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. . .

Screwed

Every time I get a little bored, I open up Tinder and let my finger do some swiping.

Usually I swipe left, but every now and then I swipe right.

On all the lumberjacks, naturally.

I force myself to sit and swipe until I find four men to swipe left on.

It’s just an arbitrary number I’ve assigned myself.

Four is just enough to ensure that I have at least one man respond.

Boredom alleviated!

Someone to flirt with.

Well, the other day I was swiping and I managed to swipe right on 4 profiles.

Mission accomplished.

Then ALL FOUR MEN STARTED TEXTING ME.

Jerry, Eric, Steve and Truman.

Now.

The problem with texting four men at the same time is that you lose track of details.

Like who said what.

For example, one of these men owns a natural stone restoration company.

Which one?

I have NO FRIGGING CLUE.

Also, one has two boys and another has two girls.

Which ones?

Your guess is as good as mine.

Since 99.9% of my Tinder matches fail to materialize into a date, this most likely will not be a problem for me.

But, should I actually land a date, it would be embarrassing to ask the same questions and let on that I CAN’T REMEMBER A SINGLE DETAIL FROM OUR EARLIER CONVERSATIONS.

That’s it.

I’m screwed.

Not getting laid

First of all, let me say that it is NOT TRUE that I can’t get laid.  What I’ve discovered is that when I let it in, I have a plethora of options.  I just happen to say no quite frequently and then moan about my bad luck online.

It’s not back luck though, it’s choice.

I planned to go sailing with my ex Steve.  There are two memories I always associate with Steve.  One, he has a 56″ chest.  Yum.  Two, he broke up with my by not returning my phone calls.  Yuck.

The question in my mind was were we or weren’t we going to do it in his boat.  I opted to prep just in case we did.  By prep I mean shave, moisturize and just in general tidy up the area about to be used.

I gentrified my pussy.

We kissed hello.  A wet hello.  Nice.  Things are looking promising.

But then we got swept up in the boat and motoring about.

I was not as flirtations as I could have been.  But then, neither was he.

We finally wound up below deck swapping stories.  Truth be told I was a little cautious about making a move because I was afraid if we “rocked the boat” my motion sickness might kick in and I’d puke all over him.  But I wanted to jump his bones and was waiting for a sign from him.

No signs.  Finally, his phone started buzzing.  Time for him to go to some fires.

“Too much talking, not enough fucking,” I joked.

“There’s still a little time,” he said.  Finally, the sign I was looking for.

I straddled him on the couch and kissed him.  Buried his face in my cleavage.  His phone buzzed.  It was time to go.

He walked me to my truck and we kissed goodbye.  I was happy, despite the lack of below-the-belt action.

Because it’s not everyday you find out that a guy hung like a coke can want to go mattress dancing with you.

BIG GRIN!

Fucking Steve!

Steve told me to start out this blog post saying, “Fucking Steve!  He took me on his goddamn boat and got us stranded in the middle of the bay.”

There, I just gave away the punch line.

Yes indeed, I went to visit my ex-BF Steve at the Antioch Marina to take his boat out for a spin.

What kind of a boat it is, you ask?  It’s a white one with triangle sails.  I’m so savvy when it comes to boats.

Anyway, the engine wouldn’t start, the battery was drained, so Steve got a backup generator from his car and we proceeded to charge the battery.  Unknown to us at the time is that instead of charging the battery, we had left it in idle.  So he took me out to get some food and while the battery should have been charging, it was idling.  Oh, and we left the lights on in the boat …. can you say battery drain?

Meanwhile, we loaded up on heart attacks at Hazel’s in Antioch where they serve this HUGE burger.  Steve and I shared.

IMG_4652You can see the size of each HALF BURGER compared to Steve’s hand in this picture.

We got back to the Marina after dinner, discovered our snafu and fixed the problem.  We went for a walk and chatted about everything from our family and friends, to Steve’s (sometimes) crazy ex-girlfriends.  Me, not included.  I think I get a special category of crazy – the lovable kind 🙂

Finally the battery was charged and the boat left the dock.  Since neither Steve or I knew how to sail, we just motored around a bit as Steve got the hang of his boat.

About 45 minutes into our “sail” the engine came to a stop.  We had run out of gas.  We were drifting with the current.  We laughed but a little part of me was worried.  Do we call someone?  Flag someone down?

