Sad Face

As it turns out, The Swede will not be visiting California in June.

Yes, I got the news today and was really disappointed.

But I had a feeling it was not going to work out.

Murphy’s Law.

I bought tickets to the burlesque show hoping he’d be here THERBY jinxing his visit.

C’est la vie.

I’m sure he’ll get over here again so all is not lost, but for the time being, NO VISIT.

What do I do with the two tickets I have to the Blackheart Burlesque show in Santa Cruz?

Why I take Yvonne, of course.

Tejas’ ex-girlfriend and I have struck up a friendship.

So I’m taking her to the show.

I can’t wait to watch the Suicide Girls prance about in their costumes, putting on a show for the audience.

It’ll be amazing.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to take pictures so I can blog about it (and send pics to The Swede so he can live vicariously).

Still, I’m sad I won’t be seeing The Swede anytime soon.

Sad face.

Safety Third!

Did I forget to mention the spinning teeter totter at unSCruz?!

Surely not!

The Swede and I were walking down the lane when we stumbled across this crazy looking contraption:

Camp Bad Idea, within Silicon Village, is planning to bring this device to the playa this year?

Sounds like a Bad Idea?

You bet! That’s why we do it!

So The Swede and I gave it a spin.

We were unable to determine the difference in our weight so it’s likely that the device wasn’t weighted properly.

Still, we dutifully climbed on. . .

. . . and made about one revolution until we started to fall off.

It was hilarious!

I laughed my foolish head off.

We considered going for another ride on the spinning teeter totter, but then thought better of it.

You know what they say at Burning Man:

SAFETY THIRD!

Geeking out

The Swede might be back in the Bay Area for the 3rd week in June and I am looking up fun and cool stuff we can do together.

In the middle of my search, I came across Suicide Girl’s Blackheart Burlesque in Santa Cruz at the Catalyst Club.

It’s billed as a “creative/sexy performance with a geeky twist” and I literally am going to drag The Swede kicking and screaming to watch semi nude women prance around the dance floor and show us their moves.

[That’s a joke, btw. He doesn’t object to it at all.]

Hopefully he can go.

If he can’t I’ll take Tejas, or Yvonne, or Barbara or Marina or Dante.

Someone will go with me, I’m sure.

I’m so sure I’m going that I bought myself my own “geek” outfit to wear: Star Wars leggings, a black corset, and a white faux fur jacket.

I also got this blinged out STAR WARS hair clip from – get this – the etsy store “Nerds with Vaginas.”

PERFECT!

Do you think I’ll fit in at a nerdy burlesque show?

I’m fucking learning Swedish

I’m fucking learning Swedish (Svenska) and there’s a lot I have to say about it.

First of all, I love that the Swedish word for ‘two’ sounds like the American version of ‘two’ said with a lisp.

Imagine the priest from Princess Bride:

“Twoo wuv is what bwings us twogether twoday.”

Overall, the experience of learning Swedish is a little like shaving my head with a cheese grater while chewing on tinfoil.

It’s a little bit uncomfortable.

I am learning everything phonetically. Which means I speak a few words but I can’t write them.

An example: the Swedish word for ‘delicious’ is ‘oot sect.”

That’s what it sounds like.

How is it spelled?

I have no clue.

I looked it up for the purposes of putting it on this post.

It’s ‘utsökt.’

Now, as impressed as I am with myself for learning a handful of Swedish words, it’s not all that great when it comes to texting and I’m spelling everything phonetically to The Swede.

So I try to keep my Swedish simple when I text him.

God morgon (good morning).

God natt (good night).

Tack så mycket (thank you very much).

I’m impressed that I’ve learning any words given my memory problems and my lack of understanding of Germanic languages.

I hope it gets easier as I go.

One thing is for sure – I can’t just learn to SAY Swedish. I’ve got to learn to WRITE it as well.

Just in case I ever visit Sverige (aka Sweden).

Pronounced ‘Svallia.’

But hold cow, can you believe it. . . I’m learning Svenska!

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Good for me

Don walked past my camp at unSCruz and stopped in to give me a hug.

He smelled delicious.

Like clove cigarettes.

I thought about the pack of cloves I had in my tote.

I looked at The Swede.

“Would it bother you if I smoked a clove?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” he replied. “Just don’t expect me to kiss you if you taste like cigarettes.”

“Oh, in that case, never mind,” I replied.

The idea of not being able to kiss him freely disturbed me.

Besides, I don’t need to smoke. It’s BAD for you.

On my list of qualities I am looking for in a man is an important one: Makes me a better person.

Perhaps that could be stated better: Brings out the best in me.

So for a man to influence me into making healthy choices that impact me directly and improve my overall health and well being, this is a HUGE thing.

