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?!


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.


Mentally, I wrote him off.


I was sorely tempted to reply:


But that’s just my inner bitch freaking out.

I actually sent no reply.

Sometimes actions speak louder than words.

Fresh F*cking Michelle

MichelleRecently, I went on a date.

Not a bad date. As far as dates go, this one was pretty good.

He was filled with compliments.

He told me I was beautiful.

I just smiled and said “thank you.”

He paused.

“I want to let that sink in,” he replied.


Sometimes, I get very self-conscious when people compliment me.

This was one of those moments.

Yes I’m beautiful but I’m no Cindy Crawford or Elle MacPherson.

I’m just little old me.

And it goes to show that maybe I’ve been a little bit worn down when it comes to dating that instead of being impressed by his compliment and touched by his sincerity, I felt like I was being buttered up.  I was instantly suspicious.

So I paused and let that realization sink in.

The idea that I am damaged somehow and hard to connect with.

The idea that I might be the “bad” part of a date.

So I made sure for the rest of the date to be my authentic self, dorkiness and awkwardness and all.

Damaged goods, my ass!

I’ll be damned if I’m going to let dating make me jaded.

I’m going to be fresh every fucking time.

Fresh fucking Michelle.

Come and get it!


Sometime life f*cks with you

michelleI HAVE to write this post.

You see, a few years ago, I went on a date with Lou – an attorney from the Bay Area.

It was. . .





You can read all about it here, in excruciating detail.


I log in to Facebook last night and whose picture should appear under the heading “People you May Know” but Lou. . .

. . . posing with his bride, his daughter, and their white poodle.




Someone ACTUALLY married him.

Someone young and beautiful ACTUALLY married him, I should say.

Now, I may have freaked out a little bit.

I may have momentarily felt like a loser because after all, if Lou can get someone to marry him, then what the hell is wrong with me?

Perhaps it was the two gin and tonics talking, but I reached out to a few friends and said, “WTF?!”

And see what good friends I have, they told me to get some rest, sleep off the gin, and things would look better in the morning.

And lo and behold, they do!

Thank you Arjang and Tejas – you were right!

So I’ve decided to adopt a more positive tone about this whole experience and say:

It just goes to show you – there’s someone out there for everyone.

Even Lou.





Don’t hold your breath

So I went out with this guy.

And he seemed nice enough, even though he asked me if I’d ever been to a swingers’ party in the first 20 minutes of our date.

He kissed me goodnight and asked if we could go out again.

And I said, “Sure, sounds good.”

“What would you like to do?” he asked.

“Go wine tasting,” I suggested.

“Great idea!” he said.

The only problem is that all the wineries I know about are off highways that have mud slides, fallen trees, and road closures – I pointed out.

We could wine taste at my house. . . he suggested.


I mean, NO. THANK. YOU.

I’m 43 years old.

I know what it means when a man invites you to his house.

He’s looking for some nookie.

And it’s not that I object to that, I just object to that when there’s no effort to get to know me.

At least make a pretense of looking for a “friend” with benefits.

Otherwise it starts to smell like No Strings Attached and I’m not looking for that.

Maybe I’m confused (I probably am) but it seems like the timetable to get in my pants has been sped up to nuclear speeds.

And I can’t help but feel like the men who are successful are the ones who text me during the day just to see how things are going, even when we don’t have a “playdate” planned rather than the ones who go at me at warp speed.

So what’s happening with this guy?

He’s taking me to a wine bar.

Because who knows, maybe he likes me AND wants in my pants too.

But I’m not holding my breath.

I went on a date

michelleI went on a date.

It was my first date of 2017.

That’s how long it’s been since I’ve had a date.

I went out with him because he was a clever boy.

He sent me a message.  I went to his profile and looked at his pictures.  Hmmmm.  No.  Not my type, I decided.

But then. . .

He sent me a message:

“My profile:
You came.
You saw.
You left?
Now marketing is all over me about first impressions. . . ”

And so on.

Well, you get the picture.  He was clever.

And in my book, clever is valuable and should be rewarded.

So I agreed to go on a date.

And how did it go?

Well, apart from him bringing up swingers clubs in the first 20 minutes of our date, I’d say NOT BAD.

He even gave me a kiss goodnight which was NOT BAD.

There was a bit of a TONGUE DUMP at the end there, but overall he was a nice kisser.

First impressions?

Clever counts.


Three strikes, you’re out!

michelleI was really into this one guy when I was younger.

He was a drummer.

Just one of several drummers I dated.

