Just in case we’re keeping track, I’ve had exactly two dates since I absolutely swore off blogging my dates.

Yes, not ONE but TWO dates!

I’ve been productive.

Both dates were in restaurants I’d never been to with men I’d never been out with before.

There’s something a little scary about meeting a strange man in a new place.

You never know who you’re REALLY going out with.

Although for the record, I’ve had basically neutral interactions with everyone I’ve gone out with.

Yeah, perhaps my dates and I lacked chemistry, but overall the men I’ve gone out with have been an adequate lot.

If on the horny side.

I know, I know. . . you’re thinking, “But it’s YOU, Michelle!  You attract your own energy.”

Perhaps I am a little to blame.

Can I help it that when given the slightest flirt, men usually amplify the signal 10 fold?

Suddenly cheeky banter turns into an all-out sext fest.

Not that that is what happened on my dates.


Or, maybe. . .

I really can’t say.

That time I landed a lumberjack

Once upon time, I had a HUGE crush.

He was a lumberjack.

With a beard.

And a voice like he gargled with glass.

When he’d say my name (Bombshell), he’d say it with gravitas.

He flirted with me and (of course) I did my best to flirt back.

We all know that although I enjoy flirting, I’m not always the best at it.

Sometimes I’m awkward.

Other times I’m way too subtle.

But in this case, I managed to convey my interest by simply staring at his mouth and fantasizing about kissing him.

He literally stopped right in the middle of the conversation he was having to kiss me.


And boy, what a kiss it was.

Pretty soon we were all over each other, making out and groping one another.

It’s not every day that a fantasy comes true for me, but this time around it did.

I got my lumberjack.

And yes, it was everything I expected and a little bit of the unexpected.

I got to knock an item off my sexual bucket list that night.

Guess what it was?


An interesting man has appeared on the horizon.

All my pet peeves rolled into one:

  1. A profile picture of him wearing a hat
  2. And sporting sunglasses
  3. And I can’t be sure but IF he had an online dating profile I’m pretty sure it would contain some panorama photos of some grandiose mountain vistas.

He does however, have one gloriously redeeming quality.


And you know how this woman LOVES herself a man with a beard.

It’s the first thing I noticed and hats/sunglasses be damned.

I am intrigued.

Add to that the fact that he seems to be a seasoned outdoorsman.

The kind of guy who likes dogs.

And the adventurous sort of fellow who can pack for a 2-week trip to Europe or a 1-week trip camping off the grid in the mountains.

I’ll bet he could park a 20 foot travel trailer in an 18 foot space.

And I’m guessing he has a Leatherman.

And by “Leatherman,” I mean the tool set, not a guy with a fetish for wearing high heels (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

I’ve been to his blog.

As it turns out, he is a REAL writer.

Published, and the like.

Not like me, where I just type for my own sordid pleasures.

And for your voyeuristic tendencies.


He told me I sucked at flirting, and boy was he right.

I’m terrible at flirting.

Honestly, I’m one of those people who (unless it’s totally obvious my love interest is also interested in me) basically tries to ignore my potential mate.

Feeling attracted to someone brings a flush of emotions – turn on being the most notable among them.

And it feels SO GOOD!

But there’s also notably FEAR.

Yes, I get scared.

Is he going to flirt with me?  Does he like me?  Should I flirt with him first?

So let’s get back to the guy who told me I sucked at flirting.

Two years ago, in a bar at Burning Man – a place basically CREATED with hookups in mind – and I’m trying desperately to get the attention of a charismatic older man.

Sure enough my attempts to flirt are bombing.

It probably would have been better if I hadn’t sent my friend in to find out more details about him – a textbook 6th grade flirting technique.

So then I became BOLD.

I stared at his lips.

I smiled at him and played with my hair.

And sure enough, he let me kiss him.

So it’s not like I TOTALLY BOMBED at flirting.

But I’d say that a 6th grade approach to flirting is a LITTLE outdated and should be abandoned for a more appropriate and mature approach.

So I mustered up all my courage and. . .

I invited him to my RV.

Yup. I sure did.

It’s a steep learning curve, but I eventually will get it.


So there’s this hunky guy I was interested in.

I went to the bar he was at, grabbed a seat, and intended to do my best at flirting, which was awfully brave of me given that only three days earlier someone told me I SUCKED AT FLIRTING.

Per my usual, I fell back on chatting with another man, making casual conversation while I tried to work up the guts to do something flirtatious.

My evil plan was to wait until the end of the night and see if he’d bring me home with him.

Inelegant, overly subtle as it may be, that was my plan.

Not long after I sat down we were joined by another woman.

Pretty soon it dawned on me that she was there for the same reason I was.

To hook up with the hunky guy.

“Well, this is AWKWARD,” I thought to myself.

Just then a friend came up to me at the bar.

“Is he chasing you?” she asked.

“No. . .” I replied.

“Then let’s go. I’ll help you meet someone,” she offered.

I was stubborn, though.

My ever present optimism was shining through.

The evening progressed.

I started to feel crappy, like I was throwing myself after someone who totally lacked all knowledge of my value.

Ad that was when I got up off my bar stool make my goodbyes, and left the bar.

My pride was a little bit in tatters, my optimism was flagging, and my ego was a little bruised.

Nevertheless, I managed to leave.

Michelle – 1, Hunky Guy – 0.

Bad at Flirting

I don’t intentionally set out to be BAD AT FLIRTING.

