris!

You scoop up the leaf litter that’s lying on the ground and you pile it 24 – 48 inches thick on top of the frame you’ve built.

Despite the face that this looks like an above-ground coffin, this will keep you warm at night.

All I could think about as I was scooping leaf litter was “There better be no spiders in this.”

I am sure however, that if I was in the middle of a crisis, I would probably worry less about the spiders and more about my predicament.

The reason why I am telling you this is that I happened to mention to a few of my Tinder friends that I’ve taken a survival course and they think it’s wildly sexy.

You’d think that it would be my beer brewing classes that they’d find appealing.

But no, it’s the survival class.

Lately, the coffers have been filled with firemen, Air Force and Navy pilots, and Fire and Rescue members.

So it makes sense that they might value survival skills over my ability to brew beer.

The coolest guy I ever dated was an Australian wilderness expert.

For fun, he’d get dropped off in the Outback and have to find his way home with nothing but a powerbar and a liter of water.

Or something like that.

It sounds like I’m searching for my own Crocodile Dundee!