I guess I have a thing for lumberjacks AND drummers.

The thing about him was that he was just absolutely THE DEFINITION OF SEXY.

Dark hair, dark eyes, nice biceps honed from years of going apeshit on his tubs.

He was also EVER SO SLIGHTLY younger than me.

I was so excited when he asked me out.

I remember he got lost on the way to my house to pick me up.

He drove an old truck.


Be still my heart.

In any case, he picked me up and we went out and for the life I me I don’t recall where we went or what we did.

All I know is that when it came time to say goodnight, he was dropping my off at my house and I leaned in the car window to give him a kiss and when the kiss was over, he said (I KID YOU NOT), “Good night Lisa. I mean Melissa. I mean Michelle.”

Now, at the time I was CRUSHED by this turn of events.

But as time has passed, I have realized that it wasn’t all that bad.

I’m such a good kisser I clearly kissed all the sense from his head and he couldn’t remember my name.

Yeah, that’s what happened!


File this under WTF?!?!

michelleSo I went on a date last Friday night.

And as far a dates go, it was pretty awesome.

He was handsome, well-dressed, and he even SMELLED NICE – which is a big plus in my book.

He was wearing a classic, straw fedora, which made him look so charming and lent a retro 50’s vibe to his style.

I was smitten from the get go.

But, of course, caution took hold of me and I sipped on beer instead of having my usual gin and tonic, in order to keep my wits about me.

Conversation flowed freely and we had the MOST STIMULATING CONVERSATIONS about topics like acting, swinging, pornography, relationships, and more.

Fast forward to the end of the night – a mere 10:30 pm and my date walked me to my car. . .

. . . and left me standing there without so much as a good night peck.

Yes folks, I managed to go on a great date and got shafted in the end.

No kiss for me!

It just goes to show that two people can experience the same thing and have two ENTIRELY DIFFERENT reactions to it.

I wanted a kiss.  He wanted to go home.

I’m just going to file this under WTF?!?!

Charlie the Aussie

charlie_beachThere’s always ONE THAT GOT AWAY.

Well, in my case, there are TWO.

It’s ironic, really.

I never think about Luke or Dave but my mind goes back and reminisces about Jay and Charlie the Aussie.

Today, I logged in to LinkedIn only to find a big huge image of Charlie staring at me under the heading “PEOPLE YOU MAY KNOW.”

Actually, as it turns out, he’s someone I do know. Intimately.

I don’t often talk about Charlie.

But when we were dating, I was completely and utterly charmed by him.

His accent, his bald head, the way he totally possessed me in bed.

The fact that he was Charles VIII in his family.

And he was knighted in the Order of Australia.

He had a special needs child with autism that he took loving care of.

And he was an adventurer, like me.

More than me.

He’d been all over the world and sailed everywhere.

In a word, he was PERFECT for me.

Sadly, Charlie did not feel the same way and so we parted.

But I always go back to my memories of him – especially that weekend in Southern California when he took me to see Hearst Castle and we broke the bed in our hotel room.

It’s almost like a dream now.

I tried connecting with him once to no avail.

So I’m resigned to leave him alone.

But I think of him and remember him fondly.


UPDATE:  Charlie approved me on LinkedIn.  Woot!



Truth be told, I don’t like it when I’m not working on putting together a costume.

I wonder what the theme will be for the next Village meeting or the next birthday party.

If I knew, I could start planning already.

I checked out a Michael Jackson costume – Totally 80’s!

I also looked into a St. Patrick’s Day costume. Everything green!

In the end, I decided to put together a Pyrate costume.

Mind you, this is my SECOND pyrate costume.

I already have one which I wore to a Pyrate Party 6 years ago.

I remember my ex boyfriend and I had just broken up and I went to the party single while he brought a date.

And his date spent the entire evening hanging all over him trying to make me feel bad.

And I did. Until my new theme song “So What” by Pink! started playing over the speakers.

“So, so what?
I’m still a rock star
I got my rock moves
And I don’t need you
And guess what
I’m having more fun
And now that we’re done
I’m gonna show you tonight
I’m alright, I’m just fine
And you’re a tool
So, so what?”

Then I felt how strong I truly was. Able to stand on my own two feet in the face of opposition.

In any case, not long after that song played my ex and his mean girl date left the party.

He wasn’t having fun.

Years later we discussed the evening’s events and he apologized for her behavior.

He always was a good guy.

In any case, I now have a second pyrate costume I can wear that has no complex emotional associations.

Just me, a short skirt, and a swashbuckler’s hat.

What could be better?