It just turns out that way.

I’m actually quite shy when it comes to being around people I have an attraction for.

I play it cool.

No sense letting on that I’d like them to stuff me like a Christmas stocking.

Usually someone else has to make the first move.

And then I unleash myself.

Beware of the beast!

I have been known to:

  1. Shove my naked crotch in a man’s face.
  2. Tell a guy that having sex with him is on my bucket list.
  3. Years ago I told a guy I was going to go home and masturbate while thinking of him.
  4. I showed up on a doorstep in nothing but a long jacket, garter belt and stockings.
  5. I once told a guy I was going to hit on him and then proceeded to hit on him.
  6. Don’t get me started on all the XXX rated pictures I’ve sent through text. . .

Subtle, I am not.

I don’t know how a shy person evolved such an outrageous way to flirt, but it’s the honest truth.

I’m either totally shy or I’m bombing you with my lust.

There’s a reason my playa name is Bombshell.


The fun part of being single is getting to flirt with all the single men.

My love of sexting and camming is legendary. There’s nothing like a little flirt to get you through the day and prepped for the night.

In particular, I like flirting before a date so that by the time he picks me up we’re both a little turned on and have our guards down.

Lately, I’ve been enjoying a batch of tattooed men – the Viking, the Bail Bondsman, and the Biker.

The Viking told me, “I like your style. So are you going to wear a skirt on our first date?” an obvious reference to a fantasy of mine.

The answer of course is yes, but it remains to be seen if he’ll get his hands up it.

According to the Bail Bondsman I’m “tricky” and “a unique woman who can make a man think of you long after you’re gone.” Thank you so much… I accept that compliment!

I think sexual attraction should be psychological as well as physical. I’m not above playing a few games to keep us both entertained and engaged.

The Biker is sweet. He likes my “beautiful face” and “sexy eyes.” He says I have a brain on me and he appreciates a smart woman.

See.. each one provides pleasure for me… Whether it’s hot-and-heavy flirtation, compliments, or a sweet exchange.

They provide more than enough entertainment to keep me distracted from everything I need to distract myself from.

Bridget Jones and I

It is rather ironic. I should identify with some wonderfully successful, bright, clever young woman like Angelina Jolie or Samantha Jones, but instead I identify with the character Bridget Jones – the ever-so-slightly-plus-size, funny, awkward heroine in Helen Fielding’s novels.



I’ve given this quite some thought and I’ve begun to realize that Bridget Jones and I have many similarities:

  1. She likes to go around naked in her paddling pool. I like to go around naked in my pool.
  2. We both are enamored of Mr. Darcy. Granted, her Mark Darcy was a human rights barrister, and my Mark Darcy is a character in a Jane Austen novel, but you get the picture.
  3. We are both, ahem, plus-sized. Although unlike Bridget Jones, I embrace my curves.
  4. We both have intimate relationships with bottles of wine.
  5. We both are attracted to really shabby guys.
  6. I too hate going to parties where I’m the only single.
  7. Like Bridget, I begin each year with boundless optimism but trouble always seems to find me.
  8. I am always on a journey of self-improvement.
  9. She writes a diary. I write a blog. ‘Nuff said.
  10. My professional life is one long fumble-save, just like hers.
  11. I flirt all day. With people who read this blog. You know who you are.
  12. I never feel like I’m the intellectual equal of everyone in the room.
  13. We both need a career change.
  14. My big plans never quite make it to fruition.
  15. I too use 4-letter words liberally.
  16. I’m also waiting for someone who likes me, just the way I am.

So there you have it, the reasons why I am like Bridget Jones. Because   no matter how hard I try, I always seem to not quite achieve what I set out to achieve. And it takes a pretty evolved sense of humor to find the beauty (and the humor) in that.

Hence…. unblunder.


Come for the boobs, stay for the brains


It’s what I tell myself every time I go on a date.

Don’t try to be sexy.

Just be yourself.

But somehow I always find myself making playfully suggestive comments to my dates while smiling innocently at them.

Or giving him a lap dance at the beach.

I’ve come to the conclusion that being bad is just way more fun.

And it’s much easier than talking about meaningful things in my life.

Who wants to hear about my son dying from cancer? Or about my job struggles?

None of that is entertaining.

What do people do on dates if they don’t flirt with each other? How do you figure out if there’s chemistry? What makes a man want to get to know a woman?

This is a mystery to me.

I figure when I partner up with a boyfriend, it’ll be because he just happened to stick around past all the great stuff (i.e. my cleavage and bedroom antics) to discover all the extraordinary stuff underneath that.

Come for the boobs, stay for the brains.


Some days you just need a friend with a hot tub

Like today, for instance.

It began with me popping on over to My Mental Stream’s blog. Why? Because he put up a post titled, “I am Ravenous” and I could relate to the feeling.

The post was well written and it got my already simmering hormones to boil over. God bless 20-something young men with carnal urges and the ability to write about it.

I may have posted a comment or two admonishing MMS for getting my juices flowing. Perhaps I flirted a little.

Then… I flirted with Austin in my usual style by sending him some PG-13 rated pictures. I also showed him some of the new lingerie I bought which prompted him to suggest he’d like to see me I’m something black, lacy, and easily removable.


Tonight, Photo Booth and I had a date with my new black chemise, fishnets thigh highs and all…

And here’s a G rated version for you.


Between all the flirting and all the lingerie, I sure could use a nice soak in a hot tub.

Ah… Relax.