Here we are in a SAILBOAT and we don’t know how to SAIL!!  How embarrassing.

At this point, Steve remembered the generator we had brought on board to jumpstart the engine.  THAT GENERATOR RAN OFF OF GAS.  We could use the gasoline from the generator to power the boat’s engine.  He used a sump pump to transfer the gasoline.  Brilliant!

Before we knew it, we were on our way again.  Motoring back to the marina.

To Steve’s credit, this boat is new to him and he didn’t realize that the gas gauge (which was showing full) was faulty.  For a moment there, I did wonder if he was pulling the old “broke down car” maneuver to get me alone.  Such was not the case…. but that’s a story I will leave for another blog post titled “I just can’t get any.”

So in the end, we had a lot of fun taking the boat out and about in the water.  It’s probably the first time that boat has gone out in years.  And it was fun to hang with Steve and hear his incredible life stories.

Running out of gas (when we had sails) made it a bit of an adventure, but nothing this sailor gal can’t deal with.

Mostly, this trip just convinced me that I really do need to refresh my sailing skills and learn how to actually use the sails on a sailboat.

Could’ve come in handy today!

Buck

I bought Buck (rhymes with F_CK and S_CK) as my ex-husband and I were finalizing our divorce.

I wanted to drive something sexier than a minivan and more useful than a sedan.

And so I stumbled across Buck in a parking lot at Manteca Dodge with my new boyfriend Steve.

Steve was 6 feel tall and had a 56 inch chest.  A truck seemed like the perfect automobile to fit my new boyfriend in – big, strong, and manly.  With a big set of balls.

Well, the relationship with Steve didn’t last.  Or the ones with Jay, Dave, Luke, or Mike.  But that truck has been a constant for me.

Still sexy.  Still strong.

Just like me.

Quite frequently, I get asked how I wound up driving a big truck with a HEMI in it, and I tell them the story of Steve and Manteca Dodge.

“Jimmy was a Racecar Driver” by Primus started playing over the radio the second I turned on the engine and I peeled out of the parking lot, thrilled to pieces.

I’d fallen in love.

And have you seen Buck’s front end?

Gorgeous.

Just like me.

The post where I arrange to go to a strip club

I am going to a strip club.

Woo hoo. I’ve never been.

And I’m kinda excited to go and see what all the hoopla is about and why men seem to gravitate towards these clubs.

A long time ago, my friend Albert admitted that he took business contacts to strip clubs and had all sorts of fun there.

And me and my sister-in-law Robin were grossly disappointed in him at the time.

The idea of sex as industry, not sex as in intimacy sort of struck me as wrong at the time.

I’m not sure what’s changed at this point in my life but I’m not troubled by this anymore.

I suppose I could go and absolutely hate it. But I think it’s more likely that I’ll go and enjoy myself.

The other fun part of this venture is that I am going to the strip club with my ex Steve (the Highland athlete with the 56” chest and the genius IQ).

Surely you don’t think I’m foolish enough to go to a strip club by myself.

I haven’t seen Steve in nearly a decade so I’m excited to see him again. And I’m happy that we’ve opted to do something a little naughty for our first activity of the night.

[Because let’s face it, there could be MORE naughty activities later.]

Strip clubs aren’t completely new to me. I did go to a Male Review about 10 years ago when I was working at a spa and the girls wanted to go see some skin.

It was incredible. One guy got totally naked but for a teeny tiny towel over his business. He then proceeded to split a watermelon in half and he pretend fucked one end while he ate out the other end. All I remember is him picking up his head and seeing the glorious juices of the watermelon dripping down his face.

OH MY!!!

What am I curious about?

  • Are the girls really hot or just butter faces?
  • Is all-nude a little off putting or is it kinda cool?
  • Will there be other women in the audience?
  • Are the boobs mostly silicone?
  • Do women like stripping for other women?
  • What “extra services” are offered?
  • Are the strippers going to pole dance? I love pole dancing ever since I took a class.
  • What’s the atmosphere like in a strip club?
  • Will Steve kiss me? God, he was such a good kisser! The best lips!

 

Kissing

I am a great kisser.

I’ve been told this many times and it’s something I’ve known for a long time.

There one secret to being a good kisser:  WHATEVER THE OTHER PERSON IS DOING, DO IT BACK.

And insert a little passion into it.

Because I like to kiss, I’ve become a connoisseur of kisses.  The good ones are burned in my memory like a searing hot iron.