I respect The Swede for that.

Of course nowhere on my list of qualities I am looking for in a man does it say: Lives 9,000 miles away from me.

No, you’ll never find that in there.

Well, you can’t have everything.

Long Distance Lust

“I want to pack you in my suitcase and take you home to Sweden,” The Swede told me.

We were walking to the bathroom at unSCruz.

He’d had some whiskey and his lips were loose.

It was utterly charming.

“I can’t ask you to wait, can I?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

My heart lurched a little bit.

This big, cuddly, soft-spoken, shy man has cleverly wormed his way into my heart.

“It’s been such a fun weekend,” I told him.

Part of me really wanted to say, “Let’s do this!”

But I know I’m no good at long distance relationships.

Not at all.

I’m not really good at relationships, fullstop.

At least not in recent times, at least.

What makes me think that I could make it work when we live 8,600+ miles apart (as the crow flies)?

Stupidity?

Romanticism?

Affection?

Full blown LUST?

Whatever the cause – stupidity or lust, the end result is the same.

Me, single.

What else could I be?

A Steady Diet of Kisses

When you’ve been single for a while, flirting comes as easily as breathing.

Breathe in.

Plant a kiss on your favorite single guy.

Breathe out.

So imagine me at unSCruz, trying to not flirt because I was there with The Swede.

All those delicious men who flirt back with me and make me feel sexy and appealing. . .

. . .they were off limits.

I’ve gotten in the habit of kissing as many people as possible.

It’s a hard habit to break and fortunately, given that The Swede has a more European view of things, I didn’t have to.

I went around kissing all my friends – male, female, trans, bi, gay, furry – you name it, I was kissing it.

Of course, the best kisser in the whole bunch was The Swede.

He would grab me and kiss me, just because.

Or say something provocative and then plant one on me.

For someone who is usually starving for affection, I got a steady diet of it during unSCruz.

So much so that I know it’s going to be hard for me to go without it.

The Swede leaves for Sweden today.

And I am going to miss him.

 

 

The one where she does a strip tease to “Freedom”

Apparently, I like the song “Freedom” by George Michael a lot.

And by a lot I mean A LOT!

There I am, sipping my cocktail at Ali Bar Bar on Friday night when the song “Freedom” starts to play over the speakers.

Instantly, I am transformed into STRIPPER MODE.

I start grinding my hips, lifting up my shirt, and lip synching the words:

“Well it looks like the road to heaven
But it feels like the road to hell
When I knew which side my bread was buttered
I took the knife as well
Posing for another picture
Everybody’s got to sell
But when you shake your ass
They notice fast
And some mistakes were built to last”

All for the viewing pleasure of The Swede.

I even grabbed the Viking helmet off his head and wore it myself.

Oh my!

We might have made out a little too.

Okay, we might have made out A LOT!

I’m not sure what The Swede thought of my amateur performance, but I can tell you one thing:

I sure did get hella lucky that night!

The Weekend Boyfriend

For the weekend of unSCruz, I had a boyfriend.

The Swede went with me and basically admirably filled the position.

  • He helped me load and unload my truck.

Twice!

  • He helped me get Tejas back to camp Friday night (after we lost him for 4 hours).
  • He helped cook and clean.
  • He wore costumes.
  • He held my hand and told me I was beautiful.
  • He kept me warm on the cold nights in Watsonville.
  • And he gave me a thorough tongue lashing.

Yes, that means EXACTLY what you think it does.

The Swede was sweet.

For all my worries that he would have trouble fitting in, The Swede did JUST FINE.

Better than fine.

He was AWESOME.

He even let me take post-coital photos of the two of us.

unSCruz was a blast and I can’t wait to blog about all the things that happened.

But by and large, the BEST PART OF THE WEEKEND?

The Swede.

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New Bucket List Item

I’ve got a lot on my bucket list.

Things like visit Greece and Australia.

Go great white shark diving.

Dance all night at Burning Man (I haven’t done this yet).

Just the other day, I realized I had a new Bucket List item.

Something I was jonesing for hard.

Sex with a Swede.

Actually, sex with THE Swede. Fullstop.

I know. I know.

I’ve known him for a full year and we haven’t gotten around to it yet.

In my defense, he does live in Stockholm, 99% of the time.

It’s not like we’ve had the opportunity.

But there we were in his hotel room, rolling around on the bed, kissing and groping when I realized that I wanted this man.

Bad.

Ding!

I just added him to my bucket list.

Have you ever heard of a bucket list, I asked him.

Yes, he replied.

Guess what’s on my bucket list, I prodded him.

I don’t know. What’s on your bucket list, he asked.

“Sex with a Swede,” I whispered in his ear.

“I can help with that,” he offered. . .