Latin lover

I want to date a Spaniard.

Or maybe a man from South America.

The bottom line is, I am ready to meet a sexy Latin lover.

Why am I talking like this?

Well, I met a hot, sexy Latin man last week and ever since then I’ve been dreaming about the possibilities.

I’m not without my own Latin man experiences.

My father was born in South America and immigrated to the US when he was young.

So I’m used to having impassioned, strong-willed, masculine men in my life.

Maybe this guy will ask me out and I’ll get a chance to sample the pleasures of dating a Latin man.

Maybe he won’t.

The bottom line is my bucket list is sadly lacking in this department and I intend to remedy this.

Right away.

Starting with finding a sexy Latin man to date.

Watch out Tinder, ‘cuz I’m coming for you. . .

What is love?

Is it meeting a new person and falling head over heels for them?

Or is it a gradual increase in affection over time.

To be honest, I’ve always chosen the “head over heels love” over the “gradual increase in affection.”

It just feels right, to have a RUSH of emotion and be completely and totally enamored with a person.

Granted, there is little you can know about a person straight off the bat.

When I fall in love at first sight, I am reacting to my perception of who this new man is and what he looks like, and not the reality of who he really is.

And often times, you get burned when you find out the truth.

So a slow-building, gradual increase in affection seems preferable.

Get to know the REAL person slowly, over time and fall in love with who they really are.

This is the dilemma I’m facing now.

The new guy is great.

A wonderful man.

Great job. Great family. Great location. Ready for a relationship.

There’s nothing bad I can say about him.

So why this hesitation with me then?

Maybe our passion for each other is developing slower than our friendship?

I get that friendship is important but does that mean the visceral longing and desire that I want to feel isn’t?

Because I’m getting the feeling I can have one.

Or the other.

And I want both at the same time.

Fluff my wings, please…

wingsFluff my wings, please…

I’ll admit, it’s a strange request.

And my son just stared at me for a few seconds before I decided to turn sideways and show him the little collapsed wings I was wearing on my back.

“Fluff my wings, please,” I asked him.

How many kids get asked by their parents to help them with their costumes?

Usually, it’s the other way around, isn’t it?

But in my house, I’m the one with all the costumes and my boys are the ones who help me out.

I wonder what kind of a mother this makes me… to be so enthralled with costumes I seem to always be working on one or another.

I hope when they get older, instead of seeing me as crazy and eccentric, my boys see me as unique, and someone who followed her passions.

I hope they learn to live a little on the wild side and not be afraid of being seen as odd.

I would love for each of my boys to have something in their lives that brings them as much joy as costuming does to my life.

No one in my family understands this interest of mine.

They think I’m nuts.

They indulge me.

They may roll their eyeballs, but in the end, my wings do get fluffed.

Perhaps they understand a little more than I give them credit for.

And maybe I’m a better role model than I give myself credit for.

Passion, in photos and words

passion1 passion2
passion3 SONY DSC
passion5 passion6
passion7 passion8
passion9 passion10
passion11 passion12

And my favorite passion quote by Chilean poet Pablo Neruda:
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”

And by e.e. cummings:
i like my body when it is with your
body…. which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur…
~e.e. cummings