Beginning with my first boyfriend, Frank.   I was leaning my back against his Mustang in high school when we planted one on me.  It was so perfect.  So right.  So hot, that I literally had my knees buckle beneath me and he had to prop me up against his car.

Fast forward to Jon in college.  I could kiss Jon all day, it was so satisfying.  Kissing him was better than f*cking.  Almost. I loved every second of it and found myself kissing him all the time.

Then there was my ex-husband.  Lousy kisser.  Could never teach him to do it well, either.  Next!

Steve.  Oh, his lips!  So soft and sexy.  And what that man could do with his tongue only mirrored his skills in other areas.  Steve… sigh.

Drew was amazing.  He stood 6’10” tall so reaching his lips was a challenge.  But  once you go there you were rewarded by the softest, sexiest, hottest kisses imaginable.

Matthias – for having great lips and great technique.  And for being so beautiful I want to kiss him with my eyes open to watch him.

Jeep is actually a very good kisser with wonderful lips.  He doesn’t hoover my face when he kisses me, and he doesn’t do any unnecessary tongue work that I find irritating and distracting.  We haven’t kissed a lot but when we have, it’s been good.

So what makes for a bad kiss?  Well, I’ve kind of outlined it above:

  • Kissing so hard it hurts.
  • Hoovering the other person’s mouth
  • Licking the other person’s lips
  • Unnecessary tongue work (kissing should be a parry of the tongues, not a sword fight)

A collage of some other great kissers:

kiss1 kiss2
kiss3 kiss4

 

Steve

So I’ve been thinking about my ex Steve.  Steve is the smartest man I ever met.  Also the dumbest for letting me go.  And he’s the biggest man I ever dated – with a 56″ chest.  YUM!

Steve just moved to Texas, which is nowhere near California and where I live.  And that’s a good thing because otherwise I’d be tempted to have ex-sex.

photo-2

Thanks for sharing your passions

Something I’ve always appreciated about dating is that you meet all sorts of men who introduce you to interesting hobbies. I learn something new from everyone. I don’t know if I ever would have discovered the world of Taiko drumming if it hadn’t been for Steve. He also introduced me to Insane Clown Posse which was voted the worst band ever in the history of music. ICP didn’t grab me the way that Taiko drumming did (and if you’ve ever heard ICP, you’ll know why).

Performances of taiko drumming mesmerize me, and I’ve only ever seen them on tv. I’ve been wanting to get tickets to a live concert. Today, I managed to snag 4 tickets to a Taiko drum performance which includes the legendary Kenny Endo!

ket

And on top of all that, I got tickets to see Zakir Hussain and Friends peform as well. Hussain combines the drumming traditions of North India, Uzbekistan, and the Middle East with classical North Indian dance choreography. It should be a spectacular show, and I’m okay with the fact that my dad will heartily approve of me attending this concert.

Seriously, this is turning out to be one of the best days ever.

The post about unavailable men

imageUnavailable men. We like to think we fall prey to them but the reality is we can spot them a mile away. So if we know what we’re getting into, why do we do it?

My first experience with unattainable men began in high school. I had a huge crush on Joe, the drummer. Tall, dark, Italian, with biceps that made my heart pound, Joe was the perfect man for me, or so I thought.

On our first, and only date, Joe leaned out his truck window to give me a kiss.

“Good night Lisa, I mean Melissa, I mean Michelle.”

Strike one. Strike two. Strike three. I’m out.

We never saw each other after that.

Fast forward 20 years and I’d met Drew. Tall (like 6’10” tall), gorgeous, and brilliant, I fell head over heels. Until I discovered he was dating couples along with me.

Enter Steve, quite possibly the brightest and biggest man I ever dated. His 56″ chest would stop my heart. Sadly, Steve lived 100 miles away in Modesto so the relationship never got off the ground.

Finally, there’s Matthew.  I met him at a winery in 2009. I locked eyes with him across the room and had an instant crush. He was like the sun and I was in his gravitational pull… along with every other woman in the room.

So why are women lured in by unattainable men? I think it’s because there’s a special spark that draws us in.  We have an organic desire to lather, rinse, and repeat.

So even though these are short-lived enjoyments, they are worth every minute we spend on them.

Unattainable men are like a drug…. they may eventually bring you down, but in the meantime they can get